The Ravens’ Banquet

by Clifford Beal

  And even Andreas laughed.

  I opened the purse and found it fair stuffed with Reichsthalers, Kreuzers, and Gulden. And also too, a scrap of paper folded up inside. I strained my eyes to read what it contained. It looked like a record of expenditure, for it listed items obtained as if from a sutler and with a price listed after each.

  Christoph snatched the note from my hand and studied it. He muttered to himself and harrumphed loudly. “I think the owner won’t be in need of his receipt of goods.” And he dangled the note in the lamp flame till it ignited in a puff, then tossed it on the beersoaked table where it hissed at us.

  “We manage to liberate only a few mouldy Kreuzers from our foes and Rikard here sucks at Fortuna’s tit first time on the field,” bleated Andreas.

  The sight of my bloodstained trophy brought again to mind the vision of the dead Imperial trooper and his shattered face. And again I was on my knees in the wet grass staring at that broken skull and glassy eye as I robbed his corpse.

  Christoph, quick on the scent, leaned towards me. “Feeling guilty, Englishman?

  Don’t tell me you would give the money back?”

  I screwed up my face in denial. “I was only thinking upon a well-fought enemy. I am no cow heart,” I retorted.

  Christoph sneered. “Don’t be a fool. Gold is the only thing that lives on. If you’re slain tomorrow, that purse will have a new owner. He that you killed today would himself have had your thin purse had the shoe been on the other foot.” He shook his head in disgust and took a drink. “Spend your gold while you can, Englishman. Leave nothing for the next man. That’s my counsel.”

  “I need not your counsel,” I spat back.

  Christoph only grinned, but his grey eyes fixed me sharply and I knew he had not taken kindly to my words.

  Balthazar cursed. “Enough of this hard rimble-ramble among comrades! We’re here to drink, not to abuse and bandy the honour of one against another. Andreas, bid the house to draw us more beer!” And he plunged his hand into the purse on the table and grasped a few coins. “With Captain Treadwell’s leave,” he teased, holding the coins before me a moment, then placing them before Andreas.

  I nodded and fell to my thoughts while the others prattled away upon other things.

  Fortuna had been with all of us that day. What irked me was the not knowing what lay ahead. One could gather three different stories from three different troopers. And length of service meant no greater intelligence; I had already heard much rubbish from veterans about the course of the campaign. They knew no more than me about what ran through King Christian’s head. Nor was our beloved Colonel Nells overly fond of giving out a full measure of intelligence to his companies. We were not paid to think on such matters. We were the wasps sent out to enrage the old bear so that he would act rashly. Thus it was certain that we poor devils would see business most fulsome and hot.

  I looked up to find Samuel standing before us. My comrades had grown used to his face by now and so took little notice of his arrival. And though I was foxed, well and truly, I could see that Samuel was not. He convinced Andreas to shift over and so joined us at table.

  Samuel smiled thinly.

  In truth, I had seen little of him in the past days. He had become a stable groom to the regiment; a trade he knew well. His ear for the German tongue had grown the better and already he had his own comrades among the baggage train: that shadow army of sutlers, ostlers, blacksmiths, bitter wives and jaded whores that were never more than pissing distance away.

  “Well met, Samuel,” I said, finding a cup and pushing it his way.

  He inclined his head and pulled the vessel into his grasp but he did not reply. Two firkins of beer clanked upon the table and with much spillage, we all filled up again.

  “And Rikard can pay for next as well,” said Balthazar, his paw grasping my neck and shaking my head like a rattle.

  “If every battle brings such wealth, then I’ll be equally generous,” I laughed. Christoph leaned forward. “Do you really think that’s the true path to riches in this army? You could fight for five years more and never see another purse. You’re a soldier now, Englishman, don’t talk like a boy.”

  “You’re jealous, that’s all there is to your noise,” I said.

  “Tell him, Balthazar,” demanded Christoph, pointing his cup, “Tell him about all the silver just waiting for us on the battlefield.”

