Chapter Fourteen

 

A Spy’s Revelation

 

 

Knud ambled his horse along the crown of the ridge, keeping an eye to the valley below, but his mind was not on the Germans. As with most boys stuck between the immaturity of boyhood and visions of manhood, he was daydreaming, imagining himself charging into battle against the German foe, pressing furiously ahead, his galloping mount beside his father, Uncle Crowbones, and Guthroth. He had listened since infancy, saucer-eyed, to their harrowing tales of war and narrow escapes from death, and longed to be part of it. His mother had been slain the year before during the escape from England, and Orla had been since then raising him and Hrok within the company of the Dane Wing. And though Knud had sorely missed his mother at first, he seldom thought of her anymore. He was now more focused on following the path of the Dane warriors.

Lost in these thoughts, he was jolted from his reverie by a sudden stir on the road below the ridge. Dismounting, he left the trail and parted the brush before him, peering down, and spotted Commander Balducci and several of his men wrestling a man to the ground and beating him. Not understanding Italian well, he could not tell exactly what Balducci was shouting or what precisely was occurring, but saw enough to conclude that they had somehow captured and subdued a German. Gathering his horse, he quickly rode back to camp to inform his father.

Father,” he said as he arrived, “The Tuscans have captured a prisoner!”

“Eh?” said Orla.

“Ja, they had him on the ground beating him, trying to get a confession I think, but the man wasn’t cooperating. Sir Guillaume would want to know such a thing, huh?”

“Ja, absolutely,” Orla nodded, turning to fetch his lieutenant.

“Wait, Father,” Knud said. “I wanted to let you know that Guthroth has been helping me handle the sword and ax these past months, and how to brake, swivel, and heel my horse. He and Uncle Crowbones both say I’m getting good at it and...”

“Stop, Knud! We’ve been through this a dozen times and I don’t wish to go through it again!” Orla said, beginning to feel his irritation rise. “Upon your mother’s dying breath, the last vow I made was to keep you and Hrok safe. When the time arrives, I’ll outfit you with hauberk, helmet, and shield. Until then, you’ll wait. You dream of fighting, but know nothing of the horror of killing a man, or of a man coming at you with the sole purpose of ending your existence! Besides, you’re not yet strong enough.”

Knud began to object, then broke off, dropping his head with dejection. “Very well, Father,” he mumbled.

Finding out from Orla what had transpired on the trail, Guillaume immediately hastened to Mathilda’s camp knowing that Balducci would eventually bring any prisoner there. By the time he got there, Balducci had already arrived with several of his knights, dragging a badly beaten prisoner in tow. “We captured this fellow in plain sight this morning coming down the road, Contessa!” Balducci said, his chest swollen with bravado, having already forgotten Mathilda’s agitation from their previous encounter. “He claimed he was seeking you, of all things! Such nonsense! From his accent it’s obvious he’s a German though he had no weapons, merely a dagger. A spy, no doubt. He even had maps of Canossa on his person.”

Mathilda was seated at her camp table with General Padule studying maps and gave the man only a perfunctory glance at first. Looking again beyond his bruised cheeks and the blood weeping from his forehead, she gave a start. “Indeed he’s German, from Bavaria!” she said, alarmed. “He’s also a spy, Balducci, but a papal spy working with the Benedictines!” She quickly stood and moved toward the man, cradling his head. “Oh, my poor Handel, what have they done to you?”

“B-beat me, Contessa, and tried to force a confession that was not possible,” the man groaned, struggling to speak coherently.

“You know this man, Contessa?” asked Padule.

“Yes, his name is Jurgen Handel, and he’s on our side.”

“I tried to tell this lout,” Handel said, pointing at Balducci, “but he wouldn’t hear of it though I cited names and codes.”

“Bah!” snorted Balducci, crossing his arms with agitation. “I have no knowledge of codes. What was I to do? I thought he was scouting our positions!”

“Come sit, Handel,” Mathilda said, ushering the maimed Handel to a camp stool.

