The Rift Read online
Page 2
If he did, he would spot us, and like the peasants of Bruch, we would die unable to defend ourselves. I remember thinking many thoughts then. I remember saying a silent prayer and asking God’s forgiveness. I felt helpless.
Rupert gripped my arm so strongly that I winced. I knew immediately that everything had changed. There was a new plan. Rupert pointed to a thick oak tree ten meters away, its great limbs spread wide and almost parallel to the ground.
“When I attract his attention, get yourself in that tree just above the path of the Muscovite. When he comes at me, take him. You must be quick but do not move until I step out.”
The young rider was only twenty meters from us when Rupert stepped into his path. I moved behind the oak tree now, finding a foothold and arm hold and pulling myself into the tree. I watched the rider’s eyes. As they fixed on Rupert, I moved around the tree and onto the limb above the trail between Rupert and the rider.
He was at first surprised, and then his eyes hardened as he listened to Rupert entreat him in a strange tongue. All the while, the old knight stood in front of the Muscovite, his hands widespread as if begging for mercy. The rider moved easily, slowing his nimble horse to a walk while easing the scimitar from its scabbard.
Kalunin’s shouts were heard from below. The young rider shouted in return, reassuring him that he could deal with the man in front of him. All the while, his dark eyes did not leave the man before him. Rupert had placed himself five meters downhill from the great limb.
“Don’t look up, savage. Rupert is your prey.”
A Knight of the Order is trained to fight on horseback, where his skill and courage are tested against his enemy. We are trained to attack into the face of the enemies. But this was not the field of honor. The rider below was not a man of honor. I have seen what men like him have done to knights, to women and children.
There were now only ten meters between Rupert and the rider. The Muscovite had not raised his scimitar, but both Rupert and I knew that the strike would be like that of an adder, quicker than the eye. As I looked down, the horse’s head came into view, then the hands. As the arms appeared, I dropped down, straddling the narrow back of the mount, as I wrapped my left arm around the eyes of the rider. For a short second I felt the body tense, as my dagger found the soft flesh under the breastbone. His shrill scream, which he never heard, could be heard by the band below. The horse, as he felt me drop upon his back, bolted and both the dead rider and I fell heavily to the ground.
Rupert had leaped out ahead of me and headed toward the horses over fifty meters away. I was at his heels in a flash, sheathing my dagger while protecting my face from limbs and bushes with the other hand. We heard the shouts from below, then the thunder of hooves as the raiders dashed to reach their comrade. As we grabbed the reins of our pitching horses, the raiders came into view above us. Placing my foot in the stirrup, I heard the whirr and instinctively delayed pulling myself into the saddle. I heard the thud and the scream of my mount as the arrow pierced the saddle and imbedded itself into his flank. Holding to the pommel, and clinging to his side, my horse bolted beyond the view of the bowmen. Unable to find a clear target because of the thick pine cluster, the band wheeled and disappeared back toward the trail.
“To the village,” Rupert shouted. “We will try to get ahead of them on the road.”
Could we reach the trail to the village ahead of the raiders? I spurred my mount and followed after Rupert, who rode the east side of the hill until the marsh was behind us. Reaching the sandy meadow, we pushed the sturdy horses hard. Rupert knew the Muscovite leader would count on our going away from them to the east, since south of the hill was impenetrable marsh.
I could hear the labored breathing of my young stallion. I knew the stallion’s wound was not a serious one but worried about his stamina. Already, his flanks were covered with lather and his breathing raspy. Sweat poured from my own body yet I felt the exhilaration of danger and hoped that it would not end before I could gather my sword and armor. We rode northeast to intersect the eastward trail to the village less than five hundred meters ahead. As we rode, we both glanced continuously over our left shoulders.
“There they are, Rupert!!”
To our rear, barely one hundred meters behind, came the screaming Muscovites. Their small, swift horses appeared to be flying across the sandy trail; they were closing.
“Let us hope, young knight, that Friederich the Simple knows enough to keep the men hidden. We run a great risk when we change plans with Friederich in charge.”
Rupert’s dearest and most loyal friend always became a target for Rupert’s barbs, as if to deny his love and trust. I knew that Rupert fully expected the coolheaded Friederich to understand, adjust to the new conditions and bring the Muscovites into the snare.
“Now is not the time to worry about Friederich, old man, it is time to worry about the skins we ourselves wear.”
I found myself laughing almost hysterically with Rupert, as our stallions strove mightily to keep distance from their pursuers. Do you ever find that our emotions surprise us when there is great danger? Something only mildly funny becomes uproariously so. Three hundred meters; now the band was seventy meters behind. Two hundred and it was fifty and those in the village could now see the danger to their brother knights.
---
Siegfried, older than Gustav yet more excitable and brash, rushed up to Friederich, who stood impassively at the corner of the peasant’s hut nearest the incoming riders. “They are not going to make it! We must go to help them!”
Friederich looked sternly at the young knight. “Stand, you are a soldier. Hold your position and wait for my command.”
