by Peter Darman
Conrad saw the man’s chest rise and fall as he gasped for air as the shock of his ordeal gripped his body. The executioner waved the skinner away who replaced the tongs in the brazier, and then went to the table and picked up a thick iron bar some three feet in length. The priest was now talking in gibberish as he stared down at his prayer book. The executioner walked forward to stand beside the right leg of the prisoner, who was now groaning. He raised the iron bar above his head and smashed it down on the man’s shinbone, a sickening crunch resonating across the square as the limb was shattered.
The coiner emitted a high-pitched scream as the crowd shouted.
‘One!’
The executioner moved to stand on the other side of the prisoner and once more brought down the iron bar, this time on his left shin. The man squealed in pain and the priest threw up on the scaffold.
‘Two!’
The executioner shattered the man’s right thigh.
‘Three!’
Then his left thigh.
‘Four!’
With each blow the victim’s screams became fainter until they were nothing more than weak groans by the time that the executioner had smashed his forearms and upper arms. He walked back to the table and replaced the iron bar on its surface, then filled a cup with water from a jug beside it. He drained the cup, refilled it and walked over to the priest, offering it to him. Conrad stood open mouthed, both horrified and fascinated by what he had just witnessed: a man reduced to a bloody pulp that was now being unfastened from the cross by four skinners while a fifth rolled over one of the wheels and laid it flat on the scaffold. The mutilated prisoner was then lifted off the cross, placed on the wheel and his shattered limbs then braided through the spokes of the wheel. He and it were then carried to the rear of the scaffold where six tall poles were positioned in a row. Ladders were placed against the pole on the far right end of the line and the wheel hoisted onto its top – directly in front of the noble spectators who applauded politely. The still living victim, his body a writhing mass of lacerated gore and shattered bones, was left to become a feast for crows when the crowds had departed and the scaffold disassembled.
The executioner, his tunic now splattered with blood, nodded to the guards once more for them to bring another of the condemned to the scaffold. The custom was for a woman to follow a man and so the guards went to the rear of the cage and ordered the poor wretch who had been found guilty of petty treason to come forward. The woman, dressed in a white linen gown, screamed and refused to move as the crowd began jeering. The guards entered the cage. One grabbed her hair as another hit her hands with the butt of his spear shaft. They dragged her out and handed her over to the skinners.
They ripped off her gown and spread-eagled her on the blood-coated cross, fastening the straps round her limbs. The dancing skinner took a pair of red-hot tongs from the brazier, these having four claws on the end that he proceeded to clamp on one of the victim’s breasts. She squealed in agony as he twisted the tongs to rip the breast from her chest. The crowd, delighted, erupted into rapturous applause as he held the grisly trophy in the air and tiptoed back to the brazier.
The ashen-faced priest, now in a state of shock, babbled incoherently as the executioner proceeded to smash the woman’s limbs with his iron bar as the crowd once more counted down the strikes. When it was over the squirmy pile of flesh and bone was threaded through another wheel and hoisted into position beside the first victim. And then the name of Dietmar Wolff was called.
‘No!’ shouted Conrad and lurched forward, only to be restrained by Henke’s tight grip. Rudolf grabbed the boy’s shoulders.
‘There is nothing you can do, Conrad. I am sorry.’
Conrad, tears welling up in his eyes, looked forlornly at Rudolf as his father stepped from the cage and walked to the scaffold. He knew the horrible death that awaited him but to his credit did not flinch in the face of terror. He may have been a lowly baker but he walked to his death unfalteringly and with his head held high. The crowd fell silent as Dietmar Wolff ascended the steps to the scaffold and pulled the robe over his head and handed it to one of the skinners.
The executioner’s other apprentices grabbed the baker and forced him back on the now bloody, slippery cross as the priest, who had at last managed to compose himself, stepped forward and made the sign of the cross over Dietmar. One of the skinners took a pair of tongs from the brazier but the executioner waved him back. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd – the executioner wanted to have some fun with this one. He took the iron bar from the table and wiped the blood from it with a cloth, then swung it in the air a few times. People in the crowd nodded and smiled to each other. This should be worth watching. Conrad, horrified but unwilling to abandon his father by averting his gaze, saw his lips move as he prayed to God, the priest likewise reading from the blood-splattered Bible in his hands.
The executioner stepped forward, raised the iron bar above his head and brought it down savagely on Dietmar Wolff’s neck. There was a loud crack followed by a stunned silence from the crowd. What nonsense was this? The executioner had killed the baker with a single blow. He had administered mercy and thus deprived the spectators of witnessing the torments of a man being smashed to pieces. Conrad covered his face with his hands and began to sob. Henke looked at Rudolf who nodded back at him. The previous night they had visited the executioner in his home and paid him to ensure that Dietmar Wolff would have a swift death.
‘We should leave this place of death,’ remarked Rudolf, who caught the eye of the executioner and made the sign of the cross.
