by Simon Morden
“You don’t feel the least bit sorry for them?” asked Manfred. He held the horse’s head close to his own.
The residents of Simbach were starting to back away from the bodies, forming a circle around the scene, spears no longer directed at the ground but at the sky. They were regarding what they’d done, weighing its significance and meaning.
“I think we should go,” said Horst. “We don’t need to be here any longer, right?”
Max Ullmann sheathed his sword. He hadn’t had to use it once, and yet they’d taken the town. There was a lesson there, somewhere. “Back to the boat,” he said.
74
Sophia had sworn never to get back on a horse, and absolutely never to go any distance on one. Necessity dictated otherwise.
It might have been the quickest way to get from one place to another – always had, probably always would – but she’d still have preferred to have walked. It wasn’t far to Rosenheim: a day, sunrise to sunset, if taken at a brisk pace and no stops. She’d almost begged Felix to allow her to make the journey that way; almost, because it was clear that he wouldn’t countenance a noble lady going on foot.
What he meant, of course, was that she was his noble lady, and it’d make him, and by extension, Carinthia, look bad. So they emptied the stables for her and for what he called her retinue, which was ironic since it consisted of an elderly Mr Kuppenheim and the four out of the newly recruited fortress guards who could actually ride.
Mr Kuppenheim, being the Jewish doctor, was the best horseman of all of them. Used to turning out in all weathers to one remote shtetl or another, he managed to look both assured and relaxed, while she winced and groaned with every jolt.
She’d have done better in the back of a horse-drawn hay cart. Unfortunately, that had also been deemed not lady-like.
There was another rider with them: Gretchen, older than Felix but a girl all the same, from the upper reaches of the Enn where it ran out of the steep valley and onto the plain. She’d turned up at the fortress breathless, holding out Peter Büber’s seal and asking for someone to come. Breathless, because she claimed to have run all the way, which was quite a feat if she had, and wild exaggeration if she hadn’t.
Even the Rosenheim farm-girl was a better horseman than she was, thought Sophia, which didn’t improve her temper.
She was sure that part of the reason Gretchen had come directly to Juvavum was in the hope of a reward. A Carinthian seal denoted a prince’s man, and giving aid to its bearer would earn gratitude of a spendable kind. The bag of coins Sophia carried would be used to express various permutations of that gratitude, depending upon whether Büber was alive, whether he’d been cared for well, whether he’d received treatment from the local doctor, whether he could be moved, whether his belongings were still together and not stolen.
It was three days since Büber had been found, two days since the girl had left her river-bank farm, half a day since they’d set off back down the road. When Sophia had asked what state the huntmaster was in, Gretchen had remained grimly mute.
Would HaShem be merciful to this gentile, who was His servant whether he knew it or not?
Büber was tough, and, like the forests he loved, he bent before the wind without breaking. At least, he always had done before. But even a bruised reed might eventually snap. Perhaps they were hurrying because Büber might die.
“How far?” she asked.
“Not far,” came the answer, which was progress of sorts, because the last time she’d asked, it had been “a way yet”. There weren’t any milestones on this road, and it was certainly no via with free-draining surface and wide ditches. What they had was a green lane, with ridges and puddles between the ridges. The land itself served as waymarkers: the rivers they crossed, the lake they passed, the steep alpine hills that yearned to be mountains.
Sophia wasn’t used to the openness of the sky, the darkness of the forests, the roughness of the road. She was a child of the city, the polis. She could bargain in the markets, navigate the alleys, use the tools and skills of her culture. She didn’t recognise this place, which was not just beyond the walls but out of sight of them completely: over the horizon, the place where magic was wild and untamed.
Or, at least, it had been. Now it was just the mundane that was wild and untamed. That should have meant there was less to be frightened of, but she wasn’t so sure.
She could see a square stone tower in the distance, an old Roman one faced in white stone.
“Is that it?” she asked Gretchen.
“Yes, my lady. The tower’s before the bridge, and the town’s on the other side.”
“And how far from Rosenheim do we have to go?”
The girl squinted as she thought. “Five miles south?”
She had the blondest hair and bluest eyes Sophia had ever seen. She was young, strong and capable. And one day she would grow up and know pain and become frail and old.
The wise man, no less than the fool, must die.
No matter that her zitser hurt with an agony beyond description. Life was short, and a sore arse wouldn’t kill her.
“We should try and go faster,” said Sophia.
Old Kuppenheim smiled. “My child,” he said. To him, everyone younger than him was “my child”. “Is there a reason for our haste other than your pride?”
“Yes,” she said, and came up with another reason. “My lord expects it of me.”
“Ah, Felix.” He let go of his reins long enough to tug at his beard. “You can’t marry the shegetz, you know that, don’t you?”
“The … what?” She coloured up. “You can’t call him that.”
“And you’d be a—”
“Don’t you dare, Avram Kuppenheim, don’t you dare use that word on me.”
“Find a good Jewish boy and put all this nonsense behind you.”
She clicked her heels, and the horse actually responded by moving more quickly up the line past Gretchen to the leading guard. She was fuming – no, righteously angry. She’d have this out with him when she’d calmed down. No one likened Felix to an abomination. No one.
