Annemieke Waite

Chapter 1

Diessbach, Switzerland, September 1709

As the village came into view, the girl slowed her pace. Scouring her surroundings, she dashed across the meadow and hid behind a dairy hut. From here, the view across the market was unobstructed. Breathing hard, her mouth was dry with fear and the urge to run away was overwhelming. She pressed her back flat against the wall, squeezed her eyes shut and willed her nerves to settle. She’d come this far; there was no turning back now.

She peered around the corner. There, nestled between wooden farmhouses, the whitewashed Reformed Church towered over the village. Its tall dark steeple had been visible all the way down here as though it had beckoned her to come closer. Not that it was her church. Like her fellow believers, she attended no church. Not this one. Not any. And that was the trouble, the cause of it all. It was the reason she was here. It was why Father— She shuddered; the thought of father was too painful and she mustn’t be distracted right now, not if she wanted to stay safe. She moved her gaze from the church to the hustle and bustle of the market, searching for any sign of trouble ahead, but found none. There was no silk or taffeta in sight, no ruffs nor velvet waistcoats, no gold or silver ornamentation. Nothing of the sort. These were people from deep within the Bernese Oberland; valley folk, whose men wore breeches, tucked their obligatory sabres into unadorned belts and covered their heads with simple felt hats. Their women wore white Kapps, black ones on Sundays, and went about in homespun dresses, aprons and cheap hooded cloaks. They looked like her, dressed like her, and yet they were not her people. And one thing was certain: most could not be trusted.

Leaning back behind the hut once more, she closed her eyes and held her breath. What had she been thinking, coming here? She exhaled slowly and peeked around once more. It was late afternoon, and the market was coming to a close. Traders stood by half-empty barrels of butter. Others had started reloading their carts with their remaining sacks of flour, barley and the few unsold chickens, still cooped up in wicker baskets. To one side, a man stood on a box, impressing on his dwindling audience the benefits of his latest miracle cure. Her heart thumped wildly. So many people and everyone a stranger. Frantically, she searched their faces. Where was he? He’d said he’d be here. He’d promised to bring her news. She had to find him, whatever the risk.

She took one more deep breath, and willed herself to step out from behind the hut. Someone stared at her. His dark eyes locked with hers for the briefest of moments, then followed her as she walked through the crowd. It sent shivers down her spine and her father’s words rang in her ears: Safety lies in being invisible, Anna. Never let people notice you. Hiding beneath her Kapp, she dipped her head low enough to avoid bumping into others, but not so high as to let anyone else catch her eyes. She walked with purpose, stepping aside, now left, now right, but always moving forward, her eyes darting about, searching for that one familiar face. And just when she thought she wouldn’t find him, there he was: Herr Kratzer, no more than thirty or forty strides from where she stood, separated by a sea of strangers. So close and yet so far. The distance between knowing and not knowing.

Emboldened now, she didn’t hesitate. She wanted news of father, and this was how she’d get it. Crossing the marketplace took an eternity, but then she stood beside him, tapping his shoulder. ‘Herr Kratzer?’ she whispered.

He swung around. ‘Anna!’ He glanced at the crowd behind her before pulling her behind his cart and out of view. ‘You should not have come.’

‘I had to.’

‘It’s too dangerous. They’re everywhere.’

‘Tell me, please. Is father safe?’

Herr Kratzer nodded.

‘He made it to Neuchatel?’ A lump rose to the back of her throat.

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Why not!’

He kept his voice low. ‘You know the answer. It’s too much knowledge. If they arrest you…’

Anna shook free, eyes blazing. ‘You think I’d betray him?’

At the other side of the market, a commotion had started, and an anxious expression appeared on Herr Kratzer’s face. He laid a finger on his lips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But you’re all he’s got left in this world, and the authorities know it. They’ll use you as bait if they find you.’

She knew he was right, and yet… ‘Let them try,’ she said. ‘They’ll never catch me.’

‘Are you sure?’ Herr Kratzer made her face the crowd. ‘Look at these people!’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Any of them could be a Täuferjager.’

He pulled her round again. ‘There’s a price on your head. That’s why I brought you here, remember? To a place of safety. But if you take risks like this, even your aunt and uncle can’t protect you. Do they even know you’re here?’

She wouldn’t meet his eye.

‘Tell me you didn’t run away?’

‘Only to come and see you.’

‘It’ll be dark soon - they’ll be worried sick. Have you thought of that?’

She felt her cheeks burn.

‘Do they treat you well?’ Herr Kratzer said.

‘I suppose,’ she mumbled, ‘but I can’t go anywhere. They won’t let me out of their sight.’

‘Until today…’ The briefest of twinkles lit up his eyes, but then he frowned. ‘You must take more care, Anna. Promise me you—’

By now, the earlier commotion had turned into an argument so loud it made them both swing around. Someone dashed through the crowd, two men in hot pursuit, with outstretched sabres, blades glinting in the dying autumn rays. ‘Taufer! the crowd jeered and chanted. ‘Taufer!’

