The Ravens’ Banquet (10 page)

“What is it that has driven you so far?”

Alas, Fortuna’s first bounty, my purse of silver, was fast disappearing, my comrades more evil-tempered than before, my former servant wished to do me murder, and I was a long, long way from home.

In camp at Celle, we fared better than most in fending off the cold and the grey hand of the Reaper. By the middle of the month of March our company had lost only five to fever and one to a game of cards that grew overly serious. The consequences were for me not unfavourable since I (and both Balthazar and Christoph) were chosen to join the Cornet’s squadron, an appointment of some honour for it now fell to us to guard the Colour in battle. But I was still not a Corporal, despite Death drawing his straws amongst us. And strangely, too, I didn’t run into Samuel Stone once in all those weeks. He had either burrowed deep into the Baggage or else had flown the business entirely. The privilege of half-pay demanded service even in darkest midwinter. We would forage out among the outlying villages in search of food, sometimes venturing many leagues from Celle.

By early February though, grub had become dear and fodder scarcer still. And it was in that month that I first took from one who had no wish to sell. We crossed the south drawbridge over the Aller, out to a flat plain the colour of straw now that winter’s snows had gone. We passed one of the wooden stables that had been built for the regiment’s horses. By this time it seemed that just keeping the beasts alive was our sole purpose to life and by the cusp of March we knew where every last haystack lay in the whole of the Duchy, hidden or not. I pulled my cloak closer about me and shortened my rein. “You were once a great believer in the goodness of Fortuna, Balthazar,”

I said. “What has shaken your faith, my friend?”

Balthazar thought for a moment, his eyes never leaving the way ahead. “Ah, in wintertime, sweet Fortuna flees for better climes, I fear. And we must all fend off the Fates ourselves.”

“Not all,” said Christoph, riding at my left. “The boys in the baggage train speak of treasure aplenty in the countryside if one be so bold as to seize it. By day, they’re honest peddlers. But by night, these stout fellows thieve till their sacks are stuffed full.” “I’ve seen their handiwork,” I said, “and they are a hellish band of murdering swine.”

“Perhaps you’re in the wrong employ, Christoph,” said Balthazar grimly. “Maybe I am,” smiled back Christoph. “Ask Balthazar,” he called over to me, “Ask
him
why he answered the muster drum. I’ll tell you... Balthazar told his wife in Bremen that he was bound for Oldenburg to shoe some horses for a great lord and that he would return home in a week’s time. That was nigh upon two year ago. There must be something in this business to keep you here so long, eh old friend?”

Balthazar muttered a curse but did not reply.

Christoph reached into a pocket, pulled out a lump of black bread, and bit off a chunk. The grey beaver hat that he wore, more officer’s than trooper’s, cocked at the front and equipped with a great black plume, did not suit the lean face and close-set eyes that shone with cheerful cruelty. He possessed more the look of a dweller of the alleys than a gentleman of the town.

“Why should a scrap of paper from the General-Major of Horse or even the King himself, make stealing any the holier,” he said, swallowing his mouthful of bread. “Because we are fighting for the burgher and peasant so he need not take the Roman yoke,” I said, trying hard to convince myself of the soundness of my argument. “We cannot fight if we don’t eat or if our horses perish. That is why.”

Christoph cackled at me.

“Principle and religion are poor things to go to battle for, Englishman. There is little profit in it.”

“Wrong. They’re noble reasons both for fighting.” But Christoph merely smiled thinly to himself and shook his head at my words.

The road was strangely empty of travellers and wagons were few and far between.

By God’s grace, the heavens held their rain that day though the skies roiled with grey. The sun’s disc was faint and hazy as it worked to burn through the clouds, but to little avail. We rode further than we had done before, and down a road we had never ventured. At times, I traded a story with a comrade or else sat grimly silent from one landmark to the next. When silence settled on us, I listened to the creaking leather and thud of hooves in the yet unfrozen mud or the rasp of dead leaves in the stands of beech and birch.

