Storiesonline.net ------- Joerg Isebrand by Argon ©Argon, 2008 ------- Description: In the year 1500, a boy, Joerg Isebrand, is born into a peasant family in Northern Germany. Banished from the land of his birth at age sixteen, young Joerg soon finds himself a landsknecht, a soldier for hire. The story follows the next fourteen years of his life, as he rallies his siblings and fights in the wars of the 16th century. He dallies with many women and girls, but it is an unlikely bride who finally wins his heart. Codes: MF Mf mF cons rom het hist 1st oral violent ------- ------- Preface This is historical fiction. I have included historical events into this tale and some historical persons. The events, deeds and quotes are purely fictional and do not reflect the characters of those persons. Wulf Isebrand was the military leader of the peasants in the Battle of Hemmingstedt, in 1500. Historians have differing views of his true person. Even his Dutch origins have come into question. Certainly, nothing is known about his offspring, and I took artistic licence to spin my tale around his fictional sons and daughters. The story depicts violence and non-consensual sexual acts. This should be seen in the historical context of 16th century warfare and life in general. The author does not condone violence or forced sex, nor is this story meant to glorify such behaviour in any way. I have used a number of German words, sometimes because I did not find true English equivalents, sometimes to add colour to the tale. They are highlighted in italic font, and a glossary can be found in the following. I recommend you open this Preface and Glossary in a separate tab of your browser window, for easy reference. Please accept that this story is the effort of an amateur writer. My editor, Duffiedawg, did his best to eradicate typos, syntax errors and false friends. The remaining errors are my responsibility, and they are something you will have to endure. I am also using British English spelling because this is how I learned English in school. The story is mine, and it may not be reposted anywhere. You may of course download it for your perusal. Please note, however, that I post on SOL for a reason, and I do not wish to see my work reposted or otherwise published or distributed on any medium without my prior, written consent. Have fun! Glossary bader = a healer, a herbalist büttel - constable, bailiff condottieri - Italian, a leader of a band of mercenaries in 15th and 16th century Italy cuius regio, eius religio = the rule by which the feudal lord determined the religious affiliation of his subjects. Often, the peasants had to switch their affiliation several times in their lifetime when the lands they lived on changed ownership. fähnlein = literally: small flag, a unit of foot soldiers in the 15th and 16th century, comprising a total of 300-400 men, including pikemen and arquebusiers, led by a hauptmann (captain) feldscher - army surgeon guldengroschen = a 16th century silver coin, minted from 1 ounce of silver, later known as Joachimsthaler, or Thaler (Taler) = Dollar hauptmann — lit. head man, army captain, commanding a fähnlein or company hirschfänger - lit. stag catcher, a long hunting knife hurenweibel = lit. sergeant of whores, an 'embedded' pimp in 16th century armies Jotunheim - the home of the giants in Northern mythology knecht, pl. knechte - bonded servant(s) neiding, pl. neidinge - nithing, a scoundrel, a traitorous, evil person rotte, pl. rotten - a platoon-sized unit of soldiers rottenführer - platoon leader saufeder= literally 'hog feather', a lance tipped with a leaf-shaped blade, used to finish off wild boars tagwerk - literally 'a day's work', equal to 40,000 square feet thaler = short for Joachimsthaler, a one-ounce silver coin (engl. Dollar) vogelfrei - lit. free as a bird: an outlaw, to be killed on sight by anybody without consequences vogt = steward, bailiff welsch = foreign ------- Chapter 1 I - How Wulf Isebrand and the Peasants of the Free Marshes Fought and Conquered the Great Army of the Danish The men were sweating, in spite of the cold weather and the sleet rain of the mid-February night. It was February 11, A.D. 1500, and the three hundred peasants were busy building a barricade across the only road for miles around, at a place called Hemmingstedt. They were too busy to be afraid, too busy to realise the folly of three hundred men trying to block the approach of an army of twelve thousand. The Danish King John and the Duke of Holstein were trying to subdue the free peasants of the marshes, in the low lands north of the River Elbe estuary, where German lands bordered on Denmark. Their huge army had already taken the centre of the region, the small town of Meldorf, and they were marching northward. The free peasants, being free as they were, had no military leaders. They were armed, but without a unified command, and being outnumbered three to one, it appeared to be a matter of time only before the peasant republic would fall to the Danish. The people of the marshes were no Frisians like their neighbours; they were descendants of Saxon tribes who had fought against the hostile North Sea for generations to win the land they cultivated. Other Saxons had settled upstream along the River Elbe, while still others had conquered Britain, centuries ago, only to be vanquished in turn by Norman invaders. Wulf Isebrand was not a son of the marshes. He had married a woman of the marshes though, and he stood to lose as much as the others. He was a Dutchman, and he had served in the armies of a few free towns and small duchies. That was why the elders had given him the command of the barricade. When he told them to open the gates in the dikes to flood the precious marshes they had objected at first. But he had prevailed. The Danish King's "Great Guard" was heavily armed and mounted on heavy chargers, as was the custom of the time. Their effectiveness would be close to naught on a flooded, swampy ground. The barricade finished, Wulf Isebrand surveyed the situation. The "Great Guard" had but two options, storm the fortified barricade or circumvent it. With the salty water of the North Sea slowly flooding the low lying land, thawing the icy ground, there was no way a mounted warrior in heavy plate armour could move in the man-made bog. Excited cries announced the arrival of the vanguard of the enemy. Wulf Isebrand had seen the man in command of the guard, the Junker Slentz, during the defence of Meldorf. He was an able soldier, of that there was no doubt. What would he do when he saw his path obstructed? With the first light of dawn, the answer to that was given. The riders charged against the barricade. The defenders, however, held firebrands ready to hurl them at the charging horses and to shy them. Many riders were thrown while the rest found themselves facing the long lances of the peasants. A short skirmish ensued where the defenders gained the upper hand, and the horsemen withdrew. A number of riders had lost their mounts and were killed by the men of the marshes, earning more weapons for the defenders. Wulf Isebrand obtained a good two-handed sword for himself, and a battle-axe. Thus encouraged, the men awaited the next move by the Danish. Meanwhile, more and more volunteers poured in from the country to the North. News of the attack had spread and the warlike peasants rallied to the defence of the road. When the Junker Slentz tried to carry the barricade again, his horsemen were thwarted by a much larger force than he had anticipated. It was obvious that the peasants were gaining in numbers, and he had to do something. That was when he made his fatal mistake. He gave orders to circumvent the barricade. His horsemen led their horses off the road, but they soon found that the poor animals could barely move in the morass. They made slow progress, and soon they were harassed by the peasants with their long lances. Without the possibility to charge on their horses, the riders were but sitting ducks to the arrows, spears and lances of the defenders. Those who tried to dismount and fight on foot soon noticed that walking in a morass while wearing plate armour was a hopeless endeavour. When the pale sun of the North sunk behind the distant dikes and dunes, the army of the Danish had ceased to exist. Hampered by their heavy armour, their wagons and train, almost the entire army was slaughtered by the defenders. What was left of them took flight towards the east. The tired defenders, after making sure the enemy was fleeing, returned to their villages where great celebrations were held in their honour. The Battle of Hemmingstedt had tremendous reverberations all over Northern Germany. That a regular army had suffered defeat at the hands of armed peasants was unheard of, and it scared the noblemen to no end. For many decades, the men of the Dithmarschen were left in peace and their free community flourished. When Wulf Isebrand returned to his farm and his wife, the first thing he heard was the crying of a baby. That made him smile. It would be their fourth child. He had hoped to be there for the birth, but the child was born and healthy. When he entered the house, the knechte and maegde, the male and female bonded servants, greeted him with reverence. Rumours of his bravery had spread already. His wife Hilde greeted him with a wiggling bundle on her arm. "See your son, Wulf, he was born on the 11th." Wulf Isebrand smiled with happiness. A son, it was his third. And he was born on the very day of their great victory! The boy looked strong and healthy. One day, he would be a good help for his eldest son, Bjoern, who would inherit the farm and the land. "We shall name him Joerg, after your uncle. Do you think your uncle is willing to be godfather?" "I am sure it will please him," Hilde answered. "We should ask him." "Is the boy drinking well?" "He has an appetite already," she answered proudly. "He will grow up a strong boy." "I am proud of our son, Hilde, but I am also proud of you, my wife. You are the best woman a man can ask for." Hilde blushed and laughed. This was why she had married the strange man from Holland. He made her laugh, and he made her feel good. He was a good provider to boot. She hoped fervently that her sons would follow their father's example. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 2: How Young Joerg Isebrand Was Banished from the Marshes Joerg Isebrand was tired. He, his father and his brothers had been working the whole day to bring in the hay from the first cut of the year. With three strong sons and two daughters, the Isebrands prospered. They all worked hard, the land was good, and there were no taxes or rent to pay. The Marshes were still free, and all the Isebrands paid was the tithe for the poor, like everyone else. Joerg, at sixteen years of age, was the second youngest in the family, but in the last two years he had grown to be a tall youth, and his older brothers, Bjoern and Thorben, were careful of him now. He was a rash boy when angered, and he would fight even his older and stronger brothers when provoked. He was looking forward to this evening. It was summer solstice, and there would be a dance in the village square, the first he was allowed to attend. Joerg dressed in his best clothes, after washing in the small river that crossed his father's lands. The cold water invigorated him sufficiently and he was all expectations. The evening began well for him. He even had a chance to dance with a few neighbours' daughters and lost some of his shyness. It helped that he had two sisters at home, and pretty soon the strapping lad was talking to two girls his age, Maren and Elsa. He had been allowed a mug of beer as well, and the world looked bright. All this ended when he was pushed aside by another youth, Ulf Wolfganger, a year or two his senior. "Get out of my way, you filthy Dutch! It's beyond me how they allowed your family to settle here." The blood shot into Joerg's face as he retorted. "Without my father, you would pay tribute to the Dane. Your father never dared to show at Hemmingstedt, as everyone knows." "My father fought at Meldorf," came the heated reply. "That's why we lost there!" "You take that back!" "Make me!" And the brawl began. The two boys were quite evenly matched by height and weight, and for a while, neither gained an advantage. That frustrated the older lad, and he tried to ram his knee into the younger boy's groin. Quickly, Joerg snapped his thighs shut, but he could not avoid the blow altogether. Pain shot through his lower body, and for the first time in his life, he experienced a red mist of rage blur his vision. With a furious snarl he lunged at the older boy. When he came to, Ulf Wolfganger was lying at his feet, nose broken and teeth shattered. The elders came running, and the boys were questioned. Wulf Isebrand and his sons came, too, and so did the elder Wolfganger. The elders conferred with each other, and then with Wolfganger, who was the richest man in the marshes. In the end, Joerg was ordered to appear before the Four the next morning after church. Under the great oak tree, the Four who meted out justice in the marshes sat and heard the case. The two girls who had been speaking with Joerg were not allowed to testify. At this point, Wulf Isebrand saw what was happening. The cards were stacked against his youngest. The Four deliberated only briefly and then, with faces of stone, they gave their verdict. "Joerg Isebrand, son of Wulf Isebrand, you have gravely beaten and injured a boy and shown to be a danger to our community. We cannot establish who started the fight, but seeing that you are a dangerous and violent youth, you will be banished from the marshes for five years on peril of being branded." "My son banished?" Wulf shouted. "For defending the honour of his family? This trial is but a mockery, and I see your hand in this, Wolfganger." "Be quiet, Isebrand. Do not insult the Four. Only your great merits prevent us from punishing you, but be still, lest you suffer the consequences," the head of the Four shouted. Wulf Isebrand hesitated for a moment, but then he put his arm around his son's shoulder and led him away from the oak. "Joerg, my son, this is great injustice. We need to forestall the worst, though. You know that they will have you run the gauntlet out of the village tomorrow. You must not stay. You must leave this afternoon." The boy was bewildered, angry and certainly frightened. "But where can I go, father?" "Go to Holland, son. My family lives there, in Breda. Tell them I sent you. They will take you in." "To Holland, father?" the boy cried with wide-open eyes. "Yes, there is no other way." Thus, for the next hours, while his mother and sisters wept, and his brothers swore revenge against the Wolfgangers, his father gave him what advice he could give in the scarce time. Then, when it was time for him to leave, his mother gave him food for the journey in a knapsack he slung over his shoulder. She had also sewn a number of gold coins into the seams of his pants and vest. Before he left, his father gave him a long and heavy object. "Son, my own sword will be Bjoern's one day, but I found this good blade on the battlefield at Hemmingstedt. Take it and use it to defend yourself. I've taught all of you how to wield a sword. Do not use it for folly, but do not shy away from defending your life and honour." Joerg then hugged his family once more and left the low, grass-thatched dwelling. Walking along the familiar paths towards the South, he could hardly believe that he would not see this landscape for five years. In his misery, he almost noticed the men too late. They seemed to wait for him, four of them. He recognised them. They were Wolfganger's knechte, and they bore wooden clubs. "Now boy, you would not run away before we had a chance for a real farewell, would you?" one of them sneered. The elder Wolfganger came out from behind a bush. "You really thought that you would get off that easily? You lousy Dutch beggar, this is the end of your banishment! We will even bury you here, close to home. Get him!" The four men approached him, their clubs ready. Anger helped Joerg to forget his fear. He unsheathed the sword that hung from his back. "Wolfganger, you will be short of hands for the harvest this year," he rang out defiantly. Suddenly, three more men appeared on the scene. Wulf Isebrand and his two older sons stepped from behind a growth of hazelnut bushes. "I always held you for neiding, Wolfganger!" Wulf shouted. "Five grown men against one boy! Now let us see how you will face even odds." "Father!" Joerg shouted with relief. The four knechte shrank back visibly. "You cowards!" Bjoern, the eldest of the brothers laughed. "I have a mind to carve you up for good." "Father, don't!" Joerg shouted. "Don't saddle our family with a blood feud. Just make sure they will not follow me. I will make my way to Lubeck all right." Wulf Isebrand smiled grimly. The boy was a good one, thinking on his feet. It was true. A blood feud would make life miserable for the family. And to claim that he was for Lubeck was a nice deception in case Wolfganger would try again to intercept him. Joerg hugged his brothers and his father once more and, after sheathing his sword, he spoke to his enemy. "I'm but a boy, but I will return after the five years. If you are still alive then, you'll hear my challenge, neiding!" He set off at a brisk pace. His long legs easily covered the ground, and his anger sustained him during a long night of marching along the southbound road. The morning saw him approaching a small settlement on one of the many small rivers that drained the marsh. He heard that the place was called Elmenhørn. There was a small wooden bridge, and he paid a penny to the bridge keeper to cross. On the other side, there was an inn, and Joerg stopped for a breakfast of milk and bread. He stretched out his hurting legs under the table, but not for long. The noise of entering men made him sit upright. He was partially relieved to see a small band of landsknechte, mercenaries, enter the guest room. They were all armed differently and to their personal liking. One of them even carried a fuse lock musket or arquebus, a mighty piece of metal. The others carried cross bows, short swords, and axes. The leader of the group, a stout man of at least forty years, bore a mighty two-handed sword. In spite of their warlike appearance, they greeted the innkeeper with friendly words and gave friendly nods to the other guests, including young Joerg. They seemed to notice his long sword, and commented on the strange sight of a young peasant lad carrying such a mighty weapon. The new guests had settled at the table next to Joerg's, and the boy listened to their talk with rapt attention. He was so engrossed in listening that he noticed too late the four knechte entering the room. When he saw them, he reacted quickly though, in spite of his tired legs. He jumped from the bench and unsheathed. "Thought we'd find you, Dutch beggar," the leader of the four sneered. "Our master wants a word with you. Will you come peacefully or shall we drag you out, piece by piece?" Joerg was surprised at his lack of fear, or rather at the rage that blotted out any fear. "Give the innkeeper some money up front. He'll have to sweep up your blood," he challenged the four men who pressed forward immediately. They did not get far. The leader of the landsknechte was suddenly standing between them and the boy. "Hold it! None of you will breach the peace of this house. If you have quarrel, take it outside! Are you willing to take on these men, lad?" The latter question was directed at Joerg who nodded vigourously. "I must settle this once and for all time." "Then let us go outside." Ushered by the mercenaries, Wolfganger's servants stumbled outside, and Joerg followed. Once outside, the landsknechte formed a ring around the boy. The leader then turned to the four attackers. "Who of you will go first?" The men blanched. They had had no intention whatever to go up against an Isebrand alone, even if it was a boy. The leader blustered. "Why do you make this your business?" "Because I'm a free man and I have honour. You are the leader. You go first!" "But I have no sword," the man stammered. One of the mercenaries threw a broadsword before his feet. "No excuses!" he shouted, and the free companions laughed scornfully. Tentatively, the serf took the broadsword, and the ring of men opened and closed behind him. Collecting his courage, the servant lifted the sword and stormed against the boy who stood ready. Joerg sidestepped the blow neatly and pirouetted on his feet, whirling the two-handed sword at shoulder level. The decapitated man stood for another two or three heart beats and then collapsed into the sand. "Good work," the grey bearded mercenary commented. "Who's next?" But the remaining three men were retreating towards the bridge, horror in their eyes. "Cowards!" Joerg shouted after them. "Tell Wolfganger, I'll have his head for this when I return!" With the tension broken and the rage fading, Joerg found his legs weak, and he leaned against the nearest wall. The headless corpse of the man he had slain lay in a large puddle of blood, and Joerg felt sick. The grey bearded leader put an arm around his shoulder. "What's your name, my boy? I have rarely seen a youth wield a sword like you just did." "I am Joerg Isebrand, son of Wulf Isebrand." "The Wulf Isebrand? He, of Hemmingstedt fame? And you are his son?" "He is, and I am," Joerg answered proudly. "Why don't you sit at our table, my lad? I am Gernot of Brederode, and these are the men of my rotte. Men, this is Wulf Isebrand's son!" All those hardened warriors smiled at him now and patted his shoulder. They marched him back into the inn. Some local men disposed of the fallen man by dropping him on a cart, sure to be imbursed for their troubles from the contents of his purse. Once Joerg and his new friends were inside the inn, a huge mug of stout beer was ordered, and the mercenaries toasted the boy. "Where are you heading, all alone?" the leader asked Joerg, and the boy told of the trouble he had and the treacherous attack by Wolfganger and his men. He also said he was headed for Holland, to live with relatives. "You're a fine lad, and you already know how to use your sword. Why don't you join us, rather than marching all the way to Holland? You'll be safe with us. We lead a good life. We always have money and never a shortage of willing wenches." Joerg blushed at the last words, aware of his ignorance with regard to womenfolk. "Who are you fighting for?" he asked. "The merchants of Lubeck have contracted us. They have some quarrel with the Danish." "And will there be fighting?" "Hardly," Gernot laughed. "The merchants will hire a large army for good money, and the Danish will back down again. Happens every six to seven years. It's easy money, and the food in Lubeck is good. Why don't you try it? You can leave anytime. We are all free companions." Joerg thought briefly. He would be safe with those men, and he would be able to earn a living. All his short life, he had worked hard on his father's land, and he felt like having some easier living. He nodded slowly and shook Gernot's hand. The men cheered and had another mug of beer before they finally left the inn. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 3: Joerg Isebrand Becomes a Landsknecht and Fights the Danish They took an eastward road from Elmenhørn, marching at a moderate pace. Joerg was happy with that; his legs hurt from last night's march. He tried to get to know his companions. There were twenty-two of them, once they picked up another dozen men at a different inn. They marched until late afternoon. There was no village on the way where they could spend the night, and they asked for quarter at a large farm. The farmer and his armed knechte made them leave, however. They ended up sleeping in a small copse of wood by the road, and they placed sentries on each side of their camp. Joerg soon found out that Gernot was a cautious leader who planned to retire one day with his life's winnings. The next day, they marched further east, again through empty land. They were able to shoot a doe with a crossbow bolt, and they were all looking forward to a dinner of venison. When evening approached, they came across a small farm, the house almost invisible behind a stand of chestnut trees. Dark clouds had appeared in the sky, and they walked towards that farmhouse, in the hope of finding shelter against the threatening storm. Indeed, the freeholder allowed them the use of his barn for the night. When Gernot offered five Silver Marks, the farmer's wife prepared a large pot of venison stew for them, and they ate well. The storm broke loose after their supper, and they were glad to be out of the rain, sleeping on the hay in the barn. On their third day, they reached Lubeck in the evening. Joerg was awed by the sheer size of the city and its magnificent buildings. He had never seen that many people, and he was amazed at their rich clothing. He also noticed that men and women were often portly, something the hard working peasants of the marshes never attained. They marched through the city to the city hall, a richly decorated building that reflected the wealth and power of the Hanse, for Lubeck was part of that powerful alliance of trading cities. Gernot of Brederode conferred briefly with the captain of the City's guard who welcomed them and had them shown to their quarters. Here, they met the other mercenaries who had already joined the ranks. There were one thousand armed men present, with scores of auxiliaries, like blacksmiths, traders, whores, and beggars who would do whatever chores were asked of them. An empty storage house for codfish was assigned to them, and they made themselves comfortable as best they could. Food was free and ample, part of the costs the city had agreed to bear. They also received payment once a week, and Gernot warned Joerg not to spend too much of his pay since they could not expect to make money by looting. They were hired to defend the city, and no offensive action was planned. Their days were spent practising with their weapons, and Gernot took it upon himself to introduce young Joerg to the finer points of sword fighting. He also learned to master the crossbow and the halberd, and Gernot explained to his new acquisition the tactics of warfare. Gernot was a patient man and a born teacher, and several others of the younger men joined them in the evenings when he told the stories of his exploits in the pay of most every sovereign in Northern Europe. He was over forty, and the scars he bore all over his body were testimony to his claim of experience. Three weeks after their arrival, the whole troop of mercenaries, now close to two thousand, were roused to march. Supposedly, the Danish were approaching on the city, and the mercenaries were to head them off while the citizens manned the walls and gates. After a two-day march north, they encountered another troop of mercenaries, these under Danish flag. They were of equal strength, and for three days, the two groups had a stand-off. By this time, field pieces had been summoned from Lubeck, and the Chief Gunner took it upon himself to subject the Danish to a veritable cannonade. One or two cannonballs even landed inside the Danish camp. The following morning, the Danish emerged from their camp in fighting order, that is, they marched in a ragged line, while two or three drummers beat a step that nobody followed. Joerg heard a few of his comrades shout greetings to men they knew from earlier campaigns. Then the captains ordered them to advance. Gernot kept his rotte close together, forming a solid body of men. They moved forward with their halberds lowered, against the advancing men under Danish flag. When they were only fifty steps apart, the Danish started their charge, running full tilt. Joerg held on to his halberd when the Danish impacted on their line. Three or four of them skewered themselves on the points of the halberds, but a few broke through. Suddenly, Joerg found himself opposite an attacker, and he had not yet pulled his sword. The man tried to run Joerg through with a short sword, but Joerg was nimble on his feet, and he stepped to the side. This brought him close to his opponent, and he grabbed the man's vest, giving him a fierce head butt. Joerg wore a close-fitting skull helmet, and he crashed against his opponent's nose guard. The man fell like an ox under the hammer. Joerg jumped back to pull his sword, but no other opponents came near him. Already, the Danish were rebuked and retreated towards their camp where they licked their wounds. Joerg's opponent woke from his unconsciousness a half hour later, looking about him dazedly. "Nigh on cracked me skull, the big bastard did," he complained, pulling off his helmet and examining his broken nose. He glared at Joerg who watched him. "Ouch! Damn it! Couldn't ye just run me through, rather'n breaking me nose?" "Rune, meet Joerg Isebrand," Gernot laughed. "Do you yield?" "O'course, I do. That damned Dane don't pay me 'nough to go against giant cubs," the mercenary replied, looking at Joerg. "Where'd you ever find that one? Jotunheim?" "No, they grow them around here, too," Gernot chuckled. "We'll have to take you to Lubeck, show'em we made prisoners. You know the trade." "Yeah, yeah, I know," Rune replied wearily. "Just don't let them pelt me wit' rotten stuff." What followed was a two-day march, following the retreating Danes, until they could be assured of their complete withdrawal. A week later, the two thousand men, minus a few who had succumbed to illness or drink, with forty prisoners, reached Lubeck where a big victory celebration ensued. Two more whore masters with their women had arrived in the camp, and for two or three days, everybody was celebrating. Young Joerg kept his pay together, drinking a mug of beer at the most, but on the second evening he could not resist the charms of a young whore. She was blonde, like the people he had grown up with, and her tall and slender body strongly appealed to him. He led her to his quarters where two of his comrades were already rutting away with their women, and in his secluded corner, he stripped the young woman of her clothes. Instead of just opening his codpiece, like he had seen his comrades do, he stripped his clothes at her bidding and lay down beside her. With reverence, he touched her small breasts, running his palms over the hard nipples, and the girl gave him a friendly smile. "Your first time?" He nodded; his throat was too dry to speak. "Take your time, then," she smiled. "You know, girls like it when you take your time. You want to suckle?" Joerg nodded again and took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently to the girl's breathing. "You're doing fine, my boy. Let's see that lance of yours. On my, what have we here? You're going to make a lot of women happy with that. Do you know where to put it?" "Not really," he said hoarsely. "Give me your hand, yes, like that. Feel that, that's my womanhood. Yes, put your finger in. Feel how it gets wet? That's how it should be before you can put your thing in. If it's dry, you'll hurt the woman. Good, yes, feel the little bump on top? If you rub this carefully, CAREFULLY!, this will make the woman very happy. Yes, a little stronger now, yes, like this. Oh, you're learning fast. Now, move on top of me. No, better let me on top! On your back, boy! See my opening? Now let's see whether we can fit this inside me. Ooof! Slowly, don't ram your thing in, you're a little on the big side. Yes, like that. Yes, let me do it. Oh dear, is it all in? Oh, sweet God!" Having seated herself on his good-sized member, she began gentle rocking motions, tilting her hips, to increase the friction. For the inexperienced youth, the sensations proved too much. With a cry, he arched his body up, spearing the girl, and spurt after spurt of his essence shot into her womb. "Oh my, not bad for your first time," the whore commented and disentangled herself. She laughed when she noticed that his member had lost little of its size. "Are you still eager, my boy? Why don't you try it from above now?" The second session lasted decidedly longer, leaving them both exhausted and satisfied. They had supper together afterwards, and Joerg's comrades had a good time ribbing him. Soon, wintertime set in, but the quarrel between Lubeck and the Danes had not been settled. A sizeable part of the mercenaries left the employ of the city because there was no prospect for looting, but Gernot's men remained, happy for the warm quarters and the modest but regular pay. Young Joerg learned a lot over the course of the winter. He observed the workings of the city, how the council assembled to discuss the policies, and what the guilds did for the craftsmen. He even learned a few things about the Empire, the role of the emperor, the electors and the noblemen. Of course, in a free town like Lubeck, noblemen were frowned upon, and young Joerg learned to question any authority that came from birth. He also noted that, while scorning the nobles, the Hanse cities had their own caste system. The merchants ruled supreme, and their children married among themselves. The craftsmen came next, divided into their guilds, and again, theirs was a closed group, and they held a monopoly on their respective crafts. The clergy and other learned people formed a third group, together with the higher officials of the city, again kept separate from the rest. They were mostly comprised of the younger sons or close relatives of the prominent merchants. Below these three groups, workmen and bonded servants formed the lowest caste. There was scarce a way up for them, and most made a modest living, barely above starving. Jorg realised again that being a soldier was the only way for a young man like him to move up in the world. Sometime in early spring, the Danish king and the City of Lubeck made their peace, as Gernot had predicted. However, the wily old mercenary was prepared and had already secured the next employment, in the City of Warnesund, four days to the east. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 4: How Joerg Isebrand Becomes Known as The Butcher of Warnesund The winter in the warm quarters in Lubeck had made the men lazy and short of breath, but the long march eastward shaped them up somewhat. The welcome in Warnesund was nothing like what they had enjoyed in Lubeck. There were only tents as quarters for the men to begin with, and the food they were given was neither good nor plentiful. The City had some trouble with the Count of Schwerin to the South, and they wanted to beef up their garrison with the hired soldiers. From what Gernot's men gathered, the city council had not supported the hiring unanimously, and some of the council members were heard complaining about the costs. The lack of food and the reluctant pay made the men unhappy, and Gernot had a hard time quelling squabbles between his men and the citizens. He wanted to stay and fulfil the contract, for the mayor had promised a sizeable premium for the hired troops once the quarrel with the count was resolved. Young Joerg had mixed feelings about their stay. For one, he did not like the way they were treated by the arrogant burghers. On the other hand, he had met a young girl, a bonded servant in the Mayor's household. Of course, the young mercenary was not allowed to come to that stately home, and he and the girl, Birte, met in an empty storehouse whenever she could get away. Birte was a friendly girl, always smiling and good to look at, but she was quite unhappy with her master and her mistress. The former constantly tried to bed her, and the latter harassed her all the time out of jealousy. Birte showed him the marks of the beatings more than once. The son of the mayor was almost as bad as his father, and only the daughter treated her with friendliness. A few times, he saw the Mayor's daughter. Her name was Hildburg, and she was still young, younger than Joerg by two or three years. She would stare at Joerg with an expression he could not read, and when he spoke to her, she would blush and turn away. In his inexperience, he took her for aloof. This changed, sometime in mid summer. Joerg was returning from one of his trysts with Birte, and he walked along the quay of Warnesund's inner harbour, when he suddenly became aware of some struggle in a narrow passage between two warehouses. Curious young fellow that he was, he walked closer to find out what was happening. To his surprise, he saw young Hildburg struggling against two sailors who held her down. Joerg could never subscribe to the casual view many of his fellow soldiers had on rape. His parents had taught him to respect women, and the teachings had taken firm hold. "Let go of her!" he demanded, his voice rasping with suppressed anger. "Or what, boy?" one of the sailors laughed. Wordlessly, Joerg picked up a discarded wooden board, two fingers thick and five wide, and broke it in two with a violent twist of his hands. The sailors turned pale. "Listen, Mate! Why don't we share? She's a pretty one, and there's enough of her for all of us." "Let her go, and be gone," Joerg repeated coldly. The taller of the sailors gave up first. He let go of Hildburg's arm and turned tail, running away through the narrow alley and leaving his mate behind. The smaller man was a stout fellow and not easily intimidated, but he was wary, too. When Joerg put his hand on his sword hilt to underscore his demand, he decided to cut his losses. "I'll cut you a deal, Mister Soldier. You seem like a young gentleman of means. For ten pennies silver, I can find myself a wench in the tavern. You give me ten pennies, and I'll let the girl go." Instinct urged Joerg to reject the offer, but reason overruled that. He pulled the small coin from his pouch and tossed it over the head of the sailor. With a taunting salute, the portly fellow tossed Hildburg forward into Joerg's arms, and ran to retrieve the ransom. Two heartbeats later, Joerg found himself alone with the trembling girl. "Come now, Maid Hildburg," he said, offering his hand. Hesitantly, the girl accepted, and he led her from the alley and back to the open street. Here, she stopped him. "Please, Master Soldier, this is where we must part," she said. "I thank you from my heart for the deliverance from the foul hands of those ruffians. I fear, though, that if my father or brother saw us together, they will accuse you of molesting me." She gave him an apologising look. "They do not care for you or your comrades. I ... I shall give Birte the money to imburse you." "Do you?" Joerg asked. "Do I what?" Hildburg asked back. "Do you care for us?" She blushed prettily, but she looked into his eyes when she answered. "I find you a nice man, Joerg Isebrand, and Birte says you are kind and caring. I do not know much about your comrades, but they came here on our bidding, to lend us support. It shames me how my father speaks ill of them all the time." Joerg took a deep breath. The sight of her lovely face with her big, violet blue eyes touched him to the very core. "My, but you are a lovely maid!" he exclaimed. "I pains me that I am nothing but a simple soldier. Were that it my father was a merchant like yours, I would give my birthright for the chance to woo you!" Hildburg's eyes misted. "Were it you were a merchant's son, Joerg Isebrand, I would listen to your wooing." With that, she turned and fled down the street and towards the fish market, while Joerg cast a last, longing look after her. He shrugged. Lowly soldiers like him had to contend themselves with maidservants. Nevertheless, young Hildburg was in his dreams repeatedly in the next weeks. In late August, the merchants and the Count of Schwerin resolved their quarrel for a sum of money the city paid. Two days later, the Mayor informed the hired soldiers that their services would not be needed anymore. The men were more than happy to leave the inhospitable city, but when Gernot demanded the promised premium, the Mayor flatly refused. "You never fought for us, there will be no premium. You have cost us enough money for food and lodging, now go!" "The premium was promised," Gernot countered. "We shall not leave until you give us what's ours!" And the men collected their arms and marched into the city, demanding their pay. For two days, they blocked the market square, knowing full well that the city's guard was not strong enough to dislodge them. They saw the council convene in the City Hall, day after day, and the council members looked at them angrily. On the fifth day of the stand-off, the Mayor Lauritz relented. If the Free Companions promised to leave the City on the morrow, he would pay them their premium. To that, the landsknechte readily agreed. They had their fill of the city and the miserly burghers. They were in for a surprise. The Mayor Lauritz not only paid out the premium, but he had three casks of stout ale brought to the market place and tapped, to celebrate the peaceful end of the dispute, as he said. The Free Companions revelled in their victory and partook freely of the offered ale. When the casks were empty, two more were brought. The landsknechte emptied those, too, and by evening, most lay asleep against the walls of the houses that lined the market place. Joerg was one of the few who were still able to stand, come evening, and he was the only one who had not accepted the ale at all. Knowing that this was his last night in Warnesund, he met with Birte in their usual hideout in a waterfront warehouse. "Thank god you came, Joerg! The Mayor is up to something. The Captain of the Guard spent the whole afternoon with the mayor and his wife. They are plotting something, I swear! Edgar Lauritz was with them, too." Edgar Lauritz, the Mayor's son, was lieu tenant of the City Guard, as Joerg knew. What would they plot? Joerg was alarmed immediately. "I have to wake our men. Can you stay here? If I am not back in the next hour, go home. Thank you, Birte." He kissed her fresh lips and slipped out of the storehouse. He had not come far when he suddenly heard the telltale twangs of crossbows. Under the cover of the houses, he made his way to the market square, but he was too late. The City Guard had surprised the drunk mercenaries, and a hail of bolts had killed nigh on half of the sleeping men already. Now the guards moved in with their halberds and pikes. Even the inexperienced Joerg could see that the few remaining men of his platoon stood no chance. Still, he wanted to rush into the fray when a sound behind him made him whirl around. The soldier was running at him with a long pike aimed at his chest, but the nimble young man side-stepped the clumsy attack. The soldier ran past him, and Joerg tripped him with his foot. Before the man could get up again with his heavy breast plate, Joerg had rammed a knife into his neck, killing him instantly. Turning to the market square again, he saw that the massacre was all but finished. His fatherly friend, Gernot, was lying on his back with a bolt in his eye, and now, the last two remaining comrades were skewered by the soldiers. The noise died down, and Joerg saw the Mayor Lauritz approach, accompanied by his son Edgar, both wearing the uniform of the City Guards. The wool merchant Hinrichsen was with them, and the head of the fish traders, Lingold. They kicked at the bodies and laughed easily. Then the Mayor ordered to clear the square of the bodies and to collect the premium back from the slain men. Carefully, Joerg retreated to the warehouse. He found a crying Birte who had heard the noise of the fight and who implored him to sneak out of town in the cover of night lest he was detected and killed. By now, Joerg was filled with rage, a new, cold and powerful rage he had never felt before. The Mayor had acted as a neiding, had betrayed Gernot and his men. By the code of the landsknechte, there was but one answer for this. He took the girl by her shoulders. "Birte, when the bell strikes midnight, open the rear door to the Mayor's house. I will take you away with me, but do not pack anything, lest you will arouse suspicion. Never fear, we will both be avenged tonight." The frightened girl nodded, not sure whether she knew the young man anymore. He was transformed, and she could see the cold fury in his eyes. He saw her apprehension. "Never fear me, Birte. I shall set you free come midnight." The girl left in a hurry, and Joerg waited for the darkness to come. He knew the houses of the council members; they stood prominently around the market square, and when darkness settled over the subdued town, he moved. The first house he entered belonged to a wool merchant, Hinrichsen by name, who had berated Gernot's men more than once, calling them foul names. Quietly, he moved up the creaky staircase, waiting until the wind worked the timbers of the roof to cover the sounds of his steps. He entered the bedroom on the second floor and, in the faint light of the moon, he saw the man and his rather young wife sleeping peacefully. He pounced on them, his left hand on the mouth of the woman, his right hand slashing the throat of the man. Only a gargle came from the mouth of the dying man while the woman looked up at Joerg in stark horror. "This is my revenge for the City's treason," he whispered. "Be still yourself, and I shall not hurt you. If you try to shout, your blood will mix with your husband's." He bound and gagged the petrified woman and left as quietly as he had come. The next house he visited belonged to the head of the fish traders' guild, Rüdiger Lingold. Here, the intended victim woke up and started to shout, but he was silenced forever when Joerg's sword severed his neck. He waited in the dark for a while, but nobody had heard the cry of the man. Searching the house, he found a young woman, the fish trader's daughter, who tried to hide from him under her bed in her sleeping chamber. When she trembled in his grip, her shirt more revealing than hiding her nubile body, he felt sorely tempted to make use of the situation. But when she asked him in a trembling voice to spare her, he was reminded of his own sisters, and he could not harm her. He bound and gagged her and gently laid her on her bed. Before he left, he bent over her. "I killed your father for his treason. I'll spare you because I am not a neiding like him." It was almost midnight now, and Joerg made his way to the back of the Mayor's house. He waited, fully alert, for what seemed to him like hours. But when the bell sounded midnight, the door opened and revealed a pale Birte. "Stay here," he whispered. "Where does the Mayor sleep? And where does his son sleep?" Birte gave him the directions and told him that the two men had celebrated the day with ale and wine, and that the Mayor's wife had obviously been the driving force behind the scheme. Joerg's face became grim and he started towards the stairs. But Birte stayed him. "Please, do not hurt Hildburg. She was always kind and friendly to me." Joerg nodded shortly and sneaked upstairs. He went for Edgar Lauritz first. He woke him up and showed him the knife. "I am Joerg Isebrand of Gernot von Brederode's rotte. Do you know why I am here?" The man, woken from drunken slumber turned sober in an instant. He nodded dazedly before the knife pierced his heart. Joerg pulled out the knife and left the chamber, turning left. Behind the door of the next room he heard the nagging voice of a woman. "Get up, Pieter, something is amiss. Get up, you lazy old fart!" When the door burst open, the drunk Mayor had still not woken, but his wife shrieked at the sight of the blood-splattered young warrior. The shriek finally woke up the Mayor, and he sat up in his bed, only to have his head severed by the blow of Joerg's sword. The woman almost fainted in horror, and Joerg was over her in an instant. He lifted her off the bed by her throat and threw her over a large wooden chest. A blow to her neck with the buckle of the sword hilt broke it and killed the scheming woman. Steps were coming from upstairs and downstairs, but Joerg was ready when the first man burst into the room. The sword was an unwieldy weapon under the low ceiling. The young man broke off the leg of a sturdy table and wielded that formidable club against the attackers. Cries and moans from the beaten men mixed with the shuffle of feet of people fleeing downstairs. Joerg jumped over the prone bodies and into the stairwell. There was one room left in the back, and he burst through that door. He heard a shriek of terror and saw it was the Mayor's daughter, Hildburg. In spite of her fright, the girl showed heart, pulling a fine dagger from under her pillow. Once she recognised him, her eyes lit up. "Is that you, Joerg? You are alive! What was all that shouting? Oh!" She stared at the blood stains on his vest and began to tremble. "What did you do to my parents?" she asked. "Did you kill them?" Joerg nodded. "My comrades are avenged. Your parents and your brother are dead. Put that knife away now, Hildburg! I did not come to hurt you, but you need to leave the house now." Joerg could not read her expression in the light of the torch, but she did not break into tears. That much was evident. "Leave me alone, then," she begged softly. "What do you want of me? I had nothing to do with what happened this afternoon. Please, do not hurt me!" "Come with me now, Hildburg. I need you out of this house." When he stepped forward, however, she halfheartedly brandished the dagger. The rage had left Joerg, and he did not want to hurt her. He quickly gripped her wrist and squeezed it. With a yelp of pain, Hildburg dropped the dagger. Before she could recover, he had slung her over his shoulder. He left the room with the struggling girl on his shoulder and made his way downstairs. A crowd of people had gathered outside the door, some of them carrying torches. They shrank back when the blood-splattered man stepped from the house, a kicking and yelling girl over his shoulder. He looked around. They were afraid of him, he knew, torn from their sleep and unorganised. "Is there any kin to this girl Hildburg?" he called. A woman called from behind her husband. "She is my niece." Joerg put the girl on her feet and shoved her over to the woman. "Take care of her then. She is an orphan." He pointed his sword at one of the men. "Drop that torch!" The man obeyed with shaking hands, and Joerg picked up the burning torch. "Anybody who follows me will die!" he threatened, retreating back into the house. He went upstairs into the Mayor's bedroom. In the light of the torch, he saw an iron-clad lock box. The key was still hanging from the stump of the Mayor's neck, and he unlocked the box. There were three bags of coins inside, and he quickly stuffed them into his belt. Then he set fire to the straw mattress and left the room. He went through the back door, and as expected, nobody was waiting there but Birte. She was pale and trembling. "Come now, let us leave," he told her and dragged her away from the house. They went along the back streets while they heard the shouts of alarm as the citizens discovered the fire. Three soldiers of the city guard came running along the street in an unsteady, drunken trot. They had celebrated too soon, Joerg thought grimly. Letting go of the girl's hand, he pulled his sword. The guards had problems coming to a stop, and then it was too late. The three men, still drunk from the celebrations of the evening, stood no chance against the ferocious attack of the blood-stained berserker. It was over in less than a minute's time, and Joerg pulled Birte along towards the city gate. The gate was deserted. The gatekeepers had probably joined the citizens in the fight against the fire. "Open the gate," he told the girl. He moved quickly to the left where he knew the warehouses stood. He pried off the shutters from a low window and threw in the burning torch. Then he rushed back to where Birte was waiting at the opened gate. "Let us go," he said, almost calmly. "My comrades are avenged." In the waning moon light, they set out westward in a brisk step on the road to Lubeck. Joerg knew, however, that they could not go there. The news of what he had done would spread quickly, and a rider could cover the distance to Lubeck in a day. He knew that he would be recognised easily since he had spent the last winter in Lubeck, and he was too tall to be able to disguise himself. For the first night, they would follow the road westward, though. He would have to clean himself, too, he knew. The morning found them in a small copse with a creek. In the cold water, Joerg was able to wash out most of the blood from his shirt, vest and pants. They stayed in hiding during the day, searching for berries and other edibles until Joerg's clothes were dry enough for them to start their march again. Birte did not talk much, and Joerg realised that she was in fear of him. While they trotted along the moonlit road, he spoke to her in soothing tone. "Birte, you know that you don't have to fear me, don't you?" He felt her hand tremble in his. "I cannot help it. You were so terrible. I heard my mistress as she screamed, and I saw the men you had wounded. I thank you though, for not hurting Hildburg." "Should I leave you somewhere, Birte? Is it that?" "Yes, please. Forgive me, but I cannot see you without remembering the cries." Joerg nodded. The girl had no obligation to him, it was rather the other way. "I shall leave you in the next town. You can find a household to live in." They marched until morning, but there was no rest place they could see. Rather, they walked on their sore feet until, a little before noon, they saw a village with a tavern. Wearily, they dropped on a bench outside the tavern, and the keeper came out to ask them their wishes. They had a hearty meal then, sitting in the sun, resting their legs and filling their stomachs. When they were sated, the inn-keeper, a man just over twenty, sat with them. "Did you hear the news from Warnesund?" he asked. Slowly, Joerg shook his head. "Half the city burnt to the ground, put to the torch by a single man. A terrible warrior, who killed close to twenty men with his sword before he set fire to the warehouses and disappeared." The voice dropped to a whisper. "They call him the Butcher of Warnesund already!" "And why did he do it?" Joerg asked, with an edge to his voice. "He had protected the city against the Count of Schwerin, but they didn't want to pay him. He killed the mayor, his son, his wife, and two council members in their houses. Nobody was able to stop him. They say he is in liege with the devil!" Joerg laughed harshly, to the astonishment of the innkeeper. "That story will get better and better with time! Listen, you would not be in need of a serving girl, would you? Birte here is tired of travelling, and she is a good worker. She can also tell you what really happened in Warnesund." "How would she know that?" the landlord asked warily. "She was the Mayor's servant, and I freed her when I burnt down the house." The innkeeper sat very still, thinking furiously. "Listen, I was only repeating what the rider from Warnesund told us. Surely, you are not in liege with Satan, are you?" "No, I am not. I revenged my brothers in arms against the treacherous citizens. But will you take in this girl and treat her well?" The innkeeper nodded hastily. "You'll treat her well, because I shall be back to check on her." The man nodded once more, and Joerg turned to Birte. "This is where our ways part, Birte. It is for the better for both of us if you are afraid of me. Take this bag of coins and keep it well for your dowry." Birte was close to tears, but she was afraid of him and could not help it. Mustering her courage, she hugged Joerg. "Take care of yourself, you terrible man. Try to find tenderness in your heart and control that terrible rage lest it may destroy you." Joerg nodded solemnly. He knew by now that his rage was dangerous. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 5: How Joerg Isebrand Joins the Count Reinhardt of Merseburg From the innkeeper, he bought a smoked ham and bread, before he left the village, heading westward. He did not follow the road for long. East of Dassow, he turned south on a sparsely travelled road. He spent the night in the inn of the small town of Schoenberg, and in two more days, he reached Ratzeburg, the seat of the Bishop, with its impressive cathedral. Here, he was able to buy new clothes and better shoes. He also traded for a horse, a sturdy animal, able to carry him. He knew that he had to leave the Hanse territories, and that meant travelling south. Travelling on horseback not only let him cover the distances faster, but he was also able to carry food supplies with him. After two days, he reached the wide River Elbe at Lauenburg, and he crossed the river on a ferry, reaching the large trading city of Lueneburg in the evening. He stayed for a few days, sleeping long and eating well. Then, the first rumours began to circulate in Lueneburg, about the terrible Butcher of Warnesund. Already, he had killed two score soldiers and citizens, and Joerg realised that the story would get bigger and bigger with each telling. He also knew he had to leave. He mounted his horse again and directed it southwards, up the valley of the River Elbe. He travelled unchallenged for almost two weeks. Mostly, he slept in taverns along the way. This allowed him to eat decent suppers and gave him an opportunity to speak with the local folks who frequented these places. After a dozen days, though, his aimless travelling ended. He never knew the name of the small village, but the tavern was named "Golden Cockerel". He had secured a straw mattress in a small chamber that he had to share with two other travellers, and he sat with them in the guest room when new guests arrived. Seven men, armed well and dressed richly, entered through the low door, demanding loudly for the publican. They wore harnesses and broadswords, and the most richly clothed bore a coat of arms on the vest over his breast plate. The new guests were shown to the best rooms the tavern could boast of. They returned to the guest room soon thereafter, and the publican and his serving girl began to pile the riches of the cellar onto the newcomers' table. Joerg judged the leader of the group to be in his late twenties. He was a strongly built man, a shade under six feet tall, and the eyes in his bearded face were taking in the other guests with a ready alertness. The eyes rested briefly on the tall youngster, before he was distracted by one of his followers. Meanwhile, the last of the newcomers entered the guest room, obviously coming from the outhouse. He was tall, too, but his face was set in a constant scowl that made him look threatening. He looked about and found that all stools were taken. Letting his gaze sweep over the room, he looked at Joerg and nodded grimly. Approaching the sitting youngster, he growled. "Get up from that stool, boy!" Joerg looked up and met the gaze of the soldier. "Who are you to give me orders?" he asked calmly, trying to control his temper. "Get your lazy arse off that stool, you lout! I have need for it." Joerg eyed the man coldly. "Had you asked me politely and in a way becoming of a fellow-soldier, I would have moved to yonder bench. Now, the answer is no." "You damned whippersnapper, I'll teach you politeness!" the soldier fumed and proceeded to unsheath his broadsword. In a flash, Joerg jumped from his stool and gripped the hilt of his sword that had lain at his feet. "Teach me then!" he challenged the scowling soldier. "Ottfried! Do not breach the peace of this house!" The sharp order came from the leader of the newcomers. The man called Ottfried hesitated but for a moment before he sheathed his sword again. It was only then that the leader noticed Joerg's size. "My, you are a big lad, and fearless. What might be your name?" "I am called Joerg Isebrand, Wulf Isebrand's son, Lord," Joerg answered politely. He had no quarrel with the nobleman, after all. "May I ask your Grace's name?" A grin spread over the nobleman's face. "Ottfried, you fool! You almost picked a fight with the Butcher of Warnesund. You are Wulf Isebrand's son, too? What is your purpose on my lands?" Joerg knew then that this had to be the Count of Merseburg. "My purpose, your Grace, is to get away from Hanse territory," he answered truthfully. "Spoken like a wise man," the Count chuckled. "Are you looking for service?" "I am, your Grace." "I can always use men like you. Are you true?" "That I am, lest you ask neiding's deeds of me," Joerg answered proudly. "What say you, Hauptmann Grumm? Will he fit?" the count asked an older, bearded man at his right side. "The Master of Arms will have a look at him; then we'll know," the captain said cautiously. "I'll take you into my Guard, young Isebrand. Four silver guldengroschen each week, and ten extra on my birthday. Holla, Landlord! Bring forth bread and salt!" And thus, Joerg Isebrand ate bread and salt from the Count Reinhardt's hand and pledged troth to his new lord. The journey to Merseburg, the seat of the Count Reinhardt, was uneventful. The other armsmen treated Joerg guardedly; even the loudmouth Ottfried kept his haughtiness in check. The Count spent most of the ride talking to his other followers. They spent one more night in a tavern, but now Joerg sat at the Count's table and partook of his food. Although his clothes were new and well made, he stood out from the rest of the group who wore the clothes of feudal vassals. Since he was in the Count's service now, he obeyed any commands coming from the Captain or his lieu tenant, a pock-marked fellow by the name of Ottmar, who was Ottfried's brother. Apparently, neither Ottmar nor Ottfried bore him ill will, When they reached Merseburg, Hauptmann Grumm bade him follow and brought him before a smallish man of undefined age. That worthy was the Master of Arms, Ludewig. "His Grace picked up this young lout in a roadside tavern. He has a nasty temper. Find out if he can be a guardsman!" With that, Captain Grumm left Joerg with Ludewig. The Master of Arms studied him for a while, and then ordered him to follow. In the courtyard, Ludewig told him to drop his bundle and gave him a practice sword, picking up one himself. For the next quarter hour, Ludewig did his best to disarm Joerg or to break through his guard and was rewarded for his efforts with two stinging blows to his upper arm and his ribcage. Panting, the older man finally stepped back. "Who taught you fighting, youngster?" "My father, Wulf Isebrand, did, and my rottenführer, Gernot of Brederode," Joerg answered, slightly winded. The Master of Arms showed his surprise. "You know Gernot? How is that old rascal?" With a sombre face, Joerg told Ludewig of Gernot's end in the market place of Warnesund and of the revenge Joerg had exacted. Ludewig sighed. "'Tis no end for a fine man such as Gernot," he said. "You did well, lad, to avenge him. I guess you'll fit in well with the Guard. You still have to learn horsemanship and how to behave around the nobles. There's that fellow, Engelbert, he's the head page. He'll teach you manners and such. Tomorrow, after breakfast, meet me at the stable. I'll find you a decent charger. You had better sell that farm horse of yours. It'll do you no good in the Guards." With that, Joerg was dismissed. The quartermaster showed him a cot in one of the sleeping chambers and the way to the hall where they would have supper. Then he left Joerg to unpack and move in. He shared the chamber with five more armsmen, privates like him. A feldweibel (sergeant), a rotund fellow named Bodo, sought him out to talk to him. Bodo commanded the bodyguard of the count, the two dozen men who stood watch over their lord and shielded him against assassins. Joerg was to serve under him, and he began to teach him the rules. "Never speak unless spoken to by Count Reinhardt or me. Never let anyone approach the Count unless he allows it first. Always stay within two steps of His Grace. If there is a commotion, stand in front of him and shield him." Time and again, Bodo repeated the rules, adding new ones with every repeat. Joerg's head was fairly swirling when he was finally allowed to join the household in the hall for supper. Nothing in his life so far had prepared young Joerg for the sight of the Great Hall in Merseburg Castle. The hall could easily host ten-score men. Its ceiling, supported by oaken beams, was over twenty feet high, and wrought iron chandeliers hung from it to illuminate the tables which were richly laid. Joerg was by far the youngest of the Count's followers allowed into the hall, and consequently, he found a seat at the very end of the table. Another young fellow sat at his side, named Ulfried. "You're Joerg, aren't you?" Ulfried asked curiously, and Joerg nodded. "Amourer's been singing your praise. Where do you hail from?" "I'm from the Free Marshes in the North, the Dithmarschen. Lately, I have served in Lubeck and Warnesund, against the Danes and against the Count of Schwerin," Joerg answered modestly. Ulfried grinned openly. "Oh yes, we heard of your service in Warnesund!" Several other men around them chuckled. A grizzled soldier looked at him. "I am Bruno, Ewald's son. My close cousin Judokus is somewhere up north, in a band of free companions. You ever met him?" An icy feeling ran down Joerg's spine, and his face betrayed him before he could answer. "He was in Warnesund with you?" Bruno asked, and Joerg nodded silently. "What happened there?" Slowly, Joerg related the events. When he told them how the drunken companions were slaughtered by the City Guard of Warnesund, many of the soldiers cursed under their breath. Old Bruno wept openly. Joerg had not known the man's cousin very well, but he felt with the old man. After a while, Bruno held out his gnarled hand. "You did well, avenging your brothers, young Joerg! Take my hand and know that I owe you." "Those of the City were neidinge. 'Twas my obligation to avenge my brothers," Joerg said calmly. The men appraised him with respect, he could see. During the rest of the meal, he got to know most of those who sat close to him, and he did his best to memorise their names and faces. Over the next days, the head page gave him a run-down on courtly conduct. He learned the names and faces of the other members of the noble family, the Count's stepmother, and her sons. They were not on friendly terms with Reinhardt. Consequently. Thus, they were to be treated with distrust, but also with courtesy. Also, Joerg was advised to take baths at least weekly, lest he molest the nose of his Grace or, God forbid, bring lice and fleas into the audience chamber. For that latter reason, his uniform was to be smoked weekly, too. In return for good behaviour, he learned, he would be fed amply, with free access to ale and beer. This was attested by the beefy appearance most of the guardsmen showed. Joerg ate modestly, by his own inclination, and he drank beer sparingly and wine rarely ever. None of the uniforms in the clothing chamber were a fit for his size. Thus, a tailor in town made new tunics and trousers for Joerg. His rakish landsknecht clothes were retired in favour of the black tunic and trousers of the Count's bodyguard. Over the tunic, he wore a mail hauberk and over that, a vest of sturdy leather with oblong, overlapping steel plates riveted to it, the brigandine. When on palace duty, he was to wear a short, one-handed sword and a dirk. In the field, the Guards carried "bastard" longswords, for one- or two-handed grip. Thus equipped, Joerg Isebrand was an imposing figure, in spite of his youth. Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, the youngster stood out among the guardsmen. At a little under eighteen years, he was by far the youngest in the guards. Thus, when he started his service in earnest, he was assigned to night duty, the least favoured shift. He had to guard the sleeping chamber of his Grace. Together with another young man, Ulfried, he stood at the chamber door from the time his Grace retired to the first crow of the cockerel. Fortunately, Ulfried and Joerg quickly became friends. Ulfried had grown up as the son of the old Count's jester, and he knew funny and not so funny stories about the feudal family. In return, Joerg told him all about the workings of the Hanse cities. This kept them talking in low voices for the first week, helping them to stay awake during the long hours of the night shift. When they did not talk, Joerg had time to think about his life. The last weeks had again uprooted him. First, Wolfganger's scheming had driven him away from his father's lands and into an uncertain future. He'd had to kill a man, to save his own life. Then, when Joerg had found safety and friendship with Gernot's rotte, the treason of Warnesund's burghers had once again robbed him of the life he had planned to lead. Now, he was a lowly guardsman at the Count Reinhardt's court. Was this his destiny? Would he be a soldier for the rest of his life? His banishment would be over in almost four years, but could he ever return? Now that he had been taught the concept of honour, would he be able to accept the erratic decisions of the elders and the Four in the marshes? If he returned, he would have to challenge the elder Woldganger, and there was no doubt about the outcome of such a fight. That would bring a blood feud upon his family. More so, could he rejoin his family and work the land, the land his oldest brother Bjoern would one day inherit? Could he stand the prospect of being the younger brother, of working for his brother, without a chance to start a family of his own? In those long nights, standing guard over the Count's bedchamber, young Joerg realised that he wanted more of his life. He wanted a family one day, he wanted to be more than a lowly guardsman, more than the younger brother of a farmer. Wasn't the Feldweibel Bodo a peasant's son, too? Hauptmann Grumm's father had even been a lowly collier. For a brave and loyal soldier, there was barely a limit to what he could achieve, save for nobility. Of course, this included the risk of falling in battle or dying of the plague in some field camp. Nevertheless, Joerg decided that a life as farm help was not what he wanted. In those boring nights, Joerg Isebrand decided to stay a soldier, even after his banishment ended. With brave deeds and loyalty, he would prove himself to the Count, and with luck, he could rise in the ranks. Once he became feldweibel, he would even be able to find a wife. There were also the coins, gold and silver, from Mayor Lauritz' bedchamber. With those, he could match a sizeable dowry and marry a girl from a good family. Indeed, his future could be bright. In those nights, he saw himself with rich loot and a well-dressed wife, returning to the marshes. He would help out his family and provide rich dowries for his sisters. He would even buy more land for his older brothers. It was a satisfying waking dream he had, time and again. Those dreams also awakened his longing for his parents and siblings. He had been away from home for over a year already. He missed his mother's soft voice and his father's reassuring authority. He missed the companionship of his brothers, and he missed the quiet guidance of his older sister Katherine. Most of all, he missed his kid sister, Nele. Nele had to be thirteen years old, now. He saw her before his eyes, at night, a skinny, blonde angel, always laughing and always eagerly following Joerg around. Who would play with her, keep her company, and protect her, now that he was so far away? In those moments, a lump formed in the young lad's throat. In spite of his terrible reputation, in spite of his tall frame and bodily strength, Joerg was still a lad of seventeen who had been forced to grow up ahead of his years. In those nights, thinking of his siblings, he could be a boy again, at least in his waking dreams. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 6: How Joerg Isebrand Makes a Noble Lady Angry During his time in Lubeck, under Gernot's tutorship, Joerg had learned the rudiments of reading and writing. By necessity, Joerg had to practise those skills with religious writings, with the help of the Count's confessor. At that time, religious writings were the only writings widely available. Among the armsmen of the Count, including his Captain of the Guard, Joerg was the only one who knew his letters, and like most things of importance, this became known to Count Reinhardt. One night, on guard duty, Joerg saw light and movement under the door of the Count's chamber. He and Ulfried resolved to stand upright, rather than lean lazily against the doorjamb, and it was good they did. Suddenly, the door opened and the Count gave them a nod of acknowledgement. "You, Ulfried, guard my chamber. Joerg, follow me!" he ordered. The young men shrugged behind their master's back, and Joerg followed him down the staircase and into the council chamber. "Keep me company while I read this!" Reinhardt ordered and sat at a table, after lighting a number of candles with the one he had carried with him. In the flickering light, Joerg saw that his master unfolded a tightly packed piece of parchment and started to study it. More than once, Count Reinhardt cursed under his breath, wrangling with the smeared writing. "Damnation! Why didn't that rogue take care of this letter? Went swimming with it, the damnable cur! Come here, Joerg, my lad! You know letters, too. Can you make anything out of this?" Joerg stepped close and bent over the parchment. The ink had spread on the wet parchment, but in many places, the letters were still legible. With the practice he had gained reading the pious writings, Joerg and the Count were able to piece the text together with some gaps. "Countess ... Albert ... meet ... Torgau ... Saint Wendelin day ... Duke Ernst." The eyes of the Count narrowed. "That damnable woman plans treason! Saint Wendelin's day, that's two days hence. That's where she is going, not into St. Ursula's, for praying. I'll thwart her yet! I know where she'll have to cross the river. Up, Joerg, let's rouse the bodyguard. We shall ride within the hour. I can't trust Grumm with this business; his loyalties are mixed, and he'll try to warn her to avoid a confrontation." 