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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 months ago

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Sed Proditionem || chapter I Proditores non laudo

{or read it here on AO3}

So I said fine, 'cause that's how my daddy raised me. If they strike once then you just hit them twice as hard.

* * *

It was cold. The kind of coldness that would not give a shit about the fact that April was almost over. The kind of coldness where one could easily sweat themselves to death at noon, only to be tortured with the ice-shaped fingers of a biting breeze as soon as the sun went down. The kind of coldness that made one wish themselves close to a crackling fireplace, wrapped in a heavy fur coat or a blanket of the thickest sheepskin, with a mug of hot wine in both hands.

Hans was shivering like a cobweb in a storm, and he would have killed to be at some fireplace and enjoy a mug of wine. His growing discomfort, however, had little to do with the coldness and more with this whole plan that was by far the stupidest he had heard in a long time.

When Henry had come back from Kuttenberg and told Hans about his meeting with Žižka, Hans had been overflowing with joy like a trough in the rain. Henry had beamed from the same happiness. There had been worry in his eyes, too, how could there not with the growing political instability in this country, and the two of them, once again, being pulled right into the middle of it? But his mouth had formed a bright smile when he talked about Žižka and Katherine, and the rest of the old pack, and Christ, how quickly that glee had spread over to Hans. The last time they had met up with Žižka must have been over a year ago. Katherine had paid her latest visit to Rattay even long before that, accompanying some trader that, apparently, her and Žižka were after at the time, for some reason only they understood. Samuel had stayed in Kolín for the past seven years doing God knew what, but Hans didn't doubt that it was highly important, or that at least Sam thought so. Henry had visited him occasionally when they passed by Kolín on their way to Podiebrad, but Hans had always been too tied up both in political and family affairs to join him for a meetup. And Kubyenka and Janosh? Shit, the last time he had seen these two must have been at his own wedding! They had all been there, blessed be their souls, even the Devil, lousily disguised as a fisherman, as half the land was still after him. And what a celebration it had been, with the lot of them! Hans couldn't remember half of that night, and there could be no clearer indication that it had been a fantastic one. Žižka had started some philosophical debate about the shape of clouds, while the Devil had threatened to crush someone's skull in. Sausages had been mentioned at some point, though not by Janosh, and then Sam had danced on a table, and Katherine was dressed in a nun's dress, and Kubyenka with two kittens? They had all gone down to the stream to take a naked bath in the moonlight, even Godwin, although he had found a horse somewhere that he had ridden through the water as if he was Saint George himself, and then Henry had almost drowned in that waist-high piss. Katherine had disappeared at some point, and when Hans had later returned to his chambers, he had found her there, together with Jitka. Doing girl things, they said.

He had missed these times. Had missed them dearly over the last seven fucking years. Had thanked God for his divine dispensation bringing them all back together now. And then Žižka had let them in on the current situation and on his brilliant plan, and Hans had craved nothing more than to return to Rattay right on the spot. To sit down in front of a fireplace with some hot wine. To forget all of this had ever happened.

The Devil was dead. That didn't come as a surprise, Hans had known for almost two years now. He had been a thorn in the flesh of the Kunštát family for a long while, fighting his battles against Sigismund's army and then against Albert IV of Austria, raiding both Austrian and Moravian land, then joining the troops of duke Albert's very own son, a boy hardly of age but already a strong supporter of King Sigismund. Nobody had shed a tear over Hynek of Kunštát's death, Jitka's father Botschek had even found it necessary to hold a small celebratory feast when he heard the news, and many toasts were spoken to Hynek's sudden demise. Hans hadn't said a word, because how could he have? To him there was no Hynek, no traitor in the family. The only man that existed for him was the Devil, and the Devil had been a fucking bastard, yes, a ruthless murderer, but also an ally by whose side Hans had fought, someone he had shared more drinks with than with any man at this feast, and certainly more laughs.

So the news about the Devil's death wasn't surprising in the slightest. What did surprise Hans, however, was that Žižka mentioned it at all. He hadn't even breathed a word of it when he last spoke to Henry a few days ago, or back then in Rattay when he had come to see them both, only a week after it had happened. “And what does it even matter?” he had said now, both hands pressed flat on the table, his brow deeply furrowed. “He had been fed up with the pack for a long time before, and he chose to fight his own battles, with or against us. We won't need him for this task, just as we haven't needed him for the last six years.”

Only that he lied. It did matter, to him just as much as to the rest of them, because this cursed affiliation of vagabonds had never been Žižka's, had never called itself Žižka's pack. It had been Dry Devil holding them all together like sticky honey, and now that he was gone, all the burden was tossed entirely on Žižka's shoulders, and he had fallen under the weight like Jesus under the cross. Of course Žižka knew that. It was evident from the way he had fixed his eyes on Henry as he tried to convince the two of them that he did in fact not need the Devil by his side. Christ's wounds, everyone in the room knew it! Janosh was fiddling around with the buckle of one of his belts as if he wanted to knead pastries out of it. Godwin had stared somewhere into the distance, his mouth slightly agape, as if he was silently reciting some prayer. Katherine had her arms folded and her gaze on Žižka alone. No matter how hopeless everything seemed to become, at least she wouldn't go anywhere, she wouldn't leave Žižka's side.

Kubyenka's eyes had been on his feet that nervously tapped up and down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, but when Žižka spoke these last words, the Fuck him, fuck the Devil, we will manage just as good without him, if not even better, Kubyenka had finally looked up and his expression was one of anger and pain. “Don't you dare shit on his name like that, Žižka. God knows I love you, like an estranged brother even, but if you speak one more word like that, I won't be holding myself back.”

“What? Is it not true then? Have I lied?” Žižka's voice had been shaking from anger, too, but it wasn't directed at Kubyenka. “Has he not been leaving the pack alone, has he not been cuddling up with the very man we fought against lately?”

“So what? The Devil was doing what we all are doing! Taking his sword where it is best paid for. This is not about morality, it never had been. And all your late travels to Prague to listen to that Jan Hus preaching won't change that. We are mercenaries, first and foremost, and you should understand that better than all of us. Or do you seriously believe we don't know what you were doing up there in our Polish neighbour's lands just some months ago? Cuddling up with the enemy.”

Hans had in fact not known about it, but it made everything a lot clearer. He had been right then. This was a desperate attempt of Žižka's to bring the pack back together. Driven by broken pride and a failing search for his own path. And something else. Rejection.

Žižka had narrowed his eyes so much that the left one almost disappeared completely behind the scar. “Well, the Germans declined my offer.”

Kubyenka had laughed, and it had sounded all shallow, a taunting display of disdain. “Lucky for us then.”

They had exchanged a few more silent looks that were so heated the whole room had felt like the fire of Hell. Then Žižka had glanced over at Katherine, and she had nodded, and he had taken a deep sigh and returned to his explanations as if nothing had happened. With King Wenceslas's sovereignty still being questioned, not only by Sigismund now but by the church, too, and with Poland fighting for its lands in the north, Bohemia was in a delicate position. And in the midst of this chaos, Jan Hus had emerged as an opposing voice against the clergy and a friend of the common people like the Messiah on the third day. Hans had only nodded in agreement. This wasn't new to him at all, he had heard it before, in all different tones and harmonies. Had heard it from Henry, who was affected by Jan Hus's postulations directly as a peasant, and indirectly through his father's support of Hus's side, and through Godwin, who had moved to Prague for this specific cause while still trying to meet up with Henry as often as he could. Hans had heard it from all different noblemen around the country, some showing great interest in Hus's stance against the church, some fearing for their own status and power with the growing unrest of their people. He had also heard it from Hanush, who was more often than not travelling out on his own account these days. Visiting some lords whose territories had been pestered by the plague of war and upheaval. Kindly talking to them and offering help, was what he called it. Threatening and robbing might have described it better.

