“What have we here?” bellowed the green man in German as he reached the bottom stair.
“It would seem… a recruit, Colonel,” answered the scribe.
Colonel Nells fixed me with a sharp eye. He stepped closer and I could see pockmarked cheeks and a large nose. His hair was short in the older fashion and he seemed to me to be in his years some forty and five. I didn’t wait for him to address me but took a half step back and doffed my hat with a bow.
“Your servant, Colonel. I am Richard Treadwell, son of Sir William Treadwell and I have a petition for you from a friend, the Earl of Pembroke.” I stepped forward and held out the letter in my hand.
His face was expressionless as he took it from my grasp. He cracked open the seal and unfolded the parchment. And then he read, aloud and in French, half mumbled. No one else spoke as Nells read on, harrumphing at one point, an eye brow raised at another. I could comprehend a few words here and there, in the main the letter being what I had hoped for: the begging of a favour to grant me a commission.
Nells finished and looked at me again, brandishing the letter in my direction. “And what experience of soldiering have you, sir?”
I should have anticipated such a question but I had not. “In truth, sir, none. But I am an excellent rider and have hunted greatly and with much success. And my swordsmanship –”
Nells raised his hand. “And what do you hunt, Master Treadwell? Please tell me that it’s mainly Spaniards and Jesuits but that you have also skewered a few Imperials with boar spears on several occasions.”
The officers roared and the Colonel’s lips curled in a half smile.
I could only stutter. “Colonel... I would beg the opportunity of a commission that I may prove my worth to you.”
Nells’s German was precise and withering “Master Treadwell, in several of His Majesty’s regiments of Horse there are gentlemen of worth such as you and these are proud to give service as mere troopers. Those who have seen service are granted commissions; those who have not may take to the ranks or else go home. If you would serve me and the King then you must earn an officer’s billet.”
I could offer no reply. Nells turned to the scribe.
“Johan, read him the Articles and if he is willing to take the oath find him a company whose complement is still under strength.”
He turned to me and folded the letter, before handing it to the scribe. “Good service will find its reward, Master Treadwell. And fear not, after a few battles there are always gaps to be filled.”
I was so pole-axed I was barely able to move aside as he walked past, followed by his comrades. I nodded dumbly as I was asked if I wished to enlist and I could feel my face grow hot and flushed as I was read the Articles of the army and then requested to sign or make my mark on the page of the muster book.
The officer in grey shuffled through his papers and pulled out one. “You are to be assigned to Captain Tischler’s company; his is yet in need of a few troopers.”
The scribe pulled out a leather pouch and dug out a few silver coins, which he placed on the table and pushed toward me. “There is your enlistment bounty.”
The other handed me a scribbled note after I had scooped up the coins with a shaking hand. “You will find the captain and his staff quartered at the end of this row. Give one of them this.”
And thus ended the transaction, in all but a moment. One that would mark me for life. I walked out of the house on feet of wood, and like one pixie-struck, stumbled towards the horses. Samuel stood with his arms over the saddle of his mount, a piece of straw dangling from his mouth.
“Are you an officer yet?”
I would rather have faced the guns of General Tilly than have told Samuel of my predicament more than once. And, the Devil take him, when I told him the truth, his mirth was ill-concealed.
IV
First Blood
September 1625
Barnet
Third of July 1645
My Dear Wife,
Tomorrow will see me enter London and the Tower, for I have not been offered parole by the forces of Parliament. Some mean and evil few have seen fit to arraign me on a charge of High Treason for reasons and motives known only to them. Of this heinous charge I am innocent and this upon my Faith I swear to you.
I am in sore need of help, and my future condition depends most wholly upon your
actions in the following days.
I beseech you to send from Exeter a trusted retainer and as much coin as can be spared. So too must you find a lawyer to offer me goodly counsel. Without food brought in to me or money to procure sustenance, my conditions of captivity will be most terrible to contemplate.
