Pest Gold

By Jutta Ahrens

Bohemia at the beginning of the 15th century: The people of a small village have survived the terrible plague. Weak, hungry and desperate, they abandon the caves in which they found refuge from the pest. They are pinched by poverty for the fields lay unsown – and the winter is coming.

Even their noble lord on the nearby castle is suffering. Fortunately, he still has the treasure, which he stole together with other robber knights before the plague struck. When he wants to use it to battle the hardship, he realises to his horror that the chests filled with gold and jewels are gone. He could lose his life over this!

In the meantime, precious items are showing up in and around the village time and again, and the villagers claim a troll is the source of their small wealth. The young, educated village priest Martin along with Janek, the noble lord’s son, find this superstition very intriguing:
Who stole the treasure? Who is this mysterious benefactor in the forest?
Can the two men unveil the truth and ward off the consequences of greed and superstition that has been growing in Janovice since the beginning of the outbreak of the pest?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Dec 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781547563388

Book preview

Janovice

1

The Cistercian Monastery Marienthal was engulfed in flames; thick black smoke was hovering above the grey river. Janek von Rabstein galloped along the narrow riverbank. The air smelled bitter like charred wood and rags, and even of worse things, he found. It was the stench of burnt meat and smoldering blackened bones. He thought he could still taste the smell of burning meat on his tongue, although he had ridden a considerable length of the way already. It couldn’t have been anything else, because the convent was filled with dead nuns, who together with all other flammable things, were turning into ash.

Janek turned his head. A massive warhorse and the young Benisch, second youngest son of Hynko, the Lord of Scharfenstein, followed him. A lank, tough fellow with straggly hair that he repeatedly and nervously tucked behind his ears.

Do not look back! he shouted to Janek. You couldn’t prevent it.

Janek’s horse came to an easy trot to let Benisch catch up to him, but he could not look at him. His face was pale and directed sternly at the horizon. For a long time, they trotted silently beside each other. It was a goddamned act of malice, he finally crunched between his teeth.

Benisch nodded. We both know that, but the men were unstoppable. We could not do anything.

Benisch was right. Janek could not have done anything against the savage and barbaric men and had ridden off without a word. Benisch had followed Janek, although he would have liked to have stayed at the convent. He respected the lad, two years his junior, for his attitude. Torn between a sense of honor and pure greed, the shame had robbed him of the feeling of victory.

He pointed to a steep half-overgrown path that led uphill to a dark forest. Here, this is the way to the crow stones. It is about time that we leave this riverbank.

They entered the dark green thicket. The stony path turned farther up the hill under the huge spruces. The tree gum and the stuffy haze of the rotting leaves eventually covered the scent of the smoke. The Neiße River disappeared from their field of vision; the burning convent remained only a memory.

Their conversation trailed off as they were forced to ride one behind the other. After two hours, something grey and enormous stood out against the trunks. Tree-high rocks, weathered and partially cracked, towered before them: the crow stones. Here, they wanted to wait for Hynko and his sons, the followers of his man-at-arms and his warrantor Florian von Rabstein.

Florian von Rabstein, Janek’s father, was the lord of the castle Arnstein—the Raubschloss, as the people called it, because no noble knights resided on the castle, but only a robber band—and liegeman of the von Duba. The noble families from the Bohemian Forest had all along exercised the right of the strongest, because their lands were poor, the monasteries, however, were rich and weak. Their patrons could not have defended every corner at the same time when suddenly twenty men armed to their teeth appeared out from the undergrowth. And that is why the monasteries usually were in God’s hands alone. But He did not need anything of the precious things that were found in churches: silver and gold, treasures adorned with jewels, shrines and tabernacles in which holy bread, jars for the liturgies or old bones were stored.

Janek had already absorbed this attitude with his mother’s milk. Robbing and plundering was the privilege of the Rabsteins and also their duty towards the von Dubas. But for all that, raping and slaughtering nuns was not part of him. No one had planned for this to happen of course. At first, the weary and starved men had only undressed the pious sisters, as such a raid was never sheer amusement, and they only wanted to enjoy themselves a little bit. But then the whole thing got out of control.

It did not have to end this way! The raid has been more successful this time than ever before. They had ordered the construction of five chest boxes in Bautzen for all the robbed treasures from Upper Lusatia, in Saxony and Brandenburg; one for each of Hynko’s five sons. There would be enough left over for Janek’s father and the rest of the knights to live a decent life for one year. Not always did the robber baronry nourish its men. Sometimes they simply depended on the scanty yields of the peasants or lived in want.

After the long, unbearable silence, Benisch claimed to point out this circumstance to Janek. Do not scowl so. Think about the immeasurable loot that we can take home this time. We don’t have to set forth for two or more years and can warm up our chilled-through bottoms at the open hearth and enjoy our women, not the nuns.

Janek stared vacantly into space. Yes, I know. But I am telling you, all this gold won’t be a blessing this time.

Benisch laughed uneasily. Nonsense! Gold is gold. You will not seriously believe in what the women in the spinning rooms babbled: of white women, dark fellows and trolls who change gold into horseshit.

Janek’s mouth turned into a small smile. No, he said. But then he buried himself back into silence.

