The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘Are you well, Roger?’ she enquired as he dropped the coins into her palm.

  ‘Well, thank you, praise God.’

  She smiled and nodded at him. ‘Praise God indeed.’

  Roger looked past her to where Dietmar was removing the ashes from his oven.

  ‘And good day to you, Dietmar.’

  Agnete’s husband turned and raised his hand to his customer whose aroma was slowly filling his bakery. ‘Roger.’

  Agnete’s smile slipped as a group of men led by a richly attired overweight man with pale skin entered the shop. Their leader may have been dressed in a long scarlet tunic with a bright red trim round the neck and cuffs, but his companions were all covered in black and had a menacing air. They were also all armed with daggers and two were carrying batons. The man in the fine belted tunic suddenly recoiled from the smell coming from the man standing in front of him.

  ‘What is that smell?’ he said loudly before covering his nostrils with a thumb and forefinger.

  Roger sighed resignedly and turned to leave the bakery before he upset the new arrivals further, only to be grabbed by the collar and thrown into the street by one of the ruffians. Agnete was appalled as Roger crashed to the earth outside the shop, spilling his loaf, which was immediately seized by a grunting pig that scurried away. Adolfus and his companions laughed and mocked the smelly individual as he tried in vain to retrieve his loaf.

  ‘That’s much better,’ said Adolfus who walked up to the counter and studied Agnete.

  She may have been the wife of a low-born baker but even with her hair covered by a white wimple and the arms of her blue tunic being dusted with flour her beauty was apparent. Her flawless, fair skin contrasted sharply with her clear blue eyes and even though her gown was loose fitting he could see that she had a slender figure.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ Her soft voice only added to her attractiveness.

  Adolfus’ piggy eyes opened wide as he beheld her.

  Dietmar stopped his cleaning and moved to stand beside his wife. His instincts told him that something was untoward, not because Roger had been treated poorly – the rich always behaved badly towards those less fortunate than themselves – but more because this man of importance was leering at his wife.

  Adolfus smiled lasciviously at her. ‘Indeed. I am here to convey my gratitude to you for furnishing my table with your fine bread.’

  Agnete was confused. ‘I have not served you before, sir, I think.’

  Adolfus brought his puffy hands together in front of his chest. ‘No, indeed, but I have a servant, a base fellow, who purchases your bread for my table every week and so I thought it only proper to visit your bakery myself to convey my congratulations.’

  Agnete smiled but Adolfus did not see it as he was now staring at her chest.

  ‘My husband, Dietmar, makes the bread, sir, not I.’

  Adolfus looked at the non-descript stocky man beside her. ‘Mm? Yes, of course.’

  While this was going on Conrad was standing beside the oven observing the scene, catching the eye of one of the burly men who were preventing anyone else entering the shop. The man, a swarthy individual with a scar on his right cheek, regarded Conrad with contempt.

  The others looked bored as the atmosphere in the shop became more strained as Adolfus continued to stare at Agnete’s chest.

  ‘Did you want any bread, sir?’ said Dietmar slowly and purposely.

  Adolfus averted his gaze. ‘Bread?’

  ‘We are a bakery, sir,’ replied Dietmar, ‘so people come here to buy bread.’

  Adolfus nodded slightly and leered once more at Agnete before turning and walking out of the shop, his men following. Dietmar followed them and stood in the doorway to watch the fat rich man and his rogues disappear among the now dissipating throng of people who filled the narrow street.

  ‘That was most odd,’ remarked Agnete.

  Dietmar may not have been an educated man but he knew lust when he saw it in someone’s eyes and he felt both angry and helpless at the violation, albeit mild, of his wife that had taken place in front of him. He ambled back into the shop, anger rising within him.

  ‘Conrad, stop idling and get that oven emptied.’

  Conrad jumped at the severe tone in his father’s voice and began brushing the oven’s ashes into a sack.

  Dietmar went to his wife’s side and placed an arm around her waist.

  ‘Are you all right, my love?’

