by Cory Barclay
He gazed around. Cristoff was in his usual position behind the bar, tending to a few patrons, while the bar wenches hovered around tables crowded with the standard variety of rowdy travelers and workers. The night was just getting underway but, judging from the size of the crowd, Dieter figured it would be a profitable night for both Cristoff and his staff.
Rather than order a drink, he marched directly toward Aellin, whom he saw leaning over a table of men in the corner. With her dark hair flowing, and her bosom squeezed together to offer the men a tantalizing view, she was quite a sight. Dieter approached her from behind, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. She immediately swatted it away, turning to glare at whomever had the nerve to touch her without permission.
“Get your hands off me,” she blurted before realizing it was Dieter. He stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.
Her scowl immediately disappeared as she grabbed Dieter and hugged him in a tight embrace. Standing on her tiptoes, she planted a long kiss on his cheek. His face turned almost as red as her lips.
“You’re the only one I’ll allow to interrupt me without getting my boot up your arse, priest,” she whispered in his ear. Then she turned to the men at the table. “These bastards would probably fancy that, in fact,” she added, grabbing Dieter by the hand and playfully pulling him away, sashaying toward an empty table in the opposite corner.
“Hey!” shouted one of the men she’d just left. “Where’re you going, beautiful?”
Aellin smirked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue. “Give me a moment, big boy.” Then she leaned into Dieter. “You can’t be showing up here unannounced like this, priest.”
Dieter didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”
“There’s talk of you rescuing and harboring Protestant fugitives. Is it true?”
Dieter scratched his chin through his beard. “Does it matter?”
Aellin smiled. “I suppose not—the rumors alone are enough to get you in trouble. And me in trouble, too, don’t forget!”
Dieter nodded. “I apologize, Aellin. But I have urgent business.”
Either not hearing him or ignoring him, she stared off in the distance and said, “Even though that bastard did get a good scare today, I reckon.” She looked back at Dieter with a wicked smile.
“Today? What happened?”
“From what I heard, Heinrich was chaperoning some of his lordling cronies around town.” She leaned in closer. “Actually, I helped set up a roadblock of sorts . . .” Suddenly her face contorted, her eyes glistening. “It got violent. We lost two good men.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Aellin waved her hand in front of her face, to make sure no one saw her emotional moment. “What was it you need to talk about?”
“I need a name. To find a man.”
Aellin waited. “Well?”
“Patric Clauson.”
Aellin paused for a moment, then broke into laughter. Leaning in, this time she kissed Dieter full on the mouth. Dieter’s throat went dry and his skin turned hot.
“W-what was that—”
“You are a handsome fool, Dieter Nicolaus. I’ll say that much truthfully—a fool of the best kind.”
The inn was near the tavern. Standing in front, Dieter shook his head. When he’d first heard that name, he should have guessed. That’s why Aellin had laughed. The place was just as he remembered it. He went inside. The old innkeeper stood behind the counter, at his usual spot, watching the hearthfire across the room as it flickered and roared.
Nearly a year ago, Dieter and Sybil had entrusted this man with their young son so they could sneak underneath the tunnels for what he now wished they’d never uncovered.
When he and Sybil eventually returned for their child, Gustav Koehler and his brutes had been waiting for them. A horrible confrontation ensued, outside the very doors of this inn, with many men and women—including Mia, Rowaine’s lover—ending up dead.
It had also been the last night Dieter ever saw his wife.
And standing here now, it seemed like an eternity ago.
Without looking away from the fire, the old man blankly greeted his guest. “Can I help you?”
“Claus,” Dieter muttered under his breath.
Still not catching the familiar voice, the old man chuckled. “Ah, I’m caught. Do your worst, knave,” he joked, finally turning around. The muscles on Claus’ neck tightened, his body went rigid. “It’s you,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“You, Claus . . . are Patric Clauson,” Dieter declared.