  Balthazar was reluctant to join the argument. “Leave off, Christoph, let him take pleasure from his reward.”

  “What are they saying?” asked Samuel, leaning in to whisper to me. His German was not yet up to the task.

  “They say that there are no riches to be had in this war,” I answered. Christoph cackled and swigged down his beer. “Ask anyone here if they have grown wealthy on the pay. It is what we steal that gives us any chance of finding our Fortune. And stealing is hard work, Englishman. Harder than battle.”

  Before Samuel could pester me, I told him Christoph’s words.

  Balthazar decided to join in after all. “Aye, well, snatching a good baggage train can benefit all, but they are few and far between.”

  Andreas nodded sombrely in agreement. “And usually too little to share out with too many.”

  “But I’ve seen more than a few soldiers who have wealth,” I protested. “I have seen pearls, silks, all such things.”

  “You don’t get those from killing sheep, now do you?” said Christoph, as if he were addressing a simpleton.

  I was growing hot again. “Sheep?”

  “Peasants,” said Andreas, helpfully, a curious smile upon his lips. “If you want to kill Papists and stay poor,” said Christoph, “then there’s one sitting right there.” And he pointed to Andreas.

  “If you would be rich then you kill a merchant instead.”

  I repeated this all quickly to Samuel.

  “Don’t mumble in your devil’s tongue,” said Christoph, his voice dropping deeper.

  “I like it not.”

  “Surely, you would not do murder as a common thief,” I said, turning back to him.

  “Are we not soldiers?”

  And the whole of the company erupted into laughter, spewing beer and cursing. Christoph waved his arm and shook his head. “Enough, Englishman, else I’ll piss myself here and now. Just you wait until we get on the road south. You shall get your chance.”

  “Does he speak the truth?” I asked, looking back to Balthazar who was just finishing his last tremors of mirth. “You would all do murder to make your Fortune?” Balthazar, drunk as he was, suddenly fixed me with a look that I didn’t like, his smile fading. “Say no more of it, Rikard. Leave it be.”

  And I know I went quiet after that while the others resumed their drinking and jests.

  I went outside to piss and Samuel followed.

  “I could tell you stories I’ve heard down in the sutler’s camp,” he said as we stood in the damp drizzly cold. “You have found yourself some rum companions, that is God’s truth,” he said, shaking his prick and hooking up his breeches again.

  “It’s not as I imagined it to be. Still, we are all in our cups this night,” I said. “There is more here than the talk of booze, I warrant” said Samuel, walking back to the tavern door, “But these be your comrades now. You’ve made your bed, now lie upon it.”

  I gripped his shoulder and he turned sharply back on me.

  “And what do you mean by that?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Remember that you are in this just as I am. You gave your word.”

  Samuel fixed me sternly and jabbed a forefinger under my nose. “The Devil take it, Master Treadwell! This be your adventure. I shall look after my own head, not yours as well. I find you food, I mind the horses. And there the contract ends.”

  “Coward and whore’s son!” I shouted at him, knocking his hand aside. I thought then he would have at me, and indeed, his eyes fair stood out of his head. I could see his shoulders start to move forward, the rage stoking in his breast, bu
t something held him back.

  “Whore’s son?” he whispered back at me. “By Jesus, I shall have you for that!”

  And he staggered back a few steps, nodding his head.

  Why had he seized upon one insult and not the other?

  “I shall have you, sirrah!” he repeated, quietly. And I could see that he struggled in himself, deciding whether to pounce or stay his hand.

  I rubbed my forehead, already relenting my harsh words.

  “Enough, Samuel!” I said. “This business goes too far and the booze speaks for us both.”

  He spat at my feet. “By Christ’s Blood, you will see the truth, I swear it.” And before I could discover his meaning, he had dashed away into the gloom. I resumed my seat at table, shaken and troubled. I took a long drink. My comrades babbled on but it was distant to my ears. After some time, I heard Christoph tell us to drag our arses out to the street as the provost marshals would be lurking soon to roust us.