Benisch grew annoyed at him. You are taking it to heart. Those prude sisters are finally sitting alongside their grooms’ sides; you know perfectly well what I mean.

He wanted to be funny, but Janek darted an angry glance at him. Why did you follow me?

Benisch chewed at a dried piece of meat. You are special, Janek von Rabstein. We fight and plunder in order to survive, but you are different from all the rest of us. Sometimes I wish to be more like you, but then again … He looked at Janek and swayed his head. Then I think it would not be good for me. For none of us.

What are you trying to say? That I am a huckster?

No, no, Benisch fended him off quickly, as Janek could become nasty when he was angry; besides he had the edge over him in every respect. I just meant that you maybe should have gone to Prague or Dresden, to become an intellectual or something alike. I heard you can even read?

Janek affected a laugh. I wouldn’t have been in good hands with the sycophants at the princes’ palaces, believe me.

He turned his head as he heard the dull sound of horses’ hooves. A moment later, several horsemen, clothed in leather harnesses on massive warhorses, burst out of the shadows of the low spruce branches; all armed with bows and swords. At the head was a stocky, barrel-chested old man with an ice-grey beard and a chained helmet over his woolen hat. Engraved on the spotty leather harness was the coat of arms of the von Dubas: two decussated oak branches. It was the old Hynko himself accompanied by his four other sons.

While Janek rose sluggishly at the sight of his lord, Benisch jumped up. The lines on his face alternated between embarrassment and defiance. He did not take notice of his brothers’ expressions.

Hynko scrutinized him with light grey eyes below his bushy brows. Let the devil take you, son! Because of your stupidity, we had to take a detour. He did not deign to look at Janek.

Benisch knew: his father thought it had been foolish of him to leave because of violence, death and flames, or more precisely because he had followed Janek, who Hynko had always called a pigheaded fellow.

Why? Our route goes past the crow stones.

Not anymore! grumbled Hynko. We had to change our plans.

Where is my father? Janek asked who leaned placidly against a spruce trunk.

Down at the steep path with the baggage train. Mount now! Hurry up! We have to get out of this area.

Are they on to us already? Benisch asked taken aback.

Not yet, but it won’t take long. Hynko picked his beard nervously. We are in trouble. For one, there are the chests. We have reloaded them onto mules to make a rapid progression. And what’s more … He hesitated. The plague has broken out in a few villages near Scharfenstein and Hohenstein. This is what the monks of St Marien near Ostritz revealed to us, who knew it from fugitives from Geringiswalde. Therefore, we cannot return to our castles at the time being.

Benisch went pale. The plague! The word alone spread dread and fright everywhere. And where can we go then?

We decided to go to my former comrade-in-arms Bodo at Greiffenberg Castle until the pestilence is over. It lies north of here, in Brandenburg and should be far away enough. He looked at Janek cursorily, yet with a piercing glance. Your father with his men and you will store away the chests for a time at castle Arnstein.

At our castle?

Yes. It is only a day’s ride from here, and the routes leading to it are dusky and deserted. You will hardly meet another man who asks silly questions. It is the next safest place. My youngest son Jindrich will accompany you.

Jindrich, the raven, the gruffest of all of them! Janek looked at him briefly and captured his malicious grin. He responded with a bored face. Then, he and Benisch mounted. Hynko and his sons turned their horses and trotted down the hill again. Janek directed his horse to Benisch’s side and hissed, I had prophesized this. Out of this blood gold, no blessing will come forth. It has already changed, but not into horseshit. It has turned into pest gold.

The Black Death broke out somewhere every few years, leaving behind abandoned villages, and then disappeared abruptly. It would be the same this time around. They just had to evade the issue and wait. Florian as the castellan of castle Arnstein had followed his lord’s order. Nevertheless, the epidemic approached the Kirnitzsch Valley, and the dreadful stories from the neighborhoods increased. Florian did not think of waiting until the plague also reached the villages of Arnstein. Hastily one morning, he got someone to pack up and together with his sons, Janek and the eleven-year-old Rajner, his baggage train and his servants proceeded to Tetschen in the region of the Wartenbergs, where a cousin of his lived.

2

A full year had passed since these events. The plague had ravaged numerous villages. The Dubas returned to their manors Scharfenstein, Hohnstein, Rathen and Wildenstein. Florian was also back at Arnstein. In the abandoned castle, there was a lot to do. The storage rooms were empty and nothing could be taken from the peasants as they were dead. When no one cultivated the land and when no livestock was alive, then even a Florian von Rabstein could not collect any taxes. He had to buy supplies for serious money, which displeased him.

And then, as if God had not punished him enough already, his youngest son Rajner tumbled from the outer rock stairs to his death. This is how it must have happened as they had found his shoe at the top of the stairs. However, Florian had been unable to bury him because his corpse had never been found. For a few days, the baggage train and the servants gossiped only about a man-eating Weihizer; a spectre who did damage and mischief, of which the Bohemian legends were swarmed with. It was no wonder that Florian did not waste much thought on his own needs concerning Hynko and his sons. He assumed that they would come in spring to collect the chests.

