As the escapees sped forward into the darkness of the foothills of northern Italy, a conversation took place in the bumping and bouncing dark confines of the plush carriage. Jacobi, who had been both confused and shocked by the plotting and intrigues of the last several days had many questions. “Pieter, where are the Uskoks taking us? Where are we going now?”
Piet answered, “We are going home Jacobi. I'm sorry to have dragged you along on a dangerous trip overland and would have much preferred to send you with the others aboard ship, but I need you to help me with the boy. I am understanding the Italian dialects better and better – indeed they are very similar to the Spanish. My German is also fairly good as much as I have served with Germans over the years, but still I have much to learn, and you are a master of languages Jacobi. I would wager that we will need that knowledge before this trip is over. If we are lucky we shall beat our own ships home.”
Renier Zen added, “We have already covered an impressive distance. Lenkovic is taking us to the village of Stanjel ahead. It is good that we have the Uskoks with us. Italian coachmen are usually unwilling to travel during the night. There is an Inn and coach stop at Stanjel. We will be safe there for the time being. I imagine we will go our separate ways from there.”
“Won't they try to follow us?”, Jacobi asked.
“Not as long as we have our Uskok escort I wager”, Heyn answered.
Zen added, “I don't think they were prepared to follow us and those Austrians were clearly elite heavy guards - not scouts suited to tracking or moving in the darkness. Besides, it would likely be just as dangerous for anyone coming after us in these parts. However, as badly as they seemed to want you dead Heyn, who knows to what lengths Van Sonnevelt will go to prevent you from talking to Prince Maurice. He may hire professionals. Remain vigilant in the days ahead my friend I pray you.”
A few miles more and the coach pulled into the little walled town of Stanjel. The dirt gave way to cobblestone as they approached the town and the horses shorn hooves clapped metallically upon the stone with dozens of noisey trotting footfalls once again. The night was very dark and only the flickering lamps atop the coach and mounted upon the outer wall of the Inn lit up the dim street. The Uskok coachmen pulled upon the reins, halting the carriage's horses to a stop just in front of the inn. There was another carriage sitting in front of the Inn and its adjacent stables - as well as a few men lingering around it in the dark. Heyn flung the heavy wooden door of their coach open and everyone exited onto the street and moved inside the inn.
As the party entered the rustic establishment they were greeted by the family that took care of the old place. Most of Lenkovic's men went to the stables and took up watch on the street. Lenkovic and two of his men, as well as Jacobi, Adolpho and Heyn sat down around a long rustic heavy old table. One of Lenkovic's men and Zen spoke to the innkeeper and his wife for some time. Zen gave the man some coins and then came back to the table to sit with the group.
“Captain Heyn, I would recommend leaving at first light. I have procured our lodging and arranged for your passage as far as Fussen on the northern side of the Alps. After that the rest of the way will be up to you. The next leg of the journey will be by coach, but once you get to the foothills, you will have to cross the mountains via the Loibl pass by means of trains of asses and pack horses”, Zen informed.
“I can't thank you enough Capi Zen”, Heyn responded.
Zen answered with a smile, “I am guessing that I may not have that title for much longer Signore. It is a distinct honor to assist you Captain. I am only sorry that I cannot do more for you and that you were the unfortunate victim of such a villainous plot. Please do not think too badly of Venetians. There are many good and honest men among us. Remember good Count Orfini as a model of our best Venetian gentry.” Zen sighed long and shook his head side to side with a look of regret. “I grieve the passing of the Count and the unfathomable misfortunes which have befallen the good Orfini family.” He paused momentarily. “I promise you that I will return to Venice and fight against Cornaro with every fiber of my being - in ways he can't even imagine. I can tell you that he will NOT have the full cooperation of the Capi during his administration. Many of the Ten are both anti-papist and anti-Habsburg. It would take either a miracle or barrels of blood to change that.”
Zen turned to Lenkovic, “Our real thanks should go to our savior here. Lenkovic you are a saint Signore. I cannot believe that you took up for us in the face of so much danger. I was certain the Spaniards would fight. I salute you for both your independence and audacity.”
Heyn smiled in agreement, “Indeed! I thought for certain there would be blood in the streets. If it had come down to a fight, I assure you that I would have killed Sonnevelt where he stood. I am indebted to you Lenkovic.”
