The Lady of the Castle (The Marie Series Book 2) Page 27

Falko put his elbow across her throat so she could hardly breathe or defend herself, and laughing, violently took her. Marie knew there was no escaping now. All she could do was heed what she had learned during her years on the road, acting as if it were happening to someone else and letting her body go as limp as a boneless sack.

  Gunter von Losen watched him with greedy eyes before spotting Anni, who was clinging to the wagon, crying silently, and said, “Take your time, Falko. I’ll help myself to this other one.”

  Angrily, Marie cried out. “Leave Anni alone! She’s hurt and little more than a child.”

  Paying no heed to Marie’s words, Losen pulled the girl away from the wagon. Overcome with a wave of hatred, Marie wished she had a thousand hands to tear apart these two men. Absorbed in her wish to kill him, she hardly noticed that Sir Falko had finally let go of her. His face, however, showed disappointment more than satisfaction. Unlike the girls from the raided Bohemian villages, Marie had neither screamed nor desperately tried to get away. Instead, she’d merely lain there like a dead animal. Grinding his teeth in fury and frustration, his hand reached for his dagger to gain fulfillment through her death. But then he glanced over at Losen.

  “Do you want a turn with her, too, or have you had enough?”

  “Of course I want one!”

  “Then do it if you must! But don’t forget to cut her throat afterward. I’ll ride ahead and keep our people moving. There are too many damned Bohemians hanging around here for my taste.” Falko turned away and walked to his horse.

  Losen stood up and rearranged his clothes. Anni cowered, crying soundlessly, while Marie sat on the ground, as tense as a tightly strung bow. She had rarely been closer to death than she was now, and she knew she needed a lot of luck to survive. Her eyes searched for the dagger Sir Falko had knocked out of her hand, and she saw it only a few paces away on the ground, but before she could creep over and grab it, Gunter von Losen came toward her.

  Marie crawled away from him, pretending to be afraid as she moved closer and closer to her dagger. Following her, assured in his sense of male superiority, he didn’t pay attention to Marie’s hand, groping along the ground and finally closing around a small object.

  As Losen stepped over her, Marie pulled her knees up and kicked as hard as she could. Her right heel was a direct hit to his groin. Stifling a low groan, the man staggered backward. Marie sprang to her feet and before he could do anything, she thrust the knife in his throat.

  Opening his mouth in a silent scream, Losen fell to the ground, blood gushing. Marie backed away toward her wagon and took out her ax with trembling hands. As she stepped toward the knight with the blade raised above her head, she saw he was already dead. She spat and turned to Anni crouched nearby, trembling and making pained noises—the first sounds Marie had heard from her.

  “Come, I just want to help,” she said, gently taking the girl’s hands to reassure her. Marie then climbed into her wagon, found two rags, and soaked them with water from one of the drinking water barrels. “Here, wash yourself down there,” she told Anni, handing her one of the rags, and washing herself with the other. Going back into the wagon, Marie rummaged around in Hiltrud’s medicine supplies and pulled out a small jar of cream and a bag filled with dried herbs.

  “Rub this cream on yourself, do you understand? It will heal the injuries that man caused you. And you need to chew on these.” She reached into the bag, pulled out a few dried leaves and stems, and put them into Anni’s mouth. When the girl tried to spit out the bitter-tasting herbs, Marie held her mouth shut.

  “Do you want to carry a child from that scoundrel? No? Then chew and swallow!” She furiously chewed a good portion herself. She hadn’t used this remedy for many years, but it had made her infertile until she took Hiltrud’s juice. Now it would probably destroy her dream of an heir for Michel once and for all, but above all, she didn’t want to risk falling pregnant to Falko von Hettenheim.

  Cursing the knight, Marie forced herself to focus on the danger they were in. Falko would soon miss his friend and send a few men to look for him. She wouldn’t get very far with the injured girl without her wagon and animals, so she’d have to hide in the forest with Anni and wait until the girl could walk properly again before heading west in search of a populated area. Marie’s heart ached as she thought of her daughter, who was being taken farther away from her with each passing moment, and she had to restrain herself from kicking Losen’s dead body in anger. She forced her thoughts back to the present danger, and turned to Anni.

