Farewell to Hans Capon

“Someone has to take the message, slip through the Prague army, steal a horse, and deliver it. Remember, the last one who tried failed, even though we were in a better position than we are now,” Musa concluded. Our situation truly was among the worst. But at least we had scavenged some food from the enemy dead from the last assault: a wheat flatbread in someone’s pocket, dried beef in another’s. We held a small “feast” in the refectory by the castle kitchens, but unlike a proper feast, it was filled with mournful silence, broken only by the greedy sounds of swallowing food. Only Hynek kept shouting comments now and then, unable to sit still. Feels like I’ve never eaten anything this good in my life, but what good is this sausage if my stomach’s just going to be growling again tomorrow… Tomorrow? We’d be lucky to live that long. That evening, those entrusted with deciding our fate washed up, made themselves presentable, and gathered in the castle’s great hall. “We can draw straws,” Hans suggested awkwardly. Samuel shouted: “Fuck straws. I will do it!” “Seriously?” “Yes. I've got some unfinished business out there. And if we die here, it will never get done.” In truth, it hardly mattered who went. We would lose someone’s life again. Did it really matter whose? I stepped forward: “You're going nowhere alone. I'll go with him.” “You too? Shit,” Capon barked. “Well then, I'm going too.” That would make an amusing trio. Two brothers and… I remembered how Capon had said that if I called Samuel my brother, he could count as one too. Žižka cut into my thoughts: “Your bravery is commendable, Capon, but you can't go. If they were to capture you, you'd be a valuable hostage. They could use you to blackmail Hanush and Jobst. Sam and Henry will go. Two heads are better than one. Especially if one of them gets lost...” “Fine. Kurva.” Hans shifted nervously and left the hall. I watched him go. What’s wrong with him? He should be glad he’s not even fit to volunteer. Žižka spoke last; he told us to prepare while he wrote the message for Jobst. “We'll meet on the ramparts after dark.” I nodded silently and slowly followed Hans. If he is not my brother, then what is he to me? Should I say goodbye? I should. Definitely. I was still his servant, and I was here by his will. You went through loss and pain together, fighting shoulder to shoulder… you never spared yourselves for each other… Definitely. I must report to him. Inform him. I stopped at the door to his room, my hand resting on the handle. No, not report. We're… we're friends. And perhaps you will never see each other again. I turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Hans was sitting off to the side of the bed again, not himself, pressed into one corner. Lately, I had grown tired of his mournful face and sharp words. At times he was no better than Katherine, lamenting angrily about our current situation. You talk as if he’s wrong about anything. But this time Hans looked slightly more resolute. As if he already knew the answer to his own question. His eyes were fixed on the fire crackling in the fireplace, yet I felt his inner gaze was directed at me. At me… It always felt like all eyes were turned anywhere but on me. And now… I was at the centre of everything. Me. “I've come to say goodbye.” “Already...?” “Aye. We have to leave at night.” I sat down on the other side of his bed. It smelled pleasantly of some kind of aromatic oil. “You see... I've been thinking a lot about the two of us. And about what you told me at Maleshov.” That I could understand. Just now I had been thinking about what we were to each other. “And?” “You see, once I heard a French minstrel tell a tale about two knights. They met on the battlefield, where they faced each other. One as a commander, the other as a black knight.” “The black knight? Like he was fighting dressed all in black?” “A black knight is someone who fights in battle but doesn't wear his colours.” “Why?” ”Sometimes it does more harm than good. In this story, he probably wanted to mask his fame. Because it was Lancelot. When Galehaut, the other knight, saw the black knight fight, he and his army surrendered, even though they had the upper hand. After the battle, the knights met. They grew close to each other, and from then on, they only fought side by side. When on campaign, they slept in the same tent. They even seduced court ladies together. Ahem.” Concealing his glory… Or perhaps his banners had simply been burned… Or never even raised. Too familiar. “So, how does their story end?” I asked. “They went through a lot together, until Lancelot was eventually captured. Everyone thought he was dead. When Galehaut found out, well... He was distraught. He felt life was meaningless all of a sudden. In the end, he dies too. Of grief and sorrow. Henry, if anything happens to you, then... then...” Then I will never see you again. And for him it would be the same as death. And for you? Hans suddenly burst out with a question that had no answer: “Why the hell can't I save you once for a change?!” Something inside twisted beyond recognition. I reached for his hand and covered it with mine in a calming gesture. “I'll be back. I promise you.” You try with all your strength to believe everything will return to how it was—clear as day—you imagine him bathing with girls and happily drinking the finest wine. Why doesn’t he try as well? I stood up, trying to tear myself away from this feeling. I was calm and composed. He had the right to emotion, but I did not. Not now. “And everything will be alright. I'll bring reinforcements...” Something inside me snapped after those dry words I had spoken. I shot up and headed for the door. I don’t want these thoughts about death near me. Why did he say this now? Madman! He stopped me, just as abruptly and decisively. Instinctively I leaned against the familiar shoulder, and my lips found another. Warm and familiar. Yours. I pulled away sharply. What nonsense! Childishness! Who does something like that? I couldn’t catch my breath. I just stood there, while my hands and feet could not find their place. “I'm so... I... I'm... I'm sorry.” I was angry. Why did you do all this, Hans? I always rush forward no matter how hard the road is. And you just allow yourself all this tenderness, as if it could stop me. “I... I just...” Stop! Just stop. Is that what frightens you? That a man kissed you? So what? What’s outside is worse. Outside there is nothing left. Only impenetrable darkness. Everything will disappear: your revenge, your duty—none of it will matter anymore. Stay. Stay with him. Look—he wants you to stay. He says you matter more than your revenge, your duty. And isn’t that true? You constantly sacrifice yourself as if your life means nothing! To hell with it all! Your duty, your revenge—let them burn, and you will stay here. Alive. Sinful, as you are, but alive. I want to live. I chose, perhaps for the last time, to feel alive. I firmly closed the latch on the door before it was too late. I turned, walked back without distinguishing light or darkness, grabbed him by the hands, by the shoulders. Mine. You’re mine, do you hear? I won’t give you up. I can’t take you with me on the sortie, so I’ll take you in another way. Take him. And I kissed those startled lips, holding the trembling body closer, pulling him toward the bed where this ill-fated conversation had begun. You will learn what it is to stop death itself. You will feel it. I will make you feel it. Will it be pleasant? Very.