Iny Lorentz - The Marie Series 02 (6 page)

Some of the knights withstood the fire and reached the wagon fort, but the lightly armored Bohemians easily dodged their lances and pointed their cannons at the attackers as well as the fleeing men. Seeing the thinning ranks of knights, large numbers of Hussites jumped off their wagons and stormed toward the imperial men, bellowing loudly. Morning stars flew through the air, smashing armor and horses, and knights were yanked off their horses by hooked pikes, then immediately surrounded by three or four Hussites and swiftly dispatched. Panic broke out as everyone realized that this mindless onslaught would end in a bloodbath, and the imperial men fled without concern for anyone else. All of a sudden, the kaiser, with only a few bodyguards left, was faced with a group of Bohemians running toward him shouting, “Zygmunt! Zygmunt!” as they called more Hussites to come.

Michel yelled, “Attack!” and started to run without turning to see whether his men were still following. As he encountered the first enemies, trying to breach the wall of triumphantly howling Bohemians with angry thrusts of his sword, he heard the hoarse shouts of his men behind him and the sharp sound of metal meeting metal. This unexpectedly disciplined attack surprised the Hussites, who had already believed their enemy beaten, and made them draw back. The men who had just dragged the kaiser off his horse and were about to beat him let go of their victim and scrambled back to their comrades. Michel fended off a spear in midair, pulled Sigismund to his feet, and dragged him along despite his bulky armor.

One Bohemian, not wanting to miss the opportunity to kill their ousted king, jumped out from behind a bush and attacked them from behind. Michel didn’t see the raised morning star until the very last second. Pushing the kaiser over a ledge into his men’s arms, he turned around and struck with all his might. The morning star scraped across his back, ripping open his leather doublet and piercing a few links of his hauberk without more than a scratch, while the Hussite rolled down the slope without a head.

Michel didn’t have any time to inspect his injury, as he could see the Bohemians gathering to combine forces against this unexpected contingent of foot soldiers, and so he ordered his men to form a cordon around the kaiser. He also shouted to the remaining knights on the hillside to close ranks and join his foot soldiers.

“If you try to flee on your own, the Hussites will easily catch you! This way we can let them run into a wall of lances and pikes.” Much to his surprise, the men listened. Urs Sprüngli led over his Appenzellers and other foot soldiers and helped to build a wall of bodies around the kaiser, receding into the valley step by step and keeping the Hussites at bay with lances and pikes. The knights and soldiers who had fallen back from the hill had reassembled in a huddle near the burning village and were now attacking the Hussites from the side, thereby relieving the men around the kaiser.

Down in the valley, the Hussite attack lost momentum, and Michel succeeded in uniting foot soldiers and knights into an armored column, retreating like a porcupine with hundreds of quills and thousands of feet. Just when the men thought it was over, they heard a piercing cry from a woman by the wagon train; then loud screams and the clanking of weapons filled the air. A group of Hussites had attacked the wagons, trying to set them on fire, and already the first clouds of smoke were rising. Michel ordered the men to march faster. As the looters noticed the approaching soldiers, they quickly disappeared into the bushes, and their comrades gave up their pursuit of the imperial soldiers. German scouts reported that the Hussites were regrouping at the destroyed village.

Realizing that they wouldn’t have much time to catch their breath, Michel walked toward the kaiser. Horror and mortal fear were still written on Sigismund’s face, and his hand trembled as he gestured for Michel to speak. “Your Majesty, we also need to arrange our carts in a wagon fort to better defend ourselves. I am certain the Hussites will attack again.”

Sigismund nodded absentmindedly. “Do that, Adler.”

As Michel gave the order and they started to push the wagons together, he saw the kaiser’s frozen shape come back to life, bracing himself against one of the wagons to push the heavy vehicle into position. The other noble lords followed his example and, together with the surviving servants and camp prostitutes, grabbed the wheel spokes and dragged them through the thick mud. In no time they had formed an elongated rectangle that offered some protection from the enemy arrows raining down on them from the safety of the forest.

