The Ravens’ Banquet (13 page)

Suddenly, I knew that I was near to the east wall, for I found myself at the inn where we had lodged. It then struck me that I had left my satchel inside with the few pieces of silver plate that I had thieved. As I entered I spied the innkeeper rushing about the taproom, his arms laden with tankards and trenchers. His face was mottled purple with both exertion and fright as he dashed to the cellar trap and threw the pewter down the hole. “How close?” he demanded of me as he gathered up another armful of tankards.

“On my heels,” I replied as I passed him, sheathing my sword, and making for the stairs. Reaching my room, I pushed open the door to see my meagre belongings strewn about the bedstead. My heart skipped, thinking that the spectre had returned, but I had little time to even think about that horror before I received such a blow to my back that it sent me flying across the little room and onto the floor. I was winded completely and lights danced in front of my eyes as I struggled to sit up.

My intruder stood before me, pistol pointed at my chest.

“The regiment’s treasure would have been enough on its own. But sweet Fortuna has brought you to me as well, it seems.”

Samuel Stone’s face was streaked with sweat and dirt, and his long hair hung in tangled strands. His finery had worn thin since last we met, and though his breeches were hole-shot and doublet greasy, his bitterness had blossomed into full-formed hatred. His eyes showed no fear of me nor of the risk that we both now shared with the enemy nearly upon us.

I reached out for the bed, still sucking in a great gasp of breath and trying to get my words out. “You goddamned fool! The Imperials will take us both! There’s no time for our quarrel here.”

But Samuel shook his head.

“Time enough to finish our business, Master Treadwell. For by God, I will have an end to it!”

And he stepped forward, lifted his leg and sent the heel of his boot full upon my chest, sending me crashing once again to the floor. He crouched before me, the cocked pistol waving, and quickly dragged his sleeve across his wet brow.

“Before I blow your brains across the wall, I want you to know all. You remember? I told you that you would know the truth of things. Now it’s time.”

I grappled the bedpost like some drunken sot and once again hauled myself up. But my pins were like beeswax and I sank back down.

“The only truth I can see,” I spat at him, “is your vile treachery.”

He gave a thin smile. “You think it was an easy burden to serve you, to play the willing fool and fetch your food? Do you think that I was cozened by you and your kin? I
know
how you most foully used my sweet sister! I know your dog-ape of a sire had his will of my mother many times. She spread herself lest your father throw us out. That was
his
promise, sirrah!”

He had cut me to the quick in a trice.

That I had lain with his sister was true enough, and his knowledge of this was surprise in full. But of my father’s base conduct, this was a revelation that made me reel. His words had struck me like a blade in the ribs. That he knew of me and his sister was little hurt enough. But his other revelation, that rang of truth as a flood of memories washed over me in an instant. Half a dozen times I could recall the excuses of my father for visiting their mean cottage. Business that he could have sent any one of his servants, or even me, to carry out. It made perfect, grim sense. And Samuel’s rage was not feigned.

My voice came tired and thin out of my throat. “For the love of Christ, I knew not of my father’s conduct. Fly while you can. I swear that I knew nothing of what you say. I swear it!”

Samuel stood, backed up a pace, and once again levelled the pistol at me. He shook his head. “Nay, I decline your offer. I can do as I please here in this place. This wretched land. That’s something I’ve learned in Germany. In this war justice finds many remedies.”

My legs shook and my stomach felt like it would cast up its meagre contents on the floor at any moment, adding gross indignity to my imminent death. My sword hung at my back, my carbine under my leg, but to reach for either would no doubt hasten his pulling of the trigger. And he did mean to kill me, it was plain.

Samuel’s eyes then began to fill with tears.

“I could have killed you months ago. I
could
have. But like a good Christian I couldn’t bring myself to do you murder. That is why I left your service, you miserable bastard!”

My heart sank, recalling all the sins of the past months. All the cruelty, the thievery, the killing. But the deeds of my father, related to me in righteous anger, the anger of wronged brother and mother’s son, these emptied me of a will to live. I rested my head against the bedstead. No more words or pleading could come out.

A sound like a dog growl welled up from Samuel’s throat before he formed it into words. “I couldn’t let you get away with it. Not what you’ve done. I’ve taken your father’s money and I have taken yours,” he said, steadying himself and rubbing at his eye as if he meant to grind it out. Suddenly, he let out a harsh forced laugh.

“My comrades have taken your wagon of treasure this hour and killed your comrades. I wanted to tell you that too! And now… I mean to take your life.”

I watched him, without lifting my head, as he grasped the pistol butt with both hands.

“Then take your revenge,” I told him, my mouth dry as dust, “you’ve come a long way to obtain it of me.”

He inclined his head, he cursed me, his eyes welled up again with rage, but still, still he could not pull the trigger.

“I never wanted to come on this voyage with you,” he moaned, “but the situation warranted it. I
had
to. But it was
you
who brought me to this hellish place! You!”

I could see his hands clenching tighter round the firing piece.

“You… you made me as monstrous as thee!”

And then, I saw someone’s arm come around from behind Samuel. His pistol went off and the ball struck the wall at my back, blowing wood shards everywhere. Samuel was pulled backwards and I suddenly saw a silver flash at his neck. Then his face and doublet were sprayed in blood. I watched, ears ringing, as he slowly sank down and fell at my knees, his body twitching and his life pooling around me as if to envelop me.

Christoph stood where Samuel had stood, holding his bloodied dagger.

“You live,” he said, but whether it was with surprise or disappointment I cannot say.

I remember leaning over and reaching out to Samuel’s form, and, I think I cried out in remorse and pain. Then it was Christoph that seized me by the shoulder and hauled me up, shaking me like a hare.