Icy fear leapt from Anna’s belly and she gripped Herr Kratzer’s arm.

‘Hold your nerve,’ he whispered. ‘Walk away, as calmly as you can. Do you hear? Go!’

‘Go where?’

‘The mountains.’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘Make sure you’re not followed. Stay out of sight. And don’t go home until it’s safe.’

She nodded, but her legs would not move.

Herr Kratzer yanked her arm. ‘Did you hear me, Anna? Go! Walk away!’

She felt his hand on the small of her back and then she was in the open. Stock still, she stood and looked all around. Not this way. This way was home. The other way. The mountains. Walk. Don’t run.

‘Go, Anna!’

The urgency in Herr Kratzer’s voice made her turn on her heels. Keeping her head down, she strode through the crowd, past the new castle and onwards towards the meadows that lay beyond. She moved only as fast as she dared. Behind her, down in the village, the sound of iron rods on pots and pans had joined the angry voices. Loud banging echoed deep into the valley. She knew that sound. Understood what it meant. They all did. Against her better judgment, she looked back. There they were. Coming up from the village. Two dark figures, clambering up the side of the hill. Täuferjäger. Men with sabres. Men who hunted Anabaptists like her.

Gone was her earlier bravado. Forgotten Herr Kratzer’s advice. All of it was replaced with sheer panic. Without further thought, she turned and ran. Along the track, higher and higher, her breath erratic. No longer did she look back, she didn’t dare. They wouldn’t be far behind. She had to keep going. She had to. Get away. Away.

Daylight faded into dark shadows, the warning sounds growing louder as more voices cried out, their message unmistakable. On she ran, up and away, towards the meadows her aunt had called Aeschlen. From there she would find the track to the higher slopes, the safety of the trees. But only if she kept on running.

Near Aeschlen, she stopped to catch her breath. It was almost dark now and there’d be no moon to light her a path. In the valley below, a pair of flaming torches headed her way, and there was a new sound too. That of a baying dog. Gripped by fear, she turned to run again but stumbled and grazed her palms. It took all her resolve not to cry out in pain. She picked herself up, gathered her long skirts and fled onward and upwards, away from those men – those Täuferjäger.

She had to think on her feet. A change of direction might throw them off. It was more dangerous that way. She’d be exposed. But darkness would be her friend, and they didn’t have her in their sight yet. Without hesitation, she headed right – kept her body low as she ran forward, hiding behind trees here, a cowshed there. Her aunt and uncle lived further up the valley, away from prying eyes, but here, she had no friends. People here tolerated Anabaptists like her, sent warning signals, but they’d do no more. They wouldn’t hide her, not when there was a bounty on her head.

Stopping at a barn, she doubled over, gasping for air. Her kapp, normally tied so carefully below her chin, had loosened during her wild run. Long strands of dark hair had escaped and hung down the side of her face, but that was the least of her worries. Panting, she peered back along the path. Still, the torches moved upwards, shouts following in hot pursuit. Her heart beat so fast it drummed in her ears, but she had to keep moving. She straightened up and turned to run again but stopped dead in her tracks.

He towered over her. She moved fast, tried to dash past him, but he grabbed her wrist and swung her around, forcing her to face him. A mop of brown hair had fallen over his forehead, and beneath it, his eyes as dark as night itself, his jaw set firm.

She winced in pain, her grazed palms still throbbing.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

Her heart pounded so hard she thought she’d faint.

He pulled her closer. ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you?’ He nodded towards the head of the valley.

She froze, unable to speak.

He looked past her. Something had caught his eye. She knew what he’d seen and tried to pull away, but his grip was solid. ‘What do they want with you? You’re nothing but a girl. What’s your name?’

She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

‘Speak up!’ he said.

‘Anna.’

‘Anna who?’

‘Anna Zahler.’

‘Zahler?’ He whistled. ‘I should have known. . .’

Terrified, she twisted her head to look behind. The torches moved ever closer. Panic took over. ‘I don’t have time for this.’ She tried to get out of his grip but failed. ‘Please, let me go. If they catch me, they’ll. . .’

He looked past her again.

He’d seen them, she was sure of that. She was doomed.

‘Come!’ He pulled her forward.

‘No! I have to get away!’ She dug her heels in. No longer feeling the pain in her hands, she wrestled and wriggled, but the more she struggled, the tighter his grip. ‘Please! You don’t understand! Let me go!’

‘Too late. You’ll never shake them off now.’

Still, she fought him.

‘Look!’ He nodded past her towards the valley where she knew the hunters would close in fast. ‘Either you come with me, or you go with them.’

He was too strong. And he was right. She had no choice.

He moved quickly. She stumbled as he led her around the barn and through the open door at the back. Inside, the darkness was lit by a solitary lantern that hung by the door. Grabbing it with one hand, he led her into the barn and onto the hayloft. The hay smelled of sweet spring flowers, but all of Anna’s senses were focused on one thing: survival.

