Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens
(Account of Six Friends' Lives in the "Dark" Ages)
by
Ruwen Rouhs
Chapter 14.7
- Clandestine in Trescrossing -
- The Arson Attack -
The bells of the Cathedral St. Tarciss announced the end the Compline and their calls were answered by the jingling of the Poor Sinner’s bells of Boniface and the other churches of Trescrossing. The sounds told the merchants, the traveling peddlers and traders, the cutlers and scissor grinders, the cattle and horse dealers and, last but not least, the traveling healers and magicians, to close their shops or stands.
Only the stages of traveling players, the minstrels and band wagons, as well as the stalls of soothsayers were allowed to stay open the till the midnight call. Other kinds of hangouts opened now. These were the gay stand of the mollies, which lured, with their flickering lights, horny lads and lecherous greybeards.
In marquees around the gurgling fountain in the town square, with their long rows of tables and benches, voracious guests fought for food and drink. Feeling ready for some fun, they ordered buckets of cold beer and pints of brandy. The long tables creaked under the weight of roast meats, dripping with fat, and with baskets full of bread. In the tents, the sweet air of the May evening was obscured by the sharp smell of garlic and acrid smells of farts.
The Archbishop’s herald, his tunic adorned with the official coat of arms, pushed his way through crowd of nagging children and tired mothers, flocking back home after a long afternoon at the Ascension market. A flying banner with a white wheel in a red shield gave him the necessary authority to fight his way adown the main-street to the city square. Two young constables, his helpers, trailed behind, their eyes popping out of their heads. Annoyed, he turned back, “Hurry up, you horny lads. Don’t hang back! The sweet mollies will be around the whole night. You’ll have enough time to waste your money! Come along, let’s fetch the damned healers!” Scratching his crotch lustfully, he mumbled into his beard, “I want to have some fun too, tonight!”
At the healer´s stand, Bastian was securing the wagon for the night. The herald snapped at him, “Where are your masters, the healers? His eminency, Archbishop Casmir, is waiting! I’m telling you, his eminency doesn’t like to wait, not for faith healers nor for quacks!”
“Keep your trap shut, you lousy beadle! I am nobody’s boot scraper! Take care, or my mothers, the Weird Sisters, will turn you into a warty toad!”
The arrival of the herald had shocked Bastian. He was upset and at the same time deeply worried. He turned to Anzo and breathed, “Has he sent his bailiffs to arrest our friends, like thugs? Doesn’t he trust us? Jaco told us the Archbishop is his friend and we will have nothing to fear from him!”
“I remember Marti confirmed Reedy’s statement. You can trust him, he told us. Let’s go, we have to warn Ruwen and Berrit!”
Bastian finger flipped the herald and his men, then they rushed to their quarters in the small guest-house to warn Ruwen and Berrit about the herald.
The members the Traveling Healers Company were highly alarmed. They were immediately edgy, but Anzo was tenser than the others, because he was afraid of losing Berrit a second time. “Please don’t go, my Berrie!” he pleaded, using Berrit nickname in public for the first time, “Berrie, you can make a quick escape, together with Ruwen. Meanwhile we will draw the attention of the Archbishop’s bailiffs!”
Jannes also began to beg, “Don’t go Ruwen! Maybe he’ll throw you in the dungeon! I wouldn’t be able to take that! Dungeons are so cold and horrifying.”
“People say the Archbishop is a very hard man, an evil man!” Francis added, “He is a man who destroys his opponents!”
While their distress increased more and more, the herald came knocking at the door. Chafe as he was at the healers because of Bastian’s depreciatory remark, he called, indignantly, “Our Lord is waiting! He is waiting, and waiting is an occupation he doesn’t like at all! Waiting makes Archbishop Casmir malevolent. Do you want to stir his Eminency’s wrath?”
*.*.*
Ruwen and Berrit were guarded by the Archbishop’s bailiffs like they were dangerous criminals, all the way to the castle, through the crowd of rollicking people at fair ground and through the well illuminated main-roadway. Both were nervous, but tried not to show their tension to their escort. At the castle’s gate, Ruwen couldn’t help himself anymore. “My heart is fluttering, Berrit! I hope Jaco and Marty are right and we will not get in troubles!” he voiced. “I’ll bet we will, if Archbishop Casmir knows our real objective!”
