The Black Knight’s Captive

by Markland, Anna

  War

  In an effort to be home in time for Yuletide, Caedmon and Aidan departed the day after the wedding. Unable to stem the tears, Blythe clung to them for a long while before they mounted, keenly aware she might never see them again. Aidan could not speak. Caedmon clasped Dieter’s hand. “I’m leaving my daughter here because I trust you to take good care of her.”

  After they left, the reality of how far away she was from family began to sink in. She grew lethargic and weepy, grateful for Dieter’s seemingly endless patience as he consoled her.

  “You’ve given up everything to be with me,” he told her. “And I love you all the more for it.”

  Her turn to offer solace came when Dieter’s father and the nursemaid returned to Wolfenberg, taking Johann. It was heart-wrenching to see him go, but would be safer there. All of Köln acknowledged the problems of the empire’s domination remained unresolved. A confrontation still loomed between Dieter’s overlord and Emperor Heinrich who was reportedly amassing an army to crush Duke Lothair.

  The newly-weds celebrated Yuletide alone, completely immersed in their new found delight in each other’s bodies. They celebrated the pagan tradition of burning the Yule log, lying naked before the hearth. He sang the ballad of Parsifal he had been singing at the lake when she’d stumbled upon him naked. They shared the humor of the memory.

  For Yuletide dinner they dined on traditional roasted goose and Humble Pie made from the heart, liver and brains of a deer. Blythe taught the cook how to make mincemeat tarts. The servants entertained them with a trope, chanting in dialogue the story of the nativity and the Holy Family. Dieter offered a toast of thanks to all his servants, wishing them health and happiness for the coming year. They returned the wishes.

  * * *

  Throughout the month of January in the year of our Lord One Thousand One Hundred and Fifteen, Dieter spent most of his time organizing and training soldiers to fight against the imperial army.

  Blythe missed him keenly, but understood he had to fulfill his duty. The emperor had made political moves to bring Lothair to heel, but the Saxon duke continued to intrigue against him, and her husband was the undisputed leader of the opposing forces in Köln. It was widely acknowledged Lothair’s eventual goal was the imperial crown.

  Emboldened by their success at Andernach, the rebel forces decided to mount an all-out frontal attack. Blythe found the constant talk of war and intrigue very unsettling, especially when Dieter told her the imperial army was well to the east of Köln, and his men would likely have to travel several days to join forces with Duke Lothair.

  At the end of the month, confirmation came they would ride to Mansfeld, a four-day journey. Dieter spent hours preparing his armor and weapons. Blythe was proud of his prowess as a warrior and his reputation as a hero, but fearful of what might happen to him. Their life together had just begun. The day he left, bundled in his huge wolfskin coat to keep out the chill, she clung to him. Tearful servants gathered to see him off.

  “Don’t worry, Blythe,” he whispered in her ear. “This is something I have to do. I’ll return safely. Nothing can keep me away from you for long.”

  “We’ll be waiting for you,” she murmured, holding back tears.

  He held her away from him. “We?”

  She nodded. “Your son and I.”

  He hugged her ferociously and buried his face in her neck. “You’re with child? You didn’t tell me.”

  “I wasn’t sure—but now I think it is so. I didn’t want to distract you from your mission.”

  He placed his hands on her belly. “You’ll never be a distraction. You’re my life, but life will be better for all Saxons, including this little one, once we get rid of Heinrich.”

  “Auf Weidersehen, my love,” she said through her tears.

  “Auf Weidersehen, Blythe. Take good care of my babe until I return.”

  He kissed her deeply, mounted his gelding and rode out to join his assembled forces.

  Sick at heart, she fell to her knees and wept.

  * * *

  The rebel army rode through the village of Brilon situated high in the hills on the upper reaches of the river Möhne. The town lay between the Arnsberg Forest to the west and Lake Diemel to the south-east.

  From there they went on to the hill town of Warburg where they stayed in the Old Town in the Diemel Valley. Nordhausen at the southern edge of the rugged Harz Mountains was their next camp, where they went to Mass at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. On his knees, Dieter prayed for the success of their campaign and for his wife and unborn child at home. He had called Köln home for some time. He loved the city and his house there, but intended eventually to take his family back to his own estates in Wolfenberg.

  At last, they passed south east of the River Harz, through Sangerhausen and on to Mansfeld, where Lothair waited.

  Five days later, the imperial forces, under the command of Hoyer of Mansfeld, gathered at Welfesholz to await the united Saxon troops led by Duke Lothair. The armies clashed in a bloody battle that lasted several days. Dieter fought like a man possessed, his one thought to survive the mayhem. He witnessed gruesome barbarism and selfless heroism. Severed body parts littered the field made slippery with rivers of blood. He could not hold on to the contents of his belly when the whoosh of a battle-axe lopped off the head of the knight riding next to him.

  The outcome was uncertain, both sides evenly matched. However, the duke’s forces gradually gained the upper hand. The conflict ended in the decimation of the imperial army and Hoyer’s death. Heinrich took flight. Duke Lothair had broken imperial power in Saxony. He was now the most powerful Saxon noble and the wealthiest prince in all of northern Germany.

