by J. K. Swift
The beast increased his pace to a bouncing trot and Thomas found himself sliding around on the animal’s back like it had been slathered in olive oil. He berated himself for not having the business sense to keep his saddle. Knowing how ridiculous he must look with his long legs wrapped around the underbelly of his long-eared mule, Thomas was surprised to not be greeted by a stream of laughter from Seraina.
She stood when she saw him approach and paced to and fro until he dismounted and stood before her. When she looked up he saw the trails of recent tears on her cheeks. She said not a word, but walked to Thomas and threw her arms around his neck, put her head on his chest, and let out a deep breath.
“Seraina, what is it? What has happened?” He tried to lean back and turn her head up but she only clung to him all the harder. Her slim frame shook with a few silent sobs and he surrendered, reaching his arms around to hold her close.
He realized he had yearned to be this close to her since that first day she had appeared on his ferry, but now, holding her tight, he experienced a paralyzing sense of dread. He squeezed her gently and was overcome with the scent of wildflowers and warm, dark earth. Finally, he moved his hands to her shoulders and eased her back.
Hesitantly, Seraina told him how Landenberg’s men had beaten and raped Vreni and would have done much worse if Pirmin and Noll had not intervened. By the time she was finished, her voice had risen and a quiet anger flashed in her eyes.
“Why do men talk of honor and god yet feel they can take a woman anytime they wish? Is that something your god teaches?”
“What happened at Sutter’s was the Devil’s doing. Not God’s.”
“You are wrong, Thomas. It was men who raped Vreni. Men with power given to them by other men. Men from foreign lands who treat us like animals, because in their eyes, we are not true people.”
“I do not condone their actions, but Sutter must have done something to incur Landenberg’s wrath.”
“What could he possibly have done to deserve such a punishment? What did Vreni do?”
“They harbored outlaws. Everyone knows Noll is close with Sutter.”
Seraina took a step back. “Noll cannot be blamed for this. The Habsburgs are a festering wound on our people and Noll is but the dressing.”
“I do not understand how you can have such confidence in a common thief.”
Seraina’s tone softened, but her eyes still burned with conviction. “You underestimate him Thomas. I do not know when, or how, but Noll will make all the difference. Our people, your people, will remember his name for centuries.”
Thomas shook his head. “History is the words of conquerors. That boy will conquer no one, but he will make the lives of many short and painful. Just ask Sutter and Vreni if you doubt—”
Seraina slapped him across the face. It was so fast and sudden Thomas doubted for a moment that it really happened. But then the residual heat of her hand registered on the left side of his face, and the skin burned everywhere, except of course, for the chord of scar tissue. It felt as cool as ever.
Seraina’s eyes widened and she stared first at Thomas’s face and then at her own hand. She shook her head and backed further away.
Thomas stepped towards her and reached out.
“Seraina, wait.”
“No,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was wrong to come here.”
She opened her mouth to say more but it caught in her throat. Then she turned, and fled into the trees like a startled deer.
Thomas stood alone. His eyes scoured the dark woods for the slightest hint of someone’s passing. But all he had for company was a stinging handprint on his cheek, and the soft scent of wildflowers dissipating into the cool night air.
And one long-eared mule.
Chapter 24
TO PUT SERAINA from his mind, Thomas threw himself into rebuilding his ferry. He had decided the ferry would take precedence over the cabin, for without the ferry he had no source of income. He would live in a tent all winter if need be.
Thomas was so focused on peeling the charred layer from a log with his double-handled drawknife that he did not hear a man and horse approach. When a voice called out, he jumped, gouging a long divot in the wood.
“You. Peasant. I am searching for a man feared in the lands of Islam. A leader of men and a keeper of the One True Word. Perhaps you know where I might find this man.”
Thomas put the drawknife down and straightened up. He wiped his blackened hands on his breeches, squinted into the sun, and pointed southeast.
