Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (9 page)

Leopold shrugged. “I treat my men better than you, I
suppose. And one more thing. I should think a public holy blessing
would not be too much to ask.”

“What of the woman?”

“She may remain in Salzburg, in that lovely house
you had built for her. But the children will come to live in
Habsburg for a time, as my wards. Their mother being a poor widow
and all.”

The Archbishop turned away and stared down once more
at the city. In a few short moments his body had experienced a full
gamut of emotions. They had taken their toll, and now he just
looked like a tired old man. Even his flowing red robes could not
hide that fact. Leopold put his hands on the wall and, like the
Archbishop, gazed out over the city.

The sun was at full light. Soon the city would come
alive.

“What a beautiful day. I do so love mornings,”
Leopold said.

Altdorf’s small, stone church, situated on top of a
hillock at the eastern edge of town, was a squat, gray structure
seemingly as old as the hills themselves. Thomas stepped into the
shadow of the cross erected on its roof and walked around to the
back of the building.

Most people hated cemeteries, but Thomas had always
found them comforting. As a child, whenever he felt the need to be
alone, he would leave the stench of the city behind and run to the
cemetery outside Acre’s gates. Later, as a young man in Cypress, he
would spend hours walking amongst the graves, trying to read their
inscriptions. Of course he felt closer to God when he set foot on
holy ground, but, he doubted that was the only reason for the
attraction. He suspected it had more to do with escaping the world
of men, even if it was for only a short time.

Today, however, his steps were heavy, and not just
because of his injuries. He avoided looking too closely at the
crosses until he was surrounded by them. When he did finally look
up, wondering where he would find Pirmin’s grave, he saw a young
boy and a dog. The boy sat on the ground next to a mound of dirt,
blacker than the other ones nearby, and much larger. He looked up
at the same time Thomas saw him. He jumped to his feet, gave his
backside a quick brush with his hand, and ran away toward the far
gate.

Thomas paid the boy no mind, for his full attention
was captured by the dog. It was Pirmin’s young pup. He tried to
remember the dog’s name, but the boy was quicker.

“Vex! C’mon boy!”

The dog stopped sniffing the ground and bounded
after the boy without any hesitation. The boy gave Thomas a scowl
and then both he and the dog disappeared through a gap in the
fence.

Thomas limped to the fresh grave.
If that is
indeed Pirmin’s grave and the street rat has defiled it in any way,
I will make him sorry…
.

Sure enough, as he got nearer, Thomas saw that the
boy had left something behind near the head of the grave. An old,
chipped, clay pitcher stood on the ground. Thomas picked it up and
liquid sloshed inside. He smelled it.

Wine. Cheap wine.

A wet bit of dirt in the middle of Pirmin’s grave
told Thomas the full story. The boy had brought Pirmin wine, and
then shared a drink with him. Thomas shook his head in amazement.
Even in death, Pirmin had more friends than most. Thomas suddenly
regretted thinking the worst of the ragged child.

The cross marking Pirmin’s grave was thin, frail,
and unassuming. It was so unlike the man and his life that it
brought a sad smile to Thomas’s face. He could almost feel Pirmin’s
giant hand patting him on the head like when they were
children.

“
Thomi, Thomi. So this is where you will dump me.
Marked with nothing more than a couple of twigs, for the rest of
eternity. When did I ever piss in your oats?”

Thomas gazed out over the rolling hills. With the
small church at his back, the elevated grounds provided an idyllic
view that stretched for miles down the mountain-lined valley.

“Easy now,” Thomas said out loud. “This is a fine
spot. You have your own cherry tree for shade. And you will have
many visitors, for this rise will give them far more interesting
things to look at than just your horse-sized pile of dirt.”

“
Only you could make being dead sound not so bad.
But you better do something about that cross. I want a proper
headstone. One with letters saying my name and all the great deeds
I did over my life.”

Thomas looked at the two uneven sticks lashed
together. The crosspiece drooped so much the cross looked more like
an ‘X’.

Thomas nodded slowly. “I will write the words
myself,” he said.

He stood for a long time, staring at the grave.