Lenkovic responded, “No my friends, by my reckoning our accounting is even now. No one owes the other. Captain Heyn, I hope that you will tell your Prince of the bravery and honesty of the Uskoks.
Lenkovic paused and then waxed philosophically, “People who have grievances or believe they have been horribly wronged - and have no other way to obtain justice - will always band together. Among ourselves we undertake a righteous endeavor to better the plight of our people. To those that oppose us, we are simply pirates. It was refreshing to me that Spain looks upon you Dutchmen in the same way. My people will always be good Catholics, but we recognize dishonesty and injustice when we see it. Don't judge all Catholics by the measure of your dealings with Spaniards and the recent deceptions of the Venetians Heyn. Tell your Prince about the good you've seen.”
Lenkovic paused a moment, “I will entreat with the Venetian delegation when I return. Despite the desires of our Imperial supporters to end the conflict with Venice, I will myself decide if we stop fighting or not. For the Uskok the fighting never stops. We have always faced the Turk and their infidel settlers to our east, Greeks and Dalmatians to our south, and Italians to our west. I tell you this my friends.... everything moving forward is all part of God's great work. God meant for you to spring me Heyn and in turn meant for me to spring you. The Jesuits dishonor themselves by weaving webs of intrigue with murders at their ends. Their deception helped me to make the choice I did for the RIGHT reasons over the wrong – good over evil. I wonder do the Jesuits even know their ten commandments?”
Jacobi sighed and commented, “I assure you that they do know. They know THOU SHALT NOT KILL as well as all of the others. They have come to legalize everything they do in the name of God and for a greater good that they arrogantly believe they alone understand. With their holy mandate of countering the Lutheran, Anti-Baptist, and greater anti-Catholic movement of reform, they see themselves as above the law on a crusade to bring all they see as deceived by the devil, back to the true faith. They justify everything they do with small legalistic exceptions and exemptions. They were not murdering you see. YOU Lenkovic were the one that would do the actual killing and they would absolve you of it as God's righteous instrument. At least that is how they see things. Before I was expelled from the order, I became more and more disturbed by the dealings I saw every day – the twisting of God's truth by simple minded fallible men that had allowed power to completely corrupt them. I am certain that if I had been expelled here in Europe rather than in the east I would have been burned or imprisoned. I agree with you Lenkovic...my destiny too has been set forth as part of God's great plan - and I too came to where I am now by following Heyn. I hated him when I first met him, but it is as you say - he is a good man and I am proud to know him. I want to believe that in some small way I have made the good captain and his officers consider the moral choices in what they do.”
Heyn laughed, “Indeed you do my friend. I have not felt so much guilt moving in me since I was a child being scolded by my mother - listening to your regular orations.”
There was brief laughter and then a long pause. The men became sombre and serious again considering their current situation. Renier Zen broke the silence once more. “Captain Heyn I can't caution you enough about your journey overland. For a hundred years the reform movement has been mostly peasants rebelling. Since the English broke with the church and then you Dutchmen with Spain, the violence and upheaval on the continent have become much worse.”
Heyn interrupted, “You needn't worry so Capi Zen, I have lived through the worst depredations of war imaginable. Spain's armies have made my homeland an almost constant battleground since my grandfather's time.”
Zen countered, “But it has never been as bad as now Heyn. The Empire seems to be coming apart at the seams. It's no longer confined to just peasant revolts in Germany. Many powerful German princes have taken to leading the revolts and abandoning both the Emperor and the Church in the name of reform. They have been banding together for protection, and since the Bohemian revolt began at the Battle of White Mountain it is worse than ever. The Catholic League's armies have been ravaging entire regions. I would just urge you to travel with the utmost caution. There are entire counties and duchies that have been almost completely depopulated by plagues or destroying armies for decades – the abandoned ruined cities and towns are now inhabited with only wild beasts and bands of brigands and highwaymen. I myself barely returned alive the last time that I was north of the Alps. For God's sake please avoid traveling to your homeland via northern Swabia. It is one of those horrible regions of death I spoke of.”
Heyn could see that Zen was truly concerned and he assured him they would take every precaution. Zen had offered to take the boy Adolpho back with him as well, but Heyn wouldn't hear of it noting that it was Orfini's last wish that the boy go with him. The night passed uneventful. As additional coaches arrived, Heyn, Lenkovic, and Zen all said their good byes going their separate ways.
