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I woke in the night, consciousness dawning only when a shadow loomed across the dark sky above. An owl. I sat up, straining to make out what I could in the sparse moonlight. The two hounds slumbered near the dead fire, and Hans's yellow overcoat gleamed like a beacon in the darkness. He appeared to sleep soundly. Good.
I rose slowly, stretching my weary legs.
"Planning to cut my throat in the middle of the night?"
I startled at Hans's voice, nearly losing my footing.
"I didn't know you were awake, my lord," I stammered.
"Your lord has been freezing his backside off for over an hour," Hans snorted.
"You're cold, sir?"
"Christ alive, Henry, my balls have turned to ice, so yes, I'm cold," Hans retorted, suppressing a yawn.
"Forgive me, sir. Are there no blankets?"
My mind had scarce considered such luxuries of late. Finding dry ground and safe harbor to rest my head was the most I dared ask for these past weeks. Pillows, blankets, cushions, and duvets – all seemed distant memories of another life.
"No, there aren't. Thanks to my own foolishness. You see, I was too angry last night to think about bringing them."
"Perhaps the wine at the tavern had something to do with it too," I ventured with a slight chuckle.
"That, and a certain young guard who forgot his place," the venom in his voice was plain, though not directed wholly at me. The smile lingered upon my lips.
I made my way to where he now sat upon a log. The night lay peaceful around us. Insects chirping their evening song, small creatures rustling through the underbrush, trees whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. It was nothing like the clanking armor and drunken shouts of a night in town.
"I begin to understand why you come here," I said, gazing upward where stars glittered like scattered pearls across the night sky.
He remained silent for a time, and I turned toward him. The moonlight carved his noble features in silver, making his proud cheekbones seem even more prominent. His eyes roamed the night sky as if searching for answers among the stars.
"Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.
The longing in his tone struck a chord within me, for I felt it too. Here we were far from the press of crowds, from duties and politics and bloodshed. Here we were just men, free and unfettered. My throat tightened at the thought. Suddenly, the prospect of returning to it all seemed unbearable.
I bit my lip and shook off such heavy thoughts.
"Wouldn't you get bored? Without all your wine and maidens?" I asked, breaking the mournful silence.
"Heh," Hans snorted, "The wine I'd miss, but I could do without female company."
"Really now? Not saving yourself for marriage, are you?" I raised my eyebrows.
"No, I love women! But maybe... not in the way I should."
"You certainly seek their company often enough, if I may say so."
"You may not, and you're wrong. That I seek their company doesn't mean I also bed them. Have you ever really talked to a woman, Henry? They're fascinating creatures beneath all their blushes and proper manners."
I had no idea what to say, so I settled for: "You want me to believe you just talk with them all night, not bed them?"
"Let's not discuss my bedchamber manners. I do need to get some sleep, and you should too. Hunting isn't all games and fun, lad," he informed me, though his tone had lost its edge.
"I don't expect it to be."
"Good," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Pardon my concern, sir, but you still don't have any blanket. Will you be able to sleep?" I asked, remembering his earlier complaints. My mind raced through possibilities to keep him warm. Bringing him back to Lord Hanush sneezing and coughing wouldn't reflect well on me.
"If you're so worried about my comfort, you can always lay next to me."
"If you insist, my lord," I got up and walked the two steps toward his shelter.
"Jesus Christ, Henry!" Hans exclaimed when I sat beside him, "That was a jest! Do you really think I'd share my bed with you when you smell like that?"
"I washed myself just yesterday, sir," I frowned.
"There's splashing yourself with water, and there's actual bathing. Bathing, Henry!"
"You do know it's not healthy, right?"
"But stinking isn't either. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to a pond. And for now," he gave me a pointed look, "go and start a fire."
I got up and made my way toward the fireplace. The movements were automatic, as natural as breathing. I'd learned how to start a fire before I could even walk.
"Why haven't you started the fire yourself, sir? Do you not know how?" I asked as the first flames began to lick the branches.