Of course the Jews of Juvavum were glad she was the prince’s consort. They were also glad that she was Aaron Morgenstern’s daughter, and not theirs. It wasn’t as if she’d taken to dancing around the irminsul on Wotan’s day. She still joined the women in the synagogue for the Sabbath, and still kept kosher. But even with the story of Purim ringing in their ears, they looked down on her.
She’d saved them; rather, HaShem had used her to save them. Now they had freedoms and rights they’d never had before. Hers was a sacrifice willingly made for the good of everyone. When she felt their ingratitude, it burnt her.
The guard nodded to her. “My lady?”
Why did she get more respect from the Germans than from her own people?
“If we’re to be of any use to Master Büber, we need to pick up the pace.”
The guard looked behind him. “Will your doctor be able to keep up?”
“Oh, don’t worry about him. I’m sure he’ll survive more or less anything.” Sophia goaded her horse on until she came to the river, and the via that ran from the high Enn valley down to the towns of the wide northern plain.
There was the bridge, down the hill from the tower, and there was little Rosenheim beyond. Barely big enough for a market, more a straight road with houses on the way to München.
Sophia stood up on the stirrups to relieve the pain in her back, then started along the via. The tower was deserted, and close to she could see it was missing some of its limestone dressing, at below head height, the rock having been taken for building.
The bridge was Roman, too, its parapet foxed, and she dared not look under it in case the mere act of investigation collapsed the arches. The water ran cold and deep, the same water that flowed past Simbach, from where word had reached them that Fuchs was dead and the future was both more hopeful and uncertain.
Gretchen caught up with Sophia. “My lady, wait. I
should ride with you when we go into town. They know me, and they don’t know you.”
“Do they still throw stones at Jews in Rosenheim then?”
The girl looked away, then looked back, and Sophia recognised her confusion. She was both a princess and a Jew. How did that work?
“Ride with me,” she said, and they went side by side down the main street.
It was muddy and it smelt, and anxious, dishevelled people stepped out of their houses to watch them pass. Two women on horses, followed by five men, four of them soldiers: it would have been difficult for the townsfolk to tell who the important travellers were. If they recognised Gretchen as one of their own, they didn’t show it. Their suspicion extended to her just as much as it did to Sophia.
“Did you use much magic?” asked Sophia.
“Bits and pieces. For trade we had boats and carts: that’s what hurts the most. Everyone we buy and sell from now feels further away and more likely to forget about us.”
“But up on your farm?”
“We had a plough, which doesn’t work any more. At least the animals do mostly what they’ve always done, and we can eat, at least until the next winter.”
“And after that?” She knew the answer already. If farmers didn’t plant enough for themselves, they’d starve. If they didn’t plant enough for everyone else, the towns and cities would starve.
Gretchen shrugged. Despite her youth, she could tell what the future might hold. “We’ll see.”
“You and your family should visit a Jewish farm to see how they do it. Use cattle to pull a plough, the wind or a donkey to turn a millstone. Oil for light.” Sophia wanted her to accept the offer, wanted her to persuade the girl’s father it was something worth doing. “I can write a letter of introduction if you want.”
“We’ll see,” said Gretchen again.
They were Bavarian. Perhaps when they saw what was happening in Carinthia they’d come around, if it wasn’t too late.
A track threaded its way between two houses, heading south towards the mountains. Gretchen steered her horse, more expertly than Sophia – perhaps it was being around animals that made her more confident – up the track, with a call of “This way, my lady.”
Sophia almost overshot the turning, allowing the gap to close between her and that wicked old doctor. The horse finally realised it was supposed to be following the one ahead, and shuffled its hooves sufficiently to complete the manoeuvre.
On her left, there was marshy ground between her and the river, with standing water and last year’s reeds rattling in the wind. Ahead of her, there were fields and trees, then trees with a few clearings, then only trees.
Five miles later, the trees parted, and the Enn valley opened out like a flower. Mountains rose up distant-blue either side of the river plain, and cold air fell from the gap like a reminder of the weather a month past. A steep-roofed alpine house sat above the river, and a curl in the bank made a natural harbour of sorts. The fields were tiny, and grass grew and flowers danced on top of the high protecting walls infilled with soil.
Gretchen casually took her feet from both stirrups and swivelled on her saddle until she sat sideways. From there, she jumped lightly to the ground and ran on.
“Dad, Mum, they’re here.”
Her horse, free of its slight burden, looked around at Sophia, and kept on walking up to the farmhouse.
Sophia found that dismounting gracefully was something she wasn’t good at, along with all the other things she wasn’t good at on or near a horse. She ended up on her back, one hand still holding her reins.
One of the guards made to rescue her, but she growled, “I’m fine”, with such venom that he remained mounted. Slowly, she reached up the nearest wall, jammed her fingers in between two pieces of stone and hauled herself up.
It would be miracle, she thought, if she ever walked again without bow-legs.
Kuppenheim slipped wearily from his own horse and started unlacing his surgeon’s box from the back of the saddle. It gave time for Sophia to adjust her clothing, straighten her sword, and walk the last few feet to the farmhouse door.