“Fool! We must fly this place! The enemy is already on top of us!”

I cannot remember the flight to the stables. I am sure that Christoph half dragged me there, cursing the whole of the way. We stumbled in to find Balthazar and about a dozen others leading the mounts outside.

“Where is Tollhagen?” shouted Balthazar.

“Dead as likely not,” said Christoph, grasping the bridle of a horse that was before him. “And where are the rest?”

Balthazar shook his head.

I managed to pull myself up into the saddle and fumbled with the lock of my carbine while the others mounted up and guided their mounts out of the stable. Then someone cried out, “There he is!” We all saw him. There was Lieutenant Tollhagen running down the middle of the street, sword in hand. At his back a company of Habsburger musketeers followed close-on.

“Fly! Make for the gates!” cried Balthazar.

The others turned their mounts to make for the dash to the town wall but Christoph barked out an order to halt them.

“Let’s put a volley into them first! They’re not even mounted, you dogs.”

I jerked my reins and turned back towards Christoph, then raised up my piece and advanced. All around me now seemed something out of a fevered dream. I had no thoughts for consequences. But only four other riders followed us, a sheepish Balthazar among them.

The musketeers caught sight of us and ran to the side of the street. As soon as Tollhagen ran past, wheezing and gasping, we let our pieces crack. We were answered in kind and one of ours took a ball in the chest, knocking him out of the saddle. We wheeled around and rode for our lives. Tollhagen grabbed for the reins of the riderless mount, but he was bloodied and half near dead. Somehow he pulled himself up into the saddle and stuck his boots into the stirrups. We then pounded down the cobbles and came out near to the great squat tower at the southeast gate. It was deserted now of defenders and several of the troopers dismounted to raise the bar on the oaken doors.

“Where is Corporal Pentz?” Christoph shouted as the Lieutenant struggled to wind his pistol, blood soaking his coat.

“He’s dead. At the Mühlentor. The commander and a few hundred have retreated up to the castle. All is lost.”

Christoph seized Tollhagen’s wrist. “The treasure?”

“Lost!” replied the Lieutenant, breaking Christoph’s hold upon him. “And I nearly died trying to stop them from getting it!”

“Pity they didn’t finish the job!” spat Christoph as he jerked away.

“I shall see you hanged for that!” said Tollhagen, though the rest of us thought it unlikely given the situation. Even as we managed to lift the great bar from the gate, the enemy poured out of the streets into the square. I know not how I was not struck down, but lead flew about me thick and spattered on the gate and wall. Some five or six of us were cut down but we managed to open the gates, let loose a shot or two, and then spur our mounts through and out to freedom. We pounded across the wooden bridge that spanned the dry ditch and beat our horses for all their worth down the road and toward the forest.

When we finally halted, we were deep into the woods and in near darkness. I collapsed at the base of a fir, shaking, and amazed to be yet alive.

We were seven. Just seven. Not a word was spoken as we sat in the cool of the dark wood. The sound of the horses whinnying for water was muffled by a bed of pine needles that covered the ground. I crouched against the rough and sticky bark of a tree, heavy tears mixing with the sweat and blood that covered my face.

I could not drive Samuel or his words from my mind. As they rang again and again in my ears, the ache in my stomach tightened harder. Whose Cause was the worthier? I knew the answer, and the shame of the truth burned me.

I was glad to God of my ignorance as I sat there, hugging my piss and blood-stained breeches, that some two thousand good townsmen were slain that day and of the garrison of poor Münden town, we seven souls were the only ones to see the dawn.

It took us two days to reach the gates of Göttingen. And I entered that town not much better off than a beggar, in possession of the clothes upon my back, my mount, my weapons, and a purse of three thalers. How they stared as we rode in. We were as ghosts, given up for carrion.

Bones as cold as if it were still mid-winter and shivering in the saddle, I made my way through the streets. Our path was aimless and we rode towards the centre of the town, blindly. Samuel had insulted me, deserted my service, and tried to kill me, but the way he met his end ate away at me, the sight of him sinking to his knees, endlessly running around my head. Had his family not suffered enough degradation at the hands of my own?

It seems we were all cheated in those times, and none more than Samuel Stone. And I recalled words that Andreas had once spoken: that the business of war is business and no mundane commerce less forgiving.

I found myself at the foot of some great church and it was here my horse decided to go no further. I slowly slipped from the saddle, leaning over the beast’s neck. Across from me, not a stone’s throw from where I stood, I glimpsed someone I had not expected to see again.

She stood near the steps and, as I staggered to her, the scent of pomanders filled my head.

I could barely see her through the tears that filled my eyes and as I folded my arms about her form, she recognised me and dropped her basket to take me in. She remembered me.

I cried as a babe in the arms of its mother and she pulled me down onto the church steps, my head to her bosom.

“So it has come to pass,” she spoke into my ear. “The enemy is revealed and with it the truth.”

She smelt of wood smoke and spice, and I melted into her thick woollen shawl.

“I am lost, Anya,” I sobbed, her black tresses falling into my cracked lips.

“Nay, man, you are found,” replied the gipsy, “and Fortune and Life be not yet done with you.”

A
T
G
ÖTTINGEN
, the days passed swiftly even as the weather grew foul. As bad a month of June as any could remember what with rain and wind driving all before it. And with the raging winds came ill tidings. Apart from my own sorrows, I came to believe that the scales of the gods were slowly swinging against the Danish and Protestant cause as well. First, Münden taken by the enemy and our regiments pulled northwards. Then, the word that the enemy was moving his entire host towards us to finish the rebellion against the Emperor for good.