My teasing got no response. I looked over to Hans, who lay with his eyes closed. Was he truly asleep or merely pretending? I couldn't tell, not even with the firelight dancing over his fine features. I found myself smiling as I watched his face.
"Good night, my lord," I whispered and settled under my own shelter.
When I woke, Hans was already chewing a piece of dried meat and polishing his sword. Birds chirped overhead and sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting intricate patterns on the forest floor.
"The Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened!" Hans exclaimed, keeping his eyes on the sword.
"Good morning, my lord," I greeted him with a yawn.
"Good morning to you too. Grab something to eat, we're going to the pond." He sounded unexpectedly cheerful. I wouldn't have guessed him for a morning person, but he seemed quite lively.
"Is it really necessary? I'll probably get sweaty and filthy while hunting."
"At least you won't frighten away the rabbits with your smell," he wrinkled his nose and glanced my way.
"As you wish, sir," I conceded, making no effort to hide my lack of enthusiasm.
The pond Hans led me to was only a short walk away. Water bubbled around stones and fallen branches while sunlight danced across the surface. The middle seemed deep enough, and I could see small fish darting beneath the surface.
"We'll leave our clothes here on the—" he didn't finish. I couldn't help but burst out laughing as he landed in the water, splashing it everywhere. His foot had slipped on the dew-covered grass, and now he sat sprawled like a frog in the shallows.
"Is that how lords take their baths, sir?" I laughed.
"You peasant!" he barked, struggling to his feet, "Instead of helping your lord, you squeal like a pig!"
His indignation only made it more hilarious. My stomach hurt from laughing.
"Oh, my lord, do you need to be rescued? Like a fair maiden?"
"I'll have you know," he hissed, making his way from knee-deep waters to the shallows, "that I am not some damsel in distress!"
To prove his point, he climbed one of the large stones standing in the pond. Water dripped from his clothes and his face was red from both shame and anger. With the sun playing in his wet hair, he reminded me of a drunken preacher atop his pulpit.
"Should I too jump into the water fully clothed? Or do I, a simple peasant, have to undress?" I asked, blinking innocently.
"One more joke and I—"
Sir Hans seemed to have forgotten how slippery the stones were. Instead of gracefully stepping to another one, he wobbled, arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance and failed spectacularly. Another splash sent droplets glittering in the morning sun.
"My lord!" I cried, tears of laughter coming to my eyes.
"One word and I'll have you whipped, blacksmith's boy!" he threatened, eyes narrowed to slits.
I pressed my lips together to suppress the laugh building in my chest. I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to force a neutral expression. Hans's scowl told me I hadn't quite succeeded.
"Undress and bathe, you bastard," he hissed. "This is all your fault."
I bit back another pointed remark and began taking off my clothes. Hans managed to get to the shore, successfully this time, and started peeling off his wet garments as well.
When I was only ankles-deep in the water, a shiver ran through me. I was used to cold water, but this was something else – the stream must have come straight from the mountains.
"Aren't you cold?" I called out to Hans, who was still struggling with his soaked clothing.
"Suddenly interested in my well-being, are you?"
"You were cold last night, so after this... bath, you must be freezing," I suggested, wading a bit deeper.
"There should be some spare clothing in my saddlebag and..." his voice trailed off. I turned, worried he'd fallen again. But no splash came, and indeed, Hans still stood safely on the shore, half-naked and... watching me. His gaze seemed to trace every line of my body.
"Good God, Henry," he breathed out, but it wasn't his usual scolding tone. Something in his voice was almost vulnerable and... I couldn't quite name the other emotion.
"Um, sir?" I asked, uncertain what had rendered him so thoughtful.
He snapped back to awareness, hastily looking away. His cheeks had turned a deeper shade of red that had nothing to do with his earlier embarrassment.
"Get in the water, damn you. We haven't got all day!" he commanded, though his voice wavered slightly. I did as he ordered, wading out until the cold water swallowed me up to my shoulders.
"Can you swim?" I asked, searching for neutral conversation.
"Of course I can. Who do you take me for?"