Berrit sighed, “How would he know that we are planning to spy on him? He can’t know! He is not all-knowing!” Crossings his fingers, “I’ve got collywobbles too, Ruwen! Believe me! I hope he hasn’t got wind of my father’s intention.”
Ruwen added, “I don’t look forward to this meeting, believe me! Who likes to step voluntarily into the lion’s den?” Their nervousness stepped up even more when the escort guided them into the great audience hall of the palace.
The wide hall was dimly lit by only two candles. Their flames were flickering in the nightly breeze drifting through the open windows. The large hall was silent. Only the faint sighing of the wind was audible in the oppressive dark. Shivers ran down Ruwen’s spine. He groped for Berrit’s hand and sighed with relief when he got hold of his friend’s fingers.
In the back of the room, nearly obscured by the dark, a high seat loomed. They thought it was empty, therefore they nearly fainted when a deep voice addressed them. “Welcome to my castle, Berrit of Quentisburry, son of my fierce enemy, Count Edo! That is you, the taller one; am I not correct?”
Only then did they notice the Archbishop on the high seat. The Archbishop turned to Ruwen, “And you are Ruwen d´Rouhston, Ruwen the famous Midsummer night prince, the son of the Weird Sisters; am I right? Welcome to my house also. Bow your head Ruwen, you may be a Prince, but I am still your Lord.”
The young men stopped breathing and the silence in the room was deafening again. Archbishop Casmir realized the shock he had caused. His voice softened slightly and he chuckled, “You attempted to spy on me? You have even been sending secret agents into my town, into my castle? A mercenary and an innocent boy!” He paused, allowing the information to sink into Berrit and Ruwen. “That’s unforgivable!” He stepped down from his seat and planted himself in front of the two shivering young men, “Your attempt is unforgivable; you deserve death! Both of you!” Then he paused for a moment, “But to your luck, you didn’t know what you were doing! It was our Lord who used you as his instrument!”
Archbishop Casmir couldn’t finish the sentence. Suddenly a small door in the background of the audience hall swung back with a loud bang and a small person in a long white shirt came running. “Archbishop Casmir, CCdO, Daddy! Why didn’t you tell me my friends have arrived?” Then the boy, Jaco, jumped up on Berrit, flung his arms around his neck and hugged him. Then he did the same to Ruwen, looking back to the Archbishop.
Ruwen and Berrit were awestruck. They looked from Jaco to the archbishop and then back again. The tall monk smiled and then continued with a much softer voice, “You don’t know what you did! You intended to send me a spy, but all you did was send me the most marvelous present possible. You gave me back my childhood-friend, the one I have been missing for nearly thirty years! No, you surely didn’t know what you did!”
Then he turned to Ruwen, “This afternoon you said to the ailing people in front of your wagon: We are only God’s simple servants, his instruments! And you are perfectly right, my dear Midnight Prince, you are God’s instrument.”
Both Ruwen and Berrit stayed mute. Archbishop Casmir went on, smiling, “Aren’t you getting cold, Reedy, come, my boy!” Then he wrapped his scapular around the boy, leaving only Jaco’s smiling face uncovered.
“You intended to send me a spy,” he joked and hugged Jaco tighter, “but you failed completely! You gave me back my childhood-mate, Tristam d´Ogmont.” Then he looked down to Jaco, “Reedy is not really Tristam, that’s true, but he looks like him as a boy. Reedy is the mirror image of my dear Tristam in many respects. He not only looks like my Tristam when he was a boy, he is also quick-thinking like him, daring like him, curious like him, truthful and loveable like him. Reedy is the reincarnation of Tristam d´Ogmont.” Then he turned to Jaco with a big smile, “If you agree, Reedy, I’ll adopt you! I will be your father as well your big friend!” Looking at Berrit and Ruwen, “And you will by my witnesses!”
