Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens

(Account of Six Friends’ Lives in the “Dark” Ages)

by

Ruwen Rouhs

Chapter 8.5

RAIDO! Head-on into the Unknown

- Reunion of Ruwen and Bastian -

The captain and Bendrich were the spearhead of the combined forces formed by the soldiers of the Prince-Bishop of Trescrossing and the most courageous and strongest villagers; who had joined the patrol in the morning, to recover their homes. These two were the first to ride into the deserted village, carefully checking those places suitable for an ambush. Everything was quiet, uncommonly quiet; no ambush had been laid.

Bendrich was relieved, “Thank God, the Gray Raiders have left our village. Not one of our homes has been burned to ashes! Look over there, only some hay stacks were incinerated. But these brutes have torn down nearly all gates and vandalized our houses!…Captain, can you guess what has happened? Why did they leave?”

“I have no answer, young man! But we have to be careful not to run into a hidden trap.” Addressing his troops the Captain ordered, “Soldiers, search the whole place for traps and then mend the broken gates in the village wall. They have to be in good state in case the enemy returns in the dark of the night. And you villagers, search the buildings for hidden persons and after that, check out the damage.”

Bendrich inspected his father’s estate right away. He cursed the Gray Raiders as he entered the farm through the broken gate. “Damn fiends! Can’t you enter a house like civilized people? There was no need to unhinge the door. We left it unlocked.” With every step Bendrich got angrier. The common room had been ransacked, the table soiled and the dishes broken. Bendrich got really mad finding the furniture as well as the beds in the rooms of the first floor turned over and dirty.

Rushing up the staircase to check the boys’ rooms, Bendrich was startled. The two little rooms were untouched. The twins’ den, his and Geroldt’s room, was as messy as usually. The floor and bed was cluttered with clothes, tools, their fancy possessions and some souvenirs. In contrast, Bastian and Ruwen’s small room was as tidy as always. Only the common bedstead belonging to the midnight princes looked different. A big rune was laid out on the linen sheet covering the mattress and folded quilt covered its foot; instead off the faded and worn blanket the boys normally had.

Bendrich knew this rune very well. It was “RAIDO”, the rune used by Ruwen to mark his possessions. It was also the sign for a long lasting voyage. The strange, colorful bedspread was made of soft wool. As he unfurled it, the quilt of dark cloth displayed an unknown emblem, a golden shield with a silver-colored hawk with a red peak. This emblem was unknown to him, but seemed to be the coat of arms of a noble family.

Bendrich didn’t know how to interpret these signs. It was a message from Ruwen, of this he was sure. But what did the quilt mean. Who had left it? Was it a present for Bastian? He had many questions and rushed to the old Linden tree at the church. He couldn’t detect his smaller brother, Bastian, in the crowd of soldiers and villagers. Bendrich was immediately worried. Where was he?

Suddenly loud shouts came from one of the farm houses down the street. Then two of the younger villagers came running up to the Linden tree, “There is a bloody body down in Tanko’s house. Its throat is cut and the lower body ripped open.”

“Is it Bastian? I haven’t been able to find him!”

“No, it’s not him. It’s somebody else. I don’t recognize the man, because of the blood, but it’s definitely not Bastian.”

When they got to the body, Bendrich and the older villagers recognized Tanko immediately. Someone had killed Tanko, the traitor. The corpse looked gross, because not only was his throat was cut, but his prick and his balls had also been chopped off his body. Both were stuffed into Tanko’s mouth. Bendrich stomach revolted in disgust.

A little later, after continuing his search, Bendrich found Bastian crouched beside Aliah’s deathbed deep in grief and lost in thought. “I have to leave you Bendrich, you and everyone else I love, everything else I love. I have to leave you; my mother, father, Geroldt and my dear sisters, our farm and the whole village.”

“You mustn’t, Bastian! Tell me why! You don’t have to!”

“I do have to, dear brother. I have to follow Ruwen. I am just one half of the Midsummer Night Princes. Both halves have to stay together, forever! That’s our destiny! The norns have decided that!”

Bastian left next morning, together with the Prince-Bishop’s soldiers, in pursuit of the Gray Raiders. He asked his father for a favor, “Please let me take Blackie. He’s the horse who brought Ruwen to me; now the stallion will bring me to Ruwen.” He kissed his father and brother good-bye, “I’ll be back; please give my greetings to my dear mother and tell her I love her and every one of my family!”

Bendrich gave Bastian the strange quilt as a good-luck charm.

