The War Hound and The World

Chapter IV

MY MOOD, UPON awakening the next morning, was peculiar. All kinds of conflicting feelings stirred within me. My love for Sabrina was coloured by the knowledge that she had helped to trap me, though I knew, too, that I had not really been trapped. Lucifer had, after all, offered me the opportunity of redeeming my immortal soul. My impressions of my brief visit to Hell were if anything stronger, and I believed almost without question that I had indeed encountered the Prince of Darkness and had accompanied Him to His domain. I had always claimed to welcome the truth; yet now, in common with most of us, I was resentful of the truth because it called upon me to take an unwelcome course of action. I longed for the grim innocence I had so recently lost.

Sabrina was still sleeping. Outside, a mist of light rain obscured the forest. I brooded upon the conversations which had taken place between myself and Sabrina, between myself and Lucifer. I sought for some saving logic, some means of questioning the import of what I had heard, and could find none. This castle, alone, convinced me. The previous night Sabrina had said: "You see the surface translated by your mortal eye. Your mortal mind could not, in normality, accept the truth. There is nothing to do in Hell: no fulfilment, no future, no hope at all. No faith in anything. Those souls who dwell there also had faith only in their own survival. And now they have lost that, also."

I had not answered her, after this. I had become absorbed hi feelings which were impossible to put into thoughts, let alone words. At one tune I had been flooded with anger and had said: "Sabrina, if all this is a deception, an enchantment in which you have conspired, I will surely return to kill you."

But my anger had disappeared even as I spoke. I knew that she did not wish me ill. My threat had been made from a habit of attitude and action which was virtually meaningless now.

I knew for certain that she loved me. And I knew that I loved her. We were like-minded in so many ways; we were equals. I could not tolerate the notion that I might lose her.

I returned to draw back the curtains and sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on Sabrina's sleeping face. She started suddenly, crying out, reaching her hand to where I had lain. I touched her cheek. "I am here."

She turned and smiled at me. Then her eyes clouded. "You are leaving?"

"I suppose that I must. Soon."

"Yes," she said, "for it is morning." She began to sit up. She sighed. "When I made my bargain with Lucifer I thought that I was resisting circumstance, taking my fate into my own hands. But circumstance continues to affect us. Can it even affect who we are? Is there any proof beyond ourselves that we are unique?"

"We feel ourselves to be unique," I said. "But a cynic sees only familiarity and similarity and would say that we are all pretty much the same."

"Is it because a cynic does not possess the imagination to distinguish those subtle differences in which you and I believe?"

"I am a cynic," I said to her. "A cynic refuses to allow distinctions of motive or of temperament."

"Oh, but you are not!" She came into my arms. "Or you would not be here."

I held her closely. "I am what I have to be at this moment," I said. "For my own sake."

"And for mine," she reminded me.

I felt a terrible sadness well within me. I suppressed it. "And for yours," I agreed.

We kissed. The pain continued to grow. I pulled away from her. I went to the corner of the room and began to wash myself. I noticed that my hands were shaking and that my breathing had become unusually deep. I had a wish, at that moment, to return to Hell, to summon up an army of all those poor damned souls and set them in rebellion against Lucifer, as Lucifer had set Himself against God. I felt that we were in the hands of foolish, insane beings, whose motives were more petty even than Man's. I wanted to be rid of all of them. It was unjust, I thought, that such creatures should have power over us. Even if they had created us, could they not, in turn, be destroyed?

But these ideas were pointless. I had neither the means, the knowledge nor the power to challenge them. I could only accept that my destiny was, in part at least, in their charge. I would have to agree to play out my role in Lucifer's terms, or play no role at all.

I drew on fresh linen. Sabrina sat with the curtain drawn back, watching me. I put on my breastplate, my greaves, my spurs. I buckled my sword and daggers about me. I picked up my helmet. I was ready, once again, for War.

"You say the horse will be ready?" I said.

"In the courtyard."

I stooped to pick up the pouch she had given me the previous day. I had regulated my breathing and my hands did not shake as much.

"I will stay here," she said.

I accepted this. I knew why she would not wish to accompany me to the courtyard.

"I intend to do my best in this matter," I said to her. "With you, I think that there is little chance of discovering any Grail, but I shall maintain my resolve if I know that you believe in me. Will you remember to trust me to return to you?"

"I will remember," she replied. "It is all that I will have to sustain me. Yes, Ulrich, I will trust you."

We were both desperate for certainty, and in that uncertain world we were attempting to make concrete that most amorphous and changeable of emotions, as people often will when they have no other sense of the future.

