by Mike Riffe
in Issue 74, March 2018
“Child, bring me a cool drink.”
“Yes, Papa.” Ilsa replied. She disappeared and reappeared with a cup of water.
Ilsa’s father, Rupert, drank the cool water, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and sat the cup on the scarred wooden table. His day in the field was long. Sweat stained his drab shirt and dotted his brow.
“Thanks, Ilsa.” He said. Rupert admired his daughter for a moment. Ilsa’s flaxen hair and fair skin fooled the unknowing eye. She appeared delicate but her upbringing on the farm had toughened her. Grace and a good-natured continence hid a steeled reserve.
Rupert raised her as best he could when Ilsa’s mother died when she was an infant. It was a hard life on the farm but Ilsa grew strong and beautiful.
“Papa, you should rest. You look tired.”
Rupert shook his head, “The harvest moon is near. There is a growing chilled dampness in the air at night. The days are getting shorter and I have work to do in the field.” Rupert rose from the chair and walked out the door. Ilsa followed him and spent the rest of the evening with her father helping him.
A short evening meal of lamb and root vegetables ended and Ilsa joined her father in front of the farmhouse in the cool evening air.
“Papa, tell me the story of Vreni.”
“You don’t want to hear that story again, do you? It’s sad.”
“I want to be able to tell it properly to the younger kids at the harvest festival. Please?”
Rupert looked at his flaxen-haired daughter and cleared his throat. “It begins like this…”
A beautiful lady with a fair complexion and flaxen hair, much like you, lived in Berwarstein Castle. Her husband, a fierce but much-loved Lord, was away fighting for their King. Vreni was left with their infant daughter to look after the castle. One day a villager burst into the castle and ran to Vreni. He told her of a mysterious man leading several other unruly men on the Weisen Road, heading in the direction of Berwarstein. The mysterious man was a head taller than any man they had seen before. Heavily muscled with wild black hair and beard, he wore a wolf’s pelt as a coat. The pelt was coal-black and shiny. The men were pillaging the villages along the road and asking villagers before they killed them if they knew of a castle that a flaxen-haired Lady was left to defend in the absence of her husband.
A cold chill ran down Vreni’s spine. Most of the knights were with her husband. The few knights left along with the villagers and farmers were the only ones left to defend the castle.
Berwarstein Castle was perched on a cliff that arose in a hidden valley. It was formidable under siege, but like other cliff castles, could not hold out indefinitely as the food ran out.
Vreni called for her aids and told them to ride out to the countryside and gather all they could find and bring them to the castle. Vreni reasoned their best hope was to outlast the siege until her husband and knights returned. The farmers arrived with all the food and animals they could bring. The castle entrance was sealed.
Within a day the Black Knight and his Wild Riders appeared. They surrounded the cliff castle and called to the occupants to surrender and be granted a swift and merciful death. None surrendered. As the days passed, the Black Knight and his Wild Riders continued the siege.
Days turned to weeks and the food in the castle began to dwindle. Vreni despaired. Where was her husband? He was long overdue. They cut back on the rations and ate as little as possible in order to preserve their remaining stores. They grew tired and gaunt.
One night a man snuck to the entrance. He was a knight that had gone to war with Vreni’s husband. The occupants of the castle managed to let him in the castle without the Black Knight and Wild Riders finding out. The knight bore unfortunate news. Vreni’s husband was killed in war along with the other knights. No relief was forthcoming.
Vreni cried out and held her infant daughter tightly. Just as she cried, a thunderstorm formed. The wind rose and began to fall. Thunder rolled across the valley and lightening lit the sky. The Black Knight and Wild Riders seemed energized by the violent thunderstorm.
A flash of lightening and deafening crack of thunder caused all to duck. Lightening had struck the wooden roof of the tallest tower of the castle. In seconds, the entire roof of the castle was in flames. The farmers panicked and began to run out of the castle to escape the flames. They were cut down by the Wild Riders. Vreni saw this from the highest balcony of the tower. Vreni’s doom was upon her. She resolved that she or her child would not be taken by the Wild Riders. She called for the knight her bore the news of her husband’s death. As the timbers from the castle roof began to crash to the floor, she told the knight to climb down the side of the castle with a rope and save himself in order to avenge the deaths of all who fell. Then, with a cry, leaped from the tower into the burning castle below. She perished immediately.
