The Ravens’ Banquet

by Clifford Beal

  “You will bring us all into disrepute, I fear, Colonel Wharton,” he said softly, his voice quavering slightly in embarrassment. “But, if it is the will of those present, I will instruct the Secretary to make the recommendation to the full Committee.” He looked up at me, his face a mix of bemusement and disdain.

  “Beggar me," he muttered, but loud enough for me to hear. "Tis enough to make a cat speak and a wise man dumb.”

  I felt my brother’s hand rest upon my shoulder.

  HOW I EVER regained the encampment of the witches remains a mystery to me even now. I tore through the forest without reason, visions of my dead comrades still burned into my mind’s eye. Christoph’s lean, hawkish face loomed, the sisters laughed, the crone leered, and Rosemunde beckoned. She had murdered my trust even as she had murdered my comrades. And it was I who had let them go to their deaths.

  I found her at the fire, along with some of her sisters, all looking rough and bleary from their nocturnal flight and revelry. I was suddenly filled with the rage of righteous faith, fed in full by the guilt of my shameful deeds in this Godless place. She stood at my approach and I could see her surprise when she looked into my eyes and saw the absence of my love.

  I seized her quick, a hand on each arm, and I shook her like a doll.

  “You murdering bitch! What have you done? How did you blind me with your witchcraft?”

  One of the others grabbed me, tearing at my doublet. Another tried grabbing my forelock to try and pull my head back. I let go of Rosemunde and lashed out backwards with my hand, sending the woman sprawling to the ground. Yet Rosemunde, brave creature who I had seen dispatch seven Croats, just stood there gaping, frozen motionless.

  “Rikard! For pity’s sake!” she said, searching my face, “What has befallen you?”

  “I found them. Hartmann – and the others.” I pushed her away from me with a cry of despair. I could not even bring myself to look on her. I walked to the fire, my body shaking and cold right through.

  Somehow, strangled words issued from my throat. “How could you have done so foul a thing? So horrible a thing. You promised them safe conduct!” I turned to face her again. “I trusted you!”

  I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and this made me even more enraged.

  But her expression told me all. She seemed suddenly confused and lost and she came towards me with arms outstretched, hands trembling.

  “Rikard, I swear by Holda I know not of what you speak. What has happened to you, I beg you to tell me!”

  I had no real reason to believe her, but in my heart, I knew that she spoke the truth.

  “The water you gave to them when they departed,” I said, my voice now quiet. “You – someone – poisoned them. I’ve seen them all. Dead where they fell. Sweet Christ, why did you have to do it?”

  Rosemunde shook her head and reached out for me. I did not move.

  “The Oma prepared the bread and water,” she said. “But she would do no harm to them. You heard her promise.”

  I lifted my head. “The Oma. Can you not see it is she who would never let us leave alive?”

  Rosemunde shook her heard furiously. “The Oma would do no such thing!”

  “The Oma wouldn’t risk others learning of your secrets… or your silver,” I said, walking away from all of them and trying to remember the way to the old hag’s hovel. “She killed my comrades. She would kill me if I tried to leave. By God, she would kill even you if you dared to abandon her!”

  I started up the hillside.

  “Wait!” said Rosemunde as she quieted the Sisters around her, themselves now frightened by my words. “I am coming with you.”

  “I’ve been a fool,” I called back over my shoulder. “And she is going to pay for her treachery.”

  I had my hand on my hilt as I plodded up the hill, searching out for the path that led to the crone’s lair. Behind me, I could hear Rosemunde shouting for me as she followed.

  I spied the hovel, its green dome half covered in brambles and laurel a few hundred paces away. Rosemunde had caught up with me, breathless with exertion and fear.

  “Please, Rikard!” she said, pulling at me. “Let me speak with her! I know she would not have done such a thing to your comrades. She would protect us only from those who would do us harm – as she has always done.”

  “I no longer believe the word of any man or woman, but by God, I would hear what your Oma has to say of this black deed!”

  And I drew my sword from out of its scabbard. Even as I did so, Rosemunde rushed past and gained entrance to the hovel before I could burst in. I cursed and sprang after her, but not before she had ripped the red curtain and disappeared inside.

  Her wounded cry, loud and deep from the belly, came as quick as she disappeared inside. Pushing my way in, sword held low and cocked back against my side, I saw very little. But I smelt the stench of spilt blood. Rosemunde was on her knees, moaning over the bundle of rags where the Oma lay. With my sword, I tore a great hole in the roof of the hovel, letting in the light of day and thus revealing a scene most terrible.

  The Oma lay on her back, her dead eyes open full and staring at me. Dark blood covered her. It was spattered across the hovel, dripping down the little statues of Fraw Holt and pooling on the rush floor. Her throat gaped, a second and larger mouth now cut for her, ripped hard and deep by a dagger. Christoph had taken his own revenge.

  And though Rosemunde cried, I confess not a drop of pity for the old woman came from me. For if I had followed my better conscience that day the remnants of my poor squadron made their departure from the forest, I too, would now be rotting to corruption under the trees.

  “You and the others must leave this place. The sooner the better,” I told her, quietly.