"Then we are pledged," I said. "And it is a more welcome bargain than any I have made in recent hours." I moved towards her, touched her naked shoulder with the tips of my fingers, kissed her lightly upon the lips.

"Farewell," I said.

"Farewell." She spoke softly. And then: "You must travel first towards Ammendorf, where you will seek out the Wildgrave."

"What can he tell me?"

She shook her head. "I know no more,"

I left the room.

Outside her door I found that my legs were weak and that I could hardly make my way down the spiralling nights of stone steps to the main hall. I had never experienced such emotion before. I had hardly any means of coping with it.

In the main hall, upon the table, a breakfast had been prepared for me. I paused only to take a deep draught of wine, then continued to stride for the doors with long, faltering steps.

The courtyard was silent, save for the sound of my horse's breathing and the dripping of the drizzle upon the leafy trees. I sniffed the air. Apart from the warm smell of the horse there were no scents at all in it.

My horse stood near the central wall. He looked freshly groomed. There were large panniers on either side of his saddle. My pistols shone in their holsters. Every piece of harness had been polished, every piece of metal and leather was bright. There was a new cloth under the saddle. The horse turned his head to regard me with wide, impatient eyes. His bit clattered in his jaws.

With an effort, I mounted. The wine gave me enough strength and enough resolve to touch my heels to the steed's flanks. He moved smartly forward, glad to be on his way.

The portcullis was up. There were no signs of Sabrina's half-dead servants, no sign of our Master. The castle looked exactly as it had when I had first arrived.

It might have been an elaborate illusion. With that thought in mind, I did not look back: partly from fear that I would see Sabrina herself at a window, partly because I thought I might see nothing at all.

I rode out under the archway towards the path which wound down through ornamental gardens. The rain washed the statues and the bright, lifeless Rowers; it obscured the outlines of the forest below. My horse began to gather speed. Soon we were cantering and I made no attempt to check him. Water poured from my helmet. As I rode I dragged my leather cloak from one of the panniers and wound it round me. The water washed from my face any trace of tears, ! rode down through the cold rain and into that deep, barren forest. It was only a little later that I looked back, briefly, to see the tall stones, the towers and the battlements, to confirm that they were, indeed, realities.

I did not look back again. The forest was dark and grey sow and some part of me welcomed its embrace. We rode steadily until nightfall.

My journey to the outskirts of the forest took the better part of two days, and it was not until the morning of the third day that I awoke to birdsong and faint sunshine, to the smells of damp earth and oak and pine. The sense of joyful relief I felt upon hearing the whistling of finches and thrushes reminded me of the strangeness I was leaving behind me, and I wondered again at the reality of it all.

I never once believed that I had dreamed my experience, but it remained a very slight possibility that I had been victim to a sophisticated hallucination. Naturally, part of me desired that this be so. I could not, however, afford to indulge that hope.

I breakfasted lightly of the food provided and drew the maps from my case. I had determined not to consult them until Lucifer's wood was at my back. Ammendorf was not even a familiar name to me and it took me some while to discover it marked.

I as yet had no bearings, but at least I was again in the lands of mortal creatures, and sooner or later I would discover a village, or a charcoal burner, or a woodsman… someone to tell me where I was. Once I knew, I could head for Ammendorf, which appeared to be a relatively small town about fifty miles from Nџrnberg.

My horse was eating the sweet-smelling grass with some relish. The grass we had left behind was nourishing enough, but presumably it had had no taste. He looked like a prisoner who had dined too long on bread and water and is suddenly offered a rich repast. I let him eat his fill, then saddled him and, mounted once again, continued on my way until I came, very soon, upon a reasonably wide track through the forest. This I began to follow.

By mid-morning I was riding across gentle hills towards a rich valley. Mist lay upon the tops of the hills and through it broke strong rays of sunshine which struck the deep greens of fields and hedgerows and illuminated them. There was a faint smell of wood smoke on the spring air and I was warmed, as the rain lifted, by a southwesterly wind.

I made out old cottages and farmsteads, all apparently untouched by the War. I saw cattle and sheep grazing. I breathed hi rich scents of the farmyard, of flowers and wet grass, and my skin felt cleaner than it had felt in months. So peaceful was the scene that I wondered if it might be another illusion, that it was designed to snare me somehow, but thankfully my rational, pragmatic mind refused such speculation. I had embarked upon an insane Quest, prompted by a being who could, Himself, be insane; I had need to maintain my sanity in small matters, at least.