Florian remembered the treasure once he realized that his money would not be enough to get them through the winter. He was standing at the window of his chamber and looked down into the courtyard, where withered leaves were being stirred up by the first autumn winds. His Captain of the guard Jurij was swaggering with his companions about an awe-inspiring experience with a wild boar that had attacked him on their way back. Unfortunately, the good roast had escaped. His comrades suppressed offensive remarks because the injuries suggested a fall in a drunken state.

Florian turned away, interlaced his hands behind his back and paced up and down the chamber. He was a broad-shouldered, stocky man with a wild, red-brown shock of hair and bushy eyebrows above close-set eyes. Since the death of his wife, his beard had become grey and scruffy, but von Rabstein put no value to his appearance. For the harlots in Prague, it will certainly be sufficient, he used to tattle.

Janek sat at the table, carving a piece of wood. He knew his father and knew that he was wrestling with a problem once again. He was certain that his father would seek his advice. Not that he would have done it openly; he was too proud for that. He used to soliloquize in such circumstances and expected Janek to interfere.

Now, it has also started to rain, the castellan said to himself in a low voice. Wretched weather, this! I sent Danko to Frienstein to fetch some chickens and geese. He will get stuck with the cart if it continues to pour.

He did not anticipate an answer and continued on his way. Soon, there will be snow, and then no one can get through. We have to devour grass like the nags. And all of this because of the plague!

There is not even grass in the winter, Janek remarked dryly. His father darted a weird glance at him. What are you carving?

A wolf.

A wolf, right! I wish I were a wolf, too. All of them make it through the winter. Thin to the mercy of God, but they survive.

Janek bent deeper forward above his carving. They hunt.

And what do we hunt? Our own shadows on the wall. His father started to walk up and down the room again. Holy Svantovit! I have given Danko the last of my pennies. The bag is empty!

The chests are full, Janek mumbled.

His father stood riveted to the spot and turned. What did you just say?

I said, the chests are full, Janek responded unmoved while carving the wolf.

You mean Hynko’s? Of course, the money is just lying around, but … Von Rabstein stopped right in front of his son and supported his fists on the tabletop. It does not belong to us. At least not yet. It has to be divided first and then I am getting my share.

Janek nodded. This is how it was arranged.

So what? What are you trying to say?

Janek shrugged his shoulders. Nothing. I am just saying that if someone takes two or three ducats out of each chest, then no one will notice. Or did good old Hynko count the money?

His father pretended to be indignant. Are you advising me to commit a theft?

Never. I am just saying that the old Hynko …

… he does not notice anything. Of course, he does not notice anything. Von Rabstein resumed pacing up and down the room. Two, three ducats of each chest. Well, nothing was recorded in writing.

And, we are in times of need.

Yes indeed, it certainly is a difficult time. I would of course give it back to him.

Like an honorable man.

Fifteen ducats. You can buy many a whopper of bacon with it. Impatiently, he was cracking his fingers. But it has to happen soon. Now in November, the first snow may begin to fall. Come, Janek, let us go down before I regret the whole thing. And, not a word to anybody!

Aren’t the chests locked?

Florian von Rabstein grinned. I had ordered a copy of the key at the chest maker in Bautzen back then.

To what end? Janek smiled and stood up. You had never had the intention of stealing from the old Hynko.

Let the werewolf take me! I did it in case one gets lost.

Janek had never seen his father so aghast as now when he spotted the splintered hole in the oak door. He swayed and instinctively grabbed his throat as if he already sensed the rope there or the garrotte intended for the traitor.

Even Janek was shocked. His first thought was, there was a thief in the castle because no one could have invaded the castle from the outside unless the castle had been seized, but the palisades and the gate were intact. Who did he think was capable of committing this presumptuous theft? The first person who came to his mind was Jurij.

He’ll have my head! he heard his father whisper.

Janek raised the torch he had carried and examined the hole in greater detail. It was fairly small. Jurij would not have fit through, nor another adult he knew. To their surprise, the lock on the door was undamaged. There were only two keys for this small chamber. His father possessed one, and the other, Hynko von Duba. Janek found the matter quite mysterious.

We should have a look, father. Maybe nothing has been stolen. The door has not been opened, and none of our men could have slipped through the hole, let alone, taken away the chests. It is possible that the thief stopped his undertaking when he realized that the door was infrangible.

Lucifer! May you be right, son. Hastily, von Rabstein inserted the key into the keyhole, turned it, and tore open the door. Then he rushed to a trapdoor. Give me some light, Janek!

Janek lowered the torch, and von Rabstein grasped the iron handle, pulled the trapdoor up and blustered down the hidden stairs like a wounded bear. Janek followed him. Below, they hurried along a low-ceilinged passage with hunched backs. Suddenly, von Rabstein stopped his sprint and staggered. Janek! That can’t be—where on earth are you? Damn! Everything is pitch-black, I need some light! The chests, I cannot… He fell silent.

I am right beside you, father. Janek held up the torch and stared at nothing but the bare floor. Barren. After an infinite time, he breathed, You do not see anything, because there is nothing to see, father. The chests are not there anymore.

That is absolutely impossible! Von Rabstein dropped to his knees. That is—that is sorcery—witchcraft. Oh good Lord! He pressed his forehead onto the stone floor. This will be my end; that is the end of all of us. Hynko will kill us all and burn Arnstein to the ground.

