Siegfried pulled the covers over his head. "The cock hasn't crowed yet."
"Since when does the cock's crow make it through these walls?"
"Must I go? How long is the ride?"
More firmly: "Half a morning, and it's not a choice."
"That's so long," the boy complained, accepting that there would be no more going back to sleep. "And besides, I'm in between horses. When I ride the too-tall one, the saddle pinches my balls and the other makes me appear very short."
Sigismund laughed. "One of those things is clearly worse than the other."
"How important are the guests?" Siegfried asked, propping himself on one elbow.
"Important."
"Then I'll take the taller horse."
The two rose, one victorious, the other sullen. Sigismund called for an attendant to dress them. This was something Siegfried never got accustomed to and would never become accustomed to: a short, dowdy woman coming to put him in his clothes the way his mother once did when he was a baby. It seemed stupid. He could do it himself. Sigismund rubbed his eyes, used the time to grow acclimated to wakefulness. He made a comment to the attendant, this or that garment. "And the surcoat for the boy. It's his first outing as a page today." Pride seeped into Sigismund's voice, which both pleased and embarrassed Siegfried.
He'd never worn his lord's insignia before. It was only recently that he'd accrued enough skill and manners to be given household duties. He thought of Frederick then, pictured him beaming in his direction as father and son emerged from the staircase. A snide joke, probably. With a great Sigismund rebuttal. He smiled to himself, caught himself smiling and stopped. He turned to watch the attendant fetch the surcoat, wondering what exactly to feel upon such an occasion.
Time had passed, yet every so often Siegfried remained aware of his own progress, checking himself against who he once was. You wouldn't have slept so steadfastly a few years ago, dreaming of lancework and pretty girls. How miserable you would've been instead. Crying at matters that were ultimately in God's hands. He thought this with the admonishment older children have for their younger selves. No, he thought with the solemnity warranted by something like a first outing, I am different now.
Approvingly he looked at the wiry contours of his arms, graced already with a few well-earned scars. And I don't mind myself. Others don't mind me either. Like all young people told too often by adults that they are talented and brilliant, Siegfried scrambled to confirm such suspicions. Like many who have known hardship early in life, he was becoming a paradoxical kind of easygoing and generous. And, like all elusive, uncertain people wanting to protect themselves from the ungainly truths and peering eyes of the world, humor was proving to be his strongest shield.
A little thrill ran through him as the white silk slid down his body, as the attendant cinched it at the waist, that strange, angular symbol stitched in meticulously by a woman's steady hand. It was easy for him to feel that way. He liked some people in the household more than others, but none questioned any longer the boy's right to be among them. He had friends, excelled at his training. Page work gave him plenty to do. Frederick, whom he both feared and admired, favored him more than most other people. He was well taken care of, well fed. His father was proud of him and clearly loved him. Loved him, unbeknownst to Siegfried, as a form of deep atonement.
It made so little sense that the steward, the man his old family lived in terror of, the man on the storeroom floor, was the same man beside him now, who touched his son's hair tenderly and laughed too much at dinner. They couldn't be reconciled, which is why, come harvest, the boy continued to hide. But now, Siegfried thought that this Sigismund was the true one and the steward the false one, that duty rendered all weaker men a specific kind of cruel, and that his mother, too, must have seen both Sigismunds. Of course he thought that, for he had the fortune of being loved by both his parents. He needed some way to forgive both of them.
Father and son matched. "How splendid you look!" Exclaimed Sigismund, unexpectedly moved by the sight. But he didn't want to dwell too long in emotion. "Come now," he said, "Let us eat and go down to the stables. It will be a long day."
The goose to Siegfried's gosling, Sigismund led him to the great hall, and indeed, there was Frederick, already sitting at the head of the table, ankle slung casually over his knee, a piece of buttered bread hanging out of his mouth as he tied his shoe. The pair bowed. Frederick laughed, his laugh muffled into the bread, which he bit into so as to not drool on himself. The rest landed butter-side down on his plate. "Oh," he lamented, mouth full of food, "My mother would hate to see such manners." A page, Siegfried stood at attention beside his lord while Sigismund slumped over the table.
"Eat, child," said Frederick, dismissing him. A servant brought them breakfast. Faroald entered, already in his mail.
"Are you off somewhere different, then?" Asked Sigismund.
"Reconnaissance." The chamberlain pulled on his gloves. Feeling Siegfried's beseeching eyes on him (Siegfried still felt that the chamberlain hated him), he added irritably, "Good morning, Siegfried."
"The rest of my kin will be down soon and the presence of women ruins productive conversation," said Frederick. "Where is Ermenrich?"
"Stables already," Faroald answered. "Besides, we made the plan last night. A flank of five, Sigismund, Ermenrich, the pages on each side, a flank of five."
"This is a very important day for me," said Frederick, fingers knotted in black hair. "I need everything to be perfect."
