Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens
(Account of Six Friends' Lives in the "Dark" Ages)
by
Ruwen Rouhs
Chapter 14.1
- Clandestine Mission at the Archbishop’s Seat -
- The avant-garde -
Űf dem berge und in dem tal
hebt sich aber der vogele schal,
hiure als ę
gruonet klę.
rűme ez, winter, dű tuost wę!
Die boume, die dâ stuonden grîs,
die habent alle ir niuwez rîs
vogele vol: daz tuot wol.
dâ von nimt der meie den zol.
Jaco’s shrill boy-voice drowned out Marti’s hoarse bass voice when they finally approached the city of Trescrossing in the early afternoon. “Just one more verse!” Jaco begged for the last one, the one where the old hag turns young again!”
“We have already performed this song four times and I am hoarse like I might be after an all-nighter. Please, not!”
”Then I’ll do the verse by myself! Tee-hee! You´ll never turn young again!”
Ein altiu mit dem tôde vaht
beide tac und ouch die naht.
diu spranc sider
als ein wider
und stiez die jungen alle nider.
At the last words they rode up to the city gate and came to a halt when the armed guards denied them passage of the thoroughfare.
“Halt! No stranger armed to the teeth is allowed to enter the city! That is the order from high up! Stop there, and dismount!” the two guards reinforced the command of the older one, with their long halberds.
Jaco was stunned and upset. Could a simple gate guard force his brave mercenary to dismount? But Marti, the Genoese mercenary, dismounted his war horse instead of drawing his sword!
“I am not a robber; I am not on a foray! Not at all! I want to sign up for the Archbishop’s army. My ambition is to join his Eminence’s famous forces and serve this wise ruler!”
After a short consultation with officer in charge, the Marti and his page, Jaco, got a pass and were allowed to ride to the Archbishop’s castle on the top of the castle hill. “Ride straight up to the castle and report to the constable of his Eminence!” the guard clarified the instruction with “Don’t take a detour, on pain of penalty!”
Marti and Jaco passed through the gate into New-Trescrossing, the new quarter, on the left bank of the Reuss-River, crossed the swift river by means of the old covered bridge and then tried to find the shortest way through the hurly-burly of small alleys of Old-Trescrossing, to the sharp rising outcrop which was crowned with the Archbishop’s castle. At the foot of the outcrop the steep bridleway snaking its way up to the castle was barred by fortified gate, in the thick wall running along the foot of the castle mountain.
All the way from Quentisburry to Trescrossing, or at least mostly, Jaco and Marti had been riding side by side like friends, not like knight and page. But on the route through the town, Jaco assumed the position of page, trailing, with his heavily loaded mule, to the rear of Marti’s war horse.
At the gate, two soldiers in the Archbishop’s colors waited for the mercenary and his page. “Halt, on behalf of the Archbishop!” They examined Marti painstakingly and waved him through. Then they turned to Jaco, “What the hell have you laden onto this poor donkey, boy? That’s enough to conduct a campaign to Palestine!”
“That’s just our tent, our sleeping mats and cooking gear!”
“I’ll bet, boy, that you’ve got needle and thread as well, and all the gear a soldier’s bride needs!”
Jaco smiled, flattered, but Marti turned around and snapped at the soldier, “Keep your trap shut or should I wash out your mouth?”
A sub-constable welcomed the mercenary in the ward of the castle, with a very rude tone, “’Welcome’ in the Constable’s name. It is his privilege to recruit the Archbishop’s men! He is demanding, and will only accept the best soldiers. As he is away on business, you will have to wait till he is back. The tryout trial will take place tomorrow morning.”
Marti, being not cowed at all, snapped back, “A trial? Sword? Lance? Crossbow? I will accept every challenge. I am a descendant of a glorious clan of Genoas´ mercenaries!”
*.*.*
Jaco’s belly rumbled. Impatiently he waited for the return of Marti from an interview with the commander of the Archbishop’s small army. He had been waiting now for about half the afternoon and hadn’t had a bite since his breakfast with Marti, Fatty and Davy, early this morning. Now the darkness was beginning to close in.
Jaco was sitting on the steps to the small house the sub-constable had allotted to Marti on their arrival. The place was just a hovel at the very end of the tenements which were reserved for higher ranking privates. It was messy, lacking every comfort and furnished only with a small bedstead, a rickety table and a broken chair. The nearest necessary was at least hundred feet further down at the very end of the courtyard.
Now the darkness was looming in the ward and the silhouettes of the buildings on the opposite side of the ward stood darkly against the pale evening sky. A mighty donjon towered over all the other buildings, even the Archbishop’s roomy palace. This elegant building, with its dormers and turrets, looked small compared to the ancient keep. To the left, the palace was flanked by three low half-timbered buildings; the kitchen-house, the bakery and the cellars. The Archbishop’s chapel, to the right of the palace, was a heavy building looking as ancient as the keep. Adjoined to the chapel was a row of recently erected buildings, spanning the whole distance up to the parapet.