*.*.*

At noon Bastian discovered the “Raido” sign at the resting place the Gray Raiders had used at the foot of the last mountain pass, and then again at turn-off from the main road. Without asking the captain for permission he took the small, stony path into the dark mountain forest. He just told him, “Captain, you know I have to go. There is no way out; I have to follow my blood brother Ruwen!”

Looking very doubtful, the captain asked, “Are you really sure that’s the way Ruwen took? It’s dangerous to follow a way into the unknown. There are tracks made by four horses; he is not alone! It may be a trap!”

Bastian didn’t listen to the captain and pushed fast along the overgrown path. In the evening’s twilight he came upon the shed, in which Ruwen and his three companions had spent the night. In the half-light, the “Raido” stood out clearly on the grey limber-wall, and Bastian was sure, he had taken the right way.

The next evening he rode into a small hamlet. He asked the young farmer living there, “I am looking for my friend. He is a dark-haired and lanky young man, looking slightly alien! Did he come along here with three others riders?”

“Do you mean the companion of Count Berrit, our Duke’s son? Yeah, Friar Benedict, or Count Berrit, came by here with two servants, a boy and groom, and the dark-haired young man. This morning, they left for the Monastery of Niwenburg.”

“Thank God. I am sure the dark-haired lad was my friend Ruwen. Was he in chains; was he prisoner?”

“No. The lad was called Ruwen by Count Berrit but they seemed to be friends, not enemies. This was strange, because Berrit was dressed like a prince and the lad like a farmer’s son!”

A twitch flashed through Bastian’s stomach. He had never experienced this kind of pain. Was it jealousy? He had to find Ruwen as soon as possible.

“Thanks a lot for the good news, and good bye. I have to hurry onwards!”

“Don’t depart now; stay here overnight!” the farmer laughed, “You’ll break your neck, if you try to go to Niwenburg in the dark, especially by horse. Count Berrit was planning to stay in Niwenburg for more than one day! There is no need to rush on.”

Bastian accepted the invitation to stay overnight. As he wrapped up in the strange quilt for sleeping, the young farmer voiced, amazed, “That’s the emblem of the Duke of Quentisburry, Count Berrit’s father! Where did you get this precious cover?”

“The quilt was left in…” Bastian wanted to say in Ruwen’s and my bed, but finished his answer, “in our house!”

*.*.*

Berrit’s head spun. His brain recorded Friar Severinus´ answer, but his heart couldn’t accept it. Anzo was gone; he had vanished! Where was his Anzo, his friend, to whom he had written letter after letter.

Berrit left Ruwen, Fatty and Davy under the care of the gatekeeper and rushed across the square, to High Church. The Monks had just finished the Sext, the midday prayer, and left in a file through the door to the dormitory. With one glance he noticed the absence of the Abbot and the prior because the procession was headed by the sub-prior. Also Notker, the headmaster of the novices, and Friar Ambrose, the infirmarian, were missing.

A pinecone hit his head when he crossed the churchyard to take the shortcut to the novice quarters. Turning, he spotted a small black figure seeking cover behind one of the tombstones, a novice.

“Get out of your hiding place, stupid Eli, and apologize to the captain. You hit a stranger, not me!” A bigger novice came running out of another hiding place. He bowed in front of Berrit, “Excuse the little brat, Sir. That’s my small brother, the Novice Elias, and he meant to hit me! We are playing robbers and constables. He still needs to play a bit once in a while, being so young!” Studying the stranger’s face carefully, the novice shouted in surprise, “You are Friar Benedict! Oh gosh, I didn’t recognize you! You look like a real captain!” Then to Elias “Come on Eli, don’t be afraid; it’s our friend!”

Berrit now recognized Quint after clearly seeing his face. “Yes Quint, I am back, but just for a short visit. I came to get Anzo!…I mean,  Friar Timotheus! Do you know where he is? Friar Severinus told me he has vanished, and he didn’t want to say more! I am so worried!”

Eli came running up and embraced Berrit. ”I’m glad you are here again. Friar Ambrose needs you; I need you; everyone needs you! And I can tell you that Tim needed you too. He left because you never ever thought of him…He cried for you every evening. I heard him every night, because my bed was beside his!”

Berrit was startled, “I wrote him many letters, but he never answered!”

“He didn’t get any of your letters, I know that for sure.” Pirm joined in.

