At Witches' End

by Annette Oppenlander

  “Good idea,” Konrad said. “We must stop the bleeding quickly.”

  I winced. They were going to cook Werner’s organs to stop the bleeding. Great technique.

  “If I may,” I budged in. But Lame Hans had already limped off.

  Werner came to and groaned again as if he wanted to talk some sense into his brother.

  “My Lord,” I cried, unsure if he heard me. “I hope to avoid the smith’s burn method… I sent for Luanda, the healer.” If Juliana makes it, a tiny voice whispered in my mind.

  The courtyard was still and the eyes of the servants zeroed in on me. I realized that I should’ve asked permission. I’d boldly invited someone to the castle who was feared by many. Maybe Hans hated her or accused her of working with the devil. I hadn’t been so sure myself sometimes, as much as she seemed to know about things.

  Hans returned along with four handmaidens carrying two huge cauldrons between them. They steamed in the brisk morning air. “Your water,” they said at the same time, curtsying.

  Hans shook his head. “I shall let you take care of my brother.” And to the servants. “You help Max Nerds. Do whatever he says. He healed Lady Clara from near death.” The girls and pages bowed as Hans rushed off again. He obviously didn’t want to be near the bloody mess.

  I was in charge.

  What?

  I had to be mad. I looked up and down the row of men with holes in various parts of their bodies, soaking the straw red. The task of dealing with the wounded overwhelmed me. Why had I opened my big mouth?

  I knew a few herbs but I sure wasn’t a surgeon even if I’d sewn up Kuruk’s leg with sinew. You don’t even know if he made it, the voice in my head griped. I mean I hadn’t even finished high school.

  What was Hans thinking to leave me here? Werner might die any time. It’d be my fault.

  The maids watched warily, expecting to take orders. I stared back with none to give. The metallic, earthy and slightly sweet smell of blood rose from the straw. Werner lay still, his face pale and covered in a sickly sheen. Lady Clara sat next to him, waving a cloth to keep away flies, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears.

  Next to Werner, the man with the knee injury moaned and I wondered if he’d lost too much blood.

  “You must do something,” Lady Clara said.

  I tasted bile, the stone walls zooming out of focus. My mind whirled with shreds of battle scenes, I’d seen in movies, doctors cutting through a thigh bone, a knife tip digging for a bullet. A minute clicked by, another. Men were dying right in front of me. I had to move even if I had no clue. And hope that Juliana made it to Luanda unharmed. That Luanda was actually home and would be willing to visit and that they made it past the swarm of Schwarzburg’s men.

  “You, get me pine boughs and bark,” I yelled much too loudly at a servant. Grab two buckets and get me as much as you can find. Make it quick.” The boy nodded eagerly and ran off. I instructed several more to carefully search for wounds, remove armor and cut away fabric to expose the area in question. I sent two more to the herb garden to dig up calendula roots and harvest the last lavender.

  By the time, the boy returned with the pine, I was inspecting a deep rut on a man’s neck where a sword had grazed off his breastplate. Luckily, the artery was unharmed or the man would’ve bled out immediately.

  I dipped the torn strips of cloth into the fresh pine brew and bound the man’s throat. He’d have a huge scar and should be sewn up, but I had no good needles and the line of men was too long to waste time on a beauty issue.

  Werner’s wound was another matter. He had scratches all over his torso, but the cut in his side kept bleeding. Even if it stopped, he likely had internal injuries, his liver or intestines damaged, infection setting in. I settled on packing the wound with disinfected cloth and binding it in place.

  “We are ready for the first burning,” Lame Hans announced, hobbling toward the makeshift infirmary. Following in his wake was the blacksmith, a small grimy man in a leather apron and thick gloves. He carried a branding iron which smoked and glowed red.

  “Make haste, before it cools,” the blacksmith said, his voice gravelly and weak from years spent over smoldering coals.

  By the time I got past the men, it was too late for the smith’s first target. A curdling scream echoed across the courtyard as the man with the knee wound convulsed in the straw and the sickening stench of burned flesh rose into the air. One of the younger girls turned away, holding her forearm across nose and mouth, face as pale as her cap.

