Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (27 page)

Leopold laughed and shook his head. “Still playing
the part of a thief I see, eh Melchthal?”

The rebel kept speaking. His voice calm and
detached. “You may keep your horses, so that your stink does not
remain in our valley any longer than necessary. However, Berenger
Von Landenberg must be turned over to us to be executed for
reneging on his oath.”

Franco started at the young man’s direct words. He
could not decide if he was brave or simply stupid beyond
reason.

Landenberg was the first to respond. “That is
Sir
Landenberg, you whelp.” He seemed to be more concerned
about the rebel not mentioning his title rather than the fact the
peasants wanted to execute him.

Leopold’s lips spread into a thin line. “You have no
idea how much I am going to enjoy this,” he said. “Custom dictates
I respond to your terms with a counter-proposal. Very well. These
are
my
terms. Lay down your weapons and submit to be
manacled by my slave handlers. You will be put to work in the
quarries and mines until the Altdorf fortress has been rebuilt, to
twice its original size, or until you die. Most assuredly, the
latter.”

It was the rebel’s turn to laugh. “And you, Lord
Leopold, still playing the part of the tyrant?”

Leopold held up his index finger. “I am not
finished,” he said, smirking. “Your wives and daughters will be
given to my men as a just reward for faithful service to their
Duke. They may submit quietly, if they prefer, but to be honest, my
troops would much rather take the women against their wills. They
are fighting men after all. And is not a savage raping the only way
to cool the heat in such a man’s veins?”

Leopold cast his gaze on the man at Noll’s side.
“How do you prefer to take your women, Thomas? Willing, or defiant
until the end?” He looked around, mockingly. “And where is your
witch by the way? I do look forward to seeing her again. It will be
nice to catch up where we left off.”

The Hospitaller’s eye twitched, and because he had a
long scar at its corner, the movement seemed to tug up one corner
of his mouth. But he most definitely was not smiling. “She is far
away from here. And safe. Which is more than I can say for your
blasphemous manuscript.”

Leopold’s face clouded over. His horse turned its
ears back, feeling his master’s rage, but the Duke was quick to
regain his composure. He pointedly ignored the Hospitaller and
began to exchange more unpleasant words with Melchthal. Franco took
the opportunity to look behind the men at the lay of the land and
the opposing force. The rebels in the distance were spread out.
Probably to give an exaggerated impression of their number. Franco
estimated no more than fifty men stood on top of the hill. Perhaps
that many again trying to hide behind it. Did they really think
they were fooling anyone? They were armed with pole weapons of some
sort, and the postures of more than half of them betrayed that they
had seen the passage of too many years.

What were they armed with? Homemade spears? Pitch
forks?

Franco shook his head. There would be little chance
for glory in this battle. Something about the rebels’ left flank
caught his eye and he craned his neck to get a better view.

Just then the Hospitaller’s horse whinnied, shuffled
sideways, and then reared up on two legs. His master cursed and
fought to regain control. Klaus spurred his mount forward in front
of Leopold and had his sword half drawn, thinking his lord was
under attack. However, it quickly became apparent that the rebel
had simply lost control of his fiery mount. Klaus spit on the
ground and backed his horse away. Franco was the first to speak
once everyone relaxed somewhat.

“You have a fine animal,” he said to the
Hospitaller.

The man looked at Franco. His dark eyes stood out
against his long facial scar like coal on snow. He nodded once, but
offered no words.

“I would have you know that I intend to claim him
when this battle is over. However, I will allow his return to you,
if you can afford his ransom. Provided you are still alive, of
course.”

For some reason that Franco could not understand,
Leopold found his claim to be humorous. He laughed, leaning low in
his saddle.

The scar-faced man cleared his throat. “If you have
my horse, there will be no ransom paid. For I will be quite
dead.”

There was something about the way the man spoke that
made Franco want to take a closer look at him. There was no false
bravado in his words, nor did he utter an idle threat, like so many
men tended to do in order to quell their own fears. The
Hospitaller’s horse fidgeted some more, shifting from side to side,
like he knew he was the topic of discussion.

