A note from the author: Thank you all for the lovely feedback, and for your continued patience. If it helps at all – this one's a LONG'N :D In today's instalment we find new friends, old friends, Captains, quibbles and swords; carrion birds and deer; and the scent all around us of burnt wheat shafts.
Please do enjoy.
The Lesson
Sally pressed her back to the triage's main door as it clicked shut behind her and laughed breathily, disbelievingly, into the quiet of the hall. She looked up towards the ceiling, then left, then right, then to the wooden floor beneath her boots, searching for some kind of sense she could make of what had just happened. Of who she'd just met, and who he was, and what that meant. She searched, but found her pail and her waterskin in place of logic or reason; discarded the moment she'd opened the door so she could close it and gather herself without der Reiter's gaze on her back.
Der Reiter
Another little puff of laughter escaped her as that name processed. Then another. Then another and Sally braced herself; knowing - or at least thinking she did - that this was the prelude what she considered to be a long overdue hyperventilation fit. She waited, sure the walls would close in and she'd be rendered helpless; sure the corridor's air would flee from her at any moment. But it didn't. Not even a little bit, and not even again with the shock of hearing from within Mr Barmouth's office – its door gaping wide and off centre thanks to Dr Hall's kick – the sound of a bolt clicking open and a rusty, almost painful creak.
Freezing where she knelt, Sally fixed her every sense on the doorway and what lay beyond. Laboured breathing followed that click, that creak; a muffled groan and heavy footsteps too before their maker revealed himself in a stumbling rush to be Henry Barmouth himself. The man landed with some force against his door's frame, was covered in cobwebs and sweat and grime and seemed for all the world, as he gave the hall a cursory look, to completely miss the presence of the watchful little nurse among her pile of wares near the door. Milky eyed and squinting in the light, he mopped at his face with a kerchief that he fumbled from his breast pocket, then lurched back from the corridor and stumbled into his office; numb hands quickly set to wrenching open a window, and to pawing through and moving his effects with such urgency that many were knocked clatteringly to the floor.
Left alone in the hall, Sally gathered up her wares and made careful tracks towards the stove room. A moment there to fill her pail and her waterskin and then she'd be off to the ward; to Thomas, and to her superiors too. Something about Barmouth's reappearance sat strangely with her. She wondered, as she pushed through the steam and set to work, if they knew he'd returned at all.
Far and away from the corridor and the steam, Rose was settled upon her lidded pail, her chin resting in the palms of her hands. She was looking upon her man as she sat there; her poor wounded warrior who, despite her best and most persuasive efforts, categorically refused to be budged from where he was propped up against the stable's outermost wall. She'd worn his patience so thin with trying to convince him in fact that, in frustration, he'd demanded she speak to him in English instead of his native German – saying that he could understand her mother tongue more easily than he could his own when she was speaking it. It was that barb that had her retire to the pail for a moment's breathing room; a moment to think.
She hadn't a means to gauge time's passing without a sandglass, but Rose guessed that it had been roughly forty minutes since last she'd made a professional assessment of her soldier's chances – forty of the hour or so she'd last given him as time through-which he might survive without further aid; through-which the cold would start to dull him down; sap his strength; pull him under. Many times had she seen the same fight fought and lost up in the triage; countless men, the brave and the petrified both, the stoic and the screaming, being led through the valley in death's shadow. She wondered which this man would be, if it came down to it; if he stayed where he was.
The clatter of talons on the aged wooden fence that parted the roadway from the wheat fields broke Rose from her morose wonderings with a jolt and a gasp. A large carrion bird perched upon its top-most rung, and cast its beady black gaze out over the invalid and his stalwart protector. A warbling cry escaped its beak – not the usual cawing scream. Something other; almost words but not. Once it did this. Twice, its head tilting as it took in the scene; watched the once seated woman rise, raise a hand and-
"Shoo!" Rose snapped, waving the bird away and then glancing up and down the path as it bounced its way further along the fence. Everywhere men hurried along with their duties. Charred wood was being moved off the path; out of harm's way. The well was being tended to by the same roving quintet that'd struck up their happy singsong earlier. They sang still, but with new purpose as they brushed and gathered and wiped and mended. There was so much other work she might be doing. So much more she might help with, yet here she was – pinioned in one place, tending to the most truculent man…
Rose caught herself before temper could catch her foul. Surliness was never a reason to triage a person. But if that surliness, that truculence, was immovable enough to be a person's undoing – to make assisting him impossible – it was not for her to force him to live. What was her duty though was to inform him of his predicament in a manner he could understand. Thus, she eased herself down upon her knees beside her soldier and spoke when his exhausted eyes fixed on her.
"Listen to me." English for him, like he'd asked for; slowly, so he could follow. "If you do not try and stand soon, you will lose the strength to. And I will not be able to help you further. I will leave you here. And you will die." She glanced to the ground the man sat upon, then met his eyes again. "Likely in a puddle of your own piss. Your own shit." Rose sneered at the idea as much as she did the profanity, mentally blaming the latter on how long she'd spent around soldiers. Then, she spoke again.
"That would be a sad end to a brave life. Wouldn't it."
And the invalid, the soldier. He nodded. She had him.
Their heads bent together as they conversed privately near the entrance of the ward, Robin and Anne wore expressions of relief and concern both. A case of Mortification appeared to be brewing in the foot of one of their longer-standing patients, and there was little they could do bar amputate to stem the spread. Such had been the bulk of their discussion, but now that surgery's particulars were set a small moment was devoted to their reconnaissance work. Anne had stopped by the nurse's quarters, and her report was making for reassuring listening.