His sharp answer came from much closer than I expected. I turned to find Hans already in the water. His descent from the shallows was careful, his lean yet muscular body moving slowly as he tested the terrain beneath his bare feet. There were curls of pale hair on his strong thighs and a trail of darker hair leading down from his navel to his... I looked away, then felt strange about looking away. I'd gone swimming with my friends in Skalitz countless times in summer, splashing and wrestling without a care. Those memories felt like a lifetime ago, but shame had never been part of them. Perhaps it was different because Hans was a nobleman, not carpenter's Hashek?
Yet something else stirred in me each time I glanced Hans's way. I tried to understand it, searching my mind for an explanation. I ducked under the surface to clear my head, but not even the cold silence of the underwater realm could quiet my thoughts.
After washing ourselves, we returned to camp where Hans found himself another embroidered yellow overcoat. I almost commented on how little variety his wardrobe had, but decided to hold my tongue. Hans had grown rather quiet after our bath, almost as if he was avoiding me.
I asked if he needed help changing his clothes, but he just scoffed. So I sat on a log and studied the dirt.
"What are you waiting for? Your lord requires you for the hunt!" he suddenly appeared in my view.
I jumped to my feet, a smirk playing on my lips. It seemed his shattered pride had mended itself along with the change of clothing.
"Really?" I cocked an eyebrow, "Such a renowned hunter needs help?"
"You wouldn't dare mock your betters, now would you?"
"Heaven forbid, Your Lordship!" I crossed myself dramatically.
A smirk curled his lips, but his eyes remained distant, as if his mind wandered elsewhere.
"If that's how you want it, peasant! We'll meet back here at noon – whoever has the most hares wins."
So we were to spend the day apart. It seemed a wall had built itself between us during our time at the pond – and somehow I suspected it had nothing to do with Hans embarrassing himself. He might be arrogant, but he knew when not to take himself too seriously. His tense shoulders told me there must be another reason why he didn't want to hunt together. A sting of sadness bit at me, but I still made a low bow.
"By all means, Sir Hans," I agreed to our little competition.
Hans gathered his bow and arrows and called the dogs to his side, then stepped into the woods and left me to explore and hunt on my own. I hesitated at first, but soon the bow became an extension of my arm. Shortly before noon, I already had seven skinned rabbits in my possession. One more crossed my path on the way back to camp.
Hans was already there when I arrived, looking as handsome as if he were about to attend a ball and charm daughters of noble lords. He was heir to an impressive fortune, so he was surely a wanted prospect. His good looks were just another benefit.
"Here I am," I announced my arrival.
"I can see that," he stated, frowning slightly.
"How did the hunt go for you? I did quite well. Look..." I passed him my bag full of rabbit meat.
He barely glanced inside before saying: "Not bad. Quite good, actually, for a common blacksmith's boy."
"Shouldn't there be some reward for the victor?" I pressed.
"Jesus, the insolence! A serf asking his lord for coin! But never let it be said I'm a pinch-purse. Here you go," he handed me a few Groschen. I thanked him and went to the fire pit to cook the freshly killed rabbits.
Hans wrinkled his nose at his first bite.
"Not very well seasoned, eh? Another thing you'd miss living here in the wild," I remarked, remembering our midnight conversation.
"I believe I would get used to it," was his quiet answer.
I couldn't see his expression as I was still tending to the other rabbit – didn't want it to turn to charcoal – but something in his voice was... peculiar.
"Would you? Because after years of exotic spices, the finest meats and ripest fruits, I bet you'd be back at the castle within days."
No answer.
I heard branches crack and when I turned, I saw his back heading for the horse.
"Where are you headed?" I called out.
"To hunt, that's why we're here, you mongrel," he retorted, mounting up. I hastily put out the fire and, with my mouth still full of rabbit meat, hurried after his lordship. I had trouble catching up since he'd decided to gallop – considerate fellow that he was. When I finally caught up, he was kneeling, examining the ground.
"A wallow. And it's freshly rooted. There'll be boar somewhere nearby," he commented, excitement creeping into his voice.
He shot me a glance. "Slow and quiet whatever you do, understand?"