Henke led Conrad away as the executioner proceeded to smash the limbs of the baker prior to his corpse being hoisted aloft on a wheel. He proceeded at speed for the murmurs among the crowd told him that they were not best pleased to have been deprived of their fun. He knew that it was not uncommon for executioners to be ripped to pieces by an angry crowd for either failing to fulfil their expectations or botching the killing of prisoners. When he had finished he barked orders at the skinners to fix the mangled corpse to the wheel and ordered the guards to fetch the next prisoner. Fortunately it was a woman. Once she had been stripped and her torture started the crowd would soon forget their displeasure.
On a balcony behind the scaffold Lübeck’s judge sipped at his wine and waited for the young boys who were serving custard dyed with sandalwood. He leaned to his left where Adolfus Braune was watching the executions.
‘That fellow was the baker who tried to kill you, I believe.’
Braune nodded. ‘Yes. I am not happy that he was not put to the tongs first. Very poor showing by the executioner.’
The servant refilling his goblet jumped as the woman spread-eagled on the cross below them screamed as one of her breasts was torn from her body. Braune licked his lips and once more began to feel his loins stir with excitement as he witnessed a helpless woman being degraded and mutilated.
‘Have no worry,’ replied the judge, ‘I will have stern words with him. He is paid well for his work and will be reminded that justice must be seen to be done.’
But Braune was not listening, so engrossed was he in the slow and agonising death being meted out to the naked woman on the scaffold.
Conrad left the square in a daze, unaware of his surroundings or time of day. It felt as though his insides had been gouged out. He was numb. The tears had stopped because he had none left. He suddenly stopped.
Rudolf looked at him quizzically. ‘Conrad?’
The boy looked at him with puffy red eyes. ‘Kill me. Please.’
Rudolf smiled kindly. ‘It is an offence against God to take an innocent life, Conrad.’
‘My father and mother were innocent but their lives were taken.’
Henke nodded thoughtfully, earning him a frown from Rudolf.
‘Sometimes we cannot fathom God’s plans, Conrad,’ said Rudolf, ‘but there is a plan and we must not question it. Suffice to say that your parents are together in heaven and you should
be grateful for that at least.’
‘Grateful,’ murmured Conrad without emotion.
Rudolf placed an arm around his shoulders and moved him forward. ‘Come. You will feel better with some food in your belly.’
The monks at the red-brick monastery were kind and brought Conrad and his sister large bowls filled with a thick chicken stew. The monastery had its own cattle and chickens that provided the monks with milk and food all year round, though they were not allowed to eat meat from four-legged animals. But he could not eat it and so sat and watched his sister devour the meal, scooping up mouthfuls of stew with pieces of the loaf that sat on the table between them. The nuns of the convent had covered Marie’s curly hair with a white veil, which framed her face and made it appear even rounder. She stopped eating and looked at her brother with her large grey eyes.
‘Why aren’t you eating?’
‘I’m not hungry. Our parents are in heaven, Marie.’
She dropped her spoon in the stew. ‘Father is dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not know why,’ he answered.
She began to cry. He stood up and went to comfort her.
‘Do not cry, Marie. Please,’ he implored her, tears coming to his own eyes.
‘What is to become of us, Conrad?’
But that question had already been addressed by Rudolf and that very evening the warrior monk escorted Conrad to the monastery’s chapter house, located in its east range. He was still pained by his father’s death and his sister’s distress but had calmed down a little. He was now possessed by a strange indifference as he walked beside Rudolf from the west range of the monastery along stark stone floors. Despite its austerity Conrad liked the monastery. There was an ordered calm within its walls, with no raised voices, filth or bad odours. The monks went about their business quietly, contentedly and with a sense of purpose. He had given no thought to what would happen to him but thought that perhaps he could make a life for himself here within its walls. Perhaps that is why he had been summoned to the chapter house.
The walled monastery was located next to the cathedral and adjacent to the nunnery. Conrad had been lodged in the west range where guest rooms were provided, the monks sleeping in a dormitory on the building’s second storey. They walked along the west range’s corridor before going through a door that led to the cloister and then across the garden where flowers to decorate the cathedral were grown. These all had a religious symbolism: violas that represented the humility of the Virgin Mary, white roses associated with her purity and red roses that were linked with the blood of Christ. Conrad looked up into the moonlit sky and saw the imposing black shapes of the cathedral’s twin spires towering above the monastery.
They walked through the garden to the east range’s cloister and then through a door that led to the chapter house. This was positioned in the centre of the east range and was a place where the monks assembled each morning and where the abbot decided the day’s business. Though the cathedral was the fief of the bishop of the city who technically ruled the monastery, his many religious and secular interests meant he was away a lot. Thus he delegated authority to the abbot.
When Conrad entered the chapter house he was impressed by its size and rich decoration. Candle stands arranged around the spacious circular room illuminated the interior and the glass in the tall windows, constructed high enough to prevent anyone outside spying in. He noticed that around the edges of the room was a series of stone benches, while opposite the door they had entered was the abbot and two of his monks, one of whom was sitting at a table with a quill in his hand. Rudolf ushered Conrad forward and they both halted in front of the abbot, a portly, middle-aged man with a tonsure and a white habit. Chosen by the other monks for his goodness and authority, he ruled the monastery and also had power over the many tenants who lived on church lands in Lübeck and the surrounding area.