'Her', of course, was the Count's stepmother, Irmgard. Count Reinhardt's mother had died giving birth to him, and the old Count had married Irmgard three years later. She had given Reinhardt's father three more sons and a daughter, and Irmgard felt that her eldest, Albert, should be the Count of Merseburg. She was obviously meeting with the Duke Ernst of Saxony-Torgau, to align this powerful neighbour behind her son's claims. Indeed, within an hour, the Count, with his bodyguard under the trusted Feldweibel Bodo, left the castle at a canter. A full moon helped them find their way in the night; yet, Joerg had a hard time keeping pace with the other riders. He was only just getting comfortable on the back of his charger, and more than once, he had to hold on to the pommel for dear life. The late dawn of the October morning found them to the South of Leipzig, and after a brief breakfast and feeding of the horses, they pressed on. Joerg was thoroughly saddle-sore by late morning when they had another twenty-five miles to ride. They were not five miles away from Torgau, and dusk was near, when the weary riders saw a coach, tumbling and swaying along the dusty road. They caught up quickly, and soon, the riders circled the coach, forcing it to a halt. "Revered Stepmother, a word with you," Count Reinhardt called out. Irmgard of Merseburg alighted from the coach, her face blushing with anger. "What is all this, Reinhardt? Why are you spying after me?" "Why, dear Stepmother, far be it for me to disrupt your prayers at Saint Ursula's. But aren't you a little out of the way?" "I'm not answerable to you!" "That I have to dispute. When you attempt to conspire against me with my neighbours, I have the right to intercede. Have your coach turned around or be banished from Merseburg for life. It is your choice." "This is an outrage, Reinhardt! If only your father was here, he would..." "My father is dead, and he warned me of your ambition. Will you continue to Torgau or will you return home?" "All right, then. I'll return. You are being unreasonable, though. This was just planned as a friendly visit." "Save your lies for the gullible," Reinhardt said coldly. "I know all about your visit." Irmgard looked around at her followers, fixing her stare on a young woman, almost a girl. "Have you been flapping your mouth, ungrateful wench?" "No, your Grace, indeed not!" the girl wailed, terror in her eyes. By the narrowing of her eyes, it was clear that Irmgard did not believe the girl. "You'll pay for this," she snarled, climbing back into the coach. The girl stood there, looking around for help. It was clear that she was terrified to climb in after her mistress. Reinhardt noticed that. "What's your name, wench?" "Ilka, your Grace," the girl answered hopefully. "Holla, young Joerg! Have the wench ride behind you! If I know my stepmother, the girl would not survive the journey in the coach." "Thank you, your Grace, thank you, indeed!" the girl gushed. Carefully, Joerg steered his horse close to her and held out his hand. She was small and rather skinny, and he had no trouble lifting her up with one arm. In the approaching darkness, she moulded herself against his back, trying to stay warm, while the whole party headed back westward. They stopped for the night at a tavern. The Countess Irmgard went up to a room on the second floor of the house, and Count Reinhardt ordered a watch over the door to her room, lest she escape in the night. This was more to needle her than for practical purposes, as she had already agreed to return in Reinhardt's train. For Joerg, it was an unwelcome task, to stand watch at her door for half the night when his body ached from the long ride. When he was relieved at midnight, he wanted nothing more than to drop on his straw mattress. However, when he entered the narrow chamber he shared with three other guards, the mattress was partly occupied by the girl Ilka. She snored slightly, sleeping on her back, and Joerg arranged himself at her side, managing to find some much needed sleep. He woke up with a skinny girl cuddled in his arms. It seemed that Ilka had no qualms to seek warmth and comfort in his arms. Nature was calling though, and he disentangled himself from her arms to visit the latrine. With that done, he found out that the kitchen was busy already, and he talked one of the maids out of a chunk of bread and some cheese. Ilka showed, too, awakened by the suddenly cold bed, and they shared the bread and the cheese. The young guardsman and the maidservant thawed to each other and talked over their shared meal. Joerg learned that Ilka had been born in Prague, and she had come to Merseburg as the handmaid of some merchant's wife. The mistress died in childbirth, leaving Ilka stranded. She entered the Countess' service then, quite happy for the comfortable position. This had changed now, and she contemplated going back to her native Prague. For his part, Joerg told her of his travels and of the trouble at home. Unlike most women and girls Joerg had spoken with in the last weeks, Ilka understood him when he told her of the revenge he had exerted on the City of Warnesund. In fact, she nodded appreciatively when he told her of his deeds. "You're a strong lad, Joerg Isebrand, honest and straight as an arrow flies. You'll make a good husband to a girl one day in the future. I know I can mean nothing to you, but would you be my protector? I fear the mistress is not finished with me, although I swear I did not blab on her. I cannot offer much for your protection. If you want, I can lie with you at night, though. I'm no virgin anymore, and you're a good lad; I wouldn't mind spending a few nights with you, until I find transport to Prague." Joerg was a little flustered at her forwardness. "I can give you some shelter, Ilka, but you don't have to ... I would not ... It's not necessary." "Oh my, a big lad like you, and you're shy? Haven't you ever lain with a woman?" Blushing, Joerg nodded. "I was with a young whore in Lubeck, and in Warnesund, there was Birte, a maidservant," he mumbled. "We met whenever she could get away from her mistress." "See, no reason to be shy. You protect me, and I'll make you feel good at night." The kitchen maid giggled in the background. Joerg had to grin, too, in spite of being embarrassed. Ilka was forward. "I guess, we have an understanding," he answered, still red of face. The return to Merseburg was done at a moderate pace. They made one more stop for the night, with thirty miles to go, and in the safety of his own domains, Count Reinhardt relented his distrust of the Countess. This gave Joerg an opportunity to catch some sleep. Again, Ilka shared his straw mattress, limiting his movements and thus lightening his sleep. The door to the sleeping chamber hung in leather hinges and moved noiselessly. However, the opening of the door made for some draft of cold air, as the window shutters did not close that well. The cold draft was enough to wake Joerg from his light sleep. Next, the soft creaking of the floor boards made him wide awake. Throwing aside his blanket, he was up in a flash, the dirk in his hand. He more felt than saw the figure in front of him, but he could see the gleam of steel in the weak light that came in from the cracks in the window shutter. His hand shot forward, clamping down on the hand that held a long knife. At the same time, he pressed the blade of his dirk against the throat of the shadowy figure, eliciting a curse. "Wake up, wake up!" Joerg yelled. "Assassins!" His chamber fellows were up quickly enough, and Joerg could hear bustle from outside their chamber. Keeping a strong hold of the intruder's arm and pressing the dirk against his throat, Joerg pushed the man towards the door. That door burst open, and Bodo stood there, a torch in his hand. "What's that noise about assassins?" he asked gruffly. "I caught this man, trying to sneak into our chamber, a knife in his hand," Joerg answered, holding up his captive's hand that still held a long knife. "Well, well, Elmar, what were you up to, pray?" Bodo asked softly. The man caught in Joerg's grip was silent. Joerg recognised him now. He was one of the Countess' personal guards. "This is for his Grace to ponder," Bodo concluded. "Bring the rascal down into the common room!" Soon, a number of men, most of them only in their shirts, assembled in the common room. The landlord, roused by the shouting, stoked the fire to life, while Count Reinhardt sat stoically, gazing at the captured guardsman. When, at length, Reinhardt spoke, he addressed Joerg. "Make your report, young Joerg!" "I was not sleeping too well, your Grace, as Ilka, the girl servant, moves a lot in the night." The men chuckled. "Well, I had just turned once more when I felt a draft of cold, and I knew somebody had entered the chamber. I jumped up, and then I saw the blade of a knife in the dark, and I grabbed the hand that held the knife and pressed my dirk against that man's throat. Then, I sounded the alarm." "Well done, my lad! Bodo, Joerg receives an extra five guldengroschen this week. Now, Guardsman Elmar, what was your business in that chamber? You know, once we return to Merseburg, we can spend all winter to get the truth out of you. The result will be the same if you confess right now. Whom did you come for?" Again, the guardsman did not answer and the Count shrugged and addressed his feldweibel. "Have him bound up and place a sentry over him. Have the other men of the Countess disarmed, and put them under guard. Young Joerg, bring forth the girl Ilka!" Joerg went up to his chamber. He told Ilka to dress and he put on his trousers, too, before they both climbed down. The Count smiled at the girl. "I believe that the man who was caught by Joerg tried to kill you. It cannot be just revenge. There must be something that you know, Ilka, something the Countess does not want you to talk about. Now, think, girl! Is there anything you learned that her Grace would fear for me to learn of?" Ilka was very pale, but it was obvious that she was racking her brain. Suddenly, her face cleared. "I may know something, your Grace. Her Grace sent me on an errand, four weeks back. I was to visit a shop in the Bader's Alley. I paid five guldengroschen, and the bader gave me a bottle with a greyish powder. When I returned, her Grace put the bottle away and forbade me to ever speak about that visit." Count Reinhardt became grave, hearing that. "Arsenic, likely as not!" he mumbled. "The woman will stop at nothing." He turned to the feldweibel Bodo. "Have her luggage searched. When we arrive in Merseburg, have her rooms searched thoroughly." Bodo nodded. A sign from him, and Joerg followed him to the Countess' room. Bodo knocked. "Stay away, knaves!" they heard the angry voice of the Countess. "I can't, your Grace. Orders from Count Reinhardt! Open up!" "I refuse!" Bodo shrugged. "Joerg, give it a shove!" Rather than risking his shoulder, Joerg gave the door a mighty kick, right at the latch, and the door burst inward. "How dare you, you brutes!" the Countess screamed at them. "Orders from his Grace, your Grace," Bodo answered, quite unperturbed. His large bulk seemed to buffer him against the emotions of others. "Search her Grace's baggage for that bottle, Joerg." Joerg moved forward. "Don't you dare, you son of a mangy cur!" the Countess screamed, blocking his path. The blood shot into Joerg's face, hearing the insult. The Countess had sent a hired murderer into his bedchamber and she was likely a poisoner, too; yet she dared insult his father? "Hold your tongue, woman!" Joerg growled at her, not thinking of the consequences. "You better not bring me in rage, you conniving old hag!" The Countess sputtered in her rage, but Bodo laughed easily behind him. "He wiped out half the City of Warnesund for an insult offered, your Grace. Better heed him." Without a word, she turned and stomped down the stairs. A few heartbeats later, they heard her shrill voice from the common room. Joerg and Bodo then searched her trunk. They found a number of letters, but no glass bottle. The letters, Bodo carried down to the Count, leaving Joerg behind. Joerg had calmed down again, and he became aware of the grave danger he was in, after insulting the Countess. She might be the Count's enemy, but she was a noblewoman. The Count would not look kindly at a commoner who insulted his stepmother. He had to do something. Joerg thought for a moment. When they had knocked on the door to the room, the voice of the Countess had sounded like she stood behind it. But when he kicked the door in, she had been standing at the window. Joerg looked at the drapes and the beams of the ceiling, near the window. There! Something glinted in the weak light of the candle. Joerg reached out and found what they were looking for. With a few strides, he was out of the room and headed down the narrow staircase. He was entering the common room in time to hear the Countess accuse him of threatening her. The Count looked up when he entered. "Joerg, my lad, did you call my revered stepmother a conniving old hag?" Joerg took a deep breath. Bodo shook his head imperceptibly, but Joerg decided to be honest. "I did, Lord, and I brought proof." He held out the bottle. "Here, Lord, I found the bottle hidden in the beams of the ceiling, close to the window, where she stood when we broke into the room." "Did you now, my lad! Well, that puts a different tune into the flute. Landlord, is this your bottle?" The innkeeper turned pale. "No, your Grace, indeed not! I've never seen a fancy bottle such as this in my life." The Count gave his stepmother a cold glare. "This settles it. You will repair yourself to Winterberg castle and stay there until further notice. You will be guarded closely, and no visits will be allowed." "You will rue this day!" the Countess said icily. "This injustice will not stand forever." She turned to Joerg. "Beware, stupid boy. I'll still see you on the wheel for your impertinence!" "Oh yes, I almost forgot. I must punish you, Joerg, and reward you. For the insult to my revered stepmother, your allotment of wine will be withheld for a week." Everybody knew that Joerg rarely ever drank wine, and a few of the men chuckled. "For your tenacity, and your quickness of mind, you'll receive two gold ducats. Bodo, I want you to put the lad on day duty henceforth. He is of little use to me, dozing at my bedroom door." Joerg was grinning broadly. Daytime duty meant standing guard in the great hall and being able to sleep during the night. Also, he would be noticed, a necessity for advancing in the ranks. He caught a few envious looks from the other guardsmen, but that was a small price to pay. There was no use going back to bed now, and the Count had the landlord serve breakfast. Ilka sat with Joerg, serving him food and showing her gratitude. Her demeanour was a promise for the coming nights, and once more, Joerg was glad to have the day shift in the future. The final miles were covered by early afternoon. When they rode into Merseburg, people watched them curiously. In the courtyard of the castle, Count Reinhardt gave his orders. Within a half hour, the horses of the Countess' coach were replaced, and the scheming woman was on her way to the small Winterberg fortress. Joerg was given leave for the evening, along with the other men who had accompanied the Count. This was fortunate, for it allowed him to find quarter for Ilka, in a modest tavern. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 7: How Joerg Isebrand Learns About Witches and Wizards With gold and silver in his pocket, Joerg could afford to rent a room for Ilka and himself. It was temporary, and he had to ask Bodo for permission to sleep outside the castle, but it was money well spent. The Golden Cask was a small inn, with only two tables in the common room. The three bedchambers on the second floor were furnished sparsely, but at least the beds had comfortable straw-filled mattresses. On that first evening, Joerg and Ilka ate a supper in the common room, talking in low voices. Ilka was unlike any woman Joerg had ever met. She had grown up in Prague, one of the centres of civilisation. Her childhood had been spent in a large burgher's home, as the daughter of the cook, and she knew all about fine cooking. Joerg let her order food for their supper, and she spent time to explain the merits of food items. Once the food arrived, she corrected his table manners good-naturedly. He put up with it in a mixture of comical annoyance and eagerness. He was eager to learn about such matters. To fit in with the noble people and the wealthy would help him in his desire for advancement. He knew already that uncouthness was a barrier to that desire. Yet, there was a touch of superiority in Ilka's demeanour that he did not quite like. Once their supper was finished, he took Ilka upstairs and into their chamber. Without much ado, Joerg stripped off his tunic and his trousers, standing naked before Ilka. The girl looked him up and down with desire. "You are one strapping lad, Joerg!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with longing. Stripping down her dress, she looked at him. "Am I pretty for you?" It was curious for Joerg how Ilka sounded nervous, all of a sudden. He gave her a smile. "You are very pretty, Ilka." "I'm skinny," she said insecurely. So that was it. Most men preferred wholesome women, with wide hips and generous breasts, capable of birthing and feeding children. More so, they were better capable of hard work, too. Joerg had grown up with a hard working mother, though, who, although being slender, had given birth to five strong children. "What does it matter, Ilka? You are what you are, and you are pretty. Come close now," he said, opening his arms for her. Ilka stepped forward then, into his embrace. He gave her a soft kiss, nibbling on her lips, remembering how Birte had loved this. He felt Ilka's lips relax under his kiss and she melted against his naked chest. He felt her small, pointy breasts bore into his flesh with their stiff nipples, and he let his hands wander down her back, caressing the muscular buttocks. He kneaded the taut flesh with his large hands, and Ilka moaned into his mouth. "Let's move to the bed," he whispered. Ilka did not answer, but she let him guide her to the bed. Here, he laid her down and pulled her shift over her head, leaving her breasts open to his view. The nipples were raised already, and Joerg lost no time latching his mouth on one of them. Ilka squealed with the sensation, but there was more. The attention he lavished on her breasts soothed her feeling of inadequacy. He liked her breasts, small as they were. And her breasts certainly liked his attention! When Joerg disengaged his lips from the swollen nipple, Ilka caressed his face with a tender hand. "You make me feel good, you big boy. Yonder girl in Warnesund taught you well. Will you show me what else you learned?" Joerg knew what she had in mind. He had kissed Birte's snatch more than once, to their shared delight. Birte, however, had always washed her bottoms before they met, and she had a clean, fresh smell. Ilka, Joerg knew, had not been able to clean up after several days of travelling, and the smells that wafted up from her sex were pungent enough to make him hesitant. He gave Ilka a lopsided grin. "Why don't we put that off until we had a chance to visit a bathhouse?" he asked. Ilka drew a short breath, ready to tear into him, but then, she grinned ruefully. "Mayhap, you are right. Come to think, I wouldn't put my mouth on your lance, either. Do you mind putting your dick to work in its rightful place?" Joerg laughed. "Let us make sure that you are ready and prepared," he answered. With that, he proceeded to caress Ilka's stomach and chest with his hands, running them in circles over the soft flesh. Ilka's mood improved quickly, and to judge from the rapid movements of her chest, her excitement was growing. When Joerg placed a hand on the patch of dark blond curls, he felt dampness on his palm already, a fact that was ascertained when he explored the joining of her legs with a thumb. She was ready. Lifting himself up over the girl, he aligned his turgid shaft with her moist opening. The girl readily opened her legs for better access and was rewarded with his first, tentative thrust. Ilka inhaled deeply, while her opening settled around the invading member. "You ... are ... big," she exhaled. Looking up into his mischievous eyes, she challenged him. "Cocky bastard, push in already! Ooof!" He had pushed in. He was seated deeply within the slender girl, and he gave her time again to get accustomed to his length and girth. When he felt her relax, he pulled back slowly. Ilka mewled softly, trying to hold him down with her arms and legs. He lifted himself anyway before he plunged back in. A guttural moan was Ilka's response, prompting a repeat of his motion. She moaned again, and he felt her tight opening pulse around his member. From there, her moans accompanied each of his thrusts, rising in pitch with each repeat, until her moans became cries of passion. Her legs were locked around his waist, her feet hooked, and her hips met his thrusts with upward jerks. There was no doubt that Ilka was rapidly approaching her peak. Sure enough, he soon felt her tense up. Her mouth opened, and she let out a keening wail, pitched so high that it scarcely seemed to come out of a human throat. He felt her channel contract around him, and he did not hold back anymore. With hoarse cries of lust, he pushed in deeply, revelling in her tightness, until the delicious friction triggered his own, powerful release. They basked in the afterglow of their coupling, until Ilka pushed Joerg off. "Get off me! You're too big and heavy," she smiled. Obediently, Joerg stretched out beside her. "It's a damned shame that you're just a simple guardsman. A girl could get used to having you under the blankets." "It's too bad you want to return to Prague," Joerg countered. "A man could get used to your small titties." "Well, it was good, wasn't it?" Ilka purred. "Yes, little girl, it was good." "Little girl? I'm older than you!" "What's that got to do with 'little'?" "Just you wait, cocky boy! The night has only just started." Indeed, Ilka seemed insatiable, and she coaxed three more love bouts out of Joerg's loins, leaving both of them thoroughly exhausted by the next morning. The landlord made a few choice comments when they showed for their badly needed breakfast, making the kitchen maid blush and giggle. The two lovers were too tired, though, to take offence. Joerg attacked the food on the table with all his attention, and Ilka, for the slip of a girl she was, tucked away three large slices of bread, with butter and cold cuts. With the start of the ninth hour, Joerg's shift of duty began. He watched over His Grace during his breakfast, and then accompanied him to the Council chamber. Here, Reinhardt met his chief advisers and informed them of the findings. The Captain of the Guard, Grumm, was most saddened, it seemed, but he concurred in the necessity to keep the Countess under arrest until a better solution could be found. Talk turned to other matters, and Joerg kept his eyes and ears open, trying to learn as much as possible. Having learned the workings of a Hanse city while in Lubeck, he understood some of the issues discussed. Although here, in Merseburg, the guilds of the craftsmen were but petitioners and did not hold the powerful positions they had in free cities. Nevertheless, the Count listened to their complaints and grievances and tried to balance the interests of all involved, most of all, of course, his own. His Grace, having performed his duties all morning, was of good appetite at noon meal that he took with a few choice advisers and followers. Joerg was not one of those allowed to partake of the venison and poultry, as he was standing to His Grace's left side all the time. After the noon meal, he was relieved of his duty, to eat and take to care of his bodily necessities. Meanwhile his Grace took a brief nap after the opulent noon meal. Come the third hour, however, Joerg was back to his duty, watching over the Count, trying to lean on his halberd unobtrusively. Joerg learned another lesson that afternoon. An old woman was brought before the Count, having been accused of witchcraft by a neighbour. The accuser, together with the preacher of the village and the büttel stood before the dais, too, to deliver the complaint. The Count smirked briefly towards his scribe who stood and brought a large, nasty-looking needle. "The witch needle, your Grace," the scribe announced pompously. "We shall find out presently whether this woman is possessed of witchcraft," the Count declared. "No true witch can bear this needle. When it was forged, it was cooled down in Holy Water. A witch cannot but use magic to avoid a wound by this needle. Bring her forth!" The old woman, trembling with fear, was led before the Count. Taking the needle, he stabbed deftly into her forearm, causing her to shriek with pain. Blood welled up. "'Tis proof that this woman is no witch," Count Reinhardt declared. "The false accuser will give this woman a piglet, to compensate for her suffering and fright!" The accuser, a fat fellow, looked like he had bitten into cow manure. "But your Grace!" he protested. "Add ten lashes to his punishment, for speaking out of turn in my hall," Count Reinhardt spoke calmly. The büttel knew when to cut his losses, and he ushered the other men from the hall. The woman remained though and knelt. "Praise you, noble Lord, for your wisdom!" she said. "'Tis but my duty, Grandmother. Return to your village, and be at peace." When the woman had been led out, the Count and his scribe had a hearty laugh. "That was - what? - the third time the needle proved the innocence of a witch?" the Count asked, and the scribe nodded. "That should teach them, now, shouldn't it?" He looked at Joerg. "There's no witchcraft, no witches nor wizards, young Joerg. That's all nonsense. Yet, they would not believe me if I told them. Now, with my witch needle, they believe." Joerg understood and grinned back. "Your Grace's wisdom is even greater than what that grandmother believed." "Aye, young Joerg. You have to beat them with their own weapons." For another two weeks, Joerg was able to enjoy Ilka's company. After the first frenzied nights, they were able to relax with each other. For the first time in his life, Joerg spent time with a woman other than coupling in a secluded place. Following his inclination for advancement, he tried to learn from her about good manners, at least as far as Ilka knew about such matters. In return, he made sure the young woman found safe transport to Prague with a trader who was bound for Bohemia. When her day of departure arrived, Joerg saw her off and gave her his parting gift of large silver coins, to see her through the first days and weeks in Prague. Ilka hugged him with feeling and gave him a heartfelt kiss. "I'll never forget you, Joerg. Were it not for the long arm of the Countess, I might chance to stay here. As it is, I have to leave. Take care of yourself, and don't forget me!" "Who could forget you," Joerg smiled at the tiny woman. "I wish you good fortune and happiness, Ilka." Joerg stood for a while, watching after the wagon which rattled over the cobble stones of the main street and towards the city gate. Ilka waved back a few times, and Joerg lifted his hat in response. Then the wagon turned a corner, and Ilka was gone. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 8: Joerg Isebrand Escapes Marriage and Makes a Man Happy Over the next three years, Joerg Isebrand became a fixture around the Count Reinhardt. Wherever the nobleman went or rode, he insisted on Joerg accompanying him. Joerg was in no way connected to anybody in Merseburg, and certainly not to the Countess Irmgard. After two years, the Feldweibel Bodo raised Joerg to Corporal. The Captain Grumm was all for it, too, as he had come to appreciate the loyalty and the sense of duty the young man displayed. Joerg was never late for duty, was never drunk, and he was always willing to perform extra tasks when ordered. He frequently received payment beyond his regular pay, for those extra duties performed. His clothes were well made now, and he began to wear fine cloth, to show his growing importance at the Count's court. He had a few dalliances with local girls, but they left him unsatisfied. The tavern wenches were not to his taste; they were unkempt and unwashed, for the most part. At times when his urges became too strong, we would give in and visit a brothel. Those visits quelled his physical needs but left him unsatisfied emotionally. Joerg had grown up with women who held their heads high, but most of the wenches in the brothel were downtrodden, listless creatures who performed the services as chore. On the other hand, the daughters of Merseburg's merchants were shielded from the soldiery by their families, and his rich clothing availed him nothing, as long as he did not rise to importance. Thus, when Count Reinhardt briefly waged war with his neighbour, the Count of Altenburg, Joerg was quite happy for the chance to prove himself. The warlike endeavour was only brief, but it thoroughly changed Joerg's life. They were besieging a small border town, Theilheim, finding themselves thwarted time and again by the well-built fortifications and the obstinacy of the defenders. Count Reinhardt had brought his Guards and two more fähnlein - over seven hundred men - with the usual camp followers. Feeding nigh on one thousand mouths soon developed into a problem. Thus, Count Reinhardt became impatient with the progress and involved himself with the efforts. One morning, Count Reinhardt, accompanied by his bodyguard, was riding to inspect his men when suddenly, a large band of men broke forth from a well-hidden sally port. They aimed their crossbows at Count Reinhardt, and a dozen bolts were fired in rapid succession. Feldweibel Bodo and Joerg reacted quickly. Bodo spurred his horse to bring himself in front of his lord while Joerg yanked the Count from his horse unceremoniously, shielding him with his own body on the ground. Reinhardt was unhurt, but poor Bodo caught three bolts in his stead. The five remaining guardsmen charged the band of archers and drove them back through the sally port. Not all of them made it, but they had done enough damage. Bodo was mortally wounded, and Joerg was surprised at the anguish displayed by Count Reinhardt. Bodo had been Reinhardt's protector since he had been a young boy, and the chubby feldweibel was the Count's closest confidante. With his last strength, Bodo gripped Joerg's hand. "You protect his Grace now, d'ye hear Joerg?" "I shall, Feldweibel. Be at peace, the feldscher will be here any moment." Bodo just shook his head. "'Tis of no use," he managed to say, before his head rolled to the side. "They'll pay for this!" Reinhardt snarled, trying to cover his grief. "Let us return to camp, to bury this fine man who gave his life for me. This afternoon, he shall be avenged." Joerg nodded. "The sally port," he stated calmly. "Now that we know about it, we can blow it away with a barrel of black powder." Reinhardt smiled grimly. "I will lead the charge in person, Feldweibel Isebrand. Be ready with the bodyguard to follow me!" Joerg understood immediately. He was to follow the dead Bodo as leader of the bodyguard. He felt a mixture of apprehension, sorrow and gratitude. Bodo had been a fixture in Joerg's life for the past three years, and he truly mourned the man. Nevertheless, this was his chance for advancement, a chance he had not expected so soon. "I thank thee for your trust, my Lord! We shall need to cover the wall above the port with our archers. Else, they'll pour hot oil and pitch on our heads." Reinhardt nodded. "I shall get the archers positioned. But now, let us pay respect to Bodo." Thus it came that Joerg was the new feldweibel of the bodyguard when Bodo was buried After the brief ceremony, the archers and the foot soldiers received their orders, and the chief miner was instructed to prepare three gunpowder charges. Joerg oversaw the construction of a huge shield, ten by fifteen feet, that would protect the miners and the other attackers against anything dropped from above. Come noontime, the preparations were finished, and Jorg saw to it that the wooden shield was doused with water, to make it less flammable. By the second hour, two miners, covered by twelve foot soldiers and under the large shield, applied the powder charges at the sally port and lit the fuses. The defenders tried to stop them, as predicted, by hurling stones from the wall and pouring boiling water from the ramparts, but the miners and soldiers were protected and managed to get away in time. The explosion deafened and shook both besiegers and besieged alike. When the smoke cleared, they saw a gaping hole in the city wall, while the parapets above appeared to be cleared of defenders by the explosion. Count Reinhardt seized the opportunity at once. Eschewing the protection of the cumbersome portable shield, he led his foot soldiers into the breach. Joerg and the men of the bodyguard formed a shield around their lord as they poured through the gap and into the city. Only a few steps into the narrow alleys, they met with resistance. Some fifty soldiers and a few armed citizens tried to face them off, but they were swept away by the angry charge. It was Joerg Isebrand who cleared the way, swinging his two-handed sword like a reaper, and the enemy soldiers melted away before his powerful strokes. Count Reinhardt proved himself to be a valiant and skilful fighter, too, and their combined examples led their men to a rapid victory. More Merseburg fighters streamed through the breach to join the fight, soon outnumbering the defenders. When the resistance of the city's fighters was all but broken, the Guards under Captain Grumm broke through the main gate, now deserted of defenders, and the remaining soldiers of Altenburg's side surrendered. Next began the looting, as was the custom for all victorious armies of the time. The town's people sought to buy themselves free of looting, but Reinhardt refused to hear them. Only his bodyguard were forbidden to participate, but the rest of his soldiers were given two hours of license. "You stay with me, Joerg," Reinhardt said. "I shall compensate you for the lack of opportunity. Now, for the Mayor's house!" The Mayor of Theilheim's house was a stately building on the main square. It was already besieged by looting soldiers. They let off their attempts to break into the building when Reinhardt appeared on the scene. He rapped the door with his sword hilt and demanded access. A portly man opened. He was dressed in old, worn clothes, obviously in an attempt to disguise his affluence in the face of looting soldiers. He recognised Count Reinhardt. "What is your pleasure, your Grace?" he asked with a tremor in his voice. "You will have the distinction to house me during my stay in your rich city," Reinhardt answered. "Have rooms prepared for me and my entourage and stir your cook." "But your Grace!" the man protested. "I can hardly offer you the modest fare of my home." Reinhardt snorted derisively. "Do not think that your borrowed clothes can fool me. Either you host me and my train, or your house will be given to my men for looting." He turned. "Joerg, search the house for hidden wealth. Search from the cellars to the roof. Take two men with you, and herd all men and womenfolk into the common room." "Yes, Lord," Joerg rapped. He signalled two of his men to follow, and pushed the Mayor aside to begin his search. In the kitchens, they found an elderly cook and a nubile kitchen maid. Joerg told them to start preparing a supper for Count Reinhardt. The frightened women showed him the steep stairs down into the cellar. In the shine of a lantern, Joerg saw traces cut deep into the dirt floor of the cellar, like things had been moved. He bade his men to wait and followed the traces. They ended at a wall where shelves were set against. Joerg smiled. The wily Mayor had shifted things, to protect them from the looting soldiers. "Come down here!" he ordered his two men, and together, they cleared the items, mostly broken tools, from the shelves. When they could move those shelves, they saw a low door hidden behind them. Joerg unsheathed his long dirk. Holding the weapon in his right hand and a lantern in his left, he bade one of his men to open the door. There were frightened shrieks to be heard when the door swung open. In the light of the lantern, Joerg saw three women, huddled against the far wall. He also saw crates containing gleaming items, like silver goblets and candleholders, he saw casks of spirited drink and wine, and he saw merchant goods in great quantity. Joerg grinned. He had discovered the cache of the Mayor. "Come out, ye womenfolk. My Lord wishes to see you!" he told the huddled women. One of them, the mother obviously, answered with dread in her voice. "Have mercy, brave soldier. Spare my daughters. They are good and God-fearing girls. I beg of you, leave them be!" Joerg tried to see the girls in the dancing light of the lantern. They looked to be nubile, both of them. "You better appeal to my Lord, woman. Come out now. Don't make us drag you out." The woman took her two daughters by their hands and made them stand. Hesitantly, they approached the door where Joerg stood. In spite of the dim light, Joerg could see stark terror in the eyes of the girls. He bade one of the men to guard the cache and herded the women upstairs and to the common room. The Mayor cursed when he saw his wife and daughters. He cursed more, when Joerg told Count Reinhardt about the cache of goods they had found. He went down on his knee before Count Reinhardt. "Your Grace, surely you will not seek my ruin. Those trade goods are all I possess. If you give me time, I can ransom them. Aye, my brother in Altenburg will help me out with a loan. I can offer a thousand Guldengroschen if you let me keep my wares." Curiously, Joerg watched the women. He saw a look of bitter loathing in the eyes of the mother, directed at the Mayor. The girls looked thunderstruck, hearing their father trying to ransom his merchandise while never wasting a word for his daughters. "I see," Count Reinhardt temporised. "I'm afraid, I shall have to assess the value of those wares afore I can enter in ransom negotiations. What about those girls, then? Do you offer ransom, too?" The Mayor looked at his wife and daughters, mulling the question. Suddenly, his face cleared. "There be but no need to trouble the womenfolk, your Grace. I shall make an offer in private?" Wordlessly, Count Reinhardt walked from the room, and the Mayor followed, as did Joerg. The Mayor looked at Joerg with distaste. "I asked for privacy," he complained. Joerg laughed harshly. "This is as private as you will ever speak my lord." The Mayor licked his lips. "Your Grace, perhaps we can reach a favourable agreement on all matters?" "Pray speak, but speak plainly. I've not the time for shrouded talk," Reinhardt returned. "As you will see, your Grace, I have excellent knowledge of the Altenburg fortifications, and I can give you account of the strength of my Lord's soldiery. On the other hand, you have hold of my trade goods, my gold and my silver." "You offer treason in return for your goods?" Reinhardt asked bluntly, with disgust written over his face. "Intelligence, very useful intelligence, your Grace! There's more I can offer. You see, the girls are but my stepdaughters, from my wife's deceased husband. They are pretty lasses, and the young lads of the city's best families are lining up, expecting sizeable dowries of me. They're not my daughters, not of my blood. Why should I pay dowries? But my wife is adamant. Now, if you were to abduct the lasses, your Grace, for your pleasure or service, or as security for the ransom I owe you for my goods, it should be a worry less for me." If possible, Count Reinhardt showed even more contempt now. "You want to trade treason -" he emphasised the word "- and your stepdaughters for your trade goods, then?" "They're pretty lasses, only just nubile, your Grace, and well bred." "I've no need for commoner girls," Reinhardt said coldly. "If you want to rid yourself of them, I'll find good husbands for them, among my retainers. For each of the girls, you will give a dowry of sixty Guldengroschen. You can keep your goods for seven-hundred Guldengroschen, but the other valuables will be my loot. I shall not accept your treason of your noble lord. This is my final word. If you refuse, I shall send you to your Lord, with an account of your treachery." "But, your Grace!" the Mayor exclaimed, grabbing for Reinhardt's hand. He yelped in pain, finding his arm in Joerg's powerful grip. "Keep your hands off my lord, neiding!" Joerg growled. There was something in Joerg's voice that made the Mayor turn deathly pale. "I'm in your power, your Grace," he conceded meekly. Reinhardt nodded, still showing his distaste. "That cellar, is it safe?" he asked Joerg. "No secret exits?" "No, my Lord. It is but a hole with a dirt floor. The walls are made of large blocks of stone." "Lock this man up, down there. One sentry at the door, and see to it that the sentry stays awake. I do not trust this scoundrel." "Aye, my Lord," Joerg replied, suddenly realising that he was now responsible for things like that. Reaching out with his large hand, he gripped the collar of the Mayor and steered him to the kitchen and down the stairs, into the cellar. The sentry still stood, guarding the door to the secret room. Joerg gave orders to lock up the Mayor and returned to the common room. The atmosphere there was tense. The two girls stood behind their mother who was pleading with the Count. "Please, your Grace, I beg for my poor daughters. Surely my husband offered ransom. Please heed his offer!" Count Reinhardt was plainly uncomfortable. "See here, woman, your husband offered a dowry for them, and I shall find good husbands for them. Hola, Feldweibel! How would you fancy a pretty lass for a wife, with a dowry in gold?" "But your Grace," Joerg protested. "I am but twenty years, and what can I offer a wife?" "You can have private quarters. You'll move up in the ranks, too. She who's your wife will live a good life at my court." He turned to the Mayor's daughters. "Tell him your name and age, girls, and pray he accepts one of you. A better man you'll not find!" The girls looked at him with trepidation. Finally, the older one steeled herself. She was of medium height, with light brown hair and gentle, brown eyes. "I am Ulrike. I am nineteen years." She nudged her younger sister who was rather small and slender. Her hair was fairer than her sister's, and her eyes were grey and impossibly large. "I am Birgit," she said shyly. "I am sixteen and a half." She stared at Joerg with her big, grey eyes. If her mother was the mould, she had the promise of becoming quite a lovely woman. Joerg cleared his throat. "If it pleases your Grace, I would speak for the Maid Birgit." "No!" the mother cried desperately. "He's so huge! He'll hurt her, even if he doesn't mean to." Count Reinhardt smiled. "Joerg, will you be gentle with the lass?" "By my soldier's honour, I shall!" Joerg declared solemnly. "Never fear for your daughter, woman," Reinhardt spoke. "She is the lucky of you. Bring forth food and drink, and later, they can speak and know each other." Joerg had his misgivings, though. The girls looked timid to him. He had grown up with a self-confident mother and an older sister, Katherine, who more than held up against three brothers. Even his kid-sister, Nele, was possessed of the fearlessness that showed in all the Isebrand siblings. Thus, the shy and timid girls struck him as less than desirable. Those misgivings notwithstanding, he spoke to Birgit for a while, after supper, and she even thawed to him when she realised he would not simply throw her over a barrel and have his way with her, come the night. While he liked her better after their talk, he felt little desire for her. Things returned to near normal in Theilheim on the next morning, at least outwardly. The captains had seen to it to prevent violence against the populace, by herding them into the churches while the looting went on. Count Reinhardt wanted to extract ransom from the city, and the fact that the honour of the womenfolk was still left intact would give him some additional leverage in the negotiations. The two fähnlein took quarter in the fortifications and were mostly busy counting their spoils. Joerg organised his detail of bodyguards to protect the Count at all times, and whenever Reinhardt left his quarters at the Mayor's home, Joerg was with him. In the early afternoon, they met with the council of the city, to discuss the ransom. Count Reinhardt, very reasonably, offered to leave the city without burning and to leave the populace without rape nor other violence against a ransom of five-thousand Marks gold. An outcry of despair followed, and the worthy council members offered fifteen-hundred Marks, explaining that even such a payment would leave the city broke and without resources. In the end, they settled for thirty-three-hundred Marks, to be paid within a week. To this effect, Reinhardt allowed them to send messengers to Altenburg, to collect the gold. When the meeting broke, Joerg was approached by a young man. "Are you the Feldweibel Joerg Isebrand?" the young man asked. "That I am. Who might you be, then?" "I am Ullrich Keppler. I am sitting on the council for my father who took ill with a stroke, a fortnight ago." "I am saddened to hear of your father's ill health," Joerg answered politely. "What is your desire?" "Word has spread that the Maid Birgit was given away by her father, to be married to one of his Grace's favoured followers." "That would be me, yes. What of it?" Ullrich Keppler blushed. "If it pleases you, valiant Joerg, I have fancied Birgit for years, even when she was but a child, playing in the street. I ... I cannot stand the thought of her ... being married and taken away by somebody else. I beg of you, to release her from her betrothal to you. I hear that the Mayor offered sixty Guldengroschen as dowry. I can borrow from my uncle in Altenburg. I offer you one-hundred Guldengroschen as compensation." Joerg blinked. The offer was quite substantial. Also, this offered him a way out of a marriage he was not sure about. He temporised, to think. "You care for her that much, Master Ullrich?" The young man nodded fiercely. "I need to ask my Lord for his pleasure in this matter. I shall also ask Birgit. If she returns your feelings and if my Lord approves, I shall not stand in your way. Where shall I find you?" "God's blessing upon you, Feldweibel Joerg! I live across the market square from the Mayor's house, in the house with the sundial. When can you give your decision?" "This evening, I shall come and speak out. What is your trade in this town?" "We trade in metal goods, pots, pans, and knives. Not that there is much left, but we're but a part of our family's trade. My uncles will help us restock, once the war is over." Joerg nodded and shook the young man's hand silently before he quickly strode after his Lord who was about to leave. Walking in front of the Count Reinhardt, he mused about the offer. Birgit would be better off, married to a young merchant. He briefly thought of her sister, but then shook his head inwardly. At twenty, he was too young to marry. Also, he had to serve only one more year of banishment from the Dithmarschen. He would return, most likely, to his father's lands. Or rather, with his winnings as soldier, he would buy land close by and be his own master. Hell, come to think of it, he could buy land for his second-oldest brother Thorben, too, and give good dowries for his sisters. The five of them, wealthy and intermarried with good families in the marshes, would break Wolfganger's stranglehold on the community. Count Reinhardt entered the common room of the Mayor's house and commanded the evening meal be served ahead of time. The Mayor's wife obeyed fearfully, and her daughters helped her. The Count sat in a comfortable chair, enjoying a glass of the Mayor's best wine, and Joerg saw an opportunity. When Birgit flitted into the room he motioned for her to come hither. She approached him timidly. All the getting to know each other of the evening before had availed naught, he thought. "Birgit," he said in a low voice, lest they be overheard. "I spoke to Ullrich Keppler this last hour. What are your feelings for that man?" Birgit looked up in alarm. "Nothing, Joerg, really. We have known each other for years, as neighbours. That's all, I swear. Do not hurt him, please!" "Why would I hurt him?" Joerg asked, puzzled. "There is no reason, really." She was beet red now. "I had this silly idea, as child, that we would be married one day." "Do you still harbour that silly idea, Birgit?" She took a deep breath and looked to the floor, resigned. "I am betrothed to you, Joerg," she said. He lifted her chin with a gentle hand and saw tears lurking in her eyes. "Birgit, do you fancy Ullrich Keppler? Be honest! I shall not harm either of you, I swear. I have need to know, though." "So help me God, I do!" the girl blurted, finally showing some backbone. "But what can it avail us?" "Wait here, while I speak with my Lord," he said gently. Count Reinhardt was in good spirits. He was the richer by a considerable sum of money, he was sitting in a comfortable chair, drinking good wine and expecting a good supper. Thus when Joerg approached, he bade him speak with a good-natured smile. "If it pleases your Grace, I would stand back from the betrothal with the Maid Birgit." "Why would you? She has not fallen from grace at her young age, has she?" "Nay, my Lord. 'Twas that young merchant, Ullrich Keppler, who spoke me after the end of the parley. He begged me to release the girl, for he is deeply in love with her. You see, my Lord, she is a timid one, and I like girls to have temper and courage. I am not averse to relinquish her. He has offered compensation for the lost dowry, too." "You may do as you please, Joerg. I meant the girl and her dowry as your reward, for saving my life. Take the gold young Keppler offers, if that pleases you better. I also meant for the poor girls to be away from their revolting stepfather. Be it with you or with young Keppler is all the same to me." "Thank you, your Grace. If it pleases you, I shall visit with Keppler this evening and give him my decision. Will your Grace be content with Ulfried as my corporal and second?" "Ulfried? Hm, why not. He is a bright lad, and funny. Think he is enough of a man?" "I should think so, my Lord. For all his jesting, he always has his wits about him, and he is fearless." "It is settled then. Give him the good news and be gone to that merchant lad!" Joerg bowed courteously and left the common room to seek his erstwhile partner. He gave him the news of his advancement and brief instructions to guard the Count for an hour. Ulfried was more than grateful and promised to be a faithful second to Joerg. Joerg then left the Mayor's house at a brisk pace and crossed the market place. The house with the sundial was easily found. The few people in the square looked at him with fear, but when he approached the Kepplers' house, the door opened before he could knock. Ullrich Keppler stood in the doorway, his face a mixture of hope and fear. Not wishing to prolong the man's anguish, Joerg gave him a nod. "Come in, with God's blessing, Joerg Isebrand. We cannot offer you much; there's scarcely any food and drink left after the looting, but meet my parents and siblings!" He ushered Joerg in, who had to bend his neck to enter through the low door. The house was not as rich as the Mayor's, but comfortable enough, even lacking the looted possessions. He was presented to the master of the house, who sat motionless in his chair, in the grip of the debilitating stroke. Ullrich's mother greeted him reservedly, casting fearful glances at her own daughters. They were pretty girls, but not yet nubile, and Joerg gave them a friendly smile. Ullrich's younger brother was sixteen years of age, and he had a firm grip while shaking Joerg's hand. "Father, Mother, I have asked the valiant Feldweibel Joerg Isebrand to stand back from his betrothal to the Maid Birgit. Will you give us your answer, Joerg?" "I have spoken my Lord and the Maid Birgit. My Lord allows me to stand back, and Birgit confessed her feelings for you. I shall yield the maid for you to woo." A deep breath betrayed Ullrich Keppler's relief. "I thank thee, Joerg Isebrand, from the bottom of my heart. I shall send note to my uncle, to obtain the funds to compensate you for the loss of the promised dowry." Joerg nodded. "My Lord will await the ransom here in Theilheim, and where he is, I am." The mother spoke up. "Please, Feldweibel, convey our thanks to his Grace for the protection he gave the defenceless womenfolk during the looting. I was fearing the worst for my daughters, but we were safe in the church." Joerg nodded. "I shall relay your thanks to my Lord." He turned to Ullrich Keppler. "It be best if the Maid Birgit remains within her parents' house where she will be safe under the protection of the bodyguard of his Grace." Ullrich Keppler nodded to this. "I shall tame my urge to see her until your Lord has left Theilheim. Peace with you, Joerg Isebrand!" "Peace with you and your family!" Joerg replied, turning to leave. Once outside and in the market place, he could not help but feel smug. With the compensation offered by Ullrich Keppler, and with his share of the loot, he had made a large step towards reaching his goals. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 9: How Joerg Isebrand Returns to the Marshes and Gets His Revenge It took almost two weeks, but in the end, the ransom was delivered and the Merseburg soldiers left Theilheim with their spoils. Joerg rode at the Count's left side now, as befit the Feldweibel of the bodyguard. He was rich now, rich beyond his imagination. One hundred guldengroschen were now added to his earlier winnings from Warnesund and his saved pay and bonus rewards. With almost two hundred guldengroschen, he was set for life, if he did not take to gambling and drinking - a laughable idea, indeed. Count Reinhardt, too, hummed contentedly as they rode along. With the loss of Theilheim, and the financial burden of the ransom, the Count of Altenburg had sued for peace, and an agreement had been reached, two days ago. This was an important success for him, solidifying his rule over the lands, and discouraging potential rivals, such as his half-brothers. It had been a worthwhile effort to respond to the challenge so decisively, only marred by the death of Bodo, his life-long guardian. It had been a stroke of luck that he picked up Joerg Isebrand, three years ago, in that roadside tavern. At first, he had only seen a tall and powerful lad, an intimidating presence. There was more to the young man, though. He had a quick mind and a grasp of tactics, even of strategy. He mastered his letters even, something very few people did. Reinhardt cast another glance at the captain of the Guard, Grumm. A loyal and able man, but ageing. Not too reliable, either, when Reinhardt's stepmother was involved. One day, young Joerg would fill Grumm's shoes and be a worthy successor. Reinhardt hoped to keep the young man in his service, until then. He knew of the banishment Joerg was under, and he knew it was only for another year. The young man would want to go home, at least to see his parents, Reinhardt realised. The point would be to induce him to return. Perhaps, a local girl would be inducement enough? Reinhardt doubted that. He had family, in the North, in that free republic of peasants. It had to be a hard life, though, shielding the land against the incessant attacks of the angry North Sea. From what Joerg had recounted, his father was an outsider in that land, in permanent feud with a wealthy neighbour. Reinhardt sat up straight in his saddle when the idea came to him. Of course! Reinhardt owned land enough. If he offered some of it, Joerg's family could settle in Reinhardt's lands as freeholders. He could install the elder Isebrand as leader of the local militia, given his credentials as soldier. Reinhardt decided to broach the subject. "Ride closer, Joerg; I have needs to speak with you in private," he ordered, and Joerg brought his mount closer. "Yes, my Lord?" "You have proven a good and loyal servant, these last years. I wish for you to stay in my service, for I have great plans for you." "I thank you, my Lord. I like your service." "That is good to hear. Say, Joerg, what be your plans when the banishment from your homeland ends?" "I wish to see my parents and siblings, Lord. I would ask for leave, the next summer." "I see. Do you plan to return?" "I am not sure, Lord. Five years is a long time. My sisters may be married now. My father may be ailing. I must find out whether they need me. With my winnings, I could buy more land, too." "You'd still be the outsiders, though," Reinhardt threw in. "'Tis true, Lord." "You have two brothers you say? Are they strong and warlike like you?" "Not quite as tall, but used to wield a sword and ready to defy any foe, Lord." "I have lands that have not been tilled for years, near Steinheim. I could install your father as a freeholder there, if that is what it takes to keep you in my service. And if your brothers are anything like you, I should be glad to have them in my service, too. Think of it. Tell your parents of my offer. Their life should be much easier here." "I am speechless, my Lord. This is a most generous offer. I shall think about it. Will you give me leave, then, next summer?" Reinhardt nodded benevolently. "A son should never forget his parents and siblings. All I ask is that you return." ------- The land looked bleak to him. The wind came from the northwest and whipped along the low-hanging clouds, while a fine drizzle of rain slowly penetrated his cloak. Joerg Isebrand asked himself whether this was still his home. Even his horse seemed to dislike the direction they were going. Yes, he was looking forward to seeing his parents and siblings, but to stay in the low-lying land behind the dikes? Suddenly, he could not see it anymore. Besides, this was close to Hamburg and to Lubeck, the two great Hanse ports, and he knew that the Hanse was still looking for him. Five years ago, he had single-handedly put the Hanse City of Warnesund to the torch, avenging his betrayed comrades. They had branded him "The Butcher of Warnesund", and a price of fifty Guilders was still on his head. Unconsciously, his cold hand felt for the reassuring shape of his sword hilt. Anybody trying to bring him to the Hanse's justice would have a hard time, especially with this fine longsword he owned now. Count Reinhardt had presented it to him on the eve of his departure, and a beautiful weapon it was. The blade was over three feet long, forged in the Damascene fashion, tough and resilient at once. The bastard hilt accommodated either one or two hands, the forged crossguard was spiked, and the massive brass pommel added to the fine balance of the weapon. Two fullers, or blood groves, were ground into each side, making the blade light enough to be wielded single-handedly. Joerg had come about a copy of Johannes Lichtenauer's treatise on longsword fencing in the Count's library, and he had studied it together with the armourer, practising the art diligently. On the road to the North, Jorg had accustomed himself with his new sword, using Lichtenauer's teachings, and he felt very comfortable with the weapon. He had to leave the main road now, to go westward. There was the small copse of chestnut trees his grandfather had planted to shelter the low-lying farmhouse against the incessant winds from the North Sea. Joerg could make out the house itself, and he smelled the smoke of the kitchen fire. Another ten minutes had him riding up to the house when a voice challenged him from behind a shack. "Who goes there?" Joerg squinted through the drizzle to make out a tall person who trained a longbow on him. Could that be ... his sister Katherine? "Katherine? Is that you? It's me, Joerg!" The figure moved closer cautiously, keeping the bow trained on him. "Joerg?" she asked with doubt in her voice, but then a jubilant "Joerg!" broke forth from her throat. "You've come back, little brother! Get off that horse so I can hug you!" Katherine had always been tall and strong, and Joerg found himself in a violent hug. Just then, the door of the farmhouse opened. "Bjoern, Thorben, Joerg is back!" Two tall men rushed to them, and once again, Joerg found himself in bear hugs from his older brothers. Then, another young woman approached them, and Joerg stared in disbelief. "Nele? Is that you? You are so beautiful!" Nele Isebrand blushed prettily. She had been only twelve when her brother had been banished, and the five years had all but extinguished her memory of him. But there he stood, taller even than her older brothers, a bushy beard adorning his chin, and in the clothes of a soldier. But he was upon her and lifted her up into the air before she could finish her observations. "Let's go into the house, Joerg," Bjoern said. "You need a fire to warm up and dry. Jon, take care of my brother's horse!" The latter sentence was directed at a scrawny boy of perhaps fifteen years who took the reins from Joerg and led his horse inside the stable, but not before Joerg had retrieved his weapons from the saddle. "So, you turned soldier, little brother?" They were seated around the large table in the kitchen, the fire in the hearth burning brightly. "Yes. It was on the morning after I left, in Elmenhørn, when Wolfganger's serfs caught up with me again. A troop of landsknechte was there, too, and they forced them to fight me on even terms. I killed their leader, and the rest ran off. The landsknechte offered me to join them. But, Brothers, where are Father and Mother?" The older brothers looked down, as did Katherine, and Nele bit her lips. "Father was slain. We are sure it was Wolfganger, or his men, but the Four refuse to have him stand trial," Bjoern said through clenched teeth. "What makes you sure, Bjoern?" Joerg asked. He felt his rage well up, but he managed to keep his voice calm. "Father had killed Ulf Wolfganger. The scoundrel had waylaid Nele," here, Nele nodded, "and he tried to dishonour her. She fought him fiercely, and we heard the noise. Father was there first, and he gutted the neiding with his knife. A month later, last fall, Father did not come home. We looked for him the whole night, and we found him slain in the rye field. There were traces of a fight. We charged Wolfganger before the Four, and although he bore the marks of a fight on him, they pronounced him innocent. You know, the Four always sided with him." "What are you going to do about it Brothers?" Joerg asked, still outwardly calm. Katherine stared at him, her head tilted, expecting him to fly into his rage at any time. In the last years, however, Joerg had worked hard on himself, to control his violent temper, for he knew it to be a dangerous weakness. "We could not do much. Wolfganger has armed his serfs, and he has fifteen of them. Then, Mother died, and we had to bury her. The crop has been bad last year, and we will go hungry before summer. Hinrichsen has offered to buy our land, but what can we do then?" Joerg nodded slowly. "Have you heard the story of the Butcher of Warnesund?" he asked them. They looked at him and nodded. He could see their apprehension. "That was you, wasn't it?" Katherine asked, and Joerg nodded. "Yes, they betrayed us, killed all my comrades. Only I escaped, and I returned at night and took my revenge. Brothers, do you have any doubt that Wolfganger killed our father?" The older Isebrands shook their heads in unison. Joerg then looked at his older sister. She had more sense than all of them. She shook her head grimly. "What is your plan, little brother?" "We be three against fifteen. That sounds hopeless, but it isn't, for they won't know when we shall strike. I say, you sell the land to Hinrichsen, and the sheep, too. Let nobody know I returned. Once we are ready to leave, we shall go over to Wolfganger's at night and challenge the niding." Bjoern squinted his eyes. "We shall be vogelfrei, for killing without proven cause." "Yes, but what harm is there? Life here has been miserable for a while. Come with me! I am in the service of the Count Reinhardt of Merseburg. I am feldweibel of his bodyguard. You can join his ranks, brothers, and together we can properly support Katherine and Nele." "You want us to leave home?" Nele spoke up for the first time. "What home? They have been against us forever, calling us Dutch beggars. Look at this sword! The Count gave it to me before I left, as reward for my services. Look at my clothes! We shall never go hungry again, never have to wring the fruit from the poor soil, never have to build dikes to protect the lands of others." Katherine spoke up. "You said you were three, little brother, but I say we are five. I have learned to shoot the bow and to wield a sword, and so has Nele. If we are to avenge our parents, I shall fight at your side. With all else you said, I agree. If we stay and do nothing, Wolfganger will kill us, one by one. If we do something, we have to leave. So I say we do something right away, kill the neiding and his family and serfs!" "Not Gudrun!" Nele exclaimed. "She was always friendly to us. She came to Mother's burial, and I know she was beaten for it by her father." Katherine nodded. "You are right. Gudrun is a good girl. We shall spare the daughter then." Bjoern and Thorben nodded, and Bjoern spoke. "So be it. I shall speak with Hinrichsen tomorrow. I know he inherited a sturdy, covered wagon from his uncle last year, and he has good horses. I shall try to get those instead of money; he has little gold as I know. Let us turn soldiers then, but we shall have our revenge first. Give me your hands!" And the five siblings stood up and held out their hands. With a short knife, Bjoern cut each sibling's palm. Blood welled up, and the siblings formed a ring, holding their hands. "We form a bond of blood and steel," Bjoern intoned. "One shall stand for all, and all shall stand for one! Death to the murderer of our Father!" Young Nele was flushed, but she bravely repeated the words of her oldest brother. Joerg looked at his youngest sister with worry. They would have to look out for her. She was slender, at least more slender than Katherine who almost matched the strength of her brothers, and she was still so young. The night came, and the siblings with their lone serf had a meagre supper of grain soup. Joerg was appalled at the poverty in which his siblings lived, compared with the comfort he had enjoyed as a guardsman. When it was time to sleep, he lay awake in his old cot for a long time. He thought of his father and his mother and that he would never see them again. The hatred he had felt for the elder Wolfganger grew even hotter in his heart, and it was all he could do to lie still rather than riding over to Wolfganger's and put the neiding's dwelling to the torch. Over the next days, Joerg remained inside the house for most of the time. In the barn, he spent time, teaching his sisters the finer points of sword fighting, following the teachings of Lichtenauer. He was surprised at Katherine's sinewy strength and her agility. Nele still had to gain strength, but she showed the promise of quick reactions and fierce determination. After some haggling for show, Bjoern closed the deal with the neighbour Hinrichsen. No gold changed hands and little silver, but a sturdy wagon and five strong horses with plenty of food and feed for the journey to Holland was agreed upon. This was their legend, that they planned to go to Holland to meet their brother Joerg and their father's kin. What little was worth the effort was loaded onto the wagon under the watchful eyes of neighbours who chanced to come by, and word spread in the marshes that the Isebrands were indeed leaving. Word reached the house of Lars Wolfganger, too, and he saw his opportunity to finally kill his enemies. Once they had left, nobody would miss them, he reasoned, and he began to hold his men in readiness to waylay the family. His wife Ella supported him in his plans for she had held a grudge against Hilde Isebrand since childhood, and she wanted the Isebrand daughters as her serfs. Her husband laughed, claiming that he wanted young Nele for himself, and his wife agreed, grinning evilly at the thought of her erstwhile rival's beautiful young daughter in her husband's bed. Although they spoke in low voices, their planning was overheard by their daughter Gudrun. Like a beautiful flower may grow from a heap of dung, Gudrun Wolfganger was unlike her parents and her dead brother. She was small and slender, and her hair was dark brown. She had been a good friend to Nele Isebrand, and she did not share her family's hatred against the Isebrands. From her earliest youth, Lars Wolfganger had suspected her to be the fruit of his wife's infidelity, and he always treated the girl harshly and without love. Had it not been for his wife, whom he feared for good reasons, he would have laid hand on her long ago, and many a time, his hand had wandered over her backside, making her shudder in fear and disgust. When Gudrun heard her parents plan the attack on the Isebrands, she could not bear the thought of her friend Nele in the hands of her foul father. Late that night, she crept from her bed and out of the house. She only put on her shoes when she was out of hearing, and then she ran the three miles through darkness and drizzling rain and to the Isebrands' house. She neared the house cautiously, fearing that one of her father's serfs might intercept her, for Wolfganger's had ordered his men to keep a watch on the Isebrand dwelling. The night was wet and cold, however, and Gudrun knew that most of her father's men disobeyed and hid somewhere in a dry place, rather than being soaked. Nevertheless, she kept in the shadows as much as possible, and when she saw the door of the house, she made a sudden dash for it. She screamed in shock when strong arms took hold of her and swept her up and over a man's shoulder. She hit and kicked as best she could, but she was powerless as she was carried inside the house and dropped before the kitchen hearth like a sack of grain. There she sat on her backside, her legs slightly spread and blinked in the candle lit room. When her eyes adjusted, she saw all of the Isebrands staring at her. One of them she had never seen before. He was even taller than Bjoern or Thorben, and he was dressed in the fashion of a soldier. It was he who spoke to her. "Who are you, and why are you sneaking around our house?" Suddenly, Gudrun remembered the whispered tales of the youngest Isebrand brother, the terrible Butcher of Warnesund, and she realised it had to be him. In a voice trembling with fear, she answered. "I am Gudrun Wolfganger. I came to warn you. My father plans to raid you on the road once you have left your home. He wants to kill your brothers and he plans worse things for you, Nele. Please believe me!" "Why are you warning us then?" Bjoern spoke up. For an answer, the girl opened the top of her blouse wide enough to show bruises on her shoulders that ranged from blue to brown. "I have no love for my father," she said simply. "I would ask you to take me with you to the next town where I may find work as maid." "Tonight is the night," the tall soldier spoke. "If they notice her missing, they will be suspicious. We have to settle the score tonight." And he hung a beautiful longsword around his shoulder and took a halberd from a corner. The other Isebrands, too, silently armed themselves. Nele gave Gudrun a warm cloak and man's pants, and together they left the old, reed-thatched farmhouse. The three women sat on the wagon while the men saddled and mounted horses. A half hour later, they were on their way. Soon, Gudrun noticed that they were not heading south, but rather towards her father's farm. They stopped the wagon just out of earshot, and then, to Gudrun's surprise, Katherine took thin ropes and leather strips and bound her tightly. She made her lay in the bed of the wagon and covered her in warm blankets. Then she gagged the girl. Before she left, she leaned over her and patted her head. "This is for your safety, Gudrun. We shall have our revenge tonight or die. If we die, they will find you bound and gagged, and you can tell them you were abducted by us." Katherine took a sword as well and jumped down from the wagon. Frantically, Gudrun tried to lift herself up, and indeed, she was able to sit up and look over the bed of the wagon. She had stared into the darkness for a while when, suddenly, she saw flames rise from her father's large storage house, and the first cries of alarm could be heard. Even over the distance, Gudrun heard Joerg Isebrand bellow his challenge. "Come out, Neiding! 