In Prague, Jan Hus was still holding his chair as the rector of the university, protected by King Wenceslas himself, but that position was fickle. After his continuing defiance of the archbishop's prohibition to preach, and with the growing pressure on the King by both the bishops and the Holy Father himself – one of God only knew how many there were at this point! – the King could not uphold his support much longer. The people, on the other hand, loved Jan Hus and his ideas. Of course they did. More freedom might have been the one principle every human in this world could agree on. And that love made Hus all the more hated by those in power.

“We need to point the way,” Žižka had said. “Make them understand that Hus's theories are the only sensible response to the church's superior power and this whole schism that we are currently stuck in. We need to light a metaphorical and literal beacon of reason in these times. So. The plan is simple.” And then he had proceeded to lay down in great detail a plan that was as far away from simplicity as it could possibly get.

Hans wrapped his arms tighter around his body, letting his gaze wander up and down the gorge that Žižka had selected for this scheme. It had become almost too dark to see, the trees up above them forming a wall of shadows against a clouded sky. Just a few moments ago, some church bells in the distance had tolled for the evening prayer. St. Matthew's church, Hans had thought in a touch of melancholy, and then quickly discarded the idea. The bells of the newly built church in Vranov more likely. If anything, they'd rather be able to hear the church bells of Rowna near Skalitz than those of Rattay.

His eyes wandered over to Henry whose face was now eerily illuminated by the light of a lantern he had lit. Hans had offered to avoid Skalitz on their way to the set place, but Henry had banished the thought immediately. It was the fastest route, he had said, and even though they had used horses until reaching Jezonice, just a short walk away from here, they couldn't afford to dawdle. Besides, he had added with a weak smile, he didn't insist on spending any more time in this itchy priest's cassock than was absolutely necessary.

Still he had kept his eyes lowered for most of the road that led around the ruins of Skalitz. Him and Hans had visited the place around a dozen times over the past years. To have an eye on the reconstruction of the village that was only progressing at a painfully slow pace. It never got easier.

“So.” Sam's voice echoed through the clearing like a cannon shot. “Can we discuss the plan once more?”

“You want to make sure everyone knows his task?”

The look that Sam regarded his brother with was as dead as that of a corpse. It didn't help that it seemed like he hadn't got a single hour of sleep in the last three days, ever since his arrival in Kuttenberg. “Oh, I do not doubt that. I just wanted to hear it again because I am still certain I must have missed the part that made you agree to this whole stupidity in the first place.”

“It is far from stupid,” Godwin objected, and he sounded like he didn't believe a single word he said. “Playing with the gullibility of people is actually a fool-proof plan, if you ask me.”

“If you manage to lead the conversation to that crucial part where you can play your little magic trick.” Hans took a deep breath, shifting his weight so that he moved a little closer to Sam. It felt good having at least one sane person on his side. The feigned optimism of the others back in Kuttenberg had been unbearable! “And given that you can get this Father Thomas to stop and have a little chat with you.”

Henry smiled, and the shadows of the lantern's light turned it into the wicked grin of a mummer's mask. “We are two unarmed priests on a pilgrimage. What could possibly unsettle them about us?”

“I tell you what unsettles me.” Hans could feel the whole situation slowly taking a toll on his patience. “The word unarmed in that sentence of yours.”

“Clearly a priest won't attack other men of the cloth.”

“Well, maybe not, until those men of the cloth start talking about this great Jan Hus fellow that they met in Prague the other day. And about how his words must clearly be guided by God, because he gave them this glass ball, you see, and it glows and explodes whenever someone is using the true words of God, so you can know that it is nothing but the word of God that Jan Hus is preaching!”

Henry and Godwin exchanged a silent look that screamed louder than Hans had. When he turned back to him, Godwin shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we might be able to phrase it a little bit more convincing.”

“What if they don't even show up here?”

“Then we haven't lost anything either.”

Hans shook his head in disbelief. “What if Father Thomas shows up with more than four armed men? What if that little explosion won't make them believe in some divine intervention but in a secret attack on them?” His eyes wandered up to a spot between the trees' shadows that he couldn't make out from down here, but he had seen it before in the fading sunlight, had inspected it closely and shaken his head over it. “What if I don't hit that tiny thing, at this time of night, from that distance?” I know that this is not your battle to fight in, Žižka had told him back in the church attic in Kuttenberg, and I would prefer it if I didn't have to drag you into this. But I need you for this task. After all, you're the best marksman I have.

“You will be here with us,” Henry said, and his voice was so soft and calm that it might have convinced Hans of everything he could have said. “You two will be hiding up there with our weapons at the ready. And Kubyenka and Janosh will guard the other side of the gorge. Six skilled fighters will be more than enough against four mercenaries, and a priest who will be getting in their way more than he will actually help them. You might as well have killed them all with your crossbow before one of them even gets the chance to draw his sword.”

“And what if they come prepared?” Sam's fingers were wrapped tightly around the handle of his left dagger as if he was ready to draw it here and now. “What if this Schwarzfeld has guided us right into a trap?”

Godwin straightened the fabric of his priest's robe. He made it seem nonchalant, but the time he took to reply betrayed his whole act. “Katherine and Žižka have both talked to Schwarzfeld themselves, and very extensively, I might add. We know that he is a small German lord who has always enjoyed many privileges from our King, while he has a hard time with the church due to the high charges the bishop imposes on him. So it seems like he has a lot of reason to support our cause. Do I trust him?” He shrugged his shoulders again. It was strange, Hans thought, how little the priest robe he had worn for so long suited him these days, how much weaker and older it made him seem. “What do I know! But I trust Katherine and Žižka and both their judgments.”

Hans shook his head. He could feel the weight of the crossbow that was tied to his belt and understood now why Sam had his hand placed firmly on his weapon. A little bit of comfort, a shelter in this thunderstorm. “The whole plan is still totally mad. More so than anything Žižka has come up with before.”

“Doesn't feel so mad to me.” Henry smiled again. His eyes were warm and honest. “After all, it's nothing but simple alchemy.”

“Given I can hit the glass, without it being noticed by the priest or his men, and that this paste you smeared on my bolts actually does something to this strange smoke inside that phial.”

“It's finest firedamp, gathered from the mines. And since Sam took care of it, I'm sure it will work.”

Sam let out a hiss through his teeth that sounded almost like he had just exploded himself. “This gas might be the only part of the plan that I am convinced of.”

“We don't need your conviction.” Godwin stepped forward, and his voice was loud, demanding. “All we need is for you both to do as you're told and fulfil your task. Of the rest we take care of. Understood?”

Hans rolled his eyes, shook his head, and answered with a mocking “Yes, commander”. There was nothing else to do. Godwin and Henry were all too adamant about this anyway.

The grass was wet and bitingly cold, as he crawled up the slope to where he was supposed to hide between the trees, with Sam by his side. There was a fallen tree up here, that had decayed during the cold winter days, crumbling under his weight as he sat down on it, but at least it would keep his arse dry. Sam seemed to have no need for that and rather stayed in a squatting position a few feet away, one hand still on his dagger, the other wrapped around a sheathed longsword. His father's sword, and Sam's only duty tonight. To throw it down to Henry as soon as the slightest form of trouble arose.