  Balthazar grumbled and wiped the beer that had soaked his grey-flecked beard. We arrived at our cramped and crooked inn and made our way inside, bouncing off the walls and falling up the stairs. Some of the regiment were in this house, others were scattered about in others. Stepping over and upon our slumbering fellows, I bade a good night to Balthazar (the others had already disappeared) and stumbled into one of the rooms.

  Somehow I found a space on the floor not yet occupied, sat myself down, and pulled off my boots. I stripped off what I could manage and laid out my doublet next to me. And then, rolling up my boots for a pillow, I curled up like a dog, thinking upon the evening’s events and of Samuel, and waited for blessed sleep to overtake me. It was not easy in coming. Yet finally, I dropped off, the beer in my head quickening things.

  Before very long, or so it seemed, I was kicked into wakefulness by a rising neighbour. My body ached. I could feel that my armpits were bruised from chafing against my breastplate and the back of my skull was sore from the whack I had taken the previous morning upon the field. As I rubbed my breast, my hand touched upon Anya’s talisman. I had forgotten the little amulet that I now held between my fingers. Had her magic kept me safe outside Nienburg’s walls?

  Without many words, we all slowly rigged and made our way downstairs to find food and drink. I decided that it would be foolish to carry my treasure purse on me all the time and there was nowhere to hide it safely. Giving it to Samuel for safekeeping would be as good as throwing it into the river. It occurred to me though that I could kill two birds by visiting the moneychanger whose name Herr Hoffman had written down for me in Hamburg. I could leave the money with this fellow and make my introduction for future advances on my father’s credit.

  But search as I might, I could not find the scrap of paper that Hoffman had given me. Worse, I had not even read the name on the paper and so, would never be able to discover the man without finding the note. I reached deeply into the concealed pocket of my doublet and then ripped apart my snapsack too, but to no avail. The goddess Fortuna had given with one hand and taken away with the other.

  The square reverberated with the sound of drum and horn and the rumble of troopers recovering their mounts from the hands of stablemen or apprentice boys who had been paid to watch over them. Many burghers crowded in windows facing the square to see the spectacle of an army preparing to go forth, banners flying. They hung out from every floor: lords and ladies, servants and children, even a few whores who shook their bare tits to tempt soldiers back to their rooms.

  There was so much confusion about that I reasoned I had a maybe a few moments to search for Samuel. And I found him not long later. He was in the sutlers’ train along with the attendant band of beggars and other hangers-on. He spied me as I drew near to the wagons and watched me as I approached. What struck me first off were his new breeches: dark green brocade with buttons on the sides. More to, his hole-shot stockings and mean shoes were now replaced with a fine pair of brown funnel-tops boots, a thing not likely to be acquired through the contents of his own purse.

  “Master Treadwell, what brings you here to the baggage?” he said, leaning his backside against a cart.

  “I thought about our harsh words last night,” I replied as we stood face to face. “We are both a long ways from home and it benefits us nothing to be at odds.”

  Samuel ignored my words but called over to a fat fellow who was shifting bags of grain from a wagon.

  “Look here, Mathias, it is my master come to see us!” Mathias turned for a moment and grunted before resuming his labours.

  “I get on well enough here, as you can see,” Samuel said, turning back to me. I heard the trumpet sound in the square, calling us to mount up.

  I put the question to him. “I cannot find the banker’s letter of credit that Herr Hoffmann gave me in Hamburg. Have you seen it?”

  “Are you saying that I took it?” he asked, puffing himself up for a fight. “I ask if you have seen it. Without it, there is no money for me or you.” Samuel fixed me with a hard stare. His words came out slowly and measured. “I have not, sirrah.”

  The trumpet sounded again, and I could tarry no longer for fear of getting a basting from Krebs, the troop’s Cornet. Even worse, I spied several fellows gathering about us as we argued: drovers, stable boys, and others, all curious to learn what was going on. These were Samuel’s comrades, not mine. He smiled at me. “You’d better get moving.” And so, our very brief alliance crumbled right there, and I knew now that I was truly on my own in this land, surrounded by dubious and dark company.