Janek was speechless. How could the chests have possibly disappeared through the small hole in the door? A dog, a cat or a child could have squeezed through, but could not have carried the chests. It gave him the shivers. He did not believe in the living dead, werewolves or mermen—at least not until today. His disbelief began to unravel. Who had been at work here? A Haunting? Or a cunning thief?

It could not have been any of the castle personnel or servants for all of them had been in Tetschen. But who knew of this hiding place? A robber band who had somehow managed, in their absence, to break into the castle, would have had enough time to search for the chests—even to smash the lock and the door. But the thief had confined himself to a small hole.

A curse, he heard his father whisper. We are under a curse. He staggered forward and fell to his knees. This convent in Marienthal. We should have left it alone. We should not have touched the treasures.

It was not the only monastery that we have troubled, father.

Holy St. Wenceslaus! No, we have squeezed the money out of many a shaveling; believed that they should have better followed our Lord Jesus Christ in poverty. But in Marienthal—that was another matter. The castellan stood up shakily and stared dead ahead. It was—I do not know how it happened—Hynko, I, we wanted to prevent it, you know that.

I can’t seem to remember, retorted Janek. Benisch and I were the only ones who rode off because no one wanted to listen to us.

His father moaned loudly and raised his hands in prayer. In deepest remorse, I impetrate you, oh Lord. In your loving kindness, forgive us for what we have done and remove this curse from us.

Janek paced up and down impatiently. Now, it was too late to resort moaningly to God. Pointless confessions of regret are of no benefit to anyone anymore. Back then, bad omens owing to the gold had been haunting him, but meanwhile, a full year had passed, and he was reluctant to accept supernatural causes. That only prevented the search for the truth, and thus a necessary solution.

Father! This is just an ordinary robbery and not a curse. What makes you think that …?

Von Rabstein turned around, shook his son and shouted at him, An ordinary robbery? Don’t you see that there is something strange going on here? No sooner than our return from Bohemian Switzerland, the plague broke out. As a result, we became beggars. A year later, when we were establishing ourselves again, your brother Rajner fell down the castle wall. His corpse, however, remains nowhere to be found. Sure. Thefts happen, accidents as well, but not under these mysterious circumstances.

The governor let go of his son and brushed the sweat off his forehead. He trembled in every limb.

Janek faced away from him silently and went back upstairs. He no longer wanted to be reminded of all these terrible things that his own father had done. But he did not want to believe in a curse because of that. Though the affair with the missing corpse had indeed been unusual as they had searched for it immediately after they had found the one shoe. If animals had carried it off, recent traces would have been found.

Janek heard his father follow him and lock the door. In silence, they climbed up to their chambers.

3

God’s grace is mighty. The people of Janovice realized this when they returned to their village from the caves where, they had lived for a good year, and realized that the plague had spared them. It must have definitely vanished as armed riders had been sighted at Arnstein. When the noble lords, who were the first to flee at that time, returned, the peasants could be sure that the danger was over.

The forest village Janovice stretched to both sides of the Kirnitzsch, which flowed gently through the meadows of the valleys. The slightly ascending hills had been cleared a long time ago, and the fields reached up to the dark forest. Each of the spaciously dispersed houses was surrounded by a vegetable garden, and these were protected by hedges or wattle fences. The fields and vegetable gardens, however, all lied idle now; the surface was covered in rambling weeds.

It was the beginning of August and Adam, the village priest, had scheduled the thanksgiving service on Assumption Day. He asked Jiri, the blacksmith’s son, to sound the bell. With eagerness, the ten-year-old clung firmly to the thick bell rope and jumped up and down like a goblin. Gradually, the old bell, that had remained silent for a long time, began to move, which chased a big spider away from its home. Grey spider webs swayed from side to side. Dirt trickled down from the roof beams of the wooden steeple.

In the small, dark nave, people began to cluster and harkened the muffled clang, which had proclaimed the outbreak of the plague over a year ago. The venerable Father Adam hurried in high spirits ahead of his brothers and sisters despite his painful joints that had increased in pain since living in the damp caves. A young Dominican monk, who went after him with a thick, leather-bound edition of the Holy Scripture, accompanied him. Father Martin had arrived in Janovice a few days ago and had brought along the valuable book from Meißen. It was a gift from the monastery St. Michael for the wondrous rescue of the plague, which had depopulated whole villages for miles around, and only spared Janovice.

While the young maids held their pale and hollow faces from their time in the caves lowered, their glances followed him surreptitiously. The elderly disapprovingly curled their thin, old lips. The Father was too good looking for a monk. Thick, dark and indecently long hair framed his well-shaped face with gentle, brown eyes and concealed almost completely the tiny tonsure. Several strands of hair fell onto his forehead in an unseemly manner, and his lips were too luscious to preach chastity. Solely, his chin appeared hard-edged.

The air was stuffy and smelled like sweat and unwashed clothes. The excited babble of voices sounded like the buzzing of hundreds of bumblebees. Father Adam went up the first two steps which lead to the altar, on which still lay the old altar cloth spotted with candle wax. Clumsily, he tried to wipe away the dust with the sleeves of his preaching gown before Father Martin placed down the weighty scriptures. Only little daylight fell through the tiny window openings under the roof. The priest blinked and tried to recognize individual faces of the parishioners, while taking out three half-burnt down candles, which he had carefully kept, from his skirt pocket. This would be his last preachment. The Dominican, recently ordained as priest, would succeed him. Father Adam was content to be able to place the responsibility now into younger hands. He invited the monk to light the candles. From the scripture, he chose Psalm 103.