Do not fail me Dear Heart. Your correspondence must now, I fear, be brought to me by messenger to that awful place.
I think of you and the Dear Ones in all my waking hours. Adieu.
Your loving Husband,
Richard
I BEGAN MY life as a soldier in the ranks. My days were spent on drill and parade, and though many troopers were green to the game, even veterans must be reminded of the standard exercise and for a few hours near on each day we were ordered through the paces in the Dutch style. As a harquebusier, I had not much armour to bear, only a helm, breastplate and back. Our chief purpose was to bolster the heavy cuirassiers, those black lobsters encased in steel head to toe and who with pistol or lance would crash into the enemy full tilt. For us, it was a carbine, a fast horse, and a sharp piece of steel if the business grew hot.
My new comrades with whom I shared a billet were curious of me as I was the only foreigner among them (though our company did have a few Hollanders and a Frenchman). That first evening in camp, four had gathered round me, asking of my previous employ and why I had come so far to seek battle.
“We three have served in the Low Countries,” said one, a fellow named Balthazar, as he pointed his finger at his companions. He was, it was said, of late a farrier from Bremen. Indeed, he was big enough to lift a horse, up-end it, and shoe it upon his knee. I thought he looked more like a bear than a man: his full black beard, great ringlets of hair, and his large round nose all made his head appear larger than it was.
“All of us know old Tilly and his tricks and, sure as a goose turd is green, one of us here has even served in his ranks.”
And then all eyes turned to Andreas sitting on the far side of the room. Andreas smiled but said nothing.
“You’ll enjoy service with the Danes,” continued Balthazar, placing a huge arm round my shoulders and shaking me like a dice cup. “His Majesty is a rich old fart and they pay wages with good speed – unlike the Spanish, eh Andreas?”
Andreas, dark-skinned as a Moor and always soft spoken, nodded in reply.
“He’s still waiting for his back pay,” said Balthazar with mock solemnity. “Andreas, I urge you to take up the matter with General Tilly himself when next you meet. He is bound to open his purse at the sight of an old friend.”
And Balthazar roared, as did the others, except of course, Andreas.
Of the others in my little circle of comrades, there was Jacob, fair-haired and clever. I never saw him lost in his cups, nor choose a seat that was not against a wall, nor say a word without thinking well upon it. Indeed, his eyes seemed not to work all that well in harmony, the left one wandering off in search of trouble. Balthazar said that he should be put on the watch because he could see around corners. Jacob, well used to his wayward orb, suffered these jests well.
And then there was Christoph. Sweet Jesus, where do I begin to tell the tale? Sullen, cruel, bold, he was all these things, and never two good words to say to a single soul. And if ever someone resembled the beast of the wild that mirrored his actions, then Christoph was a fox, made man. From his pointed chin and nose, and his narrow, hooded eyes, to his teeth set higgledy-piggledy like a rack of pikes, he lacked nought but fur.
He was quick to anger, and the quicker to move or strike. And though he was not a big man (no taller than I), oth
ers who were gave him wide passage. Yet he was our beast, for he was of our squadron. Word in camp had it that he never could set foot again in his home in Kassel without soon feeling the caress of hemp about his neck, for he had slit the throats of two men whilst at cards a year before.
But there was something else in his regard that froze my blood just the same. Something that told me he could see what thoughts my conscience held. Something that forewarned me to disdain his company, something that stank of the absence of Good. I was afraid to tell him any lie no matter how small, and I knew no man that could meet his gaze and hold it as equal. But, so too, I was curious. If I had only known more, there and then.
We all drank and gamed at night, entertaining the plump whores who were so kind as to come to our door in search of business. The house we stayed in was like an inn without an innkeeper. We did as we pleased and there was hardly a stick of furniture left to break. As days passed, I grew to become a part of this reckless crew, untried as I was.
The weeks passed, stories drifted through the camp that the enemy was close upon us, and before long I found myself out on skirmish rides with the troop, scouting for the men of Count von Tilly.