“You will find him a thousand miles from here. That way I believe.”
Gissler leapt down from his horse laughing, and the two men embraced. Thomas made a show of not touching Gissler’s clothes with his charcoal-covered hands.
Gissler turned in a full circle and surveyed the burnt-out remains of what had once been Thomas’s cabin and ferry.
“What in God’s name are you playing at here?” Gissler said.
“Nothing that cannot be put off until we are sharing a meal and some drink. Let me wash up. Then, what do you say we ride to the local inn?”
“Only if we spend my coin, Thomas. I have been fortunate and come into a position.”
“So it would seem,” Thomas said, giving a nod to Gissler’s outfit. He wore a thick, burgundy traveling cloak and a white, finely embroidered tunic, which almost completely covered his light chainmail vest. On his head was a sleek cap with a peacock feather stitched into the hatband. Thomas had seen similar caps on well-off merchants and nobles, but he thought it looked ridiculous on Gissler.
“You found your kin then? Well, I look forward to hearing it all.”
Gissler’s eyes blackened for the briefest moment. “Better than that. I am now a member of the Duke’s household.”
This news caught Thomas by surprise. He turned his back on Gissler and ladled water onto his hands from Anid’s trough. Or what used to be his horse’s trough. It now belonged to an ornery mule.
“And which Duke would that be?” he said, rubbing his hands together. Rivulets of water cut trails through the charcoal dust on his forearms and dripped off his elbows in blackened streams.
“Which Duke?” Gissler said, incredulous. “Your Duke. The only Duke this land knows. Duke Leopold of Habsburg.”
“Duke Leopold’s man then? You have indeed done well for yourself, Gissler.” Thomas ladled more water over his arms, scrubbed them once more, and gave them a vigorous shake. “So would you be here in an official capacity?”
Gissler laughed, and the sound set Thomas on edge. Gissler was never a man to be so receptive to humor.
“Yes, and no,” Gissler said. “The Duke has been happy with my service, I suppose, and when I mentioned I knew of a Captain of the Order living in his lands, he suggested I seek out my friend and offer him a position. I thought that rather generous of our lord, would you not agree?”
“I am done with soldiering. I told you that before.”
“I do not talk of guard duty for some noble’s spoiled children. This is the Duke’s household. And not just any Duke, mind you. Leopold is one of the most powerful princes of the entire German Empire.”
He paused and put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “He has the power to grant us knighthood, Thomas, and has promised as much.”
“Knighthood? What use to me is a title? What I really need is some solid timber to rebuild my ferry.”
Gissler’s eyes clouded over and his top lip curled upwards into a snarl. In a way, this relieved Thomas, for it meant the Gissler he knew was once again standing before him.
“Ferry? Are you daft? I offer you a chance at a noble life, something all men dream of, and you would rather sit in the mud cutting wood?”
“You do not need to be a knight to live a noble life. We have both known enough knights to recognize the truth in that.”
Gissler threw up his arms and began pacing. “If you wish to wallow in mud, I will not beg to change your mind.”
Thomas eyed
Gissler. “Is that truly the reason you came to Schwyz? To offer me a position with your Duke?”
Gissler stopped pacing. His lips stretched into a thin smile. “You have an uncanny ability to hear things people do not say. Very well. I also seek an outlaw. Arnold Melchthal. Do you know of him?”
“You are the Duke’s manhunter then? Once a soldier of God, now you chase outlaws for rich men. Is that the glorious position you dangle before me?”
Gissler’s face clouded over with the dark grey of a winter storm. “You dare to mock my path?” Gissler stepped back and held his arms out to the sides. His fine velvet cloak fanned out and floated in the breeze, and the sunlight glistened off his calfskin gloves.
“My lord keeps me in the finest livery and comfort I have ever known. I have my own quarters in the Habsburg castle itself. Servants cook my food and bring it to me whenever I desire. And meat, Thomas. I eat meat every day, on trenchers baked from flour whiter than snow.”
