ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) (14 page)

“There! Did you see that? She floats with no aid from the ropes,” Leopold said. Wonder filled his voice as he pointed at the girl whose struggles were growing less with every moment.

“I saw it too your grace,” the judge shouted. He shook his head. “There can be no doubt.”

“I am not King, so call me ‘grace’ again and I will have you flogged.”

“Forgive me, your…
lordship
. I served your father for too many years and my tongue has grown careless. But I am sure it will not be long before another Habsburg sits upon the German throne.”

Leopold waved the man to silence.

“Did you see that Gissler? It makes one’s blood run cold does it not?”

Leopold craned his neck to get a better look at the Devil’s handiwork. He walked to where the judge stood and signaled the soldiers to let go of the rope. As they did so, the girl who had now been facedown in the water for several minutes and was no longer struggling, continued to float, and drifted a short distance on the river’s almost imperceptible current. The judge gasped, and both he and Leopold made the sign of the cross in front of their faces. Leopold barked at the soldiers to take up their rope again quickly.

Gissler saw nothing but a young girl drowned to death.

When Leopold turned back to Gissler, his face was alight. “You did a good thing bringing me this creature,” he said.

Gissler bowed. “I am here to serve, my lord. But one question if I may…”

“Of course.”

“The witch’s guilt was proven beyond all doubt, because even shackled, she could float?”

Leopold nodded. “Even now, though she is most likely dead and her stomach filled with water, she still floats.”

Gissler nodded. “I see. And if she sank to the bottom of the river, it would have proven her innocence?”

“Of course,” Leopold said.

“But in all likelihood, she would be just as dead,” Gissler said.

“Yes, and God would have received her into his Kingdom,” Leopold said, looking perturbed.

Gissler nodded, masking his thoughts. Having been part of the Hospitaller navy for twenty years, he knew very well what dead bodies did in open water. Some floated, some sank, a few drifted between the bottom and the surface. The only way to guarantee a body would sink to the ocean floor, was to cut the air from its lungs and weight it with a bag of rocks.

He searched the Duke’s eyes for some sign of insanity, a glint of madness, but found nothing. They were clear, focused, and fiercely intelligent. And yet, somehow, he was convinced that by ridding the world of this beautiful young girl he had promoted himself in the eyes of God.

“Come Gissler. Time to celebrate. Tonight you dine at my table. Ah—I almost forgot,” Leopold said and reached into his vestment and pulled out a purse that he tossed to Gissler. “Your payment. Stand by me and you will rise high, Hermann Gissler.”

Hearing his full name spoken by a duke, and a Prince of the German Empire no less, made Gissler forget about the witch and stand a little taller.

He caught the purse in one hand and then almost dropped it because of its weight. It was easily double what he had won at the tourney.

All his life Gissler had followed orders. And what had the Knights of Saint John ever given him in return? Food, a place to sleep, and two sets of clothing. His rank in the brotherhood had never changed from bother-sergeant. He could never have been a true Hospitaller Knight, for only those of noble blood were permitted to rise past the rank of sergeant. He had given them everything; his obedience, his loyalty, his youth, even his name.

He would never again be merely a
Schwyzer
, and that thought gave him great satisfaction. For to be a
Schwyzer
in the brotherhood was to be a slave. A front line soldier sent to test the strength of the enemy, to look after the Knights’ mounts and muck out the stables.

Tonight he would sit at a duke’s table. Yes, he was still following orders, but he was being rewarded for his talents. And, once again, he owned his name. His true name. His throat tightened as he thought of his mother and father. If only his father were still alive to see him return the Gissler name to its past glory, all would be perfect. But his brother, Hugo yet lived.

Gissler tightened his hand around the heavy purse. Soon, he would go back to his brother’s dismal hog farm and take him and his daughter away from their wretched life of poverty.

***

Leopold stood above his scribe in the Habsburg castle library and watched him carefully transcribe his notes into the leather-bound volume Leopold had titled
Malleus Maleficarum
, ‘The Hammer of Witches’. Once finished, Leopold was confident it would be the Church’s greatest weapon against witchcraft ever assembled.

“Be sure you list all who were present this day,” Leopold said. Reading in Latin had never been his strong point, but he could recognize names easily enough.

There was a commotion at the door to the small library and Leopold looked to see Landenberg push through, snarling harsh words at a young scribe who trailed behind him. The scribe froze when he saw Leopold look up.

“I am sorry my lord. The Vogt demanded entry and I…”

“I had him!” Landenberg shouted. “He and one of his boys walked out of the trees right in front of us. I was—”

Leopold held up a hand and cut him off. “Gather your quills, Bernard. It would seem Vogt Landenberg has some pressing matter to discuss.”

Even in this place could he not find a moment’s peace?

The scribe hastily blotted the page he had been working on, and keeping the manuscript open, carefully carried it from the room. He was not foolish enough to let the book out of his sight. Bernard was the only one permitted to touch Leopold’s tome, and he knew his life was forfeit should anything happen to it.

“From the enthusiasm in your words, I can only assume you had another encounter with Arnold Melchthal.”