The inner ward seemed to be filled with black ink, and the light of the few candles flickering behind the windows of the palace was not bright enough to penetrate the darkness. The moon was hiding just behind the donjon. Looking up to the pale sky, Jaco waited for the moon to reappear and fill the yard with pale light, when a flock of bats darted out of the loopholes of the keep. Unheard, the heralds of darkness zigzagged through the nocturnal sky and vanished to the outer ward where the stables and barns were to be found. Jaco shuddered and a shiver ran down his spine.
He was relieved when a door in the kitchen-house swung open and a finger of light painted the cobblestones of the courtyard with yellowish light. Carried along with the light, the appetizing aroma of meat pottage and freshly baked bread drifted across the dark yard to Jaco. Jaco’s stomach answered and growled like a pack of starved dogs. His empty tummy forced him to sneak over to the open door.
Afraid to enter the door, Jaco spied into the wide kitchen, brightly lit by blazing flames in the big fireplace in the opposite wall. The first thing he became aware of were three kettles on tripods over the fire. Clouds of steam escaped from under the lid of the biggest of the cauldrons and, with the steam the scent of meat broth filled the kitchen. Having worked as a scullion before, Jaco knew it was high time to rescue the stew in the kettle from burning. In a moment he was at the fireplace, snatched the burning hot cover, took a pot full of water and poured it into the kettle to replenish the broth. A big cloud of steam soared into the air and a hissing noise filled the kitchen.
Stirring the stew with a long spoon, Jaco suddenly felt eyes focusing on his back and a gruff voice asked, “Hey boy, what are you after in my kitchen?”
Turning around his eyes fell onto a short woman, a woman wider than higher height, wearing a colorful apron. “Oh… ” Jaco stuttered, blushing, “I, I just wanted to save the stew from burning, you know…”
The woman interrupted Jaco. Looking in every corner of the room, she began to curse like a sailor, “Mads, Anno, where are you dammed rascals? Making out in the outhouse? Tossing off together again?” Then she turned to Jaco, speaking calmly, “Thank you, young man! You saved the charmerchande, the Archbishop’s favorite dish. He likes lambkin better than his own life.”
Eying Jaco from head to toe, the woman, obviously the cook, asked, “Aren’t you the page to the young mercenary; the cute boy all the maidens are gossiping about? You seem to not only be cute, but clever!”
Jaco blushed and instead of an answer his stomach started rumbling louder than before, “You are hungry boy! Aren’t you? Doesn’t he feed you as is right and proper for a growing lad? Is your master such a tightwad?” Picking up a big bowl and filling it with the lambkin stew, she smiled at Jaco, “Taste this! After all it’s to your merit that the stew is still comestible.” Pausing a moment, she demanded, “But first, tell your name boy, then eat!”
“Jaco is my name! But Marti, my mercenary, calls me his Reedy. I like Reed better than Jaco! Don’t you?”
“You really look reedy, thin like a reed. But not for long, I promise you! I will pamper you if you stay around some more! Breakfast, lunch and dinner! All you can eat! You’ll get it from Mother Amy! Here in her realm!” With that, she filled up the bowl again and Jaco devoured the next of three helpings.
Returning to their lodging, Jaco prepared a nest of blankets on the floor in front of the small bedstead. When Marty didn’t show up, he undressed and went to sleep. A cold draft coming through the open door roused Jaco from a dreamless sleep. Scared, he hid in the pile of blankets up to his nose. Someone had entered the pitch dark room and was moving around, cursing in a low voice. Then the intruder kindled a candle and the flickering light penetrated the darkness.
“Where are you Reedy? Damned boy, where are you hiding?” It was Marty. Nearly stumbling over the pile of blankets on the floor in front of the bed, Marty put down the candle, picked up Jaco all wrapped up in the blankets. Putting the boy into the bed, he whispered tenderly, “Why aren’t you using the bed, my Reedy? Didn’t I tell you before, friends are supposed to share everything!” Slipping under the covers, the mercenary pulled Jaco into his arms, “Come closer dear one, you have to warm me up, I’m freezing!” Sighing, pleased, Jaco finally fell into a dreamless-world, soon spooning tightly with his big friend.
*.*.*
Late in the afternoon of that same day, Fatty and Davy approached the city gate of New-Trescrossing, trailing behind a stream of tired farmers heading home from the fields. Riding on their grey mules, they stood out like a sore thumb, in their outfits. Secretly they taken along their wardrobe they had used as the members of the ill-famed Brave Boy Bandits; dark hose, dark doublets and black tunics. But they had done up their garments with colored bordures and buttons. Dressed up like this they looked like brothers or, more accurately, like half-brothers, because Fatty with his milk-white face and blond hair contrasted strongly with the dark-haired, tanned Davy.
