The Morning After the Dead

I must not have felt the first cold drops, for when I roused myself from a long and dreamless slumber, I found my clothes already soaked through.

Morning had come, grey and unkind, and a heavy downpour drummed upon roof and stone alike.

“Ah… my back,” I muttered, attempting to move, though every joint protested.

For a brief moment I wondered why the rain intruded upon my chamber and why I lay upon the floor like some drunken wretch.

Had I taken too much wine again and tumbled from my bed once more?

Thus, for a few sluggish heartbeats, I clung to such idle fancies, as one often does upon waking in a strange posture, still half-drowned in sleep’s dim haze.

Then, without warning, memory returned entire.

I stiffened.

“No…”

The events of the night before broke over me with cruel clarity.

I looked about and knew at once that not a single moment had been born of a nightmare.

Rain streamed down my garments as I stared across the land from the rooftop.

In the distance, Stratweiler burned.

Heavy columns of smoke rose from several quarters of the town and darkened the morning sky.

“This cannot be real…”

Beneath me, the stables lay in blackened ruin.

Though the fire had not reached the main buildings of the estate, it had devoured nearly all it had touched.

The rain fell harder, quenching the last embers and filling the air with a low hissing steam.

Leaning over the roof’s edge, I sought any trace of the horrors that had hunted me through the night.

Nothing stirred.

Not a single corpse shambled across the yard.

Did they move only by night?

Had they slunk back to whatever hell had spawned them?

Might the nightmare be at an end?

A faint hope, frail as a dying spark, rose in me.

Slowly I crept toward the window through which I had fled.

The tiles were treacherously slick beneath my boots, and the unceasing rain muffled all but the loudest sounds.

I strained to catch even the smallest hint of movement below.

Nothing.

Hanging headfirst over the sill, I peered into the chamber.

The gloom concealed much, yet the dark smears across the floor, deep, unmistakably red, told me all I needed.

At least I had not lost my wits.

I lowered myself onto the ledge and pulled my way back inside.

My eyes swept the wreckage: splintered wood from the shattered door lay scattered in every corner.

Then I beheld the bed, and nausea rose in me at once.

Where Anna had died but hours before, there remained now little more than torn lumps of flesh and a few scarcely recognisable remnants of what had once been her body.

The dead had feasted.

I retched violently, overcome by stench and sight alike.

When at last my breath returned, and I had wiped the bitterness from my tongue, I noticed my rapier lying a few steps away.

Its blade was stiff with dried blood as I took it up.

Listening at each step, I moved cautiously through the house.

The lower rooms likewise showed no sign of the dead.

The pantry door hung open, its contents strewn across the floor, yet none of it had been touched.

Fresh human flesh must please them more, I thought grimly.

After searching the last rooms, I stepped into the parlour and sank into the large armchair beside the hearth.

What now?

I had hardly the faintest notion.

Stratweiler burned, its smoke rising black against the morning sky, yet timber towns caught fire often enough.

Still, I could not persuade myself that this was mere chance.

No, the dead must have fallen upon the town as they had upon our home.

I fetched a bottle of wine in the hope it might steady my trembling hands. With a weary sigh, I drew the cork and drank.

Long I sat there, striving to bring some order to the chaos, yet each thought faltered and fell before the blood-soaked truth that lurked in every chamber of the house.

What choice remained?

Two paths only:

barricade myself within and pray for Father’s return, if he still lived, or gather what I could carry and make for Stratweiler.

Either course was perilous.

Should the dead return by night, I might not live to see another dawn; yet if Stratweiler had also fallen, I would only stumble into a second nest of horrors.

After long deliberation, I resolved to leave.

From the pantry I gathered the hardiest foods and stuffed them into a knapsack.

Into it I placed what seemed needful for travel: a pot, a pan, a woollen blanket and a larger linen one.

I added a bar of soap, a few simple remedies in form of valerian, a vial of caraway water ¹, lini semen ² and valerian.

The food amounted mostly to smoked sausages, rye bread, a few eggs, and a bottle of french brandy.

I loaded my pistol; one never knew when an ambush might come. It was not much, but light enough that I might run if need pressed.

Thus prepared, I stepped outside and set off along the same road I had ridden the day before.

I moved warily, watching each shifting shadow while passing through the forested stretch.

Yet nothing stirred save birds and the restless wind.

By noon I reached the paved road.

From there the smoke rising above Stratweiler could be plainly seen.