---
One hundred meters, the two men were only thirty meters in the lead. Kalunin had held his band together because of his cunning, his ability to make the right decisions in the maelstrom of battle. He looked ahead of him and saw the village, with its wide main street. He could see the meadows where the street left the village to the east. Such villages are easy plunder and satisfy all the needs of his men. Villagers seldom have weapons, issued them only when commanded by their lords to fight in war. Could this village be different? Who are these two men?
Suddenly, he felt the blood rush to his head. Something is wrong. He looked upon the backs of the fleeing men. He watched the people of the village; men, women, and children, scurrying across the street. Would it be a trap if villagers were running about? No. The streets would be empty. Still, why are they crossing to both sides of the street? No time now. There was no stopping. He saw the blond hair of the tall one clearly now. His would be the first head to fly. This village would remember Kalunin. He turned to see the first huts fly past. His frenzied men were inside the boundaries of the village.
As if on some signal, the two horsemen wheeled their horses to the right and left of the wide main street of Bruch. The street was empty but for the raiders, who sensed something was different about this village and began to move closer together, forming a rough circle. As Kalunin reined in his horse, he saw before him a row of archers appear, blocking the eastern exit from the village. He wheeled his mount and saw a row blocking the western exit. Between the houses to his left, archers stood at the ready. All of the archers had raised their bows, their arrows pointed at the massed raiders, the bows’ strings tensed. For a moment, total quiet. The next instant, Kalunin heard the hiss and felt the burning pain of an arrow pierce his chest, then his side, the most terrible of all piercing his neck and spending itself on the dusty street twenty meters away. He slid, senseless and dying, from his saddle.
Thirty seconds and ten men were down, writhing, some trying to rise but mortally wounded. Without a leader, the remaining men thought only of escape. Friederich, in reconnoitering before the ambush, had discovered that to the south the way was blocked by marshes. He set his defenses to cover east, west, and north, encouraging the raiders to head into the marshes. Several tried openings between the huts to the north and were met wi
th archers then mounted knights who fell upon them at close range. Great cavalrymen, but not prepared for hand-to-hand combat, they fell with open, grievous wounds, to be most painfully killed by vengeful peasants who knew what fate had awaited them had the knights not been there.
In panic, the Muscovites veered south to the marshes where they were allowed to enter without resistance. Within minutes, the men and horses were trapped in the muck which sucked them down as they struggled. Archers, standing on dry ground, often only meters away, mercifully ended their lives.
In ten short minutes, the battle was over. I had only time to find my sword and armor and to mount my fresh horse when Friederich rode to the center of the village, joined by his friend Rupert, who stood astride his great mount. They were talking together as they often did after a battle. I often wondered what they talked about.
---
The shudder of the drawbridge, its great weight vibrating the ground beneath my feet, brought me back. I watched the dozen sturdy men strain to raise the iron portcullis. Beyond, I could see the expectant faces of my fellow knights waiting for the news. Dismounted now, we walked our sweat-soaked mounts across the bridge and into the courtyard. I handed the reins to Manfred.
“She’s had a good run, cool her carefully, good Manfred.”
The tall man had once been one of the archers who had brought Kalunin’s band to ground. In an earlier battle with a band of Muscovites, a rider came upon him suddenly. Caught between arrows, Manfred raised his hands to defend himself. The thrust of Sir Otto’s sword, which drove the man from his saddle, was too late to save Manfred from his wound. His left hand was severed at the wrist. I had used my sword, heated on the smithy’s embers, to cauterize the wound. I suppose I saved his life, for which at first he was not grateful, but that changed as the brave man came to understand death was likely to come in bed and he could see his wife and children almost every day. There has always been a special bond between us.
Watching Manfred take the tired young stallion to the stables, I found myself thinking of the three hostages Rupert and I had seen that day.
---
After the ambush, we returned to look for them, knowing they were men of birth by their dress and fine features. We had guessed they might still be in the area where the raiders had first halted at the west base of the hill. They had been easy to find. They were tied together around the base of a tall pine. Their fine tunics were crimson with the blood, still bright red, which had flowed from the gashes in their necks. We freed their hands and laid them on the soft pine needles. We had them returned to the castle where the priest said Mass for them. We buried them with our own. We learned of the identity of the three after the Grand Master made inquiries through emissaries to King Wladyslawa II. They were sons of the Polish Mozni, rich prizes.
Why were they killed? No one but the Muscovites really knew. Perhaps, those who stayed behind to guard them had simply panicked when it became clear what had happened to the others. Looking down at them when we found them, I remembered wondering how those three young men acted before death. Did they beg for their lives? Did they accept their fate and ask for God’s forgiveness for their sins? Did they bargain with their captor? I shuddered, remembering what Rupert said to me. “One hopes to die in his own bed and never in chains.”
Knights of the Order understood that, and often discussed the moral dilemma of men surrounded by their enemies, faced with certain torture and mutilation, who would be condemned to hell by taking their own lives. Unspoken was the understanding that their fellow knights would mercifully relieve them of that dilemma.
We were laying the bodies on the ground and I said to Rupert, “Rupert, I never want to die like that. If we are together, promise me you will never let that happen. God tells us we cannot take our own lives. Please do not let that happen to me, good friend.”