  “I shall be back in a flash,” the smith said as he waved the iron now adorned with bits of sizzling skin.

  I stared at the terrible wound of cooked muscle. The bleeding had stopped all right, but the man would be in pain for weeks, not to mention have a hand-sized scar.

  How I hated the Middle Ages right now.

  I anxiously glanced toward the gate. Nothing moved.

  Bero should’ve been back an hour ago. All he was supposed to do was deliver Hans’s note to one of Schwarzburg’s men. Something had gone terribly wrong. I imagined Bero lying dead in the woods or being put in chains by Schwarzburg. What if he’d offer a prisoner exchange to Hans? He’d resume his frenzy and burn down the castle. Case closed.

  “What do you want us to do now?” the girl in front of me said. She seemed scared but determined to help.

  I blinked against the pressure behind my eyeballs. I wanted to curl into a ball and wake up from this nightmare of medieval medicine. “Wash the smaller wounds with the pine water. Have someone help you.” The girl curtsied and went to work.

  The next patient lay very still. His legs and arms looked intact, but I found a cut underneath the man’s armpit, a critical soft spot of all armor. As I peeled away the woolen tunic, the cut continued in a curve and disappeared toward the back. The straw below was a clump of sticky red. I leaned closer. The man’s forehead was clammy with sweat and he wheezed with every breath, bright bubbly blood on his lips.

  The smith had returned with his treatment of choice. I held up an arm and shook my head. “Not this one,” I mumbled. Why make the man suffer, he’d be dead very soon. The iron wouldn’t do any good for what was going on deep underneath.

  “No,” another man whimpered, trying to crawl away from the branding iron. It was a feeble attempt, reminding me of a wounded animal.

  “Hold him,” Lame Hans announced. Two squires and a servant rushed to the patient’s side and sat on his legs.

  “I’ll make it quick,” the smith growled. He seemed to enjoy himself.

  Another scream rang out as the iron melted into the knight’s bicep. I bent low to steady myself, the vertigo from earlier returning. I hadn’t eaten or slept.

  “My Lord, may I inspect the men?” Luanda’s voice cut through the mayhem with authority. Underneath an earth-colored felted wool tunic, her skirts hung in several layers. Her face was even more wrinkled than I remembered, but her raincloud gray eyes looked young and energetic. I jumped to my feet, relief rippling through me like a wave.

  Lame Hans moved toward the old healer with surprising speed. “What is the meaning of your visit?”

  “Your Lordship asked for my help,” Luanda said, all five feet of her standing erect and unafraid, a tiny tanker of strength.

  “Your kind is not wanted at Hanstein.” Hans nodded at one of the guards.

  Luanda’s lips pressed into a line. “As you wish.” With utmost care she picked up her bundle and turned to leave. I opened my mouth, my gaze swiveling between Juliana, Luanda and the guard.

  “Wait!” I shouted. My insides quivered in relief. Juliana was safe. I almost didn’t care about Luanda.

  Except.

  I was convinced Luanda could do a lot of good. And I was in way over my head.

  “I asked for her,” I said, sucking in air and squaring my shoulders. “I can’t do this alone and your butcher, the blacksmith, will make matters worse.”

  Lame Hans frowned and I noticed how the maids and squires
took a step back.

  “Says who?”

  “Says I.” I stepped to face Hans. From the corner of my eye I saw Juliana shake her head. Even Luanda who’d turned back around flashed no with her eyes.

  But I no longer cared. All the fighting, the awful arrest and near execution, my frustrated attempts at going home had pushed me over the edge. To heck with your lordship and his highness.

  “You’re making a mistake. Luanda can help your brother and these men. At least she’ll make them feel better. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “And I thought you were the healer, Max Nerds.” Lame Hans’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Such insolence sends men to the dungeon. You have been vexing me for some time.”

  “I may be an apprentice…” I said, ignoring the dungeon comment. All I could do was to keep standing straight. I fought to formulate a sound argument, but my brain was gooey with fatigue and worry. Lame Hans’s face turned fuzzy.

  I buckled into the straw and passed out.

