Hamman struggled to break free and roared with temper. Kruger held on. He knew if he let go he would be in trouble.
Many of the others gathered around in a thick circle. Several cheered for each man. Some of them felt Kruger was right in all that he said. Others, like Hamman, did not want to hear it.
Frundsberg heard the racket. He turned to de Bourbon. “What is going on?”
De Bourbon shrugged. “Who knows?”
“It sounds like a fight to me.”
“Then let them get on with it.”
“I will not have my men fighting with each other!”
“They need to vent their anger. It is better that than they direct it at us.”
Frundsberg left him in the tent. He made his way across to the large group of onlookers. Hamman managed to throw Kruger over his shoulder. Kruger hit the ground where they continued to wrestle. They rolled close to one of the fires when their commander arrived. “What is this?” he fumed.
The men moved aside to allow him through. He marched over to the spot where the two men fought. They had not seen him. Even when he shouted at them they paid him no heed.
“Get up the two of you!” he yelled.
When they did not he leant down to break them up. A stray arm caught him in the face and knocked him down. Only then did the two of them realise he was there. They stopped their quarrel and stood up.
Frundsberg was red with rage. He got up and dusted himself off. “I will have you both thrown out of this army!” he growled.
He raised his arm to strike Kruger, but stopped suddenly. The men stood and watched him clutch at his chest. He dropped to one knee, gasping for breath.
“Sir? What is wrong?” Hamman asked, dropping on one knee beside him.
He tried to speak, but could not. His face contorted with pain. Hamman put an arm around him to try and help him up. In that moment the general wavered on his knees and fell forward to the ground.
Hamman rolled him over onto his back. Kruger knelt down too. “Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Hamman said, his face grim.
De Bourbon emerged through the crowd. “What is the matter here?”
He looked down to see his friend lying prostrate on the ground. Hamman looked up at him. “The General is dead.”
De Bourbon felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Have they killed him? Does this put my own life in danger? “How?”
“I do not know,” Hamman said. “He clutched at his chest and then keeled over.”
De Bourbon had seen it before. He looked at some of the others. “Is this true? Did you all see it?”
They all nodded silently. Frundsberg was a popular leader amongst them.
“Then do not leave him there!” de Bourbon shouted. “Lay him out in his tent.”
De Bourbon stood alone for a while. He was not sure if Frundsberg had died as they told him. If he did not then they might kill me too to cover up their crime.
“What will we do, General?” Hamman asked him.
“I do not know.”
“Should we return to Germany?”
“No. This is still an Imperial army.”
“For how long?” Kruger growled. “We have not been paid.”
“That hardly matters for the now,” de Bourbon argued. “Your General is dead.”
“It always matters. We give our blood and sweat. The Emperor should pay us for it in the very least.”
“I will discuss it with you in the morning. First let us bury your General.”
“It is not right to bury him,” Hamman said.
“Why not? He may not have been Catholic, but he was a Christian still.”
“He was a soldier first.”
“And a free spirit,” Kruger added. “We should burn his body in the open. Let the wind carry his ashes away.”
De Bourbon looked around. “Do you all agree with this?”
They nodded their heads. One soldier stepped forward. De Bourbon did not know him. “I have heard the General say that is what he wanted.”
“Then so be it,” de Bourbon said. “Build a funeral pyre. We will burn his body before we bed down for the night.”
He stood there in silence as his friend burned. The smoke rose high into the night sky. Ash fell about his feet. The men stood and watched the pyre burn also. Many of them dropped to one knee to say a quiet prayer.
As soon as the ritual ended Kruger started again. He began to stir the men up around him. Hamman walked de Bourbon to his tent. They stopped when they heard the shouts from the camp.
“What is it?” de Bourbon wondered.
“I would say it is Kruger again. He will not let go of this.”
“Then I will take care of it.”
“It is probably best if you remain here, General.”
De Bourbon turned to him. “I command this army still.”
“Those men are losing sight of rank and honour. I would steer clear.”
“I cannot,” de Bourbon said. “It is my duty to lead them. When they dissent I must diffuse it.”
Hamman shrugged. “Very well. But I did warn you.”
“Then walk with me. I would feel much better with you at my side.”
Kruger went quiet when he saw de Bourbon. The men around him moved aside to allow the general through.
“What is going on here?” he asked.
“We were discussing our lack of pay,” Kruger sneered.
“I thought we were going to discuss that in the morning.”
“Some of us cannot wait that long.”
“If you continue to disrupt the men then you might finish up in the stocks.”
“Have you got enough for all of us, General?”
De Bourbon looked around to see hundreds shared the same opinion as Kruger. Hamman was as angry as de Bourbon, but did not challenge him now.
“This is a mercenary army,” Kruger said. “Do not pay us, then we do not fight.”
“You will be paid.”
“I think not, General. We would have it in our hands were that so. The Emperor must have none to give us. Either that or he has no desire to settle his debt.”
“Try to be patient.”
“We are done with waiting around. That, and listening to empty promises. He is not going to pay us. It leaves us with no other choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“We will find our own compensation.”