Sam looked like a cocked crossbow himself, Hans thought. Every muscle tightened, ready to snap and jump. Or perhaps not so much like a crossbow, actually, and rather like the very thing a crossbow would be pointed at. A hare, surrounded by the hunter and his hounds. Lips pressed together tightly, eyes squinted. His face was half covered by the shadows of trees and bushes, and the faint moonlight only enhanced the hollowness of his cheeks and the dark rings under his eyes. A hare perhaps, but a very tired one.

“This whole plan hasn't given you much rest either, eh?”

Sam kept his eyes solely on the road below them on the bottom of the gorge. He also looked like he was in no mood for a conversation, but that had never bothered Hans before, especially not when his own nervousness made him seek out the comfort of talk more than ever. “What plan? This trickery that is entirely built on the trust in a man we barely know?”

“Well, from what I understand Schwarzfeld is closely tied to this Father Thomas, who is in turn a member of the Prague synod, the very one who stands strongly against Jan Hus, so he seems to be a suitable candidate to perform our trickery on. And since Schwarzfeld knows this priest so well, he should be able to convince him of going through these woods late at night to avoid the robber bands in this area.”

“Or at least so he claims.”

The road below them was empty now, not even the light of the lantern could be seen. Henry and Godwin had disappeared somewhere to the left, where they would wait until the carriage of Father Thomas and his mercenaries would appear in front of them. Only then would they set themselves into motion and act as if they had been walking all this time, on a pilgrimage from Prague, where Thomas was supposed to be returning to. And what great wonders they encountered there in the presence of Hus! What Hans hadn't given to change positions with Godwin now and be down there in priest robes next to Henry. Partly, because he knew how convincing Henry could be, and he would have loved to experience his act up close. Partly too, however, because he hated seeing Henry walk right into danger while being too far away to intervene when it all went to shit.

Above them, bats were screeching on their hunt for the first harbingers of summer, gnats. The air felt more like winter though, so freezing cold by now, that it lifted Hans's breath to the sky in the form of glistening clouds of smoke.

There was no such cloud in front of Sam's face, Hans noticed. Maybe all his insides had cooled down to ice a long time ago. “You aren't so keen on trusting, eh?”

“Does it surprise you?” Sam still didn't give Hans the honour of looking at him. If he just loosened up a little bit, it might help him to enjoy something in life for once! After all, the only times Hans could remember ever seeing Henry's brother truly happy was when he was drunk. “I have lived through more deceits and betrayals than you can even imagine.”

“Believe me, betrayal isn't such a strange concept to me either.”

“I doubt that you can compare that.”

And there it was again, so suddenly that it made Hans's heart stop for a moment or two. A face he had forgotten, a love he had sworn to never feel again, because how fucking much could this love hurt. Only Henry had managed to make him break this oath. Only for Henry had he opened his chest to the threat of being stabbed again, and he hadn't regretted this decision once in the past seven years. And Henry had helped him heal, had shown him that it was not only possible but worth the risk to take down the walls he had built. That it was worth to trust, back then at Suchdol during that damned siege after Hans had found Samuel breaking into his room, and now it was Sam again who dragged these memories out of the deepest pits of his chest so they could torment him once more. The same hollow cheeks, but eyes like the night sky. It wasn't fair, Hans thought. Because back then Samuel had said something that had proven any comparison to him wrong, had given Hans encouragement, the sweetest gift ever given to him. He had traded that gift of encouragement for Henry's love. Trust wasn't an easy task, Hans knew that too well. But Sam had taught him a lesson Hans would never forget. Don't make the same mistake I made. As a lily among thorns, so is my love.

Hans shook his head. The distorted face didn't disappear. Maybe it was the moonlight, he thought, that made Sam's eyes seem darker and larger too. He looked away. It wasn't fair, he thought again. Not to Sam, and not to himself. “Let's just agree that we know each other too little to judge that properly.”

The bats were screeching. A breeze bent the tops of the trees above their heads, carrying the smell of wet grass and blossoming flowers. The breeze was warm. It felt nice for the moment, until it left a more piercing coldness than before once it was over.

“Look.” Hans could hear Sam sigh in annoyance when he started to speak again, but he would not stay quiet now, not when his hand was shaking and his heart was racing. It was way too cold for a late April night. “I agree with you that we shouldn't put our lives in the hands of someone we haven't even shared a drink with. But it's not really this Schwarzfeld guy that we're trusting here. It's Katherine and Žižka. If they are certain he told the truth, then I am certain of it too. Besides, Henry was right. We're all here to help them. You have his sword ready, I have my crossbow, Janosh and Kubyenka will strike from the other side. There's really not that much risk about this part of the plan.”

“If they appear.”

Hans pulled his knees closer to his body, wrapped his arms around them, hoping it would help him warm up if he twisted himself into a pretzel in the oven. “Well, otherwise we just freeze our arses off for nothing, I suppose.”

“I'm not talking about that priest.”

Hans narrowed his eyes, examining the forest on the other side of the gorge. He had never seen the ocean before, but this was what the authors in his books used to describe it as. Huge and unfathomable, engulfing and dark. The air smelled of grass and flowers and frost. A shiver crept down his spine. “They're clearly there already. We just cannot see them from here, because it's simply too fucking dark.”

“Hm,” Sam made, and it sounded as weak as the wind.

Hans looked over to him again, and now Matej was gone. Too much scepticism, too little hatred. “Where do you think they are? Still in Uzhitz, having had one drink too many against the nervousness?”

“There are many possibilities.”

“Hm.” A sound out of Hans's own throat this time, he could feel it, but the voice was unfamiliar to him.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the emptiness. The bats were dashing across the sky, the leaves were rustling. Down below, the road remained deserted.

“Farkakte drek!”

Hans winced at Sam's sudden jump to his feet. Above them, a bird rushed away from its resting spot in the branches with a protesting caw.

“And this is what I left my people in Kolín for?”

“Keep it a little quieter, will you!”

“Why?” Sam flipped around to him as quickly as a bowstring let loose. “There is no one else here! Not down on that road and not over there in the forest either.”

“They are there.” It was a strange feeling, Hans thought, to always be the sensible one when he was with Sam. And he couldn't help but notice how much this role annoyed him. “The priest will show up too, we haven't even waited all that long. And then …”

“And then what? Then Henry will walk up to this galach and his four men to perform some little magic trick, dressed in nothing but these woollen robes!”

“He is used to such robes, believe me. Did you know that he lived in a monastery once, as a monk?”

“It is not about the robes, Hans.” He took a step closer to him now, his eyes hidden from the moonlight, painting them pitch black. “Žižka is using him as bait. Seven years, and nothing has changed!”

“Žižka knows,” Hans tried to keep his voice as calm as he possibly could, “that Henry is capable of carrying out this plan. Probably the only one of us who could.”

“Žižka was desperate.” Sam's voice was as sharp as a blade, his accent more clear than ever now, every word coming down like a hammer. “Because the Devil is dead, the Teutonic order has rejected him, and half of his men are on the risk of leaving. If they haven't already.”

Hans took a deep breath. His annoyance about being the voice of reason wasn't helped by Sam reflecting his very own thoughts back to him like a vicious mirror. “You are worried. I am, too. There is nothing wrong with that. But we should not forget that it is Henry we are talking about here.” He tried to smile. It must have looked little convincing. “You might not trust Schwarzfeld. You might not even trust Žižka. Fine. But I think we can both agree that we should trust Henry.”

Sam took a deep breath, shook his head, averted his gaze. The hand that he had wrapped around the sword's handle loosened a bit, even as the rest of his body remained tense. It was clear that he wanted to say more, had more doubts, more fears weighing down on his chest, but he kept them to himself. As usual. Sam was right, Hans thought. Seven years, and it almost felt as if nothing had changed. Yet everything has. And we have grown older, we have moved on. Perhaps that was what made all of this so damn hard. They weren't barely matured striplings anymore who would agree to every bold plan Žižka could come up with. There was a family to look after for Hans, a wife, a realm, three children. A home built anew from the ruins for Sam, stepping into his grandfather's shoes, guiding his flock. There was so much more to lose for both of them, as exciting as the prospect of new adventure felt. And then there was Žižka. Still a mercenary, still on the search for his purpose in life, still lost.