"There was nothing there" she confided, Robin's shoulders relaxing just a hint in that knowledge. "Not even a tincture for sleep or sore joints or anything other. Nothing but books and little bushels of dried flowers, a small rug, blankets, combs, spare boots…"
"Feminine necessities, all" Robin smiled, accepting with good humour the gentle tap Anne gave his arm.
"Yes" she huffed, mock defensiveness in her voice. "Well-"
Anne and Robin leapt half out of their skin as the ward's door flew open with a great bang. They put two feet's distance between themselves in a breath's-span, and only relaxed when they realised the cause of the ruckus – poor Sally weighed down under her various wares and her now full bucket. Bless the nurse, she looked terribly hangdog for having scared them, and sounded it too once she'd managed to set all she carried down and pull in enough breath to speak to them.
"I'm sorry sir" she said to Robin, then bowed her head to address the Matron. "Ms Taymar. Very sorry for all of that- that racket I just caused." Wiping her hands on her pinny, Sally snuck a glance back towards the corridor and then went on. "But I just saw Mister Barmouth. Did you know he'd returned?"
Their expressions were a picture. "We did not" Robin said, glancing to Anne and then towards the ward's door. "Is he in his study? Did he speak to you?"
"Yes sir" Sally said. "And no sir, he didn't. There was a click-" She gestured with a hand; like she was turning a key. "A creak, as I took a moment to rest in the hall after finishing a round of the camp. Just a little minute, and I heard him in his office."
She needed to say no more. With brief pats for her shoulders and encouragement to get back to it, Robin and Anne made haste for Barmouth's office. They were down the hall and around the corner in seconds, and were quickly swept up in discussions that, thanks to the ward's door not quite clicking to in their great rush, Sally could quite easily overhear.
"-through the window, of course!" she heard Barmouth spit. "Hell if I was risking the road into camp so close after a skirmish! I came through the brush and jimmied my window open from outside!"
Ms Taymar now. "Where on Earth did you find yourself?"
A few muffled exchanges later, it was Barmouth. "-sack the fool who besmirched my office and kicked in my DOOR!"
And then Robin. "I kicked in the door, Henry, while I was looking for you! There was a fire raging, man!"
Round and round they went, the curious nurse getting more and more engrossed in their conversation until-
"Hello!"
-it was her turn to be sent half out of her skin. Sally whirled on the spot, her hands flying to her chest as she came face to face with one of the triage's visiting Schwesters. Blonde like she was but fuller figured, the woman's cheeky eyes smiled just like her lips did as she met this new-old face about the ward properly for the first time. Her name, Sally soon learned between the lady's profuse apologies for startling her, was Nurse Cartwright.
"Penny Cartwright" she told her affably. "Only my father calls me Penelope. And that there-" A gesture indicated a second lady with whom Sally had yet to make an acquaintance. Slight of frame and mousy haired, she waved happily when she caught Sally's eye and stood to make her way over. "Is Marie Atwood. We've been pulled from pillar to post for months now. From camp to camp to camp, as needed."
"We barely pitch our tents now" Marie put in playfully. She gave her long-time travelling companion a gentle nudge with her hip as she joined her, and exaggerated a stumble when Penny paid her back in kind. "Not much point, the amount we're moved on."
"I can't imagine what that must be like" Sally commiserated, all gentle smiles for this welcome pair. "I've known nothing but this place." She gestured about the ward; cast a glance round in hopes of spying her Thomas – No luck. "Is it not frightening, being out on-"
"I'M TELLING YOU HALL!" came a bellow from the hallway; the nurses wincing as one at the volume and turning scowls towards its source. "CONDUCT SUCH AS THIS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!"
"And nor will your fat mouth, you bullock!" Penny snapped sotto voce, her cheekiness bringing her ward-sisters a gasp and a scandalised titter as she bustled over and pushed the door to. A collective sigh of relief was had at that by half the ward, it seemed; what chatter there had been between brothers in arms picking up again where it'd died off in the din. Returning to her fellows, Penny tsked and shook her head. "Sounds like a right one, him."
"Not so different from our old Hessian Hauptmann though, aye?" Marie proffered, adjusting the bow she'd tied in her apron's strings. "Goodness that man could shout. Kept his men on a terribly short leash too. Never any time spared for rest; for tea."
"A crime, that" Sally enthused through a look of joking affront. "You heard nothing from me" she chortled. "And are to read nothing into this, but I'd gladly trade you our-" Her voice was made a whisper for the length of a word. "Bullock for him. For your Hauptmann. We've a way with soldiers here, I think – especially Hessian ones. I've seen more than one like him taking tea" she said. "Seen them laugh; heard them tell stories even. He couldn't have been so terrible."
The disbelief on Marie's face was enough to set Penny off cackling. Warm and infectious, it soon had her follow nurses stifling giggles of their own; neither woman willing to risk the wrath of their superiors – absent now or not – the way self-confident Penny was. With promises to catch up later in the day, the ladies parted company; Penny and Marie getting back to their allotted rounds and Sally, quickened by the thought of her own sister-nurse left alone in the camp in her absence, making haste with her wares to Thomas's side. Patient numbers meant he had been laid upon a makeshift cot when he'd been taken ill, and there he remained when she reached him – Sally's storyteller; her brave, brave friend who ailed for reasons she as yet couldn't place.
Woundless bar grazes, the young man had fallen into a faint from which he seemed unable to rouse. The skin upon his neck, his face, was pale; clammy to the touch of the backs of Sally's fingers. His breath was rapid and shallow at once – this discernible even though he lay upon his side, his back to the room and to his deeply concerned visitor – and he did not seem to stir at all when, carefully, she knelt beside him. Gentle hands found his shoulder, his upper arm, and Sally waited, hopeful, that he might come to her; might wake but, no. He was still but for how his back moved as he breathed, and Sally spoke to him; pushing back thoughts that he was beyond even that sliver of human contact.