His eyes were incapable of deciphering the text any longer; fortunately, he knew it by heart. The humming and rustling faded away, and it became very quiet in the dark, crowded room when Father Adam proclaimed in firm belief, Praise the Lord, my soul, and whatever is in me, His holy name! Praise the Lord, my soul, and do not forget the good deeds He has …

Father Martin kept his hands folded above the cincture and his gaze lowered, but the priest’s words only brushed his ears like the mumbling of a stream. His mind was not present.

Martin was a child born out of wedlock to the knight Milenko of the family Berka von Duba, a mighty dynasty in Bohemia. Milenko had driven away the mother from the castle a few weeks after childbirth, and had, generously as he thought, married her off to Krystof, the mayor of Lengenfeld, a fat, but wealthy, old man. He kept the boy and had him nursed by a wet nurse. When Martin was eight years old, his father had sent him to the monks in St. Michael in Meißen. A few weeks later, Krystof had lain with a hoe stuck in his head in the courtyard, while Martin’s mother had vanished without a trace.

Martin had embarked on his spiritual career and hoped for a rapid advancement, which could even lead him to Prague or Rome because he had been a clever and conscientious student. A bastard indeed, but the son of a respected man, which was noted in the monastery. He knew nothing of his mother’s actions.

But then he was assigned to this parish because the Bishop of Meißen thought that a special pastoring should be given to this afflicted region. Janovice was the most miserable and isolated village Martin could imagine in this terrifying wilderness where there were more wolves and bears than people. Besides, the neighborhood was orphaned due to the plague, with the exception of a few survivors who had hidden in the woods, and the area was even more godforsaken than before.

Beneath his lowered eyelids, Martin observed the faces of the people who looked up devoutly to old Father Adam. Uneducated, superstitious people! They believed that a miracle spared their village from the plague. But it wasn’t like that. The miller Jozef, then the village mayor, had only done the right thing. He had led the people to the caves near the Bärenfangwände—the isolated rock massif—where the plague could not catch them. A reasonable man! Some in the village said that he had followed the advice of a white woman who lived in the woods. She had supposedly predicted the plague. Such women, Martin knew, were always in the league with evil powers, and not compatible with the true Catholic doctrine.

Jozef had not survived the hideaway in the cold, damp caves. Now, his son Dawid had taken office. Martin saw him standing next to his wife Zuzana in the front row. The corpulent Dawid with a short neck, a good-natured, round face and the always sweaty hair, and Zuzana, a dark-haired beauty that would have been an adornment even for a city like Prague.

Father Adam began to intone Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Martin observed how Zuzana’s lips moved in prayer. Her chastely lowered gaze concealed the fire of her black eyes. She was too remarkable, too beautiful for this hamlet. Martin felt a strong suspicion that this woman would cause trouble. When the congregation devoutly brought forth the Amen, he allowed himself a deep sigh, which was inaudible under the devotions to God.

4

Jurij, the captain of the guard of castle Arnstein, sat in Dawid’s living room, his worn-out military boots stemming firmly into the ground. He did not like what he saw. In the house of the once wealthy miller, there was obviously nothing to fetch apart from a few dented tin plates. But the storage rooms in the castle were empty, and Janovice was the only village in the region that still had a few souls who could change that with a little bit of diligence and spit.

Dawid sat opposite of him, pale, but composed. Dittrich, his servant, a rocketed, pale fellow with big ears, had warned him just in time about the captain’s coming, whereupon he had sent Zuzana, his charming wife, quickly to the neighbor. He had hidden the valuable household goods anyhow before fleeing to the caves and complimented himself that he had not yet found time to retrieve the pieces.

I heard you are the village headman now. Jurij put a piece of bacon rind into his mouth and chewed on it. He loved to pause after each sentence. That intimidated people.

Dawid nodded. The village has selected me; I still need von Rabstein’s approval, of course, who has been away for a long time.

Jurij nodded absently, he was not interested in the formalities. It will work out. The governor has more urgent worries. Three of the taxable villages are deserted, and those who have survived well in the woods. You in Janovice have survived.

Yes, with God’s mercy. Dawid looked nervously to the door where the maidservant stored the wine. A barrel was still in his shed. But little remains for us to survive, he added.

Life itself and strong hands that can grasp firmly. And enough land. Until new farmers have settled, you can cultivate the fields of the other villages.

With what, when seeds, draught animals and people are missing? Are fields ploughing themselves? Does wheat begin to sprout by itself? Dawid thought and struggled to suppress his anger. The villagers had had a terrible time. In the caves, they had often lived only on bitter herbs and tree bark. Like ghosts, emerging from their graves, they had wobbled back to their village, and now they hardly knew how to survive the next winter.

The maidservant was entering the room holding a jug. Jurij winked at her. What are you bringing me, beautiful? Water or wine?

It is wine, milord, she replied sheepishly.

Look at that! he shouted reaching for the jug with his left while pinching the girl’s cheek with his right. Nothing to survive, but wine. What else is there?