The old man ignored the remark. “I haven’t seen you in some time, boy,” he said, “though I figure it’s for the best. I’m truly sorry about your child.”
“Don’t worry over that, Claus. Peter is fine.”
Claus smiled, sharp lines forming down his cheeks. “Good. Would you like some tea?”
Dieter shook his head. “No tea tonight.”
“Where did you hear that name?” Claus finally asked.
“That’s not important, my friend. Though it is yours, is it not?”
Claus hesitated, then slowly he nodded. “When I was fighting for the Spanish. My God-given name, though I’ve long since thrown it away. No one calls me that.”
Dieter could guess why. Patric Clauson, as he was once known, had been in the Spanish army. Georg Sieghart had spoken of him. He’d been Georg’s superior. Dieter figured he must have deserted the army and turned sides, now secretly working with the Protestants.
Why else would Gebhard Truchsess had given me his name?
“It may not be important to you, Herr Nicolaus, but I’d like to know who sent you. Otherwise we have no business speaking to each other, I’m afraid,” the old man said.
Dieter nodded. It was a reasonable request, given the circumstances.
“Gebhard Truchsess gave me your name.”
Claus frowned. “It sounds like the rumors are true. You’re getting far too involved in this whole thing, young man.”
“So I’ve been told.” Dieter sighed. “Can you help me, then?”
“With what?”
Dieter shrugged. “Gebhard is in Bonn. He gave me your name as one of his operatives in Bedburg. He said he couldn’t send help here, but that you would lend me your aid.”
Claus creased his brow, staring hard at Dieter. Dieter recalled watching the old man, back during that terrible confrontation in front of the inn the year before, swinging his firepoker, fighting men half his age. At this moment, Claus’s expression was just as dark and serious as it had been that night.
“How many people are you holding?” he asked Dieter, his voice low.
“Three. A stonemason, his wife, and their son.”
Claus nodded. Scratching at his white stubble, he said, “Follow me, Herr Nicolaus.”
Dieter followed him behind the counter into a small room sparsely furnished with a bed, a nightstand, a rug, and three candles. Dieter guessed this was Claus’ sleeping quarters. The old man moved the nightstand off the rug, bent down and, holding the corner of the rug, folded it back to reveal a small latch in the floorboards.
“A secret passage?”
Claus nodded.
“To where?”
Claus’ knees creaked as he stood back up. “Everywhere in the city, my boy. The underground tunnels of Bedburg. Plenty of room to hide folks, if you know where you’re going.”
Dieter was shocked. He remembered the underground passage beneath the jailhouse, but it had dead-ended under Castle Bedburg where they’d found Odela. Now thinking back, he recalled other smaller pathways snaking out from that main one.
“It covers the full breadth of the city?” Dieter asked.
“Nearly,” Claus said. “If you’re looking for somewhere to store people, until you figure out where to put them permanently, you may use this passage.”
“But . . . what about you? If anyone sees us using this trapdoor, they’ll know you were part of the conspiracy. You could be tried for tre
ason.”
Claus shrugged. “It doesn’t worry me. I’ve lived this long without dying. I can hopefully make it a few more years.” He smiled. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?”
Dieter felt like hugging and kissing the kind old man. “Thank you, Claus. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Claus nodded. “I think I do. I was your age once, trying to do good in the world. Not much has changed, eh?”
Dieter put a hand on Claus’ bony shoulder. “The tyrants still rule the world and wish to bend us to their will. But perhaps this will help our cause.” He smiled. “They can’t destroy us if they can’t find us.”
“I should hope you are right,” Claus said. He rummaged through a drawer in the nightstand, then handed Dieter a folded map. “Here. You won’t get far down there without this. Take it and be on your way.”
Just to be safe, Dieter decided to leave the city through the south gate this time, rather than the eastern one he’d used earlier. And figuring that walking would draw less attention at this time of night than riding out, he led his horse by its reins, hurrying quietly through the dark streets of Bedburg, keeping to the shadows, his hood over his head.