Ruwen was stunned. He didn’t know much about Jaco and he definitely knew nothing at all of Archbishop Casmir, out of personal experience. Back in Quentisburry he had gotten to know Jaco as an alert, nice, mindful page, always shy and not at all flighty. Of Archbishop Casmir he only knew what every one else knew, and what he had learned in the village and in Quentisburry. Archbishop Casmir had a reputation as a harsh but just sovereign, taking good care of people entrusted to him as their sovereign. He was known for his ascetic life, and in contrast to other rulers, he did not dissipate the fortune of the bishopric for his own pleasure. The only luxury he indulged in was spending money on the education of young people in the castle’s school.
*.*.*
The unexpected turn of events left Ruwen speechless and all he could do was flash Jaco a cheery smile. Jaco answered the archbishop in his own special way. Without hesitation he locked his arms around the monk, pressed tightly against him and his face began to radiate.
Berrit was even more bewildered. His father had spoken of the Archbishop as a robber and murderer. He called him a devil in the shape of a saint. He blamed him for the death his second son. Now this same man showed a heart soft as a child’s, and this in front of strangers; potential enemies. Berrit was deeply impressed and elated, but as the future Count of Quentisburry, he had to act circumspectly. “Sir, may I remind you that Jaco is still a member of my father’s household. He was born in my father’s castle and is his bond servant. You can’t just claim possession of him, just because he is in your castle.”
Reddy’s smile faded, because he had never thought of himself as a bond-slave. In distress he looked up at Berrit and then pleadingly to the Archbishop.
Archbishop Casmir was aware that Berrit’s intention was to bargain. “Your father’s objective was to use this innocent boy as his spy. He endangered the boy’s life. Your father misused a helpless child for an egoistic objective. In my understanding, he has forfeited all rights to be Jaco’s sovereign. Therefore Reedy is a free man and not a bond servant anymore. From now on, Jaco isn’t ‘Jaco’ anymore, he is ‘Reedy’, my son. He will be known to everyone as Reedy, Count Tristam d´Ogmont. I am adopting him!”
Jaco was all smiles. His face radiated and he locked his arms around Archbishop Casmir even tighter and buried his face in the tall monk’s side. After a moment of silence he asked in an appealing voice, “Father! Please Daddy, do not do any harm to Ruwen and Berrit. They are not criminals. They are good men. They are my friends and my friends should also be your friends.” Contemplating what he could to offer his new father in exchange for this great request, he spoke hesitantly, “I will stay with you forever. I will try hard to be a good student!” After a short moment he took a deep breath, and, right from his heart, “I promise you I’ll be a good son, father!”
Archbishop Casmir, Count Berrit and Ruwen, the Midsummernight prince, looked in amazement at each other and at Reedy. The young boy, however, took Archbishop Casmir’s right hand and pulled him closer to Ruwen and Berrit and pleaded, “Please, Dad! Please Berrit! Please Ruwen! Join hands! Be friends.”
*.*.*
Ruwen and Berrit left the audience at the castle shortly before the bellmen announced midnight. Happy, like kids after a big birthday party, they strolled back through the still buzzing main-street, back to their quarters in the small guest-house, where the other members of the Healers Company waited anxiously for their return. Their reappearance was celebrated by the Anzo, Bastian and the boys, as if the two had just crossed the Styx-river and were back from Hades.
“Oh! You can’t believe how happy we are about your safe return!” Anzo called out, and began to hug and squeeze Berrit. Bastian locked Ruwen in his arms, squashing him nearly to mush. “Give us a full account of your meeting! You must! We are so curious! We thought that you might not even be allowed to return to us.” Still excited, the two described the surprising meeting; especially the new status of Jaco. “Archbishop Casmir has adopted Jaco as his son.” Berrit revealed and Ruwen explained to the others, “Now you can’t him call ‘Jaco’ anymore! His title is now ‘Reedy, Count Tristam d´Ogmont’!”