I nodded, following him to the top of a nearby mound.
A lone boar strolled before us, completely unaware of our presence. Hans smiled and prepared an arrow.
"You want to take him down with an arrow?" I asked, eyebrows rising.
"Certainly. Why... why wouldn't I?" he hesitated. I had to swallow the urge to chuckle at his uncertain tone.
"You won't kill him like that. Boar is hunted with spears," I informed him, unable to keep a hint of condescension from my voice.
"Is that so?" he pursed his lips, "So now all of sudden you're a master huntsman, are you? Watch and learn!"
He gripped his bow again and stood up. The arrow hit the boar in the torso, and the animal screeched and fell to the ground.
"Ha! Did you see that? Damn, I'm good!" Hans exclaimed, laughing. The dogs barked.
"So," he turned to me, head held high. "Next time you try to tell me I can't kill a boar with an arrow, you can..."
The boar got up with a squeal and took off. I couldn't help but smirk.
"What are you standing here for?!" Hans shouted, sending the dogs after the animal, "Mount up! We're going to chase down that swine!"
I wanted to point out that I had no horse to mount, but he was already in the saddle, urging his mount after the boar. The air filled with his shouts and curses as he disappeared from view. For a moment, I considered going back to camp. There was no way he could kill a boar with arrows alone. On the other hand, the boar might very easily kill his young lordship. I didn't want that. Even with his strange mood swings and arrogant attitude, he was a good man. I think. He had a nice ass for sure. And Lord Hanush would hang me if anything happened to him.
Oh well.
I, a simple blacksmith's boy, was about to save one arrogant ass.
I started searching for his lordship, stopping every hundred paces to listen for his shouts. Birds chirped but Hans's voice never interrupted their songs. I had to swallow down the bad feeling growing in my gut. He wasn't dead, right? He would have fought the boar with everything he had, and the dogs would try to protect him. Of course. Even with this reassurance, my heart began to beat faster in panic. And then I heard it. A shout. But the voice was too deep to belong to Hans, and the word sounded alien.
I crouched to the ground and crept toward the shout, trying not to crush any branches beneath my feet. Through the foliage, I saw them. There were two of them, their pointed helmets making it clear who they were. Cumans. And there, with his overcoat torn and dirty, was Hans, bound to a pole.
My heart skipped a beat as rage filled my veins. That was my lord they had captured, the man I was here to protect and make fun of. No way were they laying another finger on him.
I slowly took out an arrow. One of them was out of range, but the other one – yes, I could shoot him.
I drew back the bow, feeling my muscles tense, eye on the target. I released the arrow which whisked through the air and... I missed. Kurva. The Cumans unsheathed their weapons and cautiously started approaching. There were good thirty paces between us and the bushes provided decent cover, but I'd lost the advantage of surprise. I took out another arrow. This time it found its target in one of the Cuman's leg. His cry of rage and pain cut through the air. The other one was running toward my cover, now revealed. I tossed away my bow, having only enough time to unsheathe my sword before the first blow came.
The Cuman was stronger. Our weapons clashed and it was obvious that for him, this was just an unpleasant occurrence he would deal with in a few seconds. For me, it took all of my senses and strength to keep up with his frantic blows. I blocked another stab, but the terrain under my feet shifted, making me lose my balance. For a brief moment, I saw the cold steel coming for me. Then it met my own blade, my hands moving in frantic self-preservation. I couldn't hold on much longer.
I took another step backward and wiggled on my left foot as if I was losing my balance again. The Cuman struck, aiming for my unprotected side, only to leave himself open. I buried my sword deep into his hip. He groaned and fell to the ground. I won.
I wanted to join him, collapse to the ground and rest, being too tired to move, when an arrow whistled past my head. I ducked and scrambled to the nearest bush. The other Cuman. I gripped my sword tighter, willing my hands to stop shaking from both exhaustion and fear.
"Come on, you swine!" I called out from my unsatisfying shelter, "Come and fight me like a man!"
Maybe if my words were manly enough, he would get scared and run. Another arrow pierced the air and buried itself in the soil next to my feet. I guess not.
