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He could barely breathe, letting out a wheeze more than anything else as he leaned over the railing and looked down. The screams were growing quieter. There was no breath to fuel them anymore. The bodies were too weak or too cold to give the pain a voice.
“In everything that pleases the soul, or supplies a want, or is loved,” he whispered, his throat painfully parched. “Remember to add this to the description; what is the nature of each thing, beginning from the smallest?” His lips moved frantically, trying to blurt out the words as if they could be of any help, as if they carried the solution. “If you love an earthen vessel,” – his eyes fell upon the two bodies in the distance, among all the others, the one lying on the ground and the other sprawled over the first, and his heart gave a painful pang, and his breath hitched once more– “say it is an earthen vessel which you love.” Because he loved them, he loved them more than anything. “For when it has been broken, you will not be disturbed.” And he stared still. He and what was left of his people, he, the least of them, the one who had caused this all, who should have ran into the chaos and fallen along with the people he loved, if not save them. What better, what more honorable, than to save one’s loved ones, or die trying? “If you are kissing your child or wife, say that it is a human being whom you are kissing, for when the wife or child dies,” – and his voice broke as he watched the boy flee from the village, running down the path leading towards the mill– “you will not be disturbed.”
And among the words that didn’t belong to him, there were others. Those of his voice, of his heart, of his mind. “This is it, this is it, this is it,” over and over, “this is what you have been preparing yourself all these years, this is it,” for he had always been scared of this, of losing them. He had created a rift and a distance, a sense of aloofness because they were not his, and he was not theirs.
“This is the test,” a wise voice, older and calmer than he was ever about to be, kept repeating. “This is what breaks you if you let it. This is it. Your fall.”
Could he be even more arrogant? Watching the life bleed out of the people he had worshipped, and thinking of his own fall? Thinking of not being disturbed? To be so scared of a feeling when his closest friend ran into the midst of an attack to save the woman they both loved? While he stood on the battlements and could barely breathe, while he was too scared to feel a stab in his heart, no matter how imaginary.
He gulped as he watched the soldiers rummaging through his village, his hands too cold in the summer heat, and his heart tripping over its own beat. “Never—” His breath hitched once more. “Never say about anything ‘I have lost it’. But say…” The bodies were still and gone, it could have been minutes or hours, were they cold already, were they gone, did they even– “But say ‘I have restored it’. Is your child dead?” He didn’t know. God, he didn’t know. “Is your wife dead?” Wife or not, she was. She was gone, and so was Martin. “She has been restored. Has your estate been taken from you?” It has. Was it even his in the first place? “Has not then this also been restored? ‘But he who has taken it from me is a bad man.’” Their eyes met over the bodies of his beloved, and it felt as if Markvart could tell, for he stood over them both as if saying, “Come down here. Avenge them. Come here and face me.” Radzig stayed where he was and watched from afar. His lips were still moving. “But what is it to you, by whose hands the giver demanded it back? So long as he may allow you, take care of it as a thing which belongs to another, as travelers do with their inn.” It was never his. They were never his. He had no right to–
Mourn. Cry. Scream. Gasp for every breath, fight for every beat of his heart.
There was a hole in the middle of his chest, and there was not a single drop of blood to excuse his pitiful state.
Cries and screams from the courtyard reached his ears and he gripped the railing tight, his knuckles going white. Many were still alive. For how long? How long until he would have to say “open the gate”, and would that be enough, giving himself up? To be worth at least a fond memory in his subjects’ minds in years to come? To be remembered at least by someone.
Why would he, of all people, deserve to survive this? Those worthy of happiness were gone.
They were gone and he could still see them, and maybe he was still waiting for them to move, maybe he waited for the soldiers to leave, for Martin to say it was safe to go, for him to stand up and help Anne to her feet, for them to call for their son to show up, for them to go somewhere safe, to leave and not even look back.