He took a long gulp and spit it out immediately. That is not wine, that is cow piss!

I would have liked to pour it for you if we still had cows! Grimly the thought lashed through Dawid’s mind while shrugging his shoulders. That is all that we can offer you.

Jurij darted a baleful glance at the miller, sniffed at the jug and grumbled, Well, wine after all. I knew that you peasants live better than the castellan. At Arnstein, we have only water since our return. He raised the jug, emptied it to the last drop and shook himself. In the end, you can get used to it. Pour me some more, my little dove.

The maidservant took the jug and hurried out of the room. I will be short, miller, growled Jurij wiping a few drops from his black beard. Because of this damn plague, our noble governor Florian von Rabstein has to live like a beggar. That is just unseemly. On top of this, he owes our revered Count Hynko Berka von Duba still—uh—taxes from last year. The times are bad, but not as bad as you are trying to make me believe. There are still enough of your brats in the village; they must eat something to survive.

The captain’s rude manner made Dawid’s blood boil. The count should help us instead of exploiting us. That is his responsibility, for Christ’s sake! To cultivate the fields, we need …

Be quiet! Jurij snarled at him indicating a slap in his face with his hand. You want some help? You withheld the tithes of the cattle and the harvest from him when you hid away in the woods, and now you’re complaining that there’s nothing left?

Dawid had to think about their miserable lives in the caves, the crying children, the fear of wild animals, the long, cold nights and the sick who had to lie on the bare rock without anyone to help them. He thought about one female farmer whose twins had starved to death and had hanged herself.

Only God knew how they had suffered in the caves. And Florian von Rabstein already stretched out his greedy paw recklessly towards the survivors. The anger threatened to overwhelm Dawid. We had to eat! he yelled at the captain of the guard. No one knew when we could leave the caves.

Jurij stopped him with a wave of his hand. It was obvious that the miller wanted to be provocative. So what? The plague was sent to you for your sins, ask the priest. The castellan has a few hungry mouths to feed; he is as bad off as you. Everyone knows that you bury your supplies during times of distress. So, dig them up and bring them to the castle.

Dawid could hardly contain his anger. If you need something, he retorted venomously, you only have to go to Mount Blanik, you will find King Wenceslaus with his knights. When the rocks open at midnight, enter it and diligently collect the rubbish which will turn into gold by daylight.

Jurij had almost slapped him with his broad hand, but then he twisted his mouth into a nefarious grin. My nursemaid had already told me of this legend, miller. Only strumpets and women in spinning rooms believe in it. And shepherds like you in Janovice.

Dawid refused to let the conversation boil over. He had to win time and feign a few plausible excuses. Of course we will do everything so that the lords von Duba and Rabstein will not suffer any more hardship, he replied stuffily.

Did the captain of the guard notice the ironic undertone? No, he nodded mildly. That sounds much better already.

The maidservant returned with a full jug. Jurij grabbed it from her hand and stared at her tender bosom under her linen shirt. Good girl. He drank the wine in one draft and rose noisily. Send your maid to me at the castle as well; there, she can learn a thing or two.

She is only thirteen! It slipped out of Dawid’s mouth.

So what? he winked at the terrified girl.

Then she is just the right age.

5

Next to the church was the town hall. It was already decrepit and run-down, but it was still standing, and the tall oak gate was robust. Each villager who was fit for work had come, including old Father Adam. Before the plague, only the villeins were to be admitted to the communal assembly, but this regulation was no longer in place given the prevailing hardship the plague posed onto them.

The people of Janovice sat on the ground and could not believe what Dawid was telling them about Jurij. The count wants to remove the clothes from the naked, Wendelin, the blacksmith, muttered. Due to his respected trade, he had always been a member of the assembly, just like the miller. His blond, shoulder-long hair showed grey strands already, the formerly sturdy body seemed to have sunken down. Deep wrinkles have delved into the area around the corners of his mouth.

You’re better off than most of us, grumbled Jakub Moru. He was wifeless and cultivated a small piece of land, which had fed him and his siblings pitifully even before the plague. You have your workshop and your tools.

The blacksmith had the impression that the half-villeins and smallholders wanted to lead the discussion all of a sudden. You Cox-Comb! What of it, if I can’t get paid for my labour? I have five children, and they cry for bread. I cannot feed them with iron.

We all have children, Wendelin! old Johanka yelled, under whose headscarf two grey plaits dangled down to her waist. The deceased miller Jozef had been her brother. Since the death of her husband five years ago, she has been ploughing her lands with the aid of her two sons, Tomek and Marek. She could work like a horse and never complained. I suggest some of you go to Lichtenhain and Rugiswalde and see what else can be used.

To the pest-ridden villages? The souls of the dead go about there.

Then give your children stones. I will be going.

Tomek and Marek exchanged anxious glances. They did not approve of their mother going there. Surely, the Weihizer went about there.

I am going with you, Johanka, Jakub Moru said.

Thank you. Eagerly she tied her headscarf tighter and looked around adventurously, but she only met lowered faces.

I deem this to be a good idea, her nephew Dawid rose to speak. But someone will have to go to Meißen and request a lending from the bishop in order to buy seeds and livestock.