And thus, it was not long after, a warm September day, that I killed my first man.
Our army had encamped near Nienburg, its spires were still within our view, when our captain spied new quarry. A large body of Imperial horsemen was flying away towards the Weser and so we gave chase. They numbered a few score and had a good start on us. Yet their only escape was to get across the Weser from where they had come. We were now at full gallop to stop them, great gaps opening between our riders.
They looked small at a distance, but we closed fast and they became real. When they realised that there was no way to ford the river, they wasted no time milling about but instead turned to fight, meeting us on the hoof and not at a standstill. There was no harsh clash of horse and harness as I had imagined in my countless daydreams; we slowed up to just a fast trot, giving us more than a full measure of time to look the Papists in the eye as we came to swords’ distance. I singled out an opponent (or perhaps he singled out me) and bore down on him, head on. The ground between us closed fast.
At only a few paces, I looked him full in the face; his eyes were large and round. And then I swung at his head as we passed each other. His blade was there to meet mine and I felt the shock run up my arm as the steel met like the ring of a broken church bell. I jerked the reins hard to the right and kicked my mount with my right boot. My aim was to meet him again on his left so that he would have to strike me across his saddle, thus giving me the advantage.
But he was no fool, this Habsburger. We now ended up circling each other, just out of reach. Rather, it was I who played the clown. I was so intent that I had forgotten what else was going on around me. I glimpsed a movement to my left and then my head was given a blow that gave me stars before the eyes. I had narrowly missed having my neck cleaved, the blow glancing over the crown of my helm. I was staggered a moment as the second Habsburger rode on past me and instantly my first opponent came at me anew, ready to finish me off. I kicked my horse and shot out straight forward to meet him. The memory has never faded from me: I was young, strong and filled with Holy fire as I hacked at that trooper. He was a fair bit older, I believe, for he tired quickly in the flurry of blows. He parried two, and I one of his, but he missed my next one, which I sent crashing into his face above his gorget. I saw a quick flash of blood and flying teeth as I brushed past his horse. Turning my mount, I watched him tumble from the saddle and fall, his armour sounding an abrupt jangle as he hit the grassy riverbank. He cried out briefly and rolled over.
No sooner had I looked up than two more of the enemy were bearing down on me. I yelled out an oath and charged at them. And then, God knows how, my grip faltered and the sword swung out of my gloved hand. It fell dangling next to my thigh from its cord that I had wrapped about my wrist. I veered away from the troopers and leaned forward frantically in order to draw my pistol, my sword still bobbing up and down at my side. I could hear the snorting of the enemy’s horse drawing close behind me and I turned tightly and swung my pistol around to take aim. He was closer than I had thought and fairly ran into me. I had an instant to point the piece at his head. I fired. The report sent my hand rising up as flame leapt out to greet him. He fell back, half out of the saddle and carried on past. Another Habsburger came on behind him though, and I shoved the pistol back into the holster on the saddle bow and clawed at my sword hilt to get a grip again before he could cut me down.
To my wonderment Balthazar appeared close behind the Habsburger, and even as I raised up my blade anew, Balthazar had cut him down and tumbled him from the saddle with three ferocious blows.
I rode up to him my arm shaking badly and my mount’s head tossing and shaking from the noise and terror.
“Thank Christ you were there, good Balthazar!” I wheezed out.
Balthazar laughed. “Fie! You would have had the better of him, as you did his friend. Now have a care!”
And we cast about looking for others to engage, but all were dead or else had flown. I saw one of our squadrons still riding hard down the riverbank, pursuing the last remnants of the Imperials. Our squadron now milled about, near to where I had anointed my first Habsburger. By then the Captain was with us and laughing at the sport. I can still remember his words as he rode over to me as I sat trying to catch my wind, sweat pouring down my face.
“I saw you take that one,” he said gesturing at the Imperial’s corpse with his sword. “Twas fairly struck, young lad. He's now smiling from ear to ear!”
And then I smiled too, like a dog, newly blooded and praised by master.
