Chapter 5
Friedrich
The sun was barely up, and already the town square was bustling with merchants and children, chickens and dogs.
Sinking against the church steps, I pulled in a breath of cool morning air, ignoring the dull ache at my side.
My wound was healing well, but not nearly quick enough to remove me from the count’s charity or the countess’s care.
Despite her daily ministrations over the past two weeks, her silent manner told me I was an obligation to her.
One she would gladly dispose of if we hadn’t agreed to our little bargain.
Why had I ever consented to teach her to hunt?
I knew better than to trust a noble. The minute she had all she wanted from me, she’d go back on her word and toss me out of the castle before ever attempting to fill her side of the agreement.
Better to not waste my time with her instructions and focus on saving every thaler I could earn, maybe getting enough to buy my way into a bowyer’s apprenticeship and out of Waldeck forever.
A small, spotted dog bumped its wet nose against my hand, and I shooed it back.
The dog was undeterred, snuffling around my hose until it found something to lick on the side of my shoe.
Flicking my foot scared him a safe distance away, but he sat on his haunches and watched me.
I watched him right back. The last thing I needed right now was fleas.
“Mind your head!”
A leather ball flew past my face, slamming into the stone wall beside me.
The dog burst into a chorus of furious yapping as I hoisted myself up to retrieve the ball, grasping it just as a little blond boy with bright-green eyes appeared beside me.
“Is this yours?” I asked. “That was an impressive throw.”
“Hush, Klumpen,” he commanded, but the dog paid him no heed. “Apologies, Herr. My aim’s never so bad.”
“Did you mean to hit me in the head, then?” I smiled, and he let out a laugh. Pulling a bit of dried meat from his pocket, he drew the now-quiet dog over and lifted him into his arms, running his hand down the dog’s back.
“Your dog is not above taking bribes.”
“Oh, he’s Ulrich’s, not mine. The count lets him stay at the castle with Ulrich because he’s a good ratter.”
“I see.” I held the leather ball out to him.
He took it, setting the dog down and giving me a once-over. “Should ya like to play?”
I hadn’t played ball games for too long now, and a flow of nervous excitement rushed to my limbs at his suggestion. But a gentle stretching to feel out my gash told me I’d better not.
The other boys from the game were coming over now, likely wondering what kept their teammate.
“Did you ask him to play?” I recognized Ulrich from the Walpurgisnacht festival. “Because he ain’t fit for it. He’s injured. And besides”—Ulrich gave me a wry grin—“he’s too old.”
Too old? How old did he think me? I stole the ball back from out of the little boy’s hands. “I might surprise you.”
The boys smiled, talking over each other to explain the rules of the game.
It was their own version of the games I’d played as a child, but it didn’t take much to settle into the flow.
I hardly noticed my injury, panting quick puffs of cold air as my muscles burned with the effort.
After so long being confined to a bed, the movement was exhilarating.
Passing the ball back and forth between my feet, I traveled down the cobbled church street, finally kicking the ball to the little blond boy.
It was near to sailing over his head, but he jumped and gripped it tight in both hands, then launched it against the other team’s bucket, knocking it over.
Our team cheered, the dog jumping and barking as if he’d played a part in the victory.
I set the bucket upright and collected the ball, carrying it to Ulrich with a grin. “Surprised?”
Ulrich didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were trained behind me, and I turned in time to see a troop of soldiers filing into the town square, some with pikes held aloft, others with hands wrapped around their arquebuses.
The children began to scatter. A few women let out surprised cries, one looking frantic as she called a girl’s name.
“Get the boys behind the church,” I ordered Ulrich.
Slinking into the shadows of the buildings, I spotted a small girl whimpering and covering her ears as she rocked back and forth beside a rain barrel.
I slipped toward her. Gathering her into my arms, I shushed her fearful cries before reuniting her with her desperate mother and sending them into the safety of an alleyway.
A tall, slender soldier stepped forward from the troop, addressing the townspeople in his heavy Spanish accent.
“We’ve been ordered to quarter here. Our job is to ensure you surrender to the kaiser and return to the Catholic faith.
If you comply with his generous terms, we shall have no trouble, shall we?
” He clapped his hands—the sound puncturing the taut air—then rubbed them together, giving a toothy grin.
Angry murmurs churned through the town square.
“And what if we don’t?” someone yelled.
The soldier’s smile didn’t shift. “We are to use any means necessary to see that you do.”
Protests rang out, the people’s voices rising with their rage. One man wrapped a beefy fist around the handle of a pitchfork, his face dark with loathing.
No. No, no, no. If this escalated, these people would be slaughtered.
A wary soldier lifted his arquebus, aiming the muzzle directly at the man.
To my left, an abandoned mallet lay across a merchant’s table.