As I approached the nearest cottage I smelled baking and my mouth began to water, for I had eaten no hot food since before my encounter with Lucifer. I stopped outside the cottage door and cried a "halloo." At first I thought that, in the manner of wary peasants, no one would answer me. I took a step or two towards the time-darkened oak of the door just as it opened. A small, plump woman of about forty-five stood there. Seeing my warlike finery, she automatically bobbed her head and said, in a thick accent which I did not recognise: "Good morrow, Your Honour."

"Good morning to you, sister," I returned. "Is it possible for an honest man to purchase some hot food from you?"

She laughed heartily at this. "Sir, if you were a thief and prepared to pay, you would receive the same fare. We have little coin, these days, and a pfennig or two would not go amiss when the time comes to go to town and buy ribbon for a new frock. My daughter is marrying two months from now."

She ushered me into the dark warmth of the cottage. As was typical of such places it was simple and neat, with rushes on the flagstones and a few holy pictures upon the walls. I noted from the pictures that these people were still loyal to Rome.

She took my helmet and cloak and put them carefully upon a chest in the far corner. She told me that she was about to bring a meat pie and an apple pie from her oven, if I could wait but quarter of an hour, and that she could offer me some good, strong beer of her own brewing, should I partake of such drink. I said that I would greatly welcome a sample of everything on her list and she retired to the kitchen to fetch the beer, chatting about the uncertainty of the weather and the chances of the various crops.

When she brought the beer I remarked that I was surprised the War had not touched them. Her little round face became serious and she nodded. "We believe that God hears our prayers." She shook her head. "But I suppose that we are luckier than most. There is only one road into the valley and it goes nowhere, after our village, save the forest. You must have travelled a very great distance, sir."

"I have indeed,"

She frowned as she considered this. "You came through the Silent Marches?"

My ordinary caution made me lie. "I circled them," I said, "if you mean the lifeless forest."

The woman crossed herself. "Only Satan's followers can inhabit those marches."

I knew that she had tested me. For if I had admitted to having travelled through the Silent Marches she would have known that my soul was Lucifer's, and I doubt if I should have been able to have enjoyed her hospitality as much as I did. Both pies were soon forthcoming and they were both delicious.

As I ate I told her that I was an envoy for a prince and that I could not divulge his name. My mission was to attempt to bring peace to Germany, I said.

At this the good frau looked pessimistic. She picked up my empty plate. "I fear there will be no peace for the world until the Day of Judgement, Your Honour. We can merely pray that it comes soon."

I agreed with her wholeheartedly, for, after all, if my Quest were successful, Judgement Day must surely follow rapidly upon Lucifer's repentance.

"We live," said she, "in the century in which the world is bound to end."

"That is what many believe," I agreed.

"You suggest that you do not, sir."

"I might hope for that event," said I, "but I am not convinced that it will occur."

She cleared away the dishes. She refilled my stein. I was offered a pipe of tobacco from her husband's jar, but I told her that I did not take it. Her husband was at work in the fields, she told me, and would not be back until that evening. Her daughter was with her husband-to-be, helping with the spring planting.

All this wonderful ordinariness had begun to lull me and I thought that perhaps I might stay with these people for a while. But I knew if I did so I should not be fulfilling my pledge to Lucifer and might bring His vengeance not only upon myself but upon these people, also. It comforted me to know that there was one small corner of Germany where War and Plague were unfamiliar.

I finished my beer and asked directions for Nџrnberg. The woman was vague, for she had never travelled very far from her village. But she gave me directions for Schweinfurt, which I decided to follow until I came to a larger settlement and more sophisticated people.

I left the woman with a piece of silver, which, had she known its origin, she would not have taken with such joy or such gratitude, and was soon upon my way.

The track wound through the valley, climbing gradually to the hills on the far side. I rode through widely spaced pines, over loamy, reddish soil, and looked back frequently at the cottages and farms with their heavy, peaceful smoke and their sense of dreamy security.

The track led me to a wider road and a signpost for Teufenberg, the nearest town. It was almost sunset when I embarked upon this road, and I hoped that I might come upon an inn or at least a farm where I could beg a bale of hay in a barn for the night, but I was unlucky. I slept again in my cloak, in a ditch by the side of the road, but was undisturbed. I rose in the morning to warm sunshine and birdsong. Butterflies flew through the clumps of poppies and daisies at the edge of the track and the scents of those flowers were delicious to my nose. I regretted that I had not purchased a tittle more beer for my journey, but I had expected to be in Teufenberg by now. I promised myself that I would at least break my fast at the nearest inn, and when, by noon, I turned a bend and saw the carved gables of a substantial-looking hostelry, with outhouses, stables, and a little cluster of cottages at the back, I was glad of having made that promise.