The Black Knight, upon seeing Vreni’s sacrifice, gathered his Wild Riders and proclaimed himself Lord of Berwarstein Castle. The next day, the Black Knight surveyed the smoldering ruin of the castle and sent his Wild Riders out into the countryside to pillage materials to rebuild the castle.
The dead were left for the ravens to pick the flesh from their bones. The Wild Riders then used the bones to rebuild the drawbridge. They planted a moat of thorns around the castle. On evenings when storms rolled up on the surrounding countryside, the Black Knight and his Wild Riders would pillage all they found. They are still there today. One must take care on stormy evenings that one doesn’t become the quarry of the Wild Riders.
Ilsa scrunched closer to Rupert. “Have you seen Berwarstein Castle?”
“Yes, child, I have. The bone drawbridge and moat of thorns is still there. Grapes have been planted around the castle. They call it the Devil’s vineyard for the wine it yields is said to taste of burning sulphur and cause wild ravings.”
“What happened to Vreni’s daughter?”
Rupert took a deep breath and hesitated a moment. “She was never heard from again. Most believed Vreni was still holding her daughter when she fell and she died with her mother. No one knows for sure. It is late, Ilsa, we should sleep. Tomorrow will bring much work.”
They went inside and lie on their mats. Ilsa did not sleep for a long time.
The next morning was so bright and beautiful that Ilsa did her chores without much thought of the Black Knight and his Wild Riders. She helped her father tend the animals and harvest crops. Summer had ended and the long dark of winter approached. The days grew shorter. Soon, most of the crops were put up and the harvest festival was upon them. The village of Dahn was very small. Only a few hundred people lived within a day’s ride of the village. The harvest festival attracted most of the families in the area. What a time it was! The long, hard work of spring, summer, and autumn was over. Their work yielded much food and drink. There were games, music, and dancing. There were contests of all sorts, including a story-telling contest. Ilsa wanted to tell the scariest story so she began the story of the Black Knight and his Wild Riders, just as her father told her the story. A few of the farmers had seen Berwarstein Castle with its bone drawbridge, thorny moat, and Devil’s vineyard. Parents told their children to behave or the Black Knight would come and take them away.
When she finished, she won third place for the scariest story. Though she acted disappointed, Rupert knew she was pleased. The festival ended with a large feast. Everyone returned to their farms light in heart if not a little heavier in the belly.
One man left the festival without a light heart. In fact, a man who had killed as much as he had probably didn’t have a heart. If he did, it was as black as ink. Johan was a Wild Rider who had found the festival by accident. He joined in, never being one to turn down a feast. When Ilsa told her story, he eyed her with growing unease. With her flaxen hair and fair complexion, Ilsa looked like the Lady of Berwarstein. Johan moved around as she told her story, eying her from different angles until he was convinced Ilsa was the Lady of Berwarstein. When she finished her story, Johan clapped the loudest. After all, he was part of the story, though he was the only one there that knew it. When the festival ended, Johan mounted his horse and rode all night and into the next day toward Berwarstein. When he rode across the bone drawbridge he requested an audience with the Black Knight.
“Lord, I have ridden all night and morning from Dahn. They had a harvest festival. One of the young girls told the story of how we conquered the Lady of Berwarstein and took the castle.”
“And why should this concern me?”
“My Lord, the young girl looks exactly like the Lady of Berwarstein. She is flaxen-haired with fair skin. It is as if the Lady of Berwarstein has been reborn.”
“Do you think she has been reborn?”
“It would seem so, my Lord.”
“And what course of action should we take?”
“I know not, my Lord, but this seems a very bad omen.”
The Black Knight rose from his chair and looked out the window to the west in the direction of the village of Dahn. He could see the stone where the Lady of Berwarstein fell. The stone had darkened and no amount of scrubbing would lighten it. He turned and eyed Johan.
“Assemble the Wild Riders. We must take the girl and find a suitable way to kill her so she stays dead.” Johan ran through the door to carry out the Black Knight’s order.
The third day after the festival dawned as beautiful as the previous days. With the crops harvested, Rupert and Ilsa focused on tending their animals and making sure their farmhouse was ready for the approaching long, cold winter. Late in the morning, they heard a sheep bleating in the forest next to the farmhouse. Rupert and Ilsa went to their pen and counted their sheep. All were safely penned but the bleating from the forest continued.