"Thomas" she murmured, her voice gentle and quiet; nothing like the bustle of the ward. "Hörst du mich? Bitte. Hör mich. Wir sind alle in Sicherheit. Rose…Mir… Sie. Alles sicher… Alles sicher. Wir vermissen dich euch sehr. So sehr, Thomas…Wir brauchen dich hier. Um uns zu kümmern." Reaching out, Sally gave Thomas's hair a little stroke. There was a secret prime for telling - a certain person so high in Thomas's esteem who she'd met and who he might also meet if he woke - and she leaned in a little closer, made her voice all the softer in the telling for all it was suffused with excitement. "Thomas, der Reiter ist hier!" she enthused. "Du hattest Recht!...Hörst du mich?...Dear one? Do you hear me?"
The soft tap of a cane upon the wooden floor drew Sally's gaze up from her stricken friend. Drawn by her concern, the same green-eyed soldier who'd given Dr Hall a run for his money during the skirmish was on the approach; his eyes sad and legs, though steady, obviously sore by the limp he carried. "…Tut er nicht, Frau" he said, easing to a cautious stop just a few paces clear of she and Thomas. As he spoke on -
"Er wird nicht aufwachen"
- his name came back to Sally.
"Herr Müller" she greeted, pausing an attempt to stand when he held up his hand.
"Bitte" he said, bowing his head slightly. "Franz."
"…Franz. Sie haben keine Veränderung an ihm gesehen?"
"Nein" he said regretfully. "Keiner. Er bewegt sich von Zeit zu Zeit ein bisschen, wacht aber nicht auf."
Sally frowned, huffing out a sigh as she grieved, "Ach nein." Not wanting to sour the mood however, she gestured to her more healthful looking counterpart and posed him a question through a demure smile. "Fühlst Du Dich besser? Du siehst es aus. Auf deinen Füßen."
At her observation, Franz puffed up noticeably. It was mostly for show, but the warmth it leant to the nurse's expression was worth the effort. "Ja viel besser" he said, giving his thigh a tentative pat. It was will more than anything that smothered the wince even that gentle contact caused, and he pushed on, quickly changing the subject. "Ich hatte gehofft, Rose zu sehen. Um ihr dafür zu danken, dass sie mich ertragen hat." He smiled at the soft titter that comment earned him. "Weißt du wo sie ist?"
"Ja" Sally nodded, gesturing in the direction of the camp's bottom-most regions – by the well and the stables and the charred fields. "Sie ist schon eine Weile in der Nähe des Stalls" she said, giving Thomas a lingering glance before rising and gathering her wares. "Und Sie wartet auf mich. Ich sollte zu ihr gehen. G-"
"Wir sollten" Franz cut in. He limped towards and opened the balcony's door to allow their passage, gesturing through at Sally's questioning look. "Nach Ihnen" he said, the fresh air wisping through already rallying his strength; straightening his back. "Ich werde nicht an diesem Ort bleiben. Männer sterben hier, aber ich werde es nicht. Mitkommen. Aus."
As it'd been the night prior, Sally mused fondly as she did as he bade, there was no arguing with him. Ich kann stehen he'd said. I can stand. And she believed him. She just hoped he'd be able to come their journey's end.
"Darling!"
"Dear lady!"
All of the supplies Sally had been carrying clattered to the ground as she and Rose met in a joyous embrace; their ebullient greetings effused through giggles and buoyed by the glee each found in returning to her sister-nurse's company. Five minutes it'd taken she and Franz to traverse the cobbled road down to the stables, but to Rose, who'd been watching them coming since first she'd caught sight of Sally's golden head, it'd felt like an hour. They turned each other in a little circle before breaking apart, Sally's gleefully bubbled -
"I have so much to tell you!"
- headed off by something of a tirade.
"And I you! You won't believe the time I've had!" Rose gestured to a small group of men, three at a glance, who were working on getting her soldier, her invalid, on his feet. One under each of his arms and another clutching his lapels, they eased him up onto his near flaccid legs with a great HEAVE only to almost drop him when, for all their efforts, he limpened and forced them to take even more of his weight than first they had. Rose, watching them, near growled with frustration. She ran her hands through her hair, tugged at it, then pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes before calling to her helpers. "Halte ihn fest!" she implored, scowling when she looked over towards them and noted the return of an unwanted, beaky face upon the fence top. "And do be rid of that bird!"
The bird she spoke of seemed to preen at her notice; its sharp beak set to cleaning God only knew what off its wings; its feet. It had retaken its post near the invalid and his helpers the moment Rose had looked away, and had been keeping an eye on them since; waiting, perhaps, for them to give up so that it might make a warm dinner of their ailing charge. Undeterred by hands waved in its direction the bird gave a raspy caw; continuing its vigil as the harried woman turned back to her newly arrived counterpart.
"He must be" Rose griped, sparing but an exasperated point for the invalid. "The most awkward man I've ever had to work with! And I say that not because he is rude! And he is. I say it because he has resisted every opportunity to rise I've given him and now he finds he cannot! And if he cannot, if he doesn't rouse, I can't help him! I've told him this. He won't listen. I fear-" She huffed out a breath, shaking her head and, for the first time, noticing Franz's presence. Seeing him, her frustrated glare softened into a weary smile.
"Mein Herr" she greeted.
"Fräulein" Franz replied, bowing just slightly.
As the pair got reacquainted – Rose venting now in raggedy German as they found a spot against the nearest fence where Franz could rest – Sally put aside all thoughts of gossip for the moment and took in the pandemonium surrounding the invalid. Two of the three men propping the silly thing up were throwing ever more colourful curses at him, while the third, seeing her approach, fought in vain to get them to stop. His apologetic grimace was appreciated but unnecessary.