When he started to imagine he could see Pirmin’s
outline beneath the mound of dark earth he closed his eyes and
admitted it was time. He scooped up a handful of soil and bowed his
head to pray for the soul of his friend. When he was done, Thomas
released the soil from his stiffened fist and watched as the wind
carried it the length of Pirmin’s final resting spot.

When Thomas turned back to the church, he saw Noll
standing in the shade of one of its walls. He leaned against the
stone, unmoving, as though he had been there a long time. When he
pushed away and started walking, Thomas could see he held a long
staff in one hand. As he closed the distance, Thomas realized it
was not a staff after all, but rather, Pirmin’s great ax.

Noll held out the ax to Thomas and he took it in
both hands. At over eight feet in length, it appeared cumbersome
and unwieldy. But Urs had designed the handle and weighted it
perfectly to serve as a counter-balance to the heavy, flanged ax
head. He had also cut a small cross from the head’s center to make
it lighter. Urs had created a number of shafts for Pirmin over the
years, with each new version an improvement over its predecessor,
but he had never managed to come up with a design superior to the
current steel tube version.

Thomas gripped it with both hands, squinting his
eyes against the sun’s glare as it danced from the finely honed
cutting edge to the pick-like hook extending from its opposite side
like a giant finger. A digit Thomas had seen Pirmin use to flick
many a man from the back of a horse or off a battlement’s wall.

“I found it in the jail’s armory,” Noll said.
“Thought you might want it.”

Thomas shifted his grip and powerful emotions swept
forward as an old memory of Pirmin overtook him. Dressed in his
full red battle kit, Pirmin stood amongst several other
Hospitallers as a few Genoese crossbowmen, their bolts spent,
retreated behind the line of the Knights of Saint John. The
Hospitallers braced themselves for the enemy’s charge. Pirmin held
his ax horizontal to the ground with both hands. He gave the shaft
a quick roll, making the ax head flip toward heaven, for the
briefest moment, before it descended back down to point at Hell. It
was Pirmin’s ritual salute to the Two Powers That Be, and he always
followed it with an unabashed grin in Thomas’s direction. Like it
was a jest only Thomas could appreciate.

The image of Pirmin’s face faded and Thomas found
himself staring at his hands as they clutched the cold steel
shaft.

“We are glad to see you alive, ferryman. For some
time we feared the worst,” Noll said. He cleared his throat before
continuing. “Seraina told me what you did for her. I am in your
debt for that.”

With effort, Thomas pulled his eyes from Pirmin’s ax
and looked at Noll. “No one owes me anything,” he said.

Noll stepped around Thomas to stand in front of
Pirmin’s grave. “I know I only met him a short time ago, but Pirmin
was one of the best men I have ever known.” He turned and looked
down the valley. “I chose this spot for him, but I will understand
if you want him moved.”

Thomas studied Noll’s face. The young man had aged
ten years since he had seen him last. His chiseled features were
overgrown with stubble and haunted by the shadows and creases of
responsibility. He had finally gotten his war, and if he was
anything like most people, it was not what he had envisioned.

“It is a fine spot,” Thomas said. “Pirmin would
complain, of course, but I believe he would be happy with it.”

Noll turned to Thomas, but did not meet his
eyes.

“I was there when they took him,” Noll said.

“I know.”

“Hiding in the woods like a frightened hare.”

“You already told me that.”

“I watched Habsburg soldiers take him to the ground
and beat him without mercy. He fought back, and it took forever. I
had all the time in the world to act, to help him, but instead I
watched like a child seated on the ground in front of a puppetry
troop.”

Thomas said nothing.

“If I had given myself up—”.

“You would now both be dead,” Thomas said. He stood
the great ax upright and drove its butt-end against the ground.
“Most men would have done the same as you.”

Noll shook his head. “Not Pirmin. He would have
waded into the midst of an army to save a friend.”

“Pirmin was not most men. Do not compare yourself to
him. Ask forgiveness from God, if that is what you seek. But do not
look for it from me.”