Even under cover of the rapidly falling darkness, the Hussites didn’t risk an open attack, but settled for occasionally blasting their cannons and firing off a volley of arrows at anything that moved in the faint glow of fires in the imperial wagon fort. All the while they shrieked and howled like a horde of hellish demons. Most of the missiles landed harmlessly in the branches of the mighty beech forest, but the noise, paired with the moaning of their wounded, weakened the fighting spirit of the kaiser’s remaining army.

Of the more than two thousand knights and foot soldiers who had started out, Michel estimated that fewer than half were now gathered here. The rest were dead, and those few who might have escaped into the forest would sooner or later be found by the enemy. Michel was skeptical that the exhausted soldiers could stand up to the inevitable Hussite attack. They’d be able to fill some of the gaps in their ranks by arming servants and wagon drivers, but their value in battle was more than doubtful. One could only hope that fear of death would guide their arms.

Deep in thought, he watched the prostitutes caring for the injured and trying to bolster the soldiers’ confidence. The women knew what awaited them if the imperial army was beaten, and in their fear they promised copious sacrifices to the Virgin Mary and their patron saint, Mary Magdalene, if they made it out alive and relatively unscathed.

Sometime after midnight, the noise was replaced by an eerie silence. Even the normal sounds of the forest quieted, and not a single star was to be seen in the sky, making it impossible to tell the hour. Indeed, it was as if fate itself held its breath. Then, as Michel had expected, the Hussites attacked just before dawn when the darkness had turned to a shadowy gray. If they had hoped to find a
half-asleep
, demoralized enemy, however, they were sorely disappointed because they were now experiencing the efficiency of a
well-defended
wagon fort for themselves.

Every single person—from Sigismund down to the youngest wagon train worker—was aware that they were fighting for their lives, and so they fought with a courage born of desperation. Not far from him, Michel saw the kaiser crossing swords, and right next to him Falko von Hettenheim’s heavy blows, like Michel’s, saved many of the poorly armed servants from certain death. To Michel’s left, Timo fought like a living wall, each of his movements swift and precise. He even grinned from time to time. It reminded Michel of when he was a fresh recruit of the palatine army and Timo the sergeant had taught him all the basics of warfare.

For four hours, the Bohemians attacked the imperial wagon fort without managing to break through; then bugles sounded for the fighters to retreat. The standard bearers waved their goose flags one more time as a symbol for Jan Hus, since the Czech word for goose was
husa
. Then it was all over. The Bohemians slipped away like shadows in the lingering morning fog that covered the long valley like a shroud, leaving behind only their cold and stiff dead scattered around the wagon fort.

Michel lowered his sword, which felt like lead in his cramped hand, and looked around in astonishment. Like many others, he couldn’t believe the conflict was over, and he thought their enemy’s retreat was a feint. But time passed without another Hussite attack. The burgrave of Nuremberg had a group of spirited lads follow the enemy’s very obvious tracks, and they returned with the news that the Bohemians had broken up their wagon fort and were heading east. One of the knights suggested following the enemies and attacking them on the march, but the men were simply glad to have survived this battle. None of them had the strength or the courage to pursue the retreating enemies and get within reach of their cannons.

About to take stock of his men and care for the wounded, Michel was called to the kaiser. Sigismund didn’t say a word but just flung his arms around Michel’s neck, hugging him like a brother. For a moment it even looked as if the kaiser might start crying. Catching himself, he lightly pushed Michel away and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You saved my life and my army today. Without you, the Bohemian heretics would have celebrated the murder of their own king, and they would have slaughtered my brave knights and faithful foot soldiers like cattle. Kneel, Michel Adler.”

Michel obeyed with confusion and saw the kaiser lifting his bloodstained sword and placing it on Michel’s shoulders and head.