  “Come, we’ll put on some fresh clothes and get out of here.” She climbed into the wagon, took a shirt and a dress from Donata’s things, and threw them to Anni, who obediently put them on. Marie removed her own torn clothing, instead dressing in clothing that would be suitable for living in the forest, while considering what they should take with them, including money, food, and at least one spare dress. As she hastily gathered together everything she deemed important to bring, her thoughts again turned to Trudi, and she prayed that Eva would take care of her daughter and make it to the Reich safely.

  When she put the pack out on the box and looked around for Anni, what she saw made her blood run cold. Half a dozen soldiers were standing around the dead oxen, grimly staring at her, while Anni, white as a sheet, clung to the left front wheel.

  The men were dressed and armed differently from the knights and foot soldiers in the kaiser’s army. Only two of them wore mail shirts and helmets, while the rest were clad in cuirasses made of leather with riveted iron plates. Their weapons consisted mostly of short swords in simple leather sheaths and spiked morning stars, along with a few bows and arrows. One of the two warriors wearing mail carried a long sword on his hip and appeared to be the leader. He seemed more curious than hostile upon seeing Marie, and when he touched Losen’s corpse with his foot, his narrow face showed the hint of a smile, making him almost appear friendly.

  “Our scout said you killed this knight.” He spoke German with a foreign accent, but Marie understood him without difficulty and nodded without saying anything. She didn’t know how the men would react to the truth, and she was afraid they might still attack Anni and her. Indeed, the hostile expressions on the foot soldiers’ faces made their death seem almost certain. The other man appeared to be the second leader of the group, and he was thinking along the same lines as his soldiers, judging by his gestures. To Marie’s horror, his mail shirt, half-covered by a coat, looked exactly like Michel’s.

  Snarling in Czech, he motioned to the other man. “Quit talking, Sokolny. We’ll cut the German women’s throats and take what we can use from the wagon.”

  Ottokar Sokolny looked at him with disapproval. “Kill and plunder! You don’t know anything else, Vyszo. I, on the other hand, am interested to know why this woman killed that knight.”

  “But I’m not interested!” Vyszo signaled to his men, and one of them drew his short sword and started walking toward Anni.

  Although the men were speaking Czech, Marie understood that it was a matter of life and death for her and Anni, and since weapons couldn’t save her, she’d have to talk her way out. Stepping onto her wagon box to appear more imposing, she held out her hand toward the man threatening Anni, commanding him to stop.

  “Jan Hus! He was a great man. I knew him. I was in Constance when he was betrayed and murdered,” she shouted, without stopping for breath. None of the Czechs except Sokolny understood German, but the name Jan Hus caused them all to freeze.

  “What is she saying?” one of the men asked agitatedly.

  “The woman says she witnessed Master Hus’s death and wept for him. Do you want to kill someone who professes allegiance to our saint?” Sokolny crossed his arms and stepped between Marie and the other men, and the soldier headed for Anni stared at Vyszo in confusion.

  “She should tell us about Master Hus’s death,” one of the soldiers demanded.

  �
��Yes, let her talk about the betrayal and deceit of the Germans!” Vyszo clenched his fists and looked as though he wanted nothing more than to kill Marie and Anni with his own hands, but that would have clearly angered his men. Jan Hus was their messiah, and someone who had shed tears for him couldn’t be an enemy, even if she was German.

  “We’ll take the women with us and decide later what to do with them. Now search the wagon for anything useful, and then we’ll have to keep moving so we don’t lose track of the German army.” Vyszo wanted to turn away, but Sokolny, who had translated Marie’s words rather freely in her favor, raised his hand.

  “The women will slow us down.”

  Vyszo turned to him and replied mockingly. “I agree. Therefore, you and your Ludvik,” he said, glancing at a relatively young, stocky lad, “will take the women to our troops. The rest of us will keep following the German dogs.”

  Even though his tone could hardly have been more insulting, Sokolny nodded contentedly. “That’s better than sending them back with two of your cutthroats.”