"Sir" Sally called, raising her voice slightly as she spoke to the invalid. "Sir?"
"Hessisch" the apologetic soldier under the man's left arm put in, tugging lightly at the raggedy jacket he wore. "Is Hessisch, Dame."
Sally frowned. "Das ist egal" she said, clicking her fingers near the invalid's ear. As before, he didn't respond. "Ich möchte eine Reaktion. Ich muss wissen, dass er wach ist."
The chap under the invalid's right arm snorted. "Ich kann ihn wecken" he groused, raising a foot to aim a kick at his wounded leg. He didn't land it, but that didn't stop his counterparts from giving him what for and that- Oh that didn't help at all. Round and round they went, all three of them, snips and quibbles and gripes getting more and more heated as the seconds ticked by. They snarled around and over Sally's attempts at defusing the situation, and would've carried on even after she threw her hands up in frustration and turned from them if not for a voice rasping out from where the carrion bird still watched them.
"Tot!"
All the sound in the world drained away in an instant for the squabbling threesome and the frazzled nurse. They froze where they stood, their voices and rancour cutting off as one as they looked towards the voice they'd all swear blind they'd heard. Upon the fence before them perched the bird, bobbing its head, fluffing its wings, and watching, watching, watching them watch it. Its beak opened again, nothing but a Raven's rasp escaping.
Breaths short, men and nurse looked to each other. "Hast du das gehört?" one asked his fellows.
They nodded, glancing between him and the bird, and then back towards their counterparts as Rose - caught as much by the sudden silence as she was by the implication of speech she'd touch the Bible to having half-perceived in the bird's croaking - left Franz's side and began a halting approach.
"Geht es dir gut?" she called.
She made it all of three steps.
Talons forth and shrieking the black and bloodied bird hurled itself at the invalid's face; beak and claws aiming for his eyes. The pain and the impact both startled him - made him yelp, and jolt, and bat with a hand as he took his own weight on his legs and looked round frantically for what'd come for him; the bird's wheeling, jagged path as it seemed to flee sending it barrelling down the trail between stable and fields and work yard and onward, past a form that had been prowling its way clear of the yard and out towards the sea of fire-blackened stalks that bracketed the camp. Had been, until the invalid caught sight of it and loosed the most blood curdling of screams.
The noise wrenched the wanderer round on his axis, his horse rearing, bellowing for the return of what sounded like battle as his master surveyed the scene in but a second. Spurred heels nudged sleek sides then; horse and Horseman advancing on the ungainly group that, at the sight of him, fell in on its centre – the invalid pinioned, horrified and weakly struggling, against the stable-block's outer wall.
At their seeming turn to madness, Rose shrieked and fought with what strength she had in her to dissuade them; to break her poor ailing soldier free as what to him was a vision of Hell itself – one that she had yet to fully process in the moment's heat – stalked him like a hunting wolf would a lame stag. It was only when riding boots hit earth and Sally, gripped in the throat and chest by shock and sudden knowing, cried out-
"ROSE!"
-that her attention strayed for long enough to catch an implication of what was coming. Sally's outstretched arms that begged her close came too late; blackness and the scent of leather and blood forcing Rose a few paces back with a firm push from armoured forearm to abdomen. Unthinking she made to approach again, to regain ground and get to her man, but the effort earned her only canon-fire-by-voice and the sight of dagger-teeth as the Horseman rounded on her.
"HALT!" he roared, suddenly so close to her face that she felt his breath on her cheek in the split second before she screeched and bolted; her flight setting her on a collision course with Sally who had sprung towards her in the hope of dragging her clear. The women caught each other mid-stride, hands catching arms and clutching tight as they rushed to put as much distance between themselves and the scene as they could.
A voice though-
"DAAAAH-MEEEEEH!"
-the invalid's howling, broken voice-
"DAAAAH-MEEEEEH!"
-caught Rose in the gut mid-retreat; made her falter so in her stride that Sally managed to yank herself free from her grasp without meaning to. She turned back searchingly for her; her arms again outstretched as she called out her name, as she pled with her, but her ward-sister would not be moved. This man who screamed for them, Rose knew, they had a responsibility to aid; a responsibility that endured no matter their fellows' sudden madness and the appearance out the mist of a razor-mouthed demon - drawn in seemingly by their man's suffering. He needed them. They could not leave. Thus, with every ounce of bravery in her set to casting her spine in iron, Rose turned back towards the din as-
"DAH-MEH WAI-"
-it died off behind the gloved hand the Horseman clamped vice-like over his prisoner's mouth.
"GENUG!" he snapped, as close to the wounded man's face as he had been to Rose's seconds back. He lingered there for a long moment, all bared teeth and empty eyes as he took in the look of him; saw the bone-deep terror wracking him; felt him twitch and spasm with panic and pain as the soldiers at his arms held him fast, and as the Horseman made a cursory search of his person with his free hand. No weapons were forthcoming, though he did note the presence of the neat and tidy bandage tied tight about the quivering man's injured thigh. The sight of it incensed him, and made the muffled shriek the invalid loosed when the soldier who'd so wanted to strike him earlier gave into his lesser angels and landed a belting kick all the more satisfying. Despite this though, he halted with a look the aggressive man's attempt at an encore and then, with the slowness of molten metal on the creep towards flesh, returned his full attention to their captive. Growled words followed -
"Sie haben kein Recht, mit ihnen zu sprechen"
- that were met by a fervent cry from Rose.
"Ja tut er!"
Beside her, Sally felt her stomach fall right down to her knees. "Rose!" she rasped, planting herself between her dear friend and the scene. She clutched at her shoulders, panicked and pleading with her; praying that she could get her moving, get them away. "Something's wrong. So wrong, Rose. Please. Let them- Let him-"
"Let him?" Rose repeated, pulling back from Sally sharply; aghast at her seeming betrayal of their soldier. "Let him what,Sally? Torture that poor man?!"