Maybe that was why Henry had been the first to agree to his proposition, and so eagerly as well. Because in this regard he wasn't all that different from Žižka. Always lost, always looking for his path. To Henry, stepping out of Rattay had been a relief, a breath of rediscovered freedom. He could swear as many oaths as he wanted, and perhaps they weren't even lies, perhaps he wanted to stay by Hans's side until his last day, Hans wanted just the same. But not as his knight, his advisor, not tied up in duties that would bind him to the Rattay court forever. Almost ironic, wasn't it, how Hans would be the one they called little bird, while Henry was right there next to him, always on the search for new adventures and restless as if trapped in a cage when he couldn't find it for too long. And yet he had stayed.

“Believe me,” Hans began as softly as he could while his voice was shaking, “I care for him as much as you do. Ten years ago, I couldn't have dreamed of being where I am now, and I wouldn't even have wanted to. To be the patriarch of the family of Leipa, yes, the Lord of Rattay, that too. But being married, with three children? Delegated to rule over all these possessions, these people, so many problems to solve, so many hungry mouths to feed. My own family's and that of the whole land.” Something rustled in the undergrowth next to his feet, a mouse perhaps, somewhere on the other side a brown owl was calling. Once, Hans had longed for this with his whole heart, the silence, the serenity of nature. Now he couldn't even remember when he had last set foot outside the Rattay city walls. “But I am happy. Because through all of this responsibility, I always have your brother by my side. To help me make decisions, to calm me down whenever I feel like I could never be suited for the role. To give me love, make me feel safe. I never thought I could have that.” He laughed. A sound almost as croaking as the owl's scream. “Much less with a man!”

Sam turned, looked at him. He didn't say a word, but there was a deep understanding in his expression, as if he knew. Maybe he remembered what Hans had said before, sensed what this was about even when he couldn't quite tell why he would be sharing it. Christ, Hans didn't even know himself! To calm them both down, perhaps, take their minds off the task ahead. To lift the weight of memory off his chest, more likely. As if taking parchment and a feather when another poem had been twirling through his thoughts a whole day long, writing it down, relieving his mind. They had come and settled down in his heart now anyway. His words, his eyes, his hatred.

“You know, Henry wasn't the first man I ever had such feelings for. Though I was much younger when it had last happened. Fourteen, to be exact.” Hans shook his head at that realisation alone. The ridiculousness, this passing of time. “Christ, I'm twice as old now!”

Sam still didn't say a word, maybe he wouldn't dare to, but he listened, and then he placed the sword on the ground and lowered himself to the tree trunk next to Hans. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his presence, his warmth, smell his scent. Pungent leather and sweet herbs like the incense burned at mass, and something that reminded Hans all too much of Henry. Hot iron perhaps, straying sparks on wood, a smouldering fire.

“He was a stable boy in Rattay. I do not even remember his name.” Nor his face, Hans thought. His hair had been brown as chestnuts, almost red. Like a squirrel, Hans had liked to say and he had meant it as a compliment, and then the other one had laughed and called him straw head, because Hans's own hair had been fair as hay back then, had only darkened a little over the years. “He was much older than me. Past twenty already, although he didn't look like it. I thought he was beautiful. I liked him. But I didn't know what to do about this … liking.” Neither his uncle nor his nurse Vjenka nor any other person he knew had ever taught him about it. He had looked for answers in the tales he knew and loved. Eneas and Pallas, Siegfried and Gunther, Lancelot and Galehaut. It didn't explain shit. “One night, I went to see him in the stables, and then I … I touched him. Carefully. And he returned the touch, and then he showed me … love. Well, it wasn't actually love, it was sex, and it wasn't very pleasant for me either. But it was new, and exciting, and I came back for more. He made me come back. Told me he needed to see me again, because of what he was feeling for me.”

Hans paused for a while. The lies one was so eager to believe when young and in love. Or perhaps it had been entirely his own nature that was to blame. The gullibility of people was fool-proof, Godwin had said. It surely was when that priest they waited for was any bit like Hans. Still as naive as a child, Hanush would say. When will you ever grow up?

A light appeared below on a road, silver in colour, crawling through the gorge like the water of a stream. Just the moonlight. Hans wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. “Our secret meetings went on for quite a while. And then finally, he revealed what it was exactly he was feeling for me. He asked me for a promotion. He wanted to become a knight.” There was a sound to his left, but Hans couldn't quite tell if it had been produced by Sam's throat or some animal or the wind in the branches. “I told him that he was only a stable boy, that he could never be a knight, and that even if it was possible, I was in no position to grant that to him.” Hans swallowed. He had reached a point where the memories were starting to hurt. Sam didn't push him, didn't urge him to continue. He just waited. Understood. “All of a sudden, his touches grew painful. And he began to threaten me. Promised that he would tell the whole of Rattay about us, if I didn't go and convince my uncle somehow.”

Bare, naked, helpless, pressed into the hay in the far corner of the stables. Fingers on his arms bruising. What, you wanna scream? Want them to find you like this? You have any idea what they do to filth like you?

“Of course he could have never actually told anyone. The consequences for him would have been much graver than those for me, I was a noble after all. The worst thing that could happen to me was a slap on the wrist and a scolding from my uncle, while he would at least end up in the stocks, if not be banished or hanged for defiling me. But I couldn't see that at the time. I was scared. I was only fourteen!”

Hans fell silent again, and for a while he wasn't certain whether he wanted to continue. The shadows of the trees on the other side formed the outline of an enormous wall that seemed to be getting closer now with every other word he spoke, and he felt locked in, despite the cold breeze on his skin, despite the birds and bats and mice, despite the dampness of the wood and the grass. He closed his eyes. The smell. The smell was what he could hold on to. Incense and leather. Hot iron. Familiar. “In my desperation, I went to someone who I believed was close to me. Close enough to confide in. Other than the stable boy's, his name I do remember very well. Matej.” Black hair, black eyes, always narrowed, always wary. He must have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, not quite a man yet, but just as broad as all the other soldiers that he trained with. “He was a squire under Sir Bernard. Of course, I couldn't tell him what exactly had happened between me and that stable boy, not at first anyway. I just said that he had threatened me. And Matej didn't hesitate. Went straight to him and threatened him back. Told him that he would make his life a living hell if he didn't leave Rattay at once. Matej could be quite intimidating, you know. The stable boy never stood a chance.”

Drinks and talks and laughter, even though it was rare to get a laugh from Matej. It always sounded wrong. Like a parasitical insect that had clawed its way out of his throat. An occasional touch, after enough tankards of wine. A hand on Matej's arms, his neck, in his black curls, Hans's skin burning as if the squire's body was made of flames.

“We got closer after that, Matej and me. So close that it made me start to see things that … just weren't real. And one day, I told him everything. We were a little too drunk and we were all alone, and I felt safe. So I talked about what I had shared with the stable boy. And I talked about my own feelings for him. For Matej.” The black eyes widened for once. In surprise and disbelief, that Hans had been able to tell. The hatred and disgust he couldn't see. Too much wine, too much childish naivety. “He was taken aback, of course, that wasn't surprising to me. It also didn't come much to a surprise that he stood up and left. How could he not after hearing such news? But it did surprise me then, how he came back to me the next day. And how he asked me if we could meet up later that night, alone, down by the river.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam's hands clenching into fists, and his jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together more tightly. This wasn't a happy tale, Sam knew that. Wasn't a stranger to betrayal himself.