When he got to the poor district of town, he saw a small group huddled around something, sobbing and hugging one another. Then he noticed the two bodies laying inside their circle, covered in white sheets, and realized the group was praying. With a pang of guilt, Dieter was glad he wasn’t wearing his priest’s garb, so the mourners wouldn’t stop him for a prayer. That was the easiest way for him to be discovered. He thought back to his former days, back when he would have stopped whether the people asked him to or not, and whether wearing priest garb or not. Back then, his mission had been to offer aid of a different kind to the people of Bedburg. Now, however, he had to pick his battles. And the one he’d picked at the moment—protecting his son, his friends, and the stonemason and his family—had to be his priority.
So when he passed the mourners, he simply crossed himself and continued on.
A few streets further, he heard a flurry of hoofbeats in the distance, which was odd at this hour of the night. Quickly, he veered off the road and hid in an alley, turning away as the horsemen neared. Once they’d passed, he looked up and caught a glimpse of them in profile as they turned the corner, their faces briefly illuminated by the moonlight.
And he gasped.
He recognized one of them, the one leading the pack.
It was Ulrich, the infamous torturer of Bedburg.
And they were riding toward the southern gate, the place he’d been heading.
And while that gate opened into the general countryside, from which they could go literally anywhere, something in Dieter’s gut told him he knew their destination.
His heart began to race. He quickly mounted his horse. It no longer mattered whether he was recognized; all that mattered now was getting there before they did.
He galloped back to the eastern gate, then blazed straight through it.
Other than some shouts from the guards, no one tried to stop him. Once in the countryside, he dug his heels deep into his horse, gritted his teeth, and raced for a shortcut he knew to the Griswold estate. When he reached the top of the hill overlooking the house, he stopped and scanned the area.
And saw his worst fear.
Clouds of dirt billowed in the air from hooves approaching from the distance. Ulrich’s group was definitely heading straight for the Griswold estate from the other direction. Dieter tightened his grip on the reins, whistled to his horse, and flew down the hill. When he reached the house, Jerome Penderwick was standing at the door, his beady little face alert and alarmed.
“Rally the group!” Dieter shouted, jumping from his steed. He waved his hand in the air, “We have pursuers! Hurry!”
Jerome yelped as he ran back into the house. Within seconds the quiet estate was bustling with activity: Martin roused the stonemason and his family. Ava grabbed Peter in her arms. There was no time for packing. Within minutes they were out the backdoor, fleeing toward Bedburg—Martin and Ava with Peter on one horse; Jerome, William, Wilhem, and Mary on foot; Dieter on his horse guarding the rear.
“Head for the woods!” Dieter shouted to them all.
William Edmond called back to him. “What’s going on, priest?”
“Bedburg’s jailer and his men are coming. We only have a few minutes’ advantage. If we can make it to the woods, we might be safe.”
William growled, “Make sure my family is safe, priest. All I wish is for Wilhelm and Mary to be safe.”
Dieter nodded, his mind grasping for a plan. “Our best chance will be to split up,” he said.
When they’d reached the edge of the woods, he looked back over his shoulder and saw Ulrich’s group arriving at the house in a cloud of dust. It would take only a few moments for their pursuers to realize they’d escaped. And the woods would be the first place they’d look.
He sighed and dismounted. It was time to take action. Everything up to this moment, since he’d decided to help the Protestants, had led him to this.
Dieter held out his reins. “Take my horse,” Dieter told him.
“What are you doing?” William asked, his voice in a panic. Hesitantly he took the halter. “And my wife and son?”
“I will personally lead them to safety, I promise you.” He eyed the rest of his group. “Take Jerome with you,” he told William. “Just follow Ava and Martin’s horse to Bedburg. Then split up and go in through different entrances.”
He reached into his tunic and produced the map Claus had given him. Handing it to Martin, he asked, “Do you know Claus’ inn?”
“Of course,” Martin replied, wheeling his horse around and snatching the map.