"That is not what I said!" Sally snapped, wilting and bristling at once at the accusation.
"Then wha-"
"He's frightened! Frightened of a Hessian man, Rose! Why-"
"Why?! HE-" A sharp point indicated der Reiter. "Attacked him!"
"And why would he do that?! Think! Why wou-"
"SCHWEIGEN!"
Canon-fire again, that voice - the arguing women's deadlock broken as easily as dry birch over a knee. They spun to face der Reiter as one, clutching each other tightly despite how they'd snarled back and forth; shared horror as what was unfolding before them bridging the gap misunderstanding had caused. It was Rose, again, who found her voice first; her courage too, for she disobeyed the hawkishly watchful mercenary the moment she'd gathered the breath to.
"Ich kann nicht sein!" she cried, gesturing to the crumpled invalid the group held captive. "Warum verletzt du ihn? Er ist einer von euch!"
"Ist er?" the Horseman asked, sounding for all the world like he was genuinely shocked and of a mind to be persuaded. The question hung in the air as he regarded the pair; taking them in properly for the first time since he had drawn near. One known to him and one not, they dressed identically and thus, he surmised, were nurses both - those whose resources, whose bandages, had been wasted as they wandered unescorted so far from their triage; through a camp newly ravaged and not yet made conclusively safe. He understood the necessity of it; the need for skilled hands to tend the wounded, to bolster the troops with their presence, their wares, their water. But this was not their world, out here, and if they did not learn that quickly and adapt in kind all of their usefulness would end with the strike of a lucky dagger. With that in mind, he prompted again.
"Ist er Hessisch, Dame?"
The words, to Rose, were almost taunting. "Du kannst ihn sehen" she grieved, wringing her hands beseechingly. "Bitte, bitte, du kannst ihn hören! Lass ihn gehen!"
"Ich kann" the Horseman agreed, watching then as the nurse he recognised shifted where she stood; angling herself so she could better see the invalid and the soldiers holding him at bay. Ordinarily he might have perceived such a shift of attention as rude, but now? He had to wonder if there was anything like wisdom in her. "Und Sie, Fräulein Apfel?" he asked, pleased that after a moment spent processing quite what he'd called her, the blonde nurse met his eye. He inclined his head a half inch towards his captive, indicating him without looking away from her. "Glaubst du, er ist Hessisch?"
"I-" Sally caught herself short, Rose's grip on her arm tightening almost painfully as she realised – with that name, with Miss Apple – quite who it was that her sister-nurse had met by the stables. Frightened eyes that had fixed on der Reiter returned to Sally when she spoke again–
"Ich war mir sicher…Aber jetzt bin ich nicht"
-but saw in her nothing of the shock Rose herself felt at this revelation; nothing of shock and little of fear either of the beast that had descended on their quiet corner of the camp to steal up their soldier. How this could be Rose didn't know anymore than she did the cause of Sally's new uncertainty. Now though was not the time for understanding.
"Ich werde fragen" der Reiter proclaimed, his words gentling on his next breath to a degree that frankly startled as he returned his attention to his captive. "Mein Freund" he said, gesturing for the soldiers restraining him to loosen their grip enough that he was more comfortable, though still held securely. "Warum hast du Angst? Hm?" Slowly, he removed his hand from the man's mouth; the trembling lips revealed bitten bloody in fright. "Warum hast du Angst? Ich bin dein Freund. Wir sind Hessisch, Sie und ich. Ja? Du hast mich erschreckt, als du geschrien hast. Das ist alles. Wir sind Freunde."
Silence met his effort, the invalid's wild eyes darting everywhere but towards his captor's face. The lesson progressing, the Horseman glanced over towards the nurses. "Du verstehst mich?" he prompted, the words a statement, less a question. It was met in short order by two stiff little nods. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the invalid.
"Sprich mit mir, mein Freund" the Horseman encouraged, watching again how his captive's eyes flew all over but towards him; the one person close by that spoke to him. "Mein Freund" he pressed, tapping his cheek when his gaze lingered too long on the nurses. "Schau mich an…Schau mich an.'
Another voice then -
"…Schaue ihn an"
- the unfamiliar nurse speaking up when the invalid paid the Horseman's command no heed. She attracted the warrior's eye for her effort, much as it did nothing to shift his captive's gaze to where it needed to be, and he lingered again on her and her companion. He lingered, even as he continued speaking to the man he had backed into the wall -
"Hast du deine Zunge verloren?"
- even as Rose did; as she implored him –
"Mein Deutsch ist nicht schlecht. Du verstehst mich. Schaue ihn an."
Then, all change. In English now, the Horseman spoke into his captive's face. "Look at me-"
And the invalid, his mind now so fogged with fear and pain and exhaustion that he could no longer marshal the urge, turned without meaning to towards the words he understood. Realisation drained the life from his eyes not a heartbeat later; the men at his arms clamping tight their hold again as the beast before him closed in; salvation's chances dwindling to less than nothing.
"Englisch, yes" the Horseman pressed, the friendliness in his expression becoming vulture-like intensity as he snarled into his captive's face. "Not a Hessisch man, no matter colours." He tugged the man's jacket, looking to the nurses again who stared right back; Sally in petrified resignation and Rose, stunned, in equal parts abject disbelief and quickly dawning horror at what a hellish mistake she'd been a party to. "Hessisch colours on Englisch man is eizer coward, hiding, bringing dishonour to MY PEOPLE, or is DER FEIND, enemy, hiding - vaiting fur chance to run! Matters not vhich. END IS SAME!"
