The Ravens’ Banquet Read online

  Suddenly, one side of the crowd parted in great commotion and two soldiers hove into view. It was my own Cornet – Caspar Tollhagen – and his Corporal, Thomas Pentz. I felt a rush of new strength as they pushed through towards me.

  “Hold! Enough!” Tollhagen bellowed out, his sword drawn and ready. A clearly nervous Corporal Pentz drew and brandished his own blade.

  My comrades were met with a chorus of jeers and the two cudgel-wielding rogues stepped forward. Quickly, a few others followed behind them, emboldened by the bullnecked cart drivers. The Cornet reached into his boot top and drew a pistol. Raising it up and drawing the hammer in one motion, he levelled it at the head of the lead man. “This town lies under marshal occupation. By God, I shall blow out your brains lest you withdraw. Now.”

  The leader paused his progress and spit in my direction. “That one there,” and he thrust his head towards me, “he drew steel first on our companion. This is no concern of yours.”

  The Cornet’s arm did not waver. “Should one drop of blood ruin my new doublet, or one hair of my Englishman’s head be touched, I shall have your neck stretched before sunset. I give you my word on that.”

  This, the blaggart gave some thought to. He then swore and stalked off, shoving bystanders out of his path.

  “Don’t hang an arse,” yelled the Corporal at me, “Get over here.”

  Without turning my back on Samuel, I slowly withdrew.

  Samuel’s eyes burned into me. “Our business isn’t yet finished, sirrah,” he said.

  Then he turned and pushed between two gawping porters and made his way off, into the wild warren of the baggage train.

  I could feel the sweat prickling in my armpits. I had made an enemy in my own camp, and he, my only countryman.

  The Cornet beheld me and shook his head. “The only two English gentles in all the land, and they are at sword point!”

  “He is no gentleman, sir,” I replied.

  Tollhagen laughed. “He is rigged better than you are. How can that be? Come, let us away from this rabble and into the company of honest soldiers. I’ll stand the first drink.” “But my clothes… he has all my belongings, least ways all that I don’t have with me at my billet.”

  “He has stolen these things from you?” asked Corporal Pentz.

  “Nay,” I replied sheepishly. “That fellow was my manservant.”

  And I could feel my face redden as they fell about themselves with mirth. “Tis enough to make a cat speak!” said the Cornet. “I need to hear this tale.”

  I FILLED MY belly at the Cornet’s lodgings (where several other officers had put up) and was given fresh linen for he could not bear to see a gentleman dressed like a gutter rat. And in the chill of the late afternoon as the sun dipped low in the sky, we sat in the front room drinking wine. I told the Cornet of my travels and of Samuel, and all that had happened after my arrival at the Danish camp at Verden.

  The Cornet leaned back after I had related my history and drained his cup. “Aye, well, make no bones, tis not the best of conditions: one suit, one sword, and one purse of silver to your name. But I was in a situation not far removed from yours only a few months past. Bide your time, lad. There’ll be service aplenty come the Spring.”

  “If my money holds out,” I lamented.

  “Plenty enough on a trooper’s pay for wine and harlots. What more need you spend it on?” said Tollhagen.

  “I could have had such things at home, and lived in comfort.”

  “Aye, but there is no war in England, is there?” he said, in earnest. “And Fortuna and Mars share the same bed, no?”

  “So it is said,” I replied, finishing my draught.

  “Mark me,” said the Cornet, lowering his voice, “The army leaves here in two days time. Word is we are to head to Celle in search of winter quarters. But Tilly still has garrisons to the southwest of Hanover and we yet may see some hot service before the first snow falls.”

  “But we’ve beaten back General Tilly’s army already, haven’t we?” I said. “They’ve flown away after every fight.”

  Corporal Pentz smiled at me. “My good sir, we have not yet encountered even onehalf of that Fleming’s unholy army. He’s testing us: at Hameln, here at Nienburg, and on the road south this fortnight past. He’s waiting for Duke Wallenstein’s host to join up with him. I’d bet a month’s wages on it. With Wallenstein, Tilly is a match for us in numbers, probably more so.”

  “Then what shall we do?” I asked. “The longer we tarry, the more time the Emperor and the King of Bavaria will have to throw more armies against us.”

  The Cornet reached for the wine again before answering me. “We will do what we are told to do, good fellow,” he replied. “What we are told.”