  She did not answer me but instead pawed at the dead old woman, weeping.

  “If he didn’t find the silver then he’ll be back. And he’ll bring others with him. You can stay in this place no longer.”

  Rosemunde spun around and glared at me. “She must be buried.”

  I did not reply but turned and left the hovel. The other sisters pushed past me as I walked back along the path. Soon more wailing rose up through the trees as the Oma’s fate was discovered anew.

  Alone by the cooking fire, I sat in despair. My heart was empty now that the veil had been torn from my eyes. I saw then, the true bleakness of my situation. I had lost all, even my own honour and faith. I was nothing more than a beggar and I realised that my only hope was to make the long journey northwards to find what was left of the Danish army. But even this course of action was bound to be a fool’s errand. The Green Man had told me that between me and the Danes sat Tilly’s victorious host, tearing apart the countryside to satisfy their thirst for plunder. What chance did I stand, naked and alone, to regain my former place? More the pity, there was precious little left of my regiment to return to. The Croats had seen to that.

  But as I sat there, head in hands, watching the neglected fire slowly die down to flickers, Rosemunde still filled my mind’s eye. And though my heart was empty, she yet held it in her grasp. I was bewitched by her even after all that had passed and I could not bear to banish her from my miserable life. I thought back to that strange evening not a fortnight gone, when she lay by my side, silent as a cat. Aye, it had confounded me, an unexpected gentleness from so hard a creature. Yet it had been a comfort to me the likes of which I had not had in so very long a time.

  I made my way back up the hillside. Rosemunde had wrapped the Oma’s corpse and laid it out before the entrance of the hovel. The sisterhood was upon its knees in mourning and I hung back, watching from the edge of the trees. But Rosemunde saw me, arose, and came to me.

  “What will you do now?” I asked her.

  Rosemunde brought her woolen cloak up closer about her shoulders.

  “She delivered us from persecution and gave us peace here. I do not understand why the Goddess has turned from us. The woman who saved us from suffering at the hands o
f men has herself been slain by one.”

  “I warned you that Christoph would undo all. He knew that she had hidden the silver here somewhere. And he was not about to leave without finding it.”

  “She did not reveal it to him, that I can tell you.” Her voice was strong again; as it was the day she had rescued us from our pursuers. “Only she and I know where it lies. And it lies there still.”

  I took her hand in mine. “Come away with me. We can divide the silver among all and go our own ways.”

  She looked at me gently but her voice was resolute.

  “You still don’t understand. She was my redeemer. No more fear, no more beatings. She took me away from all of that – as she did all of us. We need not the company of men but we made exception for you.”

  “She murdered my comrades. After she had given her word.”

  “Then take the silver if it is blood money that you wish,” said Rosemunde. “It lies behind the great oak. There now, only the two of us know where it lies. You’ve already forgotten what happened this night gone by, even though you saw the Goddess with your own eyes. We built Her church here among us. It was hard fought and hard won. We shall not abandon this church or the sacred place.”

  She took my hand and placed it over her belly.

  “We have asked Holda to let your seed find purchase here that we may continue in this Wood and stay here forever. That is why you must not leave us either.”

  And so the purpose of the ceremony was made clear, and my role in it revealed to me.

  “Sweet Rosemunde,” I said to her, “this place is nowhere near so far removed from the world as you would wish. They will come for the treasure and the mine and they will bring the magistrates too. If you stay, they will either take you or kill you.” I grasped her by the shoulders and held my face close to hers.

  “I beg you, gather up what you’ve got and come away. I don’t know how long we may have before it is too late.”

  Her response, softly uttered, thoughtful and measured, chilled my marrow.

  “I will run no more, Rikard. If menfolk come to this place then I and my sisters will slay them all so that none shall return to tell another soul. Holda demands this and I shall not fail her or Oma’s spirit.”

  And so it was for me to choose and me alone.

  Rosemunde took my hands in hers, raised them to her lips and kissed them.

  “I do not hold you here. You must do as your heart tells you. But today we bury the Oma and tomorrow we face the day, come what may.”

  Slowly, I pulled away from her, heartsick with the weight of the choice that fell on me. I turned from her and walked away, back down to the encampment.

  Later that day we ate together, all in silence. The women would not look at me and the uneasy alliance of the past weeks now seemed to have melted away. Rosemunde said little to me, her heart heavy too. She was now the one who would lead the rest but without the crone to guide her. But Rosemunde saw the battle that raged within my own breast and, after a while, she finally came over to me, sitting by my side, her knees drawn up.

  “You must decide, Rikard. Dwell here among us or return to your army.”

  “Do you love me?” I asked her.

  She smiled a little and took my hand.

  “Love is a selfish thing that fades with the passage of time. Speak not of love but rather devotion. I am ready to devote my heart and my body to you. Holda willing, if you would make the same troth then happiness would come as day follows night.”

  I looked into her green eyes. “My heart and my head tell me different things.”

  “Then you must sleep and let Holda enter your dreams so that She will reveal the path.”