  Dieter and his men were exhausted. He took charge of finding and burying the bodies of fallen comrades. Amputation was the only option for many of the badly wounded. Piteous moans drifted across the camp and the stench of death filled the air. Dieter was sickened by it and longed to return home. He resolved to be done with war now that Lothair had been victorious. He would go home to Wolfenberg with Blythe and take care of the lands the duke had granted him to rule over as Graf.

  By the end of February he was free to return to Köln. He had sent messengers ahead and, as he rode into the courtyard, Blythe hurried out to meet him. The dogs ran around like wild things. His heart and his rute soared at the sight of his wife. He was bone weary, but confident his beautiful and passionate Blythe would soon restore his energy.

  Aftermath

  Blythe was overjoyed to have Dieter home. She’d fretted about his safety, and worn herself out wondering what would become of her and their unborn babe if he died on the battlefield.

  Her German was improving but she wasn’t yet fluent. The servants didn’t fault her for it. Indeed, they did their best to help her learn. However, she felt isolated, with no one to confide in. The dogs seemed to sense her need for companionship and rarely left her side.

  A host of neighbors welcomed Dieter back, loudly congratulating him on again playing an important role in the liberation of Saxony.

  Blythe’s heart swelled with justifiable pride; relief surged—the reason for her existence had returned safely. She’d been going through the motions of living; the love in his eyes and the strength of his fierce embrace renewed her.

  Neither spoke as they clung to each other amid the cheering throng.

  When they entered the house, the always stoic Anna embraced him tearfully; Bernhardt swallowed the lump in his throat as he shook his master’s hand. Interestingly, the silent dogs stood patiently, tails wagging as they waited their turn for Dieter’s attention.

  For weeks afterwards, he was hailed as a hero wherever they went, but she sensed a malaise in him, a reluctance to speak about the battle.

  Their lovemaking was as fulfilling and euphoric as ever. They invented new and exciting ways to please each other. Out of the bedroom, he was morose and moody. He’d always had a hearty appetite, but rarely finished a meal, even when his fa
vorite dishes were served.

  She worried when nightmares disturbed his sleep, unsure if she should tell him he’d cried out. One night, after a loud outburst, he sat up in bed, hugging the pillow. She put her arm around him, alarmed to discover he was sweating and shivering at the same time.

  “Are you ill, my love?” she asked, draping his bed-robe around his shoulders.

  “Nein,” he replied, watching her light the candles. “Just a bad dream.”

  She took a chance. “The battle?”

  He gathered her into his arms. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You can tell me about it,” she coaxed.

  “It’s nothing.”

  She shifted their positions and put her arms around him. “I’ve told you some of my parents’ story, but you don’t know what happened when my father first learned he was the illegitimate son of a Norman earl.”

  “You’re tired,” he replied wearily. “Don’t worry. The dreams will stop.”

  She sifted her fingertips through his hair, hoping her next words would convince him to trust her. “My father’s lifelong hatred of Normans took control of his wits. He was so filled with anger, he lashed out at everyone, then went off on the First Crusade.”

  “I knew he was a Crusader, but I didn’t know how that came about.”

  “It took months of hardship and danger to convince him what he should have done was try to resolve his anger with my mother’s help.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s true I witnessed some horrific things during the battle, but they’re not for a woman’s ears. The memories will fade.”

  She suspected he deemed it unmanly to talk about the atrocities he’d seen. “Tell me,” she whispered. “They will fade more quickly if you share them.”

  * * *

  Men dealt with the horrors of war. That was the warrior’s mantra. Dieter was exhausted trying to forget the suffering he’d witnessed during and in the aftermath of the battle, but he kept reliving Welfesholz over and over. Andernach had not affected him as deeply, though he wondered now if he’d suppressed the horrors of that battle, knowing there was more to come in the fight against Heinrich.

  The vivid nightmares were worsening. Sometimes, he was the knight whose head was lopped off, not the man riding next to him, though he’d heard the whoosh of the axe and half expected to see his own severed head lying in the mud.

  He was aware his torment was affecting his wife and the members of his household, but admitting his inability to forget would be considered unmanly.

  Blythe kissed the top of his head. “I am your wife. That means we share everything, Dieter. The good and the bad. Tell me. I want my happy husband back.”

  Her words sent a chill racing up his spine. His behavior had been worse than he thought. He’d shut Blythe out, judging himself capable of cleansing his soul. Yet, he lay in the loving arms of his soul-mate, his head nestled atop breasts that were showing signs of preparing for the babe she carried. He’d rather die than risk losing his wife and child.

  He put his hand on her swelling belly and began to describe the death and destruction he’d seen, haltingly at first, then in a torrent of words that spilled from deep within.

  Through it all—the blood, the gore, the unbearable screams of pain, the terror—she stroked his hair, kissed the top of his head or meshed her fingers with his.

  He might have known she’d sense when the enormity of it brought him to the verge of tears.

  “Let it go, my Black Knight,” she whispered.

  “A man cannot cry,” he rasped.

  “A man incapable of tears is not a man,” she countered.