He had arrived in search of his brothers. Noticing Berrit’s worried face, he ordered his younger brother, “Novice Elias, please rush down to the sheep-folds and look for the young shepherd, the one with Snowy, the white dog. Ask him to come, immediately!”…And then to Berrit, “Let’s go to the old crypt, the catacomb. We have to show you a strange drawing!”

Eli was back before Berrit and the twins had finally succeeded in rolling away the heavy stone from atop the entrance to the crypt. Snowy, running before Eli, began to woof at the stranger. Then the dog recognized Berrit and began to lick his palms.

The crypt was dim. Dust of forgotten times rose slowly with every step of the intruders took. The air was stale but dry. In the flickering light of a candle the twins took Berrit to the far end. On the wall, deeply carved into the weathered plaster, were two bear cubs hugging each other. The playing animals were surrounded by a wreath of leaves. The inscription below the engraving was in strange letters, but Berrit was able to decipher the two characters. They were the Greek letters for ‘A’ and ‘B’, alpha and beta, written backwards.

Berrit’s heartbeat jumped with joy. It was Anzo’s writing. Anzo liked to write his secret messages this way and the signature was his for sure. Berrit stared at the carving, scanning the wreath for a secret message. There was none. His heart nearly stopped beating. He began to search the catacombs for a message; first the circular crypt, then the open burial niches carved into the walls, and finally the ossuary where he hunted between the dry bones for a sign. There was no message. His hope turned into despair.

Suddenly the light in the crypt went dim and Berrit cringed in terror. Turning around and drawing his dagger was one movement as a silhouette blocked the light coming from the graveyard.

Stepping down the stairs the man greeted Berrit. The count recalled his voice immediately and calmed down when the young shepherd said, “My Lord, my dear Benedict! We have been waiting impatiently for you since you left, and particularly since Timotheus went missing, we all waited; the novices, Friar Ambrose, Snowy and me.”

Once outside, under the cover of a tree, Berrit, the young shepherd and the three brothers huddled together, with Snowy at their feet, and the shepherd continued. “After you left, Friar Benedict, Novice Timotheus began to wait for a message of you. At first patiently, then with increasing anxiety and after a week he began to check at the gate for a letter, every morning and evening. He began to take Snowy along for company and consolation. Soon the dog waited for him every the morning and evening. Then one morning Snowy became uneasy and began to search the whole monastery. He returned with hanging tail and sad eyes. Tim hadn’t turned up at the usual time, and Snowy couldn’t find him anywhere.”

Eli interrupted impatiently, “The evening before, I had seen Harelip intercepting Timmy at the infirmary, and dragging him away by force. When he didn’t turn up the whole evening I asked my brothers and they asked the other novices and later headmaster Notker. But nobody knew what had happened and why Harelip had lead Timotheus away.”

“Next morning in the Prime, the Abbot added a new verse to the intercession: “God the Almighty, help a poor soul to perceive your will.” …Everyone was startled, not one of the monks guessed who the poor soul was. Later, the name of Novice Timotheus was secretly suggested!” added Pirm.

Quint supplemented his twin brother’s account, “Just a week later the Abbot changed his intercession to: “Merciful Savior, bring a lost soul back to the way of virtue! Have mercy on him!” Now everyone was sure that something terrible had happened to Tim.”

“I had searched for Timotheus as best I could, since he had vanished, but now I began to turn the whole monastery upside down in a desperate search for my friend. I took Snowy, let him sniff at an old shirt belonging to Tim, and commanded…Search, Search!” the young shepherd emphasized. “Days later Snowy was successful. He found a track of Timotheus and where he had been hidden.” The young shepherd stopped in grief and then commenced, still in distress, “Timotheus had been hidden here, in the crypt, and from here his tracks led through rat runs to a small gate in the eastern wall. There Snowy lost the track. He probably left on horseback! But where to?”

While the shepherd looked without hope into the grey sky, Pirm declared hesitantly, after a short pause, “There is still some hope. An old woman from the village down at the bridge told Friar Ambrose about a horse passing by and going to the gorge around midnight that night. On the way down, the horse carried two hooded monks, a big one holding a small one tightly in front of him. When the horse returned at dawn, only the big one was on its back. It was Harelip, the Abbot’s vile servant.”

*.*.*

Late next morning, Berrit woke up with a splitting headache. A nightmare had ripped him out of his sleep in the dead of night. The dream was about Anzo, but he could no longer remember any details of the dream. Hardly awake for a moment, he was immediately shaking and sobbing desperately. Ruwen, who shared the bed with Berrit, had a hard time to consol him, but eventually did bring him back to sleep. Now they were waiting for the return of the Abbot.