The Horseman pushed himself clear of the invalid then, and into the space he left rushed the soldiers who had so patiently held their captive still. They had him out of the jacket he'd worn in seconds and to the ground the moment after, his arms restrained, mouth covered and wounded leg torn at – the now bloodied bandage Rose had fixed upon it tossed aside as they exacted revenge for how they and their nurses both had been japed. And the nurses themselves-
Heedless of vengeance, heedless of anything but fear, they hid against each other now; each other and the yard's fence and Franz who had hurried forth and dragged them there. They clutched at him, the pair of them, shocked cold and trembling as the captive was hauled to his feet and dragged into the camp-proper – his wailing entreaties to whomever might listen falling on deaf ears. They watched as he and the group hauling him on turned heads but caused nary a ripple elsewise in the work going on around them. They watched and saw how the men dragging him were given pats on the back as they marched onward, and how he, the invalid, was spat upon, jeered at. And they watched as well from around Franz's protective bulwark as der Reiter - his steps ghosted by the stallion made as infamous as he by his fellow Hessians and their loose lips for rousing stories - laid the discarded jacket carefully across his saddle, plucked the bandage that the soldiers had left behind off the ground, and moved onto the path.
He was all brimstone and blood to Rose, as was his steed. She could smell it, see it even – trickling from beneath the cloak that had been folded round the saddlebags the stallion carried; rolling in thick, half-coagulated globs down its hind legs as it strode, tight skin twitching over thick muscle. The sight, never mind the smell of it, made her want to gag, and made her grip on Sally – who she could feel starting to wobble on her feet – redouble. Burying her nose and lips in Franz's shoulder, she held on tight to him, and to her ward-sister, and reached out to God in silent prayer as the beast strode past them; it and its steed both.
Sally though- Unsteady or not, she had other ideas.
"Mein Herr!" she wheezed, Rose jumping at the sound and attempting quite frantically to hush her lest she draw attention – too late. Der Reiter turned to them, Gänger halting in place at his side as he looked again into the petrified, imploring eyes of this woman he knew by sight. Franz too looked around at her entreaty; glanced over her head towards the man she spoke to and froze. Beyond the hellish mien, from so close a range he found something familiar in the Horseman's face, and in the crests on his chest piece, and his gloves; something he remembered from his homeland, Hessen-Kassel. Der Reiter though had not an ounce of recognition or care for this man who stared at him. It was the nurse that held his attention until, with all the conviction in her little body, she pled -
"Wir haben nicht gewusst!"
Unwilling to listen to such useless words, the Horseman pushed the rescued bandage into her fingers, mustered a command from what sounded like the very depths of him-
"Brennen. Es."
-and then turned and started again up the path towards the camp proper; towards the slowly rising noise that was bubbling up along the captive's journey. The woman tried once more to reach him; called out-
"Mein Herr!"
-for nought. He was leaving them, she realised, his head assuredly full of doubts over her sanity, their sanity, in having helped der Feind and oh...Oh how he knew not the truth of things! They were not traitors; innocents, yes, but not traitors! She had to tell him – indeed, she made a move to, but Franz's arm caught her waist before she could.
"Nein, Frau" he scolded gently, sure in his own mind that her pursuit was born of overwrought nerves and muddled thinking. Gladly, especially given how weak he was yet, she did not elect to push away from him. Her gaze simply fixed on der Reiter's retreating back as Rose - her hand going for and then jerking away from Sally's given the bloodied rag she held in a white-knuckled fist - put what Sally had said to the Horseman to Franz.
"Sie lügt nicht" she urged. "Wir haben nicht gewusst."
"Ich weiß das" the soldier soothed, gentle eyes lingering now upon Rose's wracked face. "Keiner von uns könnte es ohne Beweise wissen. Und das haben wir jetzt."
Rose gave a little nod despite herself. "Wohin bringen sie ihn?"
"Zum englischen Kapitän. Wenn er nur ein Feigling ist, wird er bestraft."
"Und wenn nicht?"
Franz did not answer. Gathering himself instead, he forced purpose into his voice. "Ihre Pflicht ist nicht zu ihm" he counselled, his voice firm but kind. "Ihre Pflicht ist zu Ihren Patienten. Erinnere dich daran. Kehre zu ihnen zurück…Und Zally?"
The woman barely moved to breathe.
Franz tried again. "...Zally?" he prompted, giving her a gentle nudge.
The touch brought Sally back to him "Ja?" she wisped, blinking owlishly.
"Tu was er gesagt hat" Franz told her, gesturing to the bandage she held still. With each word that followed, he watched something of serenity begin to dim the panic in her eyes in the same moment that new uncertainty bloomed wild in Rose's. "Verbrenne es. Du hast nichts falsch gemacht. Aber es wird den Commander davon abhalten, Fragen zu stellen."
Der Reiter, it seemed, had believed her.
And he might just have saved their necks.
Captain Phillips' decision was swift and decisive. The man found by the ruined stable block was no soldier of his. Clamped in irons - his ruined leg treated crudely with a tourniquet to keep him useful longer – he was secreted away and pressed all day through for information that, to the eternal chagrin of all involved, was not forthcoming. He was not long for the headsman's block as the evening's last showing eased off into night's darkness, when insistent voices spoke up from outside Phillips' door.
"Der Reiter sollte ihn nehmen!" one cried.
"Ja!" cried another. "Er hat ihn gefunden! Bring ihn zum Reiter!"
The Captain knew enough of the Hessians' tongue to follow without need of translation. He poked his head around his door, curious, and found the same gaggle of soldiers who had delivered the prisoner to him hours prior. Emerging properly, he spoke to them.
"…Wer ist der Reiter?"
Well
If that question didn't loose the proverbial spigot.