  A week later we returned to Nienburg, in worse spirits than when we left. As for Samuel, it would do no good to leave things as they stood. He was not to be trusted and held ill for me, though I could not guess why. I would have to seek him out again, pay him off, and send him home. If he would go.

  This time, it took me two days to find him. Two days’ time trudging about the baggage train, within and without the town walls, until my feet ached. When at last I set eyes upon my long-absent companion, I stood for a moment confounded and slack jawed.

  Here before me stood a hog in armour: Samuel arrayed like some Colonel of Horse and set for parade. To his fine breeches and boots he had now added a russet doublet of no less than three-pile velvet, a black wool cloak, and new brimmer with a golden band. He swaggered about the other baggage boys like some Hector and handing out favours to those beneath him.

  I glanced downwards at my own clothing, now ragged and hole-shot after weeks of fighting, riding, and tasting Nature’s elements more often than wished for. I looked no better than an armed beggar. It was all too clear now that he had cozened me well and truly.

  He had stolen the banker’s note from my clothes and had paid the banker a call, posing as Richard Treadwell, the English volunteer.

  I slipped my baldric lower to hang my sword and scabbard across my backside and strode towards him. I was at the south wall of the town, near the great gate, this being the place that the regimental baggage train had claimed for its own.

  He didn’t even take notice of me until I grasped his shoulder and pushed him forward. He spun around in an instant, his right hand flying to the handle of the little pigsticker that yet marked him as a rustic.

  “What, ho, the country clown has done well indeed!” I taunted. Others turned to hear the foreign tongue that caught their ears and when Samuel yelled back at me we had in but a few moments an audience eager for blood.

  “Country clown no more, sirrah! I’m in good keep and now my own master besides,” said Samuel, stepping back and fingering his short sword.

  “Jackanape!” I spat. “In good keep at my expense. How long did you think you’d profit before I discovered you? You have done me dishonour, Samuel Stone, and my father as well.”

  Samuel stepped back a pace again and began to slowly skirt me like a mongrel looking for an unguarded place to bite. His grey eyes had again taken on that harsh glistening I had seen before. He did not deny my charge.

  “Aye,” h
e nodded. “Honour and fathers. That’s where we did last leave off. I told you I would show you the truth of things. Now is the time.”

  I burned. “I shall drag you to the moneylender that he shall see the truth of things. If must needs be I’ll take the silver from out of your hide.”

  Samuel continued to circle and his mouth split into a grin. “I have a proposal for you. I’m now in need of a servant to fetch my supper. What say you?”

  I drew my sword on him, for no man could let such an injury pass without challenge. He quickly brought up his own rusty poker and brandished it at me. Then, his left hand went behind his back and returned with a dagger, which he wagged at me like a schoolmaster’s birch.

  “Let’s see how well you dance, sirrah. Come, give me play,” he laughed. From out of the corner of my eye I could see a wagon being pushed in behind me to cut off any retreat. And I understood in a flash that I was in enemy hands. These were Samuel’s people now. I thrust out and made to beat his blade aside, but his grip was firm. “You’ll have to do better than that, Master Treadwell.” He said softly. “I have waited to take my revenge on your blood since Hamburg. You must not disappoint me.” I had little fear of Samuel’s skill at sword, but I could feel the crowd close around us: a company of thieving rogues and corner creepers. Hemming us in would only favour Samuel and his short piece of rusty steel. I felt a shove at my back and I lashed out with my left hand while keeping my gaze firmly on Samuel. I stepped forward again and tried to run up Samuel’s blade but he stepped inside and swiped at me with his dagger hand. I pulled back out of his reach. He came on, forcing me to parry his sword and side-step and I cracked my hilt into his head as he rushed past. He cried out in rage and turned fast, striking out again. Looking beyond him I saw two baggage camp men wielding cudgels and eyeing me with no good intent. And nowhere was there a bolthole to run.

  “You are all as alike!” he spat at me. “Black and base dogs all and your father the biggest one of all!”