When the Abbot and his entourage showed up at the gate Berrit had ordered Fatty and Davy to saddle the horses and secure them at the railing just outside the monastery’s gate. Turning to the two boys he had commanded, “Davy, you stay with the horses at the gate, at all times. If someone complains, tell them: My Master, the Count of Quentisburry, has given orders to keep the horses ready! And you, Fatty, you follow me and Ruwen to the Abbot’s house as soon as possible and wait there, in front of the door of the Abbot’s chapel.”

Berrit broke in on the Abbot in his private rooms and forced the shaken monk into the chapel. Meanwhile, Ruwen guarded the entrance.

“I have just one question, Abbot!” Berrit asked, “Where is Timotheus? What have you done to him?”

The Abbot was outraged and frightened at the same time. He forced himself to keep cool, and retorted, “Who are you? Who are you, to threaten a Man of God in God’s house?”

“Since you don’t recognize me, I am Count Berrit of Quentisburry. I am the son of the patron and benefactor of this monastery, and I am the future patron and benefactor.” Shaking the Abbot, “And now tell me Abbot: Where is your fosterling, Timotheus; where is Anzo of Veldegg?”

The Abbot searched his mind for the most promising way out of this situation. He wanted stall, in the hope that the other monks would miss him, and come to look for him.

He tried an offensive move, “Count Berrit! Did this reprobate lad beguile you into sin? Did this miserable sodomite mislead you? Did this hell bound necromancer addle your brain?” Clutching the Cross at his breast with one hand, and poking with the forefinger of his other hand at Berrit’s chest, he accused the young Count, “I’ve read your letters to Novice Timotheus! You are addicted to this evil creature!”…And after a long pause, “Or did you seduced that poor lad? Have you destroyed his soul?” Another pause, then, “He seduced you! He wants to destroy your soul!”

“You holier-than-thou vile monk!…Don’t you know that Jesus loved his disciples and maidens?…You are a bad theologian, an ignoramus, a know-nothing! You are not worthy of heading a monastery!…Have you forgotten that Jesus loved his disciple, John? That Jesus loved the youngling of Bethany and revived him? That Jesus loved the woman sinner, Mary Magdalene?”

The argument got hotter, the sentences shorter, the words louder. Ruwen could hear the Abbot’s harangues through closed door, “You evil sinner! You sodomite! You hellion!”

Unfortunately, it was not only Ruwen who could hear the shrill quarrel; Harelip did too. The monster came storming along the corridor leading to the chapel. Ruwen heard the approaching steps and quickly turned around. Spotting the slobbering monk, and automatically drawing his dagger needed no thoughts at all. Harelip saw the stranger in front of the chapel-door, but couldn’t stop in time. They collided and Ruwen’s dagger pierced the monk’s left side. Due to his strength, Harelip took control of the battle and pinned Ruwen against the wall. At that moment, Fatty emerged into the hallway. Recognizing the danger Ruwen was in, he seized a candleholder and smashed it against Harelip’s temple. The monster collapsed and was out of it just long enough to have his arms tied together behind his back.

Ruwen crouching on Harelip’s chest pushed his bloody dagger at the throat of the Abbot’s right hand man and demanded, “Where is Timotheus? Tell me where he is? What did you do to him? Talk, or I’ll kill you! Did you murder him?”

BY kicking the friar into the ribs, Fatty added emphasis to the brutal interrogation. Harelip was actually a coward. Usually he compensated for his gutlessness by hurting weaker people. Now he was the underdog! Fearing for his life, he was scared shitless.

“Father sold him for silver!”

“Which father sold Timotheus for money? To whom was he sold to?”

“My father, the Abbot, sold him to Menno of Veldegg, Timotheus’ uncle!”

Fatty kicked him again and Ruwen hit him on the forehead with the hilt of the dagger, till blood came pouring out. Then they forced him into the chapel.

The Abbot’s face froze in midst of the heated argument, “Poor son, what have these beasts done to you? My poor son?” and he rushed to Harelip.

Fatty’s tackle stopped the Abbot and Ruwen commanded, “Harelip tell the Count of Quentisburry what your father, the Abbot, did with Timotheus! Do it quickly!” and to enforce the order he hit him again with the hilt of the dagger.

The quivering, drooling Friar pointed with his head at the Abbot, “He sold him! My father sold him for silver and gold to the Count of Veldegg! He forced me to hand Timotheus over to Menno’s soldiers!”

