“My men? Don’t you mean the baron’s?”
“These men are under our command at the moment. That makes them our responsibility.”
“I suppose that’s true," admitted Krebbs. "Tell me, sir, is the baron joining us at some point?”
“He is, as a matter of fact. He was due to set out three or four days after us, though, of course, I don't know if he stuck to that schedule. After all, he did have a lot of things to see to before he left.”
“We’ll have to keep an eye out for him in Torburg, then.”
“That’s the spirit, Sergeant.”
* * *
The road they were now on saw far more traffic than that which led to Regnitz. As a consequence, it was not unusual to meet others along the way, typically merchants or the odd farmer. However, what they did not expect to see was a trio of warriors coming towards them wearing Lord Gebhard's livery.
Ludwig slowed the pace. “What’s this, now?”
“I don’t like the look of this,” noted Krebbs.
As they approached, Ludwig noted the condition of their clothes. “They look like they’ve been living rough.” When they were within a dozen paces, he called out, “You there! Where's your master?”
The trio looked up suddenly, as if only now realizing they were not alone. Their next action clearly explained their presence as they rushed into a nearby field.
“After them!” shouted Ludwig. “They’re deserters!”
As his own men chased them, Ludwig caught the attention of one of his archers as he ran past. “Simmons, string your bow.”
He watched his men scrambling across the field with an air of excitement, encouraged by the fact these were Baron Stein’s men they were chasing after. He doubted they would be caught unscathed, for Lord Wulfram’s men had suffered much during the siege, but Ludwig consoled himself that they had earned it.
Two of the deserters went down as they were caught, but the third, more fleet of foot, increased his lead.
Ludwig turned to Simmons. The young man had strung his bow and was notching an arrow. “Hit that man, and there’s a coin in it for you.”
The archer took his time, gauging the wind and leading his target. Ludwig was ready to complain about the delay, and then the arrow sailed forth, arcing into the air to then come down and take the deserter in the shoulder. The man gave a yell and dropped to his knees, clutching his wound and groaning in agony.
“That’ll teach ya,” shouted Simmons.
The rest of the men soon caught up to the fellow, dragging him to his feet and holding him steady until Ludwig reached them.
“Do we string him up?” asked Wahlman.
“No,” replied Ludwig. “This man must be taken to Torburg, along with the other two. It's not our place to mete out punishment here. Rather, it is for their lord and master to decide.”
“Tie him up,” ordered Krebbs, “and let’s get back to the road.”
“What about his wound?” asked Wahlman.
Ludwig gazed at the prisoner, recognizing the defiance in his eyes. “Pull the arrow out,” he ordered, “then bind the wound as best you can.”
Krebbs looked at him in shock. “You can’t do that, sir.”
“Why's that?”
"The arrow didn’t go all the way through. If we pull it out now, it’ll likely do more damage than when it hit.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Ludwig.
“It has to be cut out, sir, and carefully at that. I heard of a man who was shot in the leg. They got the arrow out, but it did such frightful damage being extracted that he lost the limb.”
“Did he survive?”
“Only for a few days, then the stump turned sour.”
Ludwig shuddered. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“We could always hang him.”
“Kill him? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“They’ll hang him in Torburg anyway, sir. That’s the punishment for desertion.”
“I’ll not have his blood on my hands.”
Krebbs frowned. “But you already do, don’t you see, sir? That happened the moment you chose to intervene.”
Ludwig’s heart raced. His impetuous action had now led him to a point where he must determine the fate of three men. This was not soldiering, far from it, in fact. He tried to envisage what his father, the baron, would do, and the answer came to him immediately. This was a duty he couldn’t shirk, no matter how unpleasant it was. He looked around. All he saw were faces staring back at him in expectation.
“Very well,” he finally said, “but I will allow each condemned man to speak in their own defence. We’ll take them over there, beneath the trees. It will at least offer some respite from the heat. Bring the prisoners, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” said Krebbs. His men bound the prisoners' arms, eliciting cries of pain from the injured man, then led them to the indicated spot.
Ludwig had the sergeant bring forward one prisoner at a time, but there was little they could say in their own defence. The injured man broke down, confessing to a multitude of sins, including the desertion. It appeared Lord Gebhard’s men were not happy that their victory had been snatched from them at Regnitz. The injured deserter's pleas for mercy were lost on the men of Lord Wulfram, but Ludwig let him ramble on, determined not to curtail the last words of a man sentenced to death.
The other two were far less co-operative, choosing instead to remain mute, but it mattered little, for they were condemned by the confession of their wounded comrade.
A lump formed in Ludwig’s throat as he pronounced sentence, and he had to pause a moment to calm himself. Once done, he now faced the prospect of how to actually carry out the sentences. He turned to his sergeant.
“How shall I execute them?” he asked. “By the sword?”
“Saints, no,” said Krebbs. “These are commoners, sir, not nobles. They have to be hanged.”
“We have no rope.”
The sergeant cast his eyes about, finally resting on a distant farmhouse. “They’ll likely have some over yonder, sir.”