Hans turned away, faced the darkness next to them instead, hiding the shame that Sam wouldn't care for, but what would it matter, as Hans himself cared. “I was a fool, yes, but please bear in mind that I was still a child. Naive and hurt from what had happened before and hopeful that this time it could be different. But well, that doesn't change anything, eh?” A dark forest just like here. A short walk away from the city, eastwards, where Hans liked to ride out to every now and then. It had been summer time, Hans could remember that because of how shallow the Sasau had been. Matej had stood there like the dark knight out of Hans's books, but his face had shown no signs of chivalry and love. He also hadn't come alone as promised. “Matej had his dog with him. A huge, black hunting dog. He … Well …” It was too dreadful to say it out loud.

“Farshittn mamzer.”

Hans understood these words without actually knowing them, and the fact that Sam had finally opened his mouth just to growl this curse, made him laugh, despite everything. It was a short laugh, but a welcome, healing one, and it finally lifted the weight of shame and fear off him and allowed him to breathe. He noticed how Sam looked over at him in confusion, and shook his head to him softly, and Hans nodded, with a genuine smile playing with his lips. “True that.”

“What did you do to him?”

Hans had to chuckle again, and Sam lowered his brows sceptically, couldn't understand how good his blunt remarks felt to Hans. “Nothing really. I was too ashamed to tell my uncle the truth, and I didn't have to anyway. It took me a while to recover from the injuries his dog had inflicted on me. And the ones he had caused afterwards, before he had left me there, bleeding and barely conscious. When I was finally allowed to leave my sickbed, he was gone. Sir Bernard told me he had asked to leave for Sasau, but he didn't stay there for long either. God knows where he went.”

“A kind zol nokh im heysn.”

“A child should …?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, his face blank. “I hope he died.”

“Ah. Yes, perhaps.” He hated the thought of wishing death upon anyone really. But there was no denying it, some people had it coming. “In any case,” Hans looked up to the trees again, and they seemed much less threatening now, like a rain cloud maybe, or not even that, “all of this taught me a valuable lesson, you see? That I should never trust that easily.” A few of the trees on the left stood out above the others like a bell tower. An outstretched hand, ready to catch those that might fall from heaven. “Then, a few years later, you came along. Back then in Suchdol. I don't know if you remember. But I do. I remember your words very well, because this time it was you who taught me yet another and perhaps even more valuable lesson. That some people are worth the trust. Like a lily among thorns, so is my love.” Hans only caught the last traces of the change in expression on Sam's face when he turned back to him. The faint remnants in his tired eyes. Grief and pain and regret. “Thank you, Sam. From the bottom of my heart.”

* * *

They had sat next to each other in silence for a while after these words, both lost in thought. How cruel people could be to one another. They act out of fear and ignorance, his mame would have said. In the end, it is the heart of those who stain it with such actions that suffers most. But what good would that do? What good would it do to know of the suffering of the traitor when his actions led to the pain or death of someone else? Besides, more often than not these words would prove to be nothing more than a nice saying, because these mamzers didn't actually suffer. Málek clearly hadn't suffered. Not until Samuel had taken fate into his own hands and gutted him like a sheep.

Samuel couldn't tell for how long they sat there. An hour at least, two or three more likely. The sky had become even darker, almost as dark as the row of trees, melting into them to form a parchment covered in ink all over, a wall of nothingness. The dampness of the trunk had long crept through the cotton of his trousers, and he tried to move as little as he could to not make the feeling more uncomfortable. Then all of a sudden, Hans Capon did something that complicated movement even more. He tipped over to the side as if all strength had left his body at once, and rested his head on Samuel's shoulder.

“A rose of Sharon,” he mumbled. His tongue sounded heavy as if he was drunk, but he had only taken a few sips of wine during their wait. Tiredness. Samuel felt it, too. Tired and exhausted and scared, and he hated it all. Wanted this to move on, wanted to act, wanted to prove his own doubts wrong. “You never told me the whole poem. A shame, because you made up something so pretty there.”

“I did not make it up.” Hans could barely hold his eyes open. Damn it, Samuel's own eyes burned too, and he wanted to do nothing more than close them, get some rest, but he knew he wouldn't find it, and one of them had to stay awake anyway. “It is a poem of my people. And I only learned of it through,” his lips formed silent words that his heart didn't dare to speak, “someone else.”

“Well, then this someone has a great taste in poetry.”

“She had, yes.”

“Oh.”

Too much, he had said too much. And it hurt, and he wanted to take it back, because already he could feel the cracks ripping into the wall, the blood streaming from them. He had buried it all, and it was for the best. Had left it behind like he had left her grave, never to return. How could he possibly have returned after what he had done?

“What was her name?”

“Hannah.” Neyn, his own voice screamed helplessly inside his head. Nit an ander vort!

“A beautiful name. Was she just as beautiful?”

“Even more so.” The cracks tore open, some of the bricks had crumbled to dust, he could feel it in his heart, and if it hadn't been for Hans's head on his shoulder, he might as well have jumped up and ran. Ran where? Back to Kolín? Back to Kuttenberg? To her? There was no back to run to and nothing to run from but his own soul. And he had already succumbed to that chase.

“Was she …” Hans's words were barely intelligible now, but Samuel doubted he noticed. “… the poem …”

“One of her favourite poems. I think she felt that it was able to say things she couldn't. Or wouldn't. Because I wouldn't have listened anyway.” Esthera's hand shaking as she handed him the paper. Some of the words had been slurred, Hannah had never been the most careful when it came to writing. “Irresponsible was what she often called me. And she was right. I cared more for childish ideas of revolution than for her, and for us. And in trying to do justice to both, I failed both. All my great schemes to stifle the support for Sigismund in Kuttenberg went to shit.”

He had known as soon as he had climbed through that window that something was wrong. That fucking custodian wasn't in his bed where he was supposed to be. And he hadn't heard Hannah's hands and feet on the scaffolding either. The soldiers hadn't worn any armour and they had moved as quietly as rats, he hadn't even noticed them storming the alleyway below him. But then Hannah had screamed and coughed and vomited blood and died. And all that had been left to do for him was to run. “I never got to tell her that I loved her. And in turn, she took her own secret to the grave with her. She only told me with that poem and with the lines she herself had added to it.” And Esthera had confirmed it with nothing more than a silent nod because as Hannah's closest friend she at least had known. I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys. As a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. Under its shadow I delighted to sit, and its fruit was sweet to my taste. He has brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me is love. And then Hannah had painted two small ornaments under the words, a flower and a tree, and in her scrawled handwriting she had added: And from my beloved's fruit new seeds have fallen, and the ground where they landed was rich and welcoming. They will bring forth a lily or an apple tree, and me and my loved one shall stand by its side to water it and watch it flourish. “She had been with child.”

His words faded away in nothingness. Hans had fallen asleep. No one had heard them, except Samuel himself and the one who always listened. Who knew it all.

Samuel closed his eyes. They burned too much. A single tear broke its way through his lashes and ran down his cheek into Hans's golden hair. Hannah had been a good climber, and sometimes they had found their way up to the roofs of Kuttenberg, had sat there for a while, watching the sunset, dreaming of better times. He had dreamed, that was, she had listened. Had placed her head on his shoulder, just like Hans did now, her fingers entangled in his.

He tilted his head, rested his cheek on Hans's hair, dried his tears. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but it would have been foolish. Hans wasn't her. And he wouldn't have heard the words anyway, just as Hannah would never hear them.