“Rise, Knight of the Reich Michel Adler. Later, when the enemy is beaten, I will give you a fiefdom and a proper name.”

Michel stared at the kaiser, unable to grasp what had just happened.

Seething with rage, Falko von Hettenheim had watched the whole scene. Now this innkeeper’s brat was no longer a simple castellan, whose feudal lord might have one day knighted him out of gratitude for his long years of service, hardly elevating him in rank. Instead, Michel was now an appointed knight of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, with a seat and a vote in the Imperial Diet in Regensburg. That placed this nobody above Falko—the descendant of eight noble lords, whose family tree wasn’t marred by any untitled names.

Not until late at night, when they were absolutely certain the Hussites wouldn’t attack again, did Michel allow himself to process the kaiser’s words. He was now no longer a liege man of the count palatine, but as high in rank as Heribald von Seibelstorff. From this day on, Michel Adler, son of an innkeeper, was also worthy of commanding the kaiser’s foot soldiers. Despite his exhaustion, Michel was unable to sleep, thinking of Marie and wondering what she would say to this turn of events. Fate had already raised them far above their inherited social status, blessing them with wealth and good fortune, and now they were being bestowed with honors raising them above most people of noble descent.

Suddenly, he sighed, tasting the bitterness in this cup of good fortune. He had long ago given up hope of having children, but without a son, he couldn’t hand down his knighthood. Unlike his material property, he couldn’t leave his newly gained title to an adopted farmer’s son as he had once contemplated.

Briefly, he considered Marie’s offer to find a willing maid who could make him a proud father. But even the thought of having to remind his wife of her proposal filled him with disgust. He knew that she would stand by her words, but she might also be so deeply hurt that their bond would never be the same again. There had only ever been one woman for him, and that was Marie. If he wanted to maintain their happiness, he could never let her know about his innermost desire, because she’d move heaven and earth to get him his legitimate heir.

7.

Marie woke from a nightmare, unable to shake the pictures from her mind. She had seen Michel in the middle of a bloody battle, surrounded by enemies assailing him. But somehow he had managed to free himself with heavy blows from his sword and put the others to flight. His adversaries, however, hadn’t been Bohemian Hussites but German knights, and the one who had beaten Michel the hardest was Falko von Hettenheim.

The pictures were as clear as if she had seen them in person, and, as so often was the case lately, she had to remind herself that it was only a dream, probably caused by fear for her beloved husband. She wondered whether she should confide in the castle chaplain, but he would only tell her that demons and hobgoblins were sending her these images, and he would ask her to pray for her and Michel’s salvation. Ever since her unjust conviction by the church and the inhumane treatment she had received from some clergymen, she had been unable to trust a priest. And so she had to deal with her worry and her misgivings on her own, praying to the Mother of God that Michel would survive any dangers and safely return home.

Trying to ignore the horrible images still dancing in front of her eyes, she lay back down and listened to the beating of her heart as it thumped like a blacksmith’s hammer. Outside, Marga’s stentorian voice was already ushering maids and servants to work, and Marie told herself that she should take care of her duties, too. But as soon as she sat up, an intense wave of nausea shot through her body, and she barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before vomiting. Her stomach emptied itself in painful waves, and it was a while before she could perch on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating, without being gripped by the urge to retch.

Marie was still fighting nausea when someone knocked on the door. Managing only a choked response, she dragged herself over and opened it. In front of her stood Marga, looking at her deathly pale mistress with annoyance and sniffing the air like a dog picking up a scent. The sour smell of vomit directed her gaze to the jug of wine on a side table, and she had to suppress a contemptuous grin. Apparently her mistress had enjoyed more wine the previous night than was good for her.

Too miserable to notice the scornful gleam in her housekeeper’s eyes and embarrassed she hadn’t even been able to vomit into the chamber pot, Marie asked Marga kindly to send up a maid to take the soiled rug to be washed.

Marga pointed to the rug with her chin. “I don’t think the stain will come out.”