Ludwig dug into the small purse Lord Wulfram had given him. “Here,” he said, handing over some coins. “Take two men and offer some coins in exchange for a length of rope. I’m sure you know how much we’ll need.”
“Of course, sir.”
Ludwig watched them go, feeling numb. One of the prisoners was openly weeping now, and Ludwig felt brittle inside as if his very soul would snap like a twig. He came closer, kneeling before the condemned.
“Shall I say a prayer for you?”
The crying man nodded his head, as did the injured one, but his unwounded comrade remained defiant in the face of imminent death.
“Let us pray,” said Ludwig, lowering his head. He interlocked his fingers and shut his eyes. “Saint Mathew, look down upon us this day. Here stands before you, three men condemned to death. I pray you forgive them their sins and guide them to everlasting peace in the Afterlife.” The words felt so inadequate, yet they helped soothe Ludwig’s own wounded heart. Did Saint Mathew truly look down on him? He found it hard to believe, yet the very thought of it gave him comfort.
“Saints be with you.” As he concluded his prayer, he felt a warmth spread through him, an inner peace he couldn’t explain.
“Saints be with us all,” the three men repeated.
Ludwig glanced at the defiant one, only to see the fire of rebellion had finally been extinguished. In its place was only resignation.
Ludwig rose. “The road to the Afterlife is a long one. I would see you fed before you begin the trip.” Into his own pack he went, extracting some of his food. This he passed amongst the condemned men, watching as they greedily consumed it.
By late afternoon the sergeant returned with the rope, then the nooses were formed, and the prisoners were hanged. Ludwig had seen a number of executions in his lifetime. After all, in Verfeld, it was the baron’s responsibility to enforce the king's justice. Hanging to him had always se
emed a quick and efficient method to end a man's life, but today, without an experienced executioner, the men dangled, kicking wildly as they slowly choked to death.
Ludwig felt his stomach rebel at the scene but managed to keep his food down long enough for the spectacle to conclude.
“Cut them down,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
“Sir?” asked Krebbs.
“You heard me.”
“They’re deserters, sir. The practice is to leave them hanging as a sign to others.”
Ludwig stared at the dangling bodies. “There's no one here to see them, Sergeant. The road is too distant. Let us put the bodies into the earth that they may not be food for the crows.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
Ludwig left the sergeant to his business, making his way deeper into the woods. Behind him, the men began digging with makeshift tools, but the sounds soon faded into the background, buried by the chirp of birds and the hum of insects. Ludwig leaned against a tree, and then the contents of his stomach finally heaved to the surface.
31
Return to Torburg
Summer 1095 SR
* * *
The march into Torburg continued in silence. The executions had put everyone in a foul mood despite the right of it, and Ludwig had to wonder if his men were pondering their own futures.
The tournament grounds to the south of the city were littered with tents, guards, and campfires. Into this hodgepodge of soldiery walked Ludwig, determined to report his arrival to someone in authority. He halted his men, picking out a clear area for them to rest, then made his way towards a cluster of pavilions that held the standard of the duke.
As he closed the distance, a familiar voice called out.
“Sir Ludwig? Is that you?”
“Sir Galrath? I didn’t expect to find you here.”
The knight smiled. “Why ever not? I am, after all, in the service of His Grace. Will you partake of an ale with me?”
“I should like to,” replied Ludwig, “but I have business with the duke.”
“I’m afraid the duke isn’t here.”
“That’s his pavilion, isn’t it?”
“It is," admitted Sir Galrath, "but he had to go into the city on a matter of some import. What is it you seek? Perhaps I can help?”
“I've brought men from Regnitz, at the behest of Lord Wulfram.”
“That's good news indeed. Might I ask how many?”
“Only two dozen, I’m afraid. We took quite a pounding at the hands of Lord Gebhard.”
“Ah, yes, I heard something to that effect. Still, two dozen is better than none. I suppose you’ll be wanting some food for them?”
“Yes, and a place to set up camp.”
“Well, that,” said Sir Galrath, “is easy enough. Simply pick any spare spot of ground.”
“And the food?”
“For that, you’ll have to speak with the duke's quartermaster. A man by the name of Wasser.”
“Kurt Wasser?”
“Yes, you know him?”
“I’ll say,” said Ludwig with a grin. “He’s the one who taught me how to fight.”
“Then let me take you to him. This time of day, he’ll be over yonder handing out loaves of bread and kegs of ale.”
“He serves food now?”
Sir Galrath chuckled. “No, but he oversees the work. He’s a smart man, keeps a close eye on things.”
“Why is that so important?”
“It reduces pilfering. Before he came along, half the food was being whisked away to Saints knows where probably to line some pockets with coins.”
“Are you suggesting the duke's men are corrupt?”
“Of course," said the older knight. "It’s the natural course of events when people are involved. The real trick, of course, is to not let it get in the way of things. Now follow me, and I’ll show you the way.”
