DEINE MUTTER DIE HUR
Královec looked at the banner for a long while, long and unwaveringly, as though hoping that the letters would form themselves into something different. Finally, he turned around and met Reynevan’s eyes.
“Kamieniec, you said? The Cistercian monastery? The wealthy Cistercian monastery. Was that it?”
“Aye, it was.”
“Well then…” Královec looked at Kłodzko once again and sighed. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Et sic Orphani, the quill scratched on the parchment, a Cladzco feria II pasce recesserunt.
The chronicler made a full stop, grunted and straightened his aching back.
Writing chronicles was hard work.
Chapter Twenty
In which participants, eyewitnesses and chroniclers recall certain events from the period directly preceding Easter, 1428. And again, no one knew who to believe.
“My name, Holy Tribunal, is Brother Zephyrin, from the monastery of the Cistercian Order in Kamieniec. Please forgive my confusion, Reverend Fathers, but it is the first time I am come before the Office… Though only to deposit a testimonium, but still…
“Yes, sir, indeed, I shall get to the point. Which is what happened in the monastery on that tragic day of Holy Tuesday, Anno Domini 1428. And which I saw with my own eyes. And shall testify thereto under oath, as God is my—Beg pardon? To the point? Bene, Bene. Right away.
“Some of the brethren of the monastery had already fled by the Saturday before the Sunday during the fast, when Judica me Deus is sung, when the heretics were burning Otmuchów, Paczków and Pomianów. During the night, we saw fires covering half the sky and at dawn the sun barely broke through the smoke. At that time, as I said, some of the fratres had lost heart and fled, taking only what they could gather up in their hands. The abbot fulminated, calling them cowards, threatening them with divine punishment—ha, had I known what was awaiting him, I’d have fled first. And I, too—I shan’t lie to the Holy Tribunal—would also have fled, only I had nowhere to go. I am a Lombard from the town of Tortona, and I came to Silesia from Altenzelle, first to Lubiąż, and then from the monastery in Lubiąż wending to Kamieniec. Eh? I should keep to the subject? Bene, Bene, I shall. I’ll tell you how it was.
“Soon post dominicam Judica quadragesimalem I hear from the refugees: the heretics are gone, they headed for Grodków. The relief! I hasten to the church, lie spreadeagled on the floor in front of the altar, gratias tibi Domine, thank You, O Great Lord. And, once again, cries, yelling: why, fresh followers of that Satan Huss, called the Orphans, are coming from Kłodzko. They burned down that hapless town Bardo a second time. At first, hope sprang—perhaps they’ll pass us by? Perhaps they’ll choose Frankenstein? Take the Wrocław road, perhaps they won’t think to turn towards Kamieniec. Thus, to the church, to pray in that intention, Sancta Maria, Mater Christi, Sancta Virgo virginum, libera nos a malo, sancte Stanislaus, sancte Andrea, orate pro nobis… But our prayers availed nothing, it was clear our Lord wanted us to taste—like Job… Ah, yes, indeed. Keep to the subject.
“Thus, in brief: the crux is that the Devil’s hordes fell on the monastery on Holy Tuesday itself. They attacked suddenly, like a bolt from the blue; they climbed the walls, beat down the gate and before you could say peccatores te rogamus the entire horde was inside. And set to killing… What horror! Sanctus Deus, sanctus fortis, sanctus immortalis, miserere nobis… They stuck Brother Adalbert with a spear, Brother Pius fell from sword cuts, as did Saint Dionysius… Brother Mateusz was downed with a crossbow, and many others graviter vulneratis… And the Hussites, may God punish them, began to drive cattle from the cowshed, piglets from the sty, lambs… They took them all, to the last beast… Ugh, scoundrels, not only were they haeretici, but also latrones et fures! From the church they seized vessels, reliquaries, copes, chasubles, a great silver cross, votive offerings, candlesticks… They left nothing. They drove those of us who were left alive up against the courtyard wall. The leader of that pack, an ugly fellow, no doubt a heretic, they called him Kralowicz, with another called Kolda, I believe. They called forth peasants. For may you know, Holy Tribunal, that local peasants—damned heathens, turncoats—were marching with those Hussite Czechs. The heretic Kralowicz orders them, go on, show us which of these monks oppressed the people and we’ll try them here and now. And he would punish the bloodsuckers—that’s what he called us. And those churlish Judases at once pointed out Brother Maternus: he ground us down. Indeed,’twas true that Frater Maternus could be stern with the peasants, he was wont to say rustica gens optima flens et pessima ridens. And for that they hauled him out and beat him to death with flails, the scoundrels. Then Celerarius Scholer was killed, the peasants pointed him out because he manhandled wenches, and at times boys, too… After him, Custos Wencel, Brother Idzi, Brother Laurenty… They screamed, moaned, begged, blood spurted, we on our knees, weeping, ab ira tua, ab odio et omni mola voluntate libera nos, Domine…
“What happened to the father abbot, you ask? I shall tell you. The Hussites were making ready to go when a young lordling hurried up, blond-haired, personable, but with an evil eye, mouth foully twisted. They called him ‘Renewan.’ Not at all, Reverend Father, I’m not in error, I heard clearly: Renewan. I can swear on the cross… Then that Renewan seized Father Abbot by the habit. This here is Mikołaj Kappitz, Abbot of Kamieniec, he cried, the cruellest oppressor, a knave, an informer and a… erm, forgive me… cur of the Inquisition. And he bent over to the abbot and said, teeth grinding, Do you recall Adèle, you whoreson? Whom you accused of witchcraft in Ziębice for a hundred ducats? And sent to her death? You’ll pay for it now. Recall Adèle as you plummet to Hell, despicable priest. Thus he spoke before hauling the abbot into the courtyard. I heard correctly. Every word. I can swear on the cross…
“Keeping to the point: they beat Abbot Kappitz to death. They beat him with clubs and axes… Now, that Renewan, he just stood and watched.
“And that is everything that happened, Holy Tribunal, on that Holy Tuesday, Anno Domini 1428. I have spoken the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. The heretics burned down our church and abbey. They set fire to the barns, the mill, the bakery and the brewery, then went away, burning down our monastery village, Radkowice, on the way. But, on leaving, they stripped of our habits those of us who survived. At that time, we didn’t understand why they did so. It only became apparent later. When the brigands attacked Frankenstein…”
“Who are you?” yelled the guard at the Kłodzko Gate. Alongside him, several other men with cocked crossbows leaned out from the battlements. “The gates are locked! We aren’t letting anyone into the town!”
“We are from Kamieniec!” crowed Rzehors from beneath his hood. “Cistercians! We fled from the slaughter through the woods! The monastery is afire! Open the gate, good fellow!”
“Not a chance! It is forbidden! Understand, monk? Orders!”
“Let us in, by God,” Reynevan pleaded. “Brothers in Christ! The heretics are hot on our heels! Don’t leave us to our doom! Do you want our blood on your consciences? Open up!”