At length, we chanced upon a narrow road that led downhill to a pine copse near a wide flat stream. Lieutenant Krantz, a grim fellow well past his better days, ordered the Cornet’s squadron to scout it out and then rejoin the troop along the main road afterwards.

We duly followed Tollhagen down the little rutted road, some twenty of us falling into single file.

The manor house lay tucked up by the far side of the sloping hill and a stone’s throw from the stream. How no soldier had spied it the whole of the Winter I know not. But we had found it now. And even as we, already blooded-up by the discovery, trotted into the courtyard, I saw a fellow dart across the yard and make for the door, slamming it behind him.

It was not a large pile, but it was more than a farmer’s cottage. Fine leaded glass sat in each window frame and the house’s well-kept elevation gave loud announcement of a wealthy owner. A large barn sat off to one side, its red and green wooden dragon’s head at the roof’s apex offering only symbolic defiance. We all spread out and dismounted, carbines readied.

Two troopers strode to the barn to spy it out while the rest of us crowded about the front of the house and watched as Tollhagen pounded the studded oaken door. He was met by silence.

“In the King’s name!” cried the Cornet. “Open this damned door else I’ll batter it to pieces!”

Four of us put shoulder to the portal and though it rattled mightily on its hinges, it would not be moved. Tollhagen swore loudly and smashed the windows in with the pommel of his sword.

“Pentz, climb through and open the door.”

Corporal Pentz blinked and hesitated, but then scrambled up upon the ledge and kicked what remained of the frame into the house. Sword first, he fell into the room and Tollhagen motioned for another trooper to follow him in. After a few moments, we heard the bolt slam and the door swung inwards, held by Pentz.

Our search was swift and relentless. And the house spilled its occupants out into the courtyard: three silent and frightened servants, a fat protesting merchant, and his blubbing wife.

I watched Tollhagen shake the merchant with both hands, as he demanded money, silver, and any other treasures that he had convinced himself the poor man had secreted. My comrades had not even waited for the order to ransack, and were now dashing here and there throughout the house, filling their pockets and snapsacks with what they could grab. Bed hangings ripped from their rings, cupboards smashed to gain their contents, the larder torn to bits – the comrades were as madmen intent upon taking any scrap of value.

Even as I watched, I could see these were well-trained jackdaws that would have their due come what may. And cold-numbed fingers were no hindrance to snapping up what was shiny or new.

I spied a plate of silver, not large, that had rolled across the hall after its cupboard had been shattered and pulled over. I quickly bent down and retrieved it, shoving it into my doublet.

And in the courtyard again, our little pile of goods grew and grew. Coverlets, tapestries, crockery, pewter, suits and hats, every possession picked clean. Still Tollhagen and Pentz were cursing at the merchant, his wife becoming unreasoned and shrill. I could see where this dark play was destined but I did not yet know what my own role was to be in it. Tollhagen chose the role for me.

“
Rikard
, fetch the rope from my horse!”

I obeyed the Cornet and brought the hemp, following the sad procession to the barn. “I shall make you see sense,” said Corporal Pentz to the red-faced merchant, “in the Spanish style.”

Christoph let out a laugh and pushed the merchant into his barn. Inside the cold gloom of the structure (there was but one open window at the far end) I felt like choking as I realised what was to happen.

“
Rikard
, make fast his hands.”

Christoph went to his work with obvious glee, putting a boot into the back of the fat man’s knees and sending him to the ground. My mouth went dry as a husk as I wrapped the rope about the captive’s wrists. I fumbled and could not make a knot for my shaking hands.

Christoph grew impatient, shoving me to one side.

“Bah, I shall truss him right enough, get off!”

The merchant swore blue that he had no money not already found but Christoph and Pentz laughed and kept working the rope, now tying his feet and hands together behind his back. The merchant spit out straw and dung from his mouth.

“For the love of God, I swear I’ve told you everything!” he cried.

Tollhagen remained unconvinced. “You had best recant or I’ll bring your wife in here as well.”