  Growling, Vyszo gave an annoyed wave for his men to follow him. They shooed Marie off the box, took all the remaining provisions they could carry, and packed them into bundles with a speed that showed practice. Marie pulled the trembling Anni close and watched indifferently. It looked as though they were letting them live at least temporarily, which was more than she could have hoped for from her own people after Losen’s death.

  “Everything will be all right, dear,” she said to Anni. “The men won’t hurt us. We just have to try not to slow them down. I’ll support you and help you as much as I can.” She tried to look confident and turned to the man who was holding their fate in his hands.

  “We can go, sir.”

  Sokolny watched Vyszo and his companions leave, nodding absentmindedly. “What’s the matter with the girl? Is she sick?”

  “Injured!” Marie replied, not mentioning that it was his people who had battered Anni, then thinking to herself that the Germans weren’t behaving any better than the Bohemians.

  “Is it bad? Can she walk?” Sokolny asked impatiently.

  Marie shook her head. “The wounds are healing well. Anni just has to go easy on them so they don’t break open again.”

  Turning to Anni, Sokolny asked her to show him her injuries. She drew back in fright, causing her wounded leg to give way, and she fell. Marie picked her up and smiled comfortingly. “Don’t be afraid. The man is not an enemy. He wants to help us.”

  “My name is Ottokar Sokolny,” he introduced himself, and then pointed at his companion, who had stayed in the background. “This is Ludvik, my servant. Ludvik, go cut some branches in the forest so we can make a stretcher for the injured girl. We’ll move faster that way than if she tries to limp after us.”

  Marie breathed a sigh of relief. Despite all the misfortune that had befallen her, she seemed to have gotten a break, and she hoped her luck wouldn’t run out.

  PART FIVE

  PRISONER

  1.

  The freezing wind whistled steadily through the cracks in the walls of the old hut. Marie pulled her threadbare scarf more tightly around her shoulders and glanced longingly at the fire burning in the hearth at the other end of the room. Four women had settled down comfortably by the fire, gossiping and warming their hands, while Marie and the others had to clench their teeth to stop them from chattering. Renata, the wife of the Taborite captain Vyszo and the woman in charge there, motioned to the women one at a time to come forward to warm themselves a bit, but expected profuse thanks in return. If they didn’t express enough gratitude, they wouldn’t be called back to the fire for hours or even days.

  Marie didn’t have to think of anything flattering to say, since she and Anni were never called to the fire and didn’t dare take a place there on their own. Renata and her Czech friends loathed the two of them and saw them as just two German women whose throats should have been cut; instead, they had been brought to a Hussite army camp where they had to be fed through the winter. They had only Ottokar Sokolny to thank for the roof over their heads. Without the influence of the young noble, who was himself viewed as an enemy by some fanatics in the camp because of his name, they wouldn’t be alive.

  A tug at her scarf woke Marie from her gloomy thoughts. Anni snuggled closer and offered her a corner of the rag that once was a blanket, though she was shivering with cold herself. The girl’s injuries had healed well despite the inhospitable living conditions, and she had put on weight, which was a miracle, considering the meager rations. But she was very withdrawn for a thirteen-year-old, and Marie hadn’t seen her smile even once since the Hussites took them prisoner. Since Anni had started making sounds, Marie was teaching her how to speak again. Her initial suspicion that Anni was Czech appeared to be correct, as the girl remembered Czech words more easily than German. But no one else in the camp bothered talking to Anni, and the girl winced at the harsh tone the people there used, as if subconsciously remembering that her fellow countrymen had killed the inhabitants of her village, probably because they had stayed Catholic. It saddened Marie that all Anni could manage was an inarticulate stammering despite her best efforts, as she no doubt hungered for a kind word of encouragement in her mother tongue.

  A man tore the door open, letting in a gust of snow and even icier air. “The leaders need beer and someone to serve them!” he roared, immediately disappearing again.

  Two women rushed to the large tub in the corner and scooped the bitter brew into several large jugs. When they had dressed and were about to go to the door, Renata called them back. “Why should you have to run out into the cold? Let the two Germans go.”