It brought me little comfort.

After some time I drew near a bend in the road, from beyond which came the sound of footsteps and low voices.

I hurried to the low embankment at the roadside and threw myself behind it, peering through the dripping brush.

A dozen men came round the bend: Landsknechts by their bearing, burdened with sacks and heavy packs.

They halted nearby to catch their breath, ragged and exhausted.

One, wounded, leaned upon the youngest among them, a boy of perhaps twelve years.

Half the company bore the darker complexions and black hair of southern lands.

“Have we shaken them off?” the boy whispered.

“It would seem so,” answered the leader, his German thick with a Spanish accent. “Yet we had best not tarry.”

Spaniards then, veterans of the Dutch Revolt ³, now scattered across the Empire as hired swords.

“My thoughts likewise,” another said. “If those yet follow us, they shall have us soon enough if we bide awhile.”

“A few hours north stands a small inn,” one remarked. “The beds are poor, but the innkeeper hath three daughters. Better fare than those camp strumpets, eh?” He grinned darkly.

The only inn near Stratweiler was Gleumer’s.

I wondered whether it had survived the night, or whether these men had any inkling of what had transpired.

“North?” the boy objected softly. “But the meeting place with Master Antonius’ band lies east, and they bear most of the weapons!”

The leader cut him short with a harsh slap.

“To the devil with the meeting place. We go north. We have the food.” He pressed the point of his sword against the boy’s breast. “And we are not unarmed.”

The others laughed.

“...Speak against me again, lad, and you shall do more than taste blood from your lip.”

The boy said no more.

I considered stepping forth and announcing myself, but the thought died swiftly.

Such men might rob me, or kill me without second thought and their leader bore no sign of a troubled conscience.

After a short rest they prepared to move on.

“If we meet any other survivors,” the leader declared, “we take what we need, provisions, horses, whatever serves.”

So much for my passing hope of revealing myself; I remained hidden.

When at last their voices had faded and only the patter of the rain remained, I rose from behind the embankment and stepped back onto the road.

There, half-sunk in the wet earth, lay a small leather purse whose loosened drawstring revealed the glint of silver within.

Reichsthaler. ⁴

A valuable purse indeed.

“Not bad,” I murmured, lifting it and testing its weight.

Perhaps the horrors of the night had stripped me of scruple; survival alone now guided my hand.

Yet my greedy thoughts were punished at once.

“Ho! There, someone’s taken your purse, Carlos!”

I flinched.

Of course the leader would soon note its loss.

Now he pointed straight at me.

“After him! Go!”

The Landsknechts advanced.

No time for thought.

I thrust the purse into my coat and fled toward the trees.

“The bastard’s running! After him!”

I did not look back, yet I heard them gaining.

Upon reaching the forest, I risked a brief glance over my shoulder: only three pursued me; the rest had stayed behind with the supplies.

“Stop, man! You’ll not escape us!” one shouted, close upon my heels.

I turned, drew my pistol, and fired.

The shot struck him full in the chest, and he fell with a cry.

Thrusting the pistol into my belt, I ran on.

Still the pursuit thundered behind me.

The trees thinned suddenly, giving way to a sheer rock face, a dead end.

Breath ragged, I followed its line in desperate search of an escape, drawing my rapier as I ran.

Then I saw it: a cave mouth, half-hidden in shadow.

I slipped inside and hurried ever deeper as their voices echoed at my back.

“He must be here somewhere!”

Further and further I fled into the darkness.

The cave stretched far longer than I had expected, and I sought the deepest pocket of shadow I could find.

The light at the entrance dimmed behind me.

I turned.

Something struck my head.

And the world vanished.

Glossary

¹) Caraway water was made from caraway seeds, used to aid digestion, relieve stomach cramps, and treat bloating or colic.

²) Lini semen (linseed/flaxseed) were used medicinally as a gentle laxative, to soothe inflammation, and in poultices for treating wounds or irritated skin.

³) The Eighty Years' War or Dutch Revolt (1566/1568–1648) was a long-term conflict in the Netherlands between various rebel factions and the Spanish Habsburg government. After a ceasefire was signed (09.04.1609), many soldiers formerly in Spanish service enlisted in other European armies and continued fighting in the conflicts unfolding in Central Europe.

⁴) The Reichsthaler was a standard silver coin introduced by the Holy Roman Empire in 1566 for use in all German states and containing 25–26 grams of fine silver.