“If it should happen otherwise,” Franco began. “And
you find yourself holding the reins of my own destrier, I trust
that you will afford me the same opportunity to buy him back.”

When the Hospitaller spoke, his words were slow and
deliberate. “We both know that will never happen. One way or
another.”

Leopold rolled his eyes and sighed. “If you two are
finished sniffing out one another, I would like to call an end to
these negotiations.”

He performed an elaborate mocking bow aimed at the
rebels. “It seems we have reached an impasse. Regrettably, the only
alternative is war. Enjoy the afternoon, gentlemen.” He squinted at
the thick cloud banks rolling in. “Pity, it looks like rain.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, he wheeled
his horse around and galloped back toward his army. Landenberg’s
face broke into a greedy grin. He raised his arm and pointed at the
rebel leader, and then jammed his heels into his horse’s side to
take off after Leopold. Klaus, ignoring everyone, eased his mount
away and walked after them, like he was in no hurry to be in
anyone’s company, friend or foe alike.

“I look forward to meeting you on the field,” Franco
said. He gave the Hospitaller a curt nod and trotted back toward
his place at the head of the Sturmritter.

***

“I think that went quite well,” Noll said.

Thomas scowled as he reined his horse around. “What
are you talking about? You were supposed to stall. Use up as much
time as possible. Not send them galloping out of here, enraged like
a kicked nest of hornets!”

“Well, maybe you should have done some talking then.
For my first war negotiation I think I did very well.”

“Very well? You virtually demanded they surrender
and allow you to execute an Austrian noble in front of them. What
kind of terms are those?”

“What has gotten into you? You are even more
miserable than usual. Or is this just how you act before every
battle?”

Thomas pushed Anid into a gallop. They did not have
time to stand about arguing. Noll shouted something at him and
followed close behind.

Though it pained him to admit, Noll was right about
one thing. Thomas was more miserable than usual. And that was
because he had met Franco Roemer. He had looked into the Austrian’s
eyes and where he had hoped to see a cocky, self-absorbed knight,
he had seen a leader. An intelligent, experienced warrior with the
most skilled knights in the western world under his command.

He leaned over and whispered into Anid’s ear. The
stallion leaped forward leaving Noll and his mountain pony far
behind. He hit the bottom of the hill at lancing speed, but halfway
up even Anid could no longer maintain a full gallop.

Good, Thomas thought. As long as they stayed at the
very top of the rise, even the Sturmritter could not hit them with
a full charge. Still, he wished he had had time to dig in cavalry
pits and stakes to further slow them down and force them to break
formation. But there was not enough time.

Time. The Devil’s mistress. First, they could not
get enough of it, and now, they had too much. How far away was the
rest of his army? How long before they would arrive? How long could
less than a hundred men hold back the might of the Holy Roman
Empire? Was this really the best plan Thomas could have come up
with?

Perhaps he could have done better. If only he had
more time.

He topped the rise and his men opened up their ranks
to let him through.

“Matthias!” Thomas called the boy to him as he
jumped out of Anid’s saddle. “You ride Anid and lead Noll’s horse
back to the men furthest away. Can you do that?”

“I could. But, Cap’n, I might miss the
fighting.”

“Then you better ride fast and run back even faster.
And tell the men to double up on the horses.”

The boy hesitated and glanced at the reins Thomas
held out.

“That is an order, son. If you want to be part of
this army, you must obey orders. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Cap’n!”

Matthias snatched the reins from Thomas’s hand and
was in the saddle before Thomas had to say another word.

“They will be here. I swear,” Matthias said.

Noll finally appeared, and Matthias had his horse’s
reins before Noll’s feet touched the ground. A second later he was
galloping over the grassy slopes toward Schwyz, the soft, moist
ground silencing the hoof-beats. Within seconds the mist enveloped
both boy and horse and there was no sign that either had ever
existed. The other horses had already been sent back. Thomas was
well aware that four more men would make little difference, but
knowing the boy would not be here when the fighting began, allowed
Thomas to breathe a little easier.