  The following day I spent some of my purse and rigged myself anew, buying two fine shirts, a doublet, a heavy wool cloak of reddish purple, and a lace band of great handsomeness. I still longed to give Samuel Stone a beating, but then remembered that I had wished at the beginning of my adventure to be on my own and only responsible for myself. Now that wish had been fulfilled.

  We left Nienburg by the road north on the twenty-ninth of October, leaving behind us saddened hostellers, despairing of lost custom or unpaid bills, and also an army of whores who would not see so much coin again until the next occupying army squatted over Nienburg. Somewhere to the rear of the regiments lurked Samuel and his companions. Would I find a knife at my back when next I secured harness or horseshoes?

  It is no small mercy of God’s Wisdom that most men can see no farther than the bend in the road before them.

  V

  Fortune’s Hand

  February 1626

  Tower Hill

  Fifth of July, 1645

  YESTERDAY, HAVE WE come to this dread place of waiting. My escort of three troopers, and the captain who had rescued me at St. Albans, drove me through Moorfields and then through the streets of the city.The outer battlements received us and we slowly rode up through the cobblestone passage to the Lion’s Tower. I stared up at that corpulent mass of ancient stone and in truth, for the first time in my present troubles, my courage began to fail me. For I have seen a Tower like that before, many a year ago, in Germany. I did my best to steel my heart.

  Now I am wrapped tight in the cold arms of my Enemy, with little chance of slipping the ungentle embrace. The great gates crashed shut behind us and we rode on, in silence. More redcoats came out of the shadows, and our bridles were taken in hand. I was ordered to dismount. My leg seared as I touched ground and I limped so badly that I nearly lost my balance and tumbled to my knees. From out of the Lodgings came some officer of the Rebels who I took to be Parliament’s Lieutenant of the Tower. I stood before him, sweat dripping down my face, the rays of the afternoon sun beating down on my back. He was flanked by two partisan-bearing troopers, big men both, as he strode forward to meet us.

  “State your business!” he bellowed, swaggering to a halt.

  The Captain stepped forward with his letter in hand. “I have here the traitor Richard Treadwell, per order of General Fairfax.”

  His words burned, and I could not contain my anger. “So Parliament has already dispensed with trial and due course of justice, just as we were told.”

  One of the troopers seized me by the arm. “Shut it! Else I’ll thrash you,” he hissed into my ear.

  The warder read the order and looked up at me. “Are you Richard Treadwell?”

  “I am,” I replied.

  He then turned to the Captain. “Sir, I discharge you from your duty. The prisoner is now mine.”

  And I was led, hobbling, lugging my coarse sack with my meagre belongings, across the wide Green towards the east wall. All about me, soldiers stopped and watched us pass, wondering who this new wretch was, and what he had done.

  We entered the Martin Tower and I began a painful climb up the winding stair. Out came a great ring of keys, and the Lieutenant of the Tower opened the nail-studded oaken door that stood before u
s. And thus was I led into my present place of confinement. The room is large but meanly furnished: a small rack to rest my body, a table and a chair, and a close stool in an alcove. My windows, two narrow slits in the stone, ration cold illumination to the chamber.

  My keeper addressed me. “You may call for the guard if you are in need, but abuse it not. I will see that food and drink is sent up to you later.” And with nothing more he and the guards turned and left me.

  “Wait, sir!” I called out. “What is your intention? How long am I to be detained here?”

  The officer half turned towards me and paused. “That, sirrah, is at the sole pleasure of Parliament. You must bide your time.” The door slammed shut and the keys jangled in the lock. And I was left in silence to contemplate my woeful condition.

  WE SANK INTO the chill and damp embrace of that wet winter of 1625.

  The King of Denmark had decided to draw his forces to the east and north of Hannover. It was his design to protect the roads and towns to Hamburg during the winter months, but there was little good intelligence as to the whereabouts of the Emperor’s other servant, the Duke Wallenstein, and his army, somewhere farther off to the east. The voice of that gipsy, my Anya, came back to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Balthazar muttered a curse but did not reply.

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

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

  Christoph cackled at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Pentz, climb through and open the door.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Rikard, fetch the rope from my horse!”

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

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

  “Rikard, make fast his hands.”

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

  Christoph grew impatient, shoving me to one side.

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

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

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