  “What is wrong?” a voice said. In the far reaches of my brain I knew someone poked me. Hands moved across my chest, lifted my arms and feet, turned me sideways. I felt like a limp doll, unable to fight them off. I wanted to speak, tell them I was fine, but my lips didn’t move. More voices spoke in a distant tongue, a jumble of words impossible to understand.

  Had I returned home? Was that my mother speaking to the doctor? But as hard as I tried to separate the words, my mind refused. Instead I remained suspended in semi-consciousness until I found refuge in the obliviousness of sleep. When at last I woke, I was lying under a wool blanket in the straw of the stalls.

  I was alone. My stomach cramped with hunger, my mouth a dustbin. I sat up and immediately sank back into the straw. The wooden partition vibrated in dizzying circles. Trying again slower, I first rolled to my knees and pulled myself up. Damn, I was starving. It was almost dark inside the barn as I stumbled outside.

  I looked around in confusion. The courtyard was deserted. A bunch of brownish straw was piled to the side and I remembered the bleeding men. Slowly, my memory returned. The injured had been moved.

  What had happened to Werner? The portcullis was still open. Were they fighting again? It was incredibly quiet—like a tomb. I pinched my ears to make sure they worked. Maybe I was still dreaming.

  Then I remembered Luanda and how Lame Hans had scowled at me for inviting her, and at my insolence. Not quite hatred, but not far from it either. My failed attempts of helping Werner. And Bero was missing.

  A terrible ache spread through my middle as if someone had kicked me hard in the stomach. What if my friend was dead?

  The courtyard began to sway, its stone walls quivering in my vision. I couldn’t pass out again. I had to eat and then take my leave. Go back to the inn and try one last time finding my cape.

  Either way, I’d go away quietly. I hobbled the rest of the way and entered the great hall, which made my eyes hurt immediately from the brightness inside.

  Werner’s chair was empty and somehow its vacancy sucked the energy out of the place. Though crowded with people eating and drinking, the atmosphere had changed. Hardly anybody spoke. Most men looked straight ahead without making eye contact.

  Nobody paid attention as I dragged myself to one of the side tables and picked up a piece of bread and a half-empty beaker of ale. The drink cooled my throat and spread below.

  It was tempting to just get drunk and forget. But it didn’t solve a thing and I’d be hung-over on top of everything else. I chewed lethargically, picked up a plum and hunk of roast.

  The roast was mostly inedible from all the spices, but I took a bite anyway. Salt, pepper and saffron exploded, awakening my taste buds, overpowering the meat and grease flavor. I chased it with a piece of bread and took another mouthful of beer.

  My senses returned slowly, but nothing quite prepared me for what happened next.

  “Is that Max Nerds?” a voice said.

  “He is finally awake,” someone else commented. A rumbling went around the great hall as more and more eyes fastened themselves on me. I’d been sitting there, lost in my own sorrow when I felt a slap on my back. I coughed, almost inhaling the bite of roast.

  “Hey, dimwit.”

  I swiveled my head so fast that the room began to spin again. In front of me stood Bero with a wide grin on his face, his eyes shiny with a generous serving of refreshment and his chin slick with grease. No words came out of me because of the lump in my throat. My arms simply opened and I hugged my friend.

  Bero squeezed quickly and stepped back to put some inches between us. “You are a sight to behold,” he giggled, clearing his throat.

  At last I found my voice. “What happened? You took so long. I thought you were dead.”

  Bero looked a bit pale around the temples and I detected a three-inch cut on his forehead. He touched it absentmindedly. “I hit a branch after I delivered the message to one of the soldiers. Had to hide for a while, because Schwarzburg inspected his positions and took forever to withdraw. I squeezed underneath a rock and piled leaves over me.

  “I heard him rant and shout—he was so furious. But the people who had come from Heiligenstadt to help him refused to continue the fight. Seeing their friends and neighbors tied to the roof of the castle was too much.

  “So Schwarzburg gave up. I wasn’t about to run out and show my face. As riled as he was, he would have sliced my head clean off.” Bero chuckled grimly. “I waited, freezing my arse off. I went to sleep for a while and when I woke all was still. I crawled out and the cannons had gone except for a few deep furrows.

