Ermentrude's Knot. Candi J.D. Holme
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! Look over here! I found some blood dried up on this pebble. It’s so small, you can hardly see it,” Saskia shouted.
“Hmph—let me see it! Do you think it’s human blood?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead. I looked more closely at the pebble, noticing a dark patch of earth. I knelt down and brushed the detritus away with my hand. There I saw a small coin . . . a Roman coin. I held it up and showed it to Saskia and the men. I looked up and saw a piece of cloth flapping on a tree branch. Saskia climbed to retrieve it. When she climbed down, she inspected it for any familiar texture. Was it linen? That was what Gerulf had worn in the summer—linen—woven from flax. She gave it to me to examine.
“I wonder if this was torn, as Gerulf fell out of the tree?” I guessed. I put it in my satchel and searched for any other evidence of ambush. We walked through the brush beneath the trees. I knelt down on my hands and knees, moving my hands over and under the low plants that lived there. Then, I felt it—a hard, rounded object that moved. I grabbed it and stood up. It was a broken spear. It had runes carved on the staff. I showed it to Saskia, and she bent over in horror. Her right hand raised up to her chest. She was in shock.
“Do you recognize this?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said quietly with tears streaming down her cheeks. “It was . . . Ans . . . selm’s.” Saskia dropped to the ground, wrapping her arms around herself, realizing that Anselm, or any one of the brothers was brutally murdered. I stooped down beside her and held her in my arms.
I said, softly, “You know—it could have been Anselm that fell out of the tree.” She rested her head on my shoulder and cried. She couldn’t speak a word. I took her hand and walked with her toward our horses. We rode back to the army of people with grief in our hearts. We feared we would never know what had really happened here. I feared I would never know love again, as it was with Gerulf.
As we descended the slope toward the train of Gepids and horses, I felt determined to locate the farm, where we might find more clues telling what had happened during our enslavement. My anger surged at finding some evidence of the brothers’ demise. Their murder seemed more real, now. It wasn’t something we thought might have happened. It had indeed occurred! I wanted the heads of those murderous heathens!
We told our companions of our findings under the ledge and in the trees. Wallia and his wife consoled us. Everyone vowed to continue the search for the villainous group of men who killed the brothers and kidnapped us—no matter how difficult it became. We felt reassured that we would find the murderers . . . and take our revenge!
Slowly, we departed the area, driving the wagons up into the highlands. It took many more hours of riding before we came to an overlook. Saskia, the scouts, and I scrutinized the small valley below, looking for any signs of life. In the distance,