They found the man in question standing sentry near the edge of the English army's designated portion of the camp – doing his part in keeping the space secure as soldiers darted to and fro; busy still with clean up. Replete with wild tales by the time he was within sight of him, Captain Phillips had to still himself from turning on his heel. He had no interest in the ghoulish, and a file-toothed mercenary certainly sounded like he fit that description. Something in the man's bearing though, in how he dismounted and approached when he became aware of his presence, in how he bowed slightly from the waist in respect of his rank, in how he dismissed the soldiers milling at Phillips' back excitedly and in how he spoke when presented with the Englishman's predicament – It reached him.
"Torture" the Horseman said, "is good only for lies…Of me? He has fear. Foolish stories, drenched in blood, yes? You know zem?"
Phillips' expression pinched. "Your countrymen are…giving with those, yes."
The chuff of amusement that came up in the Horseman's chest suggested tolerance more than it did mirth. "My sword, to zem, burns like Höllenfeuer. Yet here…" The blade, snake-headed and garnet-eyed, hung now at his hip. He unsheathed it by two inches, touching it a moment later with swiftly ungloved fingers. "Zere is no heat." Settling the weapon back into place properly, der Reiter straightened where he stood. "Zis man you have. Pain did nothing. But fear? Perhaps it vill."
Ethics and practicality warred in Phillips briefly. Like his fellow man-of-rank Brandt, he had neither love nor trust for any man who sought battle for fortune. In this small instance however, with even torture having failed them, the possibility of an opportunity to learn something of how this man and his fellows coordinated their attack so perfectly as to catch the camp unawares – to use the fear this man before him obviously cultivated about himself in the eyes of their mutual enemy - was tantalising. He couldn't but ask.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I ride vit him" the Horseman proffered. "Out past ze fields, closer to his people. If he talk, I learn vat I can. Tell you vhen I return."
"And if you learn nothing?"
"I return and tell you so."
Disbelief drew Phillips' brows low. "Just like that?" he challenged, waiting for the mention of a price, of purse strings, for a hand to be extended to accept coin. Der Reiter though did no such thing; indeed, the question seemed to confuse him more than anything.
"Excuse?" he prompted. "Like?"
"You will not be paid by the English Crown for this endeavour" the Captain snapped, his voice brought down in volume a notch or two despite its fervency; as if he feared what the camp might think if it heard him breaking bread in this manner with a man such as this. "Not for any part of it – whatever it is you…" He gestured vaguely towards the Horseman. "Do."
The cheek of the man, he flashed those awful teeth of his when a chuckle bubbled up through a grin. "Unvilling to pay ze Devil to vork for you" he said, enjoying how the prideful Englishman visibly tensed at the jibe. He went on, revelling in the verbal blow he'd landed. "I am…Hessen-Kassel. Englisch coin…" His lips curled in a bit of a sneer; brief and perfunctory, and only to emphasise his point. "I do not need."
"Better Marks is it, Devil?" Phillips snorted, the bite in his words retaliatory; irksome as he found being ribbed. There was no more devilry about this horseman than there was the touch of his Lord's stately court. "I am Hessen-Kassel indeed. You brag, sir. I know enough of your people to name your Landgraf. I'd wager he would disagree with you."
Der Reiter did not flinch for the returned fire. He simply smiled an odd, almost knowing smile, and then nodded towards the English encampment's central area. "Bring him to me" he said. "Vill talk or die. Eizer way, he is pay enough."
Far from the camp in the deep-night's chill, a lone voice crooned softly.
Settled in the saddle behind his prisoner – who was bound and gagged – der Reiter mused aloud as much as he sang; the verses he was reciting part rhyme, part folktale invocation, part old, old song that had been taught to him by his mother when he was still small enough to be the youngest brother in his family and not the third of five. With care, he unsheathed his blade and laid it across his captive's legs; mindful as he did of his proximity to the herd of deer he could see grazing quietly in the trees nearby. The sight of them drew a faint smile from him, as did the clouds of fireflies easing to and fro on what little breeze was carrying them. The stars were out, the clouds and fog of the day forgotten, and the moon was glinting where it hung above the world.
These wilds, the Horseman wagered, he knew better than any of that Captain Phillips' roving platoons. Unlike them, he had the time and compunction to linger – to sink into this place and its rhythms so that if need be he could disappear as naturally as autumn giving way to winter; as easily as der Feinde had approached the camp through the wheat fields with night on their side. Through his travels he had an idea or two of where they had struck out from – all of which he would happily share with the Englishman in order that the pretence he had woven about fear being a better catalyst for revelations than torture might be preserved. True or not, he had no intention of frightening his captive into confessing his sins. He had no intention, in fact, of talking with him at all.
From the darkness then was spat the carrion bird; its ungainly flight, ducking and weaving, ending when it landed heavily upon strolling Gänger's brow. The stallion barely flicked an ear at its arrival, and only deigned to give it more than that by way of attention when it scrabble-hopped its way along the length of his neck towards the prisoner – its rasping call softened into something other; some bubbling, crackling, curious-sounding thing. A flutter of wings helped it clear the Horseman's blade, sharp little talons biting into cloth breeches as it landed upon the prisoner's thigh and reached its beaky face up and up and up-
There was blood seeping down his torso, the bird perceived; blood that oozed slowly – pushed out of a sucking wound long inflicted by one of der Reiter's slender daggers by a sluggish, dying heart. Probing now, it pushed through what cloth was left between wound and air and dipped its beak in deep; shaking its head when it retracted it and spattering gore upon the Horseman's resting sword. It spat and crackled, burning dry the moment contact was made.
And der Reiter?
Der Reiter sang on.
Translations:
"Thomas…Hörst du mich? Bitte. Hör mich. Wir sind alle in Sicherheit. Rose…Mir… Sie. Alles sicher… Alles sicher. Wir vermissen dich euch sehr. So sehr, Thomas…Wir brauchen dich hier. Um uns zu kümmern...Thomas, der Reiter ist hier! Du hattest Recht!...Hörst du mich?..."