Sir Galrath led them through the camp. “Over there, you can see the duke’s knights. He keeps the horses together, making it much easier to feed them.”
“It’s an impressive sight,” said Ludwig. “There must be hundreds of them.”
“Yes, and that’s only the ones under the duke’s direct command. Some of the barons have their own knights as well. At last count, we had nearly five hundred horsemen. The bulk of the army is, of course, its footmen, but we also have quite a few archers. All in all, we have fifteen hundred but are expecting upwards of two thousand men when all the barons arrive.”
“Impressive.”
“Yes,” agreed Sir Galrath. “Yet for all that, I wonder if it will be enough.”
“You fear Andover outnumbers us?”
“I do. Their king would scarcely attack otherwise.”
They halted at an awning where beneath stood a pair of women, taking loaves of bread from baskets and handing them to a line of warriors.
“Is Kurt Wasser about?” asked Sir Galrath.
“He’s inside,” the older woman replied, nodding her head in the general direction of the nearest tent.
“Come along, then,” continued the senior knight. “Best if we don’t keep him waiting.”
An argument drifted out to greet them as they drew nearer.
“I don’t care,” came Kurt’s voice. “Lord Helmer can only draw rations for those of his men who are present. Should any more arrive, then you can come back for extra.”
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” came the reply. An older man stepped from the tent, almost colliding with Ludwig. Only the quick thinking of Sir Galrath saved the day as he grabbed his younger companion's arm and pulled him aside just in time.
“Who was that?” asked Ludwig.
“I’m not sure,” replied Sir Galrath, “but whoever it was, wore the colours of the Baron of Galmund.”
Kurt appeared at the opening, breaking into a grin. “I thought I recognized the voice. Ludwig, I’d wondered what happened to you. I see you've met Sir Galrath?”
“Yes,” replied Ludwig. “He’s the one who defeated me in the joust.”
“You must tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“I shall leave you to it,” said Sir Galrath. “I have things to look after. Drop by later, Sir Ludwig, and we’ll share a drink.”
“Sir Ludwig?” said Kurt. “You're not still peddling stories?”
“No, I was knighted.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, by Lord Wulfram, Baron of Regnitz.”
“I sense a complicated story,” said Kurt.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because with you, nothing is ever easy.”
“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“I mean it in only the nicest way.”
“In that case,” said Ludwig, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to get the food ration for the baron’s men.”
“How many did you bring?”
“A mere two dozen.”
“Just send them over and get them to line up. Are they wearing the baron’s colours?”
“They are.”
“Then that will be more than sufficient.”
“So tell me,” said Ludwig, “how did you end up working for the duke?”
“It’s a long story,” replied Kurt. “Let’s just say he recognizes talent when he sees it. Of course, I do much more than simply looking after food.”
“Like what?”
“I’m one of his advisors.”
“You?”
“Yes," said Kurt. "Why? Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. After all, I’ve got lots of experience when it comes to the intricacies of war. Look, why don’t you come in and sit down for a while? We can catch up on things.”
“I’d love to, but I have a duty to see to the baron’s men.”
“What’s this, now?” said Kurt. “What have you done with that brash young noble I brought to Erlingen?”
Ludwig�
��s face darkened. “That’s not me anymore, Kurt. I’ve seen too much these last few months, things I can never unsee.”
“Then we’ll save it until we have more time. Look, I have to be at the duke's tent this evening. How about you drop by tomorrow afternoon? We'll catch up then?”
“Fair enough,” said Ludwig, “but I’m warning you, I’ll hold you to it.”
Kurt chuckled. “As well you should. Now, get going. You’ve got men to feed.”
As Ludwig left the area to seek the baron’s troops, his mood lightened immeasurably.
* * *
With food in their bellies, Wulfram’s men sat around a fire, staring into the flames. The entire area was eerily quiet, possibly a portent of things to come once they started marching. Ludwig poked a log, stirring up a few sparks that drifted into the starless night. The clouds overhead added to the general sense of gloom, and he found himself wishing he were back in Verfeld.
“What do you reckon, sir?” asked Krebbs.
“About what?” replied Ludwig.
“This here war.”
He shrugged. “What is there to think on? We must do our duty to the duke. That’s all there is to it.”
“It’s a strange one, though, isn’t it?” added the sergeant.
“Strange in what way?” Ludwig leaned forward, intrigued with the sergeant's words.
“They say there was no warning from Andover, and they haven’t even made any demands. Took His Grace completely by surprise.”
Ludwig had to wonder who ‘they’ were, but he feared it was nothing but idle gossip. “What else have you heard?”
“Well, as everyone knows, there’s been bad blood between Erlingen and Andover for years, and—”
“Wait a moment,” said Ludwig. “Did you say bad blood?”
“I did, sir, although I suppose you wouldn’t know of it, being a foreigner and all.”
“Then you’d best fill me in on the situation.”
“It all has to do with families,” said Krebbs. “You see, the duke and the King of Andover are cousins of a sort.”
“Of a sort? I’m afraid I haven't a clue what you’re talking about.”
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