“Well now, get on down and take your reward,” urged Captain Tischler. “All of these bastards are as rich as Croesus.”
So I dismounted and on unsteady legs approached the corpse. Others of the company were already doing the same along the riverbank, rolling over the dead and searching for what was worth taking. I turned over my Habsburger, trying not to look at his staring eyes amidst the gore of his face. The grass was slippery with his blood and I nearly fell trying to cut the belt that held his breastplate. I threw the breastplate up over his shattered head and there on his belly was fastened a leather pouch. I wrenched this from the corpse and heard the jangle of coins.
Balthazar rode close by me as we made our way back. “That were a quick and clean fray.” he said, “And a good first lesson for you,” he added. Christoph came pounding up to us and reined in.
“We all made it through, our lot. I’ve just seen Jacob and the others. He took a musket ball in the breastplate. He’s bruised but fares well.”
“And what do we now?” I asked Balthazar, for around us was most heavy confusion as the various companies returned to the field from their pursuit of the enemy. Down near the great east gate, troopers and Danish dragoons had disarmed the surrendering Imperial foot and were herding them together to await parole.
Balthazar’s sweaty face broke into a smile. “We find out whether Nienburg was worth saving, my lad.”
And then he laughed and rode over to the comrades, trampling the body of a dead musketeer that lay in his path. And that threatening sky that had watched us so closely as we went about our bloody business, finally belched forth. A cold steady rain fell, and I, flushed and warm, listened to the droplets striking my helm.
NIENBURG TREATED ALL armies with equal aplomb, and it mattered not to its denizens whose army they had to suffer under so long as they paid in good coin. As I sat in the tavern that evening, the ceiling, dropping plaster, creaked and groaned, yet still held firm. Balthazar was on one side of me and Andreas on the other as I shot my gaze upwards once more.
“By Christ! They’ll bring the house down around our ears with all that roystering!”
In truth, it was no better below where we were, for the entire rat’s nest of an alehouse was stuffed to the full with King Christian’s soldiers, we hero
ic breakers of the siege. Every man jack was cupshot, and with my elbows holding me upright, I set my eyes back upon the table because the ceiling had begun to spin about.
The table was awash in beer and my sleeves and doublet were alike soaked through. Everyone was a-hollering for more of something: drink, whores, or money. The din upstairs had reached such a lather that surely blows had broken out or someone had gone arse over tits down the stairs. One moment there was laughter, the next cursing and cries. Dice were hurled across the room in anger, cards were strewn about the floor like so many dead soldiers, and in all my time in England I had never seen such bedlam and in so small a room.
“Then you go up there and tell them to pipe down, good fellow!” laughed Balthazar. “You’ll have your skull smashed the instant the words leave your tongue.”
Andreas’s head lolled about as he tried to join in. “Nay, our Englishman here has more sense than that.” And he clasped me about the shoulders, sending more drink down my front.
Christoph seemed less drunk than the others. He sat at the far end of the table poking the flame of the tin lamp that hung down near his head with a playing card that had landed on the table. It sputtered and snapped and then caught the flame. He twisted it about his fingers as it burned down, gently blowing up the fire to coax it along. “I am out of pocket,” he said, without looking up, “Let someone else get the next firkin. Who has shirked his duty?”
“I shall stand us another,” I said proudly. But I had spent all my coin by then, and so reached underneath my doublet and removed the leather purse that I had so recently acquired. I tossed it onto the table with a jangle, and saw, even in my muddled condition, that it was stained with blood, dark brown against the fairer colour of the leather. “What, ho!” said Balthazar. “The great prize of the day is brought before us.” Christoph leaned forward on the bench. “So, it is a prince we find among us,” he mocked.
“The drink is at the kindness of General Tilly,” said Balthazar, raising up his pewter noggin. “See here, Andreas,” he said as he gestured at the purse, “Rikard has found your back pay after all!”
The Ravens’ Banquet Page 5