  Agnete smiled warmly at him. ‘Of course. You think that my head would be turned by a lecherous overweight man with money?’

  ‘What? No, but his behaviour was not right. Who was he, anyway?’

  Agnete shrugged. ‘I have no idea but he obviously likes your bread.’

  At that moment Marie ran in from the street and stood in front of the counter, hands on her hips.

  ‘Fritz ate Roger’s loaf,’ she announced.

  Conrad smiled and Agnete laughed.

  ‘Who is Fritz?’ asked her father, still annoyed at the earlier episode.

  ‘One of our pigs, of course,’ answered Marie.

  Agnete smiled again at her lovely daughter while Dietmar shook his head and returned to his oven. Outside Roger the Putrid was loitering, maintaining a safe distance to ensure the rich man and his brutes did not return before entering the shop. He took off his hat and sidled up to the counter. Marie turned up her nose at the smell. He went to reach into his purse but was stopped by Agnete’s voice.

  ‘There is no need, Roger,’ she said, taking a fresh loaf from the shelf and handing it to him.

  He grinned to reveal a mouth of discoloured teeth and bowed his head to Agnete, then hurried away. Dietmar could not afford to give away free loaves. He looked at Marie and then at the pigs in the street. Perhaps the family would have pork this Sunday.

  In the days following Dietmar and Agnete forgot the fat rich man and their life continued as before. The family rose from its slumbers before dawn and spent their days making and selling bread. Spring progressed and the weather became warmer, though not unbearably so. Agnete took Marie on her weekly visit to the local market and Conrad continued to look forward to the end of his apprenticeship. The Wolff family was healthy and relatively comfortable, for which they thanked God and prayed that He would continue to watch over them. But the Lord was not the only one who was taking an interest in them, and in one family member in particular.

  The baker’s wife had entranced Adolfus Braune, so much so that in the days following his visit to the dingy little bakery he had ignored his business interests to plan more occasions where he might lay eyes upon her. He had the scullion brought to him and instructed the wretch to spy on her and her family and to report back to him when she left her home. When the man relayed news that she was visiting the market he had hurried to the place so he could admire her once more. He took his men with him as usual, but such was the press of people that it was easy for him and them to melt into the background and remain unseen. The scullion may have been a revolting creature but he knew how to find a face in a crowd and what a face it was. Impure thoughts flooded Adolfus’ mind as he stood and watched the baker’s wife chatting to a stallholder who was selling furs of rabbits, foxes, cats and squirrels. The marketplace was filled with the din of a thousand voices shouting, arguing, laughing and conversing but Adolfus did not hear them. All he could hear was the beat of his thumping heart in his chest and all he could see was the beautiful wife of the baker in her blue gown and white headdress, a vision as pure as the Virgin Mary herself.

  That night, as the servants were serving him and his companions supper, Adolfus began to hatch a plan to snare the tasty dish that was more appetising than the stewed meat before him. His companions sat on a separate table at right angles to his own that he shared with his trusted deputy, the swarthy, scarred Artur, the former mercenary who now killed and threatened for Lübeck’s richest merchant. While he and his fellow thugs heaped meat into their sliced trenchers, Adolfus took sips of
spiced red wine from his silver-rimmed mazer. Artur noticed his master’s lack of appetite.

  ‘Not hungry, lord?’

  Adolfus cast him a sly glance. ‘Hungry, yes, but not for food.’

  ‘Lord?’

  Adolfus took another sip. ‘How does a man satisfy his appetite, Artur? I will tell you. By seizing what has been laid out before him, that is how. I have need of your services.’

  Artur did not understand what his master was talking about but when he mentioned his services it usually involved breaking someone’s bones or actions in a similar vein. Artur shoved a great wedge of bread soaked with meat juices into his mouth.

  ‘I am your servant, lord.’

