by Peter Darman
‘Time to go, lord.’
‘What about her?’ he stammered.
‘She won’t be going anywhere.’ Artur turned to his men. ‘Bring the baker.’
One of the men was rubbing his groin, still in pain. ‘Why? He’s unconscious.’
‘Because we need him,’ hissed Artur, ‘now do it.’
It had been like a bad dream to Conrad as he bounded down the stairs holding the arm of his sobbing sister. As he raced towards the closed shutters he ran into a man squatting by them, knocking him over. Despite the pain in his nose and his wailing sister he still managed to direct a punch at the individual, who curled up into a ball and begged for mercy. Conrad pulled up the shutters and ran into the night, pulling his sister after him.
‘Run, Marie,’ he shouted, the two of them bounding up the street as fast as their young legs could carry them.
He had no idea where he was heading or what he was going to do, only that he must carry out his father’s orders.
‘Come here!’
He turned to see two dark shapes exit his father’s premises and knew that they were being chased.
‘Don’t look back,’ he told his sister as he increased his speed and tightened the grip on Marie’s arm.
They darted into an alleyway and ran along its deserted course, the cool earth beneath their bare feet. Occasionally they would step into something unpleasant but the fear of being caught by their pursuers blotted all other thoughts out of their minds. They entered the adjacent street and Conrad saw glimpses of light from windows and heard laughter coming from inside homes. On they went, not daring to look back at those who were chasing them. Marie had stopped crying now, the only sound Conrad heard being her heavy breathing as she struggled to keep up with him.
It seemed like hours but was probably a few minutes when they ran into the square that fronted the city’s magnificent cathedral, its two spires dwarfing the two youngsters as they headed for the building’s twin doors. The cobbles beneath Conrad’s feet felt hard and cold as he pulled his sister towards the entrance to God’s house. Here they would find sanctuary from their pursuers. Conrad could see the large wooden doors ahead as he increased his pace and then tripped over as Marie stumbled.
His sister squealed as she sprawled onto the cobbles and Conrad grazed his knee as he fell. He tried to get up but was kicked back down by one of the men who had been pursuing them.
‘You are coming with us, you little bastards.’
The other man grabbed his hair and yanked him up, then twisted his arm behind his back as the other fellow pulled his sister to her feet. Marie began to sob uncontrollably as the man holding Conrad’s arm pushed the youth away from the cathedral entrance.
‘What is going on here?’
Conrad felt the grip on his arm loosen slightly and he turned his head to see two individuals a few feet away, both of them wearing white sleeveless surcoats bearing a motif of a red cross above a red sword, the white cloaks around their shoulders carrying the same symbol. Conrad also saw that their arms and legs were encased in chainmail and they wore mail coifs on their heads. Both men had neatly trimmed beards and moustaches.
‘Nothing to do with you,’ spat the brute holding Conrad.
‘Everything that happens within sight of the house of God concerns me,’ replied one of the white-clad men. Conrad estimated his height to be around six feet.
‘Be on your way,’ sneered the man holding Marie, who was still sobbing.
‘Did you hear that, Henke?’ said the mailed man again, ‘we are to be on our way.’
The man called Henke was shorter than the one who was speaking, but only marginally. But he was certainly more broad shouldered and powerful in appearance. He now stepped forward and held out his hand to the man who was restraining Conrad.
‘My apologies, brother. Will you take my hand by way of atonement?’
The man twisted Conrad’s arm once again, causing the youth to wince, and then extended his hand to Henke, who smiled, took it and then head-butted him, splintering his nose. He groaned and collapsed to the ground, releasing Conrad. The other man released Marie and went for the dagger tucked into his belt, but before he could reach it Henke’s companion drew the sword that was hanging from his belt and had the point against his neck.
‘Pull that dagger and I will spill your blood on these cobbles.’
Henke walked forward and kicked the prostrate man hard under the chin, sending him sprawling.
‘I suggest you depart immediately,’ said Henke’s companion, ‘lest Henke becomes angry.’