The inn was called The Black Friar and it stood upon the banks of a broad but shallow river. A good-sized stone bridge spanned the river (although it seemed possible to ford it without wetting the thighs) and farther up on the far bank I saw a mill, its wheel working slowly as it ground corn. I guessed that both mill and inn were, as was quite common, owned by the same family.

I almost cantered into the courtyard, looking up at the wooden gallery, which went the entire circumference of the place, and crying out for the landlord as I dismounted.

A black-browed fellow, very heavily built and with red arms to match his nose, came through a downstairs door and took the bridle.

"I am Wilhelm Hippel and this is my tavern. You are welcome, Your Honour."

"It looks a well-kept place, landlord," I said, handing him my cloak as an ostler appeared to take my horse.

"We think so, Your Honour."

"And well-stocked, I hope."

I noticed a familiar peasant craftiness as he hesitated. "As best it can be in these times, sir."

I laughed at this. "Have no fear, landlord, I am not about to requisition your food and wine in the name of some warlike prince. I am on a mission of peace. I hope to be instrumental in putting an end to strife."

"Then you are doubly welcome, Your Honour."

I was taken into the main taproom and here enjoyed a mug of beer even better than that which I had had from the woman in the village. Venison and game were presented to me and I made my choice, feasting well and chatting with Heir Hippel about his trials and tribulations. These appeared extremely minor in comparison with those of men and women who had been directly touched by the War, but of course to him they were large enough.

There were robbers on this road, he warned me, and although they did not give him much trouble, some of his guests had been robbed and badly beaten (one even killed) during the previous autumn. The winter had not been so bad, but now he heard that the robbers were returning, "like swallows in spring," he said. I reassured him that I would journey warily. He said that he was expecting two or three more guests shortly and that it might be wise if we all travelled together to Teufenberg. I said that I would consider the idea, although privately I determined to continue alone, for I did not want the company of merchants or clerics on their slow, reliable horses.

In the shadows of the far corner, half-asleep with his tankard in his hand, I noted a surly red-headed youth dressed in a stained blue silk shirt with cuffs and collar of tattered lace; red silk breeches, baggy and loose after the Turkish fashion, tucked into high folded-over riding boots. He had on an unbuttoned leather waistcoat of heavy hide, of a sort which swordsmen often wear in preference to a breastplate. There was a long, curved sabre propped near him on his bench, and round his waist I detected a long knife and a pistol, both in black and silver, looking almost Oriental in design.

I had the youth for a Muscovite, since he was evidently no Turk. I raised a comradely tankard to him but he avoided my eye. The landlord whispered that he was well-behaved enough, but spoke poor German and seemed suspicious of even the friendliest action. He had been there since the day before and was apparently waiting for some soldier-priest who had agreed to meet him at the inn. The solider-priest, said the landlord, had some sort of Latin name which the youth had misheard or else could not pronounce property. It was a tittle like Josephus Kreutzerling, he said. He seemed to hope that I might recognise it, but I shook my head. I had a wariness and dislike for those soldier-priests who, in my view, were capable of worse depredations, fouler cruelties, than almost anyone else I had ever encountered.

Having discovered that I could reach Teufenberg by nightfall, I decided to be on my way, and was just rising when the doors of the taproom opened and in came a tall, thin individual with hard grey eyes in a cadaverous face, a black wide-brimmed hat upon his head, collar and cuffs of plain linen, coat and breeches of black wool, black buckled shoes and gaiters which, as he sat down upon a stool, he proceeded to remove, revealing white stockings. He had a plain, straight blade at his side and he wore gauntlets, carrying one in his left hand. The only fancy thing he wore was a purple plume in his hat, and even this gave the impression that he was in mourning for someone.

He looked first at me and then at the landlord. Herr Hippel stood up.

"Can I be of service, Your Honour?"

"Some wine and a jug of water," said the newcomer. He turned his head and looked back at the young Muscovite who had grown more alert. "You are Gregory Sedenko."

"I am Grigory Petrovitch Sedenko," said the youth in his strange, rumbling accent, stressing vowels and consonants in a way which made me certain of his origin. He stood up "Who knows me?"

"I am he who promised to meet you here."

I had, as I thought, recognised the face and manner of a soldier-priest. The man was typical of his kind; all human feeling had been turned into pride and cruelty in the name of his Crusade. "I am Johannes Klosterheim, Knight of Christ."

The young Muscovite crossed himself dutifully, but looked with boldness into the austere face of the fighting monk. "You have a commission for me, Brother Johannes, in Teufenberg."

"I have. I know the house. I have all the evidence. The case has been judged. It is left for you to execute it."