Rupert turned to Ilsa, “It must belong to someone else. Help me catch it and we will take it home.”
They walked into the forest where they heard the sheep. They neither heard nor saw anything. Rupert shrugged at Ilsa, Suddenly, the forest exploded. Rupert and Ilsa found themselves surrounded by wild, unruly looking men, the largest wearing a wolf’s pelt. Rupert drew his dagger, the only weapon he carried, and moved between the Black Knight and Ilsa.
“Drop it.” The Black Knight commanded.
“What is this?” Rupert asked, having no intention of dropping his only weapon.
“Riders, relieve this man of his knife.”
The Riders started forward. Surrounded and outnumbered, Rupert had no chance. Realizing this, he yelled, “Hold!”
The Riders stopped and looked at him.
“If I yield, will you let my daughter free?”
The Black Knight smiled a smile that could only draw flies. “You will yield, whether by force or not, and you will not make demands or bargain with me.”
With that, the Wild Riders were on them. After a brief struggle, Rupert and Ilsa found themselves being held by several Riders, dagger at their feet in the leaves.
“Tie him to a tree.”
The Wild Riders wrestled Rupert to a tree and lashed him so he could not move. The Black Knight walked to Ilsa and took in her beauty. The flaxen hair and fair skin caused an uneasy feeling to grow in him. Without a word, he picked up the dagger and walked to Rupert and slit his throat. Ilsa screamed as her father’s body sagged against the ropes that bound him to the tree.
“Gag her and tie her to a horse.”
They rode the rest of the day and most of the night. The eastern sky lightened with the promise of daylight as they rode across the bone drawbridge. Ilsa was only vaguely aware of what was happening. She was taken to the torture room and tied to a rack, although they did not stretch her. She lay sobbing until the sky began to darken again. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see the Black Knight studying her.
“Why have you returned?” Ilsa just stared at him, filled with rage and terror. “Answer me or I will stretch you until you are taller than me. Why have you returned?”
“You killed my father.” She screamed.
“That is an answer to a question I did not ask. Answer my question.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is my castle now. I took it from you.”
Ilsa realized the Black Knight thought she was the Lady of Berwarstein. “I want nothing from you. I want my father back.”
The Black Knight bent over her. The foul smell of his hot breath caused her stomach to turn. “I will kill you again. Do me the courtesy of staying dead this time. Take her to the tower.”
The Wild Riders carried Ilsa to the same tower the Lady of Berwarstein had jumped from. She noticed the darkened sky was lit by flashes of distant lightening from an approaching storm. The Riders led her to a long iron pole and tied her to it. As the wind began to rise, the pole was lifted and set in a notch on the outer edge of a turret. Ilsa was tied ten feet up the pole overlooking the edge of the tower. Lightening illuminated the thorny moat one hundred fifty feet below her.
The Black Knight looked up at her and said, “You will die now and stay dead.” He walked with his men inside the upper tower and took vigil at a window.
Ilsa watched in terror as the storm approached. The wind caused her to rock on the iron pole. Dizzy, she forced herself to close her eyes and clear her head. The rising thunder grew louder. It began to rain, light at first but picking up with each passing moment. As her ropes began to get wet they stretched. Ilsa began working her hands and feet to stretch them more. As the worst of the storm hit, her hands and feet were loose enough to slide down the pole, but she didn’t. She waited. Ilsa knew if they saw her free of the pole the Riders would rush from inside the tower and capture her again. She knew her death would be slow and tortuous if that happened.
The storm built until a giant flash of lightening struck near the castle. As the Riders flinched from the flash of lightening and crack of thunder, Ilsa let her body slide down the pole and lifted it from the notch. Her ropes fell away and she went over the side of the turret, clinging to the rough stone on the outer wall of the castle.
When the Riders regained their vision, all they saw was the pole lying on the stone. They cried out. The Black Knight said, “Bring me her body.”
The Wild Riders left the tower, working their way down through the castle to the bone drawbridge, wagering who would be the one who found Ilsa’s body. Meanwhile, Ilsa inched down the rough outer wall of the castle in the rain, clinging with her finger tips and toes. She made it to an open window and slipped inside the dark castle. Seeing nobody, she snuck through the dark castle until she was at the entrance. The bone drawbridge was down. She ran across between flashes of lightening. The Riders were on the other side of the castle searching the thorny moat for her body.
