The Ravens’ Banquet (9 page)

Here before me stood a hog in armour: Samuel arrayed like some Colonel of Horse and set for parade. To his fine breeches and boots he had now added a russet doublet of no less than three-pile velvet, a black wool cloak, and new brimmer with a golden band. He swaggered about the other baggage boys like some Hector and handing out favours to those beneath him.

I glanced downwards at my own clothing, now ragged and hole-shot after weeks of fighting, riding, and tasting Nature’s elements more often than wished for. I looked no better than an armed beggar. It was all too clear now that he had cozened me well and truly.

He had stolen the banker’s note from my clothes and had paid the banker a call, posing as Richard Treadwell, the English volunteer.

I slipped my baldric lower to hang my sword and scabbard across my backside and strode towards him. I was at the south wall of the town, near the great gate, this being the place that the regimental baggage train had claimed for its own.

He didn’t even take notice of me until I grasped his shoulder and pushed him forward. He spun around in an instant, his right hand flying to the handle of the little pigsticker that yet marked him as a rustic.

“What, ho, the country clown has done well indeed!” I taunted. Others turned to hear the foreign tongue that caught their ears and when Samuel yelled back at me we had in but a few moments an audience eager for blood.

“Country clown no more, sirrah! I’m in good keep and now my
own
master besides,” said Samuel, stepping back and fingering his short sword.

“Jackanape!” I spat. “In good keep at my expense. How long did you think you’d profit before I discovered you? You have done me dishonour, Samuel Stone, and my father as well.”

Samuel stepped back a pace again and began to slowly skirt me like a mongrel looking for an unguarded place to bite. His grey eyes had again taken on that harsh glistening I had seen before. He did not deny my charge.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Honour and fathers. That’s where we did last leave off. I told you I would show you the truth of things. Now is the time.”

I burned. “I shall drag you to the moneylender that
he
shall see the truth of things. If must needs be I’ll take the silver from out of your hide.”

Samuel continued to circle and his mouth split into a grin. “I have a proposal for you. I’m now in need of a servant to fetch my supper. What say you?”

I drew my sword on him, for no man could let such an injury pass without challenge. He quickly brought up his own rusty poker and brandished it at me. Then, his left hand went behind his back and returned with a dagger, which he wagged at me like a schoolmaster’s birch.

“Let’s see how well you dance, sirrah. Come, give me play,” he laughed. From out of the corner of my eye I could see a wagon being pushed in behind me to cut off any retreat. And I understood in a flash that I was in enemy hands. These were Samuel’s people now. I thrust out and made to beat his blade aside, but his grip was firm. “You’ll have to do better than that, Master Treadwell.” He said softly. “I have waited to take my revenge on your blood since Hamburg. You must not disappoint me.” I had little fear of Samuel’s skill at sword, but I could feel the crowd close around us: a company of thieving rogues and corner creepers. Hemming us in would only favour Samuel and his short piece of rusty steel. I felt a shove at my back and I lashed out with my left hand while keeping my gaze firmly on Samuel. I stepped forward again and tried to run up Samuel’s blade but he stepped inside and swiped at me with his dagger hand. I pulled back out of his reach. He came on, forcing me to parry his sword and side-step and I cracked my hilt into his head as he rushed past. He cried out in rage and turned fast, striking out again. Looking beyond him I saw two baggage camp men wielding cudgels and eyeing me with no good intent. And nowhere was there a bolthole to run.

“You are all as alike!” he spat at me. “Black and base dogs all and your father the biggest one of all!”

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.

Y
ESTERDAY
,
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 us. 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.

W
E 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.