Thimus and Jannes began to ask question after question. Finally Thimus wanted to know, “Ruwen do you believe we can visit Jaco? He is a prince now! Do you think we can have a sleepover in what is probably his gorgeous bed? I want to know how it feels to sleep in a soft bed!” and Jannes wanted to know, “Do you think Archbishop Casmir would mind that Jaco is friends with the son of the captain of the city guard or even the friend of a foundling and the grandson of a traveling player?”
Jeroen and Francis were enthusiastic as well. Being older than Jannes and Thimus, the two welcomed another aspect of this development. “I am so glad Jaco has a real father now! I nearly envy him. I would like to have a father too.” After some hesitation he added, “Do you think, Ruwen, the Archbishop knows what a boy needs most? He never had a son before!” Francis, recalling his life as street boy, emphasized a different aspect, “From now on, nobody will dare to shove Jaco around anymore, like a stray dog! He is a prince now!”
Soon everybody was bone-weary and especially the smaller ones, who couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. They hugged the big ones ‘good night’ and then left for their bedroom. Bastian didn’t want to share a bedroom with Anzo and Bastian tonight, so he whispered to Ruwen, “Let’s sleep in the wagon tonight, my dear! Tonight I want to be alone with you! I miss that so much! Let us celebrate this miraculous ending of this exciting day in our special way.”
And they did! In the back of the Healers wagon, on the wooly hide of a bear and on thick layers of blankets, they enjoyed each other again and again. Late in the night and downright exhausted, Ruwen whispered to Bastian between kisses, “Tonight you loved me like you never have before! Hold me tight, my Bastian. Never in my life will I get tired of you!” Caressing Ruwen’s soft body, Bastian giggled happily, “You are hotter than ever before, even hotter than back in our small bed in my father’s house. Each day I love you more Ruwen, my Ruwen, my prince!”
*.*.*
The cold breeze coming from the mountains made Davie shiver under the woolen blanket. He tried to penetrate the darkness with wide-open eyes. He searched the room for Fatty, his friend. He listened in the dark. It was silent in the dead hours between the last calls of the brown owl and the clamor soon to be raised by the redstarts in the garden of the Abbey of St. Boniface.
He is still not back from the fair! Davie whispered aloud and struggled back to sleep again, as he had done at least four times since he crept under the covers, late that night. Finally he drifted off into a light sleep. A moment later, or was it an hour later, the muted sliding of feet along the corridor brought him wide awake again. The scuffling came closer and closer and ceased in front of his room. Then the door hinges squeaked, as the door swung back, and the smell of smoldering cinders mingled with the night air. A whiff of smoke drifted into the room, smelling slightly of incense.
Shaking with fear he ducked his head under the blanket. Was it Pirmin, the Abbot Winfrith’s fiendish right-hand man? Why was the limping monk coming to his room in the midst of the night? Did the vile monk want to drag Davie to his Master’s bed? In previous days, the hate-filled glances of the Abbot had spoken volumes. The Abbot Winfrith wanted vengeance after his unsuccessful attempt to abuse Davie at the hunting lodge, in front of the Nuncio Eugenio and the two lords.
Shaking with fear, Davie curled up under the blankets. He cursed himself for not having blocked the door with the bench. Of course, he hadn’t done it because he was still waiting for Fatty´s return from the fair. Cold sweat began running down his back and drenched the blankets. His frenzied imagination told him the vile Abbot would rape him first, then slaughter him, tear out his bowels and in the end feed his molested corpse to pigs.
Suddenly the scuffling continued down the corridor. The mysterious visitor walked to the portal of the Abbot’s mansion and then out into the abbey’s yard. Davie closed his eyes in relief, took a deep breath and thanked the fourteen holy helpers. The smoke of smoldering cinders was still in the air. The smoke filled his lungs and made him cough.
Had Pirmin been the nightly passer-by, Davie pondered. Had it been somebody else? Had it been the devil; the evil spirit himself? Had the devil paid a visit to Abbot Winfrith, finally? Had he taken him to Hell? Davie prayed to God that Belial had taken the Abbot with him to roast him in eternal fire. Dizzy and spent, the former brave boy bandit curled up and slowly went back to sleep.
