Duchy of Austria
They could not be sure where they were, for they did not know how far they’d traveled after fleeing Friesach, and they did not know the date, either, for the days had blurred, one into the other, since their shipwreck on the Istrian coast. Drawing rein on the crest of a hill, they gazed down at the vista unfolding below them—deep woods on either side of the road, and in the distance, shimmering like a Holy Land mirage, the silvery sheen of a great river, curving around a partially walled town, its church spires wreathed in the smoke plumes that were spiraling up into the grey, wintry sky.
For a time, there was silence as they absorbed what they were seeing. Arne was the one to speak first, pointing toward the gleaming ribbon of water. “Is that the Danube?”
He sounded hesitant, afraid to let himself hope, for if it was the Danube, that meant the town on the river’s bank was Vienna, and they were just fifty miles from the border of Moravia and safety. It also meant they’d ridden nigh on a hundred fifty miles in the past three days and nights, a feat they’d have sworn beforehand to be impossible in the dead of winter on these mountain roads.
“It must be the Danube,” Morgan said, with all the conviction he could muster. “Look how wide it is.” Arne let out a jubilant shout, but the men were too exhausted to match his youthful exuberance, and they merely exchanged brief smiles. They decided to send Arne on ahead to confirm that this was indeed Vienna, and as soon as he and Morgan rode on, Richard and Guillain de l’Etang turned off into the woods.
They did not go far from the lightning-seared tree stump that was to serve as a landmark for Arne and Morgan, and once they felt sure they were not visible from the road, they dismounted and hitched their horses to a low-hanging branch. They settled back against the grey trunk of an ancient beech and prepared to wait. They didn’t talk, each man alone with his thoughts, and soon Richard and then Guillain dozed off. They were jolted to wakefulness some time later by the sound of approaching riders and scrambled to their feet, shocked that they could have fallen asleep like that. They were gripping the hilts of their swords, making ready to unsheathe them, when they saw Arne and Morgan coming through the trees.
Both were grinning, but Morgan deferred to Arne, letting the boy be the one to break the good news. “That is Vienna and we went into the town and found a street peddler and brought back food for you!” Sliding off his horse, he triumphantly brandished a hemp sack. “We bought hot cheese tarts and roasted chestnuts, though they are not hot anymore. Sir Morgan and I ate ours in the town, but then we were challenged by men from the castle and . . .”
Arne finally ran out of breath, and Morgan took over the narrative. “Well, we do not know they were from the castle, but they were on the lookout for strangers, so we will have to seek shelter elsewhere. Vienna is much smaller than I’d expected and we’d have no chance of escaping notice.”
That was disappointing to Richard and Guillain, for they’d hoped Vienna would be a good-sized city, large enough to provide cover. “What did you do when they confronted you?”
Morgan’s grin came back and Arne laughed outright. “Sir Morgan was so clever, sire! He answered them in Welsh and they just gaped at him, not understanding a word he said!”
“I was tempted to try out my fledgling Arabic on them,” Morgan said with a chuckle, “but decided Welsh was safer since some of them might have seen service in the Holy Land.” His smile disappearing then, he said, “They were looking for strangers who spoke French. They had no idea what I was speaking, but since it was not French, they let us go.”
It was alarming to find out that Vienna was under such close surveillance; they’d hoped the Austrians had not yet heard the rumors that the English king had been spotted in Carinthia. Richard’s shoulders slumped as he thought of the long ride ahead of them. “So why do you both look so cheerful?” he asked, more sharply than he intended. “Your news does not sound very encouraging to me.”
“Oh, but we found us a place to stay, sire! Since we have to avoid Vienna, we stopped in a village on the outskirts of the town, called . . .” Arne frowned, trying to recall the name, and Morgan supplied it.
“Ertpurch. It is not much to look at, but it has an alewife and she was agreeable to renting us a room. She’s a widow with two sons, and she leapt at the chance to earn a few coins. She says we can stay in her bedchamber and she will sleep out by the hearth with her lads.”