She was about to knock, when a round-faced farmer with no hair on his head but plenty on his face opened it to her.
“Mr Flintsbach?”
“You’d better come in,” he said. Naturally dour, he gave nothing away.
It was dark and warm in the kitchen – the warmest place in the whole house, no doubt, because they’d made up a mattress of straw and sacking right there in front of the deep fireplace, and Büber was lying on it, propped up on one elbow.
“He wasn’t like this when I left,” said Gretchen, breathlessly. “He was near death, and now look.”
Strange that she was breathless again, but perhaps the sight of Büber’s lean, muscled torso, showing every scar he’d ever won, might have been enough reason.
Sophia moved around the table to see him better, and smiled.
“Hello, Peter.”
Büber tried to cover himself up. “Sophia. I mean, my lady. When they said they’d brought help, I—”
“Peter, shut up.” She knelt down beside him, scabbard clattering against the floor. “How are you? I wasn’t certain we’d ever see you again.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, ignoring the question. “In private.”
She reached out and pressed her hand against his forehead. He pulled back, and she frowned, then firmly applied her palm to his head once again. Warm, which, given his closeness to the fire, was reasonable; and he was neither dry nor excessively sweaty.
“Can it wait?”
“No,” he said.
“Peter, what happened to you? You should be miles away from here, drinking Frankish wine in the sun and eating olives straight from the tree.” She pulled at his blankets, and he only half resisted. There were fresh roads across the map of his chest. “Some of these wounds are new.”
“Clear the room and I’ll tell you,” he said.
“Is that really necessary?” she started, but it was her turn to relent. “I’m sorry about this, Mr Flintsbach. Affairs of state.”
After they’d all reluctantly left, and she’d issued instruction for the guards to keep everyone away from the walls, windows and doors – especially Kuppenheim – she sat cross-legged by Büber’s feet, sword across her lap.
“Talk to me, Peter. Tell me good things.”
“Wish to the gods I could.” He scratched at his chin, making his stubble rasp. “I did as I was asked. I took Felix’s letter to the dwarves. Except I met the dwarves coming down the valley towards me. They’ve closed the passes, and told the people of Ennsbruck to leave. They’re changing, Sophia. Growing. We were attacked by giants, too, and they’re shrinking. It’s all going wrong.”
“The letter, Peter. What happened to the letter?”
“I handed it to King Ironmaker myself, deep in the halls of Farduzes.” He looked around him. “My clothes are somewhere around here.”
She got up stiffly and searched them out, bringing them to him and laying them on his lap.
Büber rummaged around until he found a crinkled wodge of vellum. He lacked the fingers to open it carefully, so he handed it to Sophia.
“This was part of Ironmaker’s reply. The rest of it was a box that would have killed Felix, and probably everyone else in the room at the time.”
“Oh,” she said. “I take it you decided to leave that part of the message behind.”
“They insisted I took it. We fought. I escaped. I made it as far as Ennsbruck, where they’d laid an ambush for me. They killed my horse. I managed to refloat a boat with no bottom, and the Flintbachs fished me out of the river just outside here, more dead than alive.” He stared into the distance for a moment, before his attention snapped back to the present. “They’re coming, Sophia. They’re coming out of their stronghold and they’ll take whatever they can. The Enn valley is just the start of it: they want to carve out a kingdom above ground, because they can�
�t bear to be under it any longer.”
She examined the vellum, and began to tease apart the layers of skin joined together by blood and water. She worked carefully, and eventually was able to press the sheet against the floor; the ink had been damaged in places, but most of it was legible despite the smears and deletions, if only she could read Dwarvish. She knew better than to ask Büber.
Rather than refolding the parchment, she rolled it up. “Will they parley?” she asked.
“When I gave Ironmaker Felix’s letter, he asked me if Felix meant what he said. What was the invitation he gave them?”
“That as many who would come were welcome.” Sophia settled back down, and reached instinctively for her sword again, dragging it across her knees.
“He was asking me if Felix could have meant all of them. I said yes.”
“You said yes?” Her voice rose sharply.
“I did, because it was what Felix would have done. He wouldn’t have changed his mind.” Tired of sitting up, Büber lay back down with a grunt. “And the dwarves still wanted him dead and our land for themselves. They don’t mean to share Carinthia with us. They mean to drive us out.”
While he stared at the ceiling, she stared at the floor. “How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know. They kept their strength hidden. You know I’m not good with numbers. Thousands, tens of thousands, they’re just words to me. I don’t know what they mean. They’ll fight, though. They’ll be cruel and tenacious, and that I do understand.” Büber looked at his few-fingered hands, holding them up in front of his face. “Gods, they’ll fight.”
“So will we,” she said.
“It’ll be the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do. For a thousand years. It’ll make Obernberg seem like a squabble between two drunks.” He turned his head to look at her. “Even if we win, chances are that you, me, Felix, everyone we know, will be dead by the end of it.”
“Yes, there is that chance.” She lifted up his blanket at the feet end. Some of his toes were blistered and the skin on his hard soles was peeling off in sheets. “I’ve a doctor with me. He won’t kill you. I might kill him, but that’s a different story.”