Wolf's Cross (6 page)

I am only a servant here
, she thought with a wash of shame, pulling the bedding quickly around him and leaving him to sleep.

J
osef jerked awake, naked and drenched with sweat.

Where am I?

The disorientation crashed over him in heavy, suffocating
waves. He gasped for breath, staring at the dark room around him. He tried to move and pain radiated from his gut, locking every muscle in his body.

His hands clenched into fists, but instead of digging into forest loam, they balled inside linens damp with his own sweat. His heart raced because his mind immediately latched onto the thought of burial shrouds, images of the dead and dying at Nürnberg …

I’m not in Nürnberg, or Prussia
, he thought, as his mind forced some form of order on his thoughts.
I’m in Masovia
.

For several moments he didn’t remember why he knew that. But it helped calm his fears, even when the memories returned. The battle was over, and Brother Heinrich and his Wolfjägers had sought refuge in a Polish fortress.

Gród Narew
, his mind volunteered, along with the dreamlike memory of the woman who had spoken to him.

His breathing and pulse calmed as the sense of nightmare receded, leaving him with the reality of a single sickbed in a narrow room with a long window open to the cool night air. And, as long as he stayed still, the wound in his belly proved only a dull ache.

He gave a short prayer of thanksgiving. Then he said ten Pater Nosters for the dead. He had seen enough to know that some of Heinrich’s convent hadn’t survived. When he was finished, he added one more prayer.

He prayed that they had killed the thing.

But long after his prayers had faded, he still lay upon a narrow bed in a dark room. He didn’t know how long sleep had claimed him, just that it had been long enough that it was loath to return. For hours he lay, alone and awake, and the emptiness of the dark room began to eat at him.

He had not slept alone since he had joined the Order. He hadn’t taken his final vows, but in all respects he was expected to live the life of a warrior monk of the Teutonic Knights of the Hospital of St. Mary in Jerusalem. That meant doing everything
in common with his brothers, and sleeping with them in rooms that were always lit against the concealment of sin.

Why would they separate him from the others?

Perhaps God wanted to test his commitment to the Order. Or, perhaps, the lord of this place—the woman, Maria, had given him the aggressively Slavic name Wojewoda Bolesław, though he thought “Wojewoda” might be a title, not a name—perhaps Wojewoda Bolesław wished to prevent Heinrich’s men from congregating or conspiring. Relations between the Teutonic State in Prussia and the Poles had never run particularly smooth, swinging between suspicion and open war ever since the German Order had been invited in to subjugate the pagans in Prussia, a hundred and fifty years ago—invited by the then Duke of Masovia.

Ever since, the Poles had consistently tried to renege on the promises of land and support they had given for the suppression of the pagan threat on their border.

Josef rubbed his eyes. Whatever the intent was of either God or Wojewoda Bolesław, being alone in the dark with his thoughts and the ache of his wounds made him very uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than even being alone in a place that inspired a reaction somewhere between suspicion and hostility should warrant.

He was uncomfortable because of the woman.

The more he remembered, the more uneasy he became. Especially when he recalled her washing his chest. He thought of her face looking down at him, framed by raven hair, her eyes filled with such concern. He remembered the touch of her hands on his shoulders—a strength and gentleness that drew his soul unlike anything since he had abandoned his old home, his old life.

It wasn’t proper. Even before he had joined the Order, being alone with a woman like that …

Like what?

He was bound by the Order’s tenets. Obedience, poverty,
chastity. Even if he was too injured to act on such thoughts, God still was testing him. Much like the brothers of the Order, who made a point of clearly showing the probationers all the duties and privations of the Order, always with the implicit question, “Do you really want this?”

No man joined the Order in ignorance. Every man who took the final vows knew what he sacrificed, of the world and of his own will. Of those who had entered with him, only a third remained, and perhaps only a quarter would end up taking final vows. Even now, Josef could say to his Komtur that he did not have the vocation, and he would walk free with the Order’s blessing.

It was a test. If he wished to serve God in the Order, he would serve Him in the world, not in a monastery. It would be the height of arrogance, and cowardice, if he tried to insist that he serve only where he was free of any temptation. How could he be a knight of the Order, how could he face the monstrosities Heinrich hunted, if he couldn’t face his own human impulses?

If he could resist a lupine demon tearing at his gut, he could resist the temptation of one young woman.

W
hen Maria came in the following morning, she found Josef awake. He was tangled in the sheets, groaning, one arm thrust off the side of the bed. She dropped the bowl of porridge onto the stool by the door and ran to his side.

“Are you all right?” she said, grabbing his arm and trying to ease him back into bed. When she realized she hadn’t spoken his tongue, she repeated herself in the best German she could muster.