  Adolfus smiled to himself. It was a most curious thing how men could be bought so easily. Artur was a perfect example: an individual who had spent his life largely beyond the law who had fought for kings and princes, and who had then taken to smuggling grain from Germany to anyone who would buy it. This was illegal and punishable by the severest penalties, largely because the authorities were fearful of food shortages, especially in times of poor harvests. The more grain that was exported meant less was available for home foodstuffs, which could lead to starvation. But starving people could also revolt and overthrow their masters, hence the ban on exports. Artur’s activities came to the attention of Adolfus, who recruited this most ruthless and resourceful individual rather than having him punished. Artur was well rewarded and recruited a group of like-minded individuals from the docks for Adolfus. And as long as Artur and his men were paid they remained loyal, willing to undertake any nefarious activity.

  Thus it was that all of them stood at the end of the street that contained the Wolff bakery, their master wrapped in a black cloak with a hood to hide his identity. The curfew bell had been rung an hour earlier and now the streets of Lübeck were quiet and empty, the citizenry all safely confined indoors to ensure a peaceful and crime-free evening. The citizens were also legally required to cover or extinguish all household fires before they went to bed as a precaution against a general conflagration.

  Adolfus, being one of the members of the city council, was exempt from the curfew and could travel about the city at all times. Still, he did not want to be identified by the night watch, whose members roamed the darkened streets in search of anyone who was abroad with no legitimate business. So he and his men had donned black cloaks and hoods and had made their way to the baker’s street by skulking in alleyways and hiding in shadows. And now they had arrived at their destination. Artur had insisted on silence during the journey but had not informed the others of the objective of the evening’s foray. Not that they were interested: they did as their paymaster told them. They had brought the scullion along who was familiar with the route and also knew the layout of the baker’s home, which was nothing more than one room above the ground-floor space. He also knew what they were here for and kept grinning dementedly and nodding at Adolfus at every opportunity. The man was an imbecile but had his uses, one of which was to gain entry to the premises.

  While Adolfus and the others waited near the end of a street in the dark of a narrow alleyway that provided a shortcut to an adjacent lane, the scullion crept towards the bakery. Like most shops it was secured by means of shutters. But the wood was often old, neglected and weather beaten, which meant there were gaps between the shutters. So it was now as the scullion used a knife to gouge a space that allowed him to move aside the iron bar that secured the shutters.

  After doing so he crept back and reported his handiwork to Artur, who informed Adolfus. The merchant could barely conceal his excitement as he frantically waved Artur forward. His mouth began to salivate and he felt a tingling in his groin. His breathing became heavy. The group moved silently as the scullion scampered ahead to gently ease the shutters up to allow the others to enter. He was told to remain near the shop front as two of Artur’s men brought down the shutters once more so as not to arouse suspicion. Then he led Artur to the stairs that led to the first floor.

  Artur held up a hand when he heard some grunts, but then smiled when he realised that it was the sound of pigs in a pen to the rear of the shop. He drew his dagger and slowly walked up the stairs, Adolfus following and the others trailing behind. It was pitch black and so their progress was agonisingly slow. Artur could hear the heavy breathing of Adolfus behind him and smiled. His master could have any whore he wanted and yet here they were, feeling their way upstairs in the house of a humble baker. Sometimes he preferred smuggling.

  But for Adolfus this was one of the most exciting moments of his pampered life. Paying prostitutes to submit to his unnatural demands was at first desirable but then became boring. But this; this was different. Perhaps it was the prospect of having something that was beyond his reach, notwithstanding his wealth and position. Or perhaps it was the thought of contravening the laws of God and man and getting away with it that was the attraction. He could hear the family’s relaxed breathing now as he stepped into the bedchamber. The others silently filed in behind him. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he kept licking his lips.

  ‘Hurry, Artur,’ he whispered, his lower body tingling like it was aflame. The anticipation was unbearable.

  With difficulty Artur identified the sleeping family: the parents in a double bed and two single beds to one side in which their children lay in slumber. The family slept on mattresses stuffed with straw placed on wooden planks under linen sheets and woollen blankets, their heads resting on pillows. Artur clicked his fingers and two of his men rushed forward to hold down Dietmar while he and another man went to the other side of the bed to grab Agnete. It was she who opened her eyes a split second before the blanket and sheet were ripped off the bed and a hand was forced over her mouth.