***
The storm was a blessing or a mockery. An offering dangled in front of his eyes only to be snatched away, an insult to the injury? He wasn’t afraid to find out. There wasn’t much they could do to him. Nothing could hurt him now. The lives of those who survived meant very little to him in comparison to those he had lost. And his own… what rot. They could take it. He had been done with it years ago, only now did it finally catch up with him.
Sigismund’s people didn’t notice them sneaking out of the castle, leaving only a goat behind. It was half a mockery, half to make sure they would not be found out. The goat could have gotten them killed.
He kept silent, his back straight. Strong. Determined to get them to safety. Still caring, still not defeated. Not broken at all. Not tired, or sopping-wet, or on the verge of tears. He wondered whether Martin with Anne would follow in their footsteps or go to another town. Martin had always liked Hanush. He would have wanted to see him before leaving for Prague or Kuttenberg. Or maybe not. He had others to think of. He always thought of others. He didn’t have to think twice. He didn’t have to force himself to do the right thing. He didn’t have to grit his teeth and suffer through every decision.
He wouldn’t have stood by and watched his beloved die horribly. He would’ve tried to save them or died with them. What else was there for a man to do?
Not this, surely.
Men were not supposed to outlive their women or their children.
But they were not his, they were never truly his.
***
Hanush was yelling first, barking orders second, then pulling Radzig into his arms and finally falling silent. “What about—” he tried to ask but sighed before he could finish the sentence.
In the morning, Radzig watched his friend talk to his nephew. Young Hans nodded and smiled, of course, my castle is your castle. Radzig didn’t want to see them die, too. He wasn’t worth it. What about Divish? Was he lying under the rubble of his castle now, too?
“If you would have your children and your wife and your friends to live forever, you are silly,” he thought as Hanush poured wine for him, pushing the cup in front of him, watching him intently. “For you would have the things which are not in your power to be in your power, and the things which belong to others to be yours.”
What was in his power?
His eyes fell on the cup and his hands, and he nearly started laughing. He swallowed the mirthless sound in time. Then he drowned it in the cup, just to be sure. “It’s good for nerves,” Hanush said and patted him on his shoulder.
***
The raindrops were calming him down, a little bit. He watched every single one as they slid down the window.
“Remember that thou art an actor in a play of such a kind as the author may choose; if short, of a short one; if long, of a long one: if he wishes you to act the part of a poor man, see that you act the part naturally; if the part of a lame man, of a magistrate, of a private person, do the same. For this is your duty, to act well the part that is given to you; but to select the part, belongs to another.”
After so many years he’d spent alive, being, existing, and thinking - he still didn’t know what part he should play. A son of a dead and distant father was no son. A friend who watched his close ones be slaughtered was no friend. A lord without estate was no lord. A man without honor was no man. A father without a child…
He’d read the letter from Divish. “I am sorry, Radzig,” it said. Divish was alive, then. Good. Good. “The boy ran away, to bury his parents. We found him gravely injured. On his way to Rattay. I pray for him.”
Radzig didn’t. He had sat down and held the letter and stared at the wall. What was in his power, after all, what else than sit and hold the letter and stare at the wall.
He might be long gone, too.
Every breath was painful to draw in. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t drink, he couldn’t open his mouth to thank his friend for his hospitality, for he was afraid that if he started talking, he would start screaming instead, and he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He watched the raindrops a little longer. Counted them for a while, too. He was warm and safe and his people were begging on the streets, and he couldn’t care less. “Let death and exile and every other thing which appears dreadful be daily before your eyes,” he said, trying out his voice for the first time in what felt like days, and he should have been there with them, in the dirt, praying for forgiveness and repenting his sins, only God couldn’t hurt him anymore. He had done His worst. “But most of all death: and you will never think of anything mean nor will you desire anything extravagantly.”
Was it? Extravagant?
He stopped counting the raindrops.
How extravagant. To love, to cherish, to hold close, to protect.
Only to be hated, left behind, torn apart, only to lose, to never have but still mourn.
