mountains.
“Why not?” Büber had a flask somewhere in his saddlebags, a little metal one that contained something a bit stronger than water.
“Fuchs paid off the Teutons. Cleaned him out completely. That’s why we’re at the bridge.”
“But you had a thousand spears at their back, hustling them through the land as fast as they could go.” They were in the town square, where there was nothing as grand as Juvavum could offer: no fountains, no high houses, no rich merchants, no wide-skirted ladies. “What happened to the soldiers?”
“Leopold’s cash ran out as well, didn’t it? He’s built too many stupid castles to be able to afford an army. So they all went home.” The man leant on his spear and pointed to a three-storey timber-framed house. “That’s the Town Hall. You’ll find Earl Fuchs inside. Doesn’t bother me if you go in or not.”
“Let’s just get this straight,” said Büber. “There’s no one guarding the Teutons?”
The man shook his head. “Thank the gods they took the bribe instead of sacking the town. They’re going away east now.”
“I know where they’re going. Or I thought I did.” Büber chewed at his fingers. He looked at the Town Hall, and back down the road they’d just come along. The man with the spear pursed his lips and started to wander away.
“Where are
you
going?” asked Büber.
“All Fuchs told me to do was stand by the bridge and get some money.” The man disappeared into the crowd of townsfolk, the top of his spear marking his progress towards a beer cellar at one of the corners of the square.
“Fuck,” said Büber under his breath. Earl Fuchs and his explanation would have to wait.
He spent a little time and money – Carinthian coin being good in most places – on some bread and sausage and cheese, and some beer.
Then he turned and rode back to the river.
The man with the hat was still there with his guards, still extracting tolls.
“Hey, Carinthian. I thought you were going to see the earl?”
“I changed my mind,” said Büber. He dug his heels in, and the horse trotted over the long span of the bridge. Once he had honest-to-gods Carinthian soil underfoot again, he turned east.
10
For anyone else, Nadel would have been hard to find. But Büber wasn’t anyone, and a man on a horse left tracks that a man on his own would not. Neither was Nadel trying to hide, not from him at least.
Büber followed the riverside at a distance, stopping every so often to listen, and after a while he got down and led his mount on foot. The southern bank was steep and wooded before it flattened out into the farmed plain between the water course and the hills behind. He was shielded from sight and could still move more or less freely.
Shod hooves stopped leaving marks in the soft dark earth, and the ferns at the side of the path were trampled. He bent down and peered into the shifting greens and browns. After a few moments, the outline of a horse resolved against the shadows, and Büber carefully led his own horse into the gap.
He tied it to a branch, and crept down the bank to where Nadel sat, motionless, behind a screen of milk parsley.
“That was quick,” murmured Nadel. He didn’t take his eyes off the opposite bank.
Büber lowered himself to the ground and looked through the green stems and broad leaves. On the north bank, where the slope was more gentle, and the soil had partially collapsed into the river, a chain of women were filling buckets.
He looked further inland and could make out the carts and horses of the Teutons, scattered through the thin woodland. Carinthian carts didn’t need draught animals, and it still surprised Büber that anyone else’s did.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
“What sort of problem?”
“Those Bavarian spearmen have gone home. No money to pay for them, so I’m told.”
“That’ll make things interesting. Have you seen some of these Teuton women? Faces like a robber’s dog chewing a
“Why not?” Büber had a flask somewhere in his saddlebags, a little metal one that contained something a bit stronger than water.
“Fuchs paid off the Teutons. Cleaned him out completely. That’s why we’re at the bridge.”
“But you had a thousand spears at their back, hustling them through the land as fast as they could go.” They were in the town square, where there was nothing as grand as Juvavum could offer: no fountains, no high houses, no rich merchants, no wide-skirted ladies. “What happened to the soldiers?”
“Leopold’s cash ran out as well, didn’t it? He’s built too many stupid castles to be able to afford an army. So they all went home.” The man leant on his spear and pointed to a three-storey timber-framed house. “That’s the Town Hall. You’ll find Earl Fuchs inside. Doesn’t bother me if you go in or not.”
“Let’s just get this straight,” said Büber. “There’s no one guarding the Teutons?”
The man shook his head. “Thank the gods they took the bribe instead of sacking the town. They’re going away east now.”
“I know where they’re going. Or I thought I did.” Büber chewed at his fingers. He looked at the Town Hall, and back down the road they’d just come along. The man with the spear pursed his lips and started to wander away.
“Where are
you
going?” asked Büber.
“All Fuchs told me to do was stand by the bridge and get some money.” The man disappeared into the crowd of townsfolk, the top of his spear marking his progress towards a beer cellar at one of the corners of the square.
“Fuck,” said Büber under his breath. Earl Fuchs and his explanation would have to wait.
He spent a little time and money – Carinthian coin being good in most places – on some bread and sausage and cheese, and some beer.
Then he turned and rode back to the river.
The man with the hat was still there with his guards, still extracting tolls.
“Hey, Carinthian. I thought you were going to see the earl?”
“I changed my mind,” said Büber. He dug his heels in, and the horse trotted over the long span of the bridge. Once he had honest-to-gods Carinthian soil underfoot again, he turned east.
10
For anyone else, Nadel would have been hard to find. But Büber wasn’t anyone, and a man on a horse left tracks that a man on his own would not. Neither was Nadel trying to hide, not from him at least.
Büber followed the riverside at a distance, stopping every so often to listen, and after a while he got down and led his mount on foot. The southern bank was steep and wooded before it flattened out into the farmed plain between the water course and the hills behind. He was shielded from sight and could still move more or less freely.
Shod hooves stopped leaving marks in the soft dark earth, and the ferns at the side of the path were trampled. He bent down and peered into the shifting greens and browns. After a few moments, the outline of a horse resolved against the shadows, and Büber carefully led his own horse into the gap.
He tied it to a branch, and crept down the bank to where Nadel sat, motionless, behind a screen of milk parsley.
“That was quick,” murmured Nadel. He didn’t take his eyes off the opposite bank.
Büber lowered himself to the ground and looked through the green stems and broad leaves. On the north bank, where the slope was more gentle, and the soil had partially collapsed into the river, a chain of women were filling buckets.
He looked further inland and could make out the carts and horses of the Teutons, scattered through the thin woodland. Carinthian carts didn’t need draught animals, and it still surprised Büber that anyone else’s did.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
“What sort of problem?”
“Those Bavarian spearmen have gone home. No money to pay for them, so I’m told.”
“That’ll make things interesting. Have you seen some of these Teuton women? Faces like a robber’s dog chewing a
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