The man with the sword at his throat raised his arms in a sign of submission and backed away slowly, hauling his bloodied companion to his feet as he did so. They slowly ambled away as Henke watched them impassively, arms folded across his broad chest. His friend sheathed his sword and made the sign of the cross.
‘Go with God, brothers.’
Conrad, his face and nightshirt covered with blood, put an arm around his weeping sister and attempted to smile at his saviours.
‘Thank you, sirs. Those men attacked my family and I beg for your help.’
The man whose name Conrad did not yet know smiled at him.
‘We are here to assist pilgrims in need of help, but first I think that we should get you both more suitable clothing and dress your wound, as well as calming the young girl.’
‘My sister, sir,’ said Conrad, ‘Marie.’
Henke’s associate smiled, walked forward and knelt before Marie, who was still terrified.
‘Do not be alarmed, Marie. My name is Rudolf and I am your friend,’ his voice was calm and soft. ‘Will you come with me so that we can get you cleaned up?’
She half-nodded, still clutching Conrad’s hand. ‘My mother is dead.’
Rudolf continued to smile. ‘We will wash your face and get you some clothes and then we will go and find her.’
He turned to look at Conrad. ‘What is your name, boy?’
‘Conrad Wolff, sir.’
The next hour was a like a dream to Conrad. He remembered being taken to the monastery sited next to the cathedral where monks washed his face and gave him a clean shirt, tunic and leggings. Black-robed nuns calmed Marie and took her way. She returned dressed in a long gown and black headdress, and all the while the men who had rescued them stood and watched Conrad, the one named Rudolf occasionally nodding and smiling, Henke staring impassively. Conrad noticed that the monks addressed them as ‘brother’, leading him to believe that they too were monks. But their dress, weapons and demeanour led him to think they were unlike any monks he had ever seen.
After further pleading Conrad convinced the two monks armed with swords to return with him and his sister to their father’s bakery. Rudolf and Henke followed Conrad and his sister as they retraced their steps and headed back to the city’s eastern quarter. Accompanying them were half a dozen soldiers of Theodoric, Bishop of Lübeck, who was currently away on a tour of southern Germany. They were dressed in mail hauberks, helmets and carried blue shields bearing the arms of the bishop: a gold mitre over a gold cross. Four of the men carried spears and two held torches to provide illumination.
No one spoke during the journey and as they neared his home a sense of dread began to engulf Conrad. He had a terrible foreboding that his parents were both dead and his dread was soon consumed by an even more tortuous emotion: guilt. He had abandoned his parents in their hour of need to save his own skin. He would forever be known as a base coward who had betrayed his parents, who had laboured hard to provide for him and Marie. What would his sister say when she learned the truth? With these thoughts swirling in his mind he led the small group down his street and halted in front of the bakery, the shutters up and the shop open.
‘We are here,’ he said to Rudolf.
‘Perhaps you should stay here, Conrad,’ Rudolf suggested.
Conrad’s nose still hurt and he could sense tears coming to his eyes.
‘No,’ he said.
Rudolf took a
torch from one of the bishop’s soldiers.
‘Well then, let us proceed.’
He nodded to Henke who instructed the guards to wait outside while he, Henke and Conrad entered the shop. Marie made to accompany them but he took her hand and placed it in the grasp of one of the other soldiers.
‘Keep her here.’
Conrad followed Rudolf into the shop, the torch illuminating the empty shelves and oven. He had lived here all his life but it suddenly felt cold and alien to him, the violation it had suffered having snuffed out all the happy memories he had of his home. He placed a hand on Rudolf’s arm.
‘They might still be here, sir.’
Rudolf turned his face to the youth.
‘I think they have long gone.’
The three walked slowly up the stairs, Rudolf and Henke having drawn their swords just in case anyone was still loitering on the first floor. But they sheathed their weapons when they entered the bedroom and saw the lifeless body of Agnete lying on the bloody mattress. Conrad cried out in anguish and rushed forward to cradle his dead mother, sobbing as he held her head to his, kissing her forehead and rocking to and fro in anguish. Henke looked at Rudolf and shrugged. Rudolf made the sign of the cross as Conrad Wolff sank into black despair.