I looked at the blood on my sword and darted out of my shelter. The Cuman stood in the open, relying on his armor to protect him. He fired another arrow at me and I felt it scratch my arm. I roared in rage and swung my sword at him. He dodged, taking out his own sleek weapon. My next blow landed on his arm but left no damage apart from a scratch on his armor.
He hurled at me, spitting out some Cuman gibberish.
I stepped aside. The distance between us grew, eyes locked. He was bleeding from the leg I'd shot, but my own wound hurt, making me flinch every time I swung my sword. We were both tired, exhausted.
I tightened my grip on the sword and struck. He blocked, our blades locking, before we sprang apart again. This was a test of stamina. Or blood capacity. The wound on my arm was deeper than I first thought, since a red stain was still spreading on my sleeve.
I struck again. Again. And again. He blocked every one of my moves and returned them with the same desperate need to end this.
"Come on, you cunt. Let's have this over with," I growled as we circled each other.
He swooped forward with unexpected speed. I dodged his sword but still felt the whisper of cold iron. The blade would have cracked my skull had I been even a second slower. That knowledge raised my hair. I launched forward with my body, knocking the Cuman down. He managed to raise his sword, but it was too late – I'd already stabbed him in the stomach. He shrieked like a wounded animal and for a second I felt remorse. However, one of us had to end in the mud and I preferred it wasn't me. Not today.
I found some bandages in one of his pockets and wrapped them around my arm. I should get the wound cleaned as quick as possible, but it had to wait. My lord needed me.
I half-walked, half-ran to the camp. As I got closer, I realized that the stains on Hans's clothing weren't mud – it was blood.
"Henry!" he gaped at me.
"Your Lordship," I tried to smile, but somehow it turned into a grimace. I took out my knife and cut the ropes that bound him. The skin on his wrists was red and irritated. I wanted to hold his hands and kiss it better. Then I realized that was a silly idea. A sinful idea.
"I'll have a bronze bust made of you, my friend!" Hans breathed out in relief, "Where have you been till now?"
"Oh, you know. I was picking berries, had a drink of wine, took a little nap..."
His face twitched and then he started laughing, holding his belly. "You lunatic! They almost had me roasting on a spit!"
And hearing his laughter, so rich and honest and relieved – that made the knot in my stomach dissolve. I found myself smiling even though the man before me was covered in bruises and cuts and might have been dead had I come a little while later.
"I'd say it looked more like they were about to take your maidenhood..." I joked.
"Now look here, dung-grubber!" his face turned stone cold, "Is that any way to speak to a nobleman?!"
"A nobleman with crushed balls, friend," I put emphasis on the last word.
"Now you're playing with fire, boy. I could have you in the pillory for that... and then with my own two hands I'd... crush your balls," he burst into laughter once more.
Sir Hans Capon's coping mechanism was jokes about testicles. I think that was the fear leaving him.
"That wound doesn't look good," I pointed to where his breeches were covered in drying blood.
His eyebrows rose.
"Have you seen yourself?" before I could answer he added, "But you're right. Those Cuman swine roughed me up a bit. And my damn horse has bolted. We'll have to get home somehow."
"We should get back to the camp," I said, feeling the fingers of my injured arm start to prickle.
"That we should. But first, help me to the pot the Cuman cunts have there."
I could do without food, but Hans seemed ravenous.
As we made our way back, I supported Hans who couldn't put weight on his right leg. The possibility of more bandits lurking in the shadows crossed my mind, but I held my tongue. The sky had turned crimson, and traveling back at night seemed even more dangerous than sleeping in the forest. The fading daylight made it difficult to properly examine Hans's wounds, but I did what I could. The sight of his fair skin marred by those animals sent fresh anger coursing through my veins. Yet my hands moved slowly, almost tenderly, as I cleaned each cut. Hans remained extraordinarily still while I worked, his breath catching slightly whenever my fingers brushed against uninjured skin.