Berrit had a momentary black out. Then he turned to the Abbot, “You monster. You delivered my love to his executioner. You, you…!” Berrit couldn’t continue the sentence. Instead he seized the cross dangling at the Abbot’s breast and yanked it off. “You aren’t an Abbot anymore; you are a murderer, a godforsaken, worthless piece of shit!”

Fatty, recognizing the situation, took the Abbot’s right hand and tried to pull off the other regalia of an abbot; a ring with a ruby stone. “Give us the sanctified ring, or I’ll cut off your finger to get it!”

*.*.*

Berrit and his friends left the chapel, leaving father and son tied together and gagged. They took a looping route, through the horse stables, to avoid meeting any monks. Rushing through the lengthy stable, Ruwen was greeted by the elated whickering of a black horse. At a glance, he recognized Blackie, his stallion. A member of his family must have arrived. He knew Bastian had come to join him.

He asked the stable-boy, “Where is the owner of that horse?”

In the kitchen, his back to the door, Bastian was sitting at a table, talking with the cooks and servants. Ruwen tiptoed quietly over, and covered Bastian’s eyes with his hands. Bastian recognized Ruwen’s soft hands immediately. He jumped up, nearly knocking over the heavy table with its food, and whooped with joy, “Brother, my dear brother! I finally have you back again!” He took Ruwen in his arms and they danced around, through the kitchen, and out to the stable. The cooks and servants cheered and clapped their hands at their obvious joy.

Bastian and Ruwen went, hand in hand, out through the gate of the monastery, a happy Blackie following his masters proudly. Berrit eyed the beaming couple in wonder and envy. Bastian was nearly a head taller than Ruwen. He was about the young count’s height, but with blond instead of his hazelnut-brown hair, and slightly broader shoulders.

Ruwen introduced his friend, “This is Bastian, my blood brother, the one the norns have chosen for me!”

Berrit smiled, “Welcome to our small family!” and the horse-boys exclaimed in unison, as if rehearsed for many times, “Hail, to the Midnight Princes! Hail, to Ruwen and Bastian!”

The small cavalcade left the monastery without a farewell or a thank-you. Berrit took the lead, while Ruwen, riding Blackie, was the rearguard. The gates of Niwenburg were still closed and the monastery looked deserted when the troop crossed the wooden bridge with thundering hoofs.

At the entrance to the gorge, Berrit took the regalia of an abbot, the golden cross and the ruby ring, and tossed both into the thundering cataract. “The Counts of Quentisburry will never ever protect and patronize a monastery, as long as silver and gold count more than the blood of innocents!”

During a later break along the river’s bank, Bastian walked up to Berrit and bowed, “Thank you, Prince. Thank-you for Ruwen’s freedom and life. I will fight by your side till Anzo and you are united in freedom!”

Berrit embraced Bastian and accepted him as his peer.

*.*.*

That evening the cavalcade stopped in a small tavern miles from anywhere, for food and to stay for the night in their barn. There, Ruwen and Bastian made their nest in the farthest corner, while Berrit joined a bed of straw with Fatty and Davy, at the entrance. The horse-boys were soon snoring. Berrit, however, had a hard time falling asleep, as his heart was heavy and full of concern about Anzo’s fate. Therefore he could listen to the happy giggling and chatting of the reunited Midnight Princes for a long time. But when a faint rhythmical noise demonstrated the love of Ruwen and Bastian, Berrit’s mind finally relaxed and let him dream of Anzo.

At the breakfast next morning, Ruwen and Bastian were sitting side by side, holding hands secretly under the tabletop. Everyone at the table was aware of their happiness. Little Davy tried a joke, “Hey Ruwen and Bastian, you really enjoyed your reunion last night! We all noticed…Let’s have a bet, Count Berrit and Fatty! Which of them will give birth to a baby in nine months?”

“Wiseass! You missed the best part and fell asleep before we had our last turn!” Ruwen joked back. “You should know, either each of us two will have a baby, or neither of us!”

*.*.*

AUTHOR NOTE

I would like to express my special thanks to B. for doing a great job by correcting all the wrong expressions and the punctuation used by a non native English writer.

Comments, reviews, questions and complaints are welcomed. Please send them to Ruwen Rouhs. And I would like to add, thanks for reading.

Copyright Notice - Copyright © 2007

The author copyrights this story and retains all rights. This work may not be duplicated in any form – physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise – without the author's expressed permission. All applicable copyright laws apply.

Ruwen Rouhs