The guards at the gate singled the two out, “Hey, fancy brothers, what’s your business here? His Eminence, the Archbishop, wants neither scallywags nor loafers in town. So show me your letter of safe conduct and your burse or turn around and look for your good luck elsewhere!”
Fatty, rubbing his nose and pulling a wry face at first, turned his mule as if to leave disappointed. Then, however, he grinned fiendishly, searched his packsack, and presented the surprised guard a crushed scroll of parchment dangling with heavy seals. Rubbing the parchment under the guard’s nose, he demanded, “Check this, this letter of safe conduct is issued by the Almighty Pope in Rome. Read it and let us pass!” The guard, not able to decipher the letter, was mightily impressed. He gave way and the Brave Boy Bandits were free to conquer the town.
Watering the mules at the fountain on the city square, Fatty asked the idle standing around, “Can anyone tell us the way to the mightiest nobleman in town or to the wealthiest merchant? We want to pay him the honor of taking service with him! We have served earls and princes all over the world, from Rome to London, from Prague to Paris! He will be proud to engage us!”
Sizing the two up, a fat bum snapped back dryly, “Well, lads,” looking around among the other bums craving for applause, “I’d guess none of our nobles nor the tightwad merchants will hire rent boys. But try your luck with the monks. The abbot is panting for dashing fellows like you two!”
Fatty and Davy left the fountain in a huff. The next several hours they went from one door to the next, asking for jobs. At first they asked at the palaces of the nobles, without result. Then they inquired at the doors of the stately houses of merchants, then they turned to the shops of craftsmen and finally they tried their luck at the speakeasies in the dark narrow alleys. All in vain; not the city nobles, nor the merchants, nor the craftsmen or even the owners of taverns or speakeasies showed any inclination to hire the two young chaps. When the dusk descended, both were tired, hungry and worn out.
Disappointed, they had to come to a decision. “Let’s stop the search for today and try to get shelter and some food! Let’s try the monastery. Monks are supposed to help roving pilgrims,” Fatty proposed.
“I don’t like to ask for charity at the monastery’s gate, but my stomach tells to give in. I am sleepy and can’t move my feet anymore!” Davy sighed with a yawn.
“I also hate to ask monks for a bed to sleep in and some food,” remembering the lopsided sneer of the bum at the fountain, Fatty added uneasily, “Do you remember the insinuation of the bum at the fountain? A Brave Boy Bandit doesn’t get upset over vague insinuations! We need a shelter for the night and a bowl of porridge! Let’s hurry there! Compline will be over at any moment!”
Just when the last bell peal announced the end of the Compline, Fatty knocked at the porter’s lodge at the monastery. When the small door in the gate opened, Davy cringed with shock. A giant higher than six feet and thin as a rake, snarled at him, “No alms after Compline, no bread after dark!” Then, bending over to have a closer look at Davy, the giant seem to waiver between chasing off a late beggar and having pity for the skinny lad in front of him. The pity won out. “Well, for God’s sake, how old are you lad?” twirling his beard, he headed out into the dark courtyard, mumbling, “Stay boy, I will call on the Abbot for permission to take up a late guest!”
“We are two, good friar. Two forlorn boys! Starving to death! For God’s sake, ask shelter for two!” Davy called after the porter, who luckily hadn’t caught sight of well-fed Fatty.
Minutes later a short, tubby monk appeared at the door, his golden pectoral reflecting the flickering light of the torch carried by the porter. To his side a wispy monk limped along. “Shine the light onto our late guests, friar!” the fat monk, apparently the abbot himself, scrutinized the two waiting boys and stated, “I don’t put up thugs or bandits in my Abbey!” While the abbot studied Fatty and Davy from a distance, the limping monk circled the two like a goshawk. Seemingly satisfied with the looks of the two, the Abbot’s harsh voice went mellow, “Welcome, in the name of the Lord, my fancy lads.” Waving Fatty and Davy nearer, he offered his ring for a formal kiss. Seemingly pleased with what was on display, he patted their cheeks, smiling, full of expectance, “My dear lads!” My stalwart servant, Pirmin, will take care of you for this evening, like a mother does. You will spend the night in the soft beds reserved for my special guests.” Heartily burping, he went on, “I am so sorry my dears, but tonight I am too busy with administrative matters, however, beginning tomorrow, I will care for your well-being myself!” Then, patting Davy’s cheek a last time, he ordered, “Now, my boys, the night closes in! Don’t hesitate! Follow Pirmin, my faithful confidant, he will be your servant!”
*.*.*
AUTHOR NOTE
I would like to express my special thanks to B. for doing an unbelievable 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 ruwenrouhs@hotmail.de. And I would like to add, thanks for reading.