By the time I finished, dizziness had set in – the blood loss taking its toll. But there was something else too. Hans's proximity filled my senses with his scent, an intoxicating mixture of fine chamomile and sweat.
"Now you," he said as I secured the bandage on his thigh.
"Sorry?"
"You're bleeding, Henry." Somehow, he made it sound like an accusation. I opened my mouth to apologize, then closed it.
"Yes, I am bleeding," I nodded, my head spinning. I sat heavily on the log.
"Take off your shirt. Are you hurt anywhere else?" Hans stood, putting all his weight on his good leg. It seemed almost comical as he hopped across the camp to retrieve more bandages, yet he maintained a strange grace even now, covered in dirt and blood.
"You are a sight," I murmured, the words escaping before I could catch them.
Color rose in Hans's cheeks. "That's the fever talking."
"I don't feel feverous, my- AU!" I yelped as he poured wine over my wound.
"Stay still," he commanded. We fell into silence as he tended to my injury. I needed stitches, but there wasn't enough light for that. We didn't dare start a fire.
"Good as new!" he proclaimed, tightening my bandage with careful fingers.
"Thank you, my Lord," I tried to flex my arm, but pain stopped me.
"Now, Henry, stop calling me your lord." His voice had grown soft, almost vulnerable.
"Excuse me, sir?" I blinked, uncertain.
"I owe you my life." His eyes met mine in the growing darkness.
"I guess you can say that."
"Glad you think so." He swallowed hard. "Now, if it's only the two of us – and God knows I hope it is – call me Hans." His face was grim, lips pressed into a serious line.
"Hans," I said his name carefully, tasting it on my tongue. I wanted to ask what he was thinking.
"Yes, I am Hans. You are Henry." His voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper.
A smile tugged at my lips. "Good thing you have me, Hans. Or else you'd be dishonored and deboned by now."
"Oh please," he scoffed, but there was no real heat in it. "If they had at least some sense they would have asked for ransom. And..."
"And?"
"And I have no honor. Have you not noticed?" The bitterness in his voice made my chest ache.
"I... what do you mean?"
"I've told you the first night. Hell, that was barely a day ago! Do you have the memory of a suslik?"
"Maybe I do," I admitted, though I was beginning to understand what lurked beneath his words. I looked at him properly then – saw how he stared at the ground, corners of his mouth turned down, shoulders heavy with some unseen weight.
"Sir-"
"Hans!" he barked, "For God's sake, let me be Hans for a second!"
Oh. Everything clicked into place. He was a Lord and I was a blacksmith. He was born to velvet and silver goblets, I to charcoal and wooden spoons. Neither of us had a choice. Hans might love the luxury, but his head always had to be held high, never allowed mischief or true freedom. Perhaps in these woods, he could finally let himself be seen. Not to be judged, not to be scorned. I remembered the things people said about him, about his lifestyle. They disliked him, considered him a spoiled brat. And he was exactly that – if you never bothered to look deeper. But now I saw only the raw honesty in his eyes, the yearning. He was lost, and somehow, so was I.
"Hans," I said, reaching for him without thinking, "I can't promise I will remember to address you properly at court, so promise you won't flog me?"
He looked up, moonlight catching in his eyes. "I wouldn't flog you, you idiot." His voice was rough. "I would execute you."
Heat pooled in my belly at his tone. "Would it be quick?"
"Would you like it quick?" He leaned closer, and I could feel his breath against my lips.
My cheeks burned. "No."
"Good," he whispered, and then his mouth was on mine.
The first touch was gentle, hesitant – barely more than a brush of lips. But then I gripped his shoulder and pulled him closer, and oh God in heaven, we were truly kissing. He tasted of blood and wine and chamomile, and something uniquely him that made my head spin. My fingers found their way into his hair, softer than I'd imagined, while his hands came up to cup my face. Neither of us could break away. Neither of us wanted to. Perhaps there had been Bianca once, perhaps there was God above us, but here in these woods no rules applied, and the past couldn't haunt us. There was only this – only us.
I, Henry, was kissing Hans. And for this moment, suspended between heartbeats, nothing else in all of God's creation mattered.