I’d have enough time to grab it and work my way behind the men on the right, maybe taking out two or three soldiers when the shooting started.
It might give the women and children opportunity to hide.
Time slowed as I waited for the pop of the gun, waited for the smell of sulfur, for the blood.
And then I saw the boy, the little blond boy with excellent aim, run into the town square and cock back his arm.
Without thinking, I pushed through a pair of women, launching myself toward the boy, but it was too late.
His arm swung forward, and the thunk of a rock ricocheting off a soldier’s morion helmet echoed through the square.
The boy scurried to disappear into the crowd, but he was too slow to outrun his victim.
In a few long strides, the soldier crossed the distance between them, slapping the butt of his gun across the boy’s skull.
A streak of red stained the boy’s white-blond hair.
“Leave him be!” I yelled. The little dog had reappeared beside me, his body shaking with each of his frenzied barks. I had half a mind to kick him but kept my sights trained on the enemy before me.
The soldier who had first spoken, likely their captain, raised an arm to hold back his men as his eyes studied me. I squirmed under his scrutiny but reminded myself that my bandaged gash was safely hidden beneath my shirt and jerkin. He had no way to know I’d fought against the kaiser.
“You’re quick to jump into the fray.” His arm lowered to his side. “Is the boy su familia?”
“He’s defenseless. I won’t see a grown man beat a child.”
The captain smiled and stepped close, his eyes on my face. “Ah. A defender of the weak. You like a good fight, then?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get this?” He lifted a finger and tapped above my brow, where a pike had grazed me. The wound was nearly nothing now, likely no more than a pink line across my forehead, but his keen eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
A bead of sweat slipped between my shoulder blades. “It was a scythe.”
His eyes brightened like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. “A scythe? You were harvesting crops in May?” He moved closer.
“Friedrich!” The countess’s voice rang out over the square, echoing across the stones in the silence.
Every Spanish eye lifted to the church steps where the countess stood, the wind whipping her skirts and golden hair.
As the soldiers studied her with unmasked appreciation, I used their distraction to slip away from the captain.
I picked the boy up by the elbow, and we melted into the crowd to watch the countess and her lady come down the stairs toward the soldiers.
She was brave. I could admit that much.
And her father was a coward, hiding in his castle and sending his daughter to deal with the Spaniards.
“Who might you be?” The captain stepped forward, his gaze wandering down the length of her body.
Her eyes dropped to his boots. “The countess of Waldeck-Wildungen, sir, and—”
“Captain,” he interrupted, flashing a crooked smile. “Captain Carrera.”
“Captain.” She took a shaky breath. “My people mean you no harm.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “The dent in my soldier’s morion would indicate otherwise.”
“Yes. About that. It would seem . . .” The countess’s cheeks flushed. “That is, it’s . . . it’s difficult to explain.”
“I’m willing to let you try.” His sultry tone made my skin wriggle like maggots. When his forward step caused the countess to retreat, I felt an urge to protect her, to push back through the crowd and shield her from his prying gaze.
Mistress Hatzfeld intervened first. “The count wishes for peace. If you will allow us to take you to him?” Her smile proved her everything opposite of the countess. Confident. Seductive. With only a few more words and a wave of her hand, the Spaniards fell in line to follow her.
“Shall you come too, my lady?” Hatzfeld asked with a peaked brow.
“I will stay and see to the boy. You take the soldiers.”
Hatzfeld nodded and led the men away from the square. Before they’d even gone, townspeople surrounded the countess, pummeling her with questions.
“I do not know how long they intend to stay. Please,”—she raised a placating hand—“we must not provoke the kaiser’s men. Be peaceable. Comply with all the count wishes you to do.”
Hmph. What had the count done to earn their loyalty? He hadn’t seemed to care enough to even warn his people the soldiers were coming.
Dismissing her speeches, I squatted in front of the boy, pushing away the dog when it jumped up to lick my face. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, smearing blood across his cheek as he swiped at his glistening eyes. “I was ready to fight them all.” The growl in his voice was fierce despite his little frame.
“I believe you.”
“Johannes, that was a very foolish thing to do.” The countess dropped down beside me, crouching so near that I could again smell her lilac scent. I quickly stood and stepped back.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “If only poor Johannes were so fortunate as the count and could send a woman to fight in his stead.”
The countess’s tense posture told me she fully understood the meaning of my flippant remark, bristling at my cutting assessment of her father’s leadership.
Her attention stayed on Johannes, surveying his wound when she answered me.
“Is it always in your nature to make such gross, unjust assumptions?”
She stood, not waiting for my sputtering reply.
“Had I not decided of my own accord,” she emphasized the last words, “to deliver electuaries this morn, you might be in chains just now. I think gratitude the more appropriate sentiment.” Taking Johannes’s hand, she swept through the square, leaving me alone with the blasted terrier licking my shoe.