The boy frowned. "You are certain?"

"There is no question."

I wondered if I was listening to a witch-hunter. But if Klosterheim were an ordinary witch-finder, he would not be here at this time, talking to the youth. Witch-finders travelled with an entourage, with all the paraphernalia of their calling. If they did not travel, they stayed in one town or one area. Few of them were soldiers.

Gregory Sedenko reached for his scabbarded sabre and made to tuck it into his belt, but Klosterheim raised his naked hand and shook his head. "Not yet. There is time."

The landlord and myself listened in silence, for it seemed evident that Klosterheim had commissioned the boy to do murder, albeit murder in God's name. Both of us were uncomfortable in the presence of the pair. The landlord wished to leave. My instinct was to take the boy aside and warn him not to involve himself in whatever disgusting venture the soldier-priest must surely be initiating. But I had made a virtue of silence and inactivity in recent years. It did not do to speak one's mind in those days.

The boy sat down again. "I would rather have it done," he said, "as soon as possible."

"There are things I must tell you in private," said Klosterheim. "This is no ordinary work."

At this Sedenko laughed. "Ordinary enough in Kieff," he said. "It is how we spend our winters."

Klosterheim disapproved of his levity, even of his enthusiasm. "We must pray together first," he said.

"And pay?" said the youth.

"Prayer first, pay second," replied the soldier-priest. He looked at us as if to warn us not to interfere and preferably not to listen. The landlord went from the room, leaving only me as witness to what took place between the strange pair.

I decided to speak:

"I have not heard of the Knights of Christ, brother," said I. "Is that an order from these parts?"

"It is not an order, as such, at all," said Klosterheim. "It is a society."

"Forgive me. I am not entirely conversant with Church tore."

"Then you should make it your task to become conversant, sir," he said. His grey eyes were angry. "And you should consider your manners, also. You should think of making their improvement another goal."

"I'm much obliged for the advice, brother," I said. "I shall consider it."

"Best do so, sir."

Against my saner judgement I remained where I was, even though the older man wished me to leave. Eventually he rose and went to sit beside Sedenko, speaking in a voice too low for me to overhear. I continued to drink my beer, however, and to give them my attention. The youth was undisturbed, but the soldier-priest remained uncomfortable, which, out of sheer devilment, I wished him to be.

At last, with a curse ill-befitting a celibate man of God, he got up from the bench and drew the youth with him to the door. They went outside into the yard.

I had amused myself long enough. I drained my tankard, shouted for the landlord, paid him and asked that my horse be fetched for me.

In a little while I peered through the window to see that the ostler had returned with my steed. I donned my helmet, folded my cloak under my arm and opened the door.

Klosterheim and the Muscovite were deep in conversation on the far side of the yard. As I emerged, Klosterheim turned his back on me.

The sun was shining strong and hot as I mounted. I cried: "Farewell, brother. Farewell, Heir Sedenko." And I urged the beast out of the courtyard toward the open road.

The sun had gone down by the time I sighted, in the twilit mist, the spires and rooftops of Teufenberg. It was a pleasant enough little town with a population that was only reasonably suspicious of a man like myself, on a good horse and in armour, and I had hardly any difficulty finding a hostelry with room for me and my horse. Again, to relieve my host's perturbation, I told the story of being an envoy commissioned to try to bring peace to the warring factions and, naturally enough, was given a much-improved welcome.

In the morning I was directed onto the road for Schweinfurt and wished Godspeed in my mission by the landlord, his wife, his son-in-law and his three daughters. I had almost begun to believe that I was the hero I presented myself as being!

On the outskirts of the town I passed a house which had a crowd surrounding it. Men, women and children stood packed together, watching wide-eyed as a group of people in black began to emerge from the house. The women were wailing and the boys and girls were pale and stunned. They were carrying three corpses from the house.

I wondered if this had anything to do with the pair I had encountered on the previous day.

I asked one fat townsman what had happened.

"It's the Jews," he said. "All the men were struck down in the night by the Sword of God. It is His vengeance upon them for their crimes."

I was disgusted. Their fate was familiar enough, but I had not expected to witness such an event in the pleasant town of Teufenberg.

I did not wait to hear the catalogue of crimes, for it would be the same wretched list one heard from the Baltic to the Black Sea.

Grimly, I spurred my horse and was more than glad when I reached the highway. The air seemed purer. I galloped a few miles until Teufenberg was completely out of sight, then I let my horse walk for a while.

In one sense I was grateful for what I had seen that morning in Teufenberg. I had been reminded of the realities of the world which lay ahead of me.