"Thomas...can you hear me? Please. Hear me. We are all safe. Rose...me...you. Everything is safe...Everything is safe. We miss you very much. So much, Thomas...we need you here. To take care of us...Thomas, the Horseman is here! You were right!...Can you hear me?... "
"…Tut er nicht, Frau. Er wird nicht aufwachen"
"He doesn't, madam. He won't wake up."
"Bitte"
"Please"
"…Franz. Sie haben keine Veränderung an ihm gesehen?"
"... Franz. You haven't seen any change in him?"
"Nein…Keiner. Er bewegt sich von Zeit zu Zeit ein bisschen, wacht aber nicht auf."
"No…None. He moves a little from time to time but doesn't wake up."
"Ach nein...Fühlst Du Dich besser? Du siehst es aus. Auf deinen Füßen."
"Oh no...Are you feeling better? You look it. On your feet."
"Ja viel besser...Ich hatte gehofft, Rose zu sehen. Um ihr dafür zu danken, dass sie mich ertragen hat...Weißt du wo sie ist?"
"Yes, much better...I was hoping to see Rose. To thank her for putting up with me...Do you know where she is?"
"Ja...Sie ist schon eine Weile in der Nähe des Stalls...Und Sie wartet auf mich. Ich sollte zu ihr gehen."
"Yes...She's been near the stable for a while...And she's waiting for me. I should go to her."
"Wir sollten. Nach Ihnen. Ich werde nicht an diesem Ort bleiben. Männer sterben hier, aber ich werde es nicht. Mitkommen. Aus."
"We should. After you. I will not stay in this place. Men die here, but I won't. Come along. Out."
"Halte ihn fest!"
"Hold him tight!"
"Mein Herr"
"Sir"
"Fräulein"
"Young lady/Young miss"
"Hessisch"
"Hessian/from Hesse"
"Das ist egal...Ich möchte eine Reaktion. Ich muss wissen, dass er wach ist."
"It doesn't matter...I want a reaction. I need to know he's awake."
"Ich kann ihn wecken"
"I can wake him."
"Tot!"
"Dead!"
"Hast du das gehört?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Geht es dir gut?"
"Are you alright?"
"HALT!"
"STOP!"
"GENUG!"
"ENOUGH!"
"Sie haben kein Recht, mit ihnen zu sprechen"
"You have no right to speak to them."
"Ja tut er!"
"Yes he does!"
"SCHWEIGEN!"
"SILENCE!"
"Ich kann nicht sein!...Warum verletzt du ihn? Er ist einer von euch!"
"I can't be!...Why are you hurting him? He is one of you!"
"Ist er?"
"Is he?"
"Is he Hessian, madam?"
"Du kannst ihn sehen...Bitte, bitte, du kannst ihn hören! Lass ihn gehen!"
"You can see him...Please, please, you can hear him! Let him go!"
"Ich kann"
"I can"
"Und Sie, Fräulein Apfel?"
"And you, Miss Apple?"
"Glaubst du, er ist Hessisch?"
"Do you think he is Hessian?"
"Ich war mir sicher…Aber jetzt bin ich nicht"
"I was sure…But now I'm not"
"Ich werde fragen."
"I will ask."
"Mein Freund. Warum hast du Angst? Hm?...Warum hast du Angst? Ich bin dein Freund. Wir sind Hessisch, Sie und ich. Ja? Du hast mich erschreckt, als du geschrien hast. Das ist alles. Wir sind Freunde."
"My friend. Why are you scared? Hm?...Why are you afraid? I am your friend. We are Hessian, you and me. Yes? You startled me when you screamed That's all. We are friends."
"Du verstehst mich?"
"You understand me?"
"Sprich mit mir, mein Freund...Mein Freund. Schau mich an…Schau mich an."
"Talk to me, my friend…My friend. Look at me...Look at me."
"…Schaue ihn an"
"…Look at him."
"Hast du deine Zunge verloren?"
"Have you lost your tongue?"
"Mein Deutsch ist nicht schlecht. Du verstehst mich. Schaue ihn an."
"My German is not bad. You understand me. Look at him."
"Wir haben nicht gewusst!"
"We did not know!"
"Brennen. Es."
"Burn. It."
"Nein, Frau"
"No, madam"
"Sie lügt nicht...Wir haben nicht gewusst."
"She is not lying…We didn't know."
"Ich weiß das...Keiner von uns könnte es ohne Beweise wissen. Und das haben wir jetzt."
"I know that…None of us could've known without evidence. And now we have that."
"Wohin bringen sie ihn?"
"Where are they taking him?"
"Zum englischen Kapitän. Wenn er nur ein Feigling ist, wird er bestraft."
"To the English captain. If he's just a coward, he'll be punished."
"Und wenn nicht?"
"And if not?"
"Ihre Pflicht ist nicht zu ihm…Ihre Pflicht ist zu Ihren Patienten. Erinnere dich daran. Kehre zu ihnen zurück…Und Zally?"
"Your duty is not to him...your duty is to your patients. Remember it. Return to them…And Zally?"
"Tu was er gesagt hat. Verbrenne es. Du hast nichts falsch gemacht. Aber es wird den Commander davon abhalten, Fragen zu stellen."
"Do what he said. Burn it. You have done nothing wrong. But it will keep the commander from asking questions."
"Der Reiter sollte ihn nehmen!"
"The Horseman should take him!"
"Ja! Er hat ihn gefunden! Bring ihn zum Reiter!"
"Yes! He found him! Take him to the Horseman!"
"…Wer ist der Reiter?"
"…Who is the Horseman?"
"Höllenfeuer."
"Hellfire."