'Tis I, Joerg Isebrand! Come out and fight!" In the unsteady light of the flames, she saw her father's knechte pouring from the house, barely dressed and haphazardly armed. They outnumbered the Isebrands by three to one, but when Joerg Isebrand charged them with a blood-curdling cry of rage, they melted away before his sword. She saw Bjoern and Thorben follow in their brother's wake, striking left and right, and she saw her father fall under Joerg Isebrand's sword. What she also saw was Nele, striking down a man as he tried to stab at Joerg Isebrand with a pitchfork. She did not see Katherine storm into the house, into the Wolfganger's sleeping chamber, and she was spared the sight of Katherine Isebrand throttling Ella Wolfganger to death. Gudrun saw that the maids and some knechte who had surrendered their weapons had been left alive, and those huddled in a close group, trembling with fear. Joerg Isebrand spoke to them and pointed them towards the village, and they trotted away in their thin night shifts through the wintry night. When the Isebrands returned, she saw that their clothes were covered with blood. Even Nele had a blood-smeared face where she had carelessly pulled her hair to the side with her bloodied hand. Bjoern spoke to the frightened Gudrun. "Gudrun, you have lost your parents tonight, but if you wish, we can be your family from now. We shall go south and find better living. We shall treat you like our own sisters, and no harm will come to you if we can help it. What do you say?" Katherine had removed the gag and freed the girl's bindings. Gudrun hesitated only briefly. If she stayed, she would be married to some aspiring farmer's son in a rush, and nobody would ask her preference. If she went with the Isebrands, she might find something better. She nodded. "I shall go with you if you will have me." By chance, her eyes met those of Thorben Isebrand, and she blushed. For Thorben cast a look full of longing at her, and Gudrun's heart skipped a beat. She exhaled with a deep sigh. The faint dawn that showed on the eastern sky symbolised the hope she suddenly felt, the hope to find a man who would see more in her than just a rich dowry. Katherine and Nele mounted the wagon, then, while the men climbed their horses. Off they rode, while Gudrun watched the house of her birth engulfed in flames, as fiery symbol of the Isebrands' revenge. They stopped once more, an hour later, at the large house of Tønne Wolfson, the head of the Four who spoke justice for the Marshes. "Tønne Wolfson, come out!" Joerg Isebrand shouted. It took a while, but then the old man showed, flanked by his son and his two grown grandsons. "You know who I am, old man?" Joerg asked. "I know you, Joerg Isebrand. What do you want?" "From you, nothing!" Joerg answered with disdain. "You acquitted Wolfganger of the murder he committed. Know then, that it availed nothing. This night, we went and settled the blood feud." Gudrun had to avert her eyes when Joerg threw her father's severed head before the feet of Wolfson who jumped back in terror. "You pledged to speak justice, Wolfson, and you broke your oath. Now, Wolfganger's line is extinguished save for his daughter Gudrun, who turned her back to his scoundrelly ways. Had you spoken justice, this would have never happened. The blood we shed tonight, it is on your head!" "I declare you and your kin vogelfrei!" Wolfson screamed, "You do that," Joerg answered with contempt. "Be grateful for your white hair, though. Were you a younger man, and able to defend yourself in a manly manner, by my troth, I would strike you to death. I'll let you live out your last days for you will face divine judgement before long. May a horned gaoler give you your just punishment!" With that, the Isebrands turned their horses and the wagon and left, heading for the southbound road. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 10: Nele Isebrand Kills a Man and Thorben Finds a Wife They reached Lueneburg after ten days. It became obvious that the wagon was slowing them down, and they found a buyer for the wagon and the heavy horses. With the money, they purchased mounts for the women, and three pack horses. Using some of Joerg's silver, they also bought better weapons for the men and women. Katherine in particular yearned for a crossbow, and Joerg bought a well-crafted one for his older sister. Nele wanted a lighter sword. The two-handed longswords were just too heavy for her. Joerg had noticed already that his youngest sister was ambidextrous: she could handle a sword equally well in either her right or left hand. He convinced her to take two identical short swords, telling her of Lichtenauer's teachings on the subject. The scabbards were fastened on crossbelts, behind her back. Both Bjoern and Thorben opted for "bastard" swords, with three foot blades and grips that supported both one-handed and two-handed use. Only Gudrun shied away from weapons. Her calling was cooking and the world of herbs. Joerg made sure to let her buy what she needed for the journey. All of them purchased pants made of supple leather, with boots and vests of the same material. They had hauberks of chain mail to wear over the leather vests, and helmets with nose guards to protect their heads. From afar, Katherine and Nele looked like any soldier, and when they continued on their travel southward, they were not bothered. Two weeks later, they reached Merseburg, and Joerg reported back to Count Reinhardt. The Count expressed his sympathy to Joerg for the loss of his parents and agreed to accept Bjoern and Thorben in the bodyguard. He also allowed Katherine, Nele and Gudrun to share Joerg's quarters in the castle, even allowing him two small extra bedchambers. Joerg showed his siblings to his allotted rooms, and they settled in. The armourer Ludewig agreed to test Bjoern and Thorben on the next morning, and within a week, the two brothers were sharing the hated night shift at the door to his Grace's bedchamber. This put his elder brothers under Joerg's command, a situation he had not foreseen and which made him feel awkward. Sensing her brother's discomfiture, Katherine brought up the subject at supper and made each brother speak his mind. Surprisingly, Bjoern declared that it was only right for Joerg to be in command of all matters related to their soldierly duties. In turn, Joerg made clear that he saw Bjoern as the head of their family. On this, they all agreed readily. The next problem arose when both Katherine and Nele wished to continue their weapons training. This was unheard of among the soldiers in the castle, and many a nasty comment was shouted whenever Katherine and Nele showed up for practice. The practised eye of the armourer, however, was not deceived by whatever prejudice he might hold. He discovered Katherine's potential with the crossbow and willingly taught her the finer points of archery. She was a natural, with an instinctive feel for the weapon and for cross winds, and soon, she out-shot whoever she was paired up against. She also took to warcraft like a duck to water, her tall sinewy body sustaining her through all the exercises Ludewig dreamt up. Soon, she was regarded by most as one of the guards. Old Ludewig also noticed Nele's lightning reflexes. Borrowing from the teachings of Lichtenauer, which he had studied together with Joerg, he taught her to fight with two swords. Nele had to work on her strength and stamina; she was only seventeen, after all. However, she pursued her goal with the same single-minded tenacity that was a hallmark of all the Isebrands. Of course, Count Reinhardt was aware of the two young women among his guard soldiers. He did not mind, however. Their presence made most of his guardsmen try harder in practice, be it only to avoid being shamed in front of two pretty women. His Grace even allowed them to accompany his entourage during the hunts, charging them with the safety of his current maitresse, Anna of Bernau. Anna was a pretty woman from an impoverished noble family, and she had easily won Count Reinhardt's favour with her fresh beauty and her vivacious personality. She knew full well that he would not marry her - she had no dowry to offer, after all. Nevertheless, she was, for the time being, a fixture at the Count's court and a force to be reckoned with. At first, she was amused to have two women for bodyguards. After a while, though, she thought it nice to have female companions and she took it upon herself, to teach the two peasant girls proper behaviour and language. As with their weapons training, Katherine and Nele accepted the tutoring with open gratitude and that endeared them to the Lady Anna. Their chance to return the kindness came soon. One late autumn day, they had been left behind by Count Reinhardt for reasons of safety while the men were tracking a wounded boar, a dangerous enterprise. They had dismounted, stomping some life into their cold limbs. Suddenly, Nele cried out a warning. From the edge of the clearing, the wounded boar bolted into the open. Seeing the humans, the enraged, wounded animal charged immediately. While Nele whipped out both swords, Katherine hurriedly readied her crossbow. The boar was only thirty feet away when Katherine let her bolt fly. Her aim was true, and the bolt hit the left eye of the charging animal, penetrating the brain. The boar stumbled to a halt, but it was still standing. Not for long, however. Taking her chance, Nele dashed forward and skewered the boar's back with one sword, jumping back at once and holding her second sword in readiness. For two or three heartbeats, the animal tottered back and forth before it collapsed. When the hunting party broke into the clearing, his Grace saw that two women had deprived him of the prize of the hunt. He was nothing but relieved though to see the lady of his heart unharmed, though decidedly frightened. Quickly, the hunt master cut open the belly of the beast and offered the fresh liver to the startled Isebrand women. Reluctantly, they each took a bite. The men laughed at their faces, but there was admiration intermingled with the laughs. To take on a wounded boar without proper hunting weapons was more than most men would have dared. From this day on, there were no taunts against the two young women, at least not openly. Acknowledging her mastery of the crossbow, the Count even charged Katherine with teaching the young men of the militia. Her size and personality discouraged the youngsters from mocking her. If she wanted, Katherine could be intimidating. She was taller than most men, at a full six feet height, and by no means skinny. Nele had a harder time to gain acceptance. Being quite young, slender and of uncommon prettiness, she was the target of many a soldier's amorous attentions. More than one rambunctious man found out that Joerg was fiercely protective of his kid sister, as attested by the black eyes and split lips they suffered when Joerg was finished with them. Still, perhaps because of the associated danger, men tried to force their attention onto the girl - until one evening in late February. Nele was returning to their quarters, coming from the town where she had placed an order for new boots. Turning a corner, she suddenly faced two of her most persistent suitors. They were returning from the town, too, and they were drunk enough to disregard the risk. Both of them tried to grab Nele, but the nimble girl dodged their first clumsy attempt, breaking away from them. Once more, they crowded her, but Nele stomped on the foot of one of them while kneeing the other between his legs. Yet, she could not get around them, to flee towards the castle and the sentries, and now both men drew knives, cursing her and swearing violent retribution. Nele had gone without her swords, this being a trip to the boot maker, but she carried a large hunting knife, a hirschfänger, a gift from the grateful Lady Anna and not unlike a short sword. When both men pressed their attack, young Nele proved her mettle beyond doubt. With cat-like agility, she dove for one opponent's legs, slashing the tendons of his right knee. He went down in a heap, too shocked to even try to continue the fight. His companion fared even worse. He lunged at Nele with his knife, clearly aiming to kill her. Nele blocked the attack with her right arm. Quickly shifting the knife to her left hand, she rammed it home through the man's armpit. Nele had to stand trial before Count Reinhardt, for killing and maiming two soldiers, but his Grace, prodded by his paramour Anna, quickly deemed her deeds rightful self defence and acquitted her. From this point on, Nele always went armed, and even the most horny soldiers accepted that trying for Nele Isebrand was too dangerous a sport. The Isebrands mostly kept to themselves in those months. Only Ulfried, now corporal of the bodyguard, visited with Joerg and his brothers from time to time. Gudrun had taken over most of the domestic tasks, and she earned her keep well enough. Within a few months, Gudrun had become a member of their family, regarded by the men with the same love and protective care as their own sisters. Gudrun felt the same about Joerg and Bjoern, and certainly about Katherine. They were her older siblings. Nele was different, being of the same age. They had played together as children, ignoring the family feud, and they shared a strong friendship. Thorben was different, too, but for a different reason. Whenever Gudrun saw him, she became tongue-tied and blushed. It did not take long for the others to see the reason for this. There was an easy solution for her predicament, as Thorben, too, felt strongly for the young woman. Thus, one evening in April, Thorben spoke up after supper in their quarters. "I ask you all to stay seated, for I have important things to speak about. Brother Bjoern, I have come to care for Gudrun, Lars Wolfganger's daughter. I know we had blood feud with her father, but I ask for your permission to take Gudrun as my wife. I believe she cares for me in kind; else, I would not ask." All eyes turned to Gudrun, who sat next to Nele, her hand in her friend's encouraging grip. She took a deep breath. "Thorben spoke truth. I care for him, and I ask you to accept me as his betrothed. I know I have no dowry to offer, and I know of the evil deed my father committed. I beg of you to forget about the past." Bjoern and Joerg looked at each other and came to a silent understanding. Bjoern cleared his throat. "Your father's blood debt was extinguished in his own blood, Gudrun. We took you in as our sister, and we welcome you as our brother's betrothed. Thorben, you have my blessing to woo the maid." With a girlish squeal, Nele hugged her friend. Katherine's embrace, while not as exuberant as Nele's, was no less heartfelt. Jon was sent to buy a tankard of ale, and the couple was toasted. Time and again, Thorben and Gudrun were hugged by one of their siblings. They went to bed with happy grins fixed on their faces and woke up, still smiling. On the next morning, Bjoern went to the chaplain of the castle and arranged for a wedding on the next Sunday. Neither Thorben nor Gudrun had gold of their own, but nobody could have guessed that. Come Sunday, Gudrun had a chest of linens and beautiful copper pots and pans. Likewise, Thorben had gold enough for a wedding celebration, all courtesy of Joerg's earlier winnings. It was a memorable day when Thorben and Gudrun pledged each other their troth. The Captain Grumm was present, as were many fellow guardsmen. Even his Grace showed briefly, toasting the couple with Rhine wine and giving Thorben a wedding present of ten guldengroschen. Neither Joerg nor Bjoern partook much of the wine and spirits, let alone Katherine or Nele, but both women, for once, had donned dresses and they danced with whoever asked them. It was well after midnight when the flutists and shawm players quit, and then Thorben and Gudrun retired to their bedchamber amongst rowdy shouts. Shortly after, the celebration ended. Bjoern and Joerg took care to break their sisters free from their mostly drunk admirers, using both physical force and joking words, and to escort them back into their chambers. Over the next days, Bjoern was busy turning down suitors who asked for permission to woe Katherine or Nele, but he managed to do it without ruffling too many feathers. Being married to Thorben, Gudrun lost the last vestiges of her shyness and reluctance, and she quickly assumed the role of surrogate mother for all of them, in spite of her youth. She revelled in making them all feel cared for, and the Isenbrands loved her for it. It was a happy time for them all. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 11: How the Isebrands Go to Italy to Fight for the Emperor Reinhardt, Count of Merseburg, was a cautious man. He had to be. With three younger brothers, all of them by his father's second wife, he stood in their way. He feared his stepmother, and he feared his three half-brothers. No, that was not true, he was wary of them. None of them was allowed to serve in his troops, let alone his guard. All his guard was composed of men he trusted, men without ties to the local nobility, for his stepmother was kin to most of them. He watched his favourite soldier, Feldweibel of the Guard Joerg Isebrand, and he envied him secretly. He had two brothers he could trust his life with, and two sisters who were fiercely loyal to their brothers. Already, Reinhardt had plans for Joerg. The Captain of the Guard, though loyal, was getting old. Plus, he had served under the old Count, and he would never raise a hand against his wife or her sons. If push came to shove, he would be neutral at best. Isebrand would be a good replacement. The Count had long found out that the tall man's loyalty was unwavering as long as he felt that loyalty was returned. Of course, he knew about his past, about his rampage through Warnesund, but the man had never failed in his duty since he joined the Count's guard, and Reinhardt figured that the merchants of Warnesund had had it coming to them. Forcing himself out of his reverie, the Count returned his attention to the emissary of the Emperor. It was a mad idea put before him. The emperor was quarrelling with the French king over the Lombardy province of Northern Italy. Therefore, the emperor tried to raise an army, and the imperial emissary tried to convince the Count to help out with troops. The issue was compounded by the fact that Pope Clement had decided to meddle and had taken the side of King Francis of France and the Venetians. Thus, Charles V. could not rely on troops from his own, Catholic lands. Rather, he sought to assemble an army of mercenaries from the protestant dominions of Germany. "Worthy Abbot," Count Reinhardt started, for the emperor's emissary was the prior of a monastery in Ghent, "you mean to tell me that His Highness wishes to lead an army of Protestant soldiers against France and the Holy Father?" "Not against the Holy Father, I assure you! Against the League of Cognac, which to join, his worldly advisers erroneously convinced the Holy Father. Never would His Imperial Majesty rise in arms against His Holiness!" "And who is to command?" "None other than Georg of Frundsberg, your Grace. I may add that His Majesty offers compensation for your inconvenience." Count Reinhardt leaned back. Now the abbot was talking business, and an idea formed in the Count's head. There would be resistance in his dominions if he picked a stranger as Captain of the Guard, and this might just erode his own position. But if that stranger came home from a victorious campaign, things would look different. "Let us say I can spare two fähnlein, how much compensation are we speaking of?" "His Majesty offers ten Thaler for every fighting man, and he will afford the men's pay." Two fähnlein would bring him over eight thousand Thaler, a princely sum. "And His Majesty could find a husband for your stepmother." "Pray tell, revered father!" Suddenly, Reinhardt was very interested. "The Count of Meghem, in Brabant, desires a wife, and he would be content with a modest dowry, say that castle you have, on the River Rhine?" "He would, would he? But of course, my dear stepmother would be most unhappy, living without her sons." "The count has no sons, and seeing that he is over sixty, he may never sire any. He should be most happy if his future wife brought three strong sons into the marriage." "But then again, revered father, that castle on the River Rhine has been most profitable to me. It came to my father with his first wife, my mother, and I hold her memory dear." "Our Lord charges us to love our parents. But perhaps your Grace may want to consider a favourable marriage yourself?" "Yes, I do, revered father, but I have not found one that would appeal to me." "It is most interesting that you say that, your Grace. I happen to know that the Count of Landshut has but one daughter, and he is anxious to find a suitable husband for her." "He does?" "Oh yes, your Grace. Perhaps, if it suits your Grace, I could arrange for a contact?" The Count and the wily priest haggled for a little while longer, but in the end, they agreed on the terms. The Emperor Charles would arrange for the marriage and pay the promised premium for the soldiers, while taking the Count's stepmother off his hands. When the abbot had gone, Reinhardt motioned for his feldweibel to come over. Bowing shortly to his master, Joerg stood before the dais. "My dear Joerg. I have good news for us. The Emperor has asked me for soldiers to fight the French and the Pope in Italy, and I have agreed to provide two fähnlein. Captain Brunner will command the first and lead the march. He is quite old as you know well, and he may not return. I shall have you lead the pikemen, as his lieu tenant. That way, when you return in honour as Captain of that fähnlein, nobody can say a word when I shall make you Grumm's successor." "But, your Grace, who will look after your safety while I fight in Italy?" "Have no worries, my trusted friend. My revered stepmother has been promised to the Count of Meghem, and my brothers will accompany her." He grinned openly, and Joerg smiled in return. "That is one less worry for me, and once they are gone, Captain Grumm can be trusted." "Who shall I take to serve the Emperor?" "Take along your siblings. You can rely on them. Your oldest brother will be made feldweibel, and your brother Thorben can be purser. Your older sister can even lead the archers. I'm always amazed at her skills with the crossbow. Your kid sister may serve as your messenger, she rides well." "They will not disappoint you! When shall we have to leave, your Grace?" "You will join with the Bohemian troops in Prague. Try to be there next month. Frundsberg will decide on the route to Italy. He certainly knows the way." The Count chuckled, saying this. Frundsberg knew every way in Europe, having fought for over thirty years and under three emperors. "I need to tell the Captains. Have them alerted, please." Joerg retreated and and sent messengers to the Captains Brunner and Lothar. The first fähnlein was comprised of free soldiers, mercenaries really, while the second was manned by Saxons from the Count's own lands. The worthy Captains showed conflicting emotions when told of the task they had to fulfil. Captain Brunner was close to fifty, and he doubted that his body would sustain him through the arduous campaign. However, he saw it as his duty, and he saw the honour bestowed on him. He wanted to get something off his chest, though. "Your Grace, I thank you for your trust and I will cheerfully lead our men in support of our Emperor. But we both know that I am an old man; I may not make it through this campaign. We need to select a second in command I can trust and who will follow after me should I succumb to the exertions." "Bravely spoken, my old friend," the Count answered. "Fear not, for I have found the right man. You know that I trust my feldweibel Joerg Isebrand above all others. I have great expectations for his future in my service. Would you be content with him serving as your lieu tenant, with you teaching him?" "There is no doubt about his loyalty nor his bravery, your Grace. I can see him as my successor." "Nay, my trusted friend! I need your continued service. Speak not of succession," the Count exclaimed, and a flattered smile creased the face of the old captain. "I have served your father and your grandfather, your Grace. I shall go on this last campaign, and I fervently hope to add honour to your house. With your Grace's permission, I shall groom young Joerg to follow me." The next days brought bustling activity to the Count's household. His stepmother was informed of her good fortune, that is, that she would be married again with the blessing of the emperor himself, and that her sons would be heirs to her new husband. They would leave for Ghent in the next days in the train of the abbot. The Countess was less than enthusiastic at first, but she relented under the prospect of winning a county for her eldest son. In the meantime, Joerg and his siblings prepared for the campaign. Since Joerg had been made lieu tenant, Bjoern was serving as feldweibel. Thorben was purser, and in charge of the supply train, six wagons drawn by sturdy horses. Gudrun believed she was with child, yet she insisted on accompanying them. She would ride the lead wagon, and Jon would steer it. Captain Brunner was happy to accept Katherine as leader of the archers. She met with some derision at the outset, but her mastery of the crossbow, her imposing, tall figure, and the fear most men held of her younger brother soon helped her to assert herself. Nele had no fixed task. Joerg had her ride at his side, as his messenger, but he rarely sent her anywhere. Ever since she had killed the two soldiers, the Isebrand brothers never let Nele go anywhere by herself. Nele knew it was out of true concern and care for her, and for the time being, she abided by the rules. After almost one month of preparations, the two fähnlein left Merseburg. From the outset, Captain Brunner kept Joerg at his side, discussing each and every move they made. After a week of travel - they were nearing Prague - he confided to Joerg that he suffered from a malignant growth. He was hopeful that he would still complete the task his liege had charged him with, but he wanted to groom his successor anyway. By association, Nele was included in the teachings, since she always rode at Joerg's side. When they reached Prague, they were given quarters in a large field camp. The supplies were scarce, Thorben found out, as the Emperor had found it difficult to borrow enough money from the Fuggers of Augsburg, the premier lenders of money in those times. Nevertheless, after two weeks, the assembled troops left Prague, under the leadership of the famed Georg of Frundsberg. That worthy field captain led his troops towards Regensburg and the Danube. They followed that river for two hundred miles and reached Vienna, the capitol of the Austrian heartland of the Habsburg dynasty. Here, they rested for a fortnight while Frundsberg assembled his army of 15,000. It was getting late in the year and Frundsberg was pressed to move before the snowfall in the Alps would block their crossing. The Isebrands were well off, and they could afford to buy extra provisions, waterproof boots, and fur coats. The mass of the landsknechte, however, suffered badly during the crossing. It was lucky that the snows were late that year. They managed to cross into the Tessin valley around Christmas 1524. In the warmer climate, they camped out and waited for the entire army to arrive. The crossing of the Alps had been too much for Captain Brunner. He developed a severe cold, just after their arrival in Tessin, and his fever rose alarmingly. He became delirious on January 4 and died a day later. As laid down in the orders by Count Reinhardt, Joerg succeeded him, and the joint command of the Saxon troops came to Captain Lothar, of the second fähnlein. They were badly needed in the Lombardy. The imperial commander-in-chief, Charles de Lannoy, was outnumbered by the French, two to one. His sole base of operations, Pavia, had been under siege since early fall. However, the defenders, under Antonio de Leyva, had braved several assaults by the French, and Francis, King of France, had felt the need to dispatch some troops to other war theatres. In addition, five thousand Swiss soldiers from Graubuenden had left the French forces, heading home to defend their canton against marauding landsknechte. Charles de Lannoy rightly thought it time to turn the tides of the war when Frundsberg with his landsknechte arrived at Pavia in mid-January. Over thirty thousand soldiers and half-again as many supporters, gunsmiths, blacksmiths, tailors, shoemakers, whores and peddlers, were in camp. Lothar sought to keep the Merseburg men together and succeeded mostly. Katherine and Nele moved freely about the field camp as the discipline was tight. Dressed in their black tunics, wearing hauberks and brigandines and armed to the teeth, they did not attract that much attention in the first place. The French forces were encamped in a walled park called Mirabello, outside the city of Pavia. With the imperial troops closing in, the French were in effect caught between the defenders in the city and the relief army. It was clear at this point that Lannoy sought a decisive battle with King Francis, and the days were spent drilling the men for battle and affecting repairs to weapons and other equipment. Joerg worked to make the pikemen and the archers a functioning unit. The pikemen would form a protective shield from behind which the archers could launch their bolts. On February 23, the Colonels and Captains were assembled by Lannoy, and he explained his plan of attack. The plan was simple enough, Joerg thought, and he returned to his men to give them their final instructions. The two Saxon fähnlein were part of a regiment of six thousand landsknechte, commanded by Frundsberg in person, and they would be pivotal to the success of the attack. That evening, the Isebrands made sure that Gudrun would be safe, sending her back towards Lodi. Joerg tried to convince Nele to accompany Gudrun, but she was adamant to stay at his side. In the end, Joerg had to relent. They had an evening meal and went to bed early, to gain strength for the coming battle. Not unexpectedly, Joerg found himself nervous. His rise in the ranks had been due mostly to his loyalty to Count Reinhardt. His fighting experience was limited to the skirmish between Lubeck and the Danish and the conquest of Theilheim, hardly comparable to the battle that was looming ahead. Seeing that Katherine lay awake on his left, he nudged her softly. "Sister, how do you feel?" Katherine took a deep breath. "That is hard to answer. We will be in the thick of fighting. I dread the thought that one of us may be killed. And you? Worried?" "Who wouldn't be?" Joerg answered, exhaling deeply. "I have only seen true fighting twice, in minor campaigns. That was nothing, compared with what we face now. They expect me to lead the fähnlein. What if I make a wrong decision? You all depend on me." Katherine's hand touched his arm soothingly. "I trust you, Joerg. You have studied your craft. You have learned from good masters. You are smarter than most of the other captains I have seen here. Be careful to control your temper, that is your only weakness." Joerg nodded dubiously. His rage was useful in hand-to-hand fighting, he had found. Katherine smiled at him. "I said control it, not suppress it. Use it in good measure when we get into the thick of it. Just keep it in check, when you have to make decisions." "Do you think I can do that?" "You must, Joerg! You have responsibility. You must look after Nele, too. That brat has a worse temper than yours. Keep her close to you." "I heard that!" Nele grumbled from Joerg's other side. "And it's good you did," Katherine retorted. "I want to see you both alive, after tomorrow, so you both have to control your famous tempers!" "It's good we have you, our voice of reason," Joerg chuckled, feeling relieved, and he hugged his big sister close. "Hey, what about me?" Nele complained, moving in on him. Sighing, but inwardly happy, he hugged both his sisters, and in that hug, they managed to find some sleep. During the night, the imperial artillery started a bombardment of the French. Covered by the noise of the cannons, miners breached the wall surrounding the park of Mirabello. First, three thousand arquebusiers sneaked in, to attack the Castle Mirabello, where the French King was suspected to be. The light cavalry followed and spread out to intercept patrols. They soon became involved in intense skirmishes with French cavalry, and the sound of the fighting could be heard outside the walled park. Frundsberg now gave command to advance through the breach in the wall. The Saxons covered the left wing of the landsknechte, with the pikemen in the lead. The archers followed closely, and the rear was brought up by the Saxon foot soldiers. They had not moved far beyond the breach when they heard the sounds of fighting. A troop of Swiss pikemen, fighting for the French, had come upon a small imperial artillery detachment, overthrowing them. Frundsberg gave order to advance and engage the Swiss. This was Joerg's third battle, but it was unlike the two before, as it was still dark. Torches gave only weak light, and it was of utmost importance to keep their men in closed ranks. The pikemen advanced in three lines. Quite suddenly, enemy soldiers appeared out of the dark, and the pikemen knelt. Katherine's archers fired a volley of bolts into the dark ahead, and to guess from the cries and curses of wounded men, some of them found their marks. With felled pikes, Joerg's men advanced to meet the Swiss. It was lucky that they advanced in eastward direction, as they could see the enemy as silhouettes against the brighter eastern sky. The following minutes became a blur in Joerg's memory of that morning. He was under attack by the Swiss immediately, and they tried to stab at him with their pikes. "Dismount! Fight on foot!" he yelled at Nele. But Nele had already jumped off her horse, both swords drawn. With a high-pitched cry, she stormed forward. Quickly, Joerg jumped off his charger, unsheathing his longsword. The pike shafts raised in defence were no match for the Saracen blade as Joerg waded through the enemy pikemen like a proverbial grim reaper, swinging the mighty sword in deadly arcs. The feeble attempts to parry his strokes only induced his fighting fury, and he cut a swath into the enemy line, with Nele following in his wake and covering his back. Sweet, young Nele was transformed, too. With lethal precision, she wielded her short swords, parrying here, thrusting there, always too fast for her opponents. To their right and left, the Saxon pikemen advanced, too, pushing the Swiss back. Suddenly, a strong, clear female voice was heard. "Saxons, beware!" That was the signal agreed upon, and they all dropped to the ground. A heartbeat later, a volley of crossbow bolts flew over their heads, tearing into the enemy lines. Quickly, they jumped up again and advanced onto the confused and shocked lines of the Swiss. More of the enemy pikemen fell under Joerg and Nele's swords before they heard Katherine's voice again. "Saxons, down!" Again, they dropped. Again, a hail of bolts tore into the Swiss who began to turn and flee. Elsewhere, along their lines, the Swiss were faring better, holding their lines against Frundsberg's men. Their advance had put Joerg's men in a flanking position, however. With the men opposite them fleeing, Joerg had his men face right and they attacked the Swiss' right flank. Now, the twenty halberd men under Bjoern joined the fray. The axe heads of the halberds were hard to parry for pikemen, and they added to the pressure on the Swiss soldiers. From the flanking position, Katherine's crossbows were even more devastating, and soon, the entire Swiss line broke down, turning to flight. A few men tried to pursue the fleeing Swiss, but most stayed with their fähnlein, trying to catch their breath and searching the dead and wounded enemies for loot. Katherine came forward to check on her siblings, breathing a deep sigh of relief at seeing both unharmed. "Lothar is dead," she said with regret. "One of their arquebusiers got him." Joerg nodded sadly. Lothar had been a good man. "You must take over from him," Katherine said. "We may still be needed." Joerg nodded and while Katherine wheeled her horse, Joerg and Nele found their own mounts. They rode up and down the lines of their men and urged them to finish the looting and line up again. They were mostly successful, and when Georg of Frundsberg inspected the left flank, he found the "Saxons" ready to fight another battle. They had to move on. After a counter-attack against Lannoy's heavy cavalry, the French army was split up, and the infantry was without cavalry protection. The drums were beat, and Frundsberg's landsknechte marched to engage the French. Once again, the "Saxons" were given the left flank. Here, Joerg and Nele saw how the French foot were holding their line against the centre of Frundsberg's formation. The French had massed their men in the centre, but they were vulnerable from the flanks. Seeing this, Joerg ordered his men to advance to a flanking position. From there, they attacked the right side of the French. The ninth hour had barely begun when Joerg's pikemen charged against the surprised French. Meanwhile, Katerine's archers maintained a barrage of crossbow bolts, shooting in a trajectory over the pikemen's heads, into the centre of the French formation. Once again, Joerg's longsword reaped a grim harvest while Bjoern and Nele covered his back. This attack from the right confused and frightened the French foot soldiers, and soon they, too, turned and fled, pursued by the victorious imperials. Their flight was short, for they were confronted by another large body of landsknechte and were caught between Scylla and Charybdis. Many of the French foot soldiers were slain, and the rest surrendered. Joerg and Katherine had to give their men a chance to loot the dead and the prisoners, and the Isebrands also partook of the loot. They had captured seven French noblemen who offered ransom for their lives and freedom. Joerg had them bound securely and sent back to their train for safekeeping. By the end of the ninth hour, the victory of the imperial troops was complete and resounding. The Spanish pikemen had managed to surround the heavy cavalry of the French, and Francis of France himself was taken prisoner. Also, the defenders of Pavia had undertook a sortie and overrun the French forces opposed to them. By early noon, victory celebrations were in full swing. Later that day, the colonels and captains of the victorious army were presented to the Conde de Lannoy. Frundsberg mentioned the conduct of the Saxon fähnlein, and Joerg and Katherine were presented to their commander in chief. Lannoy was gracious to them and praised them, and they were both amused to notice that he did not recognise Katherine as a woman, dishevelled and bloodstained as she was. That evening, the Isebrands camped with their fähnlein and celebrated with their men. Thorben had been able to procure wine for the celebrations, and the surviving men drank, sang and danced into the early morning. With permission from Frundsberg, Joerg and Katherine went recruiting among the captured landsknechte on the next day. Joerg succeeded with some twenty men to fill the slightly depleted ranks of his pikemen. Katherine was able to persuade thirty arquebusiers from the Alsace to join her Archers. They had found enough arquebuses on the battlefield to equip them, and then some more. Katherine planned on adding this new weapon to their arsenal as it required less training and aptitude to handle than a crossbow. In the evening, the loot was tallied and distributed following established rules. As captain, Joerg drew ten shares, while Bjoern, now lieu-tenant was entitled to six shares. Thorben received four shares, as purser. There was some dispute whether Katherine was a feldweibel, too, but the archers were adamant that their leader was rated as feldweibel, and she received four shares. Only Nele held no rank, and she received one share like the other common soldiers. One could not tell that from her face, though. She beamed with pride when she received her part of the loot, and once again, many a man wished she was not her fierce brothers' kid sister. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 12: How the Isebrands Settle In With King Francis captured and the victory thus complete, Lannoy sought to reduce his army in size and to distribute them over Northern Italy. He dared not disband his troops entirely, though. Thus, while the captive French king was sent to Spain, the Saxon fähnlein were sent west, to billet in the small town of Casale Monferrato, on the mighty River Po. Here, in the Castello Dei Paleologi, they made themselves comfortable. Wine was plentiful in the region, as was food in general, and the Saxons had gold enough to pay. Thus, their stay in Casale was agreeable for both sides, soldiers and townspeople. In the castello, Gudrun Isebrand gave birth to a son, named Wulf after his grandfather. For want of a reformed preacher, Thorben had the baptism performed by a rogue priest who also served as part-time mercenary. Don Ferugio, as he styled himself, conducted a decent enough ceremony in which Bjoern and Joerg stood as godfathers to their father's namesake. It was a good thing that the peace negotiations between the Emperor Charles V. and Francis of France took a lot of time. The Isebrands had no complaints, living in the peaceful little town, in reasonably comfortable quarters, with good food and with neighbourly relations to the townspeople. During this time, Katherine began to acquaint herself with the arquebus. The fuse-lock mechanisms, reliable enough in dry weather, bothered her some. It just seemed a bad idea to handle gunpowder near a glowing fuse. Thus, when a trader showed in town offering the newly introduced wheel lock muskets, Katherine invested some of her winnings in two of the precious weapons. They were far superior, both with regards to the firing mechanism and the accuracy of the bore, and Katherine soon became known for her deadly accuracy with the new weapons. Neither Katherine nor Nele had many suitors that fall. The men of their fähnlein knew better, and the townspeople were wary of the "Isebrand Witches", for it had become known that both women surpassed most men in fighting prowess. While Thorben spent the fall in Casale at Gudrun and little Wulf's side, Bjoern and Joerg had a good time, roaming the wine taverns and some houses of even less repute. The dark beauty of the Italian women and girls intrigued them, and more than once, the brothers sampled the charms of a willing tavern wench. With their size and their reddish hair, the Isebrands stood out, and it became a matter of pride for the whores in Casale to bed at least one of the giant soldiers. This all changed late in that year when Joerg, accompanied by his eldest brother and seven more men, exercised their horses by exploring the vicinity of the city. They were riding past an outlier farm, when Joerg spotted a group of armed men in front of the dwelling. Some dispute was going on, as Joerg could see. Always sensible of the plight of peasants in those warring times, Joerg and Bjoern decided to investigate. After all, the town of Casale and the vicinity were Joerg's responsibility. Drawing nearer, they quickly saw that the riders had dismounted, and a struggle was going on. Joerg spurred his horse, and in short time, he arrived at the scene. An older man in peasants' clothes lay motionless on his back, a spreading pool of blood under his head, while a younger man writhed in pain, a stab wound in his abdomen. Two girls were on their backs, with two men between their flailing legs, humping away. All the men looked up in alarm, hearing the hoof beats of the new arrivals. In a flash, Joerg was off his charger, the longsword in his hand. A sidewise glance told him the Bjoern was at his side, and now the rest of their men dismounted. One of the soldiers, seeing the predicament they were in, tried a grin. "You want to share? No problem." "What are you doing on the Emperor's lands?" Joerg asked coldly, for those men wore Venetian colours. "What's it to you? We're having fun with two peasant wenches, what gives?" "These people were entrusted to my protection by his Grace, the Conde de Lannoy." Joerg turned to his men. "Seize them!" "Oho, not so fast, young man!" the speaker shouted. "You're a bit cocky for your age, and I'm of a mind to teach your humility!" The six Venetians unsheathed, and leaving the girls lying on their backs, jumped to attack Joerg and his men. They were credible adversaries, to be sure, but no match for either Isebrand brother. Joerg's first blow almost cut their speaker in half, from head to chest. While wresting his blade free from the dead man, Joerg gave a mighty kick to a second attacker, caving in his chest, while Bjoern ran a third cleanly through with his longsword. The remaining three found their masters in Joerg's followers, and only one of them was able to inflict a minor wound on one of them before he was dispatched. The two girls looked up at Joerg, obviously unsure whether they may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. They tried to gather the tatters of their dresses around them while they cast fearful glances at the imperial soldiers. "Can you stand, girls?" Joerg asked. They stood on trembling legs, wincing with pain, too. The older one nodded and addressed Joerg. "May we tend our father and brother, please?" Joerg cast another glance at the two men. The younger one still had life in him, but he was in need of better care than what two peasant girls could render. "You have a cart?" he asked the girls. "Si, Signore!" the older girl nodded, indicating a gaily painted, single axle donkey cart. "Load your brother on that cart. We'll bring him to town, for the feldscher to look after him. He's wounded badly. We must also bring your father in, for burial." This was when the girls realised that their father was beyond help. There was a large puddle of blood under his head, two feet wide, and his skull was caved in. With heart rending sobs, the two girls threw themselves over his body, crying pitifully. "Load the wounded lad on that cart," Joerg ordered. "Be careful, lest the pain will kill him. Put the old man on the cart, too." In a matter of minutes, they were ready to leave. The bodies of the killed Venetians were dumped unceremoniously into a nearby trench. Joerg told the two girls to put on new dresses. They were both ashamed when they re-emerged from the farmhouse, ashamed for their poverty, for their second-best dresses were worn and threadbare. Both Joerg and Bjoern felt sympathy for them. Not too long ago, they had been dirt-poor peasants, too. Each of the brothers took one of the girls behind them, on their horses, and they rode back to Casale in a solemn procession. The wounded lad was given into the care of their feldscher while the body of the dead farmer was unloaded at the shop of a carpenter, to be fitted for a casket. The girls looked about apprehensively when they were taken to the Castello, clearly afraid of what might lie ahead of them. They need not have worried. Once Joerg and Bjoern had explained the events, Gudrun swooped down on the girls and took them under her motherly care. They were cleaned up and presentable when the family sat down for supper, and Gudrun announced they would stay, for the time being, and help her with little Wulf. The brothers knew better than to interfere. Katherine brought news from the feldscher. The young lad was alive and might just recover. It was a clean stab wound from an iron pike, and there seemed to be no damage to the innards. The next days would bring clarity. This news barely cheered the girls up. Joerg and Bjoern had been too late to save the girls' innocence, and they knew to be condemned to a live as tavern wenches, maidservants or whores, for no man would marry a 'ruined' girl. If there would be a dowry, things might be different, but their brother would be hard pressed to keep the farm running. Still, both girls made an effort to thank Joerg and Bjoern for their deliverance. The older one, named Crescencia, was a little over twenty years of age. She had an oval face, with a well-formed mouth and a straight, if longish nose, and her face was framed by long, straight, black hair. Her hands showed the traces of hard farm work, and her face had faint wrinkles, in spite of her youthful age. Nevertheless, she had a melancholy beauty about her, like one of the ubiquitous Madonna images. Of quiet disposition himself, Bjoern felt immediately drawn to her and spoke to her in encouraging words, and she gratefully sat with him until the fire had died down to glowing embers. The younger girl, Theresa, was different. Her hair, black like her sister's, was curly. Her features were sharper, and she had a strong chin over a wide mouth. She was possessed of a fiery temper, and her primary emotion was a deep-seated hatred at the men who had destroyed their lives. When she heard that Katherine and Nele lived the lives of soldiers, she eagerly asked to be allowed to join. She wanted to learn how to fight. Katherine understood the girl and promised to teach her the use of the arquebus and the crossbow. Theresa was not tall and not stocky, but her body had been tempered by the hard farm work. Katherine had trained male recruits who had been weaker. Nele, in turn, promised to teach her the use of the sword and of knives. That seemed to calm her down and satisfy her. Still, when Katherine and Nele went to bed, Theresa was pacing the common room. Bjoern and Crescencia were talking quietly, and Joerg was busy honing his Saracen sword with a whetstone. Suddenly, Theresa stooped in front of him. "What is it like, to kill a man?" she asked. Joerg looked up, a little startled at the question. He considered. "It's always different. In battle, there isn't time to think, you just react. Afterwards, you see the dead, and they're just soldiers like we are. Then, I feel bad. When we killed the murderer of our father, I felt fulfilled. When I killed those men who hurt you, I felt nothing bad, either. They were asking for it. I just don't like killing honest soldiers. I can't help it, but it makes me sad." Theresa nodded. "If I learn how to fight, will you let me join, like your sisters?" "You really want that? We could help you and your siblings. You can get a share of what we took from those Venetians. You're a pretty girl, too. With time, you may still find a husband." The girl shook her head angrily, and her black curls danced. "What for? To be forced, one day, to watch soldiers rape my children? I don't want to live like my parents. If there is pillage, I want to be the one who does it, not the victim." "Still, being a soldier is dangerous. A few times, Nele barely escaped being hurt." "I'm ruined as it is. What worse can any man do to me? Please?" Joerg considered. If that was her choice, how could he deny her wish? He gave her a nod. "If Katherine declares you ready, you can join." She grabbed his hand. "Gracie, Condottiere Giorgio!" Joerg smiled at her. The title she had given him amused him. A condottiere was a leader of a band of mercenaries, a contractor of war. The various independent cities in Italy did not keep armed forces of their own. Rather, they contracted their protection to free lancers, mercenary troops. Theresa's choice of words gave him an idea. With only sporadic pay from the emperor, perhaps they would need to get into that business, too. His fähnlein was loyal to him, and they would follow him. Still, there was the Count Reinhardt to whom he had sworn fealty. He sighed. He would have to return to Merseburg, if only to ask for his release. He returned to the present. Theresa was still looking at him. "One day, Condottiere, I shall show you my gratitude." Her dark eyes smouldered when she said that, and Joerg became acutely aware of the fact that Theresa was a pretty girl with a fighting spirit, something he valued greatly in women. Her maidenhood was lost anyway, so there would be no harm if he dallied with her. Who knew? Perhaps he could find lasting comfort with her? "On that day, I shall feel favoured, Theresa." His palm caressed her cheek briefly. "You are very pretty. If you decide to lie with me, I shall show you that there is more between man and woman than the ugliness you had to endure." She shivered briefly under his touch. Then she kissed his palm. "Isn't it strange? You're so big and strong, yet I have no fear of you." "And you should not, Theresa. I loved my mother and I cherish my sisters. I shall never willingly hurt woman or girl. Now go to your chamber, and take your sister with you, lest poor Bjoern will fall asleep on that stool." Two days later, Theresa and Crescencia's brother was showing improvement. On that day, they also laid their father to rest in a short burial ceremony on the churchyard of St. Angelo. Afterwards, Bjoern walked Crescencia home from the service, giving her his support. It was obvious that he cared for the orphaned and violated girl. Theresa asked Joerg for his arm, and he gave her a short, encouraging squeeze. Katherine and Nele smirked behind their brothers' backs but they were secretly pleased that they had found companions outside the taverns or brothels. It was another three weeks, before their brother, Ruggiero, had recovered and returned to their farm. He was not too happy about his sisters deciding to stay with the Isebrands. He could live with Crescencia staying because it became obvious that she and Bjoern were progressing fast in their courtship. It was Theresa who grated on his pride, for his sister wore breeches now, and a vest, and carried a short sword and a crossbow at all times. That caused derogatory remarks from the people who knew their family, but Theresa was adamant to stay. Ruggiero was mollified by the gift of a strong horse he had received as parting present from the Isebrands. They also found him two sturdy widows who would help him with the work on his farm in return for room and board. The recent war had left many widows. Crescencia spent her days helping Gudrun around the kitchen. The two women were becoming fast friends, and the Italian girl gradually lost her melancholic deposition. Bjoern spent all the evenings in their quarters now, and most of that time with the peasant girl. He'd tell her of the life up in the North, behind the dykes, in the lands whipped by the incessant west wind. He also spoke of their life at the Count Reinhardt's court. In turn, Crescencia told of her life so far, her upbringing, her youth, her first shy contacts with boys her age, until that fateful day when the foreign soldiers had killed her father and her future. When she talked like that, Bjoern would smile and cup her hands, and she'd smile back at him shyly. Meanwhile, her sister Theresa spent all her days in weapons practice. It soon became clear that she would never be much of an arquebusier. She tried hard, but her temper got in the way. She was too eager, too impatient. Under Nele's tutorship, however, her sword skills improved steadily. She was still vulnerable, given her volatile temper, but, like Joerg, she learned to channel her deep-sitting anger into an aggressive style that left most of her practice partners baffled. Two months after her father's death, Joerg took her to the practice court and sparred with her for almost an hour. When he finally told her that he accepted her in his fähnlein, she hugged him impulsively and gave him a resounding kiss. That same evening, after supper, Theresa was waiting for Joerg in the dark corridor. "Tonight is the night where I'll show you my gratitude, condottiere," she said, outwardly calm, with only a hint at apprehension. Joerg looked at her. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? I like you, and you are a pretty maiden, but you don't have to do this if you don't want it." "You said you would show me how it is done right for a woman. I'm not a maiden anymore, I might as well enjoy the freedom. Unless, you don't..." "I want, Theresa, that is not the point, and if you want it, too, I'll be happy to have you. Let's go to the bathhouse, first. I know I'm smelly, and you must be, too." They had found a tiled room with a huge stone tub in their part of the castle. It had been in disuse for decades, but Gudrun had hired some local men and women and had it cleaned. A small fireplace heated a large cauldron that could be emptied into the tub. The water was pumped from a well that also served to provide the castle with drinking water in case of a siege. The Isebrands washed regularly in that tub. Katherine and Nele, in particular, enjoyed the privacy of the bath chamber, but their brothers also had come to appreciate it. Joerg led Theresa down the stairs and into the bath chamber. The girl looked about curiously in the flickering light of the candles. She giggled. "Crescencia told me about this room. Bjoern brought her down here a few times." "The rascal!" Joerg laughed. "Did she enjoy the bath?" "I think she enjoyed everything," Theresa said huskily. With deft movements, Theresa shed her clothing and soon, she stood naked before him. Joerg stepped close to her, caressing her cheeks with his hands. She tried to press her body against him, but he stepped back quickly and began to undress himself. His manhood was rampant already when he shed his pants, and Theresa gasped a little, her face a mixture of apprehension and expectation. "Madonna mia!" she exclaimed. "It's big, bigger than..." "Don't worry, little one!" Joerg said softly, his hand caressing her cheek and the back of her head. "Tonight, I shall show you how it is done right. Step into the tub!" He held her hand and helped her into the tub. The water was still warm and soothing to her body, and she submerged herself, watching Joerg as he stepped in as well. He sat down behind her, hugging her from behind and holding her until she relaxed in his arms. "See, just be at ease," he murmured into her ear, while his large hands caressed her taut tummy. "Mmmh," she purred when one hand strayed upwards and cupped her pointy breasts. She pressed her back against him. "This feels so good!" Joerg took a bar of soap and lathered up his hands. Theresa squealed when his soapy hands slid all over her front, from her throat to her navel. She twisted her neck to face Joerg without giving up the position of comfort, and he kissed her. Their lips met softly at first, just dry lip-on-lip kisses, while his hands continued to roam over her chest and tummy. Soon, however, Theresa opened her lips to let out the moans his touches elicited, and Joerg let his tongue snake into her mouth. Theresa eagerly sucked on it while grinding her backside against his front and his hard member. She had lifted her body slightly, and she sat on his lap, in the water, rather than between his legs, and his member nestled between her legs, rubbing against her soft lips. Seeing her ready, Joerg let his right hand explore her lower body. At first, his fingers twirled the black curls of her crotch, incidentally rubbing over the lips hidden by the patch of hair. Theresa responded by thrusting her pelvis against his fingers, and he let his index finger part her folds. She jerked and gasped when his probing finger touched the small nubbin at the top of her slit. "What are you doing, Joerg?" she asked, panting. "Don't you like it?" he murmured back. "Mhmm, I ... don't know. I never..." "Let us get up and dry, Theresa. It is time we went to my chamber," Joerg said. Lifting the squealing girl with him, he stood in the stone tub before he carefully set her down to stand on her feet. With a blanket, he dabbed the water from her body and rubbed himself dry, too. All the time, they did not speak. Joerg then took her hand and led her to the staircase, and up, into his sleeping chamber. Here, he laid her on his cot and proceeded to cover her breast and her tummy with kisses. He slowly kissed his way down to the downy patch of black curls that hid Theresa's womanly treasures. A sobbing gasp broke forth from her throat when his tongue swiped the length of her slit, from bottom to top, and his lips closed on her pleasure spot. "Agunh!" she moaned when he sucked. Her back arched, and her head turned from side to side, while her hands buried in his red mane. Inserting his finger into her opening and thrusting deep, he kept licking her slit and her protruding lust centre. Theresa forgot all her inhibitions, all about her recent violation. She moaned and sighed under his lips and tongue, she met the thrusts of his finger with her hips, and she began to whisper encouragingly. "Santa Maria! So good, so sweet! Keep licking me, Giorgio. Oh, this is good! Yes, take more fingers, push them in! Split me. Yes, right there. Now with your tongue! Oh saints! This is heaven, for sure!" Finally deeming the time right, Joerg let go of her sex with his mouth and moved over her sweaty body. Her eyes wide, she looked down her body, to where Joerg's engorged member nudged her nether lips open. She looked up into his eyes, and held his head with her hands. "Take me, Giorgio! Take me!" Joerg pushed down. Theresa shuddered when the head of his member split open the soft lips of her sex, when it lodged into her tight channel, forcing it wide. The penetration, as much as it stretched her, was nothing like the ugly, revolting act in the yard of her father's farm. She welcomed the hot fleshy rod with every fibre of her body. She wanted it, she coveted the intruder. Deeper and deeper he sank into her, with each thrust. When Theresa felt she could not take another finger's width, she felt his coarse pubic hair mash against her sex. With wonder, she realised that she had taken him whole. He was in her all the way. Sweet madness! His member moved inside her, and her sensitive sheath felt every vein as they rubbed its walls. So wonderful! Why hadn't she tried this before? Why had she waited, only to fall victim to those foul Venetians? With her heels, she tried to pull him closer, for deeper penetration, if that was possible. She heard his laboured breathing, felt the urgency of his thrusts, and with pride, she realised that she was giving him pleasure, too. Young Theresa knew nothing of the release, the shattering climax that people feel at the apex of their coupling. Thus, when a rush of heat swept over her, when her ears rang with sounds like church bells, she thought for sure that she was dying - and she welcomed it. She clung to Joerg's bucking body and allowed herself to slip into oblivion, only barely aware that Joerg's pulsing member spewed forth his seed deep into her core. She came to in his arms, her cheek against his chest, and for the first time since her father's death, young Theresa felt at peace with her world. "Is it always like this?" she asked dreamily. "It can be, but it is not always," Joerg whispered. "Sometimes, man and woman cannot feel it together, like we did. Sometimes, the mood is not right. It is pleasurable most of the time, though." "We need to do it again, soon," Theresa stated firmly, and she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled richly. "I'll like that too, little one." Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 13: How Georg of Frundsberg is Betrayed by his Liege Winter was pleasantly mild in flat country along the River Po, nothing at all like the fierce storms of the North Sea, or the bitterly cold eastern winds of Saxony. The Saxon fähnlein in Casale were quite content with their lot, living in a largely peaceful region and in reasonable accord with the civilian population. Captain Joerg Isebrand showed an unexpected aptness as administrator. His deeply ingrained sense of honour, honesty and fairness made him well liked among the soldiers and citizens. Well-planned forays into Venetian lands also added to his military reputation and kept his soldiers both in training and in money. Characteristically, the Isebrands rather left the peasants alone and took from the rich Venetian merchant houses and their dependencies. In those forays, Theresa proved herself as merciless enemy to the Venetian opponents. More than once, Joerg and Katherine had to admonish her that her attackers were dead already, and that the opposing soldiers were just like them, only working for the other side. It barely helped. Wherever Theresa saw a Venetian banner, a red rage came over the pretty girl. Joerg's disapproval of her drove her away from him, and she moved away from the Isebrands, living in the soldier's quarters. Soon, Katherine heard that Theresa had five and more men every night, sometimes two and three at a time. Reluctantly, she spoke to Joerg about it. Joerg felt sad, but there was little he could do. He had accepted her in the fähnlein, and if he threw her out for fucking around, he would have to expel the majority of his men, too. One or two times, men quarrelled over Theresa, but she always managed to quell those fights. In the end, it was her blind hatred of the Venetians that became her undoing. They had gone on another foray into Venetian lands, targeting a small town where the Medici had a wine and olive oil depot. As usual, Joerg had planned well, and the raid on the small town went smoothly, with just a few busted heads on the part of the town guards. While the majority of the men were busy loading the loot on commandeered donkey carts and horse wagons, Theresa roamed the narrow streets in search of additional loot. In a small alley, she happened upon an elderly man, a former soldier of the Medici, who still wore their colours, for want of other clothes. Seeing him, the red rage again descended on Theresa, and she charged the unarmed man with her sword. Deftly, the man evaded her first blows, explaining that he was no soldier anymore. This only fuelled Theresa's rage, and she renewed her attack. This time, the old soldier stood his ground, parrying her thrust with his wooden staff. The next heartbeat, Theresa felt her feet pulled from under her, and she fell on her back, the breath knocked from her lungs. In this moment Joerg, alarmed by Theresa furious shouts, arrived on the scene, followed by Katherine. They saw Theresa on her back, the iron tip of the old soldier's staff at her throat. The man looked at Joerg with resignation, accepting his fate in the face of the splendidly armed giant. Joerg took in the scene and he was angry, angry at Theresa. "I am Captain Joerg Isebrand," he told the wary man. "This undisciplined girl is serving in my fähnlein. Did she attack you for a reason?" The old man shook his head. "She called me a dirty Venetian, which I'm not. I served the Medici until two years ago, true, but I am no soldier anymore. I am Enrico Pollini." "She has a great hatred for your colours," Joerg sighed. "Venetians murdered her father, not long ago." The old soldier looked down on Theresa. "I am sorry for your terrible loss, my girl." His voice conveyed true sympathy and Theresa, the rage knocked out of her, had the decency to blush. "I am sorry, too," she wheezed. "Will you let her stand, please?" Joerg asked politely. "She will not attack you again, on my word." He cast Theresa a significant look, and her eyes widened in understanding. The old soldier raised the tip of his staff from her throat and offered his hand, to help her up. The gesture thoroughly flustered Theresa. She accepted the help and stood shakily for a moment before she bent for her sword. "No, leave it there, Theresa!" Joerg commanded sharply. "You have defied my orders and shamed me, by attacking an unarmed elder. Did you hurt any other people?" Theresa blushed and shook her head. "You will drive one of the donkey carts. Go now!" Her head bowed, Theresa ran away from the place of her shame. Joerg could not help but feel bad for her. He knew how deep the violation had hurt her. He shook his head sadly, before he looked at the older man again. "Signore Pollini, you showed great dexterity with your staff. Theresa is a good fighter. Are you a sword master?" "I used to be, Condottiere. The Medici had no use for me anymore. They just hire men like you for their wars, these days." "Say, would you be willing to join us? We are garrisoned in Casale. We have been without a sword master since we left Saxony, over a year ago." "I would only teach?" "I shall leave that to you." Enrico Pollini looked at the small house behind him, and at the rich clothing of Joerg and his followers. "I agree to your offer, Condottiere. One condition, though. That girl, I want her for my student. She has good basic skills, but a terrible temper. Who taught her about the sword?" "My youngest sister did. She follows Lichtenauer's teachings." "She does? Ah, I can teach her better." "She'll love that. Do you need anything else?" "A horse? I'm too old to walk." Joerg laughed. "We'll have one, Sword Master. Meet us at the Wine Depot." When Joerg returned to his men, Theresa was sitting on a cart already, staring ahead sullenly. She looked up surprised when Joerg put her sword in her lap. "Did you learn something?" She nodded, her eyes slightly moist. Joerg spoke in a low voice, making sure nobody else could hear in. "Theresa, we care for you. All of us do. You are Crescencia's sister, and that means you'll be our kin soon. We don't like how you behave, though. This whoring must stop, d'ye hear! This hatred must stop, or it will kill you. As of today, you are Master Pollini's student. He requested you. You will serve him and obey him, as any student would to a master." Theresa's eyes grew big at that. "His student? What will he teach me?" "Perhaps you can learn to overcome unarmed old men? He is a former Medici sword master. He has probably forgotten more than we'll ever know. Show him the respect due and learn from him. I will submit myself to his teaching, at least until I learn the extent of his art." Theresa nodded once reluctantly, and then again, stronger. "I accept, and I promise I will never shame you again." "That's good, Theresa. When we get back to Casale, go wash yourself. You will then move to his quarters, to serve him." During the next weeks, no forays were made into Venetian territories. All of the men, and three of the women, committed themselves to Master Pollini's practice regimen. The worthy sword master worked them hard and without mercy, and even Joerg was known to sink into his cot in the evenings, thoroughly exhausted. The most exciting moments were when Nele sparred with the old man. From the first time they met, Enrico Pollini had found his favourite student. Not that Theresa lacked attention or guidance, but Nele's training became an obsession for the old master. Nele had been an accomplished fighter before, but Pollini was not satisfied before she was able to best every man in the troop. That included Joerg, although everybody knew that he was never able to strike full force at his beloved kid sister. Often paired against Nele, Katherine's sword skills improved dramatically, too. She was also the only one who understood Pollini's teaching at an intellectual level, and the two were often found in discussions, with Theresa listening in, trying to follow their exchange. It was a rewarding time, for all of them, not the least for Pollini himself. The old sword master had been uprooted since his dismissal from the Medici's service. At forty-five years, he'd never had a wife, let alone children. Reluctantly at first, but with growing commitment, Theresa filled part of this void. In the beginning, he quickly replaced the father she had lost so tragically. It was not far from there for Theresa to develop a different type of affection. This was in part due to her enforced celibacy. A highly sensuous woman, the lack of other men in her personal life soon made her focus on the one man available. None of the Isebrands knew when it happened, but by late summer that year, Enrico and Theresa had become a couple. By this time, news of grave importance arrived. Francis of France had the French National Assembly revoke the treaty he had been forced to agree to when he was held captive in Spain. The treaty had stipulated embarrassing territorial losses for France and gains for the Habsburgs. Pope Clement, seeing Charles V. as rival for the political dominance over Europe, openly supported Francis and rejoined the League of Cognac, an alliance against the emperor that included France and Venice, among others. Clement also declared Francis' breach of the treaty as permitted, something that caused great uproar among the soldiers' ranks. They were contractors, for most parts, and the adherence to a contract, once closed, ruled supreme in their value system. Thus, a lot of anger among the soldiers and field grade officers was now directed at the Pope. The French were also assembling a new army for Italy, and in late 1526, Frundsberg gave word to his landsknechte to congregate at Pavia for mustering. The Isebrands were not too happy to leave Casale. It had been a good year for them in the small town. However, they expected to receive their pay from Frundsberg, and they reluctantly marched their men towards Pavia. Arriving there, they found that the assembled soldiers were in foul mood. Frundsberg had received imperial orders to attack Florence, yet the emperor had failed to send gold to pay his soldiers. At first, Joerg could not believe this. After all, they had won the Battle of Pavia for the Emperor. How could be expect them to fight without pay? Rumours abounded, of course. One persistent rumour had it that Pope Clement had persuaded the Fuggers of Augsburg, the most influential lenders of the time, to refuse Charles V. the money he needed to pay his troops. Of course, this rumour added further to the resentment against Pope Clement among the assembled landsknechte. Over the next days, Frundsberg distributed some money, indeed, and it was rumoured that this money came from his private coffers. Joerg felt pity for the man. He was a great soldier, a fatherly leader to his men, but his liege master betrayed Frundsberg's loyalty. The little money distributed bought Frundsberg enough time to lead his men against a papal army. At Brescia, the opponents met, and again, the landsknechte carried the day, routing the Vatican troops thoroughly. The Saxon fähnlein under Joerg did not play a prominent role in this battle, as they were employed as rear guard. However, Frundsberg detached them to march on Florence next, with six more fähnlein, which city was under Venetian rule and targeted for siege. Again, to the rank and file soldiers, this was nonsense. The real enemy was the Pope, and they were sent to battle his minions? When the advance guard reached Florence, they found the city well fortified. In addition, a sizeable army of the League of Cognac was guarding the walls. The Isebrands spent Christmas facing the walls of Florence and in constant readiness to repel the sorties of the beleaguered. At this point, their fencing master, Enrico Pollini, asked Joerg to leave the fähnlein. He had sworn fealty to the Medici in his younger years, and he did not feel able to fight against them. Joerg, with his deep sense of loyalty, agreed to let him go, and Pollini left them with a tearful Theresa. Bjoern convinced Crescencia to join her sister, promising her to return after the end of the campaign. To everyone's surprise, even Gudrun bent to Thorben's plea to leave the army and seek safety in Casale under Pollini's protection. They were accompanied by ten men who had been wounded at Brescia. These, once recovered, would provide additional protection for the women. The reason for Gudrun's readiness to abandon Thorben temporarily was the eroding discipline within the imperial army. The mercenaries felt no obligation to obey orders unless they were paid, and the commanding nobles were met with distrust. They were making no headway with the siege, either, adding to the discontent among the troops. The Saxons were among those who repeatedly tried to scale the walls in vain, and they incurred some losses. In all, the mood was volatile when, in early January 1527, a small group of horsemen approached their camp. The men carried the coat of arms of the House Merseburg, and Joerg hurried to receive them in his tent. Bjoern and Katherine flanked him, and Thorben and Nele watched from the entrance as a young man entered the tent. Joerg recognised him as the youngest half-brother of Count Reinhardt. He had been a boy when he left Merseburg with his mother. "Captain Joerg Isebrand?" the young man asked. Joerg stood and bowed. "I am Joerg," he said. "I have orders from my brother Armin to take command of our soldiers. Our brother, Count Reinhardt, died last summer after being thrown from a horse, and my brother Armin succeeded him as Count of Merseburg." This was a shock for Joerg. His mind tried to deal with the death of his lord. Another thought came to his mind immediately. The new Count's mother was his enemy; he would not be able to serve the House Merseburg without having to fear that vengeful woman. He was also concerned about the abilities of the young man. Their men were disgruntled and restless. It was impossible to predict how they would react to an inexperienced leader. "This comes as surprise," he said slowly, trying to gain time to gather his thoughts. "Did you inform the Field Captain Frundsberg, yet? It is he who commands us now." "I will when I think it right. Be that as it may, this does not concern you. You will revert to being feldweibel." Joerg shook his head, looking at the young man with barely veiled contempt. "I swore fealty to Count Reinhardt, not to your brother. I have taken neither bread nor salt from his hand, nor would I do it, for your mother knows too much about poisons. Come, brothers and sisters, let us leave. The Junker Alfred wishes to lead the fähnlein into the next charge. We shall take service elsewhere." "You will stay and serve under me, Joerg Isebrand!" the young nobleman shouted shrilly, his face red with anger. "Look! Next, he'll stomp his foot," Katherine laughed. For the first time, the Junker Alfred noticed her. "Who is this trollop in soldier's clothes?" A heartbeat later, he lay on his back, and Katherine's sword point grazed his throat, while the rest of the Isebrands faced Alfred's followers with their swords drawn. Joerg looked at the prone nobleman and laughed easily. "That was a fool's counsel you followed, Alfred of Merseburg. Will you let him live if he kisses your boots, Sister?" "I'm a noble person! You must not lay hands on me!" the young man gasped. His voice turned into a fearful squeak when the swordpoint broke the skin. Katherine looked down coldly. "By my troth, you'll not be the first nobleman I killed. Kiss my boots and beg forgiveness!" "Nobody knows you and your followers," Joerg elaborated. "You came unannounced, and nobody will miss you. Kiss my sister's boots and live, or refuse and die; 'tis all the same to me." Young Alfred was sweating profusely, and he squirmed on his back, trying to get away from Katherine's sword. "What will it be?" Katherine asked him, her voice low and icy. Suddenly, Thorben snorted and pointed at Alfred's groin where a wet spot appeared and spread. "Leave him be! How can a coward insult an Isebrand?" Thorben laughed scornfully. With his huge hand, Joerg pulled the young man up by his collar and propelled him through the entrance of the tent. "Saxons, to my tent!" he bellowed, still holding the young nobleman by his collar. When the men had assembled, a few moments later, Joerg raised his voice. "This is the fearless Alfred, youngest half-brother of Count Reinhardt. Our beloved Lord Reinhardt died last summer, and his half-brother Armin succeeded him. He sent his youngest brother to lead our fähnlein." There was a murmur of discontentment among the men. "You know me. I was a loyal follower of Count Reinhardt. I never ate bread from Count Armin's table, and I owe no fealty to him. I will rather serve the Pope than this boy. The same is true for my siblings. We shall leave Merseburg's employ. We shall form our own fähnlein and any of you who wishes to join us is welcome." "Did the boy wet himself?" a grizzled corporal asked incredulously, causing the surrounding men to explode in laughter. Another soldier raised his voice. "I don't want to look over my shoulder to find my Captain in battle. I am for Joerg Isebrand, and for Bjoern and the Maid Katherine. You can always find them in the thick of fighting." More voices sounded up, and soon, the fähnlein was divided, with one fourth of the men siding with Merseburg, and three fourths joining the Isebrands. With those, Joerg marched to Frundsberg's tent. Frundsberg was not there, but his second-in-command, the Duke of Bourbon, listened as Joerg declared himself Captain of a new fähnlein, the Free Saxons. The Duke acknowledged this without ado. After all, Joerg and his men had proven their mettle, and rather than suffering them leaving the camp, he accepted the new fähnlein and its captain. This was a decisive moment, for Jorg was now a real condottiero, a contractor who supplied armed men to paying clients. It also meant that the men would hold him responsible for payment. Two days later, Frundsberg returned and called for an assembly of the Captains. He looked terrible, Joerg found. The sixty-three year-old field captain was short of breath and red of face, his fingers drumming the table while he fidgeted on his chair. "You captains! I called you to advise you of our next steps. Our Emperor wants us to continue the siege of Florence. Once it's taken, the Venetians will have to drop from the League of Cognac, to cut their losses. Only then will the Pope rescind his support for France. "We shall double our efforts to breach those walls." One of the Spanish captains spoke up. "Don Jorge! Where will we find food for our men? There is nothing left around Florence. Already, the sickness spreads in the camp." "His Imperial Majesty is in negotiations to secure the necessary funds. We must continue in our..." "Does that mean, still no money to pay our men?" another captain interrupted sharply. "As I said..." "We can hardly control them anymore. If we spread out further, foraging, we shall lose even more men to desertion. By my troth, they haven't had their promised pay since Pavia!" "If we take Florence..." "How are we supposed to take Florence? There's hardly any gunpowder left for the field pieces. We cannot breach the walls without gunpowder, either. If I order another attack on the walls, my men will mutiny!" "Cap'ain, I undershtand," Frundsberg said, slurring his words a little. "We will ... We must ... Hear me, you must..." He started to stand, but his legs gave way under him, and he crashed on the table, breaking it. Joerg watched as pandemonium broke out around him. Men were shouting at the top of their lungs, some calling for a feldscher, other shouted for wine to be brought, still other berated the men who had asked the questions of Frundsberg. It took some time for some semblance of discipline to return. Then, the second-in-command, the Duke of Bourbon, stood on a table. He was an impressive man, small of stature but big on valour. He was a cousin of the French King, but he had switched sides when Francis of France had insulted him. "Quiet, messieurs! Let the surgeon bleed the Lord Frundsberg. Tomorrow, we get together again." The captains left the tent, arguing among each other. Some blamed the Emperor for leaving Frundsberg in the present tight spot, others blamed the greed of the soldiers, still others found fault with Frundsberg. The prevailing sentiment, however, was that the main culprit was Pope Clement. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 14: How the Holy City of Rome Is Taken With Much Cruelty Visited Upon Its People Joerg returned to his men and reported. They decided to wait until the next day, to see what the Duke had to say. The mood was subdued in the camp that night, as the men thought of their field captain, who had led them to two resounding victories. News spread rapidly on the next morning that Georg von Frundsberg had suffered from a stroke. He was being transported home already, and the Duke of Bourbon now held the command. From the Duke came the summons to the captains for another council. "Messieurs, I will admit that I am at a loss of what to do. Florence is well fortified, we are lacking food and gunpowder, and our men are disgruntled. To continue the siege appears fruitless. I have sent to the Emperor for new orders. I have also implored his Highness to finally send us the pay our men deserve. In the meantime, let us try to restore order in the ranks." That was it. Joerg was deeply disappointed. The Emperor would hardly do more for them, now that Frundsberg was disabled. Bourbon was clearly playing for time, but Joerg could not see how this would avail them. He suspected that the Emperor kept them in Italy to put pressure on Venice and the Pope, without actually engaging either power in a war. At one point, they would haggle over a new treaty, and the landsknechte would be the losers. He shared those thoughts with some fellow captains and found that most agreed with his views. Food became even scarcer over the next weeks. Thanks to Thorben, who maintained good connections to the merchants of Casale, they received a few wagonloads of food, but they were all hungry and dispirited. In mid-March, things came to a head. The Duke of Bourbon called for another assembly of the captains, but now, the soldiers pushed in and demanded redress of their grievances. Bourbon openly admitted that no support was coming from the emperor, because Pope Clement pressured the German nobles. Suddenly, the idea was there, and nobody knew who shouted it first. "Let us collect our pay from the Pope, then!" "To Rome!" "Death to the meddling Pope!" All the Duke could do was to assume the overall leadership. It could not be called command anymore, for the enraged landsknechte were beyond following orders. They did not even bother to collect the siege equipment. They broke camp and left, more an undisciplined mob than an army. The only semblance of order came from a few captains who were trusted. Joerg was one of those, and with his siblings, he was able to keep the Free Saxons an intact fighting unit. They even increased in numbers over the next days, for many landsknechte, accustomed to rigid discipline, were appalled at the loss of order in their units and asked to join the Free Saxons and other intact units. In consequence, Joerg was leading a large fähnlein of over five hundred towards Rome. Even with the size of the mob - 20,000 soldiers - they failed at sacking larger cities en route, simply because the undisciplined men were not fit for a regular siege anymore. They met a smaller papal army in open battle and routed them thoroughly. It was a massacre, and a taste of what would come. Joerg was deeply disturbed over the cruelties committed against fellow soldiers who just happened to be contracted by the opposite site. It went against the teachings Gernot of Brederode had given him. For his part, and for his fähnlein, he gave quarter to surrendering papal soldiers. This proved to be beneficial, for three of the captured soldiers were natives of Rome, of the Trastevere quarter, and they agreed to act as guides in return for their life and for a share in the spoils. Joerg found that the lower populace of Rome hated the nobility and the Church princes as much as his own men did. A little over six weeks after leaving Florence, the mob of landsknechte arrived at the gates of Rome. They closed in on the walled city from the West, and the mob divided, with the Spanish mercenaries attacking the Vatican hill, and the German landsknechte heading for the Trastevere. The Trastevere was a maze of narrow alleys and streets and mostly inhabited by poor workers and craftsmen. Not much loot could be found there, Joerg learned from the three rogue soldiers. The main problem would be to get through the maze as quickly as possible, to reach the affluent parts of the city. For that, he counted on the help of his prisoners. The attack was as undisciplined as the entire campaign had been. The Spanish attacked the Vatican hill in large numbers. Here, the defenders had massed the militia, but the few thousand untrained defenders were soon overpowered by the angry mob of mercenaries. Nevertheless, a lucky shot from the militia felled the Duke of Bourbon. This did not change the outcome, but it proved disastrous as it left the victorious troops without any control. Once the attackers gained a foothold on the walls, gates were forced open, and a flood of madmen swarmed into the Vatican. A small detachment of the Swiss Guards stood their ground, sacrificing their lives and gaining enough time to bring Pope Clement to the St. Angelo Castle. The rest of the Church princes, along with thousands of innocent people, fell victim to the raging mob. The Free Saxons were part of the group that attacked the Trastevere, to the South of the Vatican Hill. It was Nele Isebrand, with fifty Free Saxons, who scaled the walls using grapple hooks and ropes, and overwhelmed the sentries. The gates were forced open, and the landsknechte flooded the Trastevere. With great difficulty, Joerg managed to keep his fähnlein together. Led by the renegade papal soldiers, they navigated their way through narrow alleys of Trastevere, and they were the first to cross the River Tiber over the Ponte Emilio. Joerg had picked out the palace of the Cardinal Granvella as their prime target, as the renegades had told him of the riches this man had accumulated. Once they had entered Rome proper, they found little resistance on their way, since most inhabitants were already fleeing to the North and West, or hiding in their houses. Where they met feeble resistance, the advancing Free Saxons crushed the opponents. They reached the Palacio Granvella just as three large wagons were being loaded with the opulent possessions of the Cardinal. They found the Cardinal himself, with his concubines and illegitimate children, ready to flee. In a brief meleè, the private guard of the cardinal was put down, and the Saxons took Granvella and his 'family' prisoner. Still very much in control of his men, Joerg sent out six rotten of forty men each to loot the surrounding villae and palaces, and to bring prisoners and loot back to the Palacio Granvella. The compound was secured, with sentries on the walls and at the gates. Joerg had picked the palace mostly for its fortification, and he intended to hold on to it in the days to come. He knew that once the mob had pillaged the city, they would fight each other over the loot. Over the next hours, numerous noble prisoners and their families were caught by the Free Saxons, and stunning amounts of loot were piled up in the atrium of the palace. In the meantime, other pillagers had appeared, but they were in small groups of six to twelve men, and they stood no chance against the disciplined Saxons who operated in full rotten. By nightfall, Joerg recalled his men and they holed up behind the high walls and sturdy gates. Joerg, Bjoern and Katherine spent time with their men to maintain the discipline. They repeated time after time how they could only hope to hold onto the riches they had won if they remained a disciplined fighting unit. It could not be avoided that some fornication was going on. The men had brought in the female servants of the villae they had ransacked, and although Joerg and his siblings implored the men to refrain from rape, many of those servants, having witnessed the pillage outside on the streets, traded their bodies in return for protection and food. Three of the men appointed themselves hurenweibel and organised access to these women, keeping a semblance of order in the madness of victory. By midnight, the rabid mob in the streets fell into drunken stupor, and only the wails of the victims and the fearful voices of those looking for loved ones could be heard. When the Isebrand scouted the surroundings on the next morning, they were shocked and appalled. The streets were littered with dead bodies. Men, women and children had been slain and terribly mutilated without discrimination by the invading mob. Here and there, wounded survivors were crawling for safety. Between the dead bodies, landsknechte were sleeping off their drunk, while others, drunk but still able to walk, were roaming the streets for more victims. A small group of such drunkards approached them, dragging along a girl and a young boy. When they taunted Nele with lewd words, the pent-up anger in her vented itself. With a cry of rage, she whipped out her two blades and attacked the five men. In less than ten heartbeats, the blood of the pillagers mixed with that of their victims on the cobbled street. Nele was still steaming with fury, her blades dripping with the blood of the dead soldiers, when the young girl fell to her knees at Nele's feet. "Please, for the love of God, protect us! I'll do anything! I'll be your slave, but please, bring my little brother to safety!" The girl was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, they could tell. Her robe must have been expensive, but it was torn across her front, displaying her small breasts. Her bruised face was sooty, and dried blood covered her upper lip and mouth where she had been beaten. The boy was younger, perhaps fifteen, and as handsome as the girl. His clothes looked expensive and they were less damaged. However, he seemed to be gripped by the terror they had seen, for he was deathly pale and shaking. In a flash, Nele pulled the kneeling girl into a hug while Katherine roughly tore the coats from two dead soldiers' bodies. She wrapped the girl in one of them and handed the other to the boy. "Who are you, my lad?" she asked gently. Joerg and his brothers blinked at the uncommon softness in her voice. "I am Anton of Sternfels, son of the Duke of Sternfels," the boy answered in a hoarse whisper. "We were visiting with my uncle, the Cardinal Messenheim." "What happened?" "They came into the villa and killed my uncle. Ursula, my sister, found a hiding place for us in the fireplace. We stayed there all night while the soldiers killed and raped. It was terrible. This morning, they were all asleep. We tried to run away but those four caught us and wanted to drag us to their place." "Delivering those youngsters unhurt to their father might be worth our while," Thorben opined thoughtfully. Bjoern nodded. "'Tis a neiding's doing, to rape and kill maids and lads. All this makes me sick and shamed." "Let's take them in and give them shelter," Joerg agreed. "We have to get out of Rome as soon as possible. Look at all the dead! We'll have the plague in the city before two weeks have passed." "When did my little brother get so smart?" Katherine asked with a smile. "I agree with you, but we leave with our men only. I want nothing to do with the animals who did all this." Of course, they looted the four dead before they continued on their reconnaissance. They found another girl, barely hurt, under a pile of dead bodies where she had hidden herself. She was a delicate, black haired beauty of eighteen, the illegitimate daughter of the Cardinal Belcano and the widowed Contessa di Marioli. This city was crawling with the offspring of church princes! After a quick deliberation, they decided to take the girl in, in spite of the fact that no ransom would come forth. To leave the girl in the streets would be the same as raping and killing her, for she would stand no chance to escape once the drunk soldiery woke up. Bjoern summed it up for them. "We can't change what happened here, but if we want to keep our honour we must help out the innocent victims." Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 15: How Joerg Isebrand Comforts a Young Maid When they returned to the Palacio Granvella, the sentries were alert, but the rest of the fähnlein was barely awake, after a long night of drink and fornication. Joerg had the bleary-eyed corporals wake up the men and then gave them a severe dressing-down. Allowing that the last night had been a lapse, he made it clear that from this point on, there would be no breach of discipline again. Any man who defied orders would be thrown out and lose his share of the loot. Then, he laid down the rules and explained them. They would try to gather as much riches as possible over the next week. At the same time, they would extract ransom for the captured nobles and church princes. That accomplished, they would leave. With Frundsberg incapacitated and Bourbon dead, the army had no leaders anymore. They would return to Casale, to pick up those left behind and then make their way over the Alps, back to the German lands, with their winnings. Next he addressed the sharing of the loot. "Each rotte will elect one man to a committee. Make it someone who can count and who knows scales. The committee will tally the winnings and then allot each man his share. Half the shares will be given out in Casale, the other half when we reach friendly German lands. That will prevent desertion along the way." "Captain, who gets how many shares?" a man inquired. "Each fighting man will receive a full share," Joerg explained. "Those wounded in earlier fighting will receive a half share, as will those who joined us from among the prisoners. The corporals will receive two shares, the feldweibel four, the lieu tenant six, and the captain ten. That is the rule among free companions." The men murmured among themselves for a few moments, but most nodded. It was indeed the standard distribution. One man seemed dissatisfied, though. "By my count, that means twenty-three shares for your family!" he shouted. Joerg did not have to answer. Angry shouts were directed at the man. "They did more than a fair share of the fighting!" "Without Thorben Isebrand, we would have starved at Florence!" "The Maid Katherine saved my skin at Brescia!" When the shouting died down, Joerg raised his hands and addressed the complainer. "Should my siblings receive less than their fair shares because of their kinship with me? Does not my brother stand in for me as a lieu tenant? Does not my sister Katherine lead the arquebusiers and the archers? Was not my sister Nele among the first on the walls? And Thorben, he keeps you in good food and drink." The man had already realised his gaffe. "I spoke in haste and without thinking, Captain. Please forgive me." "You are forgiven, Johannes, for I know that you are a brave fighter. All of you men, keep in your minds that we won far more loot than any others, because we stayed together. We can only hope to keep our loot against the envy of the less fortunate if we keep staying together. I doubt there is any other fähnlein our size in Rome that is still under proper command. Nobody can beat us, if we stand together." Bjoern jumped on a table. "Three hurrahs for our Captain!" The men shouted their hurrahs. "And another three for the Free Saxons! Let's hear it!" This time, the shouting was even louder. Bjoern winked at Joerg, who smiled back. Bjoern then proceeded to detail sentry and patrol duties. Other men, under Thorben, were sent to collect more food from the neighbouring houses. The palace housed over six hundred people, and they were rapidly exhausting the storage cellars. Soon, food would be scarce in Rome, for the outlying farms would not send in produce. Bjoern himself took a full rotte to search the surroundings for victims of last night's atrocities, to render help and offer protection. Nele joined him, to lessen the fear of women and girls whom they might find. They found another seven survivors in the streets, six women and girls and one young lad, and they brought them back to the palacio. Those women and girls had not been lucky enough to escape the violence, and Nele made sure they received care for their injuries. Meanwhile, Joerg and Katherine had visited the cellars where the prisoners were kept. The nobles and their families had spent a frightful night in the dark and damp rooms, hearing the noise of the pillaging outside. The women, in particular, shrieked with fear when Joerg had the first door opened. They had the prisoners stand up, one at a time, and announce their name and standing, the names of relatives o other people who would pay a ransom, and the names of their dependants. Next, the heads of the families were encouraged to write letters to raise a ransom. Joerg did not even threaten them. He had one of the nobles taken outside to have a look at the corpse-littered streets. When that man returned, white as a sheet, Joerg offered to bring them out of Rome, to safety, in return for a reward. Those who would not pay would be left behind without protection. The vivid description of the scenes outside was inducement enough for the nobles to enter into the ransom negotiations. In the end, the sum agreed upon amounted to sixteen thousand Ducats gold. Both Joerg and Katherine had to suppress triumphant grins. Joerg alone would receive over three hundred Ducats, on top of his share of the plunder. If anything, the prospect of coming away from this adventure a rich man increased Joerg's watchfulness. He never seemed to sleep in those days, and neither did his siblings. The Sternfels siblings were not part of that ransom agreement. They had no relatives in the vicinity of Rome, and no ransom could come forth for them. Joerg put the issue before his men and suggested to deliver the youngsters back to their father. In return, they would only ask for a safe haven, to rest from the crossing of the Alps. There was some grumbling, but common sense prevailed. Nobody could know what repercussions the Sack of Rome would have, and to earn the gratitude and protection of the Duke of Sternfels could mean the difference between a life of wealth and the gallows. Katherine had selected the Sternfels lad as her page. He slept in her chamber, for protection, while his sister shared Nele's room. Ursula rarely ventured out of that room. Her brother Anton, by contrast, followed Katherine everywhere. She even began to teach the boy the use of the arquebus and the wheel musket, as well as the basics of sword fighting. Whatever she said, the boy's eyes were glued to her lips. To Katherine's brothers, it was amusing to see that their austere and commanding sister had found her first admirer. Neither of the brothers had a way to know when it started, but by the beginning of the second week in Rome, Katherine changed. Her austere demeanour alternated with good-humoured banter and laughter, and she carried herself almost ... like a woman. Especially, when young Anton was around her, she would sometimes smile a blissful smile. The boy changed, too. He walked tall now, and his efforts to please Katherine were earnest and full of adolescent devotion. He was also unable to control his frequent erections whenever he saw or heard Katherine, causing many good-natured taunts. For the Isebrand brothers did not begrudge their sister the happiness she seemed to have found. It was better she had this happiness with a decent young lad, even if he was a sprig of nobility, than if she had sordid bouts with fellow soldiers who would brag about it afterwards. The third youngster, Lucrezia di Maroli, also presented a problem. Her father was among the dead, and her mother, the Contessa, had fallen captive to the Spanish mercenaries on Vatican hill. Through an emissary, Joerg found out that the condottiero of that mercenary troop had arranged for her ransom, and she had fled Rome without even trying to find her daughter. When he gave the girl his findings, it was pitiful to see the effect. The world was caving in on her. Her father massacred, abandoned by her mother, she feared to be left behind as prey for the still marauding mercenaries. Before the Sack, she had expected to be married to some lower nobleman, but with the clout of her cardinal father gone, she had nothing to go for her, save her youthful beauty. She curled up on her cot, and her shoulders began to jerk as violent sobs wracked her body. Helplessly, Joerg put a soothing hand on her shoulder, and she froze. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you," he tried to calm her. "I'll leave you to sleep now. Tomorrow, things won't look as bleak anymore. Don't worry too much. We won't leave you here; you can come with us." "Gracie, Don Giorgio," she whispered, still stiff, and he left her alone. Joerg joined his siblings for a supper, but he turned in to sleep early. The last days had taxed his strength thoroughly, and he had been grateful when Bjoern had promised to go the rounds that night. Passing Katherine's chamber, he heard his big sister giggle exuberantly. He stopped, smiling broadly and shook his head. If the young Sternfels lad could make his austere sister giggle, perhaps he should ask the boy for advice on how to treat women. In his chamber, Joerg stripped off his armour and his clothes. There was a basin with fresh water, and he washed his torso and lower body, feeling much refreshed afterwards. Naked, he lay on his cot, and soon, sleep overcame him. Joerg woke with a start, not long after falling asleep. At least, that was how it felt. In the dark room, he felt another human presence, and his fighter's instinct made him bolt from the bed, dirk in hand. "It is me, Don Giorgio, Lucrezia," the girl whispered in the dark. Joerg took a deep breath. "What are you doing in my chamber, Lucrezia?" he asked, "I ... I came to offer myself, Condottiere," she whispered. "Why would you do that, girl?" "I have nobody to protect me anymore. I cannot hope for a marriage. I ask you to accept me as your ... your..." She could not finish. "Wait, let me dress," Joerg temporised. He quickly donned pants and a tunic and led Lucrezia to his bed, making her sit. He sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. She flinched a little, then took a deep breath and relaxed. "Lucrezia, you don't have to offer yourself to me. We took you in, and we will bring you to safety. Do not fear! We will not leave you behind here." "What am I to do then?" she asked in a bitter voice. "I have nothing to offer but my face and body. If I will have to be a kept woman, I would rather be your kept woman. At least you are young and strong and not mean." Joerg pressed her shoulder in sympathy, but Lucrezia misunderstood the gesture. She pressed herself closer to him and turned up her face. In the faint light that filtered through the latticed window, her upturned face looked angelic, and Joerg could not resist kissing her. The kiss lasted for many heartbeats. She opened her lips willingly for him, and he let his tongue explore her mouth. Their breath mingled, and he felt her breathing get erratic. When he let go of her lips, she moaned with disappointment and looked up at him with glassy eyes. "Santa Madonna!" she whispered. "I never knew..." He silenced her with another long kiss. By now, his self-restraint was used up. The temptation of the beautiful child-woman in his arms was too much. While his mouth ravaged her yielding lips, his hand caressed her delicate neck and wandered down to the soft swell of her small breasts. Her breath caught in her throat when his palms rubbed over her tiny nipples, and she broke free from his kiss. With a wild look in her eyes, she sat up and pulled her shift over her head. In the faint, silvery light, her small nipples looked as black as the thatch of downy hair in her crotch. She closed her slender arms around Joerg's neck and straddled his lap before she attacked his mouth. There was no hesitation on her part as her tongue pushed past Joerg's lips, furiously duelling his own tongue. Joerg let his hands roam over her slender figure, cautious to check the force of his ministrations. The slender girl felt even more delicate in his hands, and he feared to hurt her, to spoil this night for her. His erection was of course rampant at this point, tenting his pants, and Lucrezia had to feel it. She responded to that pressure from below by rotating her hips and rubbing her wet crotch against his clothed bulge. Joerg feared she would rub herself raw on the coarse linen garment. Deftly, he lifted her up to her disappointed squealing and laid her back on the cot. Now his fingers could explore the hidden treasures between her splayed legs that she willingly opened for him. He kissed his way down from her mouth, over her throat, down to her breasts, lavishing attention on the tiny nipples. Her hands seized his head, directing his mouth to suit her pleasure, as he alternately kissed and nipped the sensitive flesh. Her ragged breathing told him of the increasing lust she was immersed in, and his hands found her opening producing copious amounts of fluids. He abandoned her breast then, to kiss first her slightly protruding belly button and then her mons. A sobbing cry broke forth from her throat when he let his tongue sweep the length of her slit. Again and again, he let his tongue sweep upwards, and he had to hold her tight as her hips thrust upwards with each lick. When he paused for a few heartbeats and looked up at her face, he could see a blissful smile on her lips and felt deep satisfaction. He was not letting her down. Stiffening his tongue, he penetrated her opening next. He heard a gasp from her and then a mewling sound, almost a whimper while he began a rhythmic in-and-out with his stiffened tongue. Her hips started a matching rhythm on their own, with increasing urgency. He was confident that she was hovering on the edge of release when he abandoned the tongue fucking and closed his lips over the top of her slit, sucking on the delicate nubbin there. Lucrezia came with a pained wail that must have sounded over the entire city. Her hips were bucking wildly while Joerg maintained the suction on the delicious female flesh. His tongue now flicked that little nubbin, and after some more wailing, Lucrezia's feeble hands tried to push him away. His mouth left her slit then, and she lay still, save for her twitching female opening. Even her puckered rear opening contracted in the post-release sensations, Joerg could see. Supporting himself on his strong arms, he moved up until his mouth found hers. She responded only weakly to his kisses and her eyes were glassy. This was the right moment. Keeping his body suspended on one arm, he used his right hand to align his stiff member with her soaked opening. She did not even notice his first push in her stupor. When his second push tore through her maidenhood, her eyes flew open in surprise and she yelped. He held still now, to let her tight opening adjust to the massive intrusion, and he smiled down at the girl. Her eyes were still wide; dark, beautiful pools, and her mouth formed silent words. Then, with an effort, she focussed on his eyes and took a deep breath. "You are not fully in, are you?" she panted. Smiling, Joerg shook his head. "I'm ready now. Do it!" she told him breathlessly. He pressed on carefully, gaining access in tiny increments with each push. She was incredibly wet, but she was also terribly tight, and he went slowly both for fear of hurting her and for his own comfort. She flinched when the tip of his member finally reached bottom, and he quickly withdrew a little. She could take two thirds of his member, he knew now, and he concentrated on not penetrating deeper for the next minutes as he began a slow in-and-out motion. He saw sweat beads on her forehead and her nose wrinkled in concentration in those first minutes. Gradually, her face and body relaxed, though, and her hips began to undulate with his thrusts. Her tight canal also relaxed slowly, allowing him to speed up his movements. He was very close to his own release now, and he was sorely tempted to penetrate deeper with his final thrusts. Yet he resisted the urge, for fear of hurting Lucrezia. He could not hold back his boiling semen anymore, though. His hips began to buck on their own accord, and all he could do was to grab the base of his member to limit the depth of his strokes as his seed spewed forth inside Lucrezia's womb. Again, Lucrezia's eyes shot wide open as she felt his hot release, and she clung to his body with all the strength of her slender arms and legs, trembling in the throes of a last, minor release. Summoning the last shreds of control, Joerg rolled on his back, pulling Lucrezia on top of him, with his spent member still inside her. Her long, black hair fell over his face when she lay on his chest as a boneless heap. Joerg was exhausted, too. He did not even try to move when the door to his chamber opened and a worried Katherine peeked in. Blowing away a few strands of Lucrezia's black hair he looked at his sister who watched him silently for a minute. "You did not force the girl, Joerg?" she finally whispered. "Tell me you didn't!" With an effort, Lucrezia rose a little from his chest and looked at Katherine. "I wanted it, oh, how I wanted this!" Giggling helplessly, she sank back on Joerg chest. Katherine shook her head, but there was laughter in her voice. "Well, I'm glad then. Forgive my fear, Brother." Finally, Joerg had his wits about him. He grinned at Katherine. "Never mind, Sister. I shall make sure to ask young Anton too, come tomorrow. He sounds like he is in pain, at times." Katherine laughed. "I'm not sure he wanted it in the beginning, but I am certain he is happy with his lot now." On his chest, Lucrezia giggled. She looked up at Katherine. "Would you mind leaving us now? I give you my word that I will want everything he'll do to me." "Certainly, Donna Lucrezia," Katherine laughed. "Try not to wear him out too much." The door closed, and Lucrezia started kissing Joerg's face all over. "Can we do this again? I mean, not now; I am sore now. But tomorrow?" "How could I ever resist you, sweet Lucrezia?" Joerg smiled. "Can I stay and sleep in your arms?" Joerg just nodded, and Lucrezia rolled down from his chest and lay on her side, her head on his shoulder. "I'll be forever grateful to you, Giorgio. Lying here with you, I feel like all those terrible things have not happened. This palacio, you have made it an island of sanity in a sea of cruel madness." "What happened out there, it makes me sick and shames me, Lucrezia. We came to fight the Pope, and to loot the city, yes, but not like this. I have fought and killed in my life, I have wreaked bloody retribution, but not in my most terrible rage would I have committed such atrocious murder. I will forever stop calling myself a landsknecht, after this." "How come your soldiers did not go on a rampage?" "I guess they fear my wrath. They have also come to admire my sisters, and that may keep them from hurting women, for fear of earning their contempt." "I envy you, Giorgio, for your family. I rarely saw my father, and my mother was embarrassed by my existence. You have your brothers and sisters, and you love and support each other. It must be wonderful." "You have no other relatives?" he asked her. "None that would acknowledge my existence. There are two half-brothers, the sons of my mother's husband. To them, I am nothing but a stain on the family honour." "Where will your mother turn?" Lucrezia stiffened. "She left me alone when she fled for the Vatican hill. She never cared for me." Her voice was sad again. Joerg hugged her. "You know, my brother's wife, Gudrun, lives with us and travels with us. Bjoern may take another girl, Crescencia, as his wife. Perhaps,... ?" "No, Giorgio. You want to return to the German lands, in the North. It's cold there, and full of heretics. I could not live there, much less live in camps all my life. You have your life and your family, Giorgio, but I would never fit in." Joerg was a little hurt at the rejection of his offer. "What do you want, then?" he asked. "Take me away from Rome, please. When we reach a safe place, you can leave me there. I shall find some older officer or merchant who will not look for a dowry. There is always hope, and I am not ugly." Joerg heard the resignation in her voice and he felt pity. He held her close. "I shall do as you ask. I shall also renew my offer before we head north. Think about it some more. The woman who will join me will live well off my winnings, and we shall not travel forever." Lucrezia gave him a soft kiss. "You mean well, Giorgio, and I shall think about it. You have given me much already, and I shall never forget my first night with you." Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 16: How the Free Saxons Leave Rome and Return to German Lands By the end of their second week in Rome, Thorben and Katherine, with fifty of their men, met with the emissaries of their prisoners' families outside the city walls and received the ransom payment. Shortly after, under strong protection, the prisoners were guided out of the city and into the care of their families. In spite of the hefty ransom, more than one of the released prisoners expressed their gratitude to their captors, for they were all released without hurt and the women and girls with their virtue intact. The Cardinal Granvella was the only one of them who showed his grudge, for his three concubines had elected to stay in the palacio. They had found lovers more to their liking among the Free Saxons. That evening, the committee divided the ransom money according to custom, and the Isebrands added almost one thousand Ducats to their coffers. With the first rays of the sun, the Free Saxons abandoned the Palacio Granvella and marched towards the northern gates in good order. Nobody dared challenge them as they left with their rich loot. They marched in north-eastern direction for a few days, crossing the Apennine Mountains, and after a week they stopped for a few days' rest at a small river called Fiumicino. None of them knew that this was the famous River Rubicon of Julius Caesar's fame, and if they had known, they would not have cared. After two days, they headed in northern direction and made good progress for two weeks before they reached Casale. The good citizens of the town were wary of them. News about the atrocities committed in Rome had already spread. It was good that they had brought a number of the women along who would tell the people that the Free Saxons had shown restraint. Of course, Thorben and Gudrun were overjoyed to be reunited, and Crescencia blushed deeply when Bjoern swept her into his arms. That very evening, before the entire fähnlein, Bjoern Isebrand and Crescencia Partrese exchanged their wedding vows. They also found Enrico Pollini and Theresa as a married couple. The old sword master had not lost any time once they had returned to Casale, and Theresa showed the signs of advancing pregnancy. Strangely, Theresa raised her hackles when she saw Lucrezia at Joerg's side, showing an irrational jealousy. Pollini was philosophical about that, explaining it away with the craziness pregnant women were apt to display. They made quarter in the Castello Dei Paleologi again. Thorben used the time in Casale to sell off the more bulky items taken from the Roman palaces, converting those into coin. Again, the committee divided the spoils and again, the Isebrands received their share. It was late July now, and time for the Free Saxons to head north, to cross the Alps before the onset of winter. To expedite their travels, Thorben had bought up horses far and wide and wagons, both for the returning soldiers, for the numerous women and girls now accompanying them, and for their loot. Provisions were bought, too, and once again, the merchants of Casale were delighted to do business with the foreign soldiers. When the day of their departure drew nearer, Joerg renewed his offer to Lucrezia. Blushing, she told him of an offer she had received from a widowed wine merchant. That worthy, having three grown sons, wanted a pretty young wife for his waning years. He was wealthy enough to scorn a dowry, and Lucrezia's slender form and fragile beauty appealed to him. In a word, Lucrezia wanted to accept. She would live comfortably and be the respected wife of a prominent citizen. It was the best she could expect, from her view. Joerg did not press her. She had been honest from the start, and she had kept her side of the deal all during the march north, showing a ravenous appetite for his body. He was sad nonetheless when he wished her well. He entrusted her to Enrico Pollini who would give her away at her wedding, but he did not respond to her veiled offer of a last night together. They skirted Venetian lands on their way north. With the horses and wagons, they were able to travel twenty and more miles each day. They also carried provisions, easing the pressure to find food. Joerg pressed his fähnlein hard, and by late August, they reached the Gotthard Pass. The crossing was arduous, but the weather held all the way to St. Gallen. They paid a road tax there, and were allowed to rest for a week. On the first evening there, Katherine asked her brothers and sister for a council. She was visibly upset about something, but would not speak about it until they were alone. "Bjoern, I have brought shame on us." Bjoern was non-plussed. "How so, Sister?" "I am with child," she whispered. Bjoern was speechless, as was Joerg. Nele jumped up, though, and hugged her sister in support. Only Thorben shrugged his shoulders. "Katherine, of course you are," he said with a surprising lack of mocking undertone. "That is what happens when you lie with a man each night. What did you think?" "I don't know. I thought, I was so much older..." Thorben could not stop his smirk now, but Gudrun slapped the back of his head. "You have been a good brother, now shut up before you ruin it again!" She turned to Katherine. "How far along are you?" "My last bleeding was right after we took Rome." "Small wonder you were such a vicious fighter, there," Thorben could not help but quip. Another stinging slap to his head was his reward. "Have you told the boy, yet?" Gudrun asked next. Katherine shook her head. "Well, do!" Bjoern said sharply. "I have a mind to find a priest right away." "Don't be silly, Bjoern! The boy cannot marry without his father's consent, and what are the chances of that?" Katherine sounded bitter. Joerg could feel for his sister. He, too, had left behind a girl who would dally with him, but could not see him as husband. "Katherine, sister dear," he said softly. "It will not be the first child born out of wedlock. I for one will gladly serve as godfather, if you'll have me. We will always stand by you. You are our sister." "You don't condemn me?" Katherine asked, as if surprised. "Do not even think that!" Joerg answered with vehemence. "The Lord knows how many children Bjoern and I sired over the last years! Lucrezia may carry my child, for all I know. How can we judge you?" "Am I the only one who preserved her virtue in this family?" Nele asked with a pout. "And you better keep it, too!" Bjoern growled. "Katherine, I agree with Joerg. We shall all take care of you and your child. You need to tell the boy, though. Perhaps your child has a great future. Even the bastard child of a Duke will be taken care of well." "I would have to stay behind or give up my child, then!" Katherine exclaimed. "Let us stay reasonable, Katherine," Joerg calmed her. "Tell the boy first. Then, when we reach his father's lands, he can sound out the old Duke." That was what they agreed upon, and that evening, Katherine told Anton of Sternfels that he would be a father at age sixteen. Young Anton took it like a man, making Katherine not a little proud. He stood at Bjoern's tent, the next morning, making himself as tall as possible. "Worthy lieu tenant," he started. "I have learned that your honoured sister, whom I hold in the highest regard, may be with child. I shall step up to my responsibility in any way you and your family sees fit, even if that means defiance to my father's wishes." Bjoern had had a night to sleep over the situation, and he answered with politeness. "Bravely spoken, young Lord! You are an honourable lad, and you will do right by my sister. Let us not speak of defiance to your noble father, yet. We shall soon reach his lands. Speak to him, and let him decide on a course. Rest assured that we Isebrands will take care of our own, come what may." "Hearing your words, lieu tenant, makes me wish I could take responsible action of my own, if only to be able to count you as my brothers. I shall do as you propose." They left St. Gallen a week later with rested horses, and from there, it took them a week to reach the River Rhine. They were ferried across near Basel and reached Sternfels lands five days later. They rested then and sent Thorben ahead to advise the Duke of the safe return of his children. If anything, Anton of Sternfels had been even more solicitous of Katherine in the last weeks, to the point that she laughingly told him to leave her some space. With her great bodily strength and strong stamina, she showed no adverse effects from her pregnancy, yet. She looked more womanly, though. Her eyes were wider, her skin softer, and her lips fuller than ever before. The Duke must have left his castle within hours of the messenger arriving. Only two days passed, before a large body of men approached their camp. They halted a mile away, and a single rider came forth. It was Thorben, and he was grinning broadly. "I had the most gracious welcome I could wish for," he reported. "The Duke's men are setting up his camp right now. He invites all of us for the evening meal." "Did you mention my state?" Katherine asked. Thorben shook his head, grinning wryly. "No, Sister. That would take a braver man than me." "'Tis my duty, fair Katherine, to give that news to my father!" They turned to see young Anton, wearing full landsknecht regalia, including breast plate, sword and crossbow. The boy had grown and matured beyond his years in the months since they found him. His father, the Duke, would be in for a pleasant surprise. This news left them a scarce five hours to prepare for a ducal dinner. Katherine and Nele, but also Gudrun and Crescencia, frantically retrieved some stately robes they had secured from the Roman loot, and arranged their hair to advantage. The brothers, too, donned their most precious breeches, shirts and vests, along with wide-brimmed hats with peacock feathers. Gold-embroidered belts held the scabbards of their swords, and their boots were the work of the best shoemaker in Casale. The Sternfels siblings, too, wore clothes from the Roman loot. Shy and withdrawn Ursula had selected a modest dress of black moleskin, with a silver belt as sole adornment. Anton proudly wore his soldier's attire. He was uncertain, at first, over wearing his sword, for his father had not allowed him one yet. In the end, he decided for it, though. When they approached the ducal camp, His Highness received them in person. Many bows and polite words were exchanged before etiquette allowed the father to lead his children to the side, for a proper welcome. When Duke Arno returned, with both arms around his children's shoulders, his eyes were decidedly moist. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Let us sit for dinner! 'Tis a joyous evening for us, and we shall celebrate it!" He turned to his children. "I have a tent readied for you. Rest well while I give your rescuers a proper welcome." Anton would have nothing of that. "My father! How can you send me to sleep now? I have spent months in field camps. Aye, and the Captain Joerg has entrusted me with the colours of the Free Saxons! I am no child anymore, father." "You wear a sword, Anton," the Duke said, suddenly aware that his son was dressed as a soldier. "Yes, father. The Captain declared me able, last month, after much schooling. The Maid Nele herself taught me the art of the sword fight, and she learned from Master Pollini himself!" The Duke's eyes darted towards the younger Isebrand sister, and he raised his brow. "My sisters are second to none with their chosen weapons," Joerg said proudly, "and your son shows good promise with the sword. He will make you proud." Conflicting emotions showed on the Duke's face, but in the end, pride prevailed. "Sit at my side then, my son. What about you, Ursula?" "If I may, Father, I would sit with the Maid Nele one last time. She was my protector and dear friend in these last months." The Duke eyed Nele again, with even more appreciation. "I thank thee, fair Maid, for being my daughter's friend in trying times. Sit with my daughter if you will, but not for the last time. I invite you all and your men to spend the cold winter with us." Now they could finally sit at the large table. Venison pastries, pork roast, pheasants and other delicacies had been prepared, and they all delighted in the excellent food. His Highness had even seen to it that two oxen were roasted on a spit, for the soldiers of the Free Saxons, and ale and wine were plentiful. The celebration went on until late in the night, at which time, young Anton took his father to the side for a talk in private. The Isebrands noticed, of course, and they watched the reaction of the Duke closely. He shook his head repeatedly, he stroked his beard, but he also smiled a few times. In the end, he put his hand on the boy's shoulder and seemed to give him instructions. Anton returned to the table and sat close to Katherine. Try as they might, the other Isebrands could not understand one word of the whispered discussion. It was promising, though, that Katherine kissed the boy's forehead when they finished. When they returned to their own camp, long after midnight, tension was high. They all wanted to ask Katherine about the talk young Anton had had with his father, but they shied from asking her outright. It was Gudrun, who finally could not stand it anymore. "Tell us already, Katherine! We're dying of curiosity." Katherine weighed the request for a moment. Then she sighed and spoke. "The Duke will make an offer to me. Anton is his only son and heir, and if he has acknowledged offspring already, it may prove difficult to find him a fitting wife. "Instead, the Duke offered to claim fatherhood himself and raise the child as his own natural offspring. That would not be noted much, for he has two natural sons already. Only, we would have to stay until I give birth." "You want to give up your child?" Gudrun asked. "How can I not? This way, it will be raised with all the benefits of noble upbringing. How can I be so selfish to deprive my child of this chance? What can I offer? I am unwed, and even if I ever marry, it will never be to a nobleman." "This should not be decided in a rush, Katherine," Bjoern said gravely. "Give yourself time. The Duke invited us to spend the winter; that will give you time to give birth and to reach a decision." "Bjoern and I did fine, marrying within our stand," Thorben said. "It is true, though: a child born to noblemen will have a better life than we had." Nele snorted and shook her head. "Noble or common, I much rather be with you, my brothers and sister, than grow up noble with a snake for a stepmother and rats for half brothers, like poor Count Reinhardt." "From the mouth of children cometh the truth," Joerg laughed, earning himself a playful punch from his kid sister. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 17: How the Isebrands Have to Leave For Protestant Lands The Duke of Sternfels was a gracious host. The remaining four hundred and forty Free Saxons found winter quarters in a number of empty storage houses in the town of Sternfels, under the Duke's castle. The men had plenty of coins and valuables, and the tavern-owners and innkeepers of the town were overjoyed over the strong increase of business. Of course, some friction could not be avoided. The soldiers were idle and wine was plenty. Thus, quarrels broke out frequently. In one instance, a girl was molested by a drunken soldier, and it was lucky that a sober corporal interceded on the girl's behalf. Joerg made the drunkard pay restitution to the girl's family, but he realised that his men needed outlets for their energy. The Isebrands began to organise competitions for their men. Archers, fist fighters, runners competed against each other. Almost every day, some event took place, and while only a few of their men participated in the contests, almost everyone of them watched. This was accompanied by betting and drinking, but it kept away the boredom away during the months of enforced inactivity. A problem arose when, in December, the Bishop Manfred of Schwarzheim visited Sternfels. He was related to the Duke. The worthy Bishop was outraged that a fähnlein of heretics who had defiled the Holy City were given hospitality by the Duke. Not even the fact that the Free Saxons had saved quite a few nobles and had seen the Sternfels children to safety could mollify the Bishop's wrath. When the Duke maintained that he was bound by his word to offer hospitality to his son and daughter's benefactors, the Bishop cut short his visit and left castle and town, not without leaving orders with the priests in town to bar the Free Saxons from the Holy Mass. Those of the soldiers who attended Mass regularly, were forced to leave town and visit a small church, across the river, where a reformed preacher held Sunday services. That preacher also held the Christmas service for the Free Saxons that saw almost the full fähnlein in attendance. The Duke was not too happy about this development, but there was little he could do to influence the Bishop. In mid January, Katherine gave birth to a boy. It took her more than a day, to deliver her son, and the Isebrands fretted over their sister the whole time. The Duke himself, accompanied by his son, viewed the little boy on the same day. As soon as Katherine was able to stand on her legs again, a baptism was held. It was a fortunate coincidence that the Duke's grandfather had been Joerg of Sternfels. This made the given name Joerg acceptable to both families. The fiefdom of Leipheim was given to the boy at birth, too, making him Joerg Anton of Leipheim. Anton of Sternfels and Joerg Isebrand served as godfathers for the boy in the baptism that was performed by the Archdean who had been granted exemption for this occasion by the Bishop. Come March, the Castle was readied for a wedding. Young Ursula was to marry Rupprecht of Berlingen, heir to the Count of Berlingen. It was a rather hastily arranged marriage, for Ursula was considered as somewhat compromised by the events in Rome. Nobody would openly question that her virtue was intact, but the hidden innuendoes had hurt her reputation nonetheless. The bridegroom, the Isebrands learned, was also hurt by rumours. He was over thirty and had never been married. That would have been forgiven, but he had not sired any children at all, and the word was out that his virility or even his manliness were wanting. Joerg saw him when he arrived. He was a tall, strong figure, with manly features and a reddish hair and beard not unlike Joerg's. He was cultivated and polite, and he endeared himself to all the females present with his wit. Certainly, young Ursula could fare worse, Joerg thought. On the eve of the wedding, however, Joerg had a surprise. The Duke had asked him for a private meeting, and they walked the ramparts together, out of earshot from everybody. "Valiant Joerg, I have to ask a great favour of you. I feel bad to speak up about this, but I will admit that the strong boy your dear sister has born to us has confirmed my view that your family is of good stock. To make a long story short, my future son, Rupprecht, for all his obvious qualities, is ... hrhm ... not likely to sire children with my daughter." "The rumours are true, then?" Joerg asked. "Yes, and this is bad for all of us, not least for the good man himself. It may be remedied, though. Say, if my daughter were to give birth to a child, nine moons after her wedding, those damaging rumours would be quelled. The Noble Rupprecht is of the same idea, and seeing that you resemble him both in build and colour of hair, we entertained the idea that you might be persuaded to stand in for him at night." Joerg was almost too surprised to speak. "Highness, I'm but a peasant's son!" "Tut-tut, but who will know? Anton told me how you consoled the poor daughter of the Countess Maroli, and how happy she appeared, even on the morning after ... well, after. We, myself and Rupprecht, could wish for no better man to introduce my daughter to the ways of the flesh and to sire a strong heir to the House of Berlingen." "Highness, in those last months, your daughter, the Noble Ursula, lived with us, almost like a sibling. I care for her, but more as a young sister." "Then do her this service! Do you want her to be childless and exposed to ridicule? She has a duty to fulfil for her family, and I fear her life will not be joyful. At least, grant her a few nights of fulfilment and most of all, motherhood!" "How much shame will be on her if such a deceit becomes known?" "That can be helped. The bridal chamber is connected to one of my own chambers by a secret passageway. Do not ask me why, only my grandfather would know. For the duration of the celebrations, my honoured guest, the Captain Joerg Isebrand, will lodge in one of my private chambers." Joerg was silent. True, the prospect of spending nights with the lovely young Ursula was tempting, but the deceit involved with this made him uncomfortable. "Captain Joerg, I will not insult your honour by offering a reward. I ask you to give my daughter a purpose for her life, a child." Joerg took a deep breath. "Will your Highness allow me to speak the Maid Ursula first? I shall not add rape to her sufferings. If she is in agreement, I shall perform the service." Joerg was met with Ursula on the same evening, in her chamber. She was furious, livid with anger, over her situation. She had heard the rumours about her future husband, but after meeting him, she had dismissed them. Faced with the grim prospect of a life without love, she contemplated open rebellion, even at the cost of being sent off to a monastery if she refused the marriage vows. "How can they do this to me? How can he vow to love me and cherish me? I almost wish the mad soldiery in Rome had raped me! At least, they would have felt desire for me!" "You know you do not wish that, Ursula," Joerg tried to soothe her. "I have no answer for your questions, either, and no idea how to better your fate. I need to know, though, if you wish me to come to your chamber, after the wedding." "Father said he would not pay you. Is that true?" "Why would I ask payment for a privilege?" Joerg countered. "You are but a lovely lass, and to make you a woman will be a memory to cherish all my life. I have great fondness for you, Ursula. It is your decision, though. Do you want to bear a son with my rash temper? A son who may turn out a big, uncouth brute?" To his utter shock, Ursula jumped up at his words and stood close to him. "You are none of this, Joerg! I have seen you, those last months, and I very nearly lost my mind with jealousy, seeing how Lucrezia clung to you, hearing you and her at night. All the while, I was wishing it were me in your arms, and aye, in your bed! I saw your patience with us, your thoughtfulness for all those under your care. How can I not wish for you to be the man to make me a woman? "I fear the months and years to come, though. I will go to Berlingen, and you will go to wherever your sword will be needed. We will have but a week or two, and then, what will be my fate? I will only have a memory, then, and no future, no dreams." Joerg nodded. It was too cruel, she was right. "I shall tell your father, Ursula. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you." "No! I want that memory. I want a child, sired by you. I want all of that. I am just afraid of a future without you." "Ursula, there is nothing I can do, to ease your future life. I can give you my love for these next days and weeks. 'Tis but little, but it's all I can offer." "Then come to my chamber tomorrow! Make me forget this cruel world for a night!" Her reserve broke down in this moment, and she threw herself into his arms, crying into his chest. Joerg held her against his chest until her tears dried and she calmed down. She looked up into his eyes, with her tear-streaked face. "Until tomorrow, Joerg," she said resignedly. "Go now! I must prepare for that mockery tomorrow." For all outward appearance, the wedding was a dignified affair. The groom looked splendid, the bride was lovely, and all the guests were in a festive mood. In one aspect, Ursula prevailed, though: Nele was one of the Maids of Honour who carried Ursula's long, heavy train. Joerg was sitting with the court officers, in the third pew, and he watched his sister perform her duties. He could see that Nele was self-conscious, but others did not know her well enough to notice. "The Maid of Honour, the left one, who is she?" he suddenly overheard a whisper from his right. It was Bernhard, Knight of Aufeld, a noble vassal of the Duke. "It's the Maid Nele Isebrand, the youngest of the siblings who returned Ursula and Anton. Be careful! To give her injury or slight might provoke her terrible brothers." "Nay, why would a man give slight to a Maid of such uncommon beauty and grace? I am thinking courtship, not dalliance. Were it only I wasn't promised already!" He heard some more whispered comments about her. For once, he was not tempted to bash heads. The men were sincere in their praise, after all. The Dean of Sternfels performed the ceremony with much ado and the choir sang endless hymns. It took almost three hours to finish, and the poor couple had to stand through all of it. From the church, they adjourned to the Great Hall of the Castle, where the tables bent under the load of the finest food and drink. Joerg came to sit with the Duke's chief officers and their wives, and he found himself the centre of their interest. Against his protests, Katherine and Nele had trimmed his reddish hair and beard, according to the fashion. This and the rich clothing he wore on his tall, wide-shouldered frame made him easily the most imposing man at the table. He had learned good table manners at the court in Merseburg, and he had picked up enough of courteous behaviour and language to make his table neighbours forget his humble origins. They made him recount the Battles of Pavia and Brescia. By unspoken agreement, the Sack of Rome was left out, but Joerg had enough to tell to make a great impression. A young maid, Minna, the daughter of the Duke's almoner, was seated across the table from Joerg and watched him with rapt attention all through the banquet, her wide blue eyes shining with adoration. She was not of marrying age yet, at fourteen years, but Joerg made sure to pay courteous attention to her, with the benevolent approval of her parents, and he was rewarded with her shy smiles. It was innocent and sweet and touching. Suddenly clairvoyant, he realised that all his relationships with women, so far, had been based on something those women wanted of him, mostly protection. He doubted that any of the women in his life so far wasted many thoughts on him later. Perhaps Ursula would be different, but then, there was no conceivable future for them. He sighed heavily. It was time for him to find a real woman, a wife, who would give as much as she took and who would lend him her own strength. He came out of his thoughts when the Maid Minna addressed him. "They say that your sisters have fought in those battles, too. Why would they do this? Is this the custom in the lands whence you come?" Joerg had to grin. "They had to. Back home, we had a neiding for a neighbour, and my sisters learned to fight to defend their honour." "Father Anselm says it's against God's law, for a woman to take up arms," she said earnestly. Joerg perked up a little. The priest was agitating against them? "The Reverend father, for all his wisdom, has little knowledge of the life outside this castle. Only by taking up arms, my sisters were able to maintain their honour which the Holy Church charges womenfolk to preserve." The Almoner spoke up. "What if all women went armed then?" Joerg grinned. "Then the neidings among the menfolk would have a harder time." The little interplay had interrupted his musing, but later that evening, as he waited for the time to pass, the thoughts returned. He asked himself what kind of woman would be right for him. A woman of noble birth or a vassal's daughter would satisfy his ambition. Yet, Bjoern and Thorben had chosen women from their own stand. Gudrun and Crescenzia were wonderful wives to his brothers. Should he seek a pretty peasant girl to tie the knot? Strangely, the image of Hildburg Lauritz, daughter of the hateful Mayor of Warnesund, appeared before his eyes for a heartbeat or two. He had not thought of her in years, and she had to be married long since, for she was a pretty maid. He could still feel her weight on his shoulder, her softness under her nightskirt, as he had carried her out of the house he was about to torch. He cleared his head with a shake. Yes, a burgher's daughter might be the golden middle. From experience, he knew that to win such a wife, he needed to settle down somewhere. Bjoern and Thorben needed to offer their wives some home, too. With the winnings from Rome, the Isebrands could indeed look to buy lands somewhere and establish themselves as vassals under some feudal lord. It was the best they could aspire, yet it was within their reach now. He would have to speak with Bjoern and Katherine. Come the tenth hour, the Noble Rupprecht rose from the table and led his young wife to the stairwell in the back of the hall. This was the sign for Joerg to ask his host for leave and to retire to his assigned chamber. Once there, he took off his heavy coat and shed his boots. With a lighted tallow lamp, be opened the secret panel door the Duke had shown him. The staircase beyond had another door opposite. Lock and hinges had been oiled at the Duke's behest, and it opened without noise. The Noble Rupprecht was already standing ready on the inside. Wordlessly, he strode past Joerg and into the other chamber. Joerg let himself in and closed the door from within. There, on the bed, sat Ursula, still in her bridal gown, staring at him apprehensively. Joerg realised that he must look huge in the flickering light of the tallow lamps, and he rushed to kneel in front of her. "I am here, sweet Ursula," he said, taking her hands and kissing palms and wrists. A deep sigh came from the girl's mouth. "I have been waiting for this moment all day," she stated. "As have I," Joerg answered. "Are you ready for this?" She nodded. "Take me! Give me one night of love!" Joerg bent over her, seeking her lips. Eagerly, Ursula lifted her face to give him easy access. Their lips touched, lightly first, and then more urgently with each repeat, until they melted against each other. Joerg let his lips trail down along her slender neck, kissing and nipping and causing a delighted squeal. His hand sought the silk band that held the neckline of the robe. The bow tie opened easily, and the robe glided down her chest, exposing her naked body in full. The youthful nipples stood up proudly and a deep moan escaped Ursula's mouth when Joerg's mouth found the left one and sucked it between his lips. Her hands buried in his thick mane of reddish hair and pulled his face against her breasts. She gasped whenever his lips closed on her nipples to suck, and her skin turned pink all over her exposed chest. Joerg then let his mouth trail down her body, closer to her womanhood. Ursula's moans and gasps ended abruptly as she held her breath. His mouth hovering over her sparse pubic hair, he looked up into her face. Her eyes stared at him with a mixture of fear and desire. His first kiss on her nether lips caused a sharp intake of breath on Ursula's part. Then he let his tongue probe between those lips, and Ursula's legs fell apart, as she offered herself to his caresses. Kissing, nipping, and probing, with lips and tongue, he explored her virgin opening. His probing finger found her intact hymen, and she flinched slightly. He pulled back the offending digit and resumed his oral worship, and Ursula relaxed again. With only her outward lust centre accessible, it took Joerg a while to bring the girl into passion. Yet, when her arousal surpassed a threshold, her body began to respond to his touches unconsciously, and her hips gyrated to match his ministrations. Yet, he felt that she would not reach her release from his lips and tongue alone; she needed the penetration. Moving up again, he kissed her mouth, letting the virgin girl partake of her own taste, while he aligned his straining member with her untried opening. Ursula looked up at him in alarm when the swollen head of his member nudged between her petals. "Ssh, little one, don't fear!" he whispered, pressing downward. Ursula tensed under him as he encountered her barrier. He held still for a second. "Ursula, look at me!" he urged her, and her eyes locked into his. "Now is the moment. Do you want me?" Taking a deep breath, Ursula nodded. A heartbeat later, she yelped. "Ow! Ow, that hurt!" Again, Joerg paused, having just broken through her maidenhood. Ursula breathed deeply, and he felt her relax somewhat. With minute movements of his pelvis, he moved his member inside her, gaining depth slowly. Ursula still breathed away the discomfort, her forehead knotted in concentration. Finally, he felt his pubes touch her mons, and he rested again. "Is it all in?" Ursula asked through clenched teeth. "Yes, sweet Ursula," Joerg answered, taking time to sweep a wayward strand of hair from her face. "How do you feel?" "Filled," she exhaled. "The pain has lessened though." Slowly and carefully, Joerg lifted his body and pulled his member from her channel, causing her to whimper. "Don't, don't pull out yet," she pleaded. "As you wish, Ursula," he chuckled, pressing down again, and sinking his rod into her clenching flesh. A deep moan was her answer. He repeated the manoeuvre slowly and was rewarded with another deep moan. Ursula's eyes were closed, but her mouth was open, emitting moans and squeals as Joerg began a regular, slow in-and-out motion. He could feel that Ursula responded strongly to the penetration, far stronger than to his lips and tongue. Now her legs closed around his hips, her feet locking, and she tilted up her pelvis to meet his thrusts. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she stared at him with an intense look of longing. "Kiss me, loved one!" she pleaded, her voice low pitched and throaty. Their lips met, and Ursula sucked on his probing tongue. He felt her passion, felt the urgency of her embrace, and he responded by pumping in an out with abandon. Her moans increased into a crescendo. Ursula was swept away on a wave of lust, and Joerg felt that she was close. Two, three more deep strokes turned the girl's moans into wails, and the walls of her channel contracted around Joerg's member. That, finally, set off Joerg's release. He penetrated deep, his own pelvis mashed into the fuzzy hair of Ursula's pubes, and his member began to pulse, spewing forth the seed into the girl's womb. The pulsing of his member, the deep penetration, the direct friction of his wiry pubic hair on her sensitive flesh, all this combined to trigger Ursula's climax. She clung to his large body with all her power and screamed her lust; her scream mixed with Joerg's suppressed grunting. And then, the two lovers sunk into each other's arms, panting heavily. A shadow fell over the bed. It was Rupprecht. "You had better finish. The women will come in soon." He was right. The women would look after Ursula, to make sure she was not hurt too much, but also to make sure there was blood on the linen. With a quick kiss on Ursula's forehead, Joerg rose from the bed and collected his clothes. At the same time, Rupprecht took off his outer clothes and climbed into the bed in his shirt. Sitting, he bowed to his wife. "I trust the procedure did not leave you in pain, my dear?" He was sincere, Joerg realised. So did Ursula. "No, on the contrary. It was a most delightful experience," she smiled. "It gladdens me to hear that. Valiant Joerg, you have my gratitude for your fine service!" "It was my pleasure," Joerg answered dryly while he let himself out. Ursula's cries of lust had been heard all through the castle, and by the next morning, most of the men looked at Rupprecht with respect. When the charade was repeated every night for the next three weeks, nobody spoke of the evil rumours anymore that had shaded the young nobleman's repute. After three weeks, Ursula missed her curses, and she left the castle with her husband, confident that she would bear a child. The grateful Rupprecht gave Joerg a fully trained warhorse, a beautiful, white stallion. Joerg had to endure many taunts from his siblings who guessed at the reason for the nobleman's gratitude. For four more weeks, Katherine could spend time with her son. She would not nurse him, for the Duke had found two wetnurses, and her milk dried up soon after the birth. She would hold him though, rock him into sleep, and often, Anton would sit with her. Unfortunately, there was a mounting pressure now for the Isebrands and the Free Saxons to leave. The Bishop had sent letters to neighbouring principalities, and the Duke had a hard time fending off the allegations against his guests. Thus, by May, Joerg and his siblings prepared to leave. The Duke was helpful to point out Protestant principalities, and he provided them with a guide. Katherine had a tearful farewell with her young lover and her baby son, but finally, the four hundred sixty men and four women left the hospitable town and headed in north-eastern direction, away from Catholic lands. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 18: How Arnulf of Erlenburg Finds Soldiers for his Brother The Castle of Erlenburg was in deep mourning. Rudger, Lord of Erlenburg had died the night before, at fifty years of age. When his wife, Helga, had gone home to the Divine Maker one year ago, it was as if she had taken his will to live with her. He simply wasted away. His three sons sat with their father's trusted advisors, discussing the difficult situation. The oldest, Gøtz, was the heir to the castle and the lands. He was close to thirty, and he was admired as wise beyond his years. He would have been the perfect successor if it had not been for the illness that was crippling him. Over the years, his muscles and bones had grown weaker and weaker, and he sat in his father's chair, a shadow of the strong young man he had been, ten years ago. That wasn't all. His marriage with Heidrun had not been lucky. Both children had died in the first year of their lives. Then, Heidrun died delivering another, stillborn child. Now, Gøtz was too feeble to court another woman or to sire more children. Gøtz knew that his own death was not far away. He would have welcomed this, had it not been for his brother, Albert. The second-oldest brother was an honest soul, brave and true, but he was given to rashness and drink. The thought of Albert as Baron of the lands was worrisome. Only the third brother, Arnulf, was a natural successor to their father. Strong of mind and limbs, loyal to his father and brothers, he was the epitome of what Gøtz could wish for. But Arnulf was chafing under his position as youngest of the three, and he had been talking about leaving the Erlenburg, to make his own fortune as a soldier. That must not happen, Gøtz thought. "Brothers," he began, speaking with his weakened voice, "we face dangerous times. Our father's death will encourage our old enemies, while it will dishearten our friends. You both know that I am in no shape to travel and speak with our allies, to renew the ties our father knotted. Albert, I need you to be my sword arm. The way my body is wasting away, you will soon succeed me. I need you to be around, in charge of the Erlenburg. "Arnulf, I beg of you, do not leave us. I want you to become my voice of reason, speaking with our neighbours, friends and foes. I also need you to look for fresh troops. I fear our neighbours will test our strength soon, and we have to replace the two companies that took service with Waldenfels." "Who do you want me to talk to?" Arnulf asked tentatively. "I want you to sound out Nassau. Find out his plans. Visit him. Visit Ulfried of Meiningen, Father's cousin, and renew our friendship ties." "I can do that, Brother, but where would I find troops?" "The first of the marauding landsknechte are returning from Rome. There is a troop of them close to Fulda, I hear. They may be up for hire." "What are they up to, near Fulda?" Gøtz smiled. "Find out. Have a look at them, and please, come back!" ------- The visit with the Count of Nassau was unsatisfactory. The Count roundly refused to meet with the younger brother of the Baron of Erlenburg, and Arnulf was forced to travel on towards Hesse. Arriving in Fulda with his small entourage, he heard that the troop of mercenaries he was looking for had moved on to Marburg. At least, the Count of Marburg received him friendly. Phillip I. was a keen follower of Martin Luther and ahead of his times. He had, in the last year, founded the first Protestant university, and his lands had been spared the ravages of the peasant rising of 1525. When Arnulf asked his host about the landsknechte who camped near Marburg, the Count explained that they were displaced soldiers from Saxony. While they had fought in Italy, their lord and master had died and was succeeded by his younger half-brother. They were unwilling to serve that man. They had been peaceful, so far, had even offered presents to the Count, but he would be happy nonetheless to see them leave. A large fähnlein in his lands worried him, and he had no use for them. Arnulf rode to the camp of the landsknechte the next morning. They had built a regular field camp, with tents and fireplaces, and when Arnulf neared the site, he was challenged by a sentry. He identified himself and asked for the captain. When he entered the largest tent, he faced three men, obviously brothers, and, to his utter surprise, two women, clad like soldiers. "I am Arnulf of Erlenburg; my brother is the Baron of Erlenburg. I have heard from our friend, the Count of Hesse, that you may look for a contract." The largest of the brothers looked at him for a few moments. "Greetings! I am Joerg Isebrand, and I am the Captain of my men. My brother Bjoern Isebrand is my lieu tenant. Thorben Isebrand and my sisters, Katherine and Nele, are feldweibel." Arnulf could not help but smile at the thought of two women, not only serving as soldiers, but in fact leading a rotte. He noticed, though, that both women were tall and sinewy. The younger woman took offence at his smirk. "Your smile, noble Arnulf, is out of place! Watch us in battle before you dismiss us." She had fire! Arnulf realised that she was a strikingly beautiful woman and still quite young. He was instantly contrite. "Forgive me, Nele Isebrand, for my slight. I did not mean to belittle you." "You had better not, Arnulf of Erlenburg, for my sister strikes a wicked blade," the Captain grinned, and Arnulf saw the other brothers nod grimly. "Why would you want our service?" "My father borrowed two companies to the Count Waldenfels, to suppress the peasants in the Black Forest, and they remained in his service. We have need of replacements, seeing that some of our neighbours are unfriendly." "You want us to serve as garrison, then? With regular pay?" "This is so, indeed. My brother offers a contract for three years." The oldest of the brothers spoke for the first time. "We are looking for a place to settle down, noble Arnulf. We look to buy lands with our winnings from Rome. A contract for three years will leave us uprooted again." "This is something I cannot decide. I can imagine, though, that my brother may be willing to accept strong vassals on our lands. The Black Death passed through our lands, seventeen years ago, and there are villages that are still deserted. Why don't you come with me? I can offer you quarter for the winter. You'll meet my brother, and we may both get what we want." The tall captain looked at his brothers, and they nodded. Then he looked at the older sister. "Let's talk about it," she said. To Arnulf's surprise, it was the tall woman, Katherine, who did most of the haggling and who found weak spots in the contract, time after time. Arnulf quickly came to respect her; she was smarter than most men he had ever met. Only when Arnulf saw the names on the parchment of the contract, did he make the connection. "Joerg Isebrand? The Joerg Isebrand, son of Wulf? They gave you a nasty byname in Warnesund, didn't they?" Briefly, Arnulf saw annoyance flit over the tall man's face, but then he shrugged. "It's how I deal with neidings," he said. Arnulf chuckled. "Oh, I didn't mean to judge you. I heard the story from several people, among them the old Count of Schwerin. Have you ever met him?" "No, I thought it wiser to stay away from the North," Isebrand answered with equanimity. "Enough of past things. When do you want us to march?" Arnulf grinned. "How about day after tomorrow?" Isebrand nodded and turned to his older brothers. "Bjoern, Thorben, will you tell the men? Katherine, will you send word to the Count that we shall leave his lands? Bid him our greetings and our humble thanks." The tall, older woman nodded and stood, while the older brothers were already heard outside the tent, giving orders. Just then, two young women entered the tent. Both were obviously with child, and they were no blood relations to the Isebrands, either, as Arnulf saw. They were smaller, one with dark brown tresses and a ready smile, the other with black hair and the sad face of a Madonna. "Are we leaving?" the brown haired woman asked the fierce looking giant. "Yes, sister. The Baron of Erlenburg is in need of our service, and he might offer us places to settle." "Noble Arnulf, this is my brother Thorben's wife, Gudrun, and this is Crescencia, Bjoern's wife. Sisters, this is the Baron's brother." "I greet you, Noble Arnulf," Gudrun said, giving him a friendly smile, while the black haired woman nodded shyly. "I imagine you will be happy to settle down," Arnulf smiled back. "I know it is hard for a woman to be a soldier's wife." "I'm used to it, and I wouldn't have it any other way," Gudrun replied with obvious pride. "We need her," Nele said. "She takes care of us when we are sick or wounded." Arnulf shook his head in wonder. This was an extraordinary family. He looked at Nele again. She was lovely, there was no other word. Her flaxen hair was tied into two neat braids, framing a heart-shaped face, with a good, strong chin, a well-formed mouth, and a straight nose. Her eyes were deep blue, almost violet, shaded by long, soft lashes. Arnulf realised he was staring. "Why ... forgive me the question ... what made you decide to become a soldier, Nele. Certainly, it cannot be for want of men who would have you?" She looked at him for a few moments. "It started because I wanted to defend myself against men 'who would have me', as you say, and would not listen to my 'no'. Then, when we left the marshes and my brothers became soldiers, I found I liked the life. I delight in sword practice and fighting. It's better than being a farmer's wife, living at the whim of a simpleton." "Being a soldier is dangerous, though. Aren't you afraid? The risk for a beautiful girl must be even higher." She gave him a wolfish grin. "It would if men took me seriously, but they never do. They die before they realise that I am their better." Arnulf bowed and smiled at her. "I thank you for your fair warning! I shall take you seriously, I promise!" "You better!" Joerg Isebrand's rumbled words sent a shiver over Arnulf's spine. ------- Gøtz of Erlenburg tried to sit upright, but the pain in his tortured limbs made that difficult. He sighed heavily. The situation was gloomy. The neighbours were hostile, and although their long-time adversary, the Count of Nassau, was holding back, they would soon have to fight to protect their lands. Then, a week ago, the news of Ulfried of Meiningen's death had been the next blow. The Erlenburgs and the Meiningens were kin and had always allied. His widow, Barbara, would have enough on her hands just to keep her lands. It was a stroke of good luck that Arnulf had found the mercenaries agreeable. They even wanted to settle, Arnulf had told him. That was more than Gøtz had hoped for. A land holding vassal was far preferable to any free lances. Plus, that Captain's name alone would strike terror into the hearts of their enemies. Gøtz sat up and gave a sign to his chamberlain. The huge oaken door opened, and Arnulf led in five men in armour. Three men and two women, Gøtz corrected himself. The red-bearded giant who led them approached the dais and bowed. "Hail to you, Lord of Erlenburg! I am the Captain Joerg Isebrand. I lead the Free Saxons." "Hail to you, brave Captain!" Gøtz answered, equally polite. "I hear that you desire to settle in my lands as a vassal?" The giant nodded. "This is our wish, Lord. We offer our fealty in return for lands to settle on." "And your men?" "Some of them are attached to us. They would stay with our family. The others can join your ranks for pay. If it pleases you, I can continue to command them as your vassal." "A full fähnlein according to Frundsberg?" Gøtz asked. "Nearer on four-hundred and fifty men, Lord. They were the Count of Merseburg's loyal men, and I was his captain." "You can see that I can't lead my men into battle anymore. Does that affect your respect?" The giant shrugged. "I also hear that you are a wise lord. I can fight without help, but wisdom has eluded me so far." Gøtz managed a grin. He looked at Arnulf and nodded. "My brother can show you the lands of Loheim. There is a small castle and some six hundred tagwerk of land. The castle has been abandoned since the Black Death struck, seventeen years ago. If you and your brothers and sisters swear fealty to my house and serve me in arms, I shall grant you the land as fiefdom, and the peasants will pay their rent to you." The tall man looked back at his siblings, and Gøtz noticed that the older of the two women nodded. Joerg Isebrand turned back to Gøtz. "We accept, my Lord." Gøtz raised his voice. "Have bread and salt brought!" A moment later, a servant balanced a tray with fresh bread loaves into the hall. Groaning under his breath, Gøtz reached for a loaf. "Joerg Isebrand, take this bread from my hand and this salt!" The tall mercenary knelt before him and accepted bread and salt. Next, the oldest of the siblings stepped forward to receive the symbolic gift of food. Then, to Gøtz' surprise, the older of the women knelt. The third brother followed, and then, at last, the younger woman knelt. Gøtz held his breath. He might be a paralysed cripple, but he sat upright, like a man, when he looked into the lovely face. She was strong, too, he saw, and she moved like a lynx. Gøtz sighed. Ten years ago, before the cursed illness struck him, he would have courted her without another thought. He remembered the business at hand. "Valiant Joerg, how do your siblings rank in your fähnlein?" "I lead the pikemen and the halberd carriers with my brother Bjoern who is my lieu tenant, Lord. My sister Katherine commands the archers and arquebusiers in battle. My brother Thorben is quarter master and purser." Gøtz had another look at the tall, sinewy Amazon. She was a remarkable woman, although slightly advanced in years. She was as tall as her brothers, except for Joerg, but there was no doubt that she was a woman. Like her younger sister, her rich, blonde hair was braided. It was her eyes, though, that Gøtz found the most intriguing. There was a lively intelligence in those blue pools. For the first time in years, Gøtz felt a stirring in his loins. This surprised him so much that he had trouble thinking. "Do ... Er ... the men obey you?" Katherine gave him a self-assured smile. "They have learned to, my Lord." Obviously, neither Bjoern nor Thorben found anything wrong with the allotment of tasks. Gøtz looked at his brothers and caught a nod from Arnulf and a shrug from Albert. Gøtz noticed that Albert was not too steady on his feet, right after the noon meal. He was drinking too much again. "It is settled then. My brother Albert is my Field Captain and heir. It is he who will command you. Come springtime, there may be trouble brewing. Settle in over the winter, but keep your men exercised. Those who stay in your household are yours to take care of. The others receive the regular pay of my soldiers, seven Silver Marks each week. "Don't be too harsh with the peasants, this year was not good for them. You'll find that hungry peasants are less productive." The siblings nodded to that, and Bjoern spoke up for the first time. "They'll not find us hard squires, Lord. We have all tilled the land when we were younger, and we know the hardships peasants face." Gøtz nodded again. "I shall see you at my table tonight?" They all bowed and accepted. "Perhaps, the valiant shield maids can endeavour to grace my table in womanly attire?" He saw how the sisters looked at each other. Some silent joke passed between them, and they smiled. Both curtseyed to him which looked exceedingly funny in the leather and steel armour they wore. Gøtz laughed outright. ------- To Gøtz' surprise, the five Isebrand siblings showed graceful manners at his table. He noticed that the men partook sparingly of the excellent wine, and the women shunned it altogether. The women. Both of them had appeared in magnificent dresses of heavy cloth. Both wore heavy gold earrings and necklaces studded with gems. They had indeed come away from the Sack of Rome with rich loot, he thought. Both were striking women. The older one, Katherine gave an austere impression at first, but her features were even and strong, and her body, displayed to advantage in the fine dress, was magnificent. It was hard to believe that she was, as claimed, a true and tested soldier, except when one saw her confident gait. Once more, Gøtz cursed his illness. The younger woman was more delicate in build, although, by most standards, she was tall and strong, too. It was her face, though, full of sweetness, that kept Gøtz' brother Arnulf staring at her all the time. He understood his brother. Arnulf had confessed his secret infatuation with the youngest of the Isebrand siblings, praising her beauty and her character. Perhaps, it would be a good thing. The Isebrands certainly were of good stock, tall, strong and healthy. Arnulf himself was the best of the Erlenburg brothers, Gøtz knew. He would keep an open mind. If the Isebrands and the girl proved themselves, then he would not oppose an infusion of fresh blood into the family line. Ten years ago, he would have vied for her sister himself. There would be an advantage, too, in tying the siblings to the House of Erlenburg by family bands. With a sigh, Gøtz realised that he was too far ahead in his planning. He noticed, too, that the oldest of the Isebrand brothers stood from the table. "My Lord Gøtz, noble men and women! Since we arrived in Erlenburg lands, we were treated with friendly welcome and favours. To show our appreciation, I wish to present this golden goblet to our Lord, as symbol of our fealty." With that, he stepped forward and presented Gøtz with a beautiful goblet, no doubt looted from some cardinal's palace in Rome. Gøtz nodded his head in acceptance. "I thank you, my vassals, for this fine gift. Cellarer! Fill this goblet with Rhine wine!" The servant rushed forward with a large pitcher and filled the goblet with the golden liquid. With an effort, Gøtz lifted the goblet. "A long life in health to all of you, and confusion to our enemies!" Next, Thorben presented Albert of Erlenburg with a beautifully worked breast armour of blue steel. Albert's eyes lit up at the sight, in spite of his drunk state. "Zis-ish a fitting gift for a soldier-man," he slurred. "I drink to you and your siblingsh!" Gøtz felt embarrassed by his brother's drunkenness, but decided to let it be. Joerg Isebrand was the next to stand, and he gave Arnulf a sword with a Saracen blade. A wide smile formed on Arnulf's lips as he regarded the beautiful weapon. "'Tis a sword fit for a king's hand!" he exclaimed. "I thank thee, Joerg Isebrand!" That was not all, for Katherine and Nele stood now and approached Albert's wife, Charlotte. "Noble Lady, we offer you this belt as our gift," Katherine spoke for both women. Charlotte stood and smiled at the Isebrand women. She had reason to smile, for the belt was woven from massive gold rings, with a ruby-studded buckle. "Be welcome to Erlenburg lands, Katherine and Nele Isebrand!" Charlotte said nicely, giving both women a friendly smile. How Charlotte could maintain her happy mood all the time was hard to comprehend for Gøtz. Married to a man who was drunk more often than not had to be a hard fate. She never complained or nagged, though. She was indispensable for the running of the household, too, ever since Gøtz had become a widower. Gøtz regarded the Isebrand sisters again. There was no dispute that the younger Isebrand woman was a strikingly beautiful creature. However, he noticed that the elder, Katherine, once dressed properly, was handsome enough. When she smiled, which she did not seem to do very often, Gøtz felt an inexplicable urge to know more of her. Chance had it that she came near his table, later in the evening, and he was able to engage her in talk. She showed astonishing insight into the political machinations of the time, and she gave him a thorough understanding of the story behind the Sack of Rome. In turn, she also showed interest in the local situation, proving a good listener. It was one of the rare moments in Gøtz' life where he felt that he met a kindred spirit. He fought his growing weariness as long as possible, until he could not keep his eyes open anymore. When he excused himself, she gave him a warm, sympathetic smile. Gøtz could not remember the last time he had gone to bed in a similarly optimistic mood. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 19: How Nele Isebrand Wins a Husband Three days later, the Isebrands, with some fifty men, travelled thirty leagues to the south, and to Lauheim. The small town, or extended village, spread at the foot of a small hill. On top of that hill, a small castle had been built, surrounded by a twelve-foot wall and a dry moat. They crossed the drawbridge into the courtyard of the castle and found the main building to be two storeys high, with a slate covered roof. Ivy covered most of the walls, and the shutters were closed. The castle had been in disuse for over fifteen years, and it showed. Still, it was built solidly. The Isebrands dismounted in the yard, and Bjoern produced the huge key he had received from Baron Gøtz. The massive oak wood door screeched in its hinges when they opened it, and they entered into the great hall of the castle. The tables, stools and benches were still there from the former vassal, covered with the dirt and dust of a decade. A large fireplace was located on the right side of the hall, and a dais held the table for the lord of the castle, opposite the entrance. "Not bad at all," Bjoern commented. "Let us have a look at the sleeping chambers." They inspected the sleeping chambers upstairs, the kitchen, the storage rooms underneath the great hall. Everything was solid, if dirty. Next, they inspected the adjacent building which held sleeping quarters for the servants and soldiers. They were adequate, if small. A deep well had been dug, too, in the yard, providing the small castle with fresh water. "What do you say, brothers and sisters?" Bjoern asked. "I say, we have found a decent home," Thorben laughed. "It looks solid and defendable," Joerg agreed. "If we fill that dry moat with sharp edged stones and put battlements on that wall, we can hold this place against a small army." "We need to find servants," Katherine remarked. "This place needs cleaning. A carpenter needs to fix tables, stools and chairs. We need more beds, too, and mattresses." Thorben nodded. "Perhaps we can barter with the townspeople for services, instead of rent payments, this year. We need to meet with them as soon as possible." "That's a good idea, Thorben. We don't lack gold, but we need this house readied for the winter," Bjoern said thoughtfully. "Nele, Gudrun, you haven't said a word." Nele turned to her siblings. There was a blissful smile on her face. She shook her head. "Who would have thought that we, the Dutch beggars, would live in a castle one day," she marvelled. Gudrun laughed at that. "I was thinking the same. Here we are, peasants from the marshes, and we will sit in this great hall each eve, feasting on venison and pork. It would seem that I picked the right side." "You better believe you did," Thorben growled, lifting her up in his arms. Bjoern then looked at his wife who was frowning. "Do you like it, love?" "It is strange, so dark and severe! Can we whitewash the walls inside and have some colours, too? Why are the windows so small?" "We'll try to find chalk, for the walls, Crescencia. Perhaps, there is a painter in the town, too. The windows must be small, I'm afraid, for the winters here are very cold." "He'll love to keep you warm," Thorben laughed, earning himself a threatening look from his older brother. The next weeks were busy. Carpenters and masons from the small town of Lauheim set to work in the castle, fixing what was broken, and furnishing the rooms. A potter in town was happy to fill an order for pottery for the tables and the kitchen, while a smith cast pots and pans for the kitchen. They were also able to recruit a number of girls as maidservants, and a few young men as grooms for the stables. The ever faithful Jon was elevated to the position of stable master. Thorben was doing most of the dealings with the local citizens and the tenants. The Isebrands agreed to accept most of the payments in victuals, to stock their storage rooms for the winter. With a population of over seventy, the castle had great need for food and drink. The men of the castle busied themselves collecting firewood. They were able to trade for a large shipment of coals from one of the small towns on the River Rhine. This would allow for the use of coal basins, in addition to the fire in the great fireplace. By November, the Isebrands were settled, and over the next three months, they sat comfortably in their hall, while outside the winter ruled. A cooper had assembled a large tub in a basement room that boasted its own fireplace. All of the Isebrands had come to appreciate the luxury of warm baths when they were stationed in Casale. At least twice a week, or more often when they returned from patrols with cold limbs, Gudrun and Crescencia saw to it that water was heated. In the beginning, the women bathed by themselves, but whichever order they agreed on, somebody, the men or the women, complained about the water having turned cold. Thus, after some show of modesty, the women and men shared the large tub. With Thorben and Gudrun not being shy to show their affection for each other, soon a good-natured banter developed between the siblings and their spouses. Even Crescencia would sometimes squeak and blush while Bjoern, showing a sly grin, would hug her to his chest. For young Nele, those baths were the first instances where she could see naked men, if only her brothers, from up close. Noticing quickly that her presence in the bath made her big brothers self-conscious, she took delight in making saucy remarks, earning herself frequent threats of corporal punishment which, of course, never came to fruition. In January, within a week's time, first Crescencia and then Gudrun, gave birth. Bjoern and Crescencia's firstborn was a little girl whom they named Helga, after the siblings' mother. Thorben and Gudrun had another boy, Alfred, named after Gudrun's maternal grandfather. Both young women came through birth in good health, and the newest offspring to the Isebrand clan showed appetite and health from the start. Come March, the siblings received summons from their Lord, Gøtz of Erlenburg. The messenger relayed that the Lord assembled his vassals for a warlike endeavour, and consequently, the Isebrands left with their full armour and accompanied by most of their soldiers. Only fifteen armed men were left under the trusted feldweibel Johannes Ebenhall, to guard castle, town, and families. At the Erlenburg, they were the first to arrive. The other vassals did not arrive for three and more days, and Gøtz posted three Isebrands, Joerg, Björn and Katherine, as captains of the pikemen, the gunners, and the archers. The Erlenburgs did not divide their men into fähnlein but adhered to the company as unit. Each company comprised six score men, plus corporals, a feldweibel and the captain. Each company also specialised in one type of weaponry, only. Thus, Joerg's old fähnlein yielded three companies, with an Isebrand as captain, each. Of course, Albert of Erlenburg was Field Captain, and his brother Arnulf was his second-in-command. For a change, Albert of Erlenburg was dead sober. He was an able commander, once he abstained from drink, and he organised the small army that Erlenburg could boast of into six companies. The fourth to sixth companies were foot soldiers and were led by veteran captains. The reason for the mustering of forces was a formal letter of defiance, received from the neighbouring principality of Rugenheim. The Baron of Rugenheim claimed ownership of a village, Ehrenberg, which was currently under the rule of Erlenburg, a claim that was based on an old dispute dating back to their great-grandfathers. The letter challenged to a battle at the village in question, to decide the ownership. Of course, Rugenheim was only the first of their neighbours who wanted to have a bite out of their dominions. If he were not trounced soundly, other neighbours would soon follow suit with trumped-up claims. Albert knew the terrain well, and he briefed his captains. He wanted all of the mounted men, mostly landed vassals, grouped as a small cavalry, at his disposal. The rest of his orders were sensible, too. He wanted to fight a defensive battle, for the ground was still soft and deep from the snow melt, making a charge difficult at best. The pikemen under Joerg would form a barrier to repel the attackers, with the archers under Katherine positioned behind them, to pepper the enemy with their crossbow bolts and bullets from their arquebuses. With the rest of the foot soldiers and the horsemen, he planned to launch a counter-attack, only once the enemy had been repelled. The gunners with their field pieces would be placed on a small hill, if that was still possible, for it had to be assumed that Rugenheim's men were already on the scene. Else, Bjoern would have to use his judgement. On Arnulf's insistence, they marched off on the following morning. The foot soldiers formed the vanguard. By evening, they were already close to the disputed village. Once again, Albert proved to be an able and cautious leader, sending out scouts to march on. Although Nele volunteered, Albert chose two of his own gamekeepers for the task. Regular sentries were posted around the makeshift camp, and the Isebrands noticed with relief that no wines or spirits were doled out. If Albert drank anything in the privacy of his tent, they had no way of knowing. However, the Field-Captain was up with the first dawn, rushing his men through a frugal breakfast before they marched again. It was almost noon when they crested a small hill and saw the village spread out in the valley below them. They also saw their opponents, lined up against the small forest behind the village, their banners flapping lustily in the wind. Albert bade his men halt while he studied the enemy carefully and his captains were summoned. "There seems to be fewer of them than I thought," Albert said. "We outnumber them handily. I don't know what Rugenheim was thinking, challenging us." "Noble Albert, we have no way of knowing how many of Rugenheim's men are hidden in yonder forest," Joerg interjected. "True, that," Albert agreed. "They may have men hidden in the village, too. "Captain Bodo, lead your men down into the village. Perform a thorough search for hidden enemies!" One of the foot companies followed their captain down the hillside and into the village, while the rest of the troops descended slowly. "See there, Bjoern Isebrand! That small knoll yonder is where you will place the field pieces. Have them fire at Rugenberg's men as soon as possible. Once we advance, of course, hold their fire. I want your brother Thorben to follow the rest of us with the hand cannons." Hand cannons were small artillery pieces, only two feet long, that were fired like a cannon, by pressing a burning fuse into a touchhole. They required two men each to service them, but they were quite effective at short range. They had forty of these, and the men manning them followed Thorben, while Bjoern moved the four field pieces towards the indicated knoll. So far, Joerg found no fault with Albert's orders. The guns were out of harm's way, yet they could sweep the enemy lines, bringing disorder to them at the least. Once they reached the level of the village, the enemy lines moved forward, no doubt mounting an attack. "Aha! Here they come! Friend Joerg, have your pikemen form two lines! Let's see how they will deal with that," Albert ordered. Joerg quickly rode along the lines and gave orders to form a double line, and the veteran pikemen quickly complied. They had stood their ground at Pavia and Brescia before. Now the advancing Rugenberg soldiers faced two lines of long lances. Yet, they marched on. Another order from Albert had Katherine form a triple line of the Archers, and on her command, the sounds of the ratchets could be heard over the entire village. The thirty fuse lock muskets in her company formed a separate line up front. Rugenberg's troops were still advancing. They were foot soldiers, armed with pikes and swords, mostly. Behind them, the barrels of a dozen muskets gleamed in the sunlight. Katherine had seen them already. "Musketeers, see those musket barrels. Those men are your targets," she ordered with her clear voice. The musketeers stopped to form a line and lifted their weapons. After a nod from Albert, Katherine gave the order to start the fight. "Take aim! Ready! Fire!" In a space of two seconds, all twenty muskets discharged, and a cloud of smoke rose, wafting towards the enemy lines. Before the view was obscured, Albert saw at least three of the enemy musketeers falling. That had been excellent shooting! Now that the approaching Rugenberg men were only a hundred feet away, Joerg gave his pikemen the expected command. "Pikemen, kneel!" The entire body of men knelt as one. Katherine's voice sounded next. "Archers, first line, let go!" Behind the kneeling pikemen, the first line of archers shot their crossbows. Before the bolts even reached the advancing enemies, the men moved to the back of the formation, and the next line readied their weapons. Katherine observed the enemy. Six or seven were down already. "Second line, let go!" Another thirty bolts flew and found their targets or not. This time, Katherine thought that they had felled even more men. Only sixty feet away, the enemy started to rush forward. "Third line, let go!" Katherine shouted over the noise. At close range, the third salvo was devastating. At least twelve men were hit and dropped to the ground. Now Thorben could be heard. "First group, fire!" The hand cannons discharged with a dull sound, and the twin shots tore through the advancing enemies. "Second group, fire!" Another barrage, and the enemies' numbers were down by over forty already. But the survivors now reached the lines of the Pikemen. With practised eyes, Joerg saw at once that the attackers had no experience dealing with the long lances of his men. They tried to push the lance points to the side to advance, but the second line of pikemen was ready for them. Another twelve of the enemy foot soldiers fell, and only two pikemen of Joerg's company were hit by musket balls, for the enemy musketeers were decimated, too. Albert sat calmly on his horse, Arnulf at his side, and watching the engagement. "We're faring well," Arnulf remarked. "They're suffering badly already." "You're right, Brother, we'll rout them handily. 'Twas a stroke of luck that you found those Isebrands and their men. Damn! Look at that woman. How cool she is! Her Archers really hammer the foe!" Of course, he meant Katherine, who directed the fire from the crossbows and muskets. The next salvo of the musketeers tore into the enemy line. Now the crossbows were ready again, and the bolts found their targets at short range almost at will. That last barrage seemed to break the enemy's spirit. First one, then another man turned to flee, and within a few seconds, the entire enemy line turned tail, running back towards the tree line of the forest, undoubtedly, to seek cover. "Ha! This is it! They run," Albert exclaimed. "Horsemen, ready yourself! Let's ride them down!" Within seconds, the excited horsemen charged after the retreating enemy. "Stay with us!" Joerg shouted. "Beware, there may be fresh troops in yonder forest!" But the charging horsemen paid him no heed. "Pikemen! Ready to charge! On the double, march!" Joerg commanded. If this was an ambush, they would be too late, but at least, they could cover the retreat. With Joerg and Nele riding on either side of the running pikemen, they followed the Erlenburgs and their riders. Arnulf of Erlenburg had misgivings as he charged after his brother. They were but twenty horsemen, and even the fleeing soldiers outnumbered them five to one. Albert reached the first stragglers, and dispatched two men in quick order, rising up in his stirrups as he wielded his sword. Others did like their leader, and they caught up with more and more of the fleeing men. Arnulf contented himself bringing up the rear. Cutting down fleeing foot soldiers from horseback was nothing to be proud of. It was his reluctance that saved his life. Suddenly, a hailstorm of crossbow bolts tore into the riders. One moment, Albert was standing in his stirrups, his sword high above his head and ready to strike, the next heartbeat, he slumped back, with three shafts protruding from his head and chest. Arnulf watched in horror as his brother and ten other horsemen were hit, and then his own charger reared up, hit into the chest by a bolt. The horse fell back and to the right, dead before its massive body hit the ground, burying Arnulf's leg under its dead weight. The wind was knocked from Arnulf's lungs, and he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He was lucky, though. The body of his dead horse shielded him against the next shower of bolts that felled another three riders, men he had known all his life. Arnulf tried to extricate his leg from under the horse, but, to his horror, he was stuck. Already, the fleeing foot soldiers had turned and began to stab and hack at the downed riders with a cruelty born of their previous panic. He had to get out from under his horse, or they would kill him like a hog. With bitterness, Arnulf realised how cunningly Rugenberg had set up his trap. The cries of the wounded riders sounded over the meadow, and now, six of the soldiers were approaching him, malicious grins splitting their faces. "Lord Father, in thine hands I command my soul," Arnulf started to pray, when the men were only twenty feet away. He almost did not hear the hoof beat of the approaching horse, but suddenly a javelin was sticking out of the chest of the nearest soldier. A split second later, a rider jumped over Arnulf and his dead horse, and a second soldier fell, a poniard in his chest. The rider wheeled his horse and jumped from the saddle. With horror, Arnulf saw that it was Nele Isebrand, her long blonde braids flying, short swords in each hand, who came running. The remaining four soldiers had been shocked at first, but now, they had revenge in their eyes. Perhaps something else, too, when they realised it was a young woman who had killed their comrades. But before they had recovered their wits, Nele was standing between them and Arnulf. "Can you get up?" she asked over her shoulder. "No! I'm caught under the horse," he answered, renewing his efforts to free himself. "Infernal luck!" Nele swore under her breath, watching her opponents. "I'm gonna pork her first!" one of the soldiers stated his claim. "Like hell ye are! I'm da corporal, an' I gets to fuck 'er foist," retorted another, burly man. Nele laughed at them. "Aren't you forgetting something, boys? That's my brother, yonder, with his pikemen. He's Joerg Isebrand, the Butcher of Warnesund. He's going to fuck you with a hand cannon, if you manage to touch me." "'E 'as ta get 'ere foist, afore we cut ye up," the fat soldier hissed. "And you have to get me before you can cut me up, fat man!" Nele jeered, moving back and forth, letting both her blades whirl. "And once you get me, it'll take you another day before you can get your puny pizzle stiff enough." "I'll fuck yore bum until you cry fer yer mama," the fat man threatened. "Tut-tut. Do you practise that with your friends here?" Nele laughed. "That's it, bitch!" The burly man charged forward and brought his sword down hard. Nele caught the blade overhead, between her own, crossed blades. A split second later, she lunged with her right hand sword, driving the blade deeply into the unprotected armpit of the man, and into his heart. Pulling her blade free, Nele jumped back, and not too soon. For the three remaining men attacked her all at once. For a while, the almost incessant din of steel impacting on steel filled the air, and all Arnulf could see of Nele was whirling blades and flying braids, as she held off the three attackers. The perceived easiness with which she parried each of their thrusts and strikes frustrated the soldiers. One of them, to Nele's left, suddenly dropped his sword and grabbed Nele's left arm, pulling at the wrist. With a wolfish grin, Nele yielded and, using his pull, followed through by hitting the man on the nose with the pommel of her sword hilt. With a cry of pain, he let go of her hand, and Nele pirouetted to the left, her right sword arcing at shoulder level, cutting through the man's neck. And then, there were two. Nele did not give them the time to come to grips with the new situation. The man in the centre, suddenly without cover from his right side, was dispatched by Nele's left-hand sword, when she rammed it through his right kidney and up, into his chest. Too late, the fourth man realised that he had to fend for himself. Almost without effort, Nele knocked aside the man's weapon with her right hand sword, while her left hand weapon pierced his neck. Pulling her blade free, Nele looked around. More enemies came running. Nele bent down over Arnulf, trying to pull his leg free, but it would not budge. Realising the futility of the effort, Nele took up her swords and faced the approaching soldiers. This time, there were at least a dozen of them. "Flee, fair Nele, I beg of you!" Arnulf pleaded. "'Tis hopeless. Save yourself! Ride for our lines! Come back with your siblings and avenge me!" Nele eyed the approaching soldiers warily, but she shook her head, a grim expression on her beautiful face. "Never shall it be said that an Isebrand deserted a brother in arms!" "Don't do this, Nele! Don't let your blood be on my head. Save yourself, if only for my peace of soul! Make my last moments easier, by giving me the knowledge that you, sweet Nele, will be safe!" "You care for me, Arnulf!" Nele exclaimed, stunned. "I do! Please, flee!" Arnulf cried, almost in panic, as the soldiers were only twenty paces away. But now, multiple hoof beats sounded from their rear, and a roar like that of an enraged bear filled the air. The horses came to a stop, and Arnulf released the breath he had held. It was the four remaining Isebrands who jumped from their mounts and drew their swords. Faced with the five Isebrands, the advancing Rugenberg soldiers stopped in their tracks. "Who are you, men or fiends?" one of them asked in a hollow voice. The question was not farfetched, for Joerg Isebrand looked terrible. Splattered with blood over and over, from his braided hair and beard to his shin guards, he once again looked like a Berserker of old. "I am Joerg Isebrand, Wulf Isebrand's son, with my brothers and sisters. Yield now, or fear our wrath, for you have killed our Lord's brother." The men shrank back a few feet, but a tall man stepped forward. "I am Hugo of Rugenberg. I have heard of you, Joerg Isebrand. You are the slayer of peaceful merchants, the Butcher of Warnesund. Today, I shall put an end to your scoundrelly life!" "Strong words, Noble Hugo! Let us hope you can match them with your sword arm," Joerg answered calmly, but his siblings recognised the subtle signs. Joerg came into his rage. For a few moments, the two men circled each other, trying to size each other up. Then, like a force of nature, the two men exploded into action. Rugenberg was a strong man, and an avid swordsman. For minutes, the two men struck and parried, with nobody gaining the upper hand. The longer the fight went on, the less, however, Rugenberg could keep up. His own attacks became less and less forceful while he had a hard time fighting off the relentlessly attacking Joerg. He began to stumble under the blows, and he was driven backwards under Joerg's attack. Finally, his legs gave in, and he sank on his knees, unable to stand up. Squinting through the sweat that filled his eyes, he looked at Joerg. "So kill me already!" he panted. "Do you yield?" Joerg asked. Comprehension dawned in Rugenberg's brain. The man would not kill him. He would live. He would lose possessions, no doubt, but he could live. The fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, and he nodded, trying to find the strength to speak. "I yield," he croaked. "D'ye hear your lord and master?" Bjoern addressed the soldiers. The men nodded, and one after the other, dropped their weapons. "Thorben, Katherine, round up the prisoners," Bjoern said. Already, a strong rotte of pikemen were approaching, and Thorben and Katherine took it upon themselves to disarm the remaining Rugenberg soldiers and to organise their safekeeping. In the meantime, Joerg and Bjoern, using three lance shafts, levered the dead horse up, allowing Nele to pull Arnulf free. She helped him stand while he grimaced in pain, as the blood started flowing through his leg again. Stomping angrily with his leg, Arnulf looked at Rugenberg. "I shall bring you before my brother. He will decide on your fate." Rugenberg nodded. "I shall offer ransom," he said heavily. He knew that with one Erlenburg brother killed, his ransom would not come cheap. Somehow, Arnulf's thoughts wandered into the same direction. "I must look after my brother," he said, and he felt Nele's gloved hand in his. "I shall accompany you," she said simply. Still limping, Arnulf walked over to where his brother lay. For all his experience, the sight of Albert's mutilated corpse hit him like a hammer. For a moment, his stomach heaved, and he willed the feeling away. "Oh Albert, 'tis no end for a brave and honest man!" "We'll let Rugenberg pay for this," Nele hissed at his side, her blue eyes showing an anger that bordered on rage. She waved at the four Pikemen who accompanied them, and they lifted their dead Field Captain on a makeshift carrier. On the way back to their lines, Arnulf felt Nele's hand in his, and somehow, her reassuring touch made the whole situation more bearable. Suddenly, Arnulf remembered. Stopping Nele, he bade the men continue on their way, while he took both of Nele's hands. "Fair Nele, beautiful, terrible woman, you have saved my life on this field, today. It shames me deeply that fate denied me the chance to show my valour today, if only for the chance to fight at your side. Since I met you, I could not get the image of your lovely face from my mind. After today, however, I feel that you are everything I ever wanted." Arnulf knelt. "Fair Nele, will you give me permission to woo you?" Nele almost jumped back. "Woo me? I'm but the daughter of a freeholder, a woman leading the life of a soldier. You are a nobleman. How can you love me?" "What is not to love about you, Nele? You are strong and kind, brave and beautiful. Your sight makes my heart skip beats. From my heart, Nele, I ask you: do you care for me but a little?" "I care for you, Noble Arnulf. What will your brother say, though? What of the other nobles? What of the people of Erlenburg? I am a stranger, I am no lady, I am a peasant girl." "My brother will give his blessing, or else I shall leave Erlenburg and join your band, if only it lets me stay with you. What of the people? They will hardly care, for our ways are strange to them. And no, you are no noblewoman. But even the kings of old would sometimes choose a shield maid for their queen. Who am I, to think myself better than them? You, proud Nele, are my shield maid." "Heathen beliefs," Nele snorted. "Your words may bring the Inquisitor down on us." "Not in our lands, and not while I am alive!" Arnulf answered with force. "Nele, please say yes! Let me speak for you!" "Do you really care for me, Arnulf?" she asked softly. "I do. I already love you more than life itself," he answered steadfastly. "Then, if your brother and my brothers agree, I shall be your wife." The soldiers who were searching the battlefield for loot, but also for their dead and wounded companions, looked up when they heard Nele's squeal, as she was lifted up in Arnulf's arms. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 20: How Joerg Isebrand Kneels Before his Sister Katherine "Who giveth away the Bride?" the preacher asked. "I, Bjoern Isebrand of Lauheim, give away my sister Nele Isebrand, a maid of free birth, to be wed to the Noble Arnulf of Erlenburg." Bjoern's voice was strong, yet wistful. Giving Nele away came hard for the Isebrands. They all loved and cherished their youngest sibling. There was no turning back, though, and Bjoern placed his sister's hand in Arnulf's left hand. "Do you, Gøtz Rudolf Ernst, Baron of Erlenburg, consent to the wedding of this maid Nele Isebrand with your brother Arnulf Georg?" "I consent," came the answer from the crippled man in the front pew. The preacher continued. "Do you, Arnulf Georg of Erlenburg, take the present Nele Helga Isebrand for your wedded wife? Will you uphold her and protect her, in good times and bad, until death shall part you?" "I do!" Arnulf almost shouted the words, raising a titter in the filled pews. The good people of Erlenburg could sympathise with the younger Erlenburg's impatience. Eight weeks of effort had gone into Nele's appearance, and she was the epitome of beauty. Deer tallow, rubbed daily into Nele's skin, had all but removed the small crinkles around her eyes, and her tanned complexion had turned into a much paler shade, while she spent her days indoors, being prepared for the wedding. Her wedding dress, made of light blue cloth and her silken, deep blue cloak, contrasted with her hair, which flowed over her shoulders and to the small of her back in a silvery cascade. Nobody knew that the sapphire necklace she wore had once graced the maitresse of a cardinal, just like the sapphire earrings. The gold buckles on her shoes had been the unwilling contribution of the cardinal himself - a fact that was of no consequence as the previous owner had been happy to escape the Sack of Rome with his head and limbs still attached to his torso. "Do you, Nele Helga Isebrand, take the present Arnulf Georg of Erlenburg for your wedded husband? Will you honour him, obey him and care for him, in good times and bad, until death shall part you?" "I do," Nele spoke, her clear voice reaching even the back pews. "Those who God hath joined, no man shall pull asunder. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I declare you husband and wife!" Gøtz of Erlenburg watched with a smile as his brother led his beautiful bride from the altar. He looked around, but not one of his servants was here to push the wheeled chair. Gøtz showed his exasperation as he tried to push himself away from the pew, to join the train following the couple. Suddenly, he felt the chair move. Looking up, he looked into Katherine Isebrand's face. "Let me help you, Lord," she said. "This is a joyous day; let us not waste it, scolding tardy servants." "I thank you, brave Katherine," he said, blushing inexplicably. The woman intrigued him. From what Arnulf had reported, she was a most efficient leader of men in battle. Yet, that did not detract in the least from the fact that she was a woman, an attractive woman. In the last weeks, Gøtz, to his surprise, found himself asking her for advice repeatedly, for her judgement was good and impartial. A lot of decisions had to be made, he reflected, while Katherine pushed his chair towards the doors. His own brother and Field Captain, three landed vassals, and several lesser officers had perished in the battle. True, Rugenheim had to pay a huge ransom of four thousand Marks gold, and he would pay a crippling tribute for the next ten years, but the victory had cost the Erlenburg dearly. It was a stroke of luck, indeed, that the Isebrands had come into his service. Not only had they turned the battle and saved his remaining brother, they could also fill the gaps in the power structure of the Erlenburg domains. Of course, Arnulf was Field Captain of Erlenburg now, until the time came when he would inherit title and lands from Gøtz. The second Isebrand brother, Thorben, had been appointed the new Castellan of the Erlenburg, responsible for the defence and running of castle and town. Joerg, the most fearsome of the siblings, had been given the fiefdom of the Bellenberg castle, guarding the lands against the Count of Nassau and against Hugo of Rugenberg. Gøtz was confident that he could keep their powerful neighbours at bay. Bjoern Isebrand would keep the castle of Lauheim, guarding the eastern border of their lands. That left Katherine Isebrand. Her abilities and merits notwithstanding, he could not give her lands, for women could not receive lands as fiefdom. Also, he did not want her to leave the Erlenburg, for he had come to cherish her presence and the respect she showed him. Perhaps she would be willing to stay with her sister. Charlotte, Albert's widow, was another problem. She was too young to remain a widow. Right now, she was in mourning, of course, watching the joyous celebrations from the fringes. This jolted Gøtz back into the present. Katherine had pushed his chair from the chapel, into the courtyard, and up the small ramp to his customary place of a dais. He had not even noticed! He looked around guiltily. "Don't worry, Lord, we could all see you were in deep thought," Katherine spoke. "Thank you, Katherine, for your help," Gøtz said. "There are many things to consider, even on this day. For instance, how can I reward you for your service?" She gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, that is a difficult question. I am a spinster and of low birth, and now my sister has caught one of the last available noblemen." He joined in her easy laughter, feeling comfortable with her. Yes, only a marriage with a nobleman could give this woman the status she so richly deserved. But which noble would marry her, the daughter of a freeholder? The next step in this logical thought process made him gasp and blush. There was a way. There was a perfect solution, and it would benefit everybody, not the least himself. "Katherine, I have need to speak with you in private. Will you join me in the morrow, to break our fast?" "Of course, my Lord Gøtz. I shall be there." "Thank you, Katherine. Pray, leave me to my musings now, for I have many things to ponder." For a brief moment, Katherine pressed his shoulder affectionately, and in this second, Gøtz knew that his plan would work. ------- Katherine Isebrand yawned and stretched her limbs. The rays of the morning sun played on the wall of her chamber, and she luxuriated in the comfort of one of the softest beds she had ever slept in. The mattress was filled with coarse horsehairs and wool, both soft and warm. She relished the comfort. She was not a young woman anymore, in her early thirties and after an arduous life. To be fair, her life in the last years had been better than what would have awaited her in the marshes of the North. Still, she felt like she could do with a few years in a comfortable place like this. There was this nagging feeling, though, in the back of her mind, telling her that she was missing out on motherhood. True, she also lacked male companionship. Her thoughts drifted to Anton of Sternfels who had worshipped her naked body, who had sated his hunger on her and quenched her own thirst for love. Would she ever find a husband? The way Gøtz of Erlenburg looked at her made her feel attractive. It was a shame that this wonderful, intelligent man was wasting away. She sat upright. Gøtz had asked her to join him for breakfast, and here she was, lazing in bed! With the wedding over, Katherine dressed in her usual garb before she rushed down the narrow staircase, to the council chamber where she knew Gøtz to be at this hour. Gøtz looked up and smiled when she entered. The table was richly laid, she saw, and the elderly body servant fussed over Gøtz. "Hugbert, leave me alone with the Maid Katherine. I have things to discuss with her." Bowing, the man left the hall and closed the heavy oaken door. "Sit, Katherine, I beg of you. Have some pastry, will you. The leftovers of yesterday, to be sure, but I'd rather they would not go to waste. And before you ask, the bulk will be given out to the poor, this afternoon." He could read her well, she realised. She sat at the table, facing him, and picked a piece of venison pastry. A jug of fresh water, still cool from the well, sat in front of her. Gøtz had already noticed her likes and dislikes. Beer for breakfast, common for the men in the castle, counted among her dislikes. "Katherine, what I want to propose to you may surprise you, even upset you. If you feel like you cannot agree, feel free to reject my offer, and there will be no hard feelings from my side. Just know that I have your interest in mind, as well as my own." "Pray, continue, my Lord." "Katherine, I could not help but notice, yesterday, that you are ill-content with your fate. It is true what you said. Your sister snared the best man far and wide, perhaps excluding your brothers, even if I sing my own brother's praise. It is also true that your birth and your lack of standing in this world stand in your way on your path to happiness. "What I propose may remedy part of those hindrances, while costing you but a little of your life-time. As you have doubtlessly noticed, my body wastes away at a speed that frightens me and relieves me at the same time. It frightens me, because there is so much I would still like to see and do. It relieves me, for the suffering and the ignominy that are sure to come will be but short-lived. "What I mean to propose, dear Katherine, is to ask you for your hand in marriage. I have come to care for you, in the last weeks, and I have great respect for you. Marrying me would disturb your life only briefly, and it would give me happiness in my final months. As my widow, your standing will improve greatly, hopefully giving you the opportunities that your birth denied you so far. "I know full well that a woman like you cannot feel love for a twisted cripple - pray, let me continue! - but I know that you are warm-hearted enough not to make me feel it too much. I would like to have the illusion of love, in my final days." At this point, Katherine's eyes were brimming with tears. "Who says a woman cannot feel love for a gentle soul, for a wonderful mind, and for a big heart, all held captive in a sick body? I am not a child anymore; outward appearance does not hold such value for me anymore. I have come to enjoy our discourses, I have come to look forward to seeing you, ever since we returned from the field, a month ago. I think we can both give each what we need, at least in a small way." He gasped. "You are in agreement, fair Katherine?" "Under one condition, yes. I do not want to deprive my sister's husband of anything that will be his by rights. I can accept your hand in marriage and your love, but no worldly goods, no lands, no fiefdoms." "Katherine Isebrand, I would have liked to have met your father and your mother. They must have been noble people, peasants or not, having raised five children as true as you and your siblings. To me, you are a noble woman, already. "There is all that talk about noble blood, about lineage. My forebears were of noble blood, six generations back, and look at me! My uncle and my aunt both wasted away, like me. Last night, I prayed to the Almighty, to spare Arnulf and Nele's children this terrible fate. I fervently hope that the fusion of our families will drive out the evil from our bloodline." Katherine nodded sombrely. "I wish that, too. Much as we like to set ourselves apart from God's other creatures, I think the same rules apply to us humans as to our livestock. Too much inbreeding will weaken the line. From time to time, you need to bring in fresh blood. My sister is a good woman, healthy, strong, and with a quick mind. Their offspring stands a good chance." "Will you allow me then to speak for you with your brother?" For an answer, Katherine stood from her chair and walked around the table. She knelt at the side of Gøtz' chair and took his hand in hers. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. She felt apprehension, even fear, at first, but then his lips relaxed under her kiss. She felt his other hand on the nape of her neck, feebly pulling her forward. For a while, they savoured their intimate moment, but it ended too fast. Exhausted, Gøtz' hand fell away from her neck, and he sunk back into his chair. She stayed in her kneeling position, holding his hand, and he smiled at her. She looked at him, her head cocked. "Thank you, Katherine. Now my life may have still some meaning," he answered her unspoken question. ------- Katherine looked around at her siblings. She had asked for the family council to assemble, on the same afternoon after Gøtz had proposed to her. Nele was there, smiling shyly, with Arnulf. Thorben and Gudrun sat together while Gudrun suckled her youngest. Bjoern, Crescencia, and Joerg, the bachelor, sat opposite them, eying Katherine curiously. She took a deep breath. "Brothers and Sisters, I have to give you news. First, though, Bjoern, I have transgressed your authority as my older brother, and I ask your forgiveness. Secondly, Arnulf, nothing of what I will say will affect your future and your prospects." "Now you have us worried, Sister," Joerg spoke. "This morning, at breakfast, our Lord Gøtz asked me for my hand in marriage. I have accepted." Now, she had their attention! All three brothers took deep breaths, and Katherine expected pandemonium next, but she was surprised. "Hold it, right there, you men!" Nele stood in the centre of the room, her hands on her hips. "Not a word, right now! Katherine, dearest, my best wishes!" With that, she wrapped Katherine in a hug. When they separated, Katherine could see that Joerg and Bjoern had been whispering. She had no time, though, to mind them, for Arnulf held her in a tight embrace, now. "Katherine, this means so much to me! My brother has not had a lot of happiness in his life, but this will make a difference for him. Whatever will happen in future times, I am deeply in your debt." Joerg came next. Casting a look at Nele, he grinned. "May I speak now?" Nele blushed and giggled. Then she nodded. Joerg crushed Katherine in a bear hug first, before he held her shoulders at arm's length. "Is this what you want to do, Katherine?" She nodded, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, Joerg grinned and dropped to his knees. "My humble felicitations, Lady Katherine!" The room exploded in laughter, and Katherine cuffed her brother against his shoulder. "Get up, you overgrown boy! Why I put up with you louts is beyond my comprehension!" Joerg stood and hugged her again. "Because you love us, Big Sister, and because we love you." "Sweet talking will not avail you," Katherine retorted, but her eyes were a little moist. Bjoern was shaking his head. "Thorben, what do you make of this? Not only have we to obey our younger brother in the field, now our younger sister will be the Lady of the land. 'Tis not right, is it?" Thorben grinned. "Never worry, Brother! We can still sneak up behind her and pull her braids. If she tells on us, we'll say she started it." "Children!" Katherine snorted, but then she grinned maliciously. "Dear Brother, you may remember what I used to pull on when you touched my braids, do you?" ------- The people of Erlenburg were delighted to celebrate yet another wedding, a month later. There were also whispered comments when they saw the tall woman beside the poor cripple in his wheeled chair. They were loath to express those sentiments openly, though, for it was well known that a cocky young groom from the Baron's stables suffered a broken jaw when he made disparaging remarks about Katherine, not realising that Joerg Isebrand was within hearing. The occasion also required that the noble neighbours were invited. Gudrun Isebrand had prepared pain-killing teas for Gøtz, allowing him to sit through the ceremony and the following banquet with a modicum of dignity. He certainly smiled and had friendly words for everybody, even for their old foe, the Count of Nassau. The Count was courteous, too, offering his sympathy for Albert's death, and congratulating both Gøtz and Arnulf to their marriages. There was no sarcasm in his words, and he eyed both Katherine and Nele with true appreciation. He had heard of Nele's feat in the recent battle, and he seemed well aware of the Isebrands' reputation. As the banquet continued, the effect of the pain-killing teas wore off, and Gøtz visibly slumped in his chair. Of course, Katherine noticed this, and she gave a sign to Arnulf, who rose and raised his goblet. "Friends and guests! Let me raise my glass one more time, to drink to my brother and his new wife. May they live happily!" In the cover of the ensuing toasts and drunken ramblings, the chamberlain wheeled Gøtz out of the hall and towards the staircase. A burly servant, employed for this very purpose, took the invalid man piggyback and carried him up the narrow staircase and to his bedchamber, while Katherine followed. Two body servants stood ready, to take off Gøtz' clothes and to put him under the covers. When Gøtz lay in bed as comfortable as was possible and the servants had left, Katherine disrobed, too. Naked, she climbed into the bed alongside her husband. "You are beautiful, my Katherine," Gøtz whispered reverently. "It pains me that I cannot do your beauty justice. I'm not much of a man anymore." "Your heart and your mind are that of a brave man, my husband," Katherine answered softly. "You must be tired, after all these exertions. Let us sleep now, so you will be rested on the morrow. You will have to see the guests off, I'm afraid." "Perhaps you are right, Katherine. What did you make of Nassau?" "He was courteous enough, don't you think?" "Oh yes, he was. He was staring at you and Nele all the time, though." Katherine shrugged in the flickering light of the single candle. "He can look all he wants, Gøtz, but Nele and I belong to Arnulf and you. Come, put your head against me, let me hold you!" With a sigh, Gøtz complied, resting his head against the tall woman's chest. In his exhaustion, he fell asleep shortly after, while Katherine rocked him like a child in her arms. By midnight, the banquet wound down. Most of the guests were too tired or too drunk to walk to their quarters. The most noble guests were carried to their chambers by a group of servants, directed by Thorben who, as Castellan, saw to the safety of the guests. Like Bjoern and Joerg, he had remained sober, and the three brothers were among the last men standing come midnight. The only other man of consequence who had not imbibed heavily was the Count of Nassau, and the four men grouped around one table, telling stories. The Count, a soldier of some repute and with vast experience in warlike endeavours, was contributing his share of the anecdotes told. He was older than the Isebrands, but not by much, and he had spent a few years of his youth fighting the Turks along the coasts of the Mediterranean Sea. The four men broke off only long after midnight, and Joerg saw the Count to his chamber. At the door, the Count turned. "It was good to meet you, Joerg Isebrand. Can you tell Arnulf I regret the way I snubbed him, last fall? We need to put away the ill feelings between our families. He will be the next Baron soon, with Gøtz wasting away as he is, and I have no wish to continue that eternal feuding. "I've known Gøtz when he was young, and a finer man you could not find. 