After the coach reached the foothills, Piet, Jacobi and Adolpho met a guide taking a merchant convoy over the Loibl pass. The party left the coach behind riding on pack horses and donkeys. The rugged zig-zagging switchbacks over the mountains were rough going. The convoy would stop for rest at periodic intervals on naturally occurring rock shelves. Heyn and Jacobi had seen the towering rocky and sometimes volcanic peaks of the islands of the east, but had never seen massive snow-capped mountains like these before. They were awestruck by the panoramic beauty of the Alps spread across the horizon before them. The mountains seemed to go on forever – in many ways like the oceans. Their jagged peaks and cliffs looked as if they almost pierced the brilliant cornflower skies - in a colorful contrast of divided blues, greys, and whites. Often low lying clouds obscurred whole sections of mountains across from them or even the trails ahead. The views were constantly changing and each new scenic overlook seemed to outmatch the one previous.
The sweat of the pack animals and unfamiliar gait in riding them caused unique chafing, aches and pains. Often Heyn and his companions would dismount and walk for long legs of the journey to offset this. Even though it was summer, there were heavy accumulations of snow above the treeline. However, the trail was mostly clear from the nearly continuous trodding of the numerous trading convoys that passed regularly back and forth. Indeed, with some difficulty, their own convoy shared the narrow path with several others going in the opposite direction. For Pieter, he never fully appreciated being able to move the massive amounts of goods in the hold of a ship with so much more ease – than in witnessing the difficulties in transporting the same amounts by pack animals over rugged terrain.
After ten days of slow and tedious traveling the convoy finally descended into the foothills on the northern side of the southern Alps. The group had never experienced such aches and pains in their lives, and welcomed the sight of the inn and coaches at the base of the mountains. After a night of sleep in wonderful beds, they met another coach the following morning and sped west through the breathtakingly beautiful deep green valleys of Tyrolia for several more days. Each night they slept in comfortable beds in several Austrian towns including Innsbruck. As they approached the northern Alps, they again dismounted their carriage and joined another caravan of pack animals trekking over the northern branch of the mountain chains.
Another week of hard mountain traveling passed as they finally descended and approached the large walled town of Fussen below. The town wall's gates and shuttered windows were all closed. The wood covered openings all displayed colorful downturned red and white chevrons painted upon their planking. A couple of church towers and spires jutted above the red tiled roofs of the defensive hoardings topping Fussen's thick walls. As the caravan approached they were met by a troop of local horse militia. The convoy's chief guide and the militia sergeant talked with one another in German and Jacobi relayed the discussion to Heyn. “He says that Fussen is quarantined for plague and that there is a road around the west side of the city that leads to a coach stop a few leagues more up the road that is plague free. That is the first place that we will be able to board a coach once again.” Heyn nodded, “Yes thank you Jacobi. I actually understood them.”
The guides refused to go on any further and arguments broke out between some of the merchants and the guides. Many of the guides untethered the loads upon their pack animals and threw them next to the roadside. Others that were local to the north side of the mountains kept their loads intact – and a few were willing to put the extra weight of the additional dropped packs upon their animals. Unfortunately for Heyn, Jacobi and Adolpho, their horses were needed for the return trip and they were forced to go on without mounts.
The boy and two men began to walk north upon the road ringing the outer wall of Fussen. Several of the former members of the now disbanded caravan joined them. In less than twenty minutes time they approached the opposite gate of the town as it slammed shut and guards took up positions on either side. The strong smell of burning wood wafted in the air and smoke flowed out from the gates as the inner latches could be heard being made fast.
A couple of strong swarthy men pulled corpses from the area forward of the gate towards a pile of more naked dead bodies on the roadside. A fire burned next to the unclothed dead and the smoke swirled around them, surrounding them in an unearthly scene. As Heyn's group slowly approached, the men were busy working in the smoke, throwing the last of the bodies into a large heavy wagon.