A mocking laughter formed in one corner of the room. All that he has sent us is a new priest the women are staring at.

Martin pretended as if he did not hear that, and Dawid harrumphed angrily. If you all agree, I will go to Meißen myself.

For that to happen, you need the governor’s permission, the blacksmith remarked.

Dawid cleared his throat. I will not ask him. What more can he do to us?

Correct. He needs us, Ondrej said, a short, lean man who always repaired anything that was damaged in the village. If he keeps abusing us, he will have nothing in the end. He belonged—like the basket weaver and the broom-maker—to the group of the cottagers, who did not own any land and provided for themselves and their families through their trade or were hired as servants on the larger farms. But it would actually be his responsibility to ask for a lending.

Dawid sighed. Florian von Rabstein does not ask for a lending. Now that the danger of the plague is over, he will leave soon anyway to go on raids again up to Saxony and Brandenburg.

If only he were there already, Jakub grumbled.

Then what does he want from us?

Provisions for his men most likely. It is hard to fight on an empty stomach.

He will not even get a pot full of cow’s shit from us! Marek pertly yelled. With her knuckles, Johanka gave him a knock on his head. You weren’t asked, but that’s the way it is. She looked at Dawid. Who do you want to take with you?

I would like to have the strong blacksmith on my side.

I will also join you! Ondrej exclaimed.

Men are needed for this mission, Wendelin grinned.

Everyone who wants to help is welcome, Dawid said. But he should be able to handle an axe or a hoe. In the woods, all kinds of vermin hang about. He was aware that they did not stand any chance against armed robbers, but after the plague, they would probably only find starvelings. Besides, he wanted to prove himself as a determined man in his new role. This he owed to his father’s remembrance and the village itself.

Father Adam folded his hands devoutly. We should pray for success and that God …

… may protect us all, Martin finished the devotional blessing. Further, we should ask Him for enlightenment where the church treasure is.

Which treasure? Father Adam asked and blinked in pious simplicity.

Well, some well-preserved utensils that are indispensable for worship and the Holy Communion: a cup, a crucifix perhaps? You haven’t eaten them, have you?

Oh—that is what you mean. We have hidden them—of course, from robbers, but they can’t be sold.

Except in times of extreme hardship, Martin added amicably and looked around wondering whether anyone objected to swapping the church equipment in Meißen for seeds or food.

A murmur went through the crowd, but no one objected openly.

Adam smiled agonized. How do you plan on holding the church services without the holy objects, Brother Martin?

Is that what troubles you? What do we need? A crucifix and a Communion cup. There will surely be clay cups in this village and a few skillful hands that can build a cross from branches. The cups and the cross will be consecrated through me by the virtue of my ministry, for it is not written anywhere that the holy devices must be made of silver.

Dawid gave Father Martin a nod. A sensible man, the new priest, he thought and nodded. God knows our misery and will forgive us.

The man surprised Martin. As a matter of fact, he had misjudged the unremarkable, always sweating miller’s son; he was cunning and bold. But Martin knew that his plan was pointless because he knew the bishop well enough. In the light of the immeasurable poverty of the people, the bishop would have had to give out many credits. And since there was no help to be expected from their selfish and stone-hearted castellan, the people would have no choice but to leave Janovice to live their lives somewhere in the realm as landless people. Hopefully, he would then be allocated to a better parish.

6

Around the Arnstein, the already sparsely populated land seemed to be completely deserted now. Not even rogues were hanging around in the woods anymore; it was not worth attacking. Since the plague, the merchants avoided the trade route underneath the Bärenfangwände, which led up to Postelwitz and Schandau. That is why Dawid and his companions progressed quickly and without any incidents. In Sebnitz, they acquired food and seeds in exchange for their church and household utensils.

In a tavern, they met a young man dressed in elegant clothes, who bought them one round after the other, because he always enjoyed hearing exciting stories about the darksome Bohemian Forest. His name was Dytmar, and he introduced himself as the advocate of the archdeaconate’s chancellery in Bautzen. When he heard about Dawid’s intention to ask the bishop in Meißen for a credit, he shook his head. I advise you against this vain journey. Only the sovereign can ask for such a credit, and, to my knowledge, the area around the Arnstein belongs to the lord Berka von Duba. You must ask for help there.

Dawid bowed his head in shame. He did not want to admit that his own castellan harassed him and his town folk. We were hoping … He hesitated when he looked into the pale, disappointed faces of his companions. We thought they would make an exception given the circumstances.

The advocate’s expression was one of genuine empathy and compassion. Well, he sighed, Grim Reaper wields his plague sickle every few years, mowing down a village here, a small town there. The lord bishop would have to continually make exceptions, but in the ministry, everything happens very accurately, even if sometimes the only things they count are corpses. He smiled bitterly. I am the one who would know. Buy what you need and then head for home. That is my advice anyway.

Dawid looked at his companions questioningly. They nodded in silence. Evidently, they had not expected to be successful with their request to the bishop. They had approached the journey rather simple-heartedly and agreed to turn back.

The next morning, they counted their coins in a corner away from the market and discussed what they still needed before they made for home. They acquired two dairy goats for the children. With the last bit of money, Wendelin bought oven-baked yeast dumplings, filled with sweet plum jam, and the brothers Tomek and Marek eggs for their mother.