  He opened the floodgates and wept until his throat was raw and his head was pounding, then tumbled at last into a peaceful sleep.

  * * *

  Blythe accepted it would take months for her husband’s soul to heal but, in giving vent to his emotions, he’d trusted her, and for that she loved him even more.

  As Dieter lay sleeping peacefully in her arms, she gave thanks for the wisdom imparted by her parents. They had undergone many hardships and learned to overcome adversity. They’d talked a lot about trust in a marriage, but only now did she truly understand.

  War was always brutal. Her father had come close to dying on the bloody field at Alnwick, but he’d never revealed the horrors he too must have witnessed. She recognized that the atrocities Dieter had described would haunt her, but that was a wife’s role—she was willing to share the burden.

  Wolfenberg

  Two months after the battle of Welfesholz, Dieter’s night terrors had all but ceased. He recognized the debt he owed to his wife in helping him vanquish the ghosts. He’d wept in her arms more than once since the first night he’d confided his experiences. It was nothing less than a miracle he’d married a woman who loved him more for yielding to what most perceived as a weakness in a man.

  Strangely, he felt stronger for having sobbed like a child.

  But he was restless. Free of the emperor’s domination, the citizens of Köln no longer needed him. His family and estates in Wolfenberg beckoned. He wanted his babe born there, far from the turmoil he’d experienced. He’d neglected his responsibilities for too long and his wife deserved to take up her role as his countess.

  “I’ve begun preparations to move back to Wolfenberg,” he told her one evening.

  The joy that blossomed on her beloved face assured him he’d make the right decision. “Are you pleased?”

  She grinned. “Köln is a magnificent town, but I grew up in the country. My father’s estates are both near small villages, far from Westminster. I would be happy anywhere with you by my side, and you miss Wolfenberg.”

  This woman always knew what was in his heart. “You will love it,” he promised. “It’s not an ideal time for you to travel, but…”

  “I’d like our child to be born there,” she insisted. “You’ll be with me on the journey, so I’ll appreciate every minute of it.”

  * * *

  It took three days to travel to Wolfenberg. Apart from waking with a queasy feeling each morning, Blythe weathered the journey better than she expected.

  Dieter had no trouble recruiting twenty men to serve as an armed escort. He approached the burghers of Köln, who quickly acceded to his request for a large canvas pavilion in which they camped.

  On their last night on the road, she laughingly confided she would miss making love in the tent. He countered by assuring her he would erect the pavilion on the grounds of his estate so they might use it whenever they wished.

  The dogs relished trotting alongside the convoy, though Schnell tired of the exercise quickly and obviously preferred lying at Dieter’s feet in the comfortable carriage. Each night, the hounds slept outside the entrance to the pavilion as if aware of their responsibility to guard its occupants.

  The servants from Wolfenberg who’d accompanied Dieter to Köln were anxious to return home. The cook’s ability to conjure tasty meals en route was a testament to the woman’s skill. Anna fussed over Blythe at every opportunity. Each morning, Bernhardt shaved his master and provided a clean shirt and polished boots.

  The worst part for Blythe was the sweltering summer heat, which reminded her of the torment of wearing heavy English wool while in Matilda’s service. Again, the resourceful Bernhardt worked a miracle by conjuring warm water for bathing in the pavilion.

  “I feel at home here in Saxony,” she told Dieter as they travelled past miles and miles of thick forests and lush meadows.

  The pleasant landscape did little to calm the winged creatures fluttering in her belly at the prospect of arriving among people who might not welcome a foreigner as their countess.

  * * *

  The tension drained from Dieter’s body as they neared Wolfenberg.

  He was confident his people would welcome them home warmly, but he’d sent a message to his father, just to make sure.

  He needn’t have worried. Waving crowds lined the laneways long before they reach
ed the manor house. So many had gathered in the village, Dieter was obliged to call a halt, heartened by loud cheers when he emerged from the carriage.

  Standing at the base of the market cross, he called for their attention. “People of Wolfenberg,” he began. “I thank you for your warm welcome. It’s good to be home in a Saxony free of imperial tyranny.”

  There was more cheering, and shouts proclaiming their pride in his heroic deeds. It appeared news of his exploits in battle had traveled fast.

  He strode back to the carriage and lifted Blythe down from inside.

  Frowning, she put her hands on his shoulders.

  “Smile,” he said. “They will love you.”

  A hush fell as he escorted her to the cross. A murmur began as she mounted the step. He held up his hand. “May I present my beautiful wife, Lady Blythe, your countess.”

  Deafening cheers brought a broad smile to Blythe’s face.

  Dieter’s heart swelled when she acknowledged their welcome in a few words of halting German. A moment of curious silence greeted her remarks, then applause and nods of approval. If they didn’t already know, they would learn soon enough of her origins and of how they had met, but this wasn’t the time. “Now, we must journey on. I am anxious to reunite with Johann.”

  The respectful crowd fell back to create an opening to the carriage.

  “Thank you,” his wife said when the conveyance lurched forward.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My people also suffered from Fredericka’s madness. One look at you and the slight swell of your belly assured them the future will be brighter. They are relieved to finally meet you.”