*.*.*
In the dead hours of the night, while Davie had his nightmare, Ruwen was soundly asleep, with Bastian was spooning him tightly. The fair’s hubbub and the music of the gypsies had finally subsided and only once in a while the shouts of drunkards disturbed the peace of the May night.
A faint crackle startled Ruwen out of his deep sleep, a crackling like burning trash. The acrid smell of smoldering canvas made him cough. With effort he opened his heavy eyelids and peered into the dark. Tiny yellow-red tongues were licking along the blackish-brown fly-sheet in the corner of the wagon, by the box seat. While he still tried to figure out the meaning of the pearls of light, a garland of red-hot flames raced along the tough canvas cover up to the wagon’s roof. In the next instant the dry canvas became fully ablaze. In the blink of an eye the ensuing blaze ignited the whole front cover. Then the flames spread along the side covers and then the cloth of roof-top flared up like a torch.
An unbelievable heat emanated from the blazing covers. The air inside the wagon seemed to be on fire. The dry herbs on the wooden shelving caught fire and burned with bright flames. The brittle jars filled with salves and potions broke next, with crackling noises, and the released fluids blazed up. A huge flagon filled with strong spirits exploded. The alcohol gushed onto the wagon’s floor, ignited instantly and burned with a bluish hue. The rivulets of burning spirit spread out on floor of the wagon bed, set the carpets on fire and finally kindled the wooden tableau of Mother Mary the pride of the healers. The oily paint of the tableau blistered, softened and then burst into sooty flames.
The flaps of the healers stage, with the paintings of the Fourteen Holy Helpers, blazed up one after the other and the heat set the wooden ribs supporting the wagon’s roof on fire. Burning shreds of the canvas soared up into the dark sky, carried by the hot air. Wherever these shreds tumbled down they sparked off new fires.
Hot smoke filled the interior of the wagon and made breathing nearly impossible. The reek had raised Bastian out of his death-like sleep, “Fire, fire!” he yelled instinctively, leaping his feet. He lunged forward. He wanted to get out. But where was Ruwen, his friend, his love? He searched the bed of the wagon. Finally he detected Ruwen on the wagon-floor in front of him. His friend was curled up in a ball, his head buried between his knees.
“Get up, get up Ruwen! We have to get out! Get going!” Bastian screamed, frightened to death. He pulled on Ruwen! “Ruwen, my Ruwen, get up! We have to get out of the wagon.”
Ruwen didn’t rise. He curled up even tighter, whimpering like a baby. Bastian was frantic. “Come on. Come on!”
Instinctively Bastian realized that his friend was paralyzed by fear. He tried to pick him up, but Ruwen was so limp that Bastian couldn’t move him. Desperately he looked around in the blazing wagon. Without thinking, Bastian knew there was only one possibility for saving his friend’s life. He had to shield Ruwen from the flames with his own body.
Bastian addressed a quick prayer to the Weird Sisters: “Holy Sisters! Weird Sisters! Holy Mothers! Oh Urd! Oh Verandi! Oh Skuld, take me! Take my life! Keep Ruwen alive!” Instinctively, he grabbed the thick bear hide and the blankets they had used for their bed, covered up his body with this shield and launched himself on top of his friend. Huddled over his whimpering friend under this flimsy shelter, Bastian kept his breath shallow, to prevent himself from choking. Then he lost his consciousness, still praying: Oh Urd! Oh Verandi! Oh Skuld! Keep Ruwen alive; take my life.
*.*.*
The flaming inferno not only engulfed the cover of the healers´ wagon, but also set on fire the next wagons, and the stands downwind. With sand and wet cloth, the owners attempted to choke the fires. Others of the traveling people dashed with buckets to the fountain to fetch water for fire-fighting. They formed a bucket chain. Others, further away, whose wagons or booths were endangered only by the flying red-glowing shreds of canvas, tried to choke the sparks with blankets before their property was set on fire.
The screaming of people bustling around excitedly and the sudden brightness outside had aroused Berrit, Anzo and the others of the Healers Company. Drowsily, they stumbled out of the front-door, only to find their marvelous wagon fully ablaze!