They had bought her body free from the city guards. Samuel hadn't been with the other shomrim, hadn't watched over her body and soul as he should have, hadn't been there when they lowered her into the ground. Hadn't wanted to think about the second soul that he needed to keep watch over. Instead, he had sought out Málek. Málek had begged and whined like a dog, down on his knees to Samuel's feet, his hands reaching out as if he was praying. Samuel hadn't wanted to hear him beg and whine and pray. Had only wanted one answer from him. “Silver or freedom?” he had asked. “What have they offered you?”

“Freedom,” Málek had croaked out. “Please, Samuel, I am telling the truth, you have to believe me!”

Samuel had nodded. Not because he believed, but because it didn't matter anyway. Then he had pulled the moser to his feet to cut him open from pubic bone to navel. He thought it only just.

Esthera had been at Hannah's grave when Samuel had got there later that night. She had seen Málek's blood on him. “Oh, Samuel,” she had breathed out, “what have you done?”

There had been no need to explain himself. She understood, better than anyone else could. She had left, and once he had been alone, Samuel had finally broken down. His knees hitting the heaped up earth, choking on tears and screams, fingers starting to hurt, it had taken a while until he noticed why, had only dawned on him when he fell down in exhaustion. Maybe if I stay here, he had thought. How long may it take? And the words from Hannah's poem had echoed through his mind like a prayer, sung in her own voice, a lullaby so that time could pass faster. And the ground where they landed was rich and welcoming. They will bring forth a lily or an apple tree, and me and my loved one shall stand by its side to water it and watch it flourish.

His wish had not been granted. The sun of a new day had already painted the sky in blood red when Samuel stood up from the grave and never returned. Esthera had waited for him at the mikveh as if she had already expected him, and not a single word of horror or condemnation was uttered, even as she noticed the earth underneath his fingernails. This time, she hadn't left him alone. She had stood outside the mikveh while he bathed and cleansed his body of blood and soil, stood watch as if she herself wanted to perform shemira on him. But she was standing guard at the wrong place. The graveyard was where he had left his soul.

A light on the road below, and Samuel straightened his back so suddenly that Hans almost slipped off him. “Oy, shvoger!Wake up! Something is happening!”

“Huh?” Hans blinked a few times, leaving the realm of sleep slowly, way too slowly for someone who was supposed to execute a masterful shot every moment now. Samuel gave him an additional blow with the elbow for good measure. “Ouch! How dare you! I am awake, alright?”

He lifted his hand, pointed down to the road, and to the flickering, orange light, approaching from the left. A few more moments passed, and then two figures appeared, bodies wrapped in black and white robes of wool, their heads bowed down as if exhausted from a full day's walk. Henry's dark hair was covering his forehead, it was dishevelled, making him seem more innocent and harmless. Godwin's head reflected the light of the lantern in his hands like a piece of molten iron.

“They must have seen them then.” Hans removed the crossbow from his belt, taking one of the prepared bolts out of the leather bag Sam had brought him earlier. “Which means that Father Thomas and his men should …”

Another light, this time on the other side of the road, and the rumbling sound of carriage wheels. Armour chattered, but they had been expecting that, and when the group of men finally appeared in their vision, Samuel counted only four men in total, the priest on his carriage and three mercenaries by foot, one less than Schwarzfeld had predicted. They were well-equipped, with swords and maces and bows on their hips, but then again one of them wasn't even wearing a helmet, perhaps thinking himself safe from the previous lack of dangerous encounters on their way so far. Should things stray from the plan, he would be the first to die.

The priest steadied his horses and brought the armed men to a halt with a single raise of his hand. Henry and Godwin stopped as well, eyeing the group in front of them as if they were surprised to meet them here, then they bowed and greeted each other. A warm and cheerful tone, but their voices were too quiet to understand them.

“Can you hear what they're saying?”

Hans shook his head, squinting his eyes, keeping them on the road, even as he placed the crossbow on the ground so he could cock it. “Not a word.”

A lower mumbling as one of the mercenaries chimed in on the conversation. The priest seemed to grasp the reins more tightly as he bowed forward. Godwin laughed, but it sounded strained. Not good.

“They are talking for way too long already.”

“They need to get Father Thomas to a point where he would actually believe them when they show him a Jan Hus inspired magic trick.” Hans breathed out a quiet laughter, probably due to the ridiculousness of it all. “Of course it's gonna take some time!”

Samuel narrowed his eyes to improve his vision against the darkness, but the trees on the other side of the gorge stood too close together to let any light through. Still, there should have been something, should there not? A movement of the bushes, the flash of moonlight on steel.

He grabbed his father's sword, lifted himself off the trunk.

“Sam!” Hans was whispering, but it was high and sharp. He felt it, too. “Where are you going?”

Samuel took a few steps along the edge of the slope, never letting his gaze leave the opposite side, so that he couldn't miss the slightest sign of them. Nothing. No shadow, no flicker of light, no matter how much he changed his angle. “Did you ever see Kubyenka and the Hungarian show up?”

“Well, they are supposed to hide. They'd do something wrong if we were able to see them.”

Below on the road, Henry had opened his bag, pulling a glass ball out of it, then a stick, placing the ball on top of it by a designated recess on the bottom, then he raised the apparatus to the sky. The lamplight made it glow as if he was holding the sun itself on a leash. The fire of God, the spark of his words.

Hans took a deep breath, lifted the crossbow.

Eight pairs of eyes, all waiting for a miracle.

“Something isn't right here,” Samuel hissed.

Then a bolt shot through the air like a lightning. The priest let out a gurgling sound, trembling hands raised to his throat, where the bolt had pierced right through. It didn't take long for him to die, and even less for two of his men to draw their weapons while another one ran off immediately. The one conveniently not dressed in full armour.

Henry took a step back to dodge the swing of a mace, raised his face to the mountain top. Samuel followed his eyes, saw Hans kneeling next to him, crossbow raised, bolt still nocked, his eyes widened in shock. “That wasn't me!”

“That mamzer has betrayed us!” He didn't hesitate for another moment, stormed over to where the slope was flat enough to get down without falling. “I will go to them!” he shouted back at Hans. “But be careful, there must be another archer …”

A hit against his back, and Samuel got pushed forward, crashed down on the ground, with someone else weighing down on his back, pressing all air out of his lungs. Father's sword was still sheathed and the man sitting on top of him didn't give him enough room to pull it out, but he managed to slide the other hand under his body, grasping the dagger and bringing it back, slicing through flesh. The man died on top of him, screaming pain and fright into Samuel's ear, until it was finally over.

It took some effort to crawl out from underneath the body, and when he had finally freed himself and turned on his back, he saw that the space around them, where Hans and him had thought themselves alone just moments before, was now filled with men, two of them already lying on the ground, the one whose belly Samuel had cut open and another one with a bolt in his eye socket. They weren't heavily armoured thankfully, hadn't dared to it seemed as not to give their ambush away through sounds, but from the way they moved Samuel could tell that each of them was skilled. Hans had thrown his crossbow down, now occupied with fighting one of the men by sword, while another one rushed forward with an axe, swinging it for Samuel's head. He turned quickly, unsheathing the sword in the same motion, before he got up on his feet. Another turn, a swing with father's sword, parried by the axe with such strength that Samuel felt the impact all the way up to his shoulder. He went for another blow, got parried again, but this time he was prepared, raised the dagger. He didn't even get the time to watch the fucker choke on his own blood, before two more attackers came for him, wild as hounds, and before he could react, one of them had his short sword lifted, bringing the pommel down on Samuel's wrist. A biting pain in his arm, a flash of light blurring his sight, then a gloved hand hit his face, sending him to his knees.