“We crested a rise outside Brunnen and there he was. Him and one of his men just stood there. We stared at one another like startled cats, unsure what to do. They ran, we gave chase, and I put a bolt into his man’s back. That one’s thieving days have come to an end, I tell you that much. Beautiful shot. From horseback too, I might add.”

“So Melchthal eluded you again? Is that why you have burst into my study? To bring news of such a noteworthy event?” Leopold said the words softly, with only the slightest trace of sarcasm. In truth, there were few things in this world he enjoyed more than seeing Landenberg squirm after being played for a fool.

Landenberg threw up his hands. “He is more rabbit than man, that one. We lost him for a bit in the trees and when next we saw him he was half way across the lake on a ferry.”

“What ferry?”

“Some peasants set up a barge that crosses the waters near Brunnen.”

“Who uses this ferry? Merchants?”

“No, only locals I should think. The road runs along the water’s edge and merchants tend to be a distrusting sort. They would not risk their goods on those unpredictable waters.”

Leopold sat in the chair Bernard had been in moments before and steepled his fingers in front of his face as he thought through what Landenberg told him.

“Then burn it,” he said.

“What?”

“Burn the ferry. As it stands now, Melchthal has beaten you. He escaped. By removing the method of his escape, you ensure that this particular tactic of his will never work again. Also, you send a message, a warning, to both Melchthal and, more importantly, to those who would harbor him.”

Landenberg nodded. His thick lips spread into a grin clearly visible even through his shaggy, greying beard.

“Consider it done. My lord.”

Chapter 12

O
NCE EVERY MONTH Seraina would load up her mule and make the daylong journey into Schwyz. Once there, she would set up in the market, and sell fresh herbs from her garden, or ground up ingredients with her granite mortar and pestle to relieve people’s ailments. After, she would go to the homes of anyone that was too sick or injured to come to her stall in the market. Invariably, someone would offer her a bed or at least a barn full of straw to sleep in for the night. Early the next morning she would begin the trek home to her grove.

But that was not the only time she had contact with the villagers. A few times every month someone would turn up on her doorstep looking for healing, or advice. These were usually men and women whose positions or circumstances made it difficult to seek her out in the public space of the market. Once, even a priest came all the way from Altdorf to see her when a stubborn lesion on his arm refused to scab over and heal. Seraina never refused anyone treatment, and that included Austrian soldiers that came to her stall in the market, although she was careful never to mention this to Noll.

On this day, it was already noon when she set out from Schwyz for home, which meant it would be well past dark by the time she arrived at her cabin. Unless, of course, she took the Brunnen ferry. She smiled, knowing all too well this had been the plan of her private weave all along. She had slept late and tarried at the farm, helping Gertie and her infant daughter feed the chickens and then broke her fast with them before she finally took to the road.

When she reached the crossing, she was disappointed to see no sign of the ferry. But just as she was about to go back to the road, a white sail peeked through the trees, moving steadily towards a small wharf jetting out into the green waters. The long, rectangular barge drifted up to the makeshift dock and a tall man holding a rope leapt gracefully from the ferry and tied it up to a post worn smooth and black. Unfortunately, he was not alone.

Seraina bit her lip as she recognized his passengers, old man Menznau and his wife. The wind was up and the lake simmered with small waves as the couple stepped down gingerly, their legs unaccustomed to fighting the swells.

Seraina pulled the hood of her cloak up and watched from the water’s edge as the old man reached into a sack and pulled out a loaf of dark bread. He handed it to the ferryman and they exchanged a few words, then Menznau and his wife wobbled down the dock. As they came towards her, the old couple made it a point not to look at Seraina, and she felt that if she had been standing on the dock, they may very well have pushed her into the water.

Their son had died recently from the lung sickness. He had been caught stealing and was sentenced to do hard labor on the Altdorf fortress. Seraina had tried to see him, but the soldiers would not let her anywhere near the prisoners. They assured her their own doctor would look after him. He did not, and the only reason the Menznaus learned of the fate of their son, was because a relative found his body mixed with the ever-growing pile of refuse heaped against an outer wall of the fortress.

As the couple passed, she felt their grief surface and flare. Seraina watched their backs, hoping they might turn around and let her try and soothe their pain.

“You wishing to go across? If so we leave now, as I would be back at this dock before nightfall.”

She turned to see the ferryman running his hands along the mooring rope, head down and focused on it like his question had been directed to it instead of Seraina. But as she stepped down onto the ferry he held out his hand and she took it.

Just then the barge lurched on the waves and she leaned into his grip to right herself. She laughed and not so much saw, but felt him smile at the sound. She looked up into his face and his eyes made her gasp. They were large and brown, with amber flecks, and would have been beautiful, but Seraina could see deeper than most people. Beneath the calm, swirled unfathomable darkness, and pain. There could be no doubt that his spirit had brushed up against evil.

She blinked hard from the intensity of the man’s life. He immediately turned away, and as he did so Seraina noticed a long scar that stretched from beneath his eye to the bottom of his jaw.

Oh you fool
, she said to herself. He thought she had been staring at the old wound. He kept his back to her and prepared to cast off.

“Best hold onto something. Wind has been unpredictable all day,” he said. His voice scratched in his throat, like he was not used to speaking.