“Please, help,” he said. His cheeks burned red with fever, and she thought she might be seeing the end of him.

Panic stole most of the German she knew, but after a few stuttered syllables she spat out, “Doctor?” She didn’t even know why she was asking him. He was in obvious distress. Once he was back on the bed, she ran to the door so she could fetch help. She stopped only when he cried after her, “No!”

She turned around and saw him pointing to a small stand where a chamber pot sat. “I couldn’t reach,” he said.

“Oh yes, of course,” she said, her words slipping into Polish. She drew the stand and the chamber pot closer to the bed, then picked the pot up and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, and she realized that the flush on his cheeks was embarrassment, not fever.

“I’ll give you …” She fumbled to find the word for “privacy.” “I’ll be outside. Call me when you’re done.”

She stepped outside the door, shutting it just short of the latch catching. Then she breathed slowly, collecting her thoughts. Josef would recover; she was certain of it now. And she almost shuddered with relief.

H
e also insisted on eating without assistance, even though it appeared to tax his strength. In between spoonfuls, he asked again, “Where am I?”

She repeated that he was in the Duchy of Masovia, but he stopped her.

“No, you told me that. This room, where is it?”

“Oh. These are normally quarters for the stable hands.”

He glanced at the window. “That explains the smell of horses.” He took another spoonful of porridge. “Doesn’t the Wojewoda Bolesław keep rooms for guests? Surely, this close to his borders, the Duke Siemowit III will often send troops to be quartered.” He arched an eyebrow. “Or perhaps such troops are already here?”

Maria looked at him and decided no good could come from directly answering that question. “The lord of the house decided that it would be more appropriate to house his honored guests in their own rooms.”

“I wonder if the word ‘honored’ in your language translates into ‘troublesome.’”

She smiled and said, “You’ve not been particularly troublesome to me.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them.

He set down his bowl. “And who are you, Maria—one of the ladies of Wojewoda Bolesław’s household?”

She was suddenly reminded that this wasn’t some peasant she was talking to. Josef was a member of a holy order of knights. They were separated not only by vows, but by station. She couldn’t speak to him as if he were the stable hand who normally quartered here—though she felt a sudden surge of loss at the thought. “Sir, I am only a servant. I labor for the Wojewoda Bolesław on behalf of my family.”

He must have noticed the sudden sadness in her face, because he responded, “No shame in that.”

“If I implied otherwise, sir, I misspoke.” She stepped over to take the empty bowl, clamping down on her traitorous emotions, and said, “If there is nothing else you require, I have other duties to attend to.”

“Just leave an empty pot within reach,” he said, smiling weakly. “I feel I need rest more than anything else.”

She placed a clean chamber pot nearby, and a bell should he find himself in distress before she returned with supper. Then she withdrew as quickly as she dared.

S
he felt uncomfortable returning to him. When he’d been an unconscious invalid, she’d had no thoughts about their relative status. He had just been a wounded man she had been giving aid to. Even if she had stared at his sleeping profile, or been too aware of his warrior’s build as she ran a damp rag across his chest, his arms, or his legs—

In the end, it only had been herself. The focus of her idle attention could have just as easily been a statue, a painting, or a particularly well-crafted piece of furniture.

But Josef was awake now, and she could no longer pretend that her thoughts concerned only herself. This was a real person she had been lavishing her attention upon. A person who would normally never have cause to speak more than a dozen words to her.

Worst of all, a wakeful Josef did nothing to discourage her wayward thoughts. If anything, his quiet endurance of his pain and the gentle tone he took with her—despite their difference in station—made her all the more aware of what her idle musings implied. It made them more explicit, and all the more impossible.

But it was still her duty, and she couldn’t abandon it now. Though to be truly honest, she wondered if she continued because
she didn’t have the position to refuse any duty she was given or because she didn’t have the heart to.

She finally told herself that she tended to Josef because the last thing she would want to do was displease her masters at Gród Narew. Her service here provided her with a refuge from the guilt that had shrouded her home since her father’s death. If Gród Narew cast her out, she didn’t think she could bear living in that house and facing her family’s unspoken blame.

So she did her best to bring him his meals and check his wounds without saying anything too familiar.

Unfortunately, Josef didn’t seem to have any such reservations. It was as if his time unconscious had allowed a mass of words to build within him, and when she returned with his supper, they came out in a torrent.

There was little she could do other than nod politely and try not to say anything that might prompt more conversation on his part. While he ate, she stood in the corner of the room, occasionally casting a wistful glance at the darkening sky.

“My family lived in Nürnberg. Every generation has pledged someone to service in the Church. I have uncles and cousins who are priests and bishops; my ancestors served in the Holy Land.” His words accelerated as he spoke, making it harder for her to understand them. However, she got the meaning of most.