Handel slumped onto a stool. Regarding Guillaume, an expression of curiosity came over him. “Say there, do you have a brother by chance?” he said, struck by Guillaume’s appearance. “A Benedictine by the name of Saint-Germain?”

“Yes,” Guillaume replied. “Tristan de Saint-Germain.”

“Ah, it struck me so,” he said, rubbing his cheek that was still tender from Balducci’s pummeling. “You bear an uncanny resemblance to him.” Then, pulling at tiny clots of blood that had dried onto his lashes and brow, he added, “I’ve known him since he was a boy working with Odo de Lagery when he was Grand Prior of Cluny. I may have even come across you a time or two there.”

“God’s spine! Enough blathering about old times!” exclaimed Balducci. “What the hell were you doing in the valley and why are you looking for the Contessa?”

“To pass along information, just as I told you ten times on the way here between beatings, you blockhead!” Handel retorted, his demeanor promptly gathering heat again.

“Information?” asked Guillaume, his interest pricked.

“Yes, I was returning north from business in Rome,” he said, careful not to mention that he had encountered Tristan there a month earlier. The Monte Cassino code required silence concerning the whereabouts of fellow travelers. “The anti-pope and the Germans were chased from Rome just last week when a revolt of sorts broke out within the city. The anti-pope’s army moved north to wait in Lombardy for more German reinforcements to arrive from Germany so he can again reclaim Rome. In addition to Heinrich sending reinforcements to the anti-pope for another go at Rome, one of our Lombard agents informed Cardinal Odo that King Heinrich has been quietly slipping reinforcements in from Germany for a final offensive against you here in Tuscany, thinking to finally overwhelm you with numbers. The Cardinal sent me to locate their positions and warn you.”

“Ha, numbers,” sniffed Balducci. “Heinrich can send in the whole of Germany, but we Tuscan Knights will outmaneuver them as always.”

Ignoring Balducci’s boastfulness, General Padule looked at Handel with concern. “You say German reinforce-ments have been sent, yet earlier this week we couldn’t find a German within the next two valleys.”

“That’s because they’re in the third valley,” Handel replied. “They’re massing and moving this way. Have you not heard that Heinrich has been flooding troops down from Germany to Verona through the Brenner Pas along the Via Raetia?”

“The Via Raetia? No, that damned road’s too far to the east for us to keep an eye on.”

“Well,” continued Handel, “I was there three weeks back running ridge tops, and I tell you the Germans are coming at you, and soon! Strange thing, though.” Here he paused and shook his head. “When an army comes at you en masse, they generally stay together in a tight formation for deployment and communication purposes. Two days ago they began to break up into an advance camp while the main army remains well to the rear.”

At this, Guillaume slapped the table and stood. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, looking at Mathilda and Padule. “They’re not coming en masse! If they do you’ll simply melt away just like you’ve been doing for four years now, which is why they haven’t been able to corner you. It’s a trap they’re devising. The very one that Guthroth the Quiet sniffed out.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Balducci.

“I tried to tell you the other day,” answered Guillaume, “but you chose to mock my lead scout rather than listen.”

“They wish to catch us on an open battlefield, Balducci,” Mathilda said, “so we can’t continue to capitalize on the mountains. We believe they mean to lure our main force in by presenting a sacrifice… a German unit that appears vulnerable and unprotected. Then, once we commit a large force to wipe it out, they’ll spring hidden reserves on us.”

“Hmm… you sound like you might have a plan to counter the German buildup, then,” said Handel, who then began to survey the map spread out on the table. “In that case I’ll need to mark the German positions on your map, Countessa.” Then he looked at Balducci. “Uh, my maps, if you don’t mind, Commander?”

Balducci signaled one of his knights, and the knight produced the two maps that they had confiscated earlier while interrogating Handel.

“Guillaume,” said Mathilda, “when Handel completes his markings, finish laying out the plan you and the Danes have been discussing and be prepared to show it to our entire leadership. Balducci, summon the Tuscan Captains for war council immediately. Tell them we attack!”