“Ruwen! Ruwen! Where are you?” Like a madman, Jannes charged to the wagon, which was burning like a pyre. “Help! Help! Has anybody seen my big friends? Who has seen Ruwen? Where is Bastian?” he addressed crowd with a strident voice.
Thimus joined in, “Ruwen, Bastian! Where are you? Bastian! Bastian! Ruwen! Ruwen! Has anybody seen our friends?”
Berrit and Anzo searched the crowd for their friends. No Ruwen, no Bastian, nowhere. Fearing the worst, they began to attack the burning skeleton of the wagon like madmen. With picks and axes they attempted to tear an opening through the hot scorched railing of the wagon.
Jeroen and Francis came running from the fountain carrying buckets of water. They shouted frantically to the people around, “Please help, we need more water for firefighting! Please people, help! Our friends are still in the blazing wagon. Help!”
The people made a bucket-chain to and from the burning car and the two boys, together with the fire-guards, poured bucket after bucket of water onto the flames. Under the determined attack of the water and workers, the fire was finally extinguished.
In the gray light of the morning hour, the relic of the healers wagon looked like a skeleton, with the charred bows protruding into the air like ribs of a giant horse. In the wagon bed, scorched shelves, tables and desk chairs were still smoldering. The trunk with the medical books had burst. The parchment sheets of the hand-written volumes were soaked with water and curled up. The floor was scattered with shards of broken vials and cauldrons. Of the colorful image of the blessed virgin with the baby Jesus on the wooden panel, only the golden glorioles had survived the firestorm. In the back part of the wagon-bed, a pile of junk smoldered. The hair of bear’s hide, covering a thick layer of blankets, were scorched or burned away to the skin. A pungent sulfuric reek of burned hair poisoned the air.
The fire was nearly extinguished. With long poles, Berrit and Anzo poked around in the debris of anterior part of the car, searching for the remains of the Midnight princes. Francis and Jeroen again came back from the fountain with pails of full of water. Still out of breath, they threw the water on still smoldering heap of fur and blankets in the back of the wagon. The bundle of fur and the blankets were drenched from top to bottom and foul water seeped out.
The moment Jeroen turned away, to hasten back to the fountain, he noticed a slight movement in the pile. “Something is moving in here! Something is moving under the heap of fur! God, help! Let it be Bastian, let it be Ruwen!” Jeroen shouted to Berrit und Anzo. ”Get over here! Look, something is moving under the charred rugs! Tear them away! Faster! Faster!” He jumped up on the wagon and onto the waterlogged pile. “Bastian, Ruwen are you alive?”
Meanwhile, Jannes and Thimus had been standing hopelessly at the edge of the burned up wagon, holding hands and crying silently. Upon Jeroen’s alarm, they didn’t hesitated for a single moment. They climbed onto the car as well, and attempted to tear away the wet bear hide. It was too heavy. “Help, help!” they shouted and Jereon and Francis joined them immediately. Only after Berrit and Anzo also assisted the boys did they succeed in pulling away the scorched hide and wet blankets.
The morning-light was still too dim to distinguish what rested on the floor of the scorched wagon. “Light! Get over here with some torches! Quick! We need light, a lot of light!” Berrit called to the bystanders.
In the flickering light of torches, they realized that the dark bundle was the bodies of the Midnight princes. Curled up in a ball, Bastian and Ruwen lay on the floor of the wagon. The blond farmer’s son was holding the dark-haired son of a captain in a tight embrace.
Jannes launched himself immediately upon the ball of bodies. He couldn’t feel any life. “They are cold; they are wet; they do not breathe! They are dead! Berrit, Anzo, please help! Get them back to life!”
Thimus fell to his knees and cried uncontrollably.
Jeroen longed to see Bastian’s face, his big friends face; the face of his role model. He had to see his face.
Bastian’s face was inaccessible, hidden in the ball of bodies. Jeroen took hold of Bastian’s shoulder and tried to turn him around. He had to use all his strength to turn him around. He must have touched his big friend in a special way, because suddenly Bastian began to stir. He tried to fight Jereon off, with his eyes still closed. “He is alive, he is moving! Berrit, hurry! Come on, Anzo. Come on, Berrit, help Bastian!”