Gissler’s eyes were wild now. He had always been volatile and easy to anger, but Thomas saw something there that made a tremor run up his spine.
“And this is but the beginning. Look at the rags falling off you. What right do you have to say your life is so superior? The Hospitallers whispered half-truths and lies to us as children so they could use us. They lulled us into a dream. They twisted your mind and stole your life, Thomas. They did it to all of us, but I have woken up. And you had best do the same.”
Thomas watched Gissler carefully. His agitation had grown as he spoke, and years of resentment for the Hospitallers, the Church, and perhaps Thomas as well, poured forth from the man like froth from the maw of a rabid wolf.
Thomas shook his head. “You scoff at the Divine Order. God made you a soldier, not one of the ruling class, and He has a reason for everything.”
Gissler laughed, but it was built upon anger.
“I hear nothing but the voices of monks in your words. I should have known you were too far-gone to reason with. Well, I will not waste any more time, for I have a life to live.”
He walked to his horse, a dun mare, grazing nearby. Gissler grabbed her reins and jerked her head up. She whinnied in alarm and danced a few steps as Gissler leapt into the saddle.
“When you change your mind, come to Altdorf and ask for me at the fortress. I will be staying there for a time.”
Thomas looked up at Gissler. “Why is it that everyone always thinks I will change my mind? Am I so fickle in my ways?”
With one last stare at Thomas, Gissler whipped the ends of his reins on his horse’s neck and jammed his heels into her sides. She took off, eager to be away from the source of her master’s ire.
Chapter 25
CURSE THAT man’s self-righteous hide.
Gissler sat with Pirmin, sipping at his first flagon of mead, while the behemoth across from him was already half through his third. Only the lip of the tall, clay mug peeped out of Pirmin’s heavily scarred hand.
Gissler tried to focus on all that spewed from Pirmin’s mouth, but the memory of Thomas’s disproving face kept stealing his thoughts. Thomas was trapped in the past. No longer a captain of the Order, he was nothing now. Worse than nothing—a ferryman! He had no right to press his will on a member of the Duke’s household. All those years being captain of The Wyvern had swollen his self-worth far beyond his station. Gissler had every right to have him tied to a post and lashed.
“What brings such a smile to your lips?” Pirmin’s words cut through his musings. “Have you got a woman to tell me about?”
Gissler looked up from Pirmin’s scarred, misshapen hands to his grinning, chiseled face and twinkling eyes that only the strongest of women could hope to resist. It was a face that had been spared the ravages of war, but there are always roads leading back through a man’s past, if one knows where to look.
It had been an easy matter to find Pirmin. So easy in fact he regretted ever going to Thomas first. He should have known Thomas’s view of himself was too elevated to ever accept a master other than God.
Gissler had found Pirmin in the same worn out inn they had all said farewell in not so many months ago; the same one they sat in now. It was mid-afternoon and the two men were the only customers in the place. Gissler had no doubt that if he were to return in ten years, he would find Pirmin astride the very same bench. Such were the lives of men without ambition.
He had thought it better not to tell Pirmin about his employment in the Duke’s service, opting instead to say he had been traveling throughout Austria and France competing in the tournaments. Pirmin had not doubted him for a moment. The best lies were always the ones harvested from a seed of truth.
“I may have met a woman worth remembering,” Gissler said.
“Ah, well out with it then.”
“It is true the tournaments have more prizes than shields and coin,” Gissler said. “But you will not trap me into moaning over my conquests like some lovesick courtier.”
“Conquests? More than one then, and sounds like a battle more than a tumble with a sweet maiden. Pray, tell the tale, Gissler!”
Gissler declined a few more times, and finally, Pirmin gave up, concluding it was going to take a great deal more drink to loosen the man’s tongue.
“It looks as though the tourneys have indeed been good to you,” Pirmin said, nodding to the velvet cloak draped over a nearby rack. “Would take me two years of cutting Sutter’s wood to get one of those.”