Christoph tossed another rope over a rafter beam and tied one end to the merchant’s hands and feet. I saw then what it was that they prepared to do. For his sins, this man was to receive
strappado,
an old torture favoured of the Dagoes and Jesuits. He would be hauled up like a spider, the weight of his body pulling at his limbs and arching his backbone like a strung longbow.

Tollhagen ordered me to fetch some of the troopers to haul on the rope and I eagerly made for the door. Now I did what I was bid, and told three of the comrades who were busying themselves with the merchant’s silks suits, to get to the barn and help the Cornet.

But I didn’t join them. I would take my chances of a thrashing from Tollhagen but I could not stand to watch them torture a man who had done nothing.

I wandered into the hall again, only to be met with the scene of Balthazar rogering the merchant’s wife upon the table and cheered on in his endeavours by the others, one of whom held her arms pinned as she struggled in terrified silence. I backed out again into the courtyard only to be met by the screams of the merchant from within the barn. I stumbled, my legs that had carried me into battle so sturdily, now weak as a babe’s. My stomach rolling, my manhood shrivelled, I leaned upon my horse and placed my head upon its neck. All had turned from honey to turd. And more the pity, I was captive to this dreadful Enterprise for its duration. I could not return to Hamburg or to England without some honour, rank, or fortune. And just as a gallon of wine provides pleasure, so too does the morning bring its payment. Here was mine.

The cries had ceased. Tollhagen’s voice echoed out from across the courtyard. “The cock has crowed! To the well!”

Christoph, watched by the others, hauled up the treasure from the Stygian depths, the creaking winch groaning its complaint under its burden. The comrades urged him on and another joined him at the handle to hasten the task. Slowly the prize rose to the top and half a dozen hands reached over to pull the bucket out.

Tollhagen gestured to Corporal Pentz who shoved the others away, drew out his dagger, and upended the bucket. Two muslin sacks spilled out along with the water. He neatly cut the ties on them and ripped them asunder.

“Silver or gold?” demanded Tollhagen from his vantage apart the others, his cloak pulled up tight.

“Silver it be,” replied Pentz, his disappointment ill concealed.

“Aye, well enough to compensate every man for his work. Bring it along sharply.” And we assembled in the courtyard, the comrades bundling their booty and preparing it for horseback. Someone set a pile of curtains upon my horse’s cruppers and I set to tying them to the saddleback. My eye moved to the barn door that lay ajar. Had they finished him or did he yet live?

I led my horse slowly by its reins towards the barn, careful to make sure that my movements had not attracted the attention of the Cornet – or Christoph.

Walking inside, in the failing light I could spy a large figure motionless upon the ground, a faint cloud of condensed breath issuing forth from one end, weakly. I moved closer to the merchant and plucking up my courage leaned over the body. He was broken backwards, like some straw-filled scarecrow, still bound, one open eye regarding me. His breaths were shallow and rasping.

And the moving lips of his swollen and purpled face mocked me. Mocked me for the coward that I was for not saving him from his fate. The one open eye fixed me full and he spoke quietly, in one breath.

“You have killed me, sir.”

And the words, though softly spoken, carried both anger and confusion. I backed away from him, now doubly shamed. I was too afraid to finish the job and transport him from his misery. God knows, it is a service that I should have afforded him.

But I was a coward. I turned and made for the door as fast as my shaking pegs would carry me. And as I entered the crisp air again, a maelstrom of dead leaves whipped up by the sharp breeze, enveloped me. Leaving that barn, I had left a barren womb only to find myself born into an even harsher world of cruelty and avarice.

Tollhagen was shouting for the squadron to mount up and I thought about the others who were not to be seen: the wife and the three servants. I decided that I did not wish to learn of their fate and so kept my mouth shut as I climbed into the saddle.

Pentz trotted past me as we formed up on the Cornet, every rider loaded down with new treasure.

“So, we have found the Imperial baggage train after all!” he laughed. “Aye,” sang out Cornet Tollhagen, for all to hear. “And that is exactly what you all shall say to any who dare ask!”