Conrad noticed that above the benches were beautiful stone carvings of heads, animals, birds and flowers. He was staring at them when the abbot cleared his throat and Rudolf gently jabbed him with a finger.
The abbot smiled. ‘Well, Conrad. Brother Rudolf has brought you here so that your future may be decided.’
The monk with the quill began taking notes of the meeting.
The abbot brought his hands together in front of him. ‘It would appear that you have three courses of action open to you. I believe that God brought you to us for a purpose and to that end Brother Rudolf would like you to go with him when he returns to Livonia. There you will be instructed in the ways of the Sword Brothers to become an agent of the Lord against the heathens. This is your first option.’
Conrad looked at Rudolf who nodded at him.
‘Alternatively, you may remain here and become a novice in the monastery and thereby devote your life to the Lord within its quiet confines. Your last option, and in my view the least desirable, is to leave these walls with your sister to live on your own wits. This I would advise against.’
He gestured to the other monk sitting beside him who handed him a note.
‘I have been notified by the city authorities that your father’s premises and all tools and fittings pertaining to his business as a baker have been confiscated as a consequence of his conviction. So you see, you have no means to make a living.’
He leaned forward and fixed Conrad with his eyes. ‘What do you intend to do?’
What choice did he have? He had no home, no means of making a living and no family members he could lodge with. Apart from his sister he was truly alone. It was the fate of his sister that was uppermost in his mind.
‘What of my sister, sir?
‘She can enter the convent as a novice,’ replied the abbot, the sound of the monk’s scribbling beside him filling the chamber. ‘She will be clothed, cared for and perfectly safe within its walls.’
Conrad felt relieved. The safety of Marie was what his parents would have wanted. Better a nun than a starving beggar on Lübeck’s streets. He was tempted to stay at the monastery. At least he would be close to Marie and they would be able to see each other as they grew up. But in his heart he did not want to stay in Lübeck, the site of his parents’ murders. He had a strong desire to flee its narrow streets and its base citizens. He could leave Marie behind and depart on his own, of course. But to what end? He had never been outside the city and knew nothing of the world that existed beyond its confines. At least if he went with Rudolf he would have food in his belly and would learn to be a Sword Brother, whatever they were. His mind was made up.
‘I will go with Brother Rudolf, sir.’
Chapter 2
Lübeck’s docks were heaving with activity. The city was now a commercial centre of great importance for the Baltic region and for trade with the German Empire to the south. The city was situated on an island enclosed by the River Trave and was thirteen miles inland from the Baltic Sea. Its strategic location meant that its merchants and their ships controlled the fish trade in the Baltic itself and the North Sea and the grain trade to Norway. Lübeck grew rich dealing in salt, herring, grain, timber, honey, amber, hides and ships stores. Fish, amber and hides entered the port and were then transported by land to southern Germany, while merchandise from the Mediterranean – jewellery, weapons and tools – were brought to Lübeck and shipped elsewhere. But it was the herring trade, the fish caught and then salted in their tens of thousands, that had made Lübeck rich. So numerous were Baltic herrings that it was said that a man could scoop up the fish with his bare hands.
Conrad had risen early to eat breakfast with Marie, the last time he would see her in a long time, perhaps the last time he would see her ever. The thought weighed heavily upon him and he ate little, picking at the rye bread and taking small sips of the cup of milk. Marie devoured her bread and drank greedily from her cup.
‘I have to go away,’ he said to her.
She put down her cup, milk on her top lip. ‘Go where?’
‘To a p
lace called Livonia. Brother Rudolf is going to train me to be a Sword Brother.’
The names meant nothing to Marie, who continued to smile at her brother in ignorance.
‘When will you be back?’ she asked.
He avoided her gaze and turned away. ‘I do not know. You like it here, with the nuns, I mean?’
‘Yes, they are kind to me.’
That was something at least. ‘You will be safe here until I get back.’
The abbess appeared, a middle-aged woman in a pure white gown with a large silver cross hanging over her habit. Marie saw her and smiled.
‘It is time to say goodbye to your brother, Marie.’
Conrad tried desperately to stifle the tears that were welling up in his eyes as he left his bench to embrace his sister.
‘Promise me that you will take care of yourself, Marie.’
Not realising that he was saying a last farewell, she smiled. ‘Of course I will. I will see you when you get back.’
‘It is time,’ said the abbess softly.
Conrad released his sister and looked at the abbess. ‘You will take care of her, won’t you?’
The abbess looked at him with sympathetic eyes. ‘You can be assured of that, Conrad. And may God go with you.’
He kissed Marie on the cheek, turned and walked to the door of the dining room. He stopped and looked back, raised a hand to his sister and then walked briskly into the corridor. Rudolf and Henke were waiting for him in the garden and they walked in silence from the monastery north to the city docks. The spring days were getting warmer and there was a pleasant breeze blowing but Conrad was dejected and walked with his head down. Rudolf noticed the boy’s demeanour but said nothing. Hard work would soon occupy his mind and he would be too tired to be morose.