“What are you talking about? How do you hope to do that?”
“We will march on Rome!”
“Are you mad? You cannot do that!”
“We can and we will,” Kruger said. His tone hinted that he meant it. “Is there anyone who can stop us?”
De Bourbon felt afraid. He certainly could do nothing about it.
“With or without you, General. We are going to march on Rome. We leave on the morrow.”
Thousands of cheers rang out in the night. This army had made up its mind. De Bourbon had the choice to lead them or leave. It was as simple as that.
“I am still the head of this army,” he said, his strong voice bringing a hush from the rowdy group.
“That depends,” Kruger said, getting bolder than ever.
“If you go to Rome then I will lead you.”
The cheers rang out again. The men had got their way. Rome was going to fall.
In the morning they set off. Six thousand men in all took the road south. They sang their favourite battle songs in their native German. De Bourbon took the front. He requested that Hamman ride at his side.
Word reached Rome long before the Germans did. The Pope sent a plea of help to his allies. They all rejected him. The small army in Rome manned the walls in an attempt to defend the city. They sat and waited, knowing their Lutheran enemy was on its way.
“I will have to leave the city,” the Pope said to Pucci.
The cardinal did not agree. “You cannot abandon your people.”
“I would not be doing that. I can still pray for them.”
“If you leave they will despair.”
“Do you not want to leave too?”
“Of course I do. But I cannot.”
“That army coming here is Lutheran. They will kill me if they see me.”
“They still follow the Emperor. He would hang them all if they went too far.”
“Then why are they coming?”
“I hear they are looking for booty. If we give it to them they will go away.”
“Let us hope you are right.”
The German army took very little time to break through and stormed into the city streets. De Bourbon rode in at the rear. He did not like what he saw, but he could do nothing to stop it.
He rode under a low bridge between two houses with Hamman still at his side. A peasant eyed him from above. He was one of a dozen with an armoury of rocks. When de Bourbon came out on the other side they rained the rocks down on him.
Hamman reacted fast and rode clear. But de Bourbon took several hard blows. One crushed his helmet on the left side. Another smashed into his left shoulder and two more hit him on the back. They knocked him out cold. When he fell to the ground, the fall snapped his neck. Even before the other horses trampled him, he was dead.
The Romans fled the streets and many left their homes too. It did not take them long to realise that crossing paths with the rampaging soldiers meant certain death. Their attackers were crazed and prepared to stop at nothing to get what they wanted.
Kruger led the charge to the centre of the city. He knew de Bourbon had fallen. Now nothing could stand in his way. “Kill the clergy!” he shouted. “Show no mercy to the Papist scum!”
Word reached the Vatican of this. Churches burned all over the city. Some did so with priests and nuns still inside. A group savaged a convent not too far away. They raped the nuns in the dorms and in their beds. Then they cut their throats.
Hamman caught up with Kruger. “What are you doing?”
Kruger turned to face him. The hate and rage in his eyes shocked even a soldier as hardened as he. “I am killing the Papist scum!” he growled.
“That is not why we are here.”
“Well someone has to do it. You have no stomach for war any more.”
“This is not war. It is butchery.”
“It is what it is. If you do not like it you can leave. You will not be missed.”
“Neither would you be if I cut your throat.”
“Then do it, if you can.”
Several others stood behind Kruger. If Hamman fought him, he would have to fight them too.
“I did not think so,” Kruger sneered.
“Why do you not take your booty and go?” Hamman asked them.
“We will go when we are good and ready.”
Hamman left them there. He could do nothing to halt this. His comrades were out of control. The same madness he saw in Kruger had passed on to them. But he planned to keep Kruger in his sights. When the chance arose he would kill him.
The rampage changed its focus to the area in and around the Vatican. The Germans found the apartments used mainly by the cardinals. They forced their way inside each of these. Nothing and no one escaped the carnage. They destroyed everything they could find.
The cardinals they killed on the spot. Many of them had mistresses and consorts. The Germans spared none of them. Some they raped before running them through. They hurled their children from the windows onto the streets below.
Kruger found his way into the home of Cardinal Lorenzo Pucci. His nephew, the Bishop of Pistoia, lived there with his mistress and two young sons. The younger Pucci had the foresight to move his children to a safer location. But his mistress was in their home when Kruger made his way in.
“Who lives here?” he growled at her.
She did not have any knowledge of German and had no clue what he said. In a rage he threw her about the room. When she tried to fight back he beat her quite severely. He drew his sword and raised it above his head. She glared up at him with real contempt.
“So you are not afraid to die?” he grinned. “Then I will fix you.”
He dragged her out of the apartment by the hair. She did not scream, nor did she struggle. He led her across St.Peter’s Square. All around his comrades chased defenceless women and priests and put them to the sword. Some of the women suffered brutal assaults right there and then before meeting their end. Kruger wanted to go one step further.
Hamman followed at a safe distance and kept him in eyeshot. Kruger dragged her on. Her knees and feet bled from where they scraped against the ground. Another German walked in front of Kruger. He wiped his mouth and eyed the beauty Kruger held by the hair.