They might not have been his, but he was always theirs.
“If you wish to be good, first believe that you are bad,” he added. The only bit he had no problems with. He was arrogant and foolish, but at least he wasn’t blind. Or at least he liked to think so.
“Punish your passions so that you may not be punished by them,” he continued. And what good did it bring, in the end? The distance he had put between himself and the family he swore to protect from afar. The rift he had created. What good was it for, what had it all been for when it brought nothing but pain, nothing but regrets? He wasn’t supposed to regret it. Fear of regrets was the reason for doing it all in the first place. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair at all.
Punish his wants all your life only to have them punish him anyway. Push the love away so he doesn’t feel the loss. So he had felt loveless all these years only to have the loss crush him anyway.
Why act so surprised? He had known even back then that he did not succeed in the slightest. One could not master something only in his mind. One was only glad if he never had the opportunity to learn. One could only hope to be so lucky as to never experience what he had been learning about all his life.
***
“In prosperity, it is very easy to find a friend; but in adversity, it is most difficult of all things.”
Was he now waiting for Hanush to pay for the sin of being his friend, too? And young lord Capon? He was a child. Younger than Henry. Was Radzig’s only purpose to lead death and pain to those he cared for?
“I thought I had you figured out,” Hanush said one evening, keeping him company once more. “It’s been days. You haven’t even raised your voice. You haven’t broken anything. I am not saying to go and try to hunt Sigismund down, mind you. But you aren’t calm either. I can hear you screaming.”
Hanush waited. As if he expected Radzig to open his mouth and scream right away. And Radzig would have loved to. “Forgiveness is better than revenge,” he replied instead. He always used a different voice when he quoted, and Hanush could always tell. But there was no sign of the childish spark of annoyance that never failed to amuse him. Hanush was watching him too somberly, his eyes full of pain. “For forgiveness is the sign of a gentle nature, but revenge the sign of a savage nature,” Radzig finished, weakly.
“Fuck forgiveness,” Hanush muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the words, or maybe at Radzig, it was hard to tell. “Fuck gentle nature. You are allowed to break a vase or three. It’s better to break something that’s not inside you.” Very thoughtful of him. Radzig’s eyebrows sent a clear message. Hanush snorted. “Well, it’s true. I can tell Bernard to have a go with you in the training arena. He can take it.”
Radzig smiled as he lowered his head slightly, in acknowledgment, not in acceptance. Grateful nonetheless.
***
Hanush joined him on the balcony, looking at him with a good-natured glint in his eyes. “You look better. It’s the view, eh? Anything oh so smart to say about that?”
Radzig smiled. “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.” As long as he stayed focused. He knew he shouldn’t be so fixated on the poor boy. He knew that nothing would have brought him back from the pit of despair if he were to lose him as well. Henry was an earthly vessel, on borrowed time, and Radzig had no say in the matter of how long and how well would the boy live. But by God above, he was about to do everything in that little power he had to ensure that he had done his best for his child. And he would fight tooth and nail before he simply accepted whatever fate had in store for his son.
He watched as Hans tackled Henry to the ground, the curses muffled by mud and their clothes. It was a poor excuse for a spar. More of a brawl, more fun than anything else. Bernard was sitting by the stables, rubbing his forehead, too tired to try and get them back on track. It was dusk; the air grew colder, shadows slowly stretched across the courtyard, and the smell of grass and water was strong in the air. Hanush leaned on the wooden railing, shaking his head in disbelief. “I would like to live long enough to say that I miss the days when Hans was a kid,” he grumbled, softly, too softly for the words to be mistaken for annoyance or disappointment. “But as you can see, he still hasn’t grown up.”
Radzig didn’t take his eyes off the two arguing fighters underneath. He listened to the sound of his son’s laughter and he could breathe again. “May they remain children for many years more.”
Hanush grunted, not quite succeeding in hiding his smile. “May they remain children for many years more.”