  At first she thought it was a nightmare but then with horror realised that the frantic struggling of her husband beside her was very real. Her linen nightshirt was then roughly yanked up to reveal her naked body and she too began to struggle furiously, to no avail. Adolfus ran his hands over her body as Dietmar, a pillow over his face, wrestled with his assailants like a man possessed. Adolfus fondled her breasts and than placed his hand between her legs to feel her most intimate place.

  ‘Hurry lord,’ hissed Artur.

  Adolfus was frantically pulling up his tunic and grappling with his braies to set free his hardened manhood, which even in his high state of arousal left a lot to be desired. Then Marie screamed.

  Artur turned to squint at the figure of the young girl sat up in bed and instinctively lashed out with his right hand, striking the girl hard with the back of his hand and sending her sprawling onto the floor. Adolfus grunted with satisfaction as Artur turned back to the bed and grabbed Agnete’s right leg and pulled it towards him as the man behind the bed who was holding her left arm and had his other hand over her mouth struggled to control her as she thrashed around wildly. The men who were restraining Dietmar were also having problems holding down the baker. Artur was beginning to regret the whole enterprise as Adolfus threw himself on top of Agnete and tried to force his manhood into her.

  But Agnete was possessed of the strength of a wild woman and his efforts were to no avail. It did not matter: Adolfus groaned and released his pent-up sexual tension. A split-second later Conrad threw himself onto Artur’s back and began punching the man in the face. Taken aback by this unexpected assault Artur let go of Agnete and threw his head back, smashing it into Conrad’s nose. The boy felt intense pain in his face and wilted but held on to his target with grim determination.

  Marie was lying on the ground sobbing but Agnete used her free arm to gouge the eyes of the man who continued to hold her, also biting his hand for good measure. The man cried out in pain and released her, Agnete kicking wildly at Adolfus who was still fiddling with his undergarments. Artur had had enough. He reached behind him, grabbed Conrad’s hair and then yanked the boy forward off his back, drew his dagger and then punched Agnete hard in the face with his left fist. The blow temporaril
y stunned her and stopped her struggling, before Artur’s blade slit her throat and silenced her for good.

  Adolfus stood open-mouthed, transfixed in terror at the murder of the woman. Artur turned to face the boy in the dimness but then heard a shriek of pain and realised that the baker had broken free. One of his assailants had been preoccupied watching the attempted rape of his wife and had loosened his grip sufficiently for Dietmar to free his arm and smash his fist into the man’s groin, causing him to collapse to the floor in pain. He then grabbed the other man and dragged him onto the bed, biting his ear and tearing off a great chunk of it with his teeth. That was the cry that Artur heard.

  ‘Take Marie and get to safety,’ Dietmar shouted at Conrad, who was rising to his feet, blood pouring from his nose.

  ‘I will not leave you, father,’ replied Conrad defiantly.

  ‘Get out now!’ screamed Dietmar.

  Three of Artur’s men were temporarily disabled and the other two had drawn their daggers and were closing in on Dietmar, so Conrad grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled her towards the door. And so he ran, dragging his sister down the stairs.

  ‘Stop them,’ shouted Adolfus, whose wits were returning to him.

  ‘You two,’ Artur hissed at his two remaining men, ‘go and get them.’

  Dietmar flew at him as the two men followed the boy and his sister down the stairs. Adolfus was like a mouse trapped by a cat – totally helpless and useless – but Artur’s mind kept working despite the exceptional circumstances. He had seen rape and murder many times, had carried them out himself, and thus was thinking ahead. This is what his master paid him for. He saw Dietmar’s lunge, moved aside and then hit the baker hard on the side of the head with the hilt of his dagger. As Dietmar crashed to the floor Artur hit him two more times with the blunt end of the dagger, knocking him unconscious. He slipped the weapon back in its sheath and looked around. What a mess.

  His other men were now struggling to their feet as he roughly grabbed Adolfus’ sleeve.