The men were an odd pair. Both were tall and broad shouldered dressed in rustic hunting styled, oiled leathern breeches, coats and hats. One was old and one was young. The younger was noticeably taller than the elder. As the party came closer the gravedigger's facial features became visible. The younger wore a look of child-like simplicity. The older smiled in his work. His face was scarred and weathered. His right eye looked as if the thickened flesh around it was deformed from burns and his face sported the dark spotty permanent black marks of traumatic tattoo. Obviously he had been a soldier at one time and the victim of a matchlock malfunction. The man sang a strange tune in German as he worked,
“Hey - ho - awayward we go with a tale never ending,
Listen now to the warning I sing and the message I am sending,
You can master your trade, skills with a blade or measures for survival and fending,
And it does you no good to run and hide for the masters will is unbending,
Try as you might you can run or fight but your efforts all will be futile,
Matters not who you are, the treasures you guard, or your knowledge and your style,
Matters not what you have, what you take or you give, or how much you live in denial,
Matters not how you look, ugly or fair, handsome or homely or vile,
Be it King or pauper, Prince or cooper – Bishop, fishmonger or knight,
Be it goose-girl or whore – soldier or more, burgher or banker or farmer,
Be it beggar or saint, goldsmith or mate, captain or gypsy or charmer,
Be it surf or Lord, in peace or by sword we will all come to see the same sight,
The refrain is the same for us all -
everyone! - with invite for final ball,
We all have to bow so low to the ground, in meeting our last partner.
He will bow in return and greet us we'll learn -
with bone hands he will spin us and twirl us.
We'll all of us end up much the same -
on our backs looking upwards from cold earthy graves -
as we all dance a jig with the reaper,
Yes we all have our dance with death,
Yeay we must all finally dance with death.....”
As the song ended Heyn's group walked up maintaining a cautious distance from the dead. Piet spoke in German, “Is this the road to the coach stop and Inn I've heard about?”
“Aye”, the old gravedigger responded as the two men threw the last of the bodies into the wagon, “The Bilderberg Inn is less than two leagues up this road.” He turned to face Heyn. “Not as many dead today.
The dead always ride better if you shift them to the front of the wagon. There is more space than usual to the back. We are going that way if you wish to ride with us...that is - if you don't mind sharing my wagon with the dead.”
Jacobi answered, “Pieter I would rather walk. I have no desire to die of plague.”
The old gravedigger laughed, “Been doing this for years in many places. I've never died of plague. People don't believe old Golo when I tell them that there are only three ways that you can catch plague. The first is to be coughed or spat upon by a one that has it. Obviously, these lot are not going to cough or spit any longer.” He chuckled. “The second is if you were to be bit by the fleas in their clothes. This town is smarter than most. They've figured that out. They burn their clothes. The fleas don't like them as much when they're dead and they hate the smoke. By the time they take their final ride in my wagon it's very unlikely any more fleas are upon them.”
There was a pause and Heyn spoke, “And the third way to catch plague?”
“AH!” Golo laughed, “The third way is if you decided to lick their bubos. I don't think any sane man would lick their sores, but animals do – I've seen them - and animals can catch and spread plague too. So you see my wagon is just as safe to ride upon as the fine coaches I'm sure you gentlemen are regularly accustomed to.”
Heyn responded, “Very well Sir we will ride with you.”
Jacobi's eyes got big and he grunted in protest.
“What's the matter Jacobi?”, Heyn inquired. “You have told me more times than I can count that we move upon a path that God intends for us. Here he provides us transportation along with a vivid reminder of our own mortality. If he intends for our demise to be by plague then don't you think we will catch it in one place or another eventually?”
Jacobi thought about what Heyn said longer than usual and seemed a little perplexed that the captain had come to embrace his logic so thoroughly. For a moment he felt a little ashamed at his own lack of faith and then jumped into the wagon with Pieter without protest. They both helped Adolpho aboard, each taking one of his hands. None of the other travelers was willing to climb aboard.
As the wagon lurched forward, the long heavy steps of the draft horse's trotting quickened. Both Jacobi and Adolpho faced and looked to the rear of the wagon – avoiding even a glimpse of what lay behind them. Heyn on the other-hand decided to get comfortable and rested his back upon the wagon's left bed slats. He looked to his left watching the dead bodies bounce lifelessly as the wagon moved over the dirt road's bumps and holes. He looked up at the gravediggers. The younger drove and faced forward. The elder was sitting on the wagon's forward bench facing backwards with a smile observing his living passengers. Heyn and the gravedigger's eyes met and the old man spoke, “I am Golo and this is Kristof. He can't speak.”