  I stroked her tresses once, nodded, and turned away. The leaves on the floor of the clearing seemed to swim before me. I was spent. To put one’s head down for a moment, to rest, that is what I craved. It was not a desire to learn what lay ahead from dream that urged me to seek out the embrace of Morpheus. It was the desire to find oblivion.

  I AWOKE WITH a start. I had slept the night through even though my intention had been but to doze. Outside, the air was cold and a heavy mist drifted through the camp, tendrils of milky fog slowly creeping round tree and shrub. Something else was also on the air. The events of the previous day came flooding back, and fast upon their heels followed foreboding. And it tugged at my guts, working its way up to seize my throat and sap my strength.

  The damp air filled my nostrils as I stepped outside and faced the clearing. Not a soul was to be seen. Fastening my baldric and sword, I cast about to see if I could spy Rosemunde, Maria or any of the other Sisters. Even the little black pig, never far from the cooking fire, had disappeared. The snorting neigh of a horse brought me up short and struck me as hard as had it been a musket shot. It had been many days and a lifetime ago since my ears had heard that sound and this time it brought only dread.

  They came through the trees, cautiously, as if expecting trouble. I counted four horsemen and another seven on foot as they silently emerged from the drifting mist that covered the bracken. I froze so still that they had yet to see me. But I was rooted where I stood, my legs held fast by my own terror. Though still some distance away from me, I could see their faces clearly. The horsemen wore red coats and breastplates, wide black and plumed brimmers on their heads. Words, barely more than a burble, floated between them. The soldiers carried their muskets at the ready, their glowing matchlocks looking like the eyes of wild creatures in the ground fog. They hesitantly stepped through the wood, spreading out wide as they prepared to enter the encampment.

  And I stood there, near ready to piss myself but desperate to warn the others of the danger about to descend on them. I thought of Rosemunde, still asleep, and my mind’s eye saw a gauntleted hand dragging her by her long locks out to her death. I didn’t run – I don’t know why – but I walked, slowly, towards Rosemunde’s hovel. I think the whole of the party stopped as one when they saw me, as carefree as any woodsman, making my way at leisure across the clearing. I heard a voice cry out, hailing me. But I did not stop.

  I made Rosemunde’s hut and peered inside. It was empty as indeed I believe I knew it would be. They had all fled.

  As I turned to the clearing again, I heard the horses whinny, goaded by their riders, and I saw that they were coming on, pistols drawn. It was now that my legs did what they had been longing to, and I dashed like a madmen away from them, out of the clearing. The crack of shot followed me as I ran for my life, into the greenwood. Christ knew how they had even managed to get their mounts this far into the forest, but unless I was the faster, they would ride me down in but a moment.

  They were shouting now, and the jangle of harness filled my ears, yea I could feel the pounding hooves as they shook the ground. My arms flailing in front of me to ward branches, my sword flapped uselessly at my side as I ran. I was nothing but prey. I stopped to catch my breath, shaking, my hands and face pressed against a tree trunk in the hopes it would shield me. And even as I stood away from it, I looked up to find two horsemen in front of me, kicking their beasts for all they were worth to urge them into the bracken.

  In that moment, we locked eyes on one another. I, half-cowering and they, pistols spanned and ready to give fire. An instant later, sparks flew from the lead rider’s chest as an iron-headed crossbow bolt bounced off his breastplate and he dropped his pistol in amazement and pain. The second man was only just taking in what had happened to his comrade when a second bolt struck him through his hat, adding pheasant fletchings to his ostrich plume. He tumbled out of the saddle and hit the ground. The remaining rider jerked his reins back and turned about, even as he drew sword to face the unseen foe.

  All about me muskets cracked, shouts of alarm echoing. I caught a glimpse of a figure in brown kersey running through the trees and followed. The Sisters had not abandoned me. They had set up an ambush. I heard a woman’s scream abruptly curtailed. And then more shouting, the shots came less as the musketeers took time to
charge their pieces and the horsemen now had drawn steel and holstered pistol. Off to my right, I spied two soldiers, one with a Sister held tight in his grasp. His comrade cut her throat and she slipped to the ground.

  I began to run again. I was in the middle of battle but not yet part of it. The cries continued, some strangled, other screeching, and so too the occasional cry of a man in pain. But it was all Chaos. I wanted to find Rosemunde and save her, but now I was wholly confused and lost. I gathered my wits long enough to finally draw my sword and to fix my courage to seek her out.

  I nearly ran into him. My old comrade and the last of my command, he who had now betrayed the coven. A smile touched his lips as he saw me. The soldier next to him, his musket turned around as a club, didn’t hesitate but came straight for me. A tall figure came from behind them both, fast as a cat, and seized the soldier. It was Maria. She held a dagger in one hand, the other clinging to the soldier’s neck. They grappled and fell. And I went for Christoph, my sword raised over my head.

  He sidestepped my headlong rush without effort, but missed me with his counterstroke as I hurtled past. I checked my run and made a vicious slice at him as I wheeled. But Christoph had already turned and run off. I swore an oath and followed, even as out of my left eye I spied the musketeer strike down Maria, her arms raised, a few yards away.

  I was gasping by now, chest heaving, as we crashed through the undergrowth, shoulders striking trees. But I