Ilsa ran to the Devil’s vineyard and hid in the vines to rest for a moment. The vines were mostly untended. After a short rest she got up, ripping the sleeve of her blouse on a vine. She tore it loose and found a stable nearby. She led a horse to the edge of the wood and swung herself up.
As the Riders were searching the thorny moat, Ilsa galloped west on the Weisen Road.
After a few fruitless hours of searching the thorny moat, the Wild Riders spread out. Johan began searching the Devil’s vineyard. He found a bit of white cloth hanging from an unruly vine. He looked down and saw small footprints in the mud leading to the stable. He followed the footprints to the stable and saw that one of the stalls was empty. Johan ran back to the castle and bound up the stairs, breathless as he burst in the room in the tower where the Black Knight sat.
“Lord, she has escaped. I found this cloth in the vineyard and footprints leading to the stable. One of our horses is missing.”
The Black Knight rose from his chair and barked, “Gather the Riders. She has several hours on us.” The men assembled and mounted their horses. They were off in a flash of horsetail and mud.
The next afternoon Ilsa rode onto her farm. Bone-tired, she eyed her sleeping mat. She could not sleep now, though. Not while her father’s body was tied to a tree in the wood. She made a litter of small timber and tied it to the horse and climbed up. She sat atop the horse not wanting to see her father’s lifeless body but knowing she must bury him. She hesitated, but not for long. She nudged the horse forward with pressure from her knees. Several minutes later she found him, still sagging against his bonds, dark stain on his shirt. She was determined to bury him and knew crying would not change her task for the better, only making it harder. She couldn’t help it though.
“Oh Papa.” She sobbed. Her eyes were bloodshot and filled with salty tears. She cut him loose and wrapped him in a blanket and dragged him to onto the litter. She led the horse up the slope to a finger of a ridge that overlooked their farm. It was her father’s favorite spot. Sheer cliffs fell vertically on all three sides. The view of the farm was magnificent. Rupert and Ilsa had picnicked here often. She could think of no better place to bury him. She grabbed her shovel and began to dig.
When she finished, she leaned the shovel against a tree and dragged her father, still wrapped in a blanket, to the edge of the grave. She cried for several minutes more, kissed his cheek, and rolled him into the grave, remembering how he tried to bargain for her life with his. When she finished, she placed a stone upright at the head of the grave.
“I will come back, Papa, and place a stone with your name on it.”
She sat at the edge of the cliff and looked down on their farm. She didn’t know what to do now. She was numb. As she sat weariness began to creep over her. Suddenly, the horse snorted and stamped his front foot. Ilsa turned her head and looked down the ridge line in the direction the horse was facing. Ilsa thought a wild boar may be stirring on the ridge. They were plentiful here. The horse continued its nervous vigilance until Ilsa stood.
At that moment she saw what had spooked the horse. The Black Knight and his Wild Riders were walking up the ridge line toward her, already within fifty yards of her. She looked around and realized she was trapped. A hundred foot drop surrounded her on three sides and the Black Knight and the Wild Riders blocked the fourth side. Ilsa backed to the end of the ridge at the cliff’s edge.
“There is no escape now.” The Black Knight snarled. “Soon your throat will be slit just as your father’s. Your bones will reinforce our drawbridge.”
The men continued to advance. Ilsa turned away from them and looked down. There were no handholds or toeholds. She would not climb down to freedom this time. As panic took her, she heard a woman’s voice. “Jump.”
She looked around and saw no one but the advancing Riders, not twenty yards away.
“Jump.” She turned again to the cliff’s edge and hesitated.
“Jump, child.”
The Black Knight bellowed, “Bring her to her father’s grave. She will die there.” The Riders sprang forward closing the last few yards between them and Ilsa.
She gathered herself and jumped as far away from the cliff as she could. As her momentum faded, she hung in the air for a split second. As she began to fall, she caught a glimpse of a woman, flaxen-haired and fair complexion, in a wisp of fog that suddenly appeared in front of her. Her skirt then billowed and caught air. Ilsa began to softly float down the wall of the cliff. The Riders peered over the edge, not believing what they were seeing.
