Eifelheim

“He will bear up,” Manfred said after he and Dietrich had repaired to the Herr’s tent. “The blow he took was aimed at me, so it is a scar he may wear with honor. The Markgraf himself remarked the feat and agreed on the spot that Eugen shall have his accolade. Your Hans performed a brave deed, too, which I will bring to Grosswald’s attention.”

“It is Grosswald’s attentions that are the cause of my errand.” Dietrich explained what had happened in the village. “One faction says that Hans did the proper thing, despite his master’s command. ‘To save us from the alchemist,’ is how they expressed it.”

Manfred, seated upon his camp chair, pressed his hands together under his chin. “I see.” He beckoned to his servant with a hand-flip and selected a sweetmeat from the tray thus proffered. “And Grosswald’s party?” He waved the servant toward Dietrich, who declined.

“They cry that Hans, by his disobedience, upset the natural order, and this they abhor above all else. I suspect other factions, also. Shepherd is wroth with Hans, but would use his faction to unseat Grosswald, whom she holds blameworthy for stranding her pilgrims.”

Manfred grunted. “They are as convoluted as Italians. How stood matters when you left?”

“Once they grasped the Peace of God, many of the low-born fled to St. Catherine or the Burg, to the frustration of their attackers, who will not risk your displeasure by violating sanctuary.”

“Well,” said Manfred, “I can’t say I like the natural order being upset, either, but Hans did me great service this day, and for my honor I would see him rewarded, not punished.”

“What service was that, mine Herr? Would it mollify Grosswald?”

“Grosswald is a man of uncertain humor.” Manfred checked himself, then smiled crookedly. “How accustomed to those creatures have we grown this winter, that I should think of him as a man. Hans and his Krenkl’n swooped upon the ramparts while all attention was on the breach, slew the archers there, then assaulted the bergfried and secured the treasure-hoard!”

“Mine Herr,” Dietrich said with sudden apprehension. “Mine Herr, were they seen?”

“Some in the camp saw them, I think — though only at a distance, for I cautioned them to remain hidden to the extent their honor permitted. The archers on the ramparts, naturally, saw them plain, as did the towermaster in the ‘murder hole’ above the gate. Him, they slew before he could pour the hot oil upon us, to the saving of many a life and horrible injury. Falkenstein’s men thought their lord’s demonic master had come for him at last, so their appearance sowed panic to our advantage. There will be stories, but that ca

“There is a poetry in that,” Dietrich admitted, “that the legend he used to frighten others turned like a snake to bite the man himself.”

Manfred chuckled and and drank wine from a goblet partly filled with resins to impart a sweet perfume to the beverage. “The Krenk who carried the thunder-paste — he was called Gerd — performed most valiantly. He flew at night to the base of the gate tower and planted there the paste. On the morrow, he fired it at the moment Hapsburg fired his pots de fer, so that it would seem that the shots had wrought the damage. The Duke’s captain was sore amazed! Gerd used the far-speaker to accomplish this. By Our Lady, it seemed as if he spoke to the paste and it obeyed. Dietrich, I swear upon my sword that the line between clever art and demonic powers is a hair. Hans led his companions into the bergfried in search of the Hapsburg silver, slaying or wounding all who stood before them until the stairs ran like a river of blood — though most defenders fled on the very sight of them.”

Herrenfolk were notoriously prone to hyperbole over feats of arms. The human body could bleed a ghastly amount, but a few minutes casting sums would show the impossibility of “a river” of blood, especially if “most defenders fled.” “Did they find the copper?” he asked.

“Hans reasoned that the greatest resistance would lie toward the treasury, and so he attacked where resistance was greatest. But…” Manfred threw his head back and laughed. “For all his fine reasoning, Hans found your wire by merest chance. Falkenstein kept his lady’s quarters heated — a tiled stove, no less! — and our Krenkl’n were drawn toward it. The wire was there. Her husband had given her the copper, perhaps to fashion jewelry from it. I suppose you philosophers can make something interesting of the coincidence. Perhaps that reason has its limits.”

“Or that God meant for Hans to find it.” Dietrich closed his eyes and offered a brief prayer of thanks that the Krenken could proceed now with their repairs.

“But, hear,” said Manfred. “Lady Falkenstein had a body guard assigned her and, when the Krenkl’n broke into her room, he swung his sword and cut down Gerd with a single blow. And what did our little corporal do, but straddle his comrade and ward off the armsman while the others pulled the body free! First, he brandished a chair to parry a stroke, then he slung a bullet with his pot-de-fer that struck the man a glancing blow on his helm and rendered him senseless. Then, oh, valiantly done! He traced the cross over his enemy and withdrew.”

“He spared him, then?” Dietrich asked in wonder, knowing the krenkish choler.

“A wonderful gesture. And Lady Falkenstein screeching all the while for fear of the Nameless One. But she says now that her bodyguard made such an heroic fight that even a very demon was moved to recognize his valor.”

“Ach. So legends grow.”

Manfred cocked his head. “What better story than that both foes perform heroic deeds when they face each other? By all accounts, the man voided himself at the sight of Hans; but he stood and fought when he could have run. That man will regale his grandchildren with tales of how he traded strokes with a demon and lived — if the Duke does not hang him first. But, the Duke’s silver is secured — and on its way to Vie

“God be thanked. Mine Herr, would you summon Hans and warn him of his lord’s anger?”

“Too late for that, I fear. Once I had secured the treasury for the Duke, I gave Hans leave to fly his slain companion to the krenkish crypts.”

Dietrich stood in sudden alarm. “What! We must hurry back then, before it’s too late.”

Manfred pursed his lips. “Sit yourself, pastor. Only a fool hazards that trail in the dark. Whatever dealing Grosswald has in mind has already been dealt. However, for my honor, if Hans has not been well handled, Grosswald will pay the fine!”

Dietrich was not certain that Manfred had the power to punish Grosswald, should Grosswald not will it. The Krenken had feared the winter’s cold; but their arrogance would warm with the weather, and their oaths might melt with the snows.

Dietrich slept indifferently well. He did not expect the truce among the krenkish factions to last, for their ways required submission, not balance. Their “Web” was one not of oaths and mutual obligations, but of authority and obedience, and arrived at less by the cognitive power of their wills than by the estimative power of their appetites.

The new moon had set and, between short-lived bouts of slumber, Dietrich had watched Orion and his hounds chase Jupiter. Now the hunters, wearied of the chase, were sinking below the Breitnau heights and the Dog Star, brightest of all stars, rested yellow upon the crest of the mountain. Dietrich had read from Ptolemy in the Paris quadrivium, and Ptolemy had described the Dog Star as red. Perhaps the Greek had been mistaken, or perhaps it was only a copyist’s error; but Hans had said that stars could change, and Dietrich wondered whether this were one example of the corruptibility of the heavens.