In contrast to Bastian, Ruwen’s body stayed limp. He didn’t give a jerk when touched. He didn’t give a single sign of life. Berrit closed his eyes in order to concentrate as he pressed his ear to Ruwen’s breast. After some long moments he took a deep breath and heaved with relief. “I can hear his heart beating, faintly beating.” He said with a low voice. Then he shouted aloud to announce it to all, “Ruwen’s heart is beating. The heartbeat is faint like the heartbeat of a tiny bird, but he is alive! Ruwen and Bastian are alive! The Midnight princes are alive!”
Bastian and Ruwen were still unconscious and their bodies limp and cold. With the help of the city guards, they were carried into the guesthouse and bedded onto straw. Berrit and Anzo immediately started attempts at resurrection.
*.*.*
High above Trescrossing, on top of the castle’s donjon, the night watch had spotted the fire even before the city guards. He had sounded the alarm bell. The high-pitched jingling not only startled the watchmen and soldiers in the castle out of the sleep, but also many citizens. Soon an excited crowd gathered at the site of the blaze. The firefighters, the city guards, the traveling people, and many townsmen, commoners and nobles and their servants did all that they could do to put out the blaze at the fair and prevent the firestorm from reaching the densely built-up city quarters.
When the Archbishop’s watchmen, reinforced by Marty’s rookies, arrived on the scene, the open flames had already been contained and the firefighters searched for nests of still glowing embers in the surroundings.
In front of the smoldering rubble of the burnt up wagons and stands, in the midst of upset traveling people and citizens, Marty ran into the distraught Anzo. “Marty, Marty!” he screamed, “Ruwen and Bastian were trapped in the blazing wagon. They have survived, but both are close to death!” He then fell hopeless into the arms of the mercenary.
In the main room of the ground floor of the small guest-house, Ruwen and Bastian had been placed on a mattress. Both were breathing with difficulty and irregularly. Once in awhile they would cough out slime, black with soot. Berrit tried to help them as much as possible. He cleaned their faces and their nostrils with soft wool and from time to time he fed them wine diluted with water. Jannes and Thimus, both still weeping faintly, helped Berrit wipe away the black soot with a wetted cloth. The three helped their semiconscious friends so gently and softly that it looked more like caressing than cleaning.
When Berrit noticed Marty, he smiled weakly, “Thank Heavens they have survived the fire! Presently they still are only half conscious! Oh, Marty! I hope they recover completely, but only God knows!”
Anzo, while still holding onto the mercenary, filled him in softly, “Marty, look at Ruwen! He is trembling like an aspen leaf! Bastian tried to save his friend. He was covering Ruwen with his own body!”
“They were sleeping in the wagon, when the fire came. There was no fire in the wagon, so someone has deliberately started the fire in our wagon. Whoever it was, he nearly murdered both of them!” Berrit added angrily, while at the same time trying to gently feed Ruwen more watered down wine. “That bastard nearly assassinated the Midsummer Night Princes! The Weird Sisters, their mothers, will avenge this assassination attempt, and bring the arsonist to a terrible end.
“I do not know the objective of the arsonist. He was not successful in killing our friends, but he may have achieved another possible objective. The fire has destroyed nearly anything we need for treating the sick and ailing. Our stores of herbs, salves and potions, all our medications and our medical instruments, our irreplaceable books and practically everything else were consumed by the fire!” Anzo added accusingly. “Oh Marty, our beautiful painted wagon, the treatment platform, the magician’s coats; imagine Marty, everything is reduced to cinders!”
In view of scope of this disaster, Marty began to swear, “When I catch the arsonist, I’ll break the bastard on the wheel! This firebug has to be in league with the devil himself!” Looking up to Heaven, he called out, “St. Michael, dragon slayer, help me! Help me to find that monster!”