"Why does Frederick need everything to be perfect?" Siegfried asked as they made their way down to the stables. "Is it not a mere birthday feast? Who is coming to visit? And isn't today the first day of haymaking?""Touch the ground and tell me."
The ground was wet.
"The men from the other Pettau estates are coming for a meeting."
"You mean from Königsberg, then?"
"Yes, Königsberg, but also many more."
This was news to Siegfried. "How many?"
"Four, by my reckoning." And so Sigismund told his son about the estates outside of Pettau and Königsberg. He told him of burned-out Stein (Sigismund was cutting his teeth at this very battle) and the smaller bergfrid near St. George's in the Lavanthal, from whence one of the castellans and a trainer of Sigismund, Hardwin, was coming today. He told Siegfried of Heggenberg, the Ehrnegg side's almost-completed castle to the west, and its neighbor the Pettau fortress Katzenstein near the Benedicting monastery, both run entirely by ministerials of Sigismund's own status. "Since these bondsmen have not yet gathered together since Frederick's father died, it is important that Frederick make a good first impression on them before he is knighted," said Sigismund to his son.
Ermenrich greeted the pair at the stable door, Walther at his side. But Walther, usually so merry and confident, had an awful look on his face, as though he were ill. Siegfried observed this verbally, but Walther deigned not to answer. For the whole outing he stayed like that, sullen and avoidant. His friend's concern, his father's admonishment, neither could right him.
"The messenger said around twenty men," Ermenrich said. He allowed the boys to listen before entreating them to polish the saddles and caparison the horses.
"As far as who to expect - Eberhard, castellan of Katzenstein. Hardwin, castellan at St. George's - he must be getting on in age, I reckon. Waltfrid, steward of Königsberg. Wulfinch, castellan-to-be at Heggenberg. They'll all be wearing Salzburg colors, not their own, so don't be alarmed."
As curious as Siegfried was, he set about his tasks. He acknowledged, scrubbing down swords and saddles, how it felt good to work again, to make his body hurt in service to an outcome. The squires - in reality, the older garrison sons, not exactly the noblest - armed their men. Everyone mounted. Siegfried climbed on the palfrey whose saunter was rough on him. They rode out of the town to great splendor, with those beginning the day stopping to look at them. Ermenrich appeared especially fearsome, massive longsword swinging from his hip. Sigismund's armor was so well-polished it shone yellow-red in the breaking light. They took the road in the opposite direction of Siegfried's old quarters, to his relief. Outside town, most of the world was still asleep, aside from those in the most distant of fields whose days began the moment the penumbra of dawn feathered the earth. It occurred to Siegfried then, a game he could play.
Just as none of these incoming men knew Frederick, none of them knew Siegfried either, about his origins or anything else. He could, in theory, pretend to be someone else entirely. A boy of higher status. But who would he be? He thought about it. Frederick came to mind. Yes, he would be like Frederick. But what was Frederick like? Very daring, very clever. A little menacing. What fun it would be to be like Frederick! He wondered if it were possible. The first task would be to sit up very straight, ride with a certain pride. Ball-chafing or not. After all, I am wearing the lord's surcoat. He smiled to himself. His teeth had settled in his mouth, and the final verdict was overlarge canines but a charming smile nonetheless. The curl of his lips gave a hint of smirk to all but the most solemn expressions. The wind flittered through the waves of his hair, a reprieve in the summer sun. Our Siegfried, despite being in such an awkward stage of life, promised a future handsomeness.
Out and out into the periphery they rode. Siegfried had never been so far. The group met the treeline, and around them swelled hills. Two of Ermenrich's men took off in front, slower than usual due to the knobby ground, littered with tree roots. Siegfried heard then the morning songs of many birds and wished he could understand what they were singing. Perhaps it was true, that they sang to God with such munificence, God rewarded them with beautiful feathers and the gift of flight. Light scattered through the leaves and dappled the skin of the horses. The two men came back with Faroald in tow, who reported nothing amiss. It perplexed Siegfried, how Faroald, who seemed so sickly and frail was always assigned the manliest of tasks.
"It's a shallow wood," said Sigismund, as though reading his son's mind. Indeed, they soon reached a clearing, and there they dismounted and ate some bread. Siegfried wobbled a bit at first when he walked. For some time they waited. Walther went back in the woods to pee. When he returned, he sat, crossed his arms over his knees, and buried his face in them. Ermenrich scowled. He grabbed his son by the cowl of his surcoat and forced his head up. But when Walther stared up at his father with an icy defiance, he received in exchange a smack on the head after which he buried that head once more.
"Are you alright?" asked Siegfried. Walter ignored him.
