Eifelheim (30 page)

XI
NOVEMBER
, 1348
The Kermis

T
HE KRENKEN
were coming into the village.

The announcement struck Dietrich like a blow to the stomach. He steadied himself with a clutch to Eugen’s bridle. They meant to take the village. Given the Krenkish choler, it could be nothing else. But why, after the months of hiding? He looked up at the junker, whose face was as white as the ground. The lad
knew
. “The Herr sent hand-picked men to face them, I hope.”

Eugen swallowed. “They’ve been told. They’ll stand.”

God vouchsafed Dietrich a vision of the coming events. He saw them unfold with awful clarity, as if they had already been accomplished—already
factum est
. Grim ranks of the strange creatures hurl bullets with their
pots de fer
, ignite their thunder-paste. Men are pierced, shattered. Krenken swoop from the air to strike men from above.

Max’s men cry in terror. But they are men who answer fear with blows. The Krenken have their magic weapons, but a broadsword hews them as easily as a man. And once frightened men see that, they fall upon the survivors with a fury more murderous for having been born of fear; hacking and chopping to bits the creatures he had named Hans, and Gschert, and Kratzer.

Whichever way the fight might go, too many would die for the remainder to live. It would be pressed to the last. There would be no men left. Or no Krenken.

But if the Krenken were only beasts that spoke, what did it matter? One slays attacking beasts, and it would end his anxiety.

And yet …

Hans had flown through a rain of arrows and braved Gschert’s dungeon to rescue Dietrich from Burg Falkenstein. Whatever cold Krenkish reason had driven it, it deserved more than a sword in answer. One did not put down a dog that had succored one, however fiercely it now barked.

Dietrich saw the world suddenly through Krenkish eyes—lost, far from home, neighbors to ominous strangers who could contemplate the killing of their lords, an act incomprehensible, even bestial to them.
To Hans, Dietrich was the Beast that Spoke
.

Dietrich gasped and seized Eugen’s snaffle rein. “
Quickly
. Ride to Manfred. Tell him, ‘they are your vassals.’ He will understand. I will meet him at the millstream bridge. Now, go!”

The villagers chattered. Some had heard the lepers mentioned, and Volkmar said they would bring their illness into the village. Oliver cried that he would drive them off alone, if need be. Theresia answered that they must be welcomed and cared for. Hildegarde Müller, who alone among them realized what was coming down the Bear Valley road, stood frozen with a hand across her open mouth.

Dietrich rushed to the church, where he seized a crucifix and an aspergum and hailed the creature Hans on the head harness. “Turn back,” he pleaded. “There is yet time.” He draped a stole around his neck. “What is it you want?”

“Escape from this numbing cold,” the Krenk answered. “The … hearths … in our ship will not burn until we have repaired the … the sinews of fire.”

The Krenken might have spent the summer building snug cottages instead of collecting butterflies and flowers. But such chastisement was in vain. “Max brings a force to turn you back.”

“They will run. Gschert has that sentence in his head. Our weapons and our form will cause them to flee, and so
we will take your hearths for ourselves and not feel this cold.”

Dietrich thought about the gargoyles and monsters that adorned the walls of St. Catherine’s. “You may frighten these men, but they will not run. You will perish.”

“Then, likewise, we will not feel the cold.”

Dietrich was running already down Church Hill, a winter cloak drawn around his shoulders. “There may yet be another way. Tell Gschert to hold a white banner aloft and, when Max confronts you, hold out empty hands. I will meet you at the wooden bridge.”

A
ND SO
it was that the shivering band of two score Krenken—bundled in what hodgepodge of garments they could muster and escorted by Max’s trembling, round-eyed men—approached the lord of the Hochwald. The Herr Gschert, splendid in red sash and trousers, and a yellow vest too thin for the weather, stepped forward and, at Dietrich’s coaching, dropped to one knee with his shivering hands folded before him. Manfred, after the barest hesitation, enclosed those hands in his own, announcing to all who had dared draw near, “This … man … We declare Our vassal, to hold in fief the greater woods and to produce for Us charcoal and powder for the
pots de fer
and to teach the arts of his foreign land to Our men. In return, We grant him and his folk food and shelter, clothing and warmth, and the protection of Our strong, right arm.” And so saying, he drew his longsword and held it before him, pommel-up, to resemble a cross. “This We swear before God and the
familia
of
Hof Hochwald.”
Then Dietrich blessed the assembly and sprinkled them with the goldenhandled aspergum. Those villagers touched by the water crossed themselves, staring wide-eyed at the monsters. Some of the Krenken, noting the gesture, repeated it—to appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Dietrich blessed God for moving the Krenken to thoughtless mimicry.

He pressed the processional crucifix into the hands of
Johann von Sterne. “Lead us slowly to the church,” Dietrich told him, “at a pace, thus.” And all set forth from the bridge and through the village to Church Hill. Dietrich followed the cross and Manfred and Gschert followed him. “May the Lord help us,” Manfred whispered for Dietrich’s ear.

The human heart finds comfort in ceremony. Manfred’s impromptu words, Gschert’s humble gesture, Dietrich’s blessing, the procession and cross tempered the dread in folk’s breasts, so that, for the most part, the Krenken were met by stunned silence and gaping mouths. Men clutched sword hilt or knife handle, or fell to their knees in the snow, but none dared speak against what lord and pastor had so clearly countenanced. A few shrieks pierced the still, cold air, and some clumped awkwardly through the snow in a parody of flight. Doors slammed. Bars fell home.