“Hold on, Vojtěch!” someone screamed to his left. “One of them is a nobleman!”

The man called Vojtěch, who had his weapon raised above Samuel's head like an executioner's sword, examined him closely with a tilted head, as if he was looking for the word nobility being written somewhere on Samuel's skin. Given he could read.

Another, familiar voice cut through the air, using this short moment of hesitation. “This is your chance, Hans! Flee! I will distract them!”

Hans didn't have to tell him twice. Samuel threw his body forward, running his dagger into the man's upper thigh, just below the crotch, two, three, four times, then he let it fall, twirled around and grabbed father's sword. Someone's mace got dangerously close to his legs, but he dodged the blow, started running without turning back.

“Hans, he said,” the leader of the pack exclaimed behind him. “That one is the noble then. Don't shoot him!”

“What about the other guy?”

“Just some Jew, I think. He won't be missed.”

A few hasty steps down the slope, and his right knee gave in, but Samuel was quick in catching his balance again, kept on running. Some more steps, and he was close enough to throw the sword safely, even with his left hand. “Bruder!”

Henry gave the man in front of him a kick against the shin, looked up. He caught the sword by the handle firmly, twirled around, gutted his closest enemy. Good.

Samuel turned back, climbed up to the top of the mountain again, where Hans was on the ground now, surrounded by the four remaining men, a fawn circled by hawks. One of them was injured on the back of his head and had taken his skullcap off. A mistake. Samuel pulled the second, shorter dagger from his belt and threw it with one single, precise motion. The blade hit him right in the neck, and he crashed down like a felled tree.

“Oy!” Samuel shouted at them. “Khazerim!”

They turned around in confusion. That was all Hans needed. One swing sliding through two pairs of legs, the third man got a blow straight to his back. He gave them no rest when they lay on the ground, ended it quickly. Then he stumbled forward, fell to his hands and knees, and coughed. It was over. Time for the pain to set in.

Samuel made his way across the bodies over to Hans, reaching out his left hand for him. Better not to waste any thoughts on the smell of blood and intestines, on the lives taken, not yet anyway. “Are you alright?”

Hans took his hand, pulled himself up. “Yes.” His eyes quickly wandered across Samuel's body, settling on his right wrist that was already starting to swell, painted in the darkest violet, a stark contrast against his pale skin. “What about you?”

“I'll survive.”

Hans nodded. His expression revealed that he knew too well that Samuel made it seem better than it actually was, but he accepted the reply for now.

They didn't have to hurry as they climbed down the mountain side this time. Henry and Godwin had long got rid of their two opponents, and without any major injuries, too, by the looks of it.

It still didn't keep Hans from rushing forward and throwing his arms around Henry's neck. “Henry!”

“I'm fine.” Henry returned the embrace and for the briefest moment his lips found Hans's neck.

Godwin didn't seem like he was in the mood for tenderness. “What the fuck happened here?”

“It wasn't his fault.” Samuel nodded at Hans. “Someone else shot the priest.”

“Yes,” Henry agreed, letting go off Hans, but staying close enough for their hands to touch, “we could see that it wasn't one of your bolts.”

“They were hiding up there between the trees close to us. I counted ten of them.”

“Ten?” Henry's eyes widened. “And you didn't notice them?”

“We were more focused on the things going on down here,” Hans hurried to say, leaving a big part of the truth out, and Samuel nodded in silent acknowledgement. The things shared between them had not been meant for anyone else to hear. “Besides, most of them didn't even wear any steel.”

“No steel.” It wasn't a question. Godwin had already expected this. “So they were confident enough to fight us without much armour.” His gaze wandered over to the carriage, from which the priest hung down, his limbs twisted from agony like the threads of a rope. His left hand was still dripping from blood, as he had tried to tear the bolt out of his neck, but in vain. “Making it all the more unlikely that this shot was a miss.”

“And they were well-informed,” Samuel added. “They knew about Hans, and took good care not to kill him.” Or me, for that matter. He would have to thank Hans later in a proper way, once this here was settled.

“While they didn't even hesitate to sacrifice a priest.”

“You think this was all planned?” Hans broke away from Henry to better look at him. “Including the killing of Farther Thomas?”

“One of them ran off as soon as the bolt hit, we didn't even get a chance to go after him. And he was prepared for it too, just barely armoured.”

“Making sure he would live to tell the tale,” Godwin concluded. “He won't even have to make anything up, we gave him all he would need. Two disciples of Jan Hus, stopping them in the woods and killing the man who was just on his way to Prague to speak out against said Jan Hus fella.”

“But sacrificing a priest for that cause?” Hans asked again, as if his mind still had trouble believing it. “Don't they have any honour?”

“It seems to be more important to them to let everyone know that we don't have any honour. More food for their wild accusations of dismembering and slaughtering clergymen.” Godwin's eyes found Samuel's, and his mouth twisted into a pained smile. “A kind of defamation that your people are already familiar with.”

“All too well.” Especially since they started to understand Wenceslas as a friend of the Jews, Samuel thought bitterly. And the Hussites too, people didn't like to differentiate much. They are pouring hot pitch over the tonsures of our priests, and just the other week I heard of a young monk whose cock and balls they squashed with metal plates until he died from the torture! And most of them didn't even bother to ask whether they was supposed to mean the Hussites or the Jews. It was all the same these days. Religious deviants. Rebels against the divine might of the church.

Henry turned around, pointing up the mountains. “What about Janosh and Kubyenka? Did you see them?”

“No,” Samuel replied. “And there were no attackers on that side either. So they cannot have ambushed them as they have done to us, at least not here.”

“You think they may have been stopped on their way?” Hans bit his bottom lip as the thought settled in, his eyes widened in horror. “Fuck.”

Henry nodded. Then he turned, picked the glass ball off the ground and slammed it against the carriage with a loud curse. The biting stench of the firedamp filled the air. Just some friction, Samuel pondered, or a single spark and the carriage and that damned priest would go up in flames. But what good would that do now? “We need to report what happened here to Žižka. And then find a way to clean up this whole mess.”

It was already morning, when they arrived in Žižka's hideout in that Kuttenberg church. The sun had risen, piercing through the beams of the roof like arrows of silver smoke, dancing in the air. The new day was warmer than the last one, not a single cloud darkened the sky, birds that nested in the corners of the church roof celebrated that warmer times were to come.

The sweet caress of spring didn't seem to have passed by Katherine and Žižka either. When the others climbed up the ladder to the church attic, they were sitting together at the table that Žižka used to store all his documents on, each of them on opposite sides, but leaning over the books and parchments towards each other. A little too close.

“A whole house?” Katherine whispered in feigned surprise.

“An estate.” Another gasp of Katherine, and Žižka smiled with an audible hum. “A castle.”

“What on earth would I need a castle for?”

“You won't. But if I have the means to, I would not hesitate to give it to you. I'd give you all I have.”

“All of it, really?”

Samuel pushed himself over the edge onto the floor of the attic, struggling, with only one hand and an elbow to use. Katherine passed him a quick glance, and nodded, then she leaned back on her chair with crossed arms. “Before you have acquired enough money to buy me a castle, you may as well have died of old age. Time is running, Žižka.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like air being squeezed out of a bellows. Then he turned around, looked at Samuel and at the others who had followed right behind him, and all the ease and joy vanished from his face at once. “One look at you, and I know that the whole plan went to shit.”

Henry was the first to step forward, of course he was. Other than Samuel and Hans, he had been behind the plan with all his heart. He hadn't spoken much on their ride back to Kuttenberg, but it was clear he felt just as responsible as Žižka must feel, if not more so. “You can say that out loud! We were betrayed. Ambushed by almost a dozen more soldiers. The whole thing was set up.”