At the sight of dust off in the distance, everyone quickly remounted their horses. What a thrill it was to gallop at full speed towards those who would meet them on the horizon! Soon they emerged, all red, white, and gold in Salzburg colors, the flags of Pettau rippling behind in full complement. The men stopped. The visitors were dressed in full armor, and their faces were difficult to see. Thier pages, one each (as pages were notoriously slow travelers) were fully visible, and, upon glimpsing sight of them, Siegfried sat up in his proper way once more, pretending as though his nose had less of a hook to it.
Ermenrich, as marshal, had the right to approach first, which he did with outstretched arm.
"Gentlemen," he said, wiping the mail coif from his head in a sign of friendliness. "Welcome to our grand periphery." The men - of twenty, four of them important - introduced themselves according to custom. Siegfried didn't bother with the adults. Curiously, he sidled up to the four other pages, rode in stride alongside them as the party began its return towards Pettau. They, too, expressed curiosity towards him.
"Dear page of Pettau," said one, his hair brown and cut to his ears, his eyes rather horse-like in size and disposition, "You shan't believe what we are about to tell you." The three looked at one another with mirth in their eyes. Siegfried grew wary, remembered for the first time in a long time, the pigs blood. No, no. You're grown now, and more important than them. He rolled his shoulders further back, feigning easiness.
"I shan't?"
"No, you shan't," said another boy. This one was blonde, short, and had a front tooth missing.
"To tell you the truth," chimed in the third boy, whose dark hair hung to his chest like a woman's, "We haven't believed it either."
"I believe it," said the fourth boy, who had a terribly lonely face and a pallor that reminded Siegfried of Faroald.
"Well what is it?" Siegfried was becoming irritable.
"First you must tell us what you are called," demanded the long-haired boy.
"I am called Siegfried," said Siegfried proudly. "Son of Sigismund, steward of Pettau."
"Thank God!" All the boys cried in unison.
"Yes, thank God always..." murmured Siegfried. "But for what?"
"We, who have only on this journey met one another, are all called Dietrich," said the horse-eyed boy, who was presumably named Dietrich.
"I curse my father for his lack of originality," said the toothless Dietrich. "And their fathers as well. It has all become very confusing."
It took Siegfried all his might not to burst out laughing. Four Dietrichs! "Well, how are you dealing with the matter so far?"
"We have decided along with our masters to assign to each of us a name alongside Dietrich," explained the lonely looking boy. "I am Pale-Dietrich from Katzenstein. He is Brown-Dietrich from Heggenberg, and him Blonde-Dietrich from St. George's, and him Long-Dietrich from Königsberg, because he is the tallest and has the long hair."
"It gets to be quite a hassle," said Long-Dietrich, "As each man has known his Dietrich for quite some time. And yet when he calls out 'Dietrich,' four boys answer!"
"We are very pleased that you are called Siegfried and not Dietrich," said Blonde-Dietrich.
"If it is not impolite to ask, however," interjected Brown-Dietrich, "You speak a very interesting German. From whence do you come, Siegfried?"
"Why, from here," answered Siegfried, his eyes sparkling with a dash of Frederickian malice. "Those of us who grow up around so many Slavs often have peculiar speech. I trust that it does not bother my dear guests, for that would be a pity."
Pale-Dietrich looked away, outing himself as the weakest. "My stablemate meant no offense."
This response thrilled Siegfried, but he was wise not to show it. "Of course. And no offense was taken, Dietrich."
"What of your friend, Siegfried?" Inquired Long-Dietrich. He must have been slightly older, as his voice was beginning to sound like a rusty gate at certain pitches.
"That is Walther, the marshal's son. He's unwell today. A shame." Walther didn't even look up at the sound of his name. He kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him. Wondered Siegfried, What in the world could be wrong with him?
"Is his father Ermenrich? If so, I know his brother," said Pale-Dietrich.
This took Siegfried by surprise. Brother? Surely Dietrich must be mistaken.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. Gerlach, son of Ermenrich of Pettau. He is a fellow page of mine."
Now this was news! "I've not yet heard of such a person. What is he like? Our Walther here is quite brave and of a good nature, I must say, despite his condition. I assume the brother is similar?"
Pale-Dietrich shook his head and leaned towards Siegfried as to speak intimately. "Your words relieve me, Siegfried. In truth, when I heard that Gerlach had a brother, I must admit I stiffened a little in my shoes. God forgive me, but I haven't a single nice thing to say about him. Not a fellow you want to turn your back to. I shan't tell you more than that, as the Lord looks down on heresay."
A secret brother. A secret mean brother! Well if he was mean, then that explains why Walther didn't want to be associated with him. Perhaps it also answered the question of such sullenness. What a brother this Gerlach must be to snuff all the light from the eyes of a child like Walther, thought Siegfried, intrigued.
"I've been riding all morning," complained Blonde-Dietrich. "How long will it be?"
"We should return by mid-day," said Siegfried. This put everyone in such a bad mood, they fell silent for quite some time. Left to his own thoughts, Siegfried's were overtaken by a single one: I should have ridden the other horse.