Heyn nodded and there was a pause.
Golo continued, “You look like a soldier. Are you a soldier?”
“Of a sort.” Piet answered.
Golo smiled wider and nodded, “Knew it – some kind of officer I'd judge by those fine wheellock's you carry. I used to be a soldier. Long time ago. I've had lots of balls wedged in this old flesh”, he bragged as he pounded his chest with his hand. “Where are you going?”
“Rotterdam”, Piet answered.
Golo shook his head side to side and whistled, “Long way to go. You'll definitely find work along the way if you want it. Troops of raiding Leaguers and Reformers clashing north of here for a while now. The armies seem to get bigger and bigger all the time. We never fielded that many men in my time. They couldn't feed or pay so many. When they couldn't pay or feed us they simply set us loose on the close-by towns, looting and burning whatever we pleased. Oh those were the days. The pure carnage. Ah to only go back and do it all again.”
Heyn was puzzled, “I too often wish I could go back, but I would not let my blood burn so hot if I had it all to do again. Do you mean to tell me that you love all of this death around you and that you enjoyed the killing?”
The gravedigger answered, “Oh yes. I would kill even more if I could go back. You see Death and me go way back. I am a good friend of his you might say - we are almost related. Death and me have an understanding. All this religious dogma that thousands fight and die over is just a way for the reaper to maximize his harvest. Death is the only thing that is certain in this damnable, wretched, painful and unfair life. He will always come no matter what. And he is the most fair. You cannot cheat or pay off the reaper. It's as I was just singing in my favorite song – the Totentanz. It doesn't matter how rich or powerful you are or how beautiful you are. You can be unfairly blessed in this life, but death is still coming for you. Of that you can count on. It always makes my heart glow inside nice and warm like, knowing that those high born gentlemen that wronged me and my family years ago will all end up in the earth. If anything, I may end up in an even better situation than they in the afterlife considering what good friends I am with Death and all. I am very content to help the reaper in his handiwork.”
The men stopped talking and there was a long silence. Golo turned himself around on the bench facing forward once again. Pieter thought to himself that the man was clearly insane. He looked down at the lifeless bodies riding and bouncing about forward in the wagon. He watched as a mildly fair young woman shifted slowly downward from the bodies she lay atop moving towards an equally young man. The two corpses hands almost touched as if in greeting. Suddenly a bump in the road caused the naked young man to be tossed upwards a few inches as he came back down into the embrace of the young dead woman. Piet wondered if the two had even known one another in life and thought it cruel how death seemed to mock living opportunities for love and closeness that could never happen now. He wished to himself that he had never witnessed such a sight and looked up into the woods.
Another league passed quickly as the wagon moved forward into a slight misty fog. Golo tapped his companion on the shoulder, “Stop here Kristof.” The wagon stopped at a fork in the road. Two more corpses lay on the side of the road at the fork.
The old man turned his head around and spoke, “Well my friends, here is where we must part. I must go east up this fork in the road. More dead to pick up and then to the pit. If you look up the road there, you should just be able to make out the buildings of the Bilderberg Inn on the left. The group jumped down from the wood bed as the gravediggers also dismounted and threw the two dead men up into the wagon.
The wagon lurched forward again. Golo waved to the living. “Farewell my friends, may you have a good journey.” The old gravedigger laughed and began to sing the Totentanz again as the wagon of the dead disappeared into the misty fog of the road entering into the tall dark forest. “Hey ho awayward we go with a story never ending.....”
Heyn, Jacobi and Adolpho were on foot again walking north on the road a short distance more to the Inn ahead. It was obviously a small crossroads stop, and several coaches sat in front of the fine two storied, black and white, half-timbered wattle and dawb buildings. One of the coaches was unbelieveably ornate and as fine as any moving thing Heyn had ever seen. Its four horses were all pure white and they were perfect examples of the finest equine breeding. Feathers topped the harnesses of each one. Heyn and Jacobi looked at one another and Jacobi spoke, “I wonder what dandee, royal or prince this belongs to.”
Heyn answered, “hopefully they are civil and reasonable.”
Stay tuned for Part 17. Homeward Bound: Bankers and Battles
http://www.piratesahoy.net/threads/reale-ocho-silvern-at-bahia-de-matanzas.18233/