“One of them got away before we could stop him.” Godwin's voice was as clear and strong as it could get, a soldier reporting back on his mission. “He clearly went to tell everyone about what happened.”

“And what did happen?” Žižka moved up from his chair now, his eyes wandering from one to the other. Samuel felt as if he looked right through their souls with that blind, pale one. “What about the priest?”

“Dead,” Henry answered plainly. Žižka's gaze shot over to Hans in shock, and Henry raised a pacifying hand. “It was one of the attackers up in the woods. And it didn't happen by accident.”

“They created a martyr.” Katherine's voice was as weak as the spring air whistling through the roof above them.

Žižka let himself sink back against the table, breathing in and out a few times. It was more than that, he knew it. Creating a martyr was only the start. Rumours would spread quickly, and the rumours would ask for consequences. Banishments, prohibitions, death sentences, persecutions. Žižka had wanted to help. Had wanted nothing more than to find a cause they could all agree on, igniting their fire again, including the spark in his own heart. He had navigated them right into disaster. “The one who got away, where did he go?”

“North,” Henry answered. “To Prague.”

“Yes, but unless he had a horse hidden somewhere close, it would take him almost a whole day to get there. I reckon he rather went for a meeting point that was more in his immediate vicinity. A place, perhaps, that is in control of another conspirator of all this.”

“The Zlenice castle is close by,” Katherine suggested.

“Ondřej Dubá? Well, he serves as the highest judge in the region, but he is loyal to Wenceslas.”

“Only that Wenceslas isn't all too loyal to Jan Hus anymore. Besides, wasn't Dubá a member of the League of Lords once?”

Žižka nodded without looking at her, thinking it through. Samuel could feel his own patience slowly flying off to the sky, together with the swallows under the gable. “He was, but not for long. And the man is ninety, Kat. What reason would he have to get himself tangled up in political strives at his age?”

“You should know that better than most.”

Samuel took a step forward now, his heart pounding almost as heavily as his head and wrist. “What does it matter where they went? Wherever they fled to, they must have reached it by now, and soon the word will spread.”

“Sam is right.” It was a relief that Henry didn't seem to be any more interested in this game of guessing than Samuel was. “The best thing we can do now is to clean up this mess we made as quickly as possible.”

There is one particular mess to clean up first, Samuel thought. That fucker Schwarzfeld who must still be in the room they offered him, only one floor below. Sleeping the sleep of the just. “And take care of that traitor who ratted us out.”

He felt Žižka stare him down for a long time, brows pulled together tightly, the pale eye tearing open his soul. Samuel defied his gaze. There was nothing for Žižka to see that he had to be ashamed of. Žižka's eyes were still fixed on him, when he asked them all with a harsher voice than before: “Where are Kubyenka and Janosh?”

“They never arrived at our meeting place,” Henry answered.

“Did you search the area for them?”

“We did, but only the surroundings, and it was still dark. Though I suppose they must have been stopped before ever getting there.”

“Dear God!” Katherine raised a hand to her mouth.

“Hm.” Žižka's half-empty stare was still buried in Samuel's soul as if that sound was supposed to have carried some other hidden meaning just for him. Samuel couldn't care less.

“We must search for them again,” Hans stepped forward until he stood right next to Henry, hands and voice raised, “and we should do it now that it is daytime! Track down the whole way they must have taken, from Uzhitz to Jezonice!”

“We will. And we won't stop until we haven't at least found some trace of them. Dead or alive.”

“Alive?” Henry shook his head in surprise. A string of silver morning light hit his hair, painting it grey where it touched him. “You think someone could have taken them hostage?”

“I doubt it.” Žižka's voice was cold as ice.

Samuel had lost all interest in this fucking staring competition. “You can go look for them.” His fingers had found their way to the handle of his dagger, he hadn't even noticed it but now he felt all to eager to take it and slit someone's throat. “I will have a word with this farreter Schwarzfeld.”

He barely got time to turn on his heel. Žižka jumped forward so quickly that there was little room to react, and he had his mace at hand all of a sudden, putting the heavy metal head to Samuel's chest. No, he thought. Not this time. He pushed the mace away with his right arm, used the left hand to draw the dagger. Žižka was quicker, and he had the advantage of knowing that Samuel would not actually hurt him. He closed the distance between them with another firm step, and grabbed his broken wrist with the free hand, squeezing it tightly. Samuel let out a sharp hiss, his vision exploded in blinding light from the pain.

“Not so fast, youngster.”

“Take your hand off me.”

“I cannot do that,” Žižka's voice was low and rumbling like thunder, “unless I am fully certain that you won't do anything foolish.”

“What are you protecting Schwarzfeld for?” Henry came closer to them, but he didn't intervene, even as Samuel could hear in his voice that every fibre of his body wanted to. “He is a traitor! He led us straight into a trap, risking all our lives, sullying the reputation of Hus, he may even have Kubyenka and Janosh on his conscience!”

“I won't deny that he might have played a role in all this. But he is not responsible for what happened with these two.”

“What?”

One more deep breath, one more piercing glare with that cursed dead eye, and then Žižka finally let go off Samuel's wrist, stepping back to the table. Another wave of pain rolled over him, so vigorously he almost fainted. “Schwarzfeld knew which road the priest and his men would take. But neither Katherine nor I told him a single word about where exactly you would meet with him, let alone where Janosh and Kubyenka would be staying during the day.”

“So what?” Hans's voice got so high that it cracked. “He knew about the plan, that was more than enough. Those armed men he set on us might have just followed us all the way!”

“From Kuttenberg to Uzhitz? A dozen men, without any of you noticing them? No, they clearly waited there the whole time. They have received their information from a very reliable source.”

“What are you hinting on here, Žižka?” Henry's voice was a strong contrast to Hans's, deep and growling, a dog that had sensed his prey.

Žižka took his time to reply. The silence was filled with anger and fear, the lowered looks from Katherine and Godwin who both didn't seem so surprised about Žižka's assumptions, the singing of the swallows who didn't care for the pain of the humans underneath them. “Look. I don't like this any more than you do. But Kubyenka has expressed his concerns about all of this many times over the past few days. So the idea of betrayal is one that we have to entertain.”

Samuel took a step back to the ladder, but he lifted both his hands reassuringly, only a weak attempt with his right one. “All the more reason then to entertain this Schwarzfeld a little.” His grin was all teeth, and he assumed that it looked just as vicious as it felt. “To talk to him, friendly of course.”

This time, Žižka didn't stop him, but Samuel could still see him nod in Hans's direction, before he turned to walk back over to the ladder. “Go with him.” Footsteps behind him, one pair, then another one. “Not you, Henry. I need you here.”

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd fanfiction #my writing #KCDsedproditionem #13500 words baby #i don't know who of you will actually take the time to read all of this lol #to everyone who does: i'm sorry. you asked for the background story and i wanted to give it to you. and then it got out of hand.#especially since this is only the first chapter (yes 40 book pages this is starting to feel like my own novels)#so yeah tw for a lot of heavy shit (it‘s basically a shared trauma dump between hans and sam) but nothing shown in much graphic detail #i like you to know what happens not how it happens we don‘t need trauma fetishisation here #and to all the history nerds out here (i'm looking at one specifically): the story is set in 1410 for a reason. there might be some bigger #historical event this will lead to eventually. we will see :) anyway have fun or don't losers #oh and i tried to do my research as well as i could but oc i‘m by no means an expert on yiddish or medieval jewish culture so if you find #anything that i depicted wrong here please let me know

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