'Tis a pity. At least, he can now find a little happiness in his last days, the poor man. Your sister is doing a noble thing." Joerg looked back at the Count. "She is fond of him. They can sit for hours, just talking, and she enjoys it. For years, she only had her stupid brothers to talk to," he laughed. The Count tilted his head and squinted at Joerg. "I do not believe your act, playing the dumb and brute barbarian. Some of Rugenberg's men fled to my lands, and I questioned them. You were the only one who did not fall for Rugenberg's little trick. You kept your men together, with your siblings, and turned the battle. I hope we will never be pitted against each other." "I'd drink to that if we had brought wine, your Grace," Joerg answered. "Good night, Joerg. Please remember to tell Arnulf." "Good night to you! I'll remember." ------- The sun was high up in the sky before the guests had slept off the wine and beer. Of necessity, breakfast was skipped because the servants had to clear the tables from last night's feast, first. That included waking those who slept with their heads on the tables, sometimes in a pile of food, and prodding them to go and freshen up. Gudrun, as became the wife of the Castellan, had the command in the Great Hall, and she saw to it that the tables and floors were swept and scrubbed, before the kitchen began to pile the food for the noon meal on the tables again. The few men and women sober enough to wake early had received cold cuts and bread, with thin beer. Arnulf had been among them, and now he sat, surrounded by his wife and her siblings, in the council hall. Nassau had left with his small train of men, right after sunrise, and Thorben had seen him off. Joerg had related the Count's apology to Arnulf. "It were a blessing if we could live in peace with him," Arnulf said. "I wonder, though, what makes him so peaceful, all of a sudden." "He's heard of Rugenberg's fate, and he's worried, now that we have shown ourselves able to repulse any intruder." Gøtz had entered the hall, on the back of his carrier who now placed him carefully into the wheeled chair and put a blanket over his lap. Katherine stood and walked to his side, giving him a kiss. "You're awake! I thought I'd let you sleep as long as you needed." "Yes, I'm fine, thank you, my Katherine. I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly." He turned to the table again. "Let us give him the benefit of the doubt, I say, but let us stay watchful, all the same." "My thoughts, too, Brother," Arnulf answered. He turned to his brother-in-law. "Brother Joerg, this will be your most important duty, to keep an eye on what Nassau is up to." Joerg Isebrand nodded, but somehow, he could not see August of Nassau as an enemy. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 21: How Joerg Isebrand Meets the Noble Barbara Barbara of Meiningen looked at her advisers and sighed. These were the men her husband had trusted, and he had given them important tasks in his lands. And seemingly, they had performed to his satisfaction. To his widow Barbara, however, it often seemed like their allegiance was not to her, but to an ominous "well for the lands". She felt like a pawn in the struggle, a commodity to be traded off for other gains. Her husband's death, a year ago, had offset the local balance of power between the minor German sovereignties in the hilly country wedged between Saxony and Hassia. There were less than ten thousand souls, all told, under her reign now, and the small town at the foot of the castle boasted barely two thousand people. But yet, neighbours on all sides were taking an interest in her dominions. The Count of Nassau was by far the most courteous, having asked for the widow's hand in marriage. Had he been a younger man, she would not have been reluctant to enter into marriage again. She had even sent encouraging signals to him, eying the higher standing of a countess. However, her husband had been over fifty when they married, and her life had been one of solitude, for he was suffering from a wasting disease. The Count August of Nassau was barely younger, although admittedly still in his prime. No, she had married an older man once, and she would not do it again. What was more important, during the last year, she found that she enjoyed ruling her small dominion, settling disputes, and lording over the merchants and farmers. She had been only eighteen years of age when she was married to the old Baron of Meiningen, eight years ago, and he had treated her as an unknowing, silly child. Marrying the Count would mean losing power of the inherited lands and reverting to being an arm fob. In contrast to the Count, the neighbours to the North and South wanted nothing of her, save for her lands. They were trying to chip away on it steadily, a village here, a mill there. Her advisers were all of the opinion that she should marry the Count, for he alone would be strong enough to keep the neighbours at bay. In her distress, she had written a letter to her cousin, Arnulf of Erlenburg, for help. He was really the son of the cousin of her dead husband, but she knew of the longstanding alliance between the two sovereignties. Also, the Erlenburgs had been in almost constant feud with the Counts of Nassau for over a century. More importantly, the Erlenburg had been victorious in a recent conflict with the Baron of Rugenberg, gaining in standing. It was also an advantage that Arnulf was married already, so he would not try to court Barbara. From what she heard, the Erlenburg brothers, Goetz and Arnulf, had both married commoner girls, two sisters who had come to Erlenburg lands with their landsknecht brothers. That was something Barbara could not understand, for the Erlenburgs were an old family. To dilute the ancient noble blood made no sense. Well, Goetz was dead now, and no offspring resulted from the brief marriage, and if he eased his last months with a pretty peasant girl, no harm was done. She looked around again. Just now, her Castellan argued strongly against giving in. He had been the fatherly friend of her husband and was well into his seventies, He was her lone ally, but his age precluded him from exerting any influence over the Captain of the Guard and the Captain of the Archers, who were the commanders of the two companies of armed men she could boast of. It was in this moment that the horn of the sentry sounded three loud blasts. Armed men were in approach! Despite her advisers' protests, Barbara climbed up to the parapet that guarded the main gate. Wheezing with the exertion, the Castellan climbed after her. A body of armed men approached, mostly foot soldiers, led by four men on horses. "The banner of the Erlenburgs," the Castellan advised her, and he saw a smile on the lips of the Lady. The men halted out of reach, and a single horseman, a reddish blonde giant of a man, rode on and blew his horn, signalling his approach. Before any of her advisers reacted, Barbara took off her veil and shouted down. "I am Barbara of Meiningen. What is your purpose?" The man contrived to stand up and bow without dismounting. "To bring you relief and support, Lady of Meiningen. Your cousin, Arnulf of Erlenburg, my lord, has received your message and has charged me with rushing to your side." "And who would you be, valiant Sir?" "I am Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Bellenberg. I am the Lord Arnulf's Field-Captain." "May the Holy Virgin protect us!" the priest intoned. "It is the Butcher of Warnesund!" "The Butcher of Warnesund?" Barbara asked her Castellan. "If it is him, he killed, all by himself, over two dozen men and burnt half the City of Warnesund, and he was not yet 18 years of age. The city council had denied him pay for his service, or something like that. But he and his men have a good reputation. I heard that he took service with your cousin and helped him win the war with Rugenberg." "What do you advice, my Castellan?" "He is a leader with great experience, but he will never fight under your Captains. I wouldn't either," the old man chuckled, and Barbara found herself smiling. She made up her mind. "Ask him in. I shall offer him a meal. Ask him to have his men wait and offer him a bath. We shall eat in an hour." "Why a bath?" "I know how men smell after three days' journey." Barbara was of high nobility - her uncle was the Count and Elector of Brandenburg - and she saw to it that her household was kept free of fleas and ticks. Almost every visitor was offered a bath first while his clothes were fumigated. From her window she observed her new ally as he rode back to his men and gave them orders. A single man rode back with him, and together, they entered the castle. Up close, the man looked even more awe-inspiring. His size alone and his reddish mane would have scared most men. His long, braided moustache made him look like one of the Berserker warriors of old, and the two-handed sword he bore seemed too big to be wielded by a mere mortal. She also noticed his alertness; his eyes moved incessantly, taking in whatever there was to see and sizing up every man he encountered. "Hanna, Elgita!" Barbara shouted. "Yes lady?" Her two maidservants were there in an instant. "Attend to the visitors in the bath. I want to know as much as possible about them." Both young women nodded and quickly left while their lady dressed for the meal. The servants came back, an hour later, grinning broadly. "Well?" "They are brothers and they are huge, lady!" Elgita gushed. "I could see that much from my window," Barbara answered, irritated. "They are huge everywhere!" Hanna giggled and blushed. "And, pardon me, lady, the big one knows how to use his weapon!" "Is that so?" Barbara asked, outwardly unmoved. "That's not what I wanted to know." "They talked about how they would set up defences and how they would give the Count of Nassau a bloody nose if he attacked," Elgita added. "Oh, and they talked of Lord Arnulf's wife as their sister Nele, and of another sister, Katherine, who is with them and who is the widow of Gøtz of Erlenburg." "They have their sister with them?" "Yes, but she is with the soldiers." "A big family to be sure. And he is the brother of the Lady of Erlenburg. Interesting. Thank you, both of you." "It was our pleasure, Lady," Elgita giggled, and Barbara could not help but smile. She descended the stairs to the Great Hall and, upon her entry, the members of her household rose. The guests stood, too, their long wet hair as testimony to their cleanliness. The tall leader had been placed on her left side while her right side was taken by the Castellan. "Welcome to my home, valiant Joerg," she offered, and the tall man bent to kiss her proffered hand. "We shall talk about those pressing affairs after the meal. For now, enjoy my hospitality." And she offered him bread, the formal greeting, and he took it solemnly and bowed. This was a strong affirmation of friendly intent from both sides. After that, the first course, a duck soup, was served, and Lady Barbara noticed to her astonishment that the huge soldier at her left side possessed refined table manners. He ate with consideration, yet good appetite, he continued light conversation with his hostess and other dignitaries at the table, and when finished, belched politely to compliment the food. He also drank wine sparingly, but consumed water instead, she noticed. After the meal, Barbara decided to grab the bull by the horns. "I shall thank my cousin for sending his Field Captain to my aid. Tell me, valiant Joerg, how many men did you bring?" "Two full companies, pikemen and musketeers. Winter is approaching, and we shall fight from the walls mostly. No need to feed more mouths or even horses than necessary. Come spring, my lord will come with another body of men, and Nassau will be trapped." "And what of my neighbours who chip away at my lands?" "They are minor dangers. Nassau will be the problem, not Wulferode or any other petty nobles." "And, pray, how to you propose to keep the Count at bay?" "You may want to move the farm people and their large animals to a place east of your castle. Nassau is bound to come from the West, and his men will not find anything to support them. But you will also need to store as much firewood and food as possible and give it out sparingly. Your men are well fed, going hungry for a while will make them fitter to fight." The Captain of the Archers spoke up. "Valiant Joerg, do you propose to give short rations to our men? They would desert." "Then, they are cowards, and we cannot rely on them anyway." "Can you be sure of your men?" "The Free Saxons go where I go, and they stay where I stay. The pikeniers are commanded by my brother, and the musketeers are under my sister's command." "They obey a woman?" the captain asked incredulously. "And you don't?" Isebrand shot back with a grin, looking at the Lady of the lands significantly. Too late, the Captain realised his gaffe. He blushed beet red. "My allegiance is to the House of Meiningen," he finally said. "I see," Joerg answered indifferently. "And who do you serve, Captain Joerg?" the Castellan cut in. "My Lord Arnulf," the tall man answered calmly. "And he ordered me to uphold the Lady Barbara's claim to her lands." "So you do not answer to her?" "A man cannot obey two masters. But the Lady Barbara has the final say on all warlike endeavours." "It is I who commands the armed men and the Guard," the second captain spoke up. He was a portly man in his forties, balding and red of face. "If you join us, it will be under my command." The two brothers looked at each other and grinned. The older one spoke up. "My Captain, I am the head of our family. If my brothers want to marry, they ask me for permission. When we entertain guests, it it I who greets them and welcomes them. But on the battlefield, my brother Joerg is our leader, and above him, there is only our Lord Arnulf. You don't strike me as a man to rival our Lord in standing. Command your men, watch my brother lead us to victory, and learn." The captain's face turned an even deeper red. "I was entrusted my post by our late Lord, and I served him for more than ten years." "No doubt about that and your bravery," Joerg cut in. For a man his size, he could speak in a gentle tone of voice. "But you have never led your men into a battle, nor held command in a town under siege. I have, more than once. I have also conquered towns and cities. Let us resolve this reasonably. The captains and the castellan will form the council of war, and we shall decide matters by vote. But the last word will be with the Lady Barbara." Barbara of Meiningen decided that she had to assert herself. "The valiant Joerg has spoken words of reason. Let us instate a council of war. Will you bid your sister join us?" They met two hours later in the council hall. Barbara had greeted the tall blond woman who led her cousin's musketeers. Katherine of Erlenburg had a commanding presence, but Barbara had found her a most welcome sight. At least one person would be sympathetic to Barbara's quest to rule her lands by herself. She had to rethink her earlier assumption that Gøtz of Erlenburg had married a pretty peasant girl to warm his bed. The woman was older than Barbara, and she carried herself with all the confidence of a tested leader. When all were assembled in the hall and they started to talk, it was the tall Amazon who interrupted the flow of speech with a cutting remark. "Shall we really speak our plans and schemes with the doors open and all these people around? We might just as well write our plans on a parchment and send it to Nassau." Barbara looked around, and she saw her castellan smile smugly while her two captains sat with open mouth. Of course! There were close to two dozen people in the hall, guards, servants and maids. It would be strange if not one of them was already in Nassau's employ. She called for her private chamberlain. "Clear the council hall and make sure that nobody listens in on our deliberations!" she ordered, and the man nodded emphatically. Barbara gave an acknowledging nod to the other woman who smiled back. In the next hours, the five men and two women made plans for the defence of the castle and the lower city. The Captain of the Guard promised to call his men for practice, as did the Captain of the Archers. The latter enquired about the needs of the Erlenburg musketeers, but Katherine grinned and told him they were well supplied with lead, flint and gunpowder. It came to Barbara's mind that once inside the town, the men under Joerg Isebrand's command would own it, but she felt that she could trust this man. When most issues were settled, Lady Barbara adjourned the council meeting, but she asked Katherine to stay behind. The two Isebrand men left to move the two companies into the town, and Katherine stood quietly, waiting for Barbara to make the first move. "How shall I address you?" Barbara finally asked. Katherine grinned a friendly grin. "Cousin Katherine should be fine. I may be a peasant's daughter, but I was the Baron Goetz' wedded wife." "Well, then, Cousin Katherine, how did you get to command soldiers? I am the Lady of these lands, yet my captains would not discuss military matters with me." Katherine looked at the beleaguered lady with a sympathetic smile. "It was difficult. In the beginning, I relied on my brothers' reputation. Nobody dared to offend me for fear of Joerg. Then I made my own reputation during the Battle of Pavia. Our men came to accept me. My brothers respect me mostly for my reason. I am smarter than they are, but they are smart enough to know that. They ask me for advice in every difficult question." "Is it true what they say about your brother Joerg? They call him..." "The Butcher of Warnesund, I know," Katherine interjected impatiently. "The city had hired him and his company for protection against the Count of Schwerin. When peace was made, they did not pay the men, and the free companions refused to leave. Finally, those the City paid up and even offered ale to celebrate the end of the stand-off. The same evening, the free companions were butchered in the market place by the city guard while they were drunk and asleep. Joerg survived, hiding with a girl, I heard, and at night he went and killed the major, his son and wife, and two council members in their houses. He also killed a number of guards and set fire to the stores before he escaped. He killed eight, all told, against those of the city who killed over seventy free companions on the same day. And they called him the butcher!" "He strikes me as being well-mannered and polite," Barbara offered. "Yes, and he is the most loyal man I know. My little brother has a heart of gold." "But he partook in the Sack of Rome!" "Oh yes, he did," Katherine grinned. "We all did, and did we get away with loot!" Barbara's eyes bugged slightly. "But wasn't that sin, to rob the church?" "We robbed the cardinals and bishops and such. What do they need golden goblets for? Why do they live in palaces with their families and paramours? We made it easier for them to enter paradise!" "But, did you not pity the poor women caught in the rape and pillage?" "None of my brothers ever did harm to a woman!" Katherine stated firmly. "There were some who offered themselves for food and shelter, and we took them in and fed them. Well, you can't blame our men for taking advantage of them, they're only men. I had a Duke's son for my page, and he served me well!" Barbara stared at the tall woman who talked about such matters without shame. "But the stories we were told... ?" "Are but stories. The emperor sent us to Italy, to fight the League of Cognac, meaning the Pope. When we were there, he reconsidered. We were told to go back home, without pay! I don't know who started it, but suddenly, the plan was there, to take Rome. You would not believe the wealth of the Cardinals! The way they lived! It was glorious. We came away with over eight thousand Karolus-Gulden." Barbara gaped. Eight thousand Karolus-Gulden was a fortune. "We received another five-hundred when we delivered my Duke's son back to his grateful father. It was funny; by then, the boy didn't want to leave me!" In spite of herself, Barbara had to smile. That a woman was doing what men did all the time was a startling idea, at first. Yet, it was appealing to Barbara. For a brief moment, she saw herself, dictating the terms of peace to a suitably humbled Count of Nassau, and the fantasy made her shiver with delight. ------- Chapter 22: How the Count of Nassau Fights for One Bride and Wins Another Joerg relaxed in the big stone bath. The tub was one of the nice amenities of the Meiningen castle. It could be, and in fact it was, filled from a heated basin, and the water was scented. Joerg had spent the day riding in the wintry landscape surrounding the small town, inspecting the roads. After finding Meiningen reinforced by Erlenburg soldiers, the troops of the Count of Nassau had retreated a few miles, wary of being surprised by a sortie from the castle. Indeed, the thought had crossed Joerg's mind a few times. Surprising the enemy in the middle of a cold night would catch them with stiff, frozen limbs. Due to the retreat, however, they would have ample time to prepare themselves. Joerg and his men would have to wait for spring, when Arnulf of Erlenburg would come with another body of men. Joerg's brother Bjoern had returned to Erlenburg with the first snow, to help defend the Erlenburg should the Count turn his troops to the east and attack their home base. This had left Joerg and Katherine with their men to defend Meiningen. A soft cough came from behind the heating basin, and Joerg saw the two handmaids of the Lady of Meiningen approaching. They made a show of being shy, but Joerg knew from experience that they were anything but. Since his arrival, three months ago, Hannah and Elgita had often shared his bath. Jorg wondered whether they did this on orders from their Lady, on their own volition, or perhaps from a mixture of both. Now the two young women dropped their shifts to the oaken floor panels. In the cool air, he could see their nipples, erect on top of their proud young breasts. The maids quickly scrambled over the sill of the tub and submerged themselves in the warm water. "Hello, my lovelies," he greeted them. With giggles, the two maids made their way to his either sides. Joerg opened his arms wide to allow them to snuggle close. In an instant, he felt one small hand encircling his swelling manhood while another hand tenderly caressed his balls. He was hard in no time at all. "Did you see the enemy, Joerg?" Elgitha asked, slowly massaging the rod in her right hand. "No, they keep to their camp. They have posted lookouts, about a mile from here, on the ridge. But it's only three men, and they are freezing their balls off," he laughed. "While your balls are in good hands," Hannah agreed, giggling. "In expert hands," Joerg smiled. He gave Hannah a tender kiss, then turned, and kissed Elgitha. Their lips smiled under his kiss, and their ministrations continued. Joerg let his hands move down their backs. Pulling the maids close, he cupped their young breasts with his hands, and the girls snuggled even closer. "It's my turn today," Elgitha informed him. "Hannah is in the middle of her moon cycle." So far, neither of the girls had become pregnant. Therefore, Jorg trusted their judgement when it came to planning their little bouts. There were days when they would just stroke him or suck him, and he would return their favours with his hands, lips and tongue. There were other days, like this day, when one or both girls would open their soft and yielding sheaths to his sword. Elgitha straddled him, still holding on to his member, and guiding it to her opening. With a sigh of content, she sank down, spearing herself to the core. Jorg let out a sigh as well, savouring the sensation of the young woman's velvety, soft opening. Since arriving at Meiningen, he had not slept with any other woman. Between the two of them, he was busy enough and fully content. Elgitha picked up pace, creating small waves in the tub with her upper body. Hannah kept fondling his balls underwater, her other, right hand busy between her own legs. Joerg still fondled Hannah's breast, too, while his right hand was busy on Elgitha's rhythmically moving body. ------- Barbara held her breath as she took the downward steps carefully, one foot after the other. Approaching the bath chamber, she could hear low talk and laughter, and the splashing of water. On her own orders, the hinges of the door to the bath chamber had been greased, and the door opened without a noise. Earlier that afternoon, she had seen the Captain Joerg return from his scouting. As always, she could not help but stare at him. He was an enigma to her, and intriguing. He was so tall, so powerfully built, and yet his conduct was invariably courteous. He ate with perfect table manners, he conversed in Latin with her priest, he could even read and write. And still, there were these stories of how terrible he became in battle. When her two handmaids, Elgitha and Hannah had asked for permission to help him in the bath, Barbara's curiosity had been raised. She knew her handmaids not to be overly enthusiastic around the men in the castle. Yet, from the first day, they had almost fallen over themselves for every chance to be with the red-haired giant. There had to be something to their behaviour! Now, Barbara stood transfixed and stared at the scene that was unfolding in front of her. She saw Elgitha, straddled over Joerg in the bathtub, moving her body up and down with growing urgency. The expression on the young maid's face could only be described as blissful, as she rode the man with abandon. The blood shot into Barbara's face as she watched them. Her own married life had never known couplings like this. There had been no laughter, no banter with her husband. Awkward rutting under the duvet, in the darkness; that had been the extent of Barbara's experience. Now she heard Elgitha's giggle, as Joerg was whispering into her ear. Hannah's laughter soon joined, and she hugged the loving couple exuberantly. They were undoubtedly having a wonderful time. Barbara felt a yearning deep inside her, to be part of this happy scene. Yet, all she could do was watch them. She felt a pang of jealousy, too. Her handmaids were enjoying this enigmatic man, while she, Barbara, the Lady of Meiningen, was reduced to the role of watcher. She shook off that feeling, with an effort. Who was she to begrudge her faithful servants a little happiness? But then again, why was it that she, Barbara, was begrudged all happiness? The moans and happy sounds in the bathtub rose to a crescendo. With an open mouth, Barbara watched as the huge mercenary stood on his legs, with Elgitha clinging to him, frantically moving her pelvis against his loins. Suddenly, Barbara had a clear view at the point of their joining, and she saw the larger than life member of Joerg, halfway out of Elgitha's body and than slamming back in. Barbara could not help but gasp at seeing this, and a bolt of heat hit her own loins, spreading all through her lower body and heating her skin all the way up to her chest. Elgitha's cries of lust were still in Barbara's ears when she stumbled up the stairs and to her private chamber. With Elgitha and Hannah busy in the bath, Barbara was alone in her bedchamber. She lay down on her bed and closed the curtains. Tentatively, she let her hand brush over her left breast, and she gasped at the bolt of lust that shot through as her she touched her painfully erect nipple. That evening, at dinner, Barbara caught herself staring at Joerg Isebrand. She had to restrain herself. Any thoughts of dallying with the tall mercenary were madness, weren't they? Yet, the image of the tall man spearing Elgitha on his rampant erection was burnt into her mind. To be taken like that just once! Barbara was an absentminded hostess that evening. It happened ten days later, and it was not planned by either of them. Joerg had pulled a calf muscle, sparring with Katherine, and he had gone to the bath chamber, for a hot bath to mend his injury. Likewise, Barbara felt unclean, having just finished her menses, and she wanted to soak away the tension she felt. She had ordered the tub to be heated in the early afternoon, but some duty and another had conspired to postpone the bath. Finally free of obligations and wearing only her shift, she descended the spiral staircase and opened the door to the bath chamber without a thought. There, just five feet away from her, stood a vary naked, very huge Joerg Isebrand, readying himself for the bath. "I am most sorry, Lady Barbara," he exclaimed, picking up his shirt. "I had not known you wanted the bath for yourself. I shall let myself out presently." For her part, Barbara stood frozen to the spot, her mouth open, her mind whirling, and her pulse hammering. Covered in his shirt again, Joerg looked at her. "Lady, are you feeling well?" he asked with concern. "Should I have your servants come?" Barbara did not know how the look she cast at Joerg conveyed her desire, but the tall man saw it and reacted. With two steps, he stood before her. Without any conscious thought, Barbara raised her arms and tilted up her face, offering herself to his mouth. The first burning kiss left her breathless and wobbly on her legs, and she clung to his neck for dear life. To Barbara, the kiss seemed endless, and when Joerg finally released her lips, all she wanted was to start into another one. However, Joerg held her away. "Lady, if I kiss you again, I shan't be able to stop myself." "I just finished my bleeding. I am unclean," she moaned. "That can be helped, Barbara," he answered with a small chuckle. Suddenly, Barbara felt herself lifted bodily into the air and over the sill of the wooden tub. She came to rest, standing in two feet of water, her shift wet around her legs. A moment later, Joerg joined her, after pulling the shirt over his head again. His hands grabbed the hem of Barbara's shift and yanked it up and over her head. Barbara gasped, feeling the air on her naked body, but she could not move. It all seemed like a dream, the course of which she had no way of influencing. Joerg knelt down before her and took her hands, pulling her down into a kneeling position, too. She felt the water around her lower body. It was a little over lukewarm, and pleasant to her skin. Her eyes were fixed on Joerg's powerful body and on his rampant member that poked into her belly as he pulled her close for another kiss. Joerg continued kissing her while he used his hands to scoop the tepid water over her body. A bar of scented soap lay on the sill of the tub, and he used it to lather up her back, her shoulders, and then her chest, causing her swaying breasts to tingle with the slippery touch. She caught herself moaning into his mouth when his soapy hands began to glide all over her buttocks and into the rim between. All this was nothing to his next move. With the bar of soap in his hand, he gently lathered her sex, causing deliciously naughty feelings in her, feelings she had only found from her own touch until now. He seemed to know her secret spots, and he seemed to know her preferences. His fingers, so much stronger than her own, were gentle nonetheless as they probed her folds, penetrating her channel which had not been tried in three years, ever since her husband had turned feeble. A sobbing gasp broke forth from her throat when his curling finger touched the sensitive spot deep inside. This man knew her, inside out! Unconsciously, she took hold of his pulsing member. So soft and so strong! Her wet hands glided up and down on his hot flesh, and she heard the growl in Joerg's throat with giddy anticipation. He wanted her, and he would have her! Indeed, Joerg sat down on his backside, submerged to his ribs, and pulled her with him. Straddling his legs, she used her leverage to kiss him with force, delighting in her position of domination. Not for long, though, did she feel dominant. Joerg directed her pelvis with his strong hands until she felt the hot tip of his engorged member at her nether lips, parting them and gaining purchase. Then he pulled her down. The water had washed away some of the lubrication she had produced, and it took them repeated attempts to force the massive rod of flesh into her little tried opening. In the end, they succeeded, albeit with some discomfort. That waned quickly, though, for the penetrating member sealed her against the water, keeping her lubrication in place where they needed it. He felt incredibly thick inside her, once she had sunk down all the way on his shaft, and the gasp that escaped her lips was close to a whimper. Yet, despite her partial discomfort, she began to move her hips, to intensify the feeling of fullness and the friction. It was so delicious! Never before had she felt so much as a woman. Soon, she discovered that by tilting her hips she could change the angle of penetration. She also found that his wiry, red bush of pubic hair tickled her own, sensitive opening when she ground against him. She was so lost in the sensations she felt that she took a while to regard the man attached to the source of her pleasure. When she did, the thought of herself, a woman of most noble descent, frolicking with a peasant's son, was so naughty that it added to her lust. The mere thought made her gasp at her own audacity. Her excitement quickly rose to a fever pitch. She slammed her hips down on him, trying to stuff as much of him as possible into her opening, and she felt his member swell inside her. Suddenly, another thought penetrated her fogged mind: she was being bred by a commoner. Alarms sounded in her head, but it was too late. Her body took over, asking for and welcoming the seed that spewed forth from the thick rod on which she had impaled herself. A huge wave of blinding lust washed over her, when his member began to pulse and his hips bucked underneath her. One more time, she bore down on him, experiencing the fullness of his penetration, while she held on to his neck with all her might. For a few heartbeats, blackness was all she saw, before she caught her breath and became aware of her surroundings again. She was still sitting on his now softening member, holding on to his body, and he nibbled at her throat and neck, causing ripples of lust in her still overcharged brain. A warm glow permeated her. The warm glow intensified when she thought of the possible ramifications. Isebrand seemed to care for her. If she handled him right, she might induce him to stay in her service. With him as her Field Captain, nobody would dare to challenge her rule. With him in her bedchamber, at least from time to time, there would be no need for her to ever marry again. After all, who could match this man under the duvet? She could stay the Lady of Meiningen, with Joerg as her faithful follower and secret paramour. For him, the situation would be satisfactory, too. After all, what commoner could even dream of bedding a noble Lady? He would be grateful, no doubt. With a languid smile, Barbara turned to Joerg. "You are quite a man, Joerg," she husked. "There can be a future for you in Meiningen, if you want. With you at my side, there would be hardly a limit to what can be achieved." "You feel that way, Barbara?" his voice sounded, close to her ear, and she shivered. "I do. Think of it. There is time enough before you have to decide. I am sure, my cousin would be understanding if you stayed." She heard him sigh. "You are right, Barbara. This is most certainly not something to be decided while lying in the bath." Barbara felt a little annoyed that he addressed her by her given name, without the deference due to her position, but she was confident that she could teach him proper behaviour. Then she considered. Lying naked in his arms, it would be awkward indeed to insist on deference. As long as he behaved subserviently outside her private rooms, it would be enough. ------- Joerg was more than a little confused that evening, and for the next days. Barbara had offered herself to him for the taking. Wasn't a noble wife a dream come true for an upstart mercenary? Yet, he felt no love for her. He felt tenderness when she melted into his arms, he felt respect for her when he saw her executing her office. But love? Would it be fair to accept her offer if he could not give his heart to her? For the next days, the Lady gave him coy smiles and treated him with elaborate friendliness. She was so obviously trying to please him that his hesitation waned with every day. He began to see her with a groom's eye. While not overly tall, Barbara stood erect, and she had a fine womanly figure. Her brown hair, always carefully combed and tied, framed a well-formed face that had no blemish. If there was something Joerg found wanting it was the lack of warmth, the lack of laughter. Barbara always seemed to pose as 'The Lady', and she rarely ever allowed a glimpse at her personality. Just once had she let down her guard, in the bath chamber, but even then, there had been no easy banter, no warm smile. Unconsciously, Joerg compared Barbara with his sisters, with Ursula of Sternfels, and with the other women in his life. He could not help but find her wanting. Yet, could he refuse such a chance of finding a noble wife for himself? He was still undecided when, one morning, he chanced into the audience hall where Barbara sat to adjudicate the small quarrels. He watched her pass justice, and again, something bothered him. She was not cruel or unjust, but to Joerg it seemed that she treated the people under her rule with disdain, as if their grievances were nought but petty whinings of children. One of the last petitioners of the morning was a peasant, a tenant working lands that belonged to Barbara. His grievance was something Joerg could understand. "Noble Lady, I beg redress from you for an injustice done to me." Rolling her eyes upwards in a gesture of impatience, Barbara asked curtly. "What injustice? Speak up!" "It is like this, your Ladyship: I have always paid my rent since the day your dear husband whom we hold in revered memory granted me the lease of my lands. I did so last year, after the harvest, before Thanksgiving. The day before yesterday, though, a corporal of your archers came with seven soldiers, and they took away my grain. All of it! I have nothing left to sow in spring." Barbara looked at her captain who shrugged uninterestedly. "We're on short rations. Surely, the men were hungry." "Begging your pardon, Lady, those men were well fed and full of wine and spirits," the farmer contradicted. Barbara's eyes narrowed in anger. "Do not speak out of turn!" she spat. "We are at war, you stupid churl! My soldiers need their strength, and we all have to make sacrifices. Go home and see to it that you turn in better harvests!" The blood shot into the farmer's face and he could not contain his anger. "'Tis not right, no it's not! The Baron wouldn't have stood for this, he wouldn't. Your soldiers are fat, and we go hungry. He wouldn't have allowed it!" Red faced with anger, Barbara jumped up. Joerg regarded her with surprise. "Guards! Seize the rebellious dog! I'll teach him! Have his insulting tongue cut from his mouth this very afternoon!" Immediately, two guardsmen seized the struggling farmer and dragged him from the hall. Joerg was appalled. To mutilate a man so severely over a few words spoken in anger was uncalled for. To ignore his justified complaint was injustice, too. What was going on in Barbara? Already, she was leaving the hall, heading for her chambers, still enraged at the slight from the unfortunate farmer. Joerg decided to try to mitigate the punishment. Unobtrusively, he left the hall, too, and followed Barbara. He caught up with her, close to the stairwell. In fact, her face lost some of the scowling when she saw him. "Oh Joerg! Did you hear the rascal, the ungrateful churl? What I have to endure!" It took two or three heartbeats for Joerg to digest this. "Barbara, he spoke in anger. Surely, if he had his wits about him, he would have never said that. Must you really have him mutilated over this? Methinks, a sound whipping and a strong warning should suffice." "Are you taking his side?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "I am trying to be reasonable, that is all. I know anger, I know rage, and I know how hard they are to control. You are stronger than this hapless man, show the mercy of the stronger, now that you have more time to consider it." "This is not how those peasants must be treated. They are base and dumb, and they only answer to severe order. God put them on Earth to serve their betters." Joerg felt anger well up inside. With an effort, he maintained his calm. "Yet, you spoke of building a future with me, the son of a peasant." "Of course," Barbara replied archly. "What has this matter to do with us? You have bettered yourself already, and you can be my trusted vassal." The blood shot into Joerg's face when he realised the true meaning of the words she had said, after their coupling. She wanted to build a future with him, but with him as her tool, her servant. Whatever feeling of tenderness he had harboured for her, evaporated within heartbeats. When he answered, his voice was cold. "I fear I have to decline your offer, Lady. Arnulf of Erlenburg calls me Brother. I cannot contend myself with being your sword arm and paramour. I may be a peasant's son, but I am not without a sense of honour." "Yet, you had no qualms to sully my body!" Barbara snapped back. "Nothing happened that you did not want," he declared with a deep, rumbling voice that betrayed his growing anger. "You should have known your station then and resisted!" His laugh was laced with scorn. "I kept my station under you, didn't I? All you had to do was to think of yours and keep your loins away from me. That, you couldn't. You had to have me. You wanted to seduce me, to steal me away from Erlenburg. You traded your virtue for nought, Lady!" She was pale with fury now, and her lips trembled "You will leave my lands with the dawn's first light!" "Certainly, if this is your wish," Joerg answered coldly. Then, with a trace of mockery, he added. "You decided to accepts the Count's wooing, after all?" She stared at him. Of course, if he left with his men, the town would be nigh on defenceless. Too many of her own men-at-arms had deserted her flag over the winter, resenting the strict discipline the Isebrands had enforced. With an effort, she swallowed her rage at the man who held her fate in his hands. Breathing deeply, she tried to get reason into her thinking. "You are right, Joerg. I was as much at fault as you are. Please, disregard my words. They were spoken in confusion and anger. I ask you to stay and continue your good service to further our common goals." His voice was still cold when he answered. "I shall do my lord's will and protect your claims if that farmer is released and his claims are satisfied." Barbara felt the rage boil up again. The outrage! How dared he treating her in such cavalier fashion? Yet, she had to bear with the cur, at least until her problems with the Count of Nassau were resolved. "I'll have him released, if that is your demand," she answered with an effort. Joerg just gave her a curt bow and left her. For the next days, during meals, Barbara treated Joerg with cold courtesy, and he responded in kind. Katherine was at a loss, for she was treated in much the same fashion. Barbara's servants and vassals were nonplussed too, with one exception. The maidservant Elgitha knew what had happened. She had followed her mistress, and she had been unable to keep from hearing the argument. Being possessed of a keen sense of self-preservation, she kept that knowledge to herself, though. Fortunately, the uneasy mood was replaced by anxious excitement, a week after Barbara's and Joerg's fallout. A renegade from the Count of Nassau's camp had appeared at the gate, claiming he had important business to discuss. In spite of her deep sitting anger at Joerg, Barbara had enough common sense to ask him and Katherine into the council chamber where the renegade was questioned. Joerg and Katherine entered the council chamber together. They had spent most of the last week in each other's company, and although Joerg had not told Katherine anything about his affair with Barbara, his older sister guessed most of it. Barbara of Meiningen sat in her raised chair, with the old castellan at her right side and the two captains at her left. Before them knelt a young man, well dressed and well groomed. He looked like a page. Looking up when the Isebrands entered, Barbara nodded at the castellan to start the questioning. "Speak then, young man!" he demanded. "I am Alabert, Dankwart's son. I serve the Count of Nassau as his page. I have grievance against the Count, and I offer my services to her Ladyship, in return for a reward." "What sort of grievance?" Barbara asked. "He had me whipped, a fortnight ago," the young man said with clenched teeth and hatred in his eyes. "And what may have been your transgression, young man?" Joerg asked. "It was about some peasant's wife. She should have felt bettered by my attention, but her lout of a husband complained with the Count." "And you received a whipping for that?" Joerg asked again, and the young man blushed and nodded. "What service do you offer, then?" one of the captains asked. "I can report the Count's plans to you," the page offered. "Or else, I can lift the siege entirely if you reward me properly." "How can you bring that about?" Barbara asked eagerly. "If you can provide me with a poison, I shall mix it in his food." The reactions in the room were mixed. Joerg and Katherine recoiled in revulsion, the two captains showed discomfort, and the castellan shook his head. To Katherine's utter surprise, Barbara seemed to consider the proposal. "Lead him out and watch him," she ordered. "We need to discuss this." "No!" Joerg bellowed. Katherine blinked at the rage in her brother's voice. He stepped in front of the Lady. "There be no reason for council, for no man shall ever say that an Isebrand was in collusion with a vile poisoner. Hear me then: unless this wretched scoundrel is handed over to the noble Count August with a full account of his treason, I and my sister shall leave this town with our men." The old castellan cleared his throat. "My Lady Barbara, I have to side with Captain Joerg. I am too old to risk my immortal soul over being part of a reckless murder. The Count gave you fair notice of Feud. To have him murdered by poison were a stain on the House of Meiningen." Barbara looked at her captains for support, but none came. "Lady, two can play the game of poison," the elder captain submitted cautiously. "What if this rascal fails? His Grace would have every right to retaliate in full." By now, Barbara was in full retreat. Deeply flustered, she tried to save her dignity. "My captains, never did it occur to me to follow this delinquent's council, but I wanted to confer with you over the most appropriate way to give the Count fair warning." Nobody believed her. Katherine stepped up to the raised chair, and her voice was cold and dripping with disdain. "I shall bring the cur before his master, with your respect. Mayhap, a chivalrous gesture like this will induce his Grace to lift the siege." Barbara lifted her eyebrows. This thought had eluded her. The Count would be indebted to them for discovering a dangerous traitor among his followers. "Is any of you opposed to Lady Katherine's plan?" Barbara asked. Alabert was, of course. He pleaded and begged, but, on Katherine's command, he was bound and led into the courtyard. A half hour later, Katherine, with a herald and ten mounted Free Saxons, left the castle, a bound Alabert with them. They announced their approach to Nassau's camp with horn signals, and it was only a few minutes before Count August himself, with an equal number of horsemen, met them outside his camp. Seeing Katherine, he rose in his saddle and bowed. Katherine gave him the friendly smile from one soldier to the other and contrived a curtsey, standing in her stirrups. "Katherine of Erlenburg, I greet you," the Count said courteously. "And I greet you, noble Count," Katherine retorted. She pointed at the trussed-up page. "I come with the Lady Barbara's courteous greetings. She wishes to return to you this unfaithful servant, who came to the Lady unasked and unbidden, and offered treason and murder, to be committed against your personage. The Lady wishes to assure you that in no way will she ever allow such cowardly and traitorous acts against your noble person, and she returns the scoundrel to you for just punishment." The Count's eyes fixed on the page. "Why, Alabert, you do not learn your lessons, do you?" His gaze shifted to Katherine. "I thank thee, fair and valiant Lady of Erlenburg, for your trouble. Will you allow me to offer you refreshment?" Katherine nodded and smiled. "I accept with pleasure, Your Grace." August turned to one of his men. "Have the traitor strangled and buried outside of the camp!" The burly soldier nodded grimly. He spurred his horse and rode up to the Free Saxons who handed him the reins of Alabert's horse. With another man-at-arms, he led the horse and its doomed rider into a nearby copse. "Will you follow me, please?" August offered, and Katherine spurred her own horse to keep up with the Count. The Count's tent was large and comfortable, and a coal basin radiated heat. Katherine took off her wool coat and sat in a chair, stretching her long legs under a table while servants rushed to pile refreshments on it. August sat opposite her. "I never had a chance to offer my condolences on poor Goetz' death," he began. Katherine sighed. The wound still hurt. It was almost ten months ago, but she missed her crippled soul mate. "You still miss him?" August asked, somewhat baffled. He had always thought that Katherine had married Goetz out of pity and perhaps to better her station in life. "He was a wonderful man," she said simply. August was silent for a moment. He sighed, too. "I fear, chivalrous conduct dictates that I lift the siege of Meiningen. I had thought Barbara would be more open to my offers." "She loves her power too much to let go of it," Katherine answered. "You sound like you do not approve of her?" "She is fickle, and quite ruthless in the pursuit of her goals, I fear," Katherine answered with equanimity. "You think I may be better off with her rejection?" Count August asked with a weak smile. "Yes, you are. She needs a weak husband, one she can dominate. Any true man were wasted on her." August looked at the strange sight of the tall woman in her brigandine. She was no young maid anymore, nor even a young widow. However, when he looked at her, he noticed her strong chin, her straight nose, her clear blue eyes, the high forehead and the graceful neck. She was a fine, mature woman. She was strong, too, with sinewy limbs. Suddenly, August of Nassau wondered what it would feel like to have those long, strong legs wrapped around his hips, her head thrown back in passion, and her bosom exposed to his caresses. He cleared his throat. "I-I will admit that I envied Goetz, at your wedding. You were - are so beautiful, a mature beauty, mind you, not the passing charms of a girl. I keep asking myself whether you might ever be willing to open your heart to another man, perhaps even an older man?" "You are not old," Katherine answered, perfectly calm. She had been through this once, with Goetz, and she knew whereto this was leading. Up to this moment, she had never thought of Count August as a possible suitor. However, she found herself attracted to his mature manliness, his calm demeanour, and his sincerity. August's eyes widened as the implications of her words sunk in on him. "If ... if I were to speak for you with your brothers, would you be open to my courtship?" Katherine looked into his eyes. "I believe I can feel for you as a wife should. However, you need to know more of me, before you proceed with your suit. First, know that my father was a freeholder farmer in the Dithmarschen. He fought against the Danish King and the Duke of Holstein, to keep the Marshes free. Not being a native of the Marshes he suffered the hostility of a rich neighbour who murdered him. When my brother Joerg came home for us, asking us to join him in the Count of Saxony's service, we went and killed our father's murderer, our neighbour, with his family and knechte. We went to Italy and partook in the Sack of Rome. I met a young nobleman there, a boy, and he became my paramour. I had a child with him, a son, who is now in his grandfather's care. So you must see that I may not be a fitting consort, let alone a fitting wife, for a noble count." "You had a child, a son, already?" August asked eagerly. If anything, this increased his interest. "With the Sternfels lad?" Now it was Katherine's turn to be surprised. He smiled at her. "I know a little of the story. I met Rupprecht of Berlingen at a wedding last year, and I spoke his young wife, Ursula. She could not stop speaking about you and your brothers and sister." "Still, you would speak for me?" Katherine asked. "You have proven able to bear children. I am not young, anymore. I do not wish for a child-woman. This is why I courted the Lady of Meiningen, but she proved not to be responsive. Will you allow me to visit the Erlenburg, at Easter, and speak with your brothers?" Katherine nodded slowly and smiled wryly. "If you will have an old woman for a wife, who am I to refuse so fine a suitor? I shall await your visit, Noble August. The village of Stenberg will be mine as dowry, by my late husband's will and with Arnulf's consent." August smiled at Katherine. "Will you allow me to kiss your hand, in parting?" "I should be disappointed if you did not," Katherine smiled, offering her hand. ------- Two days later, the Nassau troops had broken camp. August of Nassau had come to Meiningen, pledging peace and neighbourly help, before he, too, made for his home. It had been impossible for August and Katherine to hide their commitment, and Joerg gave his unconditional approval. Strangely, Barbara of Meiningen did not take pleasure in the development. It seemed as if she took offence at the Count's change of heart, choosing Katherine over her. She did not even consider the fact that she herself had rejected the Count's courtship. Three days after Count August's departure, Joerg and Katherine assembled the Free Saxons to leave Meiningen. The farewell banquet for them was an uncomfortable affair, with Barbara speaking barely a word to either of her allies. Joerg had a friendlier farewell that night with Elgitha and Hannah who still met with him in secret, fearful of discovery by their mistress. When he left their chamber, early in the morning, he offered both girls to come to Erlenburg if ever they wished to escape their mistress. ------- Chapter 23: How Nele Comes in Her Rage Once again, the Great Hall of Erlenburg castle was filled with guests. It was Easter, and lent was over, finally. That alone would have made for a celebration. However, the festive mood was increased by the news that the visiting Count of Nassau had come with an offer to end the generations-old feud between the two houses and establish friendly ties. The Count and Baron Arnulf had been in talks for two days already, and most of the issues had been resolved. Bjoern Isebrand had briefly taken part in those negotiations, too, and rumours flew that Katherine of Erlenburg would be given as wife to the Count to cement the new friendship. Those rumours were supported by the seating order for the evening. Arnulf sat on his chair, with Nele at his right side. Nele's brothers filled the raised table to her right, but on Arnulf's left sat Katherine, the widow of his brother, with the Count of Nassau at her side. By ancient tradition, only kin of the Erlenburg barons sat at the raised table. Thus, when Arnulf solemnly announced the betrothal of his sister-in-law with the Count of Nassau, there was no surprise or astonishment, but certainly jubilation. The merchants hoped for easier trade with the Nassau dominions, and the soldiers were glad to have one border less to guard. Having their powerful neighbour for an ally would also discourage other enemies from offering provocation. Several of the soldiers were also looking forward to advancement. With Nele married to Baron Arnulf and Katherine betrothed to Count August, there were two positions to fill. Already, Thorben was castellan, and a new purser had been appointed. Only Joerg Isebrand, the field captain, and Bjoern Isebrand, the Steward of Lauheim, remained in the field army. The atmosphere was joyful already when August, Count of Nassau, rose to speak. Not one of his followers who had joined him on this courtship had ever seen their master in such a light-hearted mood. His bantering speech was received with laughter and jesting from the Isebrand brothers, namely from Thorben, and when he closed, all three Isebrand men gave him a brotherly hug. August even made a joking reference to Barbara of Meiningen who had declined the invitation to share the Easter celebration with them without giving reason. He thanked her for rejecting his courtship and calling the Erlenburg for help, but for which refusal he would have never met Katherine. The visitors from Nassau left two days later, and for the weeks to come, Katherine prepared for her wedding, with Nele's help. New robes were tailored, shoes were made, and Bjoern sorted through their possessions to give Katherine her fair share of the family's spoils for her dowry. Six weeks later, neighbouring nobles and their vassals took to the roads to travel to Nassau where Count August would be celebrating his wedding with Katherine of Erlenburg. The Erlenburgs with their train travelled in pleasant spring weather, down the River Lahn, until they saw the towering castle of Nassau above the town. As custom dictated, Arnulf would give away Katherine, since she was his brother's widow. Nevertheless, the three Isebrand brothers were treated with courtesy and consideration upon their arrival. Katherine had planned on making the journey on her trusted charger and wearing her soldier's clothing, but she heeded Arnulf's advice to make her entry as befit the widow of a Baron. She had donned a finely spun dress, and Count August was properly delighted when he welcomed her. Surprising everyone, not least the bridegroom, Barbara of Meiningen had also followed the invitation. She was making an effort to greet Katherine and Joerg with politeness, but the siblings felt an awkwardness talking to their former ally. The Baron Rugenberg had declined the invitation, using a courteous excuse. He was not missed, for he was known to be unpleasant when drunk. Other neighbours had come, though, and the wedding was well attended. The banquet was impressive, with choice delicacies and old wines offered. Jugglers, jesters and other performers entertained the guests, and the mood was merry. As was his habit, Joerg did not imbibe. Nevertheless, he enjoyed himself greatly. Bjoern and Crescencia thawed considerably, too, while Thorben showed an exuberance that left poor Gudrun embarrassed. It was close to midnight when Bride and Groom left the banquet amidst raucous comments by the guests. Joerg was standing to the side at this point watching the drunken antics of the guests with amusement. Suddenly, he found Barbara at his side. "I have need to speak you, Joerg Isebrand," she said in a low voice. "Speak then," he answered lightly. "Not here, not now," she replied. "Meet me outside the drawbridge, after the bell strikes the first hour." "Why, what is your purpose?" he asked, surprised. "I cannot tell you here. Be there, I beg you!" That she begged him nonplussed him and worried him. What could be so secret that she would not speak about it in the emptying hall? But then, it dawned on him. Had his seed caught during their one-time coupling? Was Barbara with child? Joerg spent the next hour fretting over the possibilities. Of course, he would help her as best he could. Only, how? She had made it quite clear that she viewed him as beneath her. What, if she had changed her mind? What if she demanded a wedding, to cover for their indiscretion? He did not feel for her as a husband should. He never had, but the last weeks in Meiningen had made him dislike her. When the bell sounded one o'clock, he made his way from the banquet into the courtyard, and, from there, to the guarded gate. Nodding agreeting to the sentries, he strode over the drawbridge. He could not see Barbara immediately, but then he realised that she would not wait for him inside the shine of the torches at the gate. He walked further into the darkness. "Lady? Are you here?" he called in a low voice when suddenly his world turned black. When he woke, his head bursting with pain, he could not move. He was tightly bound and gagged, and he was rolling helplessly from side to side in the bed of a badly sprung wagon. He tried to clear his head, but that was difficult, for he could not see either, with a sack tied over his head. "Awake, huh?" a voice grunted. "Ye'll git some water later. Can't have you dying, not wit' sixty guilders on yer head. Them Warnesund burghers will be so happy ter see ye agin, them'll build a scaffold right 'way!" That was it. Somebody had caught him, to bring him to Warnesund for trial. If they succeeded, his fate was sealed, that much was clear. Yet, there was little he could do, bound up as he was. He would have to wait for a chance, to break free. ------- Elgitha, Barbara's maidservant, was bored. Like the other servants accompanying the noble guests at the wedding, she had partaken of the food offered in the kitchen, and she had danced with some of the servants. She had her sights set on a different target, though. She planned to wait until the celebrations ended to snare Joerg Isebrand once more. Over the last months, she had come to miss the tall soldier, and regardless of her mistress' misgivings over Joerg Isebrand, Elgitha wanted a tumble with him before they left. Therefore, she watched the Great Hall and waited for her chance. She was very surprised when she saw her mistress talk peaceably to Joerg. Barbara left the hall then, and Elgitha rushed to follow her in case she needed help to prepare for the night. She had to fend off two drunk guests, though, and it took her some time to catch up with the Lady. She was just about to rush around a corner, when her mistress' angry voice made her stop. "I will not be there. I've set the trap, and he will come. You and your men can do the rest." "But Lady, if you were there..." "My involvement must end here. Just wait for him, outside the gate, and do your work. Go now! Remember, he'll come after the bell strikes one." Elgitha stood rooted to the spot. What was her mistress talking about? The sound of steps approaching woke her, though, and she hid behind a tapestry. She only caught a brief glimpse at the man who strode by. He was tall, and he had a cruel face. Elgitha breathed a sigh of relief when he did not notice her. She stayed in her hiding for a few more moments. She debated whether to follow her mistress to her chamber, but she decided against it. It would be better if Barbara did not know that Elgitha had been close. The mistress was clearly planning something sinister. Besides, Elgitha still wanted to snare Joerg for a night of pleasure. She returned to the Great Hall, to continue her vigil. She found Joerg pacing to and fro, with a worried frown on his face. From the kitchen door, she watched him for what seemed like hours. Finally, she thought he would leave the hall and go to his assigned chamber. Alas, he was heading for the courtyard! Quickly, Elgitha ran through the kitchen and to the back door, then around the main building. Just when she reached the courtyard, she saw him walk through the gate and over the drawbridge. She ran after him. "Hola, my lovely!" the sentry laughed, catching her around her waist. "Let go of me, you lout!" Elgitha snarled. "Captain Isebrand will cut off your balls!" "You're with him?" the sentry blurted, jerking back his hands. "Yes, you idiot! Why do you think am I running after him?" Oh, no! Where was he now? Elgitha ran over the drawbridge, but she could not see him. Just then, her mistress' words this evening and the image before her combined in her mind. The bell had just struck one, and Joerg had gone beyond the main gate. Her eyes tried to see in the darkness in front of her, but it was in vain. She heard something, though. Feet shuffled in the brush, iron clinked on iron, and men cursed under their breath. "Damn it! 'e's a 'eavy one!" - "Shut your mouth, imbecile!" Fortunately, Elgitha was a smart girl. Rather than running after the sounds and getting caught or killed, she turned on her heels and ran back to the gate, past the sentry and into the main building. She knew where Joerg's brothers and their wives slept, knew it because she had sought out Joerg's chamber. She ran up the spiral staircase to the third story. Here, she found the door of the chamber where Bjoern Isebrand slept, and she knocked frantically. It only took a few heartbeats before a half-naked Bjoern Isebrand opened. Behind him, Elgitha saw the naked form of Crescencia Isebrand, barely covered by a blanket. "Your brother," Elgitha gasped out of breath, "he was taken away just outside the main gate!" "What are you talking, wench?" Bjoern growled. "I saw him walk out the gate, over the drawbridge, and I followed him. He was gone, and I heard the sounds of men carrying something. They complained that he was heavy. I swear that I heard it clearly! I think my mistress has something to do with it." "Who is your mistress, wench?" "The Lady Barbara," Elgitha said, realising that she had just taken an irrevocable step. She had Bjoern's attention now. "How do you know that?" "I overheard her, speaking to a stranger this evening. She said she had laid the trap, and that they should wait for somebody outside the gate. I did not know it was about Joerg. I like him fine, and I would have warned him, really!" "Wait here, girl. This is grave." Bjoern said. He stepped out of the room and knocked on the next door. "Wake, Thorben! Peril's afoot!" ------- A half hour later, a fearful Elgitha repeated her story in front of Count August, Arnulf of Erlenburg, their wives, and the other Isebrands. Count August was trembling with anger. "The traitorous trollop! To violate the peace of my house at my wedding! Rupert! Take all sober men you can find and torches! Have them search the surroundings! We need all the traces we can find. Now, let us go ask my honoured guest!" Barbara of Meiningen could not hide her horror when she opened her door to look at the angry faces of Count August and the Baron Arnulf. "This is how you repay my hospitality?" August spat. "By conspiring against my kin?" Barbara tried to bluff them with haughtiness. "What are you implying, Count? What is this disturbance, in the middle of the night?" August, to his surprise, found himself pushed aside, and Nele faced Barbara. It was a Nele neither of the men had ever seen. She was trembling in the grip of a hot rage, and her normally violet blue eyes were but icy slits. "Stay out of this, you men," she snarled, pushing Barbara bodily back into the chamber and slamming the door shut. Arnulf started after her, but Katherine held him back. "Stay, Brother! None of you men could ever hurt a woman. Let Nele get to the bottom of this." Shrill screams sounded through the door, cut short into a gurgling sound, then nothing. A while later, a sobbing, rasping breath was heard, then slaps. This was repeated three times, before Nele opened the door again, an unholy fire in her eyes. "They abducted Joerg, to bring him to Warnesund. Rugenberg is behind this, too. He made the contact with the ruffians, but this ... this ... she set Joerg up." Bjoern looked about. "Quick, Thorben, have your horse saddled. We must rush after them at once!" "Wait! Let us plan this properly," Count August interjected. "Nothing can be done in the dark. You need to prepare yourself for a long hunt. It will not do to charge after them and tire your horses by midday tomorrow. We have no knowledge of the route they will take." "He is right," Katherine said quietly. "We must plan. What about her?" She pointed at Barbara who was still sitting in a corner, her hands at her bleeding throat and blank terror in her eyes. "I'd put her down!" Nele snarled. "Yes, you would, Sister," Katherine soothed her. "It would be too easy, though. August, will you have her locked into the dungeon, on water and bread, until Joerg is restored to us?" August nodded grimly, and Nele focussed on the terrified woman. "Listen well, evil woman! Everything that is done to my brother will be visited upon you in turn. If they succeed to kill him, I shall tear you limb from limb. Your suffering will know no ending! This is my promise, and mark that no Isebrand has ever broken a promise." Arnulf seemed slightly taken aback. This was a Nele he had not known. Thorben put a calming hand on his back. "She and Joerg, they are the same. When the rage comes over them, they can be fearsome." Nele saw her husband's look, too, and she calmed herself with an effort. "Let us plan!" she said grimly. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 24: How Joerg Isebrand Is Condemned and the Maid Hildburg Loses Sleep "Hildburg, are those shirts washed yet?" Hildburg Lauritz sighed inwardly. Her uncle had been dripping sauce on his shirts, ever since his stroke, and to clean them was not easy. "In a moment, Aunt Helga," she called back. "Well, don't dawdle, girl! There's butter to be churned when you're done with those shirts!" Hildburg's groan was open now. Churning butter was hard work, as was laundering sauce-splattered shirts. There was no way around this, though. Her uncle could not afford servants, he'd had a hard time finding the dowry for his daughter, when she married two years ago, and his son was running the fur business. He was not married, so there was no one in the household to do the cleaning and cooking, safe for Hildburg and her aunt. The fortunes of the Lauritz family had never recovered after that fateful evening when the rampaging landsknecht had slain Hildburg's family and laid fire to the warehouses. True, he had spared Hildburg's life, but he had destroyed all her prospects. A penniless orphan, no man of consequence would marry her, for all her prettiness. Her uncle could not help since his own warehouse had gone up in smoke, too. Now that her uncle was incapacitated by the stroke, there was even more work and less income. With grim determination, Hildburg bent over the washtub again, venting her anger over her situation on the stained shirt. It was not fair! She, who was without fault or guilt over the massacre on those hapless mercenaries, had to suffer the consequences for the rest of her life. The new mayor and his council had offered public regret over the treason. They had sacked the captain of the city guard, and a mass was held once a year for the souls of the slain. The name Lauritz came up every time, and Hildburg and her family had to bear the accusing glances, together with Hinrichsen's widow and Lingold's daughter. From time to time, rumours reached Warnesund about the terrible Joerg Isebrand. He had assembled his four siblings around him and killed off a whole family, over in Jutland, on the North Sea coast. He had participated in the Sack of Rome, and it was said that he was living in his own castle, east of the River Rhine. Hildburg had mixed feelings about that man. She'd had a serious crush on the young soldier and she had felt jealous towards the maidservant, Birte. It wasn't fair, she had thought then, that Birte could meet the handsome young giant while Hildburg was not even allowed to leave the house without her mother. She'd seen him, a few times, and he had spoken to her, but she had been too shy to answer. Then, one afternoon, he had saved her from the rowdy sailors, and she had almost melted in his arms when he led her to safety. Her father's strong sentiment against the mercenaries had made any thought of getting to know the handsome young man a folly, though, and she had not seen him again before that fateful night. When he had killed her family, she had thought at first that he'd rape and kill her, but he had thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of rye and carried her to safety, leaving her in her aunt's care. He himself escaped with Birte. Why hadn't he taken her, Hildburg, as hostage? She would have never deserted him, like that stupid girl Birte. She would sit in a castle now, instead of living as a glorified maidservant in her uncle's house. Strangely, she could bear him no ill will over the killing of her parents and her brother. Her parents' gleeful comments over the death of so many men had filled Hildburg with loathing. Her brother had been even worse, for he returned from the market place with the cut-off fingers of slain men from which he leisurely pulled the rings. Hildburg had no way of knowing that the young man, Joerg, was not among the slain, and she heard the cries of alarm in the following night almost with satisfaction. That terrible young man had merely been the instrument of God's wrath, she felt. The last of the shirts was reasonably clean now, and Hildburg wrung the last drops of water from the fabric. In the narrow backyard, she draped the clean shirts over a clothesline and returned to the house. "We're almost there, Isebrand. Been quite a long journey, hasn't it? Bet, those stout burghers will be glad ta see ye agin. Damn! I kin smell them guilders already!" Joerg did not answer. He could not, anyway, for they had kept him gagged for almost the entire journey. Twice a day, they stopped on some roadside to let him relieve himself. They gave him water, too, but little food. He had almost lost track of time, but with an effort, he had kept track. Twenty days had passed since they had sandbagged him. Twenty days, he had spent tied and manacled, rolling from side to side as the wagon tumbled northward. ------- There had not been one chance to escape. There had not even been one chance to clean himself, and he smelled like it. The many days without food had weakened him, too, and even if there had been a chance for escape, he was doubtful how far he would have got in his weakened state. Now, a voice sounded from outside. "Halt! Who are you?" "Me name's Ewald, an' I 'ave somethin' fer yer Mayor." "And what do you have for him?" "A pris'ner, one ye've been looking fer. Isebrand's his name. Rouse yer Mayor an' tell him ter bring those sixty guilders, ye hear!" "You wait here while I speak Mayor Albrecht. Ulf, watch them and don't let them go anywhere!" It only took a quarter hour before voices sounded again. "I'll have to see him, before I give you any gold," a man's deep baritone voice sounded. "Orl right, orl right, take a peek at him," the voice of Ewald could be heard, and a moment later, the wagon cover was opened. Joerg squinted his eyes at the brightness. A tall and portly man addressed him, and Joerg heard the deep baritone again. "Are you Joerg Isebrand?" The Mayor seemed to recognise the futility of questioning a gagged man. "Remove that gag!" Ewald climbed into the wagon bed and removed the gag roughly. Joerg tried to speak, but he could only croak. He had not had any water since the day before. Shrugging, Ewald took a ladle of water and let Joerg drink. "Well, are you?" the Mayor repeated his question. "I am Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Bellenberg," Joerg answered with as much dignity as he could muster in his present state. "I was abducted from my brother's castle, and I demand my freedom." "If you are indeed Isebrand, you must stand trial for your crimes," the Mayor answered gravely. "I know how your comrades were betrayed and murdered, but your own crimes still must be punished." The Mayor turned to Ewald. "Here, cruel man, take the reward! Hand over Isebrand's weapons to the corporal and go away from Warnesund at once. I like thee not. To let a prisoner starve like this is against the laws of God and men. Holla, Corporal! Bring the prisoner to the gaol. Have someone give him food and drink! See to it that he can wash and have some clothes brought for him." A moment later, three city soldiers pulled Joerg from the wagon. He was unable to stand by himself when they opened his foot manacles, and two of the soldiers marched him through the city gate and towards the city hall. Under the bell tower, there was the gaol, and here, they chained his right hand to the wall and let him sit. "Food will be brought soon, and water," the corporal told him, before he was left alone. The gaoler came, some half hour later, with bread and a large pitcher of ale. "Here, get some food into your belly. 'Tis a shame they caught you. I saw them murder your friends, back then, and by God, the old Mayor had it coming, what you did to him and his rotten son! Mayor Albrecht is a fair man, though. He'll try you under the oak, but you'll have your say." "Thank you for the food," Joerg replied. The gaoler nodded. "I'll bring a bucket later, and soap, let you clean up. Eat first." In spite of the dismal prospects, Joerg ate the bread to the last crumb, and he drank the pitcher of thin ale. Of course, his stomach hurt later, and he felt drunk, but for the first time in weeks, he felt some optimism. ------- Hildburg had finished with the butter churner and turned to picking lentils for the noon meal, lentil soup with bacon. While the soup was simmering, Hildburg had a little time to do her own laundry. She had few enough dresses to call her own, and she would have to replace most of her blouses soon, threadbare as they were. The whole family assembled for the noon meal. Her cousin Rudolf was bursting with excitement. "They finally caught Isebrand!" he blurted, as soon as they had said grace. "They brought him in this morning. They managed to trap him, and they smuggled him out of his lord's domains. The Mayor looks like he bit into a snail; he had to pay the captors the sixty guilders reward." Hildburg was stunned for a moment, but her aunt began to ask excitedly. "What will they do now?" "They'll try him for murder and arson, as is proper. He admits to everything, the cur! Says it was his right to avenge his comrades. Hildburg, you and the widow Hinrichsen can make a claim for his possessions. He had his sword on him and a gold chain." "What do I do with a sword?" Hildburg asked. "Sell it! It's a good one for sure. You'll clear at least twenty guilders for it." Hildburg nodded. Twenty guilders would be a dowry, enough to find her a husband. Not one from the leading families, but perhaps a magistrate or an officer of the guard. "When will the trial be held?" she asked. "On Sunday. He admits to everything, so there will be no need for questioning or the torture. The gold he took from your father has long been spent. They say he will be beheaded, for he is a Steward now, in the service of the Baron of Erlenburg." The meal continued, with Rudolf answering more questions from his mother. Hildburg became silent. She was thinking of the young man she had once known. He must be almost thirty years of age, now. She wondered what he looked like. Would he recognise her? She made up her mind, then. After the noon meal, she excused herself and dressed in her Sunday's best. Walking briskly, she arrived at the Mayor's house a few minutes later and asked for an interview. The Mayor was still eating, and he let her wait for almost half an hour. When he finally received her, he was brusque. "I know, I know, you want to claim his possessions as compensation. You have to wait until the morrow." "It's not that," Hildburg answered. "I would ask to be allowed a few minutes to see the man. I had known him, back then, and I want to face him." "You're not planning anything foolish, are you? We have to be careful and do everything according to the law. His baron may raise a complaint at the next Reichstag over this. We cannot have him murdered in the dungeon." "I only wish to speak to him. I have no desire to bloody my hands." "So be it, Hildburg. Just remember: those who sow violence will die in violence. Your father and brother wronged those landsknechte first." "I know right from wrong, Mayor, even if my father didn't," Hildburg replied with bitterness. "So be it, then," the Mayor sighed. He rang a bell, and his scribe showed. "The Maid Hildburg is allowed to see the prisoner in his cell. See to it!" The scribe looked at her dubiously, but Hildburg merely curtseyed before the Mayor and left the room. On the street, the scribe caught up with her and walked her to the City's prison, under the tower of the City Hall. Isebrand was the only prisoner, currently, and he was chained to the wall. Therefore, when Hildburg entered the dungeon, the warden closed the door behind her and left her alone with the man. Looking him over silently, Hildburg took stock. Yes, she recognised him. His soldier's beard changed him, of course, but she remembered his eyes and his features. He had been a tall young man, but now he was a huge man. His clothes, although torn in a few places, showed wealth, and this annoyed Hildburg. "Do you remember me, Joerg Isebrand?" she asked, more coldly than she had planned. He had gazed at her, too, and he nodded. "You're Lauritz' daughter, Hildburg." "That, I am. Have you ever spared a thought of me, in all those years?" "A few times, yes. I hoped you would get over that night and that your aunt would take care of you. I had liked you fine, back then, but I was not fit to see you." His voice was a deep rumble. "Well, you had your sweetheart, Birte, to console you. She left you, didn't she?" "Yes, what I did that night, it scared her. I found a place for her to stay and left her alone. What about you? Who did you marry?" "Marry? Me? Who would marry an orphan girl who can't rub two pennies together? You left me alive and unhurt, Joerg Isebrand, I grant you that, but you left me a maidservant to my uncle. My Father's house burnt down, and so did his warehouse and my uncle's. My uncle could barely find a husband for his daughter, with the pittance of a dowry he could offer." Hildburg found that she was shouting those last sentences, with her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry for that, Hildburg. I really am. I never wanted you to suffer. I was so full of rage that night. Listen, if you can bring in a parchment and a quill, I can write a letter to my brothers. They can compensate you from my possessions." "How could I ever get to where your brothers live?" He smiled grimly. "Don't worry. As soon as they hear about my fate, they will come here and avenge me. That is why I need to write to them, so they will spare you and your family." "Two brothers against this City?" Hildburg asked. "I was alone, and look what I did," he retorted calmly. "There are my sisters, too, and their husbands, with all their soldiers. Your Mayor has taken a bigger bite than he'll be able to chew." "What soldiers? Who are your sisters' husbands?" "The Count of Nassau married Katherine, my older sister. If they take Warnesund, show her my letter. She is the most reasonable of us, and she can protect you. Nele, my youngest sister, married my Lord Arnulf, the Baron of Erlenburg. We mixed our blood; he is one with me and with my brothers. They will visit bloody retribution on your city." "Does the Mayor know of this? Perhaps, they will reconsider?" Again, Joerg smiled grimly. "Your Mayor is an upright man. He will not allow your City's laws to be bent under a threat. I wish he had been Mayor instead of your father. He would have paid us, and everything would have been right." Hildburg could only nod. When Joerg spoke to her next, his voice was soft. "Hildburg, I shall soon face my maker. I don't know whether I shall have another chance to speak to you. If you sent somebody with a parchment and a quill, I will see to it that you can have a new chance at happiness. I deeply regret that I hurt you in my rage, and I wish you the best for your future life." "You are a strange man, Joerg Isebrand," Hildburg answered in a soft voice. "I wish things had been different, back then. I know how my father wronged your comrades, and my brother was as guilty. I shall speak a prayer over your grave and forgive your soul." "By my troth, Hildburg, you are a noble maid! I wish I had known you better, back then. It would have curtailed my rage, for sure." "I need to leave, Joerg Isebrand. May God have Mercy on your soul." "Farewell, noble Maid! Remember to sent me the parchment." Hildburg left the gaol in deep thought. Joerg's words had deeply disturbed her. What if those brothers showed up at the head of an army, to avenge their brother? Would her father's misdeeds bring even more damage to the City? What could she do, though? The Mayor would proceed with trial and execution, as was the law. Of that, she was sure. Mayor Albrecht was like that. Certainly, a penniless spinster could not dissuade him, least of all, the daughter of the man who was responsible for the whole mess. Hildburg returned home and told her aunt about the interview. The older woman was deeply worried. With her invalid husband, she could not even leave the City, and her son's hopes rested on the furs he had currently in his warehouse. It was she who planted the idea in Hildburg's mind. "We'd have to find a maid or a widow, free of bondage, who would marry him under the scaffold. That would save him and us, when his brothers will show at the gates." Hildburg looked her question. "It's the law of the City. A condemned man will be released from the gallows or the scaffold if a free woman, maid or widow, marries him. She just has to step forward and claim him. What woman would marry that terrible man, though?" Hildburg did not answer; her mind was in turmoil. Could she do this? Would she dare to be an outcast, just to save those citizens who had looked down on her, all those years? With a deep sigh, she left her aunt to check on her uncle and to clean him. The messy work helped her find some balance. Sleep did not come easy to Hildburg, for the next three days. She was constantly thinking about the threat to Warnesund, and about the one chance to fend it off. On Friday, though, things came to a head. The trumpet signal from the Main Gate was heard all over town, and rumours spread quickly that a horseman had ridden up to the gate, to deliver a parchment scroll. A half hour later, the City Council was urgently summoned. The members dropped what they were doing to rush to the City Hall. Rumours flew about the reasons, but the Mayor stepped in shortly after the members had assembled. "Honourable councilmen, we have a weighty situation at our hands. This morning, a rider delivered a Letter of Defiance." For a while, everybody spoke at the same time, and it took the Mayor an effort to restore silence. "Scribe, read out the letter!" he ordered then. The scribe cleared his throat. "To the City of Warnesund! "Having you wrongfully seized and taken prisoner my true and landed vassal, my brother and Field Captain, Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Bellenberg, without cause given or feud declared, in time of peace and by cowardly means, I demand said Joerg Isebrand returned to me without harm and inside two days. For if you do not release him without harm, I shall lay siege to the City of Warnesund, take it, burn it, and leave it to the license of my soldiers. Arnulf Georg, Baron of Erlenburg and Bellenberg." The scribe cleared his throat again. "There is more. "I, August Rüdiger, Count of Nassau, demand the immediate release of my brother Joerg Isebrand, who was abducted by force from my own dominions, breaking the law of my lands and defying the rule over said lands that was given to me by the Grace of God. Should the City of Warnesund refuse my demand, I shall join the Baron Arnulf in his rightful feud against you and lay the siege to your city, with my soldiers and mighty cannons, and we shall reduce your walls and put your men to the sword." Again, the scribe cleared his throat nervously. "We, Bjoern Isebrand, Steward of Lauheim and Thorben Isebrand, Castellan of the Erlenburg, declare blood feud on any man such as may harm our brother. He who kills, maims, or otherwise hurts our brother shall be under our sword; he and his kin shall die where we shall find them, and no quarter shall ever be given." The council members looked at each other uneasily. That last defiance meant that anyone involved in the trial and execution of Joerg Isebrand would be slain on sight by those Isebrand brothers. "Whose idea was it to bring this man into our City?" a council member shouted angrily. "Yours!" the Mayor retorted. "This council decided to offer a reward for the capture of Isebrand. He killed four citizens and one woman in their beds, and seven more men lost their lives during his rampage. He burnt the warehouses. You know my stance on the treason we committed. This man, however, is a murderer and arsonist, and as such, we must try him under the oak. It is our law." This provoked an angry response by other council members who wanted to yield to the demands of the Baron of Erlenburg, and soon, a heated and unruly debate ensued. The council session was adjourned at noon, to cool the tempers, and the members went home to their families, to discuss the decision that loomed before them: to stand by their laws and face war and destruction, even death at the hands of the Isebrands, or to yield to the threats, abandon their laws, and stand as cowards in everyone's eyes. Rudolf Lauritz went home, too. Hildburg listened to his recount of the council meeting, and suddenly, she felt resolve. She knew now what she had to do. Right after the meal, she dressed in her Sunday best again and went to see the Widow Hinrichsen. Lingold's daughter had married and moved away to Stralsund, but Hinrichsen's widow was still living in Warnesund. She had married again, a young fish trader, and they had joined their businesses, enjoying a moderate wealth. She was deeply worried, too, about the threat from Isebrand's kin. The woman heard Hildburg's plan, and gave her blessing. Now, Hildburg could do nothing but wait for the decision of the council. The noon break had allowed the Mayor to win support for his uncompromising stance. His opponents then suggested to have Joerg Isebrand pay a blood price for the killed men. This proposal was defeated narrowly. At this point, four council members left, saying they wanted to bring their families and their wares to safety. That left eight members and the Mayor, and they decided to try Joerg Isebrand for murder and arson. "Are we all agreed?" The members, in their turn, nodded gravely. One of them stood. "We better not waste time. We have no way of knowing when those nobles will arrive with their soldiers. Once they are at our gates, we shall face more difficulties. Let us try the man right this afternoon, I say! Then, send for Lubeck for support." "Wisely spoken!" the Mayor agreed. "Have the jury assemble at the fifth hour, under the oak, and bring forth the prisoner. Have him cleaned up, too." This was the signal for the session to end, and the men made their way out with haste, to ready themselves for the trial. Rudolf Lauritz went home, too, and told the women to get ready if they wanted to see the trial. Hildburg was ready. She had packed her few clothes into a bundle. Isebrand's sword had been given to her, the day before, and she wrapped it in a coarse linen cloth. The she sought her aunt. "Aunt, I ask you to bring these two bundles to the execution grounds. I shall have need for them. I thank you for the care you gave me, all these years. What I shall do today is the only way to protect our family. Please do not hate me!" "What do you plan, Hildburg? You don't ... Oh Mercy! And it was I who planted this idea in your head! Please, Hildburg, consider! They'll shun you!" "Yes, they will, Aunt. At least, my father's evil deed will not cause destruction of our city and the deaths of all our friends, as few as there are. I am resolved, Aunt. Will you help me dress?" Silently, with tears in her eyes, the older woman nodded. She pulled a white dress from a trunk. It was wrinkled and smelled of camphor, but it was a wedding dress all the same. "This was my own mother's, Hildburg. Wear it today, and may the Good Lord protect you on your ways!" ------- Hildburg Lauritz' visit had left Joerg in deep thought. She had appeared before him like a long lost memory. Her honey-blonde hair, bound into braids, was still beautiful, and her face had defied the years. She had to be twenty-five or twenty-six years old, yet she had looked like a young girl to his eye. Over the years, he had often thought about her and wondered about her fate. That she was still suffering from his actions weighed heavily on his conscience, and he was glad when he was given parchment and quill to write a letter to his brothers. He commanded Hildburg and her family to Bjoern's protection and named Hildburg as heir to his worldly possessions. Still, he could not stop thinking about her. Facing death, there were many things he regretted. Not least among them was that he had never found the sort of happiness his siblings enjoyed, the happiness of having a loving spouse. The women in Joerg's life had mostly seen him as a tool to further their own need, protection. Only a few had felt for him. Ursula of Sternfels came to his mind, in this context, and he spent a few moments in fond thoughts of the young woman. If only he had met a woman like Hildburg! He had known her as honest and kind, and she had not changed. He had adored her youthful beauty, back then, but her beauty had matured, not waned in the years since. He had also felt close to her, that afternoon when he drove off the sailors, and she had shown care for him, too. If only he could undo what had happened! The rattle of keys in the monstrous lock of the dungeon door woke Joerg from his musings. The warden carried a large bucket of water; another man brought soap and a comb. "Mayor's orders! Clean up for your trial!" Joerg raised his eyebrows. He had heard the trumpet signal this morning, and the excited whispering of the people who walked outside by the dungeon window had given him a clue. His siblings had learned of his capture, and they had sent a threatening letter of defiance, to rattle the citizens. There was no way that they could arrive with any military force worth mentioning for weeks, and they had chosen their only way to put pressure on the City. That seemed to have backfired. Instead, the Mayor had decided to speed things up. He would be dead before his siblings would arrive. He took a deep breath. He had lived a good life, mostly, and his siblings were well taken care of. Katherine was a Countess, Nele, his beloved little sister, was Baroness and proud mother of an heir, Thorben had a good wife and strong children, and he held a position of trust as Castellan of the Erlenburg. Bjoern was married to a fine woman, too, and he lorded over Lauheim as Arnulf's steward. With his manacled hands, he washed the grime from his face, applying the soap generously. There was enough water to wash his neck and chest, and lastly, his hair. It took a long time to comb out his tangled hair, but then he was satisfied that he would leave this world with some dignity. The goal warder returned now, accompanied by no less than six city guards who trained their short pikes at his chest while the warder unlocked the chain that bound Joerg to the wall. His hands and feet manacled, he was marched from the dungeon and into the courtyard of the City Hall where a large oak tree stood. Under the oak tree, the Mayor and four schoeffen (lay judges) sat at a table. At least a hundred citizens sat on benches on the lawn, facing the bench of the judges. Joerg was led forward. The box for the accused was made of sturdy oak wood, and he had to stand, with his hand manacles fastened to the railing. The scribe banged a gavel on the Judges' bench and a hush settled over the spectators. The Mayor cleared his throat. "We are assembled here, under the Oak of Justice, to try one Joerg Isebrand, known as the Butcher of Warnesund, for murder and arson, committed in the year of our Lord, 1517, in this City of Warnesund. "I ask the accused: are you Joerg Isebrand?" "I am Joerg Isebrand, Wulf Isebrand's son, Field Captain for the Lord Arnulf, Baron of Erlenburg and Bellenberg. I bring grave grievance to this Court of the Law and ask for redress!" "You bring grievance?" the Mayor almost shouted. "I do. When we were contracted by the Council of the Hanse City of Warnesund, my comrades and I were promised a premium, to be paid at the end of the hostilities with his Grace, the Count of Schwerin. Upon completion of our service, the pay was withheld, and my comrades, when they protested this breach of contract, were murdered by the City Guard. I demand the pay for my rotte, and I demand the blood money for my dead comrades!" The scribe had to bang the gavel three times to suppress the angry shouting from the spectator benches. When silence was restored, the Mayor addressed Joerg. "Your grievance, Joerg Isebrand, is noted. What is your demand?" "We were to receive two guilders a man, upon completion of our contract, and we were thirty and eight. I demand seventy and six guilders as sole survivor of my rotte. "As for the blood money, I demand twenty guilders for the death of my fatherly friend, Gernot of Brederode." The Mayor turned to his Schöffen and conferred with them. Joerg could see them nod, one after another, and the Mayor looked at him again. "You grievance is justified, Joerg Isebrand, and this Court awards you ninety-six guilders. Are you satisfied?" Joerg nodded. "You speak justice, indeed, Mayor. I ask this gold be given in equal shares to the widow of the fish trader Hinrichsen, and the daughters of Lingold and Lauritz. For I shall go to a place where gold will avail me naught." The Mayor was taken aback. He had given in to Joerg's demand, thinking that the condemned man's possessions would revert to the City anyway. Now, he could not back out. He heard several approving comments from the spectators, and he decided to let it pass for the moment. "Joerg Isebrand, do you, with God as your witness, admit to slaying the former Mayor Lauritz, his wife and son, the head of the Guild of the Fish Traders, Hinrichsen, and the Councilman Lingold?" "Yes, I killed the neidinge as was my right, for they had my comrades murdered by cowardly means!" Joerg answered with defiance. "Did you further kill, in fighting, three men of the City Guard and two men of the Lauritz household?" "No, I killed four of your City Guard and those two men in Lauritz' house. They attacked me, and I defended myself, as was my right." "Did you put fire to the warehouses at the Western Gate?" "Yes I did. Your soldiers attacked us; thus we were at war with the City. Burning warehouses is common practice in times of war." "The prisoner has thus admitted to the crimes he stands accused of. Are you, the schoeffen, of the same mind?" All four men nodded, two with reluctance. "We, the Citizens of Warnesund, find you, Joerg Isebrand, guilty of murder and arson," the Mayor declared. He turned to his fellow judges. "What is his punishment?" The men took deep breaths and steeled themselves. "Death by the sword!" they replied in unison. "Does the condemned have words to say?" the Mayor asked Joerg. Joerg took a deep breath and stood tall. "There was but one outcome for this trial. I was in my right to avenge my companions. My blood be on your heads, for my kin to avenge. You sow wind, Citizens of Warnesund, and you shall harvest storm when my brothers will come with the Free Saxons. You men will be killed, but your wives and daughters will be taken by force and without mercy, and your City will be reduced by fire." Up to this point, the trial had been entertainment for the spectators. Most had not been privy to the fact that a Letter of Defiance had been delivered. Their worries were palpable. It was one thing to see this man condemned and killed. It was another thing, to face the consequence of a siege, a bloody conquest, and the victors' l license. "Have the Condemned brought to the scaffold at once!" Mayor Albrecht ordered, fearing that any delay might bring about a revolt by the citizens. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 25: How the Maid Hildburg Saves Warnesund Quickly, Joerg was led from the courtyard. The mayor and his schoeffen marched in front, heading for the execution ground, just outside the Western Gate, where a semi-permanent scaffold stood. The executioner was already there, his head covered by a black hood and leaning on his two-handed sword. He stood beside the wooden block, obviously ready to perform his grim duty. In spite of their fear, a large number of citizens gathered around the scaffold as Joerg was pushed up the rickety ladder. He was pushed towards the block and forced on his knees. His hands were bound so that he embraced the block, and his head had to rest on the blood stained surface. Then, the soldiers climbed off the scaffold and the executioner stepped forward. "There is a sword in the bundle at my feet. Go for it as soon as I cut your bindings!" It was Thorben's whispering voice, coming from under the hood of the executioner. "The others are ready in yonder copse," Thorben whispered. "We could bring only twenty of the Saxons, and we have to hold our own until they can fight their way to the scaffold." Joerg breathed deeply to get over the surprise, and he let his gaze sweep over the field. The copse was perhaps three or four hundred paces away. At least twenty-five soldiers of the City guarded the scaffold. This would be hot work. He had been starved and his hands had been manacled for weeks. He did not know how much strength he would have to wield a sword. As he knelt there, taking in the situation, there was a sudden commotion in the crowd. A young woman in a bridal dress, with flowers in her hair, pushed through the rows of spectators. When she reached the front, Joerg recognised Hildburg Lauritz. Her clear voice sounded over the assembled crowd. "Release this man! I claim him for my wedded husband!" A man tried to pull her back, shouting at her, but she pulled free and climbed up the ladder. "By the laws of our City, I claim the Condemned for my husband!" A rain of rotten fruit from the spectators answered her words. A few men shouted to chop off her head, along with Joerg's. It was with utmost difficulty that the City Guard restored order. The Mayor climbed up on the scaffold, visibly shaken. "Quiet, quiet, you citizens! The Maid Hildburg claims the Condemned for her wedded husband. It is her right, by the laws of Warnesund. I ask her again: Hildburg Lauritz, daughter of Hilmar Lauritz, do you claim this man Joerg Isebrand, condemned murderer of your own father, mother and brother, for your husband? Are you willing indeed, to enter into Holy Matrimony with him, on this scaffold, and in this very hour?" "Yes, I am!" Hildburg answered with defiance. The Mayor sighed. "God is with you, Joerg Isebrand! Bring forth the Preacher!" Joerg exhaled deeply. His mind still whirled. Why would Hildburg Lauritz marry him, to save him from the sword? How could she forgive the suffering he had brought upon her? Should he chance a fight at Thorben's side against those of the City, or should he accept Hildburg's hand and leave the scaffold without bloodshed? Here was the Preacher, a Lutheran vicar. Joerg's eyes fell on the young woman, so lovely of face, bravely defying the people she had grown up with. He had hurt her enough already. To start a fighting on the scaffold would mean to bring her into mortal danger. In a heartbeat, Joerg made up his mind. "I'll play along," he whispered to Thorben. "It's better this way. At least, none of us will be killed." "You fancy the girl, admit it!" Thorben whispered back. Even whispering and muffled by the hood, Joerg could hear that Thorben was on the verge of bursting with suppressed laughter. He shook his head. Thorben was a weird fellow, at times. Here was the preacher. He was a nervous, gaunt man, licking his lips, and clasping his hands repeatedly. Thorben, in his guise, helped Joerg to his feet. "I ask you, Hildburg Lauritz, daughter of Hilmar Lauritz. Do you take the Condemned, Joerg Isebrand, for your husband?" "I do!" Hildburg blurted, blushing deeply. "And do you, Joerg Isebrand, consent to take Hildburg Lauritz for your wife?" This was a most undignified ceremony, Joerg found. From his siblings' weddings, he knew the proper words a groom had to speak. He stood his tallest, in spite of the manacles. "I, Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Bellenberg, take thee, Hildburg Lauritz, for my wedded wife. I shall hold you and cherish you, protect you and honour you, for as long as we shall both live!" "Hrhm, I herewith pronounce you man and wife. Those who God hath joined, no man shall tear asunder!" Hastily, the preacher climbed off the scaffold. Meanwhile, the Guards took off Joerg's manacles. The Mayor was not done with them, though. "Now that you had your will, Hildburg Isebrand, know that you can no longer live in Warnesund. You have chosen this man; you can no longer claim our protection. Leave Warnesund, and leave this very day!" Hildburg closed her eyes for a moment, but she recovered quickly and nodded. "I shall leave indeed, if this is your command. I want what's ours, though: the ninety and six guilders you awarded him." The Mayor looked like he had been hit by the stroke. His face purple, he struggled for control. "Have your guilders then!" he hissed in the end. He turned to his scribe. "Get the gold and be back quickly!" While the man ran off, obviously eager to escape the situation for a moment, Hildburg pulled her new husband to the ladder. He climbed down shakily and then helped Hildburg down. Hildburg's aunt came forward, holding two bundles, a small clothes sack and an oblong bundle. "Oh child, what have you done?" she wailed. "Did you bring my clothes as I asked you, Aunt?" Hildburg asked, much calmer now. "Yes, here is what you own in this world, girl. But where can you go?" "She won't need much, that is for sure!" somebody called from behind the City Guards. "Yes, it'll be mighty lonely on the road, Hildburg. Nasty things can happen!" Hildburg turned to face them. "Know then, that I have protection." She opened the oblong bundle. "Here my husband, take your sword. I received it for compensation. Use it to protect us." Stunned, Joerg took the sword from her hands. The Mayor opened his mouth to protest, but then he reconsidered, seeing Joerg's look. Fortunately, the scribe returned now, carrying a small pouch that he handed to the Mayor. "Here is your gold, ninety-six guilders," he said, handing the pouch to Joerg. "Now go! May the Almighty have Mercy on your wretched souls!" He turned to the crowd. "Everybody, back behind the walls! Guards, close all gates, and let nobody leave until the morrow. May it never be said again that we break our word!" He turned, obviously planning to leave the newly wed couple alone. "What about me?" the hooded executioner demanded now. "Where is my pay?" Joerg felt his mouth twitch at the outrageous demand. The Mayor faced the hooded figure. "I shall compensate you for your travel. Here, have this guilder. Your fee is lost though, for there is no execution." "'Tis not fair, Mayor," the hooded man complained, still taking the proffered coin. Hildburg opened the pouch in Joerg's hand and took out two guilders. "Have these, Mister Executioner, and rejoice, for you don't have to perform such grim work on this day!" "Bravely spoken, Hildburg Isebrand," Thorben, under his hood, answered pleasantly. "I shall drive my wagon back to Lubeck. I can take you along for as far as you want." Joerg spoke up for the first time. "That would be helpful, and I thank thee." He turned towards the Mayor. "In a few days, my kin may lay siege to Warnesund. I can write a letter, asking them to leave in peace." The Mayor squinted his eyes. "Why would you do this?" "You spoke justice this afternoon, Mayor, and my quarrel with Warnesund is over." The Mayor thought for a moment. Obviously, he realised for the first time that the surprising turn of events also saved the City from the imminent threat of siege and destruction. He was a little red faced when he answered. "If you feel that way, I accept. Though we do not fear your threat, we rather live in peace." Again, the scribe was sent to bring parchment and a quill, and a while later, Joerg sat down at a makeshift table, to write a message to "My Lord Arnulf". He signed it and pressed the butt of his sword into the hot wax to seal the letter. When he handed the parchment back to the Mayor, he looked at him. "You had better keep those hot heads locked in, tomorrow. We may escape them, but if they find us, you will never see them alive again." The Mayor nodded. "We'll keep the gates closed until noon tomorrow. I can do nothing more." Joerg nodded. "It is enough. Peace, Mayor Albrecht?" Hesitantly, the Mayor took the proffered hand. "Peace." With that, he turned and marched through the gate. With a rumble, the heavy iron grid closed, and then the drawbridge was pulled up. Joerg and Hildburg were alone, while Thorben walked to his wagon, harnessing the horse. Joerg looked at the woman at his side, in her bridal gown, with flowers in her open hair. "By God, Hildburg, but you are beautiful!" he exclaimed. Hildburg looked back at him with doubt in her eyes. "Do you think so?" "Look, Hildburg, there is so much I want to ask you and tell you, but time is pressing. There is but an hour of daylight left, and we need to put distance between ourselves and the City." Hildburg nodded. "It is only sensible," she said. "Joerg, before we leave, you must know why I married you. It was to save my City from your kin's revenge. I also know that you married me only to save your life. If you want to leave me, do it now, please. Once you are gone, they may take me back in. They'll scorn me and ridicule me, but that is better than being left behind later in foreign lands." "Do you wish to be left behind, Hildburg? I could understand that. I must be hateful to you, seeing what I did to you." "I ... I ... don't want to be left behind," she answered, looking down at her feet. "Then, Hildburg, you are my wife; I plighted my troth to you. I shall bring you to my home, and I shall care for you and honour you for as long as I live." Hildburg looked up at him. "There is another reason I claimed you. I told you, you left me a penniless orphan, a maidservant to my uncle. I saved your life today, Joerg Isebrand. In return, I ask for a proper living, at your side." Gently, Joerg touched her face. "Sweet, gentle Hildburg! I told you, I shall care for you and honour you." Hildburg nodded, and he thought he saw a blush creep into her cheeks. "Where can we sleep tonight?" she asked, looking around with trepidation. "Hildburg, we better not sleep at all. It's a clear night, and the moon will be full. We can make at least twenty leagues until the morrow. Are you as hungry as I am?" "I had my last meal at noon. We shan't find anything to eat, tonight." Thorben approached them now, leading the horse by the headgear. "I have food on the wagon. You won't go hungry, Sister." Hildburg stared at the executioner who had pulled the black hood from his head. "Hildburg, my wife, meet my brother Thorben," Joerg sighed. Hildburg looked at Thorben, her eyes wide open. But then, understanding came over her and she looked at Joerg accusingly. "What is this mockery? You had your escape planned already. Why did you have to fool me? I wanted to save the city of my birth from your kin's wrath, and now it was all a sham?" It was Thorben who answered. "You saved many lives today, Sister Hildburg. Without you, there would have been fierce fighting. We have only twenty men with us, against two score of the City. Surely many of them would have died, but also many of ours, too. I may owe you my life, or that of my siblings, and for that, I am grateful." "Thorben is right. I might have got away, but not without much bloodshed. Besides ... having you for my wife does not seem like a bad thing to me." Hildburg's eyes widened. "Why would you want me? I am but an old spinster, and I had nothing to offer but to save your life, and even that was not true." Thorben laughed outright. "Old spinster! Why, you are a comely lass, and if my brother does not feel the same way, he is an ass. Come to think of it, he is an ass, but he'd have to have a quarter moon in his head, not to want you." "As always, my brother speaks truth, in his own, uncouth way," Joerg smiled. "Hildburg, it gladdens me to have you for my wife. With time, we may even forget the dark past. Let us be on our way, though. There will be ample time for us to speak our mind, once we are safely on the road. He helped Hildburg climb into the bed of the wagon and followed her while Thorben took the reins and clucked his tongue. Instantly, the skinny mare began to pull and with squeaking axles, the wagon began to move. They had not come far, and the walls of Warnesund had barely disappeared behind them, when hoof beats could be heard. Instantly, Joerg pulled his sword from the scabbard and gazed through the dusk. There were at least two dozen horsemen, but he knew the three who were in the lead. A smile of relief broke out on Joerg's face. "We're safe, Hildburg. It's the rest of my siblings. They all came for my rescue." Hildburg held on to his arm. "How will they take to me?" For the first time, Joerg put his arm around Hildburg's shoulder and pulled her close. "When they'll hear what you did, they will squeeze you to death," he chuckled. "Don't worry, Hildburg. They are your kin now." The riders were upon them now. Joerg recognised a few of the men as members of Arnulf's own Horse Guard. Nele was the first to jump from the saddle. Her feet barely touched the ground as she ran into Joerg's arms. "Oh, you're safe! We were getting ready to attack, but then, this woman climbed on the scaffold, and they stopped." Nele stopped gushing and looked at the woman in Joerg's arm. "Who is she?" "Nele, my sister, meet my wife Hildburg. She married me on the scaffold and won my life and freedom. Hildburg, this is my youngest sister, Nele. She may not look like it now, but she is the Baroness of Erlenburg." Hildburg tried to curtsey, but Nele left her no chance, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You brave girl! You saved my brother! I'll never forget this, for as long as I'll live." Hildburg was stunned, but the hug did not leave her unmoved. Could this blue-eyed, flaxen haired beauty possibly be one of those feared Isebrand witches she had heard about? She did not have time to ponder the situation, for another woman held Joerg in her arms now, older than Nele, more composed, taller, and definitely more intimidating. The woman faced Hildburg next. "I am Katherine of Nassau. I am eternally grateful to you, for saving my little brother. Come into my arms, Sister!" The hug lacked nothing in feeling, and Hildburg realised that Joerg's siblings indeed accepted her immediately. When the three women separated, Hildburg looked into the eyes of an older, if slightly less tall, copy of her husband. The man held out his hand. "As head of our family, I welcome you, Hildburg Isebrand. May your marriage to my brother be fruitful, and may you live long and happily!" His handshake was forceful, although he visibly checked his strength, but the way he smiled at her was heart warming. Thorben, loath to be left out, whacked Joerg's shoulder. "By Thunder! She is a pretty one. I always told you to pick a girl from the North, didn't I? Those welsche women have no honesty in them." Bjoern harrumphed, but Joerg laughed outright. "You better remember your wife's mother, Thorben! She was from the North all right, and as false as a priest." "Still speaking up against your older brother?" Thorben laughed. "Stop it, you two!" Katherine ordered. "Let's get some horses ready. The moon will be up soon, and we can be in Dassow by the morrow. Can you ride a horse, Hildburg?" Hildburg shook her head miserably. She had rarely ever sat astride a horse, let alone a lively charger, and she was still wearing her bridal gown. Nele rummaged in her pack. "Come, Sister, let us clothe you properly for travelling." She led Hildburg to the side and behind a bush and helped her change into her spare pants. When Hildburg pulled the gown over her head, she stood naked from the waist up for a moment until Nele gave her a warm wool tunic. "You are lovely, Sister. My brother is a lucky man." Hildburg blushed in the dark, not knowing what to say, and Nele chuckled softly. "There is not much modesty when you lead a soldier's life. You'll get used to us, don't worry." They joined the others again. Meanwhile, a man had been brought forward who was bound and gagged. Thorben cut the bindings and pointed to the horse wagon with the scrawny mare. "Have your wagon back, Executioner, and have these two guilders for the loan of your wagon. Now go back to Lubeck, whence you came from, and be loath to cross my path again, for I hate your ilk!" Wordlessly, the executioner climbed his wagon and drove off in easterly direction on the road to Lubeck. "Let Hildburg sit behind me," Nele suggested. "My horse can carry both of us. Either of our spare mounts can barely manage Joerg alone." It was a sensible idea, and a few minutes later, the Isebrands and their followers were mounted and on their way west. "Where are we heading, anyway?" Joerg asked Nele. He was riding alongside her and Hildburg. "Lauenburg. Arnulf and August are shipping our men, and we must head them off." "How many?" Joerg asked. "The Free Saxons, of course, all three companies. August is bringing more foot soldiers and a company of sappers. August is somehow related to the Count of Schwerin. They planned to ask him for assistance." "This is some campaign," Joerg marvelled. "You're our leader, Joerg," Nele said simply. "There is not a man who would not march to the ends of the world for you." Maintaining an easy pace, they travelled on through the moonlit night. Joerg learned more about his siblings' campaign to free him. How Elgitha had witnessed his abduction, and how Nele had forced the truth from Barbara. The next evening, the patrols sent out by August of Nassau had returned empty handed. They had followed the tracks of a wagon right to the border of Rugenberg's lands where they were forced to abandon the pursuit by the Baron's soldiers. Without the possibility to follow the cart tracks, there was no chance of picking up the trail north of Rugenberg's lands. Hurriedly, they had re-organised their pursuit. Rather than trying to follow the elusive wagon, they decided to ride straight for Warnesund, hopefully intercepting Joerg's captors. There was almost a week of delay, however, before they could start for they had brought no weapons and no battle horses to Katherine's wedding. They had to ride back to the Erlenburg first, to arm and equip themselves and to rouse their most trusted men. Meanwhile, Arnulf and August had a formal Letter of Feud composed by the chaplain, and Joerg's brothers had their piece added before the wax seal was attached. While Arnulf and August stayed behind to muster their troops for what looked like a major military operation, the Isebrands had taken to the road with the advance guard, twenty-two of the Free Saxons, to reach Warnesund as quickly as possible. For ten days they travelled twelve hours each day. In Lauenburg, after crossing the River Elbe, they had to put two of their horses to pasture. They were lame, and the riders were in barely better shape. They had hoped to overtake the captors and head them off, but they had not even reached Warnesund when they knew they were too late. Joerg had already been delivered to those of the City, and he was to be tried by Sunday. There was no doubt about the outcome as the Mayor of Warnesund had already sent for an executioner from Lubeck,, as they found out they were able to intercept that man and make him prisoner. They decided then to deliver the Letter of Defiance, to try and scare the citizens into postponing the trial. This had backfired, as nobody knew better than Joerg. Thorben had then volunteered to pose for the captured executioner, to cut Joerg's bindings on the scaffold. They planned to lie in ambush, in a small copse close to the gallows field, at the western gate of the city. Katherine had loaded and readied her precious wheel muskets. The plan was to cut Joerg's bindings, shoot at the Mayor and then use the commotion to charge into the fray, trying to break through to Thorben and Joerg. It was a desperate plan, twenty-four against over forty of the city guard, but the change of the trial date had not left them time for better schemes. They were surprised, of course, when the execution was halted. They were more surprised when a preacher was summoned. They saw that Joerg's shackles were removed and an impromptu wedding ceremony took place. They decided to wait, then. It was not too long, before the town people left Joerg and a blonde woman alone, and when Joerg and the woman rode westward with Thorben, they followed at a distance until they were out of sight from the City. There was other news, too. Barbara of Meiningen had had an accomplice who arranged for Joerg's capture. It was none other than Rugenberg. He had hired the men that were sent to abduct Joerg, and he had provided the knowledge where they would find him, using Barbara to bait the trap. Barbara! For the first time this day, he thought of her. Why had she done this? Had what he had done been so bad? Why this hatred? Then his gaze fell on the shape of Hildburg, sitting behind his sister and trying valiantly to stay awake. His anger at Barbara of Meiningen evaporated. She did not count anymore. He had a wife, a wife he had sworn to care for, a wife who had defied a whole city for him. He steered his horse close to Nele's. "Hildburg, how are you faring?" he asked gently. Hildburg tried to sound upbeat. "I am fine. At least, we don't have to walk." "But you are tired, aren't you?" "A little, yes. I haven't slept the last in the last few nights. There was too much going around in my head." Bjoern had overheard the conversation and reined his horse. "Methinks, it's time for a rest. You must be starved, and I know I'm hungry." "I thought we'd never stop," Thorben commented. "Let's start a fire. I need something hot to drink." They dismounted, and Thorben collected a small pile of firewood. Using flint and a small nodule of iron pyrite, they soon had bivouac fires going. Katherine filled a pot with water from a water bag and put it over their fire. While they were waiting for the water to start boiling, Joerg sat and held Hildburg on his lap. Her head against his chest, she fell asleep, even with the constant banter between Thorben and Katherine going on. Nele sat down next to Joerg and watched the sleeping woman. "She's the right one for you, finally," she commented. "How can you say that?" Joerg asked. Nele smiled. "I see it in your eyes. You never regarded any woman as you do her, not even Ursula." "She is a sweet and brave woman, Nele. Think of it! She stood up against all the people she grew up with, to save my life. This, in spite of what I did to her, all those years ago." "What did you do to the girl?" Katherine asked sharply. "She is the daughter of the Mayor Lauritz. I killed her parents and her brother, back then, I burnt their house and their warehouse, leaving her a penniless orphan. Yet, she spoke no evil word to me." "She must care for you, too," Nele mused. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 26: How Hildburg Isebrand Takes a Bath A half hour later, after drinking hot tea and eating bread and cold meat, they mounted the horses again. There was less talk now, as Joerg and Hildburg were lost in thought. Joerg tried to envision a life with Hildburg. It would be difficult for them; of that, he was certain. She had made it clear that she had claimed him to prevent the carnage in Warnesund that Bjoern had threatened. She had no feelings for him. Yet, he had promised to care for her, to honour her. Just, how much honouring would Hildburg be able to stand? Of course, with Hildburg married to him, he could do as he pleased. She would not be able to fight him off, after all. However, he had never forced himself on a woman, and he would never do it, least of all to this particular woman who had saved his life. Caught in his musings, he barely noticed the faint brightening of the sky behind them. Nevertheless, the dawn came upon them, followed by the watery light of the Northern sun. Hildburg was still clinging bravely to Nele's belt, but the way her head moved, he could tell she was exhausted. Fortunately, when the sun rose higher, the morning mist vanished, and they could see the church steeple of Dassow, just two miles ahead. The sight put some spirit into the weary travellers; even the horses seemed to take heart, and less than a half hour later, they rode into the small settlement. The roadside inn was still there, but it looked more enticing than a decade ago. The window shutters were painted with floral patterns, and the tables bore linen cloths. The wooden floor was swept clean, and the copper pots over the fireplace were gleaming. Joerg did not recognise the rotund woman who showed to greet the first customers of the day, but Birte certainly recognised both Joerg and Hildburg. Her mouth gaped open. "The Lord's mercy on us!" she exclaimed. Her voice finally made them recognise her. Joerg made the connection first. "Birte! Are you..." he caught himself in time. "You are the landlady?" "I have been that for nigh on ten years. That bag of coins that you left me with was quite a dowry, and Henning proposed to me after only one month." Hildburg cleared her throat, and Joerg could feel her uneasiness. Birte must have felt it, too, for she rushed forward. "Maid Hildburg, are you doing well? But why, in God's name ... I mean, you here in Joerg's company?" "Birte, the Maid Hildburg is no more. Meet Hildburg Isebrand, my wife," Joerg stated. He put his arm around Hildburg's waist, and he noted that she did not flinch from his touch. Birte shook her head. "How did that come about? You have to tell me. But do come in! You want me to prepare a breakfast?" "That would be nice, yes," Thorben chuckled. "Tell the landlord to butcher the hog already. We're mighty hungry." Birte stared at the other Isebrands. "My brothers, Thorben and Bjoern, and my sisters, Katherine of Nassau and Nele of Erlenburg," Joerg introduced. "I have told you about Birte." They took care of their horses first, with the help of the stable boy. When that was done, the Isebrands entered the low common room while the men of their entourage took seats on the benches outside. The landlord made his appearance, with a young serving wench, and they were served a breakfast. Joerg smiled at the man. "I see that you kept your word, treating Birte kindly?" "She's the best that ever came into my life," the good man replied with feeling. "Healthy, too, and she gave me five children to this day, three sons and two daughters." Joerg would have made an appreciative remark but he was acutely aware of Hildburg's apprehension. When there was a chance, he pulled her aside and spoke to her in a low voice. "What is it about you and Birte? She only spoke kindly of you, and she said you were kind to her." "It is ... nothing, really. It is just ... she was your ... friend, once. But now, you are my husband. How many of her ilk shall I meet? Women you took to bed, women you may still care for?" Her response bewildered Joerg, to be sure. Was Hildburg jealous of the women in his past? He chose to answer honestly. "Hildburg, there have been women in my past. I was a soldier and never long enough in one place to settle down. I spoke the vows though, yesterday, and you will be the last woman I shall ever lie with." Hildburg blushed crimson. "I asked your sister about your life, last night. She told me about those noblewomen." "They all used me for as long as they had use for me. It was stupid of me, to believe they'd see anything more in me than a strong sword arm, to defend them. "I had a long time to think about it, on the cart, when they were hauling me north. All those noblewomen I met over the years, they never saw me as their equal. They all toyed with me, with perhaps one exemption. "I have come to my senses, Hildburg. I hope that one day, you will stop fearing and hating me. I hope we can build something on the ruins of our former lives. If you will let me, I shall be as good a husband for you as I know how to be." Hildburg had listened to him intently, and the blush never left her cheeks. When he ended, she took a deep breath. "There is much, standing between us, Joerg. I shall try to be a good wife to you, if you will show some patience. It will not come easy to me, but the love and respect from your siblings shows me that you may not be the violent and cruel man I believed you to be." "Hildburg, I did have this terrible temper, this rage that flared up, like a red mist before my eyes. It flared up a number of times, and it always scared me. It has become better, over the years, and I have more control over it. My siblings help me, namely Katherine and Nele." Before Hildburg could respond, Birte was back at the table with a tray, filled with deliciously smelling ham shavings and rye bread. They sat down to eat. The bread was not older than two or three days, and it tasted heavenly to the travellers. Talk was suspended for a while, as they all ate their fill. After that, Joerg and Hildburg were included in the general talk at the table. Katherine was making plans. "So, Brother, we need to head for Lauenburg, to head off Arnulf and August. If they have not arrived yet, we shall leave a few of our men there, to give them the news of your lucky escape." "We should travel on, though," Thorben added. "God knows what Rugenberg will be up to, in our absence." "That neiding is mine to deal with," Joerg said grimly. "I spared his life, back then, when I could have cut him down, and he betrayed me in return." "He is yours," Nele stated calmly. "I shall deal with that traitorous Meiningen woman." "We shall see about that," Joerg answered evasively. "Back to our plans, though. Would you mind stopping over in Lueneburg? I need new clothes, and I want Hildburg dressed as befits my wife." "I don't see why not," Bjoern answered. "We can buy some salt, while we're there." The wealthy Lueneburg was the centre of the salt trade in Northern Germany, with the price of salt sometimes exceeding that of gold, especially in the southern regions. Hildburg spoke up now, not quite sure how she fit into the family council, yet. "I would ask what you mean by being dressed as befits your wife?" Joerg was spared an answer, for Katherine answered for him. "Hildburg, Sister, you are the wife of the Field Captain of the House Erlenburg. You will spend a lot of time attending to duties at Court, or accompanying Arnulf and Nele when they visit neighbouring lands. You need to be dressed for that, even before we arrive in Erlenburg, or even meet Arnulf with his troops." "It's a good thing we brought along some of our gold," Bjoern chimed in. "We thought that perhaps we might buy your freedom from the City. Now we can use some of it to have you clothed." "But I'm still only a burgher's daughter. I was nothing more than a housemaid to my uncle." Nele smiled and took Hildburg's hand in hers. "Up to my eighteenth year, I never saw anything beyond the grass thatched roofs of the neighbours' barns. It was hard learning for all of us, to fit into the world we live in now. At least, you grew up in a wealthy city, a port city. You will do fine." Bjoern emptied his cup of milk. "I say, let's get on the road again. There are still six or seven hours of light. We can easily reach Schoenberg. The tavern there is larger, and we can sleep there, too." When they all rose, Joerg saw that Hildburg flinched. He put his arm around her. "Are you hurting?" "My backside hurts," she responded grimly. "I'm not used to riding horses." "Perhaps, you should try to ride your own horse," Joerg suggested. "Sitting behind Nele all the way to Erlenburg will not work." "But I can't ride!" Hildburg replied, almost in panic. "Don't worry! I shall lead your horse. We can pick an easy pace, and you will learn to ride. There isn't much to it, really. Will you trust me and try?" Hildburg hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded. Outside, Joerg picked a small mare for her and helped Hildburg into the saddle. He adjusted the stirrups for her and then mounted his own horse. True to his word, he led Hildburg's mare by the halter, and over the next hours, he taught her how to sit in the saddle, how to sit out a trot, and lastly, how to control the animal. By late afternoon, when they rode into Schoenberg, Hildburg was not afraid anymore, and the task of learning had distracted her sufficiently from her hurting backside. They found room to sleep in one tavern, with a few of their men. The others had to lodge in a second inn. The inn they were staying in had a bathhouse, with a large wooden tub. As soon as he heard of it, Joerg ordered the landlord to start heating water. For weeks, he had not been able to clean up, and he suffered from fleabite and itchiness. Hildburg turned beet red again when Joerg told her to join him, saying that a hot bath was the best cure for saddle soreness. He led her into the bathhouse where a housemaid was busy filling the tub. It was half full already, and Joerg stripped off his clothes without ado. He pulled a silver coin from his pants and gave it to the housemaid. "Be a good girl and smoke my clothes, to rid them of pests," he said. The young woman barely blinked seeing the naked giant. She just nodded and took the clothes away. With a deep sigh, Joerg sunk into the water. Hildburg was still standing there undecided. "Do come in, Hildburg, you will like it," Joerg told her. With a sigh, Hildburg collected her courage and slipped Nele's tunic over her head. She pushed down her pants, too, and then she stood in her linen shirt, uncertain what to do. Joerg recognised her insecurity. "Don't be afraid, Hildburg. Take off that shirt and join me." With another deep breath, Hildburg pulled the shirt over her head and, covering her breasts and her pubes with her hands and arms, she stepped up to the tub. Joerg reached out and offered his hand to support her as she stepped into the water. She sat down quickly, trying to get her whole body under the water. A moment later, the maid was back again, with another large kettle of hot water. She poured it into the tub and handed a bar of homemade soap to Hildburg. Joerg took the soap from her hands. "Turn your back to me, Hildburg, and open your hair; I'll wash it for you." "Why would you do that?" Hildburg asked, almost shocked. "So that you will agree to wash mine, when I'm finished," Joerg chuckled. "There's a comb, too. We'll both look better once we get the tangles out." Somehow, Hildburg accepted his reasoning. She sat with her back to him and opened her braid. Doing this, she had both hands on her head, and Joerg had his first good look at Hildburg's breasts. They were firm and stood high on her chest, like a young girl's. Her skin was white and creamy, with just a small sprinkle of freckles on her shoulders and upper chest. Her neck was graceful, too, and her arms were both slender and muscular. Hildburg was a fine looking woman. Another part of him noticed that, too. Before he realised it, his member stood out stiffly under the water. He curbed his desire, though. If he ever wanted to earn her trust, he would have to be cautious and not scare her. With both hands, he scooped water over Hildburg's head, soaking her hair. Taking the soap, he lathered up her long tresses. He spent a long time, massaging her scalp with his soapy fingers, and gradually, he felt the tension leave her body. She even sighed a few times, under his ministrations. "Lean back," he told her. Supporting her back with his flat hand, he held her so that her hair was immersed in the water. With his free hand, he rinsed the soap from the hair. That done, he took the comb and started to untangle her hair, starting low, at the tips of the long tresses, and working his way up. When he was finished, Hildburg turned around to face him, and she even had a friendly smile on her face. "Thank you," the smiling face said. "I believe it is my turn now." Joerg scooted forward, to make room between his back and the wall of the tub. It was inevitable that he lifted his midsection slightly, and Hildburg gasped when she saw his stiff member. He saw apprehension in her eyes. "Sssh! Don't fear, Hildburg. I shall not do anything to you." "But you are ... stiff! Doesn't that mean that you want to mount me?" "Yes, I'm stiff. I cannot help it, Hildburg. You are so beautiful. I swear, though, I shall not take you before you are ready for me. I know you aren't yet. Just go on and wash my hair, and we'll dress again for supper." "Do you really find me beautiful?" she asked dubiously. "I'm just an old spinster..." "Hildburg, you are beautiful. I swear, you look like a young girl. I love your creamy skin, your slender neck, your wonderful bosom, and your trim waist. I love to see your face, too, when fears and worries are gone. I hope that one day, you will not fear me anymore." Hildburg took a deep breath, and the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "Once I've washed your hair and got the tangles out, perhaps you will not look so fearsome anymore." With that, she moved behind him. To help her, Joerg submerged his head in the water and sat back again. Hesitantly at first, Hildburg lathered up his hair with the soap bar. She massaged his scalp, too, and Joerg groaned with the pleasure. "That feels so good!" he sighed. "Simple pleasures, Brother," Katherine commented from the door of the bathhouse. "I see that you are trying to make a human being of him?" Hildburg let go of Joerg's head and tried to cover herself while she gaped at the tall, naked woman who had no qualms stepping into the large tub with her brother and his wife. She saw some scars on Katherine's torso which looked like old sword wounds, but the lean, muscled body was a spectacular sight. Joerg dunked his head under the water again, to wash out the soap. When he emerged again, he gave Hildburg the comb. Flustered, she began to pull the tangles from his curly, reddish mane, and to pluck a few lice eggs from the roots of his hairs. The maid came with another bucket of hot water which she poured into the tub. When she left, the door opened again, and three more Isebrands entered. Hildburg tried to hide behind Joerg, when she saw that Bjoern and Thorben were naked already. Unconcerned, they stepped into the hot water, pushing Joerg to the side. "Make room, Joerg!" another voice sounded behind his head. He smiled up into Nele's face, offering his hand. Nele lowered herself into the water gracefully and uttered a deep sigh. "Will you do my hair, Joerg?" she pleaded. Joerg turned to Hildburg and saw that she was beet red. "Hildburg, we have been travelling together for many years. There is nothing we hide from each other, and there is nothing you have to hide." "If you mind Joerg washing my hair, will you do it?" Nele asked. "I can do it, if you want," Hildburg answered in a low voice. "Move out of the way, Joerg," Nele laughed, pushing him away from Hildburg. With a contented sigh, she let Hildburg soap her hair. "Keep her, she is good," she told Joerg with a wink of her eye. "Behave, Nele," Bjoern admonished her. "Hildburg is new to our ways. She needs time to learn that you are jesting when you talk like that." Nele turned. "Hildburg, don't mind my teasing! I like you already, or I would not make fun of you and Joerg." Hildburg could not resist and smiled back. "I don't mind the fun. Being naked with all of you will take some time to get used to, but I like making fun." "Why would you mind being naked in the bath?" Nele asked. "You have the prettiest titties I have ever seen." "If you don't stop this, I'll take that soap and wash your mouth!" Bjoern growled. Nele laughed unconcernedly. "Never have fear of my brothers. They could never hurt a pretty woman, or any woman, for that matter. They just like to growl and grumble, but it's all thunder and no lightning." "You're not too old to get a spanking," Thorben warned, but there was laughter in his voice. "Behave yourselves, all of you!" Katherine commanded in a stern voice. "I can't believe sometimes that you are grown men. Get out now, you men, and leave us womenfolk some peace." "She's right, I'm getting hungry," Joerg laughed. Before he stood, however, he took Hildburg's face in his hands and kissed her. It was a short, but forceful kiss. Hildburg squealed a little, and she was breathing hard when Joerg jumped from the tub, splattering water everywhere. Linen cloths were ready for them, and he dried himself, same as Bjoern and Thorben. Hearing the commotion, the housemaid came running with Joerg's clothing. It smelled strongly of smoke, but at least, he could be sure to be rid of the fleas and lice. His body was still covered with fleabites, but those could heal now. He sat in the common room with his brothers, waiting for the women to make their appearance. They were drinking ale, to pass the time, a rare pleasure. When the women finally entered, Joerg had to suppress a whistle of appreciation. Katherine and Nele had combed Hildburg's hair some more, and it fell down over her back like a golden cascade. Joerg realised that fate had given him a beautiful wife. He stood immediately and helped Hildburg sit down on their bench. "You do look lovely, Hildburg," he complimented her and elicited a blush on his wife's side. "She cleans up nicely, no doubt," Thorben concurred, grinning at his brother's wife. "I can't wait for Gudrun to meet you. She'll love you." "I thank you all, for making me feel welcome," Hildburg began. "Say nothing of it, Sister," Bjoern interrupted her. "You are close kin now, to all of us. Each of us would give his life for you. Just get used to it." "I thank you anyway," Hildburg insisted. The food came, and the Erlenburg household soldiers joined them at the large table. Hildburg was flustered when, one after the other, those grim looking soldiers bowed before her and wished her a long and happy marriage, health, and many children. Thorben grinned at her predicament; he had told the men to treat Hildburg with all the respect due to her husband. Hildburg still seemed slightly dazed when she and Joerg climbed up the narrow wooden stairs to their sleeping chamber. It was small, just four by eight feet, but there was a sleeping alcove to the side, with a heavy curtain, to keep them warm. With increasing nervousness, Hildburg took off tunic and pants and stood in her shirt, unsure what to do. Joerg quickly stripped to his shirt, too. Smelling at the fabric, he made a face. It still smelled strongly of smoke. With a shrug, he pulled it over his head, too, and stood naked before Hildburg. "Let's turn in," he told her, holding the curtain to the alcove open. With a resigned sigh, Hildburg climbed through the opening. The bedding smelled fresh, at least, and Hildburg lay as close to the rear wall as possible when Joerg joined her. He blew out the candle and closed the curtain before he lay back. Hildburg flinched noticeably when their shoulders touched. There was no way to avoid each other in the narrow alcove; Joerg was just too big. He could not even stretch out in the bed, with his long limbs. He noticed her discomfiture immediately. "Don't worry, Hildburg. We'll just sleep. I will not force myself upon you, ever. That much I owe you for my life." "How can we ever have children, if you won't touch me?" Hildburg asked, confused. "Do you want children?" Joerg asked softly. He could feel her emphatic nod before he heard her low voice. "Yes. All those years, I hoped to have children, once." "Once we have arrived at my home, and once you have settled in and feel comfortable, just tell me when you are ready. I will have patience with you, as much as you need." They lay silently for a moment while Hildburg processed his words. "You make it hard for me to keep hating you, Joerg," she finally said in a soft voice. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 27: How the Isebrands Get a Head Ache Hildburg Isebrand woke with a start. Her eyes, accustomed to the pitch black of the night, made out the faint grey that filtered through the heavy curtains. With an effort, she recalled where she was, in a tavern in Schoenberg, in the alcove of a sleeping chamber. She was feeling warm and relaxed, her back snuggled comfortably against her husband's front, and she felt his maleness press into the cleft of her behind. She felt his even breathing at the skin of her neck, moving a few loose strands of her hair and tickling her skin lightly. She almost purred in her delight. A heartbeat later, guilt washed over her. She was lying in the arms of the ferocious beast she had felt compelled to marry. This had been her sacrifice, for the city of her birth, to atone for her parents' fateful wrongdoing. She was not supposed to feel warm and cosy in his arms. She was certainly not supposed to press her backside lewdly against his stiff member. She was not supposed to have sinful thoughts about that man! "Are you awake, my wife?" She almost jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound, and she felt the soothing touch of his hand on her shoulder. "Ssh! I didn't mean to frighten you. You were cold in the night, so I took you in my arms, to warm you. Does that bother you?" Hildburg shook her head and freed herself from his arm. She sat up and looked down at the face of the huge man at her side. "No and yes," she answered. "I am confused. I am not bothered by your closeness, by your embrace, and that bothers me. I thought I was making the ultimate sacrifice by marrying you, to save Warnesund from the destruction your siblings would have wrought if the Mayor had you beheaded. But now, it does not feel like a sacrifice anymore. Your brothers and sisters have shown me so much kindness, and you, of all people, have been caring and kind to me. This bothers me! It's not a sacrifice when I feel warm and cared for. But if it's not a sacrifice, it is sinful. You murdered my family! I must not feel what I feel in your arms!" "Would you rather we treated you harshly, Hildburg?" Joerg asked softly. "Would you that I threw you on the floor, to have my way with you by brute force?" "I would hate that, but it would lessen my guilt." She stared at him intently. "You asked me, yesterday, if there was something between Birte and me. I lied. There is something. She had you when I couldn't. I was jealous of her, and I still am. I felt for you, strongly, when I saw you visiting my father, accompanying your lieu tenant. I cried bitter tears when I thought you had been killed in the market place, with all the others. I hated my parents, believing that they had you killed. And then, when you came to kill them, you left me behind, to escape with Birte!" Joerg sat up, too, looking at her incredulously. "You felt for me? Hildburg, whenever I spoke to you, you averted your face. I thought you scorned me, I thought you were aloof." "Aloof? Me? I was shy and tongue tied whenever I saw you, and I felt rejected whenever you picked up Birte and took her to the storage room. I saw that, and it tore my soul apart!" Joerg covered his face with his hands and groaned. His voice was muffled when he answered. "I had no idea, believe me. I fancied you, when I first saw you, but you would barely speak to me. I was young and stupid, and I took the easy road with Birte. What a mess!" "You fancied me?" "Of course! You were so pretty, it made my heart stop!" He stopped and looked at her. "Hildburg, we did not have a chance, back then. Think of it! Would your father have allowed me to court you? Me, an uncouth landsknecht? The third son of a freeholder peasant? Never!" Hildburg looked dismayed. "Of course, you're right. It was fruitless," she said dejectedly. She flinched when he held up her face by her chin. "It was, but it isn't now. The way things turned out, as bad as they were, was the only way for us to ever be together. We are man and wife now. Give us a little more time, to get to know each other. I care for you already. I can see how this will be more difficult for you. I will be patient. I only ask you to try to see me, not the 'Butcher of Warnesund'. That man does not really exist. Will you try to see me as I am?" "I have to, I think," she replied. She gave him a twisted smile. "I gave my vow, too." "And will you allow me to keep you warm in cold nights?" Again, Hildburg stared at him, trying to read his face. It was difficult, with the long curly hair and the bushy beard which covered most of his features, giving him a savage look. "Will you please have your hair and beard trimmed? I can hardly see your face. How can I get to know you when all I see is hair?" Joerg smiled at her. "That is but a small sacrifice to please my Lady. Do you want to do it? I have seen a scissors on the linen trunk outside. Let me get it." He was out of the alcove in a heartbeat. He returned immediately, pulling open the curtain. It was getting light, outside. He proffered her the scissors and sat on a stool. Accepting the challenge, Hildburg rose, too, and, taking the scissors, she stood behind Joerg. She took the comb, first, bringing order into his sleep-tousled hair. Then, she gauged the length she had to cut off, planning to leave his hair at almost shoulder length. She saw him flinch a little, when the first strands of hair floated to the floor, and she had to smile. He showed her trust with this, she realised. Carefully, she continued to shorten his curly mane. When the length was right, three fingers below his chin line, she thinned the remaining hair, as her aunt had taught her. When she was satisfied, she combed out the hair once more. Next, she started to trim his beard. She decided to trim the length to two finger widths, using her own fingers as measure. When she started on the long, braided moustache, he took a deep breath, but he held still, as she trimmed the moustache to one finger width. Finished, she stood before him, hands on her hips, and examining her handiwork. He looked so much better, and less fearsome. With a pang of guilt, she realised that his wild outward appearance had indeed been intended to induce fear. He was a soldier, after all. She shrugged. What was done was done. There was still enough about him to be scary, she thought. Like that awe inspiring thing that stiffly pointed at her, from his groin. She looked at it with newly formed interest. "Does it ever go soft?" she asked, pointing at his member. Joerg smiled at her. "Not when you stand in front of me in just a shirt." "You mean, you feel desire for me?" she asked. "It is obvious, isn't it," he smiled wryly. "We had better dress, pretty wife of mine. Bjoern will be anxious to get started." "Who of you is the leader?" Hildburg asked. "Each of you seems to be in charge." Joerg laughed. "Bjoern is the head of our family. By rights, I should have obtained his approval, before I married you. In military matters, I am, for I have been a soldier longer than the others. When we organise matters, like billeting or victualling, that is where Thorben is in the lead, for he is good at this. In difficult decisions, we tend to listen to Katherine, for she is the smartest of us, and a good soldier to boot. And in all matters, we listen to Nele, for we all love her and try to please her." Hildburg shook her head. "This is all confusing to me. Where do I fit in?" "You grew up a merchant's daughter. Now that we own lands and have tenants, we can use your knowledge of trading for our advantage." Hildburg shook her head in dismay. "I was never allowed to meddle in the men's affairs. I know how to embroider and how to make lace, I learned how to launder linen and wool, how to mend and patch." Joerg took hold of her hand. "Then you will be perfect to oversee my house, and make sure that the servants do all those tasks right. Don't worry about such matters too much. Now dress, before temptation overcomes my consideration." The smile was on Hildburg's face without her being aware of it. She actually felt pride that Joerg was obviously attracted to her. They both dressed, and Hildburg's lifted mood continued all through breakfast, causing amused grins from her husband's siblings. The bath of the evening before had helped to alleviate the pain in her legs, but when she mounted her mare again, she realised that her backside was still tender. The easy pace they adopted was helpful, though, and Hildburg began to find enjoyment in riding her horse. By evening, they reached Ratzeburg, and Hildburg admired the tall cathedral. Travelling with twenty armed men, the Isebrands saw fit to announce their presence to the Count of Ratzeburg and to ask for his leave to spend the night. Hearing that the Countess of Nassau and the Baroness of Erlenburg were visiting, the Count invited them to a hastily arranged dinner. Fortunately, they found a trader in clothing, to replace Joerg's badly damaged coat and trousers, and to find a dress for Hildburg. Nele and Katherine had brought appropriate dresses, and they looked noble enough, marching into the Count's great hall, on the arms of their older brothers. After introductions were made, the Count wanted to hear all about the events in Warnesund. He was very relieved that the affair had played out without bloodshed. Next, they had to recount the Sack of Rome. The Count, a stout Lutheran, took great delight in hearing about the humiliation the Cardinals and other church princes had suffered, and he ordered more and better wine be brought from the cellars, to toast the valiant people who had reduced the "Roman Whore", as Protestants had come to call the Holy Sea. The Isebrands were not used to heavy imbibing, and needless to say, neither was Hildburg. She needed help from Joerg to get to her room that night, and to undress. In her state of drunkenness, she snuggled into his arms for the night without thinking of it. Joerg made her drink lots of fresh water on the next morning, when Hildburg woke up with a head fit to burst. She had no stomach for the offered breakfast, and it was still early when the Isebrands and their entourage left Ratzeburg with bleary eyes and hurting heads. It was a seven-hour ride to Lauenburg. The duchy of Lauenburg was important since it controlled the channel that connected the River Elbe with Lubeck and the Baltic Sea. Due to Lauenburg's importance in trade, there were several inns to choose from. First, however, Thorben and Nele rode to the river quay to inquire whether Arnulf had arrived already. Indeed, scarcely a half hour had passed when they returned with a group of riders. The man in the lead who rode at Nele's side was easily identifiable as nobleman by his costly clothing and the coat of arms on his cloak. He jumped off his horse, and to Hildburg's astonishment, wrapped Joerg in a bear hug. "Thank the Almighty, you are free!" he exclaimed. "I had feared the worst, and I came prepared for bloody retribution." Joerg grinned at his lord. "I am grateful, too, for this turn of events. The lucky outcome is owed to this brave woman. My Lord Arnulf, this is my wife, Hildburg." The nobleman's eyes rested on Hildburg with appreciation. He laughed at Joerg. "Fate is your friend, Brother Joerg! Imagine it had been an old hag who claimed you!" The men laughed when Joerg showed a blush. Arnulf of Erlenburg turned to Hildburg. "I thank thee, fair Hildburg, for saving my wife's brother and my dear friend and brother in arms. By my troth, a fairer guardian angel no warrior can ask for! You will be welcome to my lands, and I hope you will grace my hall on many a happy occasion!" That was indeed a most cordial greeting. Hildburg blushed again. "I thank you for your kind greeting, Lord Arnulf. I married my husband to forestall the bloodshed I feared. I knew his kin would come to avenge him, yet the Mayor would not relent. Now that I am married, I find that my perceived sacrifice is anything but. I ask you to be lenient with a simple burger's daughter who has yet to learn the ways of nobility." "Bravely spoken, fair Hildburg! Joerg, I like your wife already! Let us return to our lodgings then. I want to raise my glass to the newly wedded couple!" The response to this was a multiple groan. Bjoern spoke up to explain. "My Lord Arnulf, the Count of Ratzeburg offered his hospitality yesterday, and a gracious and generous host he was, and with well stocked cellars. I ask your leave tonight, for we are not used to wines and spirits as that fine nobleman is for sure." "Aching heads?" Arnulf grinned. "You, too, sweet Nele?" Nele gave him a wry grin. "Don't make me drink anything tonight, not if you want to have the benefits of marriage!" Arnulf threw up his hands. "Say no more, I desist," he laughed. "But a hearty supper should stand us well." "Where is August?" Katherine asked, looking around. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear Katherine," Arnulf hastened. "Your husband has a keen sense of tactics, far better developed than mine, I fear. He pointed out, quite sensibly, that leaving our lands without protection might just be what Rugenberg was hoping for. August marched his men and siege train to surround Rugenberg's castle. I expect by this time, Rugenberg and his men will be eating their last horse." Katherine smiled. "That will serve the neiding quite right. I picked a smart husband," she added, chuckling. "We have agreed to divide his lands up," Arnulf continued. "Brother Joerg, how do you fancy being my Vogt on Castle Epstein?" Epstein was Rugenberg's family seat, and it controlled the eastern part of his lands which neighboured the Erlenburg domains. "I shall like that fine, my Lord Arnulf. We have to take Epstein first, haven't we?" "We both imagined that you would like to take part in that, or if we came too late, that your brothers would want to exact retribution on the traitor." "I thank thee, my Lord and Master, for the consideration," Jorg answered grittily. "Let us hasten homeward, then. Tomorrow, I shall give orders to the Captain Bruno, to lead our men back home. I expect the loot in Epstein to cover the expenditures we incurred." They rode to a large inn then, the Fischerhaus, where Arnulf lodged. They were able to find room for the Isebrands there, and they all went to their sleeping chambers while the servants of the inn looked after their horses. For the supper, Hildburg wore the dress in which she had graced the Count of Ratzeburg's table, the evening before, and again, Arnulf complimented her. They restricted themselves to one goblet of wine each. Thus, when they went up to their bedchamber, they were in merry mood, but far from being drunk. This evening, Hildburg took off her dress without showing any concern. Joerg was wearing his new shirt to bed, making the sleeping arrangements even less awkward. They both settled under the wool blanket and when Joerg blew out the candle, Hildburg turned her backside to him and moved closer. "I'm a little cold. Could you warm me up?" she asked, with just a trace of coyness in her voice. "It will be my pleasure," Joerg chuckled. He put both his arms around her from behind and pulled her close. She felt his warm, hard muscled body against her back, and she could not help but sigh contentedly. He chuckled again. "I know it's not right, but it feels good," she answered his unspoken taunt. "That will be my task for the future, to make you feel good," he whispered in her ear. His words, spoken close to her ear, made her shiver slightly, and goose bumps rose on her skin. She felt her nipples tighten, and she was sure they were erect and distended. "How did you like Arnulf?" he asked in a low voice. She thought for a moment, trying to answer honestly. "He is nice and courteous. He is not like I always thought noblemen to be." "That he is. He is the best man I ever met, outside my family, maybe excepting my first lord. The Count of Merseburg had that honesty, too." "He also adores your sister, I mean Arnulf." "He does. I think he was smitten with her the first time he saw her. Well, who wouldn't be?" "You love her, too, don't you?" "Nele? Yes, she embodies all that is good about our family. She is smart, without Katherine's sombreness. She is playful, without Thorben's crudeness. She is dignified, without Bjoern's surliness. And she is brave beyond imagination, without my terrible rages." "It's a good thing she is your sister. Else, I might be jealous." "I like that. Be jealous, Hildburg, if that means you see me as yours." "I'm still confused." "Who wouldn't be?" "The confusion is getting worse, though. I feel like I'm losing all control over my life, like the world is spinning around me." "You should abstain from wine, then?" "You know what I'm speaking of." "Yes, I do. Let us sleep, though, for we shall travel again tomorrow. Hildburg, will you kiss me Good Night?" Hildburg froze. Could she? Perhaps it was her duty, as his wife? Then she realised that she was looking for excuses to kiss him, that she desperately wanted to feel his lips on hers. She heaved a deep sigh and turned to face Joerg. She felt his hand on her cheek, and then, his lips touched her mouth. They lingered for just a few heartbeats, but she felt the touch for a while after, while she waited for sleep. It was fortunate that the long ride had exhausted her, otherwise her whirling thoughts would have kept her awake. The ferry master needed four trips to bring them across the river with their horses, and it was mid-morning, before they started for Lueneburg. Arnulf and Nele rode in front, and the people stared at the woman who wore rich soldier's clothes. They made good for the delay once they were on the road, and they reached Lueneburg by late afternoon. Hildburg was tired, but not as terribly as on the first days. She was used to hard work, her body was toned by the exertions, and it only needed little time to adapt to the unaccustomed exercise of riding a horse. That evening, after a quiet supper in the common room of a large inn, she kissed Joerg Good Night on her own accord, before she snuggled against him for the night. They stayed in Lueneburg for three days, to make the purchases they wanted. Four dresses were made for Hildburg, and two sets of pants, tunics and vests for travelling. Joerg also had two sets made for himself, the vests made of moleskin, and the pants of soft deer leather. The shoemaker was daunted by the rush order of two sets of boots, but when they left, four days after their arrival, they were dressed properly. To Hildburg's surprise, Bjoern and Thorben had visited a barbershop in Lueneburg, and they had their hair and beards trimmed in similar fashion as Joerg's. When she asked, Thorben laughed and told her that his wife Gudrun had been haranguing him for a while, to trim the abundant growth around his face. He had refused, fearing Joerg's taunts. That hindrance removed, he had thought to give his wife a pleasant surprise. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 28: How Hildburg Isebrand Feels Too Good Over the next two weeks, the days merged into an endless repetition of events. They got up with sunrise, had a breakfast in the tavern they were staying in, and took the road. In the evenings, they would have supper in the next tavern, and fall into their beds, exhausted. Finally, on the evening of a nasty day of travelling - it had rained incessantly - Joerg told her that they would reach Erlenburg lands the next day, Lauheim to be precise, Bjoern's fiefdom. The news was meant to give her encouragement, but Hildburg also felt apprehension. Soon, she would have to play a role nobody had ever prepared her for: that of the wife of a feudal office holder. Nevertheless, they started out on the next morning for another dreary day of wet clothes and muddy roads. By mid-afternoon, Joerg pointed ahead. "See, up there? That's Lauheim castle already. We're almost at home. I suppose, we can make it to the Erlenburg, before nightfall." Hildburg nodded mutely. She was cold and miserable. Truth be told, she was hungry, too, and now they had to ride on for another two or three hours. There was a way cross ahead, and Bjoern rode up. "I'll take my men and ride to Lauheim. I shall join you all in the Erlenburg tomorrow." "Godspeed, Brother," Joerg retorted. "Don't go and kill Rugenheim without me," Bjoern laughed and kicked the flanks of his horse. He was followed by seven of the soldiers, and they soon disappeared in the drizzle ahead. The rest of the group pressed on for another two hours. Somehow, the tired horses felt the end of the journey. Even Hildburg could feel the gait of her mare getting longer with each passing mile, while she herself felt exhaustion creep up to her. Finally, finally, there was a hill looming ahead, and perched on top of it, a strongly built castle. Two of the entourage had hurried ahead, to forewarn the castle of the arrival of the Lord Arnulf. Indeed, when the tired travellers rode over the drawbridge, helpful hands guided the horses while other servants helped Nele and Hildburg off their horses, offering them dry blankets. Joerg dismounted quickly, too, and he led Hildburg up the stairs to the entrance of the main building. There was Arnulf, too. "Quick, Joerg! Get in and have her changed out of the wet clothing! The bath house is ready. Come down at once, lest poor Hildburg freezes to death." Joerg led her up two flights of stairs and into a small suite of two rooms. He explained that, as Arnulf's Field Captain, he had permanent quarters in the Erlenburg. A maid was waiting for them who helped Hildburg shed her soaked clothes and wrapped her in a soft, wool blanket. Meanwhile, Joerg had dropped his waterlogged clothes, too, and he took another blanket, to cover hisself. Taking Hildburg by her hand, he led her down another spiral staircase. She counted three storeys before he opened a low door that led into a candle lit room that was filled with steam. A huge stone bathtub stood in one corner of the room, and Hildburg saw that it sat atop a fire place which vented into a closed chimney. She saw the glow of wood and coal, and the water in the tub was covered by steam. Again, a maid stood waiting, and she took their blankets to lay them aside. Without further ado, Joerg led Hildburg into the tub. She almost jumped out of the water when she realised how hot it was. "You're nigh on frozen, that's why it feels so hot," Joerg explained. He simply sat down with a great big groan of satisfaction. Voices could be heard from the stairwell, and Hildburg sat down hastily, too. The water was so hot! Gradually, however, the feeling subsided. Her skin prickled at first, but then, the warmth of the bath seeped through her cold and aching limbs, and she relaxed. Thorben entered next. With him was a dark haired woman. She was slender and small, even smaller than Hildburg, and it was clear by the way Thorben looked at her that this had to be Gudrun, his wife. Hildburg started to rise, to greet her new kinswoman, but she realised in time that she was naked, and she stayed submerged. Gudrun took off the blanket she wore and pulled away Torben's, laughing at him. A moment later, Hildburg knew the reason for her laugh. Thorben's member was erect and swollen. The way Gudrun swayed her hips in front of him gave Hildburg an idea of the reason for Thorben's predicament. Quickly, both Thorben and Gudrun climbed into the tub. "Gudrun, please meet our new kinswoman, Hildburg, Joerg's wife and saviour." Gudrun offered a warm smile. "Welcome to the Erlenburg! I hope we will be friends, soon." "I hope that, too," Hildburg answered, mustering a friendly smile, in spite of the tiredness she began to feel. The tiredness was compounded by the hot water. "Don't expect Nele to join us," Gudrun giggled. "She is with Little Gøtz." Little Gøtz, as Hildburg had learned, was Nele's and Arnulf's firstborn, named in deference to Arnulf's older brother. Hildburg felt relief. She was not quite ready to share the bathtub with Nele's husband. It was tough enough for her with Joerg's siblings. "I suspect she will spend time with Little Arnulf, too," Thorben laughed. Promptly, Gudrun smacked his head. He laughed even harder and submerged himself in the steaming water. "Ahh, this is heavenly, after a day out in the rain!" Thorben exclaimed. "A loving wife and a hot bath; even paradise cannot be better." "He named you first, Gudrun," Joerg laughed. "You must have offered him a special welcome." Gudrun laughed, unconcerned. "I shall be worried the day he goes to the bath first," she retorted, only to squeal. She looked at Thorben with mock indignation. "Behave, Dutch beggar! What will Hildburg think of us?" "If she takes you for an example, I will have a very happy brother," Thorben answered. Hildburg blushed deeply, when she understood the meaning. The men and women of this family spoke of those matters so freely! Suddenly, she felt a hand on hers, under the water. Joerg held her reassuringly. It was uncanny that this ferocious man was so sensitive to her misgivings. Suddenly, Hildburg became aware of the implications of their arrival. This night, they would sleep in a regular bedchamber, a bedchamber that was her husband's. This night, he would expect her to fulfil her wifely duties. Her heart beat wildly at the thought. Part of her was terrified, not only because of the physical act, but because of the perceived impropriety. A different part of her, a part that became stronger and stronger with each day, wanted to consume the marriage. Her reasoning on the surface was that she was twenty-five years of age, and she'd be twenty-six soon. It was time for her to have children. If she was honest with herself, however, and this was not easy, she also wanted to find out if this new personality she had discovered in Joerg, the gentle and caring side, would hold true under the blankets. In spite of those uneasy thoughts, she felt much better after the bath. It felt good to be rubbed dry by the maid and wrapped in her blanket. It felt good when the maid fussed around her, helping her to get dressed for the supper. Somehow, it also helped that Joerg, after dressing himself, put his arm around her waist to guide her downstairs and into the great hall. Hildburg had spent her youth in the rich burgers' homes of a Hanse City. Nevertheless, she was impressed by the grandeur of the Great Hall of the Erlenburg. The high walls were decorated with weapons, coats of arms, and some precious tapestries. A large table stood on a dais, obviously meant for the Barons and their families. A lower table was joined, and Hildburg guessed at least thirty people sitting already. She was surprised when Joerg led her up the two steps to the dais, but she quickly realised that Joerg was the Baroness' brother and an important part of the Baron's power structure. The table was laid with a fine cloth, and the plates and goblets were of decorated pewter. It was a finely laid table, by whatever standards. Joerg helped her sit on a chair, only a few seats to the left from the upholstered chairs for the Baron and his wife. A servant, the cellarer Hildburg guessed, came with a tankard of ale and a jug of wine, but Hildburg noticed that Joerg declined and asked for water. She realised that he drank wine only if dictated by courtesy, and she knew that this would take a big burden from her future life. Her uncle had been a heavy drinker, and before the stroke hit him, Hildburg and her aunt had had to drag him upstairs and into bed on frequent occasions. Suddenly, the people in the hall were shuffling to their feet. Joerg helped Hildburg stand, too, and she saw that Arnulf and Nele entered the Hall. What a difference! Nele was wearing a deep blue, moleskin dress that contrasted beautifully with the flaxen hair that flowed freely over her shoulders. Her husband wore a short jacket of prescious, scarlet moleskin, with gold buttons, and a hat of the same material which complemented his wavy, dark hair. They were a fitting pair, no doubt. "Be seated, my friends, and be merry!" Arnulf spoke up. "For tonight, my brother Joerg is with us again. He did not return alone, though. At his side is his wife Hildburg who will grace my table henceforth. Know you all that she is of my family." The last sentence was spoken with special emphasis, and Hildburg looked at Joerg for explanation. "It means, they all will obey you as if Arnulf himself had given an order," he said under his breath. Arnulf continued, raising his glass. "The first goblet, tonight, shall be quaffed to the health of Joerg and Hildburg Isebrand. May they live long, in good health and in harmony, and may they be graced by numerous offspring!" The hall erupted in shouted well wishing from the servants and soldiers. Again, Joerg stood. After helping Hildburg to her feet, he waved at the people in the hall and raised his goblet to them. Hildburg had to grin, knowing that it held clear water. "I thank you, my Lord and Brother Arnulf, and I thank you, valiant and respected men and lovely women. I feel blessed, indeed, to have found a wife, both brave and beautiful!" The food served for dinner was opulent, in Hildburg's view. Venison and beef were prominent, and they were served as pastries, mostly. She ate sparingly, nonetheless, following Joerg's example. Once more, she was astounded at the moderation the tall man showed at the table. He drank large quantities of fresh water, but he accepted wine only once, when they drank the customary toast to Arnulf and Nele. Hildburg's apprehension increased when, after the supper, Joerg led her upstairs for the night. The maidservant showed immediately and helped Hildburg to undress. With gratitude, Hildburg noticed that the girl had warmed the bed with a hot stone while they were at supper. The duvet was filled generously with feathers and downs, and the mattress was filled with horsehair, infinitely more soft than straw mattresses. Some of Hildburg's tensions receded in the comfort of the bed. She watched Joerg as he undressed, after the maid had left. His muscles rippled under the skin when he pulled the fine shirt over his head, opting for a simple, old one, for the night. Hildburg marvelled how a man with such a powerful body could be so gentle in his embrace. Very soon, he would claim her maidenhood, she knew. From all Hildburg had heard, this would be quite painful, and the size of Joerg's member did nothing to assuage her concern. Yet, without it, she would never know motherhood, and she would be regarded as barren. Hildburg steeled herself. Better, to get it over with. When Joerg was ready and approached the bed, Hildburg sat up. "My husband, we have reached your home. Will you claim me as your wife, tonight?" Joerg showed his surprise, and for a moment, Hildburg felt shame. 'He doesn't want me!' shot through her head. "Are you ready, Hildburg?" he asked gently. She nodded, trying to maintain a brave facade. "I want to have children," she said. "From me?" he asked. Here, she had to smile. "It must be you, Joerg. What man would dare touch me, the wife of the Butcher of Warnesund?" It looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded. "If it is your will, I shall make you mine tonight." He took off his shirt, again, and Hildburg swallowed, seeing his exposed manhood. It had swollen to stiffness already and stood out from his muscular body, pointing at her. "Hildburg, will you take off your shirt, please?" Joerg words penetrated her brain. "You are so beautiful, and I would love to see you naked." Heaving a deep breath, Hildburg complied and pulled the shirt over her head. Joerg sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her cheek with his right hand. "Are you afraid of this?" he asked gently. "A little. I was told, it hurts terribly." "I have done this before, Hildburg. If it's done right, if we take our time getting you ready, it will not hurt you much. Whenever you feel the pain is too much, just tell me. Hurting you is the last I ever want to do." Hildburg looked at Joerg. "Thank you, I shall trust you." His hand wandered down from her cheek, down her neck, and along her shoulders, caressing her skin with it's soft touch. Lifting the duvet, he joined her in bed, stretching out alongside her naked body. He pulled her closer, and she gasped at the first contact with his skin. It felt frightening and delicious, at the same time. Then his lips sought her mouth, for a kiss. Hildburg had neither given nor received many kisses in her life, and none of them were like this one. Joerg alternated with soft nibbling on her lips and with fierce pressure, and the longer the kiss lasted, the more Hildburg responded. When her lips opened under his touch, she suddenly felt his tongue penetrate her mouth, and she swooned. Her own tongue met the intruder, seemingly under its own will. When Joerg's tongue withdrew, Hildburg's pressed forward to explore his mouth. Only when their lips separated was it that Hildburg noticed the delicious touch of Joerg's hand on her naked breasts. With wonder, she realised that she pressed her chest against his touch, and that her nipples tingled under his caresses. A delighted squeal escaped her mouth when Joerg bent lower and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. For a while, Joerg feasted on her breasts, caressing them with both hands and his mouth, sometimes sucking on the soft flesh, sometimes grazing it with his teeth. Hildburg felt like never before. She felt hot all over, without sweating. She felt short of breath. Gradually, she realised that the heat centred in her core, in her forbidden flesh, between her legs. Opening her legs, she felt cool air on her lower lips, so cool that she knew she had to be wet, down there. This was confirmed, when one of Joerg's hands strayed downward from her breasts, over her taut tummy, and into the curly triangle of hair. Hildburg held her breath when his fingers softly touched her nether lips, gently separating them. The feeling down there was strange, to be sure, different from how she felt when she touched herself with a wash rag. She heard a soft chuckle when Joerg released her left nipple from his mouth. She saw him scooting down along her body, and a moment later, she realised what he was about to do. "Oooaaaoooh!" came from her mouth, as soon as his tongue swiped the length of her slit. "What... ? Oooooh!" Surely, this was not happening to her, this feeling of floating in the air, those sinful and delicious sensations that permeated her body. Her hips undulated in the unconscious effort to maximise those feelings. She distinctly felt his tongue now, as it parted her nether lips, penetrating the virginal opening. She pressed her abdomen against the invading organ and was rewarded with a breathtaking sensation when the bristles of Joerg's moustache tickled the upper end of her slit. Here, where all the nerves of her core seemed to join, she felt the centre of her heat. She screamed, when Joerg deliberately tickled this region with his moustache, and she screamed again when he latched his mouth over it. His flicking tongue sent jolts of a heretofore unknown pleasure through her body, and her short screams changed into a constant wailing. Suddenly, her ears were filled with an overpowering sound, a sound like one of those huge bronze church bells. She could hardly hear her own screaming through that deep sound, and the room became dark. She had no idea how long she stayed in her semi-conscious state. At one point, she felt a short pain, like pricking a finger on a needle, and her head cleared somewhat. Her eyes, gaining focus again, stared into Joerg's face which hovered above hers. Something was different, though. Something felt different, stretched and full. With a start, Hildburg realised that her sex was filled by something hard and hot. She looked up incredulously. Joerg smiled down at her. "See, no pain," he whispered. "Can you feel me inside you?" Hildburg's eyes widened with the realisation. He had broken her maidenhead, had torn the feeble barrier, and was now seated deeply within her. There was a minor discomfort, still, but she also felt something different, something exciting. His hips moved a little, and Hildburg's eyes shot open at the new sensation of Joerg's member, as it moved inside her. Her overcharged senses picked up on the new feelings, and her own hips started a soft, reciprocal motion. The feeling of fulness was superseded by the friction she felt when his hips began to move deliberately. She let out a deep sigh. If possible, this was even better than Joerg's mouth on her sex. It was less focussed, the sensations were not as sharp, but she felt the penetration with her entire body. She felt no pain, no discomfort anymore. She clamped her arms and legs around his neck and hips, trying to force him deeper into her core. That was all that counted for her, deeper, deeper... There was no gentleness left in his movements at this point, and none was needed or appreciated by Hildburg. She welcomed his forceful thrusts, she felt his balls slap against her crotch with each stroke, felt his pubic hair press against her most sensitive spot when he was deepest. It was heavenly. It was breathtaking. She looked up into Joerg's face, and she saw that he watched her intently. "You are beautiful," he whispered. "So beautiful, in your lust." Yes, lust was what she felt; unbridled, unadulterated lust. She lifted her head up from the pillow, offering her lips, and Joerg met her with his own mouth. While he pounded into her, while he filled her very core, their lips melted against each other's, their tongues duelled, and their gasped breaths mixed. Nothing counted in Hildburg's mind, nothing but to melt against Joerg with every part of her body. And then she felt it; felt how his powerful body stiffened. She felt something else, too, a pulsing deep inside, and she felt his organ swell. A moment later, a deep groan came from Joerg's mouth, and his hips bucked, slamming his member into her with force. The pulsing became even stronger, and Hildburg felt her innermost parts flooded with heat. Yes, this was it, her instincts screamed at her, and she clung to his bucking body with all her strength. One, two, three more powerful strokes, and Hildburg felt a wave of heat wash over her, making her scream at the top of her lungs. Then the feeling of heat finally subsided, and her arms and legs fell onto the bed, devoid of any strength. When she regained her senses, Joerg had wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her gently and kissing her neck. A shudder passed over her and she squealed in delight. Another minute passed before she could voice her feelings. "How can this feel so good when it shouldn't? When you ... kissed me, I thought I'd die with ... lust, but it is wrong for me to..." She felt his hand on her chin, turning her head to face him. "Stop fighting your feelings, Hildburg," Joerg said firmly. "You don't have to admit to them if that makes you feel bad, but stop fighting them. I care deeply for you, and I believe you will learn to care for me, too, with time. For now, you did what was your duty as my wife, and I shall expect more of it. There is nothing you can do against that." Hildburg took a deep breath. "But, Joerg, I instigated this." "There will be no need for instigation henceforth," Joerg smiled. "Now, let us sleep. The day was long, and I shall tax your strength again, tomorrow." It was almost infuriating for Hildburg to realise that his words caused a warm rush inside her. Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 29: How the Servant Ludger Kills a Swine Epstein Castle was looming ahead of them, and Joerg stood in his stirrups to look around. The fortifications looked strong, but he could see the traces of neglect. The roofs, slate covered, showed slovenly repaired damage, and the woodwork was in dire need of paint, or at least linseed oil impregnation. With the reparation and tribute Rugenberg had to pay, he would be short of funds. At the foot of the castle hill, the tents of Nassau's army could be seen, and that was where Joerg headed now, with his men. Arnulf had sent him out, after a week in the Erlenburg, to help the Count of Nassau finish the siege of Epstein Castle. Already, castle and town had been under siege for seven weeks, as Joerg knew. Knowing his brother in law to be a thorough commander, he had no doubt that the siege was effective. Nassau's companies had not suffered in last spring's standoff around Meiningen where they had proven to be well disciplined. Joerg was glad to have them on his side, this time. A group of riders left Nassau's camp and headed out for them. Joerg recognised Katherine's tall figure right away. On her left side, August, Count of Nassau was making a fine figure on his charger. They came to a halt right in front of Joerg. They all dismounted, and the Count hugged Joerg with obvious pleasure. "Katherine told me of your miraculous deliverance. I am looking forward to meet your fair wife who worked that wonder." "I had to leave her behind in the Erlenburg. Unlike my sisters, she is not used to field camps," Joerg laughed. "More's the pity," Count August commented. "Now that you are here, we can finish this unpleasant business." "I heard your hunch was right, about Rugenberg?" Count August nodded, with a self-satisfied smile. "Indeed. He was rallying his men already, four hundred of them. Not enough to challenge my men in open battle, though. They retreated into his fine castle, and since we captured most of their horses, I have no idea what they are eating right now. The harvest has not been brought in yet, and they must rely on stored food from last year." Joerg smiled grimly. "Hunger works nicely. Are there deserters already?" "Every night. Between four and six of them. We strip them of their arms, give them a silver mark each and send them on their way. A few even asked to serve in my lines. Rugenberg is not well-liked by his foot soldiers, ever since he sacrificed them on the field of Ehrenberg, to bait the trap for Arnulf's brother." "Can we take his lands outright?" Count August shook his head dubiously. "Usually not. He's a follower of the Roman Church, to boot. The Emperor will not accept it. Rugenberg's without body heir, though, and his next of kin took service with the French king. If Rugenberg falls, we take the lands in trust and start the negotiations. I count on the support from the Elector of Brandenburg. He pledged his favour in return for having his niece back." Joerg nodded. He had expected August to release Barbara of Meiningen. Nele would be disappointed, but there would be an outcry if a noblewoman, a widow and the niece of an Elector, was kept prisoner. "It is better, especially if we gain support from Brandenburg this way. Do you think Rugenberg may accept a challenge from me? That would end it, right away." Count August shook his head dubiously. "He would be foolish to do so. You are no nobleman in your own right, Brother Joerg, and he needs not hear your challenge, unless..." "Unless?" August smiled. "Unless we can make your challenge known to his soldiers. With the fickle hold he has on most of his men, he cannot appear as a coward to them." Joerg nodded. "I shall word the challenge and send a herald, to announce it openly. Mayhap, we can end this without shedding honest soldiers' blood." ------- Hugo of Rugenberg woke from heavy sleep, groaning with pain. The wine he had quaffed the evening before was from his last cask, one that had partially turned sour already. Damn! No wine and no food! All because that old, lovesick fool Nassau had taken that peasant bitch for a wife and felt aggrieved at her brother's capture and abduction. It had seemed such a fine plan at retribution. That redheaded oaf had humiliated him in front of his men, had taken the victory from his hands. Now, he was back! By what miracle he had escaped those stout burghers, was beyond Rugenberg's comprehension. If only he had a second chance at the man, he would settle the feud in person! Rugenberg dragged himself out of his bed. The manservant Ludger jumped up from a stool where he had nodded off. "About time you woke, worthless churl!" Rugenberg snarled at the man. "Send me your daughter; I have no need for you." "But, your grace," the man pleaded. "Send me your daughter, dog! Out of my eyes, now, blast you!" In impotent rage, the elderly man left the chambers and went upstairs. His poor child! He was not sure how many more encounters with the Baron she could survive. The cruelties became worse with each passing week, it seemed. "Liese, my child, wake! The master sends me for you," he said dejectedly when he shook her sleeping form. His daughter's fearful look felt like a dagger in his heart. "Not again, father, please!" she implored him. "I'm still bleeding." Desperation washed over Ludger. He only needed Liese to survive a few more weeks. When Nassau and Erlenburg's men would take the castle, Liese would be saved. Oh, Ludger had no illusion over what awaited her in the first, terrible hours after the castle would be taken. But no soldiery in the world would be as base and cruel as his master. They would rape her, but what could they do to her that had not been done at the hands of his master? He himself would be killed, in all likelihood. It did not matter. The shame he felt, the impotence in the face of his only child's suffering, had soured life for him; he would gladly die. From there, it was only a short way to the next thought. Suddenly, he smiled grimly; his mind was made up in the flicker of an eye. "Stay, Liese, I'll explain it to the master." She tried to get up, with a grimace of pain. "He'll kill you, father!" "Stay, Liese! I'm dead already." He carefully locked her chamber and walked down the stairs. At the next landing, a number of hunting weapons were displayed on the wall. Without making a sound, Ludger dislodged the long blade of a boar lance, a saufeder, and hid it under his tunic. He opened the door to Rugenberg's bedchamber and saw the scoundrel lying on the bed, playing with a whip already, a cruel grin on his face. He looked up and his face turned red with anger. "Where is that little whore of your daughter?" "Begging your pardon, she's still bleeding and hurting from yesterday. I beg your mercy, my lord!" "I'll give you mercy, you dog! Bring her here at once!" He laughed maniacally. "She's bleeding already, what's the harm?" He must have thought this was a great joke, for he doubled over in laughter, slapping his thighs. Suddenly, the laugh stopped. Hugo of Rugenberg looked up to see his beaten down servant not two feet away from him, the fire of rage in his sunken eyes. Something bright and polished flashed forward, and he felt a burning sensation in his abdomen. He stared incredulously at the blade in his belly. A saufeder! That churl had stabbed him with a saufeder! "How does that feel, swine?" Ludger hissed at him, his voice trembling with glee. The blade was pulled out, and air came into the wound. The pain was excruciating. Ludger struck again, this time at the groin, and Anton stared down unbelievingly. Then, the blade swiped over his throat, and he slumped forward while his life blood spewed from his severed arteries. Ludger stood for minutes, looking down at his former master. Then he dropped the blade he still held to the floor. Slowly, he walked out of the room, closing it carefully, and went down to the quarters of Rugenberg's Captain. The Captain looked up and held his breath. Ludger was covered in blood. "Damn, what did he do to you now? He been after your poor child again? I swear, one day, he'll go too far." "He's gone too far today," Ludger said in a toneless voice. "I stabbed the swine with a saufeder. He's dead." The Captain choked on the bread in his mouth. "You killed him?" Ludger nodded. "He wanted Liese again. She's still bleeding from yesterday. I couldn't ... I know you'll have to hang me, and I don't care. Do to my body what you will. I only ask you to look after Liese." The Captain scratched the stubble on his chin. He had a good mind to let Ludger and his daughter slip out of the castle, but that would not help them, not with the enemy at their gates. The enemy! They wanted Rugenberg foremost, that much was clear. If he was dead, they could reach an armistice. They could have food again! "Hannes, Bodo!" he called, and two tall soldiers appeared from the adjacent room. "Take position at the Lord's bedroom door! Let nobody in! Don't go in yourself! Do it now!" They rushed off, and the Captain quickly put on his armour. "You better go and join your daughter. I don't know when I shall be back." ------- "Someone's coming from the castle, Captain," the messenger said excitedly. "Flag of truce!" Joerg stood from his table, and left the tent, eager to learn the reasons for this attempt at negotiations. Count August was standing in front of his tent with Katherine, and they watched the burly man come nearer. "Your Grace, valiant Captain, I came to negotiate for quarter," the man started without preamble. "On whose authority, Captain?" August asked curtly. "On my own, your Grace. My Lord perished this morning, at the hands of a servant." "Pray, tell us more, Captain," Joerg asked. "The Lord had been ... pursuing the daughter of his body servant. Damn it! He's been making her life a living hell for weeks, and she's only twelve! Old Ludger couldn't stand it any more, and he stuck a saufeder into his gut." "A fitting end, to be sure. The Lord works in mysterious ways," August commented drily. He exchanged a glance with Joerg who nodded. "Yield today and deliver your arms, and we shall spare all of you. You and your men can go wherever you wish. We shall refrain from looting, too, if you deliver your dead master's treasure. I shall also have food delivered, and wine, to relieve the hunger." The Captain showed his relief. "I shall go back and prepare our people. You may expect us to yield in an hour's time. This has gone on too long." He bowed again, and then walked back to the castle in a brisk step. "Well, that was convenient. Even better that he did not die from our hands. You can move in this evening, Joerg. Hail the Steward of Epstein!" Joerg grinned wryly. "I shall send to Arnulf with the news. He will be pleased to be rid of an enemy. He told me you reached agreement already, over Rugenberg's lands?" August smiled with satisfaction. "Yes, the river will be the boundary. I'll get the vineyards on the other side, and Arnulf will get castle and lands on this side. I think with the villages on the other side, I get the better part of the deal." "Possible, but it was your men who bore the main load of this campaign." "Also true. Katherine, my dear, how would you like to ride into a conquered castle?" Katherine laughed. "Compared with taking Rome, Epstein does not count much, but I shall be proud nonetheless because I can ride at your side, my husband." "Good answer, sister!" Joerg laughed. "Let us get our men ready." Edited by Duffiedawg ------- Chapter 30: How Joerg Isebrand Is Given a Pleasant Duty "The prisoner, Steward!" the soldier announced, pushing a skinny man into the room. Joerg looked up from the chronicle he was reading. He saw a man, aged before his time, looking about with a resigned look on his face. "You stabbed your master, the Lord Hugo of Rugenberg?" "I did," came the answer. "What was your reason?" "For weeks, he took my only child, my daughter. That, I would have born. But he was brutal with her, hurting her on purpose, tearing into her, with her only twelve years old. This morning, he ordered me to bring her again, for his pleasure. I went for her, my heart breaking, and she told me that was still bleeding from her arse where he had violated her. I could not take it anymore, so I stabbed the swine." "How is your daughter now?" The shackled man shook his head in dismay. "The bleeding does not stop." "Where is she?" Katherine asked sharply. She had been listening silently. "In her chamber, your Grace, under the roof." "What is her name?" Katherine asked next. "Liese, your Grace." With a face like a storm cloud, Katherine rushed from the room. Outside, she could be heard issuing sharp commands before her voice moved away. Joerg faced the prisoner again. "You have viciously attacked and killed your lord and master, laying hand to a noble personage. In spite of the reasons you gave, I must punish you most severely." The man just shrugged. He expected nothing else. "Here is my judgement: you will forego the noon-meal today!" Ludger stared at the new Steward. "Lord, it is evening already." "Well, did you get a noon-meal?" Perplexed, Ludger shook his head. "See, my punishment is unerring. Have your dead master's bedchamber cleared of his body and cleaned. Throw out the linen. Throw out and burn his clothes. All of them. Let nothing remain of this vile and evil man." "What about his body, Lord?" "Have him buried outside these walls, in the church yard of the next village. An unmarked grave!" "I shall see to it, Lord. I thank you." Joerg nodded. "What does your daughter normally do in the castle?" "She started to help with the beds and the laundry, Lord." "My wife shall need a maidservant, to wait on her. When your daughter has healed, have her trained for this task." "Yes, Lord, thank you again. I shall tend to the cleaning now." "Do that," Joerg nodded. What a mess this castle was! Joerg cursed himself for not killing Rugenberg two years ago. Then, he reconsidered. He would have never found Hildburg, without Rugenberg's betrayal. It was a difficult question to ponder whether his newly found love was worth the suffering of that poor girl. On impulse, he stood up and found the staircase. With long strides, he walked upstairs until he reached the narrow corridor under the roof. It was easy to find Liese's room, for the door stood open, and Katherine's voice could be heard. "How is the girl?" he asked, stepping in. The big eyes in the skinny face of the girl regarded him with fear. She was lying on a narrow cot, her back propped up slightly. "She is very brave. I had to put two stitches in her ... you know, to close the wounds. That ... that devil just stuck his fat prick into her, tearing her up. He is so lucky that he is dead! I'd have a mind to skewer him on a stake for what he did to her." It was rare for reasonable Katherine to fall into a rage like that. Jorg put a calming hand on her shoulder. "He will face a higher judge than us, and a horned gaoler will punish him in eternity." Joerg looked at the girl again. "Liese, I am the new Steward of Epstein, acting for the Lord Arnulf of Erlenburg. I spoke your father. He is busy, cleaning out Rugenberg's bedchamber. He will come to you once he is finished. When you have recovered, you will be trained as maidservant. You will serve my wife, and no harm will ever befall you again. "For now, you must rest. Katherine, she better not eat anything but soup, for a few days." Katherine nodded. Solid food, grain and vegetables, would cause bowel movements; not a good idea for the injured girl. "You'll have your hands full, getting this place in shape, Brother." "I'll say," Joerg agreed. "I have studied the chronicle. They burnt a woman, last year, a witch they claimed." Katherine flinched. "That priest?" "No, mostly Rugenberg himself, I think. The priest just did what Rugenberg told him, but I'll watch him anyhow. I hope that Arnulf will find a good preacher for us." ------- It was three days later, and Joerg had just completed the inspection of the dungeon. He cursed himself for not thinking of that earlier. The gaoler had left, with the soldiers, and nobody had thought of feeding the prisoners. They were in horrible shape, almost crazy with thirst. Two of the prisoners were Lutheran preachers who refused to vow allegiance to the Pope. Rugenberg had them tortured for weeks before he left them to rot in his dungeon. A freeholder was also among the prisoners, with his entire family. The man had refused to give up his land, and Rugenberg had tried the man's steadfastness by violating his son and daughters. There had been no end to that man's vileness, it seemed. A woman, a midwife, had been held, too. Her neighbour had accused her of witchcraft, but she withstood the torture, claiming her innocence. With no confession coming from the woman, Rugenberg had lost interest in her. She was left imprisoned nonetheless. Joerg knew that how he handled these people would largely determine how he was seen by Arnulf's new subjects. It was a pity that he could not discuss this with Katherine, for she had left Epstein with August and his men. At least, food was coming in freely, now. Also, his own servants from Bellenberg had arrived, the evening before, and he had men and women who knew what he wanted. He had asked for a feldscher and a bader to tend the sick and injured when he sent his report to Arnulf. With a sigh, he stood again. Until those healers arrived, he had to take care of those poor people himself. A room next to the vast kitchen had been cleared for them, on Joerg's orders, and this was where he directed his steps. They certainly looked vastly different, in the bright room, and freshly washed. Seeing the alleged 'witch', though, Joerg recoiled in horror. Her hands and feet were mangled so badly, they had to be entirely useless for the poor woman. What he saw of her skin showed burn marks, as did her bald head: they had burnt her hair in the torture chamber. This was something Joerg could not tolerate. He knew cruelty, he knew brutality on the battle field. Torture, however, was something else. It was cowardly, and it embodied what he hated most in his fellow men: the lust to inflict pain and humiliation. It was a neiding's way. The woman looked up at him with a mixture of hope and fear. "What is your name?" he asked her gently. "Magda, Lord." "Magda, I cannot make undone what happened to you, but this I swear: there will always be food for you at my table. Do you have kin?" The woman nodded miserably. "The Black Death took most of them, but I have a sister and a niece. They are poor, though." "Then you shall live here. Now rest and eat. I have asked Lord Arnulf to send us his bader, to look after you." The freeholder and his family were sitting together, in a corner. He was a tall and powerful man, but now he sat, slumped against the wall, holding his sobbing daughters, while his wife held the son in her arms. They looked up, startled, when his shadow fell over them. Joerg could see the horror of what had happened to them in their eyes. "I shall have your land restored to you," Joerg said. "I shall ask the Lord Arnulf to give you a few extra tagwerk, to compensate you for your suffering. You'll get your animals back, too." "I thank you, Steward. There is nothing anyone can do for my daughters, though. That ... that..." "Neiding," Joerg filled in. "I don't know that word." "Abominable scoundrel, then," Joerg conceded. "That man defiled them and hurt them. They can never marry. He even ... even my son!" "He did that and more," Joerg answered darkly. "I had him at sword's point, two years ago. That I did not kill him then will haunt me for my remaining days." "Begging your pardon, Lord, rumour has it you tilled the soil as a youth?" "That I did, and my father was a hardworking freeholder like yourself. Rest here for a few days, before you return to your farm, and let me know of your needs. When your daughters have healed, in body and soul, come here again. We shall yet see if generous dowries will not lure suitors to your dwelling." The older of the girls, perhaps fifteen years of age, looked up, with anger in her eyes. "I have no use for men anymore, Lord. The Baron was the worst, but all the others were ready enough, too, to soil us. It is how men are." Joerg knelt before the girl. "What is you name, lass?" "Irmgard, Lord." "Irmgard, do you think your father would do such things?" Irmgard shook her head vehemently. "See, not all men are like that. Do you want to miss the chance of meeting a good man, like your father, of having a family of your own? Take your time to heal, Irmgard. If you, in a year, insist you don't want a man in your life, come back here. We'll find you work under my wife, then." "May God bless you, Steward," the freeholder said with feeling. "May he hold his protecting hand over you and your family henceforth," Joerg replied solemnly, standing again. The two preachers were in a bad shape, too, having suffered repeated torture. Yet, when Joerg approached them, they rose to stand on their weakened legs. "May God bless you for your compassion, Noble Steward," the older man addressed him. "I only act as my Lord, Arnulf of Erlenburg, expects it of me," Jorg answered. "Is Erlenburg still Lutheran?" "It is, worthy Preacher. You may spread the word freely in Lord Arnulf's lands." "Hail the Lord Arnulf! Our sufferings are rewarded, Brother! We shall tend our parish again." This was addressed to the younger man. "I shall speak a prayer tonight, for the soul of that evil man. Surely, without prayer, his immortal soul will be lost forever." Joerg regarded the young preacher. "I commend the firmness of your faith. It is not for me to discuss the limits of God's mercy, but if justice is spoken on Judgement Day, Rugenberg will burn in purgatory for eternity. "May I trouble you, though, to speak to the other poor victims and alleviate their burden? Perhaps without asking them to pray for Rugenberg's soul?" The older preacher nodded. "We shall thank God for our deliverance, and we shall comfort each other." Just then, old Ludger stepped in. "My Lord Steward, there are horsemen in approach from the east." "Thank you, Ludger. I shall be back here. Now, I must haste. Methinks, my Lord Arnulf may be arriving." Indeed, Arnulf rode at the head of the train of horsemen, Nele at his side. On Nele's other side, Joerg saw the familiar form of Hildburg, eyeing the walls and towers of Epstein with wonder. As custom dictated, Joerg bent his knee before Arnulf. "My Lord, the Castle of Epstein is thine," he announced. "I thank thee, valiant Joerg, for your goodly services. Receive, from my hand, the stewardship over Epstein, and be known, henceforth, as Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Epstein and Bellenberg." The two regions were neighbouring, and it made sense for Joerg to oversee them both. Bellenberg only boasted a small fortified manor house, making Epstein castle the obvious choice for Joerg to live. "I herewith pledge my fealty to you, Lord Arnulf, with body and soul," Joerg declared. With those important formalities out of the way, the two friends hugged each other, before Nele claimed her brother for a long embrace. Hildburg was still sitting on her horse, and Joerg helped her down. His eyes asked for permission, and Hildburg nodded. He kissed her tenderly. "Welcome to our new home," he said. ------- Hildburg Isebrand turned around at the sound of her husband entering the makeshift infirmary. Ever since arriving at Epstein, Hildburg had made it her foremost task to see after Rugenberg's victims. The bader who had come along knew nothing of the sort of ailments the former prisoners, namely the girls, were suffering. Fortunately, the former midwife, Magda, could give advice. Her mangled hands were of little use, but under her tutoring, Hildburg did what was necessary. Hildburg looked at Joerg, her mind still occupied. How could her husband, perceived by many as a barbarian warrior and a vicious slayer, be so solicitous and caring? How come he had such compassion for the injured prisoners? How come, he could be such a loving husband, inciting her body with lust beyond imagination? "Good morning, my wife! How are our charges faring?" His voice woke her from her musing. "Poor Liese is doing better; her wounds are healing now. Magda knows a lot of these things. Irmgard and llse are still having nightmares; the boy, too. The grown ups are recovering. I worry about Magda, though. She'll never have the use of her hands again, and she can barely walk." Joerg nodded grimly. "I feared that much. I promised her there will be a place in my house and food for her. I hope you can agree to that." Hildburg gave him a smile. "Of course, I do." She rose and stood close to Joerg, looking up at him. "Joerg, the more I learn about you, the less I can believe those terrible tales about you." Almost without knowing it, Hildburg closed her eyes and opened her lips for him. The kiss came, and it was all she wanted in this moment, full of caring and tenderness. Her lips smiled under his. Inwardly, she sighed. It was so easy for her to lose herself under his caresses. He made it feel so natural, to accept his touches. He held her shoulders, smiling down at her. "Listen, Hildburg. Arnulf wants to ride inspection today, into the villages. We'll be gone for the day. Nele will accompany us, and I was wondering if you wanted to join us, too?" The thought of riding her mare was enticing, and so was the thought of seeing more of the lands Joerg was responsible for. "Do we have to ride side saddle?" Joerg laughed. "You do what you please. You're the wife of the Steward, after all." The ride was not as pleasant as anticipated. The villages they rode through were depressing in their abject poverty. Hildburg, who had grown up in a well-ordered city, was appalled to see the refuse heaps and the open sewage seeping into the soil, close to the wells. She also noticed the fear with which the peasants regarded Arnulf and Joerg. Although both men asked the villagers to voice their grievances, none came forward. It was late afternoon when they arrived at their last stop, a small assembly of farmhouses, collectively called Lower Epstein. When Arnulf and Joerg had completed their survey and asked the farmers to speak up with grievances, a woman spoke up finally. She had red hair, a pretty face, and a lean body. A girl of perhaps fifteen stood with her, her daughter obviously. "Lord, I ask you to do something about the sewage. Everybody lets the sewage seep into the ground, and the water from the well stinks. People get sick, all the time." "Shut up, witch!" a burly man shouted. "Are you going at it, again? Mind your own matters, like finding your bastard's father." With a nasty smile, he continued. "Perhaps, we should charge you with witchcraft, like your sister. Whenever you start your nonsense, one of my cows gets sick." Hildburg saw Joerg perk up. "Woman, what is your sister's name?" "Magda, Lord, and she was falsely accused. She was midwife in these parts, a good one. She helped deliver this one's," she pointed at the burly man, "baby, and he did not pay the agreed fee. The baby had a bad rash, and he accused her of bewitching the baby. The men from the castle took her away. That was the last we saw of her." Hildburg felt a hot knot of anger in her stomach. This man was responsible for Magda's mangled hands and feet. Looking at Joerg, she saw his face redden with anger, too. "Seize that man," he pointed at the burly man. "Bring him to Epstein and to the gaol. I shall try him for bearing false witness against the midwife Magda." Two of the soldiers rushed the baffled man and bound him. Joerg looked at the well, located in the centre of the small assembly of houses. "There'll be no use out of that well, with the soil fouled like this. You men will dig a new well, behind yonder knoll. Fill the old one with soil. You're all lucky to be alive in this mess. "You, woman, will you lay charge on this man?" Taking a deep breath, the redheaded woman nodded. "Then, pack a bundle and follow us to Epstein, with your daughter. You will meet with your sister, there." Joerg looked around briefly and spoke to Arnulf, under his breath. Hildburg could not understand him, but she saw Arnulf nod. Joerg stood tall and addressed the villagers again. "Listen, and listen well. There are no witches, no wizards, and no witchcraft. Whoever will accuse man, woman or child of witchcraft before me shall receive five dozen lashes for bearing false witness. Anybody who engages in violent deeds against alleged wizards or witches shall suffer death in these lands, as of this day. Heed well, peasants! This man," he pointed at the bound man, "will be the first to learn how I treat a false witness." A fat priest waddled to the front, his cheeks tinted red with the exertion and his indignation. "But your grace, everybody knows there are the dark arts. We must fend against them! Our bishop says..." "Shut your mouth, servant of Rome! Your bishop's word counts naught in these lands. The Lord Arnulf is following the True Church. You better pack your dog fat-baked communion wafers and head south. The good peasants in these lands will partake of communion in body and blood henceforth, as befits good Christians." It was a common belief among Protestants in those times that the communion wafers in Catholic churches were baked using rendered fat from killed stray dogs, animals considered impure and unfit for human consumption. "Heretic!" the priest spat. "Cuius regio, eius religio!" Arnulf spoke up. " These are my lands now. Be gone as fast as you can move your fat arse, or, by the True Church, I shall have you frog-marched from my lands!" Casting a look of fear and hatred, the priest turned and left, waddling towards the small chapel. Arnulf nodded to one of the armsmen. "Make sure that he does not steal the communion goblet!" The man, one of the Free Saxons, nodded with a grim smile and followed the priest. "I shall have a preacher come here soon who will serve you for the True Church. For those of you who wish to adhere to the Roman church, the priest at Epstein castle will make rounds to visit you. He is an honest servant of God." Meanwhile, the redheaded woman and her daughter came back, carrying bundles on their shoulders and ready to leave. She seemed at a loss over whom to follow. Taking a breath, Hildburg decided to take charge. The girl was wearing a clean dress and wool cloak. Her face looked freshly scrubbed, and her hair had seen a comb, only moments ago. No fleabites were apparent, either. "You, girl, climb up behind me," she ordered. She looked at the mother who was equally clean and groomed. "You can sit behind the Steward." Joerg looked at her with a smile and offered his hand to the woman, to pull her up. The girl was skinny, and Hildburg had little trouble helping her up. The burly man, Hildburg had learned his name was Hartmut, had to trot behind one of the mounted armsmen, led by a rope around his neck. He was fairly exhausted when they reached Epstein castle. They witnessed a tearful reunion between Magda, her younger sister Hannelore, and her niece Lena. They partook of the supper served in the hall with the servants and the other dwellers of the castle. When supper was finished, Hannelore came up to the dais and knelt, waiting to be acknowledged. Joerg nodded benevolently. "My Lord Arnulf, Steward, from my heart I thank you and bless you for the care you gave my poor sister." "No need for thanks, Hannelore," Jorg replied. "My Lord has charged me to watch over his land and his subjects. What is your trade, pray tell?" "I know herb lore, Steward. I treat the sick and the old." "Such knowledge is worthwhile. My brother's wife is known for it, too, and we may miss her teas and poultices soon. Would you care to enter into my service? You can still treat those who come for your herbs." Hannelore thought only briefly. "I shall be grateful to be of service." "So be it then!" Joerg concluded. "You will answer the Mistress Hildburg in all things." Hannelore bowed before Hildburg who gave her a friendly smile. "Be ready after breakfast, tomorrow," she said. "Magda can tell you about the injured we have to care for." When the red-headed woman had returned to her place, Hildburg looked at Joerg with a question in her eyes. "Hannelore can be the hands for Magda. We may have need for a healer and a midwife." Hildburg blushed deeply over his innuendo. Over the last nights, she had given herself to Joerg with ever increasing abandon. She craved his touch, his kisses, and the deep penetration. More importantly, she admitted freely to herself that she cared for the giant man. The way he cared for the sick and injured ran counter to his fierce reputation. Even during the trial of the peasant Hartmut, Magda's false accuser, on the next morning, Joerg was a just judge, allowing the man to defend himself. It had availed nothing, of course. Even by the standards of the law, Magda was innocent, having withstood the painful questioning. The judgement was just, too. The hand that Hartmut had raised in oath, when falsely accusing Magda, was lopped off by the executioner, and his lease of land was revoked. After his stump was sealed with tar by the feldscher, he was driven beyond the border of the Erlenburg lands and banned from ever entering again. It was typical, again, for Joerg to give the lands to Hartmut's eldest son, against a promise to take care of his mother. That noon, over their meal, Hildburg laid her hand on Joerg's. He looked up, smiling at her. "I find that I love thee, my husband, wrong as it may be," she told him in a low voice, her eyes looking at him unwaveringly. "God help me, it is the truth." A happy smile spread over Joerg Isebrand's face. His gaze took in her lovely face and he saw that the last remnants of fear and hesitation were gone. He pulled up her hand and pressed it against his lips. His voice was slightly hoarse when he answered. "All is well, then. You know already that I love thee, too?" Hildburg nodded, a hesitant smile spreading over her lips. Joerg suddenly stood, pulling her up with him. Turning, he bowed to Arnulf. "My Lord, I have need to be alone with my wife. May I ask for leave?" Nele laughed and Arnulf nodded, trying to keep his face straight. "Granted, Steward. After all, my son will have need for strong and loyal cousins. Do your duty, Brother!" "A man can but do his best, my Lord," Joerg answered, grinning broadly and retreating towards the stairwell with a blushing Hildburg. "And a more pleasant duty no soldier was ever charged with!" Edited by Duffiedawg ------- The End ------- Posted: 2008-11-09 Last Modified: 2008-12-16 / 01:42:21 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------