“Get out of the way!” Kruger shouted.
“Come, my friend,” the soldier grinned. “Can you not share?”
Kruger struck out with his sword. The blade sliced right across his comrade’s face. He screamed and fell to his knees. Kruger stopped for a moment. The woman grabbed his wrist to try and ease the pain in her scalp.
The soldier put his hands to his face. He groaned, as blood oozed through his fingers. Kruger gritted his teeth. As the soldier looked up at him he struck out a second time. The soldier went down. Barely alive, his body jerked and shook, as he suffered a fit.
Kruger ploughed on. The woman could not help but cry out this time. Lumps of her beautiful long hair fell out in his hand. He let go for a moment to grip a fresh clump of it. They entered the buildings of the Vatican and carried on along the great halls.
He walked her into the smaller Sistine Chapel. Ignoring the stunning frescoes by Botticelli and Michelangelo’s ceiling overhead, he dragged her across the mosaic floor. She sensed he intended to kill her in here and struggled to break free. He struck her across the top of the skull. The blow scrambled her senses and the struggle ceased. He dragged her through the marble transenna that divided the Chapel in two.
When they reached the altar he stopped to get his breath back. Her body flailed on the floor when he let go of her hair. She opened her eyes, but was still groggy from the blow. Her head throbbed all over.
He reached down and ripped her dress clean off. She cried out some curse in Italian. He laughed as they grappled. His loins stirred at the sight of her. She was beautiful. Bearing two children had not left any kind of a blemish on her body.
She clawed his hands and wrists with her long nails. He struck her across the jaw with the back of his fist. The blow silenced her. He undid his belt and placed his sword down on the floor. She groaned and rolled onto her left side, her eyes closed. He took a quick look around before lifting her up in his arms.
Hamman walked in, though Kruger did not see him there. He laid the woman down on the altar before him. She groaned again when her skin touched against the cold marble. He dropped his breeches and studied her up and down. The ache inside him grew ever stronger.
“Let us see how brazen you are when I am done,” he spat. “You Papist whore!”
He grabbed a breast in each hand and rammed himself into her. She screamed and opened her eyes. He gazed down at her, pumping her as hard as he could. With his every thrust she cried out. She looked up and saw the hate etched across his face. It caused her to fear him more than ever. She knew he was going to kill her when he was done. The look in his eyes was enough to tell her that.
Hamman stepped quietly through the marble gate and drew his sword gently from its scabbard. Kruger had still not seen him there. His eyes remained fixed on the woman.
Her cries echoed around the empty Chapel. She fought to stifle them, but could not. Kruger was a brute. She looked up at the image of Christ on the fresco on the North wall. If only He could come down and save her.
Pucci entered the Chapel through the door in the northwest corner just behind Kruger. In the same moment the woman touched on a chalice behind her head and clutched it in her right hand. Kruger grinned at her. He knew she intended to strike him with it. As she raised her hand he grabbed it. He gave her wrist one sharp twist befor
e she dropped it again.
It clattered as it hit the floor. Kruger followed it with his eyes. It was only then that he saw Hamman standing a few yards away.
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
He knew well Hamman could only be there for one reason. But in that moment he had no chance to defend himself. His sword was on the floor behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see where he had left it. All he saw was Pucci standing there pointing the weapon at him.
The woman saw him too. “Antonio!” she cried.
Pucci froze when he heard her cry out. It was only then he realised it was his mistress on the altar. His hands trembled. Kruger saw the fear in him and grinned.
He withdrew from the woman and turned to tackle the bishop. Pucci kept his resolve. The moment Kruger turned around he grabbed the hilt in both hands above his head and drove the sword down into Kruger’s chest.
A jet of blood shot out of Kruger’s mouth and hit Pucci full in the chest. His hands still shaking, the bishop staggered backwards. The woman dragged herself off the altar and ran to his side. They watched together as Kruger dropped to his knees. When he slumped forward and hit the floor face first, she spat on him.
They saw Hamman standing there.
“Go!” he shouted at them.
The woman whimpered in fear and clutched onto her lover. Pucci’s legs turned to lead. He froze as the hulking German drew closer.
“Go!”
Hamman only then realised that they could not understand him. He waved at them with his hand to leave. Pucci and the woman looked at each other with relief. Realising they were free to go they left through the door behind them.
The German looked down at the body of Kruger. He drew his leg back and drove his boot into the ribs of the dead man. “Look at what you have done!” he snarled. “You damned fool.”
He took a little time to admire the splendour all around him. How could any man denounce a place so beautiful and so sacred? Hamman was one of the few Catholics in this army. It abhorred him that Kruger had led such a desecration of the Vatican. This was the end for him. He wanted nothing more to do with this body of men or the service.
Using a disguise, Clement got away safely from the city. He took shelter in the Castel Sant’ Angelo. Pucci got his woman to safety too, but was captured himself. The Germans held him as a hostage.
The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Page 15