He quaffed the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Maybe three,” he added grinning. “If I keep drinking my wages away.”
“Coin is easy to come by for men like us,” Gissler said. “You could just as easily hire out your ax and make a fortune. But you do not, and I believe I know why.”
Gissler emphasized his words with what he hoped was just the right mix of admiration and jealousy to pique Pirmin’s interest. And it seemed to work, for the hulk’s eyes brightened at Gissler’s words. He leaned forward on his bench and it groaned under his weight.
“And why is that—oh wise man with the fancy cloak?”
“You have a good thing here Pirmin. You are fulfilled.”
Gissler gestured around the room and nodded to the bar where Sutter was stacking wooden mugs and bowls onto a shelf. The door to the kitchen was open and someone was preparing a stew for the evening meal. Savory smoke trailed from the doorway as cubes of mutton sizzled and browned in a pot. The scene was tranquil, and the inn spotless. Amazing really, Gissler thought, considering the mess Landenberg and his men must have made mere days before. But then again, what choice did peasants such as these really have?
“You have built something here. These are good people. What more does a man need?”
“A fine cloak would be a start,” Pirmin said leaning back against the wall. But his eyes had lost their smile. “You are right. A man could do much worse. But truth is I mean to leave Sutter’s inn shortly, and most likely will not be coming back.”
“And why in God’s name would you do that? You just said how happy you were here.”
“Had some trouble a few days back.”
“Woman?”
Pirmin shook his head and looked to his hands. He stroked a crooked finger, which had been broken many times over. It was the thickness of a woman’s wrist.
“Soldier trouble, if you catch my meaning. Staying here puts these people at risk.”
“What have you got yourself mixed up in this time Pirmin?”
“Nothing I regret, that much I know.” His tone was fierce.
Gissler let the silence build, before he broke it. “Well, I find myself with time and coin, both in abundance for now. If you want my help, you need but ask.”
Pirmin looked up and stared at Gissler’s face for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Feigning interest in his drink, Gissler avoided the man’s stare and let his ponderous mind reach its own conclusions. It was critical that Pirmin believe the next thought to be his own
.
Finally, Pirmin spoke.
“I myself need nothing, you understand. But, there are those who need help, and we would welcome a man like you.”
“What scheme do you have cooking Pirmin?” Gissler said.
“There is someone who can answer that better than me, if he will agree to meet you. He is young, but I warn you, do not take him lightly. He is as sharp as a Spaniard’s dagger.”
“He would have to be to have you speak so highly of him. Who is this man?”
“His name is Noll Melchthal. Have you heard the name?”
Gissler pursed his lips and fixed Pirmin with a stony look.
“Never,” he said.
Chapter 26
“THOMAS—WELCOME. We have missed your face around here for some time.”
Sutter was caught off guard by Thomas’s sudden appearance at the inn. “Little early for dinner, but I got some nice mutton stew Mera made yesterday.”
“Thank you. That and some mead would make me a happy man,” Thomas said.
He sat at a table in the corner and watched Sutter drift off to the kitchen. He was a man going through the motions; a gaunt shadow of his usual surly self, always full of energy and quick with his tongue.
He returned with the stew and a tall tankard of mead, and when Thomas held out a coin, Sutter shook his head. He looked at Thomas with the dark, red-rimmed eyes of a man barely holding on.
“Your coin is not welcome here. But you and your friends always will be,” he said, glancing down and leaving words unspoken.
Thomas tried again to pay the man, but Sutter was adamant in his refusal.
Thomas thanked him and after an awkward silence said, “I am sorry Sutter. How are Vreni and Mera?”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. Lots of folk are worse off.”
Thomas nodded, not knowing what to say. He offered up a silent prayer for Sutter and his family, and took a mouthful from the tankard. It tasted of happier times.
“I need to find Pirmin. Know where he might be?”