Ilsa’s feet lightly touched a large, flat rock at the base of the cliff. A thunderous clap sounded and the rock split into two pieces. A spring welled up and began to flow between the split pieces of rock. Ilsa was safe.
At the top of the cliff the Riders stared, not knowing what to do. Suddenly Ilsa’s horse reared and with a great snort began to kick the Riders over the edger of the cliff. The air was filled with screams and falling bodies until only the horse and the Black Knight were left on top of the cliff. The horse snorted and reared. The Black Knight backed to the edge of the cliff. The horse snorted again, bowed its head, and backed away. A wisp of fog swirled in front of the Black Knight. It came together into the image of a woman with flaxen hair and fair complexion; the Lady of Berwarstein.
“Your hands are stained with much innocent blood. It is time to reap your foul harvest.”
The image of the Lady of Berwarstein distorted and swirled. It blew at the chest of the Black Knight. He felt a strong shove and lost his balance. He tumbled head over heels down the side of the cliff and landed with a sickening thump.
It was over. Several neighboring farmers heard the cries from the top of the cliff and came to investigate. They witnessed Ilsa floating down with billowing skirt, the splitting of the rock and welling of the spring, and the raining down of the Black Knight and his Wild Riders. They tended to Ilsa that night. The next morning they walked with Ilsa back up the cliff with a stone bearing Rupert’s name and held her as she cried after placing the stone.
The farmers began referring to the cliff where Ilsa had jumped as the Maiden’s Leap and built a cistern around the spring. The Weisen Road ran next to the cistern and it became a waypoint for weary travelers. As Ilsa recovered her strength, the people of Dahn took her back to Berwarstein Castle. As they stood in front of the lowered bone drawbridge, they told her the castle was hers and they would serve her as they had the Lady of Berwarstein.
“But this place is grotesque.” She protested.
One of the farmers took Ilsa by the arm and led her to a rock where they sat. “Ilsa, Rupert never told you the entire history of the castle. He was the knight that returned to Berwarstein to deliver the news to Vreni that her husband was dead. It was he that Vreni summoned to the burning tower and then escaped climbing down the side of the castle on a rope with you tied to his chest, squalling. You mother died when you were an infant, she jumped from the burning tower in order to draw attention so Rupert could escape with you. Rupert ran from the burning castle as fast as he could so your cries would not alert the Wild Riders. Rupert swore to protect you and one day to avenge Vreni’s death. As the years passed, Rupert felt it was more important provide you with a safe and loving home than to go off and risk you losing another parent. He loved you as his own. Those of us that knew the story watched over you as best we could, hoping to return the castle to you someday”
Ilsa teared up and the villagers let her cry. Through the tears Ilsa asked, “But why did the Black Knight do these awful things?”
“The Black Knight and Wild Riders were a company that your father commanded. They were undisciplined and liked to drink. One day they found wine and instead of fighting during a battle, they drank until they passed out. They enemy gained much ground that day while they were passed out. You father was so upset that he ran them off, telling them if he saw them again he would have their heads. The Black Knight vowed revenge for your father’s justice. He knew Berwarstein was relatively unguarded. He did the awful things to take revenge on your father.”
Ilsa wiped her tears and looked at the castle. She never suspected Vreni was her mother or that Rupert wasn’t her real father, though she couldn’t have loved him more if he was her father.
“This castle is grotesque.” She said again.
They told her not to fret. They would rebuild the castle to its former glory. They tore down the bone drawbridge and built a new one of oak. They pulled up the thorny moat and ripped out the vines in the Devil’s vineyard, replacing them with proper vines. They tended the new vineyard until it yielded the best wine any of them had ever tasted. Ilsa took up residence in the rebuilt castle, making it a safe haven for the farmers who had been so kind when she needed it.
In the evenings, a flaxen–haired woman with fair complexion could be seen on the castle’s tallest tower. No one knew if it was Ilsa or Vreni, nor did they care. As far as they were concerned, they were both home.
©March 2018, Mike Riffe
Mike Riffe is a previously unpublished writer from Kentucky. He has an unpublished novel in a drawer and is working on a second. Mike is a veteran of the U.S. Army and now works for the Department of Veteran’s Affairs.