I had the youth for a Muscovite, since he was evidently no Turk. I raised a comradely tankard to him but he avoided my eye. The landlord whispered that he was well-behaved enough, but spoke poor German and seemed suspicious of even the friendliest action. He had been there since the day before and was apparently waiting for some soldier-priest who had agreed to meet him at the inn. The solider-priest, said the landlord, had some sort of Latin name which the youth had misheard or else could not pronounce property. It was a tittle like Josephus Kreutzerling, he said. He seemed to hope that I might recognise it, but I shook my head. I had a wariness and dislike for those soldier-priests who, in my view, were capable of worse depredations, fouler cruelties, than almost anyone else I had ever encountered.
Having discovered that I could reach Teufenberg by nightfall, I decided to be on my way, and was just rising when the doors of the taproom opened and in came a tall, thin individual with hard grey eyes in a cadaverous face, a black wide-brimmed hat upon his head, collar and cuffs of plain linen, coat and breeches of black wool, black buckled shoes and gaiters which, as he sat down upon a stool, he proceeded to remove, revealing white stockings. He had a plain, straight blade at his side and he wore gauntlets, carrying one in his left hand. The only fancy thing he wore was a purple plume in his hat, and even this gave the impression that he was in mourning for someone.
He looked first at me and then at the landlord. Herr Hippel stood up.
"Can I be of service, Your Honour?"
"Some wine and a jug of water," said the newcomer. He turned his head and looked back at the young Muscovite who had grown more alert. "You are Gregory Sedenko."
"I am Grigory Petrovitch Sedenko," said the youth in his strange, rumbling accent, stressing vowels and consonants in a way which made me certain of his origin. He stood up "Who knows me?"
"I am he who promised to meet you here."
I had, as I thought, recognised the face and manner of a soldier-priest. The man was typical of his kind; all human feeling had been turned into pride and cruelty in the name of his Crusade. "I am Johannes Klosterheim, Knight of Christ."
The young Muscovite crossed himself dutifully, but looked with boldness into the austere face of the fighting monk. "You have a commission for me, Brother Johannes, in Teufenberg."
"I have. I know the house. I have all the evidence. The case has been judged. It is left for you to execute it."
The boy frowned. "You are certain?"
"There is no question."
I wondered if I was listening to a witch-hunter. But if Klosterheim were an ordinary witch-finder, he would not be here at this time, talking to the youth. Witch-finders travelled with an entourage, with all the paraphernalia of their calling. If they did not travel, they stayed in one town or one area. Few of them were soldiers.
Gregory Sedenko reached for his scabbarded sabre and made to tuck it into his belt, but Klosterheim raised his naked hand and shook his head. "Not yet. There is time."
The landlord and myself listened in silence, for it seemed evident that Klosterheim had commissioned the boy to do murder, albeit murder in God's name. Both of us were uncomfortable in the presence of the pair. The landlord wished to leave. My instinct was to take the boy aside and warn him not to involve himself in whatever disgusting venture the soldier-priest must surely be initiating. But I had made a virtue of silence and inactivity in recent years. It did not do to speak one's mind in those days.
The boy sat down again. "I would rather have it done," he said, "as soon as possible."
"There are things I must tell you in private," said Klosterheim. "This is no ordinary work."
At this Sedenko laughed. "Ordinary enough in Kieff," he said. "It is how we spend our winters."
Klosterheim disapproved of his levity, even of his enthusiasm. "We must pray together first," he said.
"And pay?" said the youth.
"Prayer first, pay second," replied the soldier-priest. He looked at us as if to warn us not to interfere and preferably not to listen. The landlord went from the room, leaving only me as witness to what took place between the strange pair.
I decided to speak:
"I have not heard of the Knights of Christ, brother," said I. "Is that an order from these parts?"
"It is not an order, as such, at all," said Klosterheim. "It is a society."
"Forgive me. I am not entirely conversant with Church tore."
"Then you should make it your task to become conversant, sir," he said. His grey eyes were angry. "And you should consider your manners, also. You should think of making their improvement another goal."
"I'm much obliged for the advice, brother," I said. "I shall consider it."
"Best do so, sir."
Against my saner judgement I remained where I was, even though the older man wished me to leave. Eventually he rose and went to sit beside Sedenko, speaking in a voice too low for me to overhear. I continued to drink my beer, however, and to give them my attention. The youth was undisturbed, but the soldier-priest remained uncomfortable, which, out of sheer devilment, I wished him to be.
At last, with a curse ill-befitting a celibate man of God, he got up from the bench and drew the youth with him to the door. They went outside into the yard.
I had amused myself long enough. I drained my tankard, shouted for the landlord, paid him and asked that my horse be fetched for me.
In a little while I peered through the window to see that the ostler had returned with my steed. I donned my helmet, folded my cloak under my arm and opened the door.
Klosterheim and the Muscovite were deep in conversation on the far side of the yard. As I emerged, Klosterheim turned his back on me.
The sun was shining strong and hot as I mounted. I cried: "Farewell, brother. Farewell, Heir Sedenko." And I urged the beast out of the courtyard toward the open road.
The sun had gone down by the time I sighted, in the twilit mist, the spires and rooftops of Teufenberg. It was a pleasant enough little town with a population that was only reasonably suspicious of a man like myself, on a good horse and in armour, and I had hardly any difficulty finding a hostelry with room for me and my horse. Again, to relieve my host's perturbation, I told the story of being an envoy commissioned to try to bring peace to the warring factions and, naturally enough, was given a much-improved welcome.
In the morning I was directed onto the road for Schweinfurt and wished Godspeed in my mission by the landlord, his wife, his son-in-law and his three daughters. I had almost begun to believe that I was the hero I presented myself as being!
On the outskirts of the town I passed a house which had a crowd surrounding it. Men, women and children stood packed together, watching wide-eyed as a group of people in black began to emerge from the house. The women were wailing and the boys and girls were pale and stunned. They were carrying three corpses from the house.
I wondered if this had anything to do with the pair I had encountered on the previous day.
I asked one fat townsman what had happened.
"It's the Jews," he said. "All the men were struck down in the night by the Sword of God. It is His vengeance upon them for their crimes."
I was disgusted. Their fate was familiar enough, but I had not expected to witness such an event in the pleasant town of Teufenberg.
I did not wait to hear the catalogue of crimes, for it would be the same wretched list one heard from the Baltic to the Black Sea.
Grimly, I spurred my horse and was more than glad when I reached the highway. The air seemed purer. I galloped a few miles until Teufenberg was completely out of sight, then I let my horse walk for a while.