More would flee were flight easier
, Dietrich thought, and prayed for snow.
Block the roads; choke the pathways; keep this monstrous advent contained in the Hochwald!

When the Krenken caught sight of the “wooden cathedral,” they chittered and pointed and paused to raise
fotografik
devices to capture images of the carvings. The procession bunched up short of the doors.

Someone shouted, “They fear to enter!” Then another cried, “Demons!” Manfred turned with his hand on his sword. “Get them inside, quickly,” he said to Dietrich.

While Dietrich chivvied the Krenken into the church, he told Hans, “When they see a red lamp, they are to genuflect before it. Do you understand? Tell them.”

The strategem worked. The villagers quieted once more when the creatures passed within and made obeisance to the True Presence. Dietrich dared relax, a little.

Hans stood beside him with the cross. “I have explained,” he said over the
mikrofoneh
. “When your overlord-from-the-sky comes again, we may yet be saved. Do you know when this befalls?”

“Neither the day nor the hour.”

“May he come soon,” Hans said. “May he come soon.”

Dietrich, surprised by the evident fervor, could only agree.

W
HEN VILLAGER
and Krenk alike had crowded within the church, Dietrich ascended the pulpit and related all that had transpired since St. Sixtus Day. He described the strangers’ plight in most piteous terms, and had the Krenkish children stand before the congregation with their mothers behind them. Hildegarde Müller and Max Schweitzer bore witness to the injuries and deaths that had afflicted the creatures and described how they had helped place their dead in special crypts aboard their ship. “When I sprinkled them with holy water at the bridge,” Dietrich concluded, “they showed no discomfort. Therefore, they cannot be demons.”

The Hochwalders shifted and glanced at one another. Then Gregor asked, “Are they Turks?”

Dietrich nearly laughed. “No, Gregor. They fare from a farther land than that.”

Joachim thrust his way forward. “No!” he cried for all to hear. “They
are
true demons. A glance alone convinces. Their coming is a great trial for us … and how we answer it may be the saving of our souls!”

Dietrich gripped the pulpit rails and Manfred, who occupied the
sedalia
usually reserved for the celebrant, growled, “I have accepted this Krenkish lord as my vassal. Do
you
gainsay me?”

But if Joachim heard, he gave no heed; rather, he addressed the
familia
. “Remember Job,” he told them, “and how God tested his faith, sending demons to torment him! Remember how God Himself, robed in flesh, suffered all human afflictions—even death! Might He not then afflict demons as he afflicted Job, and even His Son? Dare we bind God with necessity and say that
this
work God cannot do? No! God has willed that these demons suffer the afflictions of the flesh.” His voice dropped. “But why? But why?” This he said as if he pondered aloud, so that the
assembly stilled to hear him. “He does nothing without purpose, hidden though His purpose may be from us. He became flesh to save
us
from sin. He made these demons flesh to save
them
from sin. If angels fall, then demons may rise.
And we are to be the instrument of their salvation!
See how they have suffered at God’s will … And pity them!”

Dietrich, having sucked in his breath, let it out in astonishment. Manfred took his hand from his sword.

“Show these beings what a Christian is,” Joachim continued. “Welcome them into your hearths, for they are cold. Give them bread, for they are hungry. Comfort them, for they are far from home. Thus inspired by our example,
they
will repent and be saved. Remember the Great Plea: Lord, when did we see
You
hungry? When did we see
You
naked? When?
In our neighbor!
And who is our neighbor?
Any who may cross our path!”
Here he stabbed a finger directly at the mass of impassive Krenken standing on the gospel side of the nave. “Imprisoned in flesh, they can wield no demonic powers. Christ is all-powerful. The goodness of Christ is all-powerful. It triumphs over every mean and petty and wicked thing, it triumphs over wickedness as old as Lucifer. Now we may see that
it will triumph over Hell itself!”

The congregation gasped, and even Dietrich felt a shiver run through him. Joachim continued to preach, but Dietrich listened no longer. Instead, he noted the rapt attention of the Hochwalders; heard the clicks of Hans and a few others as they repeated the talking head’s translations. Dietrich was certain of neither the logic nor the orthodoxy of the monk’s words, but their effectiveness he could not deny.

When Joachim had finished—or perhaps only when he had paused—Manfred rose and announced for those who had not been at the bridge that the Krenkish leader was henceforth the Baron Grosswald and would live, together with his
ministeriales
, as a guest in the Hof and that the remaining strangers would be billeted as his council would determine.

This prospect caused much unease—until Klaus stepped forward and, hands on hips, invited the maier of the pilgrims to guest with him. The offer startled Dietrich, but he supposed that, his wife having tended their wounded, he could not appear behindhand in hospitality. After this, some opened their houses, while others muttered, “Better you than me!”

Manfred cautioned the Krenken about their choler. “I understand that your code of honor demands swift, corporal chastisement. Well and good. Other lands, other customs. But you must not handle my people so. The justice is mine alone, and to transgress it is to besmirch my honor. Should any of you transgress the laws and customs of the manor, you must answer in
my
court when it meets in the spring. Otherwise, Baron Grosswald will have the low justice among you according to your uses. Meanwhile, we want heralds to wear such head-harnesses as the Krenken may provide, so that whenever there is need to speak one with another, the nearest herald may translate.”