surround him with my arms and give him my heart immediately. I was hoping I would not find him dead or mangled by an unfortunate encounter with a bear. Images darted through my mind, until I was frantic. I was afraid we wouldn’t find him. My thoughts returned to the farm, where we were held against our will, as slaves. How would we find the men who took us . . . the men who killed or maimed our dear friends for no reason besides cruelty?
“Saskia . . . we are on our way! Can you believe it? We will finally meet our enemy. I hope we find Gerulf and discover what happened at our camp below the Carpathians. Do you think we can still find the place?” I asked.
“I really hope we can. I can’t stop thinking about it . . . I mean, Anselm was subdued and killed, but how? Perhaps Anselm is still alive. How do we know? Are you sure that it was Gerulf that fell out of the tree and was blinded? It could have been someone else. Anything could have happened to him. If we do find out that he survived, we must search for him—for your sake, Ermentrude.”
“Oh, Saskia, how could something so pleasant become something so unpleasant? I wonder if our whole life will be filled with wonderful events that become filled with horrible memories. I am afraid to love anyone else—for fear that if they are wounded or killed, I will ache inside, as with these memories of Gerulf,” I murmured.
“Ermentrude, I understand what you are telling me. I feel the same way. I was beginning to really like—no love Anselm. He was so witty and such a great hunter. I can see him now . . . in my mind, stepping quietly in the forest, holding his spear, aiming it at a deer, and his face, all lit up, at killing it. It seems that it happened yesterday. Then, I see visions of him on the ground, outside the tent, with his weapons stolen and his body cold with death. I cannot sleep at night,” she said with sadness in her words.
“I know . . . it has been difficult for me to sleep, too. I think of Gerulf, and I cry myself to sleep. I feel anger at what happened, and I want to find out who hurt him. In my thoughts, I practice ways to kill those evil men!” I said.
The sound of our horses trotting in unison with the others, made me feel as a warrior, going off to avenge the deaths of our friends. I looked over at the men who rode with us. There were so many who were young, but many who were more experienced in battle. Some had scars, such as my father’s. The women seemed wise in their years. I could see it in their faces. They probably had many experiences with war. I wondered how many men they saw die, or tended, who were wounded and crippled. How many would I see in my lifetime? I thought, as I lowered my head. After a half day of riding, our cavalry halted to rest in the scorching heat. They found shade under a group of birch trees.
The next day, Saskia and I led the way again, searching for the place where we had lost our peaceful existence and our innocence. We rode for many hours up the lower slopes of the mountain.
“Ermentrude, I feel we are close to where we were captured. I think we will find it soon. It might be another full day of riding. I am nervous about seeing this place again. Do you feel the same?” Saskia asked, dismounting her horse.
“Yes, of course I feel the same. I also want to discover what happened with the brothers, Anselm and Gerulf. We only know a small part of what might have happened. I can’t wait to get there. I wish we could fly . . . as a bird . . . to get there, don’t you?” I questioned. I dismounted and stood, gazing at the river. Birds were wading in the water with their scrawny legs.
“That would be wonderful! We would be able to fly there in one day or less, and fly to meet our parents the next day! We could search for Gerulf, too. Wouldn’t that be amazing?” Saskia exclaimed, tethering her horse to a tree by the river. “For now, I think I must bathe in this soothing water. Come join me upstream, where no eyes can watch us. I know a spot with large rocks, so we can wash our clothes,” she said. The wagons were still far behind us. They had stopped to make camp for the midday meal again.
We stretched our legs and roamed along the river bank. The river was slow and lazy downstream, near our village. Here, in the foothills of the Carpathians, the Wisla runs faster. People use it for transporting salt, flint, and amber, as well as other goods for trade. I had heard that the Wisla River connects to other rivers, such as the Viaduna (Oder, Odra) River. I thought about how I could spend my life traveling to distant places on a boat.
Saskia found the place with large rocks. We peeled off our filthy tunics immediately. Both of us walked into the cold water, deciding to jump in together to ease the shock of of it on our skin. It was wonderful to swim in the water for a while. After we soaked in the river, we scrubbed the filth off our tunics, pounding them on the rocks with the aid of a soap ball made from goat fat and wood ash. Once the clothes were fairly clean, we draped them on the rocks to dry. We each had a second tunic to wear, as our laundry dried on a sunny rock and tree branches.
“I wish we could find a boat to float in,” I said. “I could live on a boat all my life!”
“If you decide to live on a boat on this river you will be stuck in ice in the winter. Then, what will you do?” Saskia asked.
“I would have to slide the boat up and down the river—maybe let a horse pull it,” I explained.
“But the horse would slide break its legs! Wouldn’t it be better to train some wolves to pull your boat?” Saskia suggested.
“I guess that would be better. Maybe I can buy some dogs to pull my boat. At least, they would not bite me!” I replied, laughing; we returned to camp again.
Some of the men were already mounted on horses. The wagons were almost ready to leave. Saskia and I collected our horses and placed the damp clothes in a basket on our wagon. Maybe they would dry by nightfall. We rode with new hope of finding the place where we had once camped with Anselm and Gerulf.
In the morning, we woke up early, knowing that we were closer to the site of our capture and the demise of our friends. Eager to locate that place, we rode ahead with several scouts. It was important to find a good trail for the wagons, since the terrain was becoming more difficult as we climbed the foothills below the Carpathians. By the right bank of the Wisla, there were many cobblestones that would help the wagons move uphill faster. A narrow gap between the hills was ahead, but we thought the wagons would fit.
We rode further for several hours, and searched the meadow for any tree or rock that revealed the place we sought. A scout went back to the army of soldiers to tell them which direction to follow. Up ahead, we saw a familiar outcropped ledge of white rock that was prominent on the ridge above us. I remembered seeing it before camping the night before our kidnapping.
“Saskia! That ledge of rock . . . is it the one we camped near with the brothers?” I asked. I reined in my horse; Saskia halted beside me.
“I think so. Let’s ride around up there and see what we can find. Oh—and there’s the grove of trees where the brothers must have hunted for deer—only they were hunted by our captors . . . the heathens!”
We rode slowly, for we were afraid of missing evidence of what happened here. As we rode closer with the scouts, we searched the ground, the rocks, the trees, for anything unusual. I looked up in the tree branches, vaguely hoping that I would glimpse Gerulf still up there. I examined the place where I thought we had once erected our tents, but I found nothing. Saskia and the scouts walked around on the ridge, but no one found any remains of the struggle we experienced a month ago.
I continued to inspect the ground for blood splatters amongst the small stones and leaves, where I thought the brothers would have hunted. Saskia and the scouts joined me. At one point, I crawled on my hands and knees, looking for any small but significant sign of murder.
“Ermentrude!