“I would not,” Rupert replied.
“Nor would I,” I replied. We had turned to each other, and standing over the fallen nobles, we clasped hands and made that vow. Tomorrow, perhaps...
---
It was midmorning when we reached the courtyard. The half dozen who had scouted the enemy had huddled together for a brief moment, once again going over what they had seen, answering questions that Rupert asked of them. It was Rupert who would report to the lance commanders.
The knights waiting in the courtyard gathered round, wanting to know what the others had seen. Were there more this morning than last evening? All nodded, agreeing that was the question they wanted answered.
Rupert spoke for the scouts. “Their numbers have doubled, their horses also. We would guess ten thousand, at the least. Perhaps two thousand horses.”
Like I, Rupert could see the looks of worry on the faces of the knights. The knights had been accustomed to such odds, but they also knew that Jagiello’s army was better equipped, better disciplined than those the Poles and Lithuanians had put in the field before. Their ranks did not crumble when the Knights of the Order fell upon them. The old knight, who had watched the power of Jagiello grow, knew that their only chance was to strike the enemy with such fierceness that their spirit would be broken.
“They must cross the river. We will crush them then.”
The mischievous smile in his eyes made the knights smile, too, and I remembered marveling at the charisma of this man. There was nowhere he would not go, and nowhere I would not follow. The knights began to disperse. Today, they would meet in the Great Hall where the Grand Master was to speak to them before the great battle tomorrow.
---
All the Knights of the Order were there. They came from the headquarters at Marienburg, and other castles along the Baltic. Gustav watched as the room slowly filled, the knights standing before the heavy tables, waiting. At the end of the Great Hall, the floor was elevated, and held the still-empty long table. The remainder of the hall was now filled. There was a hushed anticipation broken by the blare of trumpets as the commanders entered the hall, followed by an assembly of scribes and priests surrounding the figure of the Grand Master. Silence now as they slowly took their places, facing the assembly of knights. Behind the Grand Master, who was flanked by his commanders and entourage, loomed the great banner of the Order of the Teutonic Knights, its golden cross with its black trim emblazoned by the eagle of Rome.
The walls echoed as the trumpets brought the assemblage to attention. The knights stood transfixed, all attention on the Grand Master. Chosen by the Holy Roman emperor to protect and extend its eastern borders, the Order now found itself at war with two Christian kingdoms for its Baltic Empire. Grand Master Winrich von Kniprode stood before them.
“For almost two hundred years, our Order, in the name of our pope and the Holy Roman emperor, has taken upon its shoulders the great task of bringing Jesus Christ into the lives of the people of this land. Now our land is threatened by the kingdoms of Poland and Lithuania. As we meet here, they are assembling a great army on the Vistula, preparing to invade our beloved land. We have been threatened before and the Almighty has granted us victory. Once again, the Knights of the Order of the Teutons are asked to repel the raiders, to throw back the Slavs from our borders and preserve this land for future generations of Germans. Those future generations will honor us for our courage and strength in this time of trial. By our faith and will, victory will be ours. May God bless us.”
A mighty cheer rose in the hall, then the knights began to shout as one voice: “Victory. Victory.” I confess I was among those who cheered until the Master silenced us. I turned to Rupert, who was silent, a smile on his face. Why was my friend silent? Someday I would ask him why.
Rupert and I watched as the knights left the Great Hall, many heading for the chapel to pray, to have their confessions heard, and to receive Holy Communion.
“They will always remember the Order of the Teutons. Hundreds of years from now, they will tell of our bravery, our great faith in God.” I thought I heard the sadness in Sir Rupert’s voice as he spoke.
“Perhaps they will tell of our great victory at Tannenberg tomorrow, Sir Rupert. It is in God’s hands. Perhaps there will be a miracle.”
“Miracles are too often no more than the accident of great enterprise meeting stupidity and cowardice. I think we will find neither in Wladyslawa and his commanders. Tomorrow will tell the story soon enough.”
I knew that I must prepare for battle by going to the chapel to pray, to confess to God through his priestly emissary, and to receive the Body and Blood of Christ. I knew that no knight would willingly go into battle without first making his peace with God. But when I left the Great Hall, I headed instead for the quarters where the Grand Master and his retinue stayed. I must see Elsbet. As I climbed the steps to the rooms, I smiled at the image of the small girl I had first seen at the stables.
---
Sir Rupert had instructed me to provide riding lessons to the young girls and boys in the castle. Elsbet was ten then, tall and bony. She had presented herself to me and smiled. Her wide smile showed wide spaces between her teeth. I tensed my facial muscles, trying mightily to look serious. My stomach began to knot, but still I found the urge welling in me to laugh. Elsbet saw in my eyes that I was laughing at her. She stood there and I saw the tears begin to well in her eyes. A dashing young squire, and a head taller than the young girl before me, I knew I must make amends. I was in control now. I stepped toward her and curtsied.
“Milady, it will be a great pleasure to help you with your riding. I have often seen you in the courtyard,” I lied. “The squires have often remarked favorably on you.”
The Rift