Rudolf left the boy to his grief as he went back downstairs and informed the young girl that her mother had been taken to heaven and was now with God.
Marie looked up into the night sky. ‘Will she be able to see me?’
Rudolf smiled. ‘She is looking at you right now, child.’
Marie began waving at the sky. Rudolf was glad that her childish innocence protected her from the brutal reality he had just seen.
Minutes later Conrad joined them in the street, his face ashen and haunted.
‘Where is my father?’ he asked forlornly.
Rudolf ordered that the body of the children’s mother be taken back to the nunnery to be washed and dressed in a white gown. The next morning he stood with Conrad and Marie as an abbot recited prayers at the graveside and they said farewell to their mother. Rudolf had reported the murder to the church authorities that had in turn relayed it to the vogt, the judge who administered the city’s laws. Because Lübeck was a commercial centre of great importance it had been granted the right to administer itself through a city council. This was made up of thirty burghers drawn from the most powerful and influential members of the citizenry and which was responsible for the daily government of the city.
Conrad and Marie were taken back to the monastery as a gravedigger began shovelling earth on Agnete’s corpse. But the question remained: where was her husband? The answer came that afternoon when a messenger sent by a city councillor to the monastery brought news that Dietmar Wolff had been arrested for the murder of his wife and attempted murder of one of the city council: Adolfus Braune. His trial was set for the next day, as Rudolf told Conrad.
This made no sense, and as Conrad filed into the packed courtroom located in the city’s town hall, an imposing structure constructed from black bricks, he was certain that his father would be found innocent of this preposterous charge. The guards standing at the entrance to the large, spacious hall carried shields that bore an eagle motif – the symbol of Lübeck – for this was a city rather than a church court. They looked bored as Conrad passed them and tried to squeeze through the press of people who stood near the entrance. Rudolf and Henke had brought him here after learning of the crimes levied against his father. He was confident that he would be back home with his father by the day’s end but they knew differently.
The hall may have been spacious but it soon became hot from the heat of dozens of bodies. A clerk called for silence as the judge entered the hall via a door at the far end and took his place in his ceremonial chair, which was placed on a dais next to the hall’s end wall. Conrad was three rows back from the front of the crowd and had to continually crane his neck to see what was taking place. As the spectators fell silent the black-robed judge sat in the chair and nodded to a sombre-looking priest standing to the side of the dais. The latter said ‘let us pray’ and everyone bowed their heads as he called upon God to bless the city of Lübeck, these proceedings and to ensure that justice was done.
Directly in front of the judge was a desk where his notaries and clerks were sitting on a bench. The ‘advocates learned in law’, those representing the accused and those prosecuting, sat to the right and left of the judge on elevated benches in their order of seniority. Expected to dress in a way that befitted their social status and the dignity of the court, they were all attired in dark-blue sleeved robes. The hall itself, as befitting an official building in Lübeck, was decorated with tapestries, shields and banners, with wood panelling lining all the walls.
A clerk began the proceedings by reading a list of those accused of minor crimes, the defendants being escorted from a holding pen located to the rear of the building. Guards ushered them roughly into the hall where their crimes were read out and they gave their plea. If they were wealthy enough they had an advocate, who rose from his seat and descended to the floor of the courtroom where he stood facing the judge and stated his client’s case. A young man pleaded guilty to being drunk in public – a day in the stocks; an overweight middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks was convicted of idle gossip – two days wearing the brank, a metal cage that fitted over the head that placed a metal curb in the mouth to prevent the sufferer from speaking; and so it went on. Not everyone had a lawyer and so those who had no one to plead their case tended to receive harsher sentences, including being branded and losing fingers. Once convicted the punishments were carried out immediately.
They were bundled out of the court to where men with whips and branding irons were standing ready to tear and cut flesh. Those who were sentenced to the stocks at first appeared to have got off lightly, but once confined people were free to pelt them with rotten vegetables, rub excrement in their hair and faces and, if they were particularly disliked, hurl stones of varying sizes at them. A few hours in the stocks could be a potentially lethal experience.