Noll turned away once again to stare at some far
point down the valley. Thomas bit back the urge to say more. He was
not one to waste words. In his experience, words never changed a
man’s intentions, stopped wars, or brought friends back from the
dead. Perhaps Noll felt the same, for he continued to stare at that
far-off point, as though Thomas was no longer beside him.

“What will you do now?” Thomas asked, finally.

Noll’s blue eyes came alive when he looked at
Thomas, but not in a warm, inviting way. They were the color of a
cold mountain stream running over a bed of rocks, which, near the
surface, were polished smooth. Those in the dark swirling waters
below, however, were jagged and dark.

“I mean to finish what we started. The Habsburgs
will attempt to take back their fortress, but we will see them
broken against their own walls.”

“I trust you have the men to do this,” Thomas
said.

“I will have. When the time comes.”

Thomas doubted that, and he could tell by Noll’s
voice he was not fully convinced himself. Thomas had seen the walls
of the Altdorf fortress and knew how many men it would take to man
them against a siege.

But what did it matter?

“Very well,” Thomas said. “Then I will stand on your
walls and fight against Leopold’s men.”

Noll blinked. His mouth opened but no words came out
at first.

“We would welcome your sword, Thomas. But I must
admit I am surprised you would fight for me.”

Thomas shook his head. “Not for you. I said I would
stand on your walls, but I do not fight for you. It is best we get
that in the open.”

Thomas watched Noll’s teeth clench and a tremor run
the length of his jaw. He held his tongue for some time before he
spoke.

“Very well. No matter the reason, I accept your
offer,” Noll said.

What choice do you have? You are in the deepest pit
of your life, and you know that the only way out is to climb upon
the backs of many a dead man.

Noll was brave, Thomas admitted. There was no
denying that. But he was also young and rash, and had yet to
experience the darkness of a bottomless pit.

“While I remember,” Noll said, as he turned to go.
“There is a merchant in town that has been asking after you.”

“I know no merchants.”

Noll shrugged. “Said he came from Zug and would be
staying at the Altdorf inn should I see you. Whether you meet with
him or not, is no concern to me. The fool tried to sell me spices,
of all things. What use do I have of spices?”

Spices?

Noll left Thomas standing in the cemetery, leaning
on Pirmin’s giant ax. Thomas decided to pay his respects to Pirmin
once more, and then, when he was ready, he would go to the inn to
meet Maximilian.

A sadness came over him as he thought about how much
Pirmin would have wanted to join them.

***

The Altdorf inn was filled to capacity when Thomas
arrived that evening. With Noll’s army attracting so many men and
women from the neighboring villages and farms, the innkeeper and
his staff were wearing ruts in the floor trying to keep up with
food and drink orders. Thomas stood inside the door and scanned the
twenty or so tables crammed into the low-ceilinged room. Smoke hung
trapped between ceiling beams, and the smell of both sweat and old
ale made his lip curl. He found himself wishing for the spotless
oasis of order that was Sutter’s place in Schwyz. He and Vreni knew
how to run a traveler’s house.

“Cap’n, over here.”

Ruedi had his arm raised a half dozen tables away. A
stocky form sitting across from him twisted on his bench and looked
over his shoulder. Max, his neatly trimmed beard grayer than Thomas
remembered, waved and his mouth spread into a grin. As Thomas
weaved his way over to the two men, he realized that a woman also
sat with them.

Max stood and grabbed Thomas in a rough embrace.
“There he is! Been looking all over for you,” Max said. “Some said
you were dead. Others, you were in prison. One said you got
yourself a woman and moved away when they burned your ferry,” Max
said. He looked at Thomas sideways as they sat down. “Was pretty
sure that fellow was spinning a tale, though.”

“You look good Max,” Thomas said. “Judging by your
clothes, you managed to set up a little shop in Zug after all?”

“Little shop? Look at him,” Ruedi said. “Another few
years and Max will own that town. I hear he has so much extra coin
he makes loans to the nobles.”

Max shook his head. “Now, I would not say that.
Usury is a sin after all.”

“It is at that,” Thomas said.

“You mean you would not admit to it,” Ruedi
said.