Marie nodded dejectedly. Just then, her handmaid walked up the stairs. “Oh, Ischi, could you please take the rug from next to my bed to the washhouse? I got sick and soiled it.”

Ischi rolled up the rug and carried it out. As soon as she had left the room, two young maids entered, filling the washtub with fresh water and arranging linen towels. They greeted their mistress with a shy smile and left as silently as they had come, but Marie could hear them chattering excitedly on the stairs. The two of them were ecstatic to be able to work in the castle, but Marga’s tyrannical rule was so intimidating, they didn’t dare lift their head and look at the mistress of the castle. Marie had wanted to get to know the girls better in order to find out which of them would be suitable as Ischi’s successor, but she was too preoccupied with other worries at the moment. After washing herself, since Ischi was busy, she picked out her own clothes and dressed without help. Though she still felt slightly ill when she left her chamber to go to the kitchen, she hoped she’d feel better after eating something. But when she saw the breakfast porridge, her stomach turned again, and she pushed the bowl away without having tried a spoonful.

The cook gave her mistress an offended look. But Marie didn’t pay her any attention and hurried out of the room, just as Marga entered the kitchen through the opposite door, whispering to the cook that the mistress had enjoyed too much wine the night before.

Surprised, the cook shook her head. “Frau Marie drunk? I can’t imagine that. She never used to care much for wine.”

“Now that her husband is gone, she needs the wine to sweeten up her lonely nights.”

“It is not seemly to talk about the mistress in such a way,” the cook scolded the housekeeper.

Marga laughed and waved dismissively. “I know what I know.” With these words she disappeared, leaving the cook feeling conflicted. So far, the plump woman had held her mistress in the highest esteem, but now she remembered all of the housekeeper’s past comments and started to have doubts.

In the meantime, Marie had gone into the chamber where Michel usually received his subordinates’ reports. Sitting down at the heavy walnut table, she looked through the small pile of documents containing unprocessed market and tax lists, queries, and tables of goods ordered but not yet received from merchants. Rheinsobern was a
well-managed
domain, and so there was little for her to do. Marie dealt with everything as best as she could and forgot about her nausea for a while.

But when she put down quill and ink, her nausea returned with double the force, and Marie ran to the privy just in time. When the retching finally eased, she longed to sit in a softly cushioned chair with a warm blanket around her shoulders, drinking soothing tea. But most of all she wanted someone to wipe her sweaty brow with a gentle hand, consoling her in her misery.

Aside from Michel, there was only one person with whom she felt comfortable and secure, and that was Hiltrud. Marie considered sending a messenger to call her friend to the castle. But she dreaded the thought of taking to her sickbed in the cold, drafty castle, and she longed for the cozy warmth of Hiltrud’s farmhouse. Still a little unsteady on her feet, she returned to her chamber and rinsed her mouth.

She was about to give the order to hitch up a carriage, when she realized with relief that she was slowly starting to feel better. Excited about the prospect of Hiltrud’s healing teas, she pulled on her riding habit and went down to the stables.

“Kunz, saddle Bunny for me!” she called out to the first servant she saw. The skinny man hurried into the stable and returned a few minutes later with the mare. Bunny excitedly tossed her head, greeting Marie with a snort and a nudge. The past week had been rainy, so Marie hadn’t been riding as usual, and her horse seemed eager to get outside. As soon as Marie was in the saddle, Bunny pulled on the reins and wheeled around.

When Marie finally rode through the wide arch of the castle gate and saw the city lying below, her queasiness had passed, replaced with a ravenous hunger that nearly made her turn back. But the prospect of a hearty snack at the goat farm caused her to ride on. She spurred Bunny so her hooves drummed a rapid staccato on the cobblestones, and the good burghers stuck their heads out of doors and windows in surprise, wondering why the castellan’s wife was in such a hurry.