‘Stay here!’ He let go of her and hung the lantern on a crossbeam. Its dim light threw dark shadows deep into the barn.

She rubbed her wrist and blew on her grazed palms, her eyes scanning her surroundings for an escape route, but he read her mind.

‘Don’t move!’ he mouthed.

Somewhere in the back of her throat, her heart thumped. ‘Why ha—’

‘Keep your voice down!’

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she whispered back. ‘I’d be better off running!’

Not wasting any time, he bent down, brushed hay off the floor and pulled something in the floorboards. A large hatch opened right before her eyes. Below it a sea of darkness.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘get in!’

She peered into the hole. It was twice as long as it was wide and deep enough for any man to stand upright. She stared back up at her captor, her eyes dark with fright. ‘You want me to get into that?’

‘You want to get caught?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, then…’

She narrowed her eyes, investigated the manhole again, imagined being locked in there. It would be like being buried alive. She recoiled. ‘No! I can’t!’

Outside, the shouts came ever nearer. Inside, it was a stand-off.

‘There’s no time for discussion,’ he said. Lunging forward, he grabbed her by the waist, swung her around and lowered her into the hole as though she weighed nothing.

Down below, she scrambled to her feet, but the hole was so deep she wouldn’t possibly be able to climb out. She clenched her fists. ‘How dare you!’ she hissed. ‘Are you mad?’

He ignored her, grabbed the hatch, and started to lower it. ‘I’ll return when it’s safe.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘How can I be sure you’ll come back?’

‘You don’t. You’ll have to trust me.’

Trust? How could she trust anyone, least of all this person she’d never met? He seemed to know her, or of her, at least. But trust him?

Above her, the hatch was closing.

‘Wait!’ she said, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Johannes Krahenbuhl.’

‘Johannes.’ She spoke his name carefully, deliberately. ‘Just be aware, Johannes Krahenbuhl . . . If I die in here, I shall haunt you for all of eternity.’

‘If you die, I shall expect nothing less.’

His voice was gruff, but in the barn's darkness, she imagined him smiling. It made her feel a little better.

‘I’ll be back when it is safe. Say nothing. Do nothing.’

The hatch closed. She heard him throw layers of hay across it, his disappearing footsteps, the creaking of the barn door as it closed. Then there was only silence.

Down below, it was pitch-black. Panic took over. She was trapped. Was that something rustling in the corner? She couldn’t breathe. Wanted to scream, let me out! But she knew she mustn’t. Say nothing, he’d said. Do nothing. She tried to control her breathing. It worked. A little. She moved her hands around, felt the wall, found a corner. She lowered her body, crouched down and hugged her knees. Somewhere up in the eaves a barn owl hooted. It would rather be outside too! She closed her eyes and pretended she was high in the Bernese Alps, basking in sunshine and looking out across the mountains.

It brought her only the briefest moment of peace. Then she heard the angry voices, first outside, then in the barn. Heavy footsteps stomped up the hayloft. Down below, the dog yelped and bayed. She sat as still as she could, taking only the smallest of breaths, knowing full well that if it came up to the loft, the dog would sniff her out. Terrified, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining what might happen to her. She pictured the Täuferjägers’ triumphant faces as they paraded her through the streets of Berne, the sound of jeering crowds hurling abuse as they carted her off to Insel Prison. And what then? Herr Kratzer had been right: they’d use her as bait. She could not let that happen. She would not. Not now. Not ever. It took all her willpower to not cry out from the depths of her manhole, to sit still, to say nothing, to do nothing. Dust fluttered from the hatch. Again, she held her breath, tried not to sneeze, her body rigid.

The voices stayed for what seemed an eternity and there were other muffled sounds overhead. Someone laughed and then the sound of boots retreated, leaving behind only silence and fear. She took a deep breath, willed her nerves to calm and slumped against the wall. She waited, but nothing happened. She didn’t dare move. Only when exhaustion took over did she rest her head on her arms and let weariness have full reign.

***

She woke in terror. More footsteps – directly overhead! She held her breath. Had she been discovered? The lever was pulled. The hatch creaked opened. An outstretched hand pulled her up from her prison. She blinked hard.

In the early light of day, Johannes looked younger, not half as threatening as he had done the night before. What’s more, he’d brought bread, cheese and water. Thirsty from her ordeal, she gulped it down. They sat in the hay while she ate. She glanced sideways at him, trying to guess his age. Maybe seventeen? Eighteen at a pinch? Not much older than she was herself.

‘They were here last night,’ he said, finally.

She nodded, but said nothing, as her fingers tore off bits of bread.

‘My father told them they wouldn’t find anything.’

‘Your father? Does he know I’m here?’

He shook his head. ‘We’re Reformed,’ he said.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. ‘Then why did you help me?’

He shrugged.

She looked at her hiding place, the hatch still open. ‘If you’re Reformed, why have this? Your kind doesn’t need hiding places.’