The next group of prisoners to be brought before the court were those accused of more serious crimes. Conrad saw his father and waved at him, Dietmar catching the eye of his son and smiling faintly. Conrad thought he looked terrible: unshaven, his shirt torn and his shoulders sunken. He looked visibly drained, his eyes red and puffy, his face bruised.
‘That is my father,’ Conrad said to Rudolf, who placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulders.
Henke looked at Rudolf and shook his head for he knew that, barring a miracle, the boy’s father was a dead man. Trials were rarely a venue to decide guilt or innocence, more a forum whereby justice could be publicly served upon the convicted. And so it was now as the judge pronounced sentence upon the unfortunates brought before him. A wife found guilty of petty treason, the murder of her husband: death; an old woman who poisoned her younger and more attractive niece: death; a talented young smith revealed to have indulged in coining, the manufacture of counterfeit money: death; and a terrified teenage girl found guilty of strangling her newborn baby: death. And then Dietmar Wolff was standing before the judge with head bowed while the prosecutor revealed what he was accused of: the murder of his own wife and the attempted murder of Adolfus Braune, one of Lübeck’s most esteemed residents.
‘That is a lie!’ shouted Conrad, who pushed his way through those standing before him to reach the front of the crowd.
The advocates looked at each in disbelief and the judge sat open mouthed at this severe breach of etiquette.
‘Silence!’ he bellowed, pointing at Conrad. ‘Whose child is this?’
Dietmar looked at the judge. ‘He is my son, sir.’
The judge smiled savagely. ‘He will be flogged for his insolence.’
Rudolf came forward and grabbed Conrad’s arm to force him behind where Henke could keep an eye on him.
‘My humble apologies, lord,’ said Rudolf, ‘the boy’s wits have temporarily
deserted him. I beg the court’s mercy.’
The judge saw Rudolf’s white surcoat and the sword and cross motif. ‘A Sword Brother. You speak for this disrespectful boy?’
Rudolf nodded. ‘I do, lord. I would ask you to show mercy towards him.’
The judge leaned back in his chair and stroked his pointed chin. ‘You are in Lübeck on what purpose, brother?’
Rudolf bowed his head ever so slightly at the judge. ‘To enlist recruits for God’s crusade against the heathens in Livonia, lord.’
The judge smiled. ‘A most noble calling, brother, and one that the citizens of this great city support with all their hearts. For myself I pray daily that Bishop Albert and the Sword Brothers vanquish their enemies speedily.’
There were murmurs of agreement in the hall and the judge smiled at Rudolf once more. ‘As long as you keep that urchin under control I release him to your care. And may God smile upon you and your fellow warriors of Christ.’
Rudolf bowed his head at the judge and stepped back to stand beside Conrad.
‘Do not speak out again,’ he hissed, ‘unless you want to be standing beside your father to receive punishment.’
‘But it is a lie,’ hissed Conrad despairingly, ‘I was there and saw what happened.’
But Rudolf knew that children, along with Jews and women, unless they had the consent of their husbands, were not allowed to testify before a judge.
‘You must trust in God, Conrad.’
Henke grunted but said nothing as the advocate related to the court how Dietmar Wolff had killed his wife in a jealous rage, suspecting her of having illicit relations with Adolfus Braune, who had visited Wolff’s premises to do nothing more than compliment the baker on his goods. After killing his wife Dietmar Wolff had journeyed to the merchant’s home under cover of darkness, intent on killing him also. The advocate relayed to the court that fortunately the Braune home was defended by a number of guards who had managed to overpower Wolff before he could complete his heinous plan.
Two things sealed Dietmar’s fate. First, he was found unconscious outside Adolfus Braune’s house in the west of the city. When asked to explain this, Dietmar stated that he had been knocked unconscious in his bedroom before being carried across the city. The judge asked him why anyone would wish to transport him to the other side of the city, to which Dietmar replied that it had obviously been Braune who had broke into his home and attacked his family. There was a stunned silence after he had spoken these words, not least among the advocates. Adolfus Braune was one of the most respected leading citizens of Lübeck, a man renowned for his generosity to both the church and the city. The idea that he would break into the home of a lowly baker to assault his wife was preposterous. Worse, it was insulting.