“Go there and tell him I sent you. There are tunnels beneath Bedburg and that is a map for them. Claus will help you.”
Dieter turned to Ava. “Give me Peter,” he said gently.
Ava hugged the child tightly, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“I promise I will protect him. He is my son. Just do as I say. You both must ride without distraction. There is no time to argue!”
Ava sniffled. “Dieter . . .” she trailed off, hesitating before handing young Peter to him.
Cradling the boy softly against his chest, Dieter looked to William and Jerome standing by his horse, and Ava and Martin mounted on the other. “When you get to the tunnels, if you haven’t split up already, do so then. Go different directions.”
Turning to William and Jerome, he added, “There’s a ladder beneath the jailhouse that lets out near the back of the building. Do you understand? Find the jailhouse on the map, follow the tunnels to it, then exit there.”
William nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Turning to Martin and Ava, he said, “And you two must exit the tunnel beneath Castle Bedburg. No one will think to look there for you, under their noses. Then the three of you will meet up at William’s abandoned house near Cristoff’s inn. All right, everyone?”
Everyone nodded.
“You all know your parts?” he repeated, his heart pounding.
“What will you do with my son and wife?” William asked.
“I will lead them away from here, to safety. It’s what you want, yes? When I find you, I’ll let you know where they are.”
William pecked Mary on the lips, then grabbed his son’s strong shoulder, his face a mask of conflict—fear, sadness, anger. He turned to Dieter. “Thank you,” was all he could whisper, then he mounted the horse and helped Jerome up behind him.
Immediately Dieter herded Wilhelm and Mary toward the woods, while Martin and Ava trotted off toward Bedburg, followed by William and Jerome a few horse lengths behind.
It took Dieter a long while to find the boat. They were now deep in the woods. Not knowing his way, especially in the darkness, he’d finally recognized the peculiar curve in the river, then the large tree under which he’d hidden the canoe.
He could no longer
hear the hoofbeats from the rest of his group—William and Jerome on Dieter’s horse, Martin and Ava on the other. The only sounds now were some far-off crickets and the occasional rustling of a small animal or rodent. Dieter only hoped that such relative quiet meant that he and Wilhelm and Mary were out of danger.
“Come with us,” Mary said, while her son helped her get into the boat.
Dieter shook his head. He looked down at his son’s beautiful face. “I have my boy to take care of. But I promise I will not abandon your husband or my friends.”
“Where will we go?” Wilhelm asked, pushing the boat into the water while his mother held onto the sides for balance.
Dieter had been planning that for a long while—even before he’d readied the canoe by the river.
“You’re going to row north then east. The Erft eventually collides with the Rhine near Düsseldorf. You should be able to find safe passage from a larger boat there. Then you must travel the Rhine to the Waal River. That will take you to Amsterdam.”
Mary looked frightened, but her son, though just sixteen, looked determined. “How long will that take us?”
Dieter shrugged. “All the way to Amsterdam? You have few supplies, so you’ll need to stop frequently. But you shouldn’t have to fear being chased, not along the river. I would guess several weeks, Wilhelm. Can you do that?”
Wilhelm nodded assuredly, smiling at his mother. “Absolutely.”
“There’s somewhere beyond Amsterdam that I’d like to send you—somewhere you’ll be safe,” Dieter said. “Acquire passage to Norfolk, in the East Anglia region of England. When you get there, ask the people at the docks where Reeve Clarence Bailey’s shire is. You’ll find refuge there and can start your lives anew. That’s where I will send your husband.”
“What’s in Norfolk?” Wilhelm asked.
Dieter clenched his jaw. “It was my wife’s dream to take root there—to start a new life. Her name was Sybil Nicolaus.”
“I didn’t know you’d been married . . .” Mary started to say.
A rustling in the bushes startled them. Definitely not a rodent. Dieter spun around, gripping Peter tightly. Wilhelm grabbed one of the oars and took a position in front of his mother in the canoe.