  “They even cut down trees to have a clear path to the castle. Anyway, the whole place was deserted. So I walked back to the gate. You on the other hand—”

  A maid tapped Bero on the arm. “Squire Bero, My Lord is asking you to deliver Max to the table.” She hastily curtsied and nodded toward the far end of the hall.

  “Of course,” Bero said and walked off. I just sat dumbfounded. Here it came. They’d throw me out or worse. I’d called for Luanda without asking and then I’d mouthed off to Lame Hans. My memory was a bit fuzzy as I tried to recall the scene. All I thought of was Hans’s enraged stare.

  Bero who’d obviously expected me to follow returned in a hurry.

  “My Lord has asked for you,” he said between his teeth. He yanked at my forearm and led me toward Hans’s chair.

  My body went rigid as I met the dark eyes. They weren’t exactly smiling, but at least he didn’t look mad like before.

  “Max Nerds, how good of you to join us. What happened to our healer?” He smirked. The men and women at the table responded with shouts of merriment. Slowly, the noise traveled to the next table and the next in a cascading wave of cheerfulness.

  I wanted to disappear or throw up or better both. But Hans wasn’t finished. After the chuckles died down, he continued, “Bero has surely told you that the battle with Schwarzburg is over. And for that we thank you kindly.” He bowed.

  I blinked. Hans had bowed to me. Wait, I had to have imagined it.

  “We owe you a great debt for your prowess, even if the healer in you gave out a bit early.” Another chuckle.

  “My Lord, I…what happened to…your brother, the others.”

  Lame Hans winced and threw a glance to his right where Werner’s chair sat empty. “Luanda was kind enough to share her skills. She’s done all she can. My brother is resting. We must be patient. For some it was too late, but overall, our losses are small.”

  “You won’t kick me out?”

  “Kick you where?”

  “From the castle. After I was rude to you.”

  Hans gave a quick smile. “We blamed your state of exhaustion for this unfortunate calamity.” He patted Lady Clara’s hand next to him. “No, we all are in your debt, Max Nerds.” And with that, he began to clap. The table happily followed until the entire great hall erupted in applause.

  I stood dazed. I was safe. And they liked me here. I didn’t
have to run off. I must’ve swayed a bit, because Bero took hold of my arm again. “He will sit with me, My Lord,” he shouted through the ebbing ovation. “He needs food and rest.”

  All evening, knights, swordsmen, ladies, even the servant girls and squires stopped by my spot to thank me and praise my idea.

  I hadn’t failed and even if I hadn’t fought openly like a knight, I at least had prevented the attack from getting worse. Most importantly I’d shown them that I was smart and with that had outwitted Schwarzburg. A broad grin appeared on my face.

  “Doing better?” Bero shouted over the din.

  I nodded. I was trying to go easy on the beer, constantly nibbling on plums, apples and bread until someone placed a mug of stew in front of me. It was hot and spicy, with some kind of dark meat, peas, carrots and parsley. I asked for seconds, slowly feeling human again.

  “Where is Enders?”

  “Got hit in the skull,” Bero said as he attacked another leg of some roasted bird. By the size of it, it was either swan or goose. I was always amazed how much food Bero devoured. Though he’d grown and his shoulders were wide from regular sword practice, he was still thin.

  “Is he…”

  “He will live. Just sleeping a lot. Juliana is taking care of him. Luanda gave her some herbs for the swelling. He has quite the egg on his head,” Bero said. “He’ll have the biggest headache of mankind.” He frowned. “Actually that was me.”

  He was right. Two years ago, I’d carried a limp Bero from his pig stall to Luanda’s cabin, not knowing if he’d live. He’d been smacked so hard, that he had scars all over the back of his head, a permanent reminder of the vicious blows. To this day Bero couldn’t remember that night. I’d been surprised to learn during the trial that Schwarzburg had done it. Only because my money had been on Ott.

  It was totally Schwarzburg’s modus operandi to kill or maim the helpless…like Bero and his pigs…like Bero’s mother.

  I shuddered. I’d completely forgotten about Bero’s mother…and Adela was possibly being raped as I sat gorging myself. New heat rose from my stomach, the guilt about letting Adela go with the priest returning full strength.