Just as they had left the deserted, seemingly eerie Ottendorf behind, they suddenly heard horses’ hooves. Shortly after, a cavalry unit appeared on the narrow rocky path from around the corner. It was too late to turn around. Their hearts were sinking, as they recognized the knight with the white panache for their castellan Florian von Rabstein whose captain of the guard had rejected Dawid on the grounds of the lack of hellers. The castellan was in the company of eight horsemen and his son Janek. Dawid examined their faces briefly and was relieved that Jurij was not among them.

Wendelin, who pulled the cart, had abruptly stopped. All for nothing! Flashed through his mind; it would not have taken much more to bring tears of anger into the blacksmith’s eyes. Tomek and Marek, who pushed the cart from behind, ducked down and peered curiously at the knights and their harnesses, swords and spears. Dawid took all his courage in both hands. He doffed his worn-out felt hat and greeted them subserviently.

The governor paid no heed to him, instead, his attention roamed to the cart with the supplies and eventually stopped at the goats. Their sight conjured a delighted smile on his lips. Only now did he turn to Dawid, who was still stooping over in front of him. Who are you? Where do you come from?

Dawid did not dare raise his gaze. His voice quavered slightly. Forgive me, milord. I am Dawid, the miller from Janovice and … He swallowed down the rest as he wanted to withhold from the castellan that he had been elected the new mayor without seeking his approval first. This here is the blacksmith Wendelin; the two younger ones are Tomek and Marek, the two sons of the widow Johanka, a farmer in Janovice. We came from the market in Sebnitz.

And what do you have in the cart?

Seeds and a few bags full of carrots, most gracious lord. We in Janovice are starving.

The castellan’s brows tightened disapprovingly. Now, now, you are still alive and fooled the plague as I can clearly see. You peasants are constantly lamenting, and yet you are as hardy as small trunks of young trees, and even pull a loaded cart from Sebnitz to Janovice.

And they carry a well-nourished goat along with a yeanling, one of the knights grinned making munching noises. Roast goat, mm …, we have not had that for a long time at Arnstein.

Wendelin stepped forward. He could hardly hide his anger. He only bowed briefly. Please let us keep the goats, milord. Our children need the milk.

You only speak when you are asked to! the knight snapped.

Your women just have to drop new children! another one said and laughed.

The castellan pulled the reins in anger. He did not approve of the behavior of his men, that much was obvious; then again he could not trounce them in front of the peasants. Then, the lean youngling, who had followed them, sitting in his saddle as straight as a pole on a magnificent blacks, intervened. Father, he shouted, and his tone gave away his deep disregard. Do you not think we have better things to do than to bother with these peasants? Let them be on their way, them and their meagre goats. We Rabsteins are used to nobler prey.

The castellan who wanted to visit his cousin at Frienstein because of the tiresome affair with the vanished chests and his financial difficulties, smiled at his son with relief. You’re right, Janek. A short nod of his head was enough, and the cavalry unit began to move noisily. No one took any more notice of the small group of peasants, just as if it had never existed.

When the riders were out of sight, Dawid said to Wendelin, That we owe to his son. By Jove, within a hair’s breadth we would have lost everything; the goods and maybe our lives.

How come our lives? Wendelin muttered.

Wendelin, the way you looked! As if you wanted to grab the burgrave by the throat. The high lords do not like that very much.

Wendelin spluttered. Let them all break their necks, these bloodsuckers!

Dawid turned to look at the brothers. Is everything all right?

We are fine, they asserted cheerfully, but their deathly pallor revealed them. They too had believed that the knights would wring their necks at any moment.

Jurij was not with them, Dawid mumbled. He must be looking after the castle while the noble robber knights are raiding. He will not be pleased, the crazy old coot. And now I am almost certain that the drunkard came to our village on his own account. The castellan had not sent him. The bastard wanted to enrich only himself.

You may be right, Wendelin gnarled. Enrich on starving women and children. He should not be surprised when misfortune befalls him, this sod.

Quiet, Wendelin! The forest has ears, too. Do not conceive an ugly idea.

I am thinking about my five, and that they deserve a better life, the blacksmith grumbled and remained silent for the rest of the way.

7

The Captain of the guard Jurij and two men appeared in the village. They also brought along a packhorse, which was, however, not loaded. The alleys and the marketplace in front of the church were deserted because the news of their arrival has spread.

Cowards! Jurij cursed as he was riding through the desolate alleys. He was angry because there was no one there that he could intimidate or harass. Life at the castle had been very uneventful lately. That is why he used the absence of his lord to feel out the villagers by his means since Florian had refused to frisk the people of Janovice. In his view, the castellan was a dimwit who fell for the pained countenances of the peasants, when everyone knew that whining was part of their business.

Wide-legged he positioned himself in front of the church door. Hey, priest! Come out! I have to speak with you!

There was no reaction for a while, then Martin’s voice sounded from the inside, Who is this?

I am Jurij, captain of the guard at Arnstein, priest! Have you not heard of me?

A noise came from the inside. If you come with the right intentions, Jurij, will I open the door. God’s grace will be granted even to someone like you.

The captain of the guard kicked short-temperedly with his boot tip at the door. "Open the door already, priest! Who do you think you are that you