Hiltrud was feeding her pigs when Marie came riding up, only reining in her horse at the very last moment. “What’s up with you? Have you had a message from Michel?”

Marie shook her head. “No, unfortunately not. I just felt like visiting you. I was terribly sick this morning and had hoped for one of your healing teas, but now I just want to eat.” As she spoke, she was staring so hungrily at the scraps Hiltrud was feeding the hogs, she seemed about to eat them herself.

“You look famished! Come in.” Hiltrud emptied the rest of the scraps into the trough, washed her hands at the well, and led Marie into her kitchen. There she cut her a few slices of bread and put sliced sausage, ham, and cheese on the table, as well as a pot of her special rosehip jam.

Marie wolfed it all down. When the wooden plate in front of her was clean to the last crumb, she peered longingly at the pantry door.

Hiltrud noticed her glance and tilted her head in surprise. “Would you like some more? Don’t be shy.”

Brushing her hand over her stomach, Marie realized she’d recently put on weight. Naturally, she wasn’t quite as lean as she used to be, but so far she’d kept her good figure as well as her youthful looks. She didn’t really want to risk ruining that. But the hole in her stomach wasn’t filled yet, so she asked for a bit more. Hiltrud nodded a little mischievously and disappeared into her pantry, returning with a slice of bread she’d spread generously with butter and jam and topped with a slice of ham as thick as her finger. Marie gobbled it down with obvious pleasure.

“That was good!” she said when she’d finally finished everything.

Hiltrud walked around her, brushing her friend’s face with her hand. “Have you had such cases of ravenous appetite before?”

“Not really,” Marie replied, “and I hope it won’t happen again any time soon, or I’ll be as round as a barrel when Michel comes home.”

“You said you were sick when you got up?”

Marie nodded vigorously. “You have no idea! I didn’t even make it out of bed.”

“When was your last monthly bleeding?”

“Why do you ask?” Marie raised her head in surprise, but tried to remember. “It’s been a while. I think Michel was still here. I was never very regular, I assume because of the potions I took to prevent pregnancy back when we wandered together. I’m afraid those herbal brews made me infertile.”

Grinning, Hiltrud emphatically shook her head. “On the contrary, everything suggests you may be with child.”

“Nonsense!” Marie gave a bitter laugh and looked ready to burst into tears; then she took a deep breath. “Could it be?”

“It’s not impossible.” Hiltrud pulled Marie into her arms. “I really wish it for you, my little Marie.”

Marie’s eyes sparkled. “That would be so wonderful! I’ll write to Michel immediately and send a messenger on horseback.”

“If I were you, I’d wait until you’re absolutely certain. You don’t want to give him false hopes and then disappoint him.”

“No, I mustn’t do that!” Marie sighed and listened to her body, hearing nothing but her own heart and clinging desperately to a glimmer of hope. “Tell me, Hiltrud, when will I know for sure?”

“Just be patient. You’ll feel the baby in a few weeks’ time. And now I’ll make us a good tea, because you must be thirsty.” Hiltrud left the kitchen to fetch water from the well, and when she returned, she gestured at Bunny. “You shouldn’t be riding as wildly as before, or better, not at all. Since you’ve been waiting for a child for ten years, you shouldn’t take any risks.”

“Oh, I won’t, don’t worry!” Hugging Hiltrud despite the large kettle she was carrying, Marie stared at her friend
wide-eyed
. “If you’re right, then today is the happiest day of my life!”

Hiltrud struggled out of Marie’s embrace with a smile and placed the kettle on a trivet. “Then let’s make sure it stays that way.”

When Marie returned to the castle late that afternoon, she was beaming with joy. Marga, who came to her room at the usual hour to report the day’s events in the household, couldn’t help noticing her good mood. But she found her mistress strangely distracted.

After discussing necessary items with Marie, she hurried into the kitchen. “The mistress would like her supper now,” she told the cook. “Frau Marie is in extremely high spirits. I think the goat farmer was generous with her wine.”