  Before Marie and Anni knew what was happening, they were holding jugs of beer in their hands and being pushed out the door. The ice crystals in the wind lashed their skin like a thousand needles, making breathing nearly impossible. It was typical of Renata to deny them even the simple sheepskin cape that the Czech women put on to protect them from the cold when they went outside. Marie gave Anni an encouraging look and started running as fast as she could toward the hut where the Hussite leaders were holding their war council, but even the hundred-yard distance was torture. Their fingers clinging numbly to the jugs, they reached the hut after what seemed like an eternity, and Marie tapped her foot against the door, shouting the Czech word for beer.

  Someone opened the door, and they entered with a gust of cold air that blew snow and ice crystals into the guard’s face. Cursing, he slammed the door shut, then pointed to the room at the back of the hut where the army leaders had gathered. Heading the group was a short skinny man nicknamed Little Prokop, second in command of the entire Hussite army. He could have resided in a castle, but he declined all material signs of power in solidarity with his peasant warriors. His clothes were simple, but his energetic face and his piercing, deep-set eyes made it clear why he was a leader. Indeed, only the Great Prokop, himself tall and massive, stood above him in authority. Neither Prokop was originally a peasant, but rather they were both minor country noblemen who had committed themselves to the teachings of the preacher Jan von Tabor.

  In the long weeks Marie had spent as a Hussite prisoner, she had learned that they consisted of two groups who were united in their fight against Sigismund, but did not agree on their other goals. The two Prokops belonged to the Taborites, whereas Ottokar Sokolny belonged to the Calixtines, who thought the Taborites were going too far in most of their demands. Indeed, Ottokar Sokolny was a puzzle to her. He openly belonged to the Calixtines, together with only two or three others in the camp, but, unlike his comrades, he also took part in the campaign planning and often visited Little Prokop as a trusted and valued sergeant. Nevertheless, Marie had never heard a word from him or about him suggesting that he approved of the slaughters or even supported them.

  When she entered the council chamber, she noted Little Prokop, Vyszo, Ottokar Sokolny, a fanatical Hussite pre
acher, and several Taborite leaders. The men looked up in annoyance when the women entered, but held out their cups noisily when they saw the jugs of beer. Marie filled Prokop’s cup first, then the preacher’s, whose status here was even higher than that of the imperial confessor in the Reich. Since the Hussites justified their rebellion against King Sigismund primarily on religious grounds and mercilessly persecuted Catholics in their country, Marie was lucky that Renata and her companions, as well as most men in the camp, believed that Jan Hus had personally converted her in Constance and made her a member of his church. While it didn’t save her from the humiliations of the other women, it was the reason why they were mainly being left alone and their presence in the camp was tolerated.

  Deep in thought, she didn’t notice Vyszo impatiently holding out his cup. Anni rushed over immediately and filled it. Marie looked at her gratefully, detesting the man no less than Falko von Hettenheim, since it was Vyszo who claimed the glory of killing the man who managed to snatch Kaiser Sigismund from them when they were certain of his capture. He gave evidence of his claim by wearing it—Michel Adler’s mail shirt and sword. Marie had recognized it when they first met, and she had learned later that Vyszo, after their capture last summer, had also repeatedly attacked the retreating imperial troops, killing many knights and foot soldiers. In her nightmares, she saw Black Eva’s wagon plundered and the old sutler dead with Trudi lying in the shattered remains of her cart, and when she was awake, she imagined Vyszo leaning over Michel, cutting his throat. Every time she saw the Czech leader, she struggled not to grab the nearest bread knife and seek revenge. Gunter von Losen had shown her how fast a strong man could die.

  “Hello, Marie. I’m thirsty, too!” Ottokar Sokolny’s cheerful tone startled Marie. She quickly poured a cup for him and continued preparing to leave the hut with Anni.

  But Vyszo half turned and grabbed her. “Stay here, you German wenches! Or do you think we want to serve ourselves?” Marie stared at him in fright, and Sokolny repeated the words to her in German.