Thomas stood at the bottom of the hill, the side
furthest away from the Austrian army. He looked at his own forces:
half were assembled on top the hill, in full view, and the other
half crouched low behind its base. They had rounded up every last
horse and mule available and rode here at full speed.

Eighty-nine mounts. Eighty-nine men. Handpicked by
Thomas himself. Thomas had set quill to parchment yet again, and
created another list. He glanced around him, seeking the Religion’s
red war tunics, and found his friends easily enough. Ruedi, Max,
Urs, and Anton; they were the only survivors from the first list he
had ever created. Both lists had started out with a similar number
of names, and he could not help but wonder at the irony of it
all.

Who was he to choose? Were the lists God’s work, or
the Devil’s?

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He
reminded himself that on the other side of this hill, eight
thousand Austrians wound their way toward them.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Noll held out a water
skin. “Better drink up,” he said. “We might end up sweating a
bit.”

He grinned at Thomas, and more than a little
surprised, Thomas found himself grinning back. Then Noll raised his
voice so all the men could hear him. “That goes for everyone. If
you have skins now would be the time to use them. Does not matter
what is in them. No man in this army fights thirsty!”

Thomas took a long drink and was relieved that it
was actually water, not wine. Cool, fresh water from one of the
countless glacier-fed streams that quenched the landscape’s thirst
and kept the slopes covered in thick, green grass. Thomas thought
of all the times he had gone thirsty over the years in the Holy
Lands. Water was worth more than gold in Outremer. If he had
possessed even a fraction of the water that now surrounded him, he
would have been the richest man in the Levant.

He took one more drink and then he walked up the
slope. Thomas took his spot between Anton and Max at the front of
the square.

Seven men wide, seven men deep.

Behind him, in the second row next to Urs, Sutter
called his name. Thomas turned and Sutter held out Pirmin’s great
ax. Its heavy head glistened with the wetness of the fog. Through
the small cross cut into its center, Thomas could see the outlying
buildings of the small hamlet of Schafstetten. And far in the
distance, although he could not see it, in his heart he felt the
church of Sattel watching over them all.

“The big guy would be ‘right pissed’ if he missed
out on this day entirely,” Sutter said, his voice breaking ever so
slightly.

Thomas took the ax. He was once again amazed at how
light it felt in his hands. As he rotated the shaft in his grip, a
sing-song Wallis accent sounded in his head.

“
Do not fret none, Thomi. I would not make you
carry it all by yourself.”

The fog was building, and its moisture seemed to
accumulate on Thomas’s cheeks more than anywhere else. He drew a
hand across his face and stared out at the enemy.

***

“Captain Roemer!” Klaus called out.

Franco left his place at the front of the
Sturmritter and trotted over to join Leopold, Klaus, and
Landenberg.

“Your commands, my lord?”

“I want that hill with a single charge,” Leopold
said. “I see no reason to waste any time here.”

“My thoughts exactly, my lord,” Franco said.

“And I want my knights to be part of it,” Landenberg
said. He squished his helmet onto his head and gave it a slap,
which made it ring. Steam poured out of the breathing holes in its
long, metal snout.

Franco looked at Leopold. “With all due respect, the
Sturmritter can do it alone, my lord. Perhaps Sir Landenberg’s
forces can ride them down as they run.”

“Not bloody likely,” Landenberg said.

“Stop it,” Leopold said. “There will be more than
enough Schwyzers to go around before the day is out. But remember
this: each of your knights carries shackles enough for three men.
Our goal is to get workers. We kill no more than necessary. Is that
clear?”

“What about Melchthal?” Landenberg said.

“Yes, by all means kill him. And the Hospitaller as
well. For that matter, kill every man who stands on that hill
defying us. An example should be made. But stop there. Is that
understood?”

Franco could not see Landenberg’s face behind his
mask, but when he spoke he could hear pure joy echo in his
words.