*.*.*
Next morning the news about the blaze and the miraculous escape of the Midnight princes was all over town! Already, before the Lauds, a small cavalcade left the Archbishop’s castle and headed to the fair grounds. Reedy had taken the lead, and turning back, he summoned, “Make haste, Daddy Casmir! Command the escort to go faster! Your help is needed! Please, come on!”
Right after, Archbishop Casmir closed the gap to Reedy, and the boy appealed to him, begging like a nestling, “CCdO, please Daddy, can we take my friends in as your guests! They need your help! Ruwen and Bastian have made a narrow escape from death. They are terribly sick, Marty told me!” He looked pleadingly up at Archbishop Casmir, “Marty also told me they have lost everything! Ruwen and Bastian have even lost their clothes. Both are wounded and sick. They need your help! Please, Daddy, take them in! Your residence is so big!” When the Archbishop still didn’t answer, Jaco made a last attempt, “They are so nice, all of them! They can move in with me and Marty, and I will try to eat less! Please Daddy!”
At the town square, Archbishop Casmir first inspected the site of the blaze. The wagon of the healers, and two others, had been completely gutted by the fire, as well as some stands. Eight more wagons had been damaged by flying burning shreds. “You, victims of the blaze!” he turned to the owners of the burned up wagons and stands, “You can report at my bursary today. The bursar will compensate you for your lost property.” Now calling on those whose property was only partially damaged, “You will get help from the provost, to fix your wagons and stands.” Rising in the stirrups, he announced to the crowd at the top of his voice, “The fair will carry on! No fire will prevent the fair from going on as planned!”
Afterwards he took aside the captain of the city guards to get details of the happenings of the night. “Sir, Our Eminency!” the bearded captain opened his report with a deep bow, “Sir! We investigated the incident for the rest of the night. I interrogated more than three dozen traveling people and citizens. They all are sure that there was no open fire, neither at the wagon of the healers, nor in the wagons and stands nearby. On the other hand, we can’t be sure, because in the dead of the night everybody was in deep sleep, with exception of the guards in the gate-house.”
“Are you sure, Captain? Were your sentries on duty? Did you miss anything?”
“My sentries were alert! I’m willing to confirm this by oath.” Slightly uneasy, he added, “There was one report acquired during my interrogation, but I don’t dare to relate it to you, Our Eminency!” Waiting for a nod from the Archbishop, he continued, “One of the drunkards, an ill-famed prowler, adjured he saw a limping black shadow sneaking past the fountain, shortly the before the fire. The ghostlike shadow was clad like a monk. The drunkard reported the ghost was swinging a vessel, like a censer! He told me he would swear any oath that he smelled the scent of burning incense when the shadow limped by.”
While Archbishop Casmir interrogated the Captain, Reddy was already sitting at Ruwen’s side. The Midnight Prince had fallen into a shallow sleep. Reedy was caressing Ruwen’s cheek, while he eagerly confided his plan to Bastian, to find a place for all of them up in the castle, “I asked my new and only daddy to offer you fine lodging in the castle, not only you and Ruwen but for all members of the Healers Company. In the castle there is ample place. There you and Ruwen can recover quickly. I really pressed hard. I told him that all your stuff was consumed by the fire! I really pressed hard, believe me! But so far he hasn’t given in.”
Bastian, playing ignorant, looked questioningly at Reedy, “Who is that Jaco; your new daddy? I thought you were an orphan, boy. Did you find your parents in Trescrossing? And why is he new?”
“You stupid!” Reedy blurted out proudly, “It’s Archbishop Casmir! CCdO is my daddy! He has adopted me! Archbishop Casmir is such a nice daddy. He loves me and I love him. I will pester him till he agrees to take you in!”
Just then the door opened and four of the Archbishop’s servants entered, carrying stretchers. Behind them, only a very short while later, Archbishop Casmir himself appeared, grinning cannily. “What do you say now, my little Tristam? Transportation for your sick friends is waiting outside.” Then he turned to Bastian and Ruwen. “I’m so sorry! This was a vicious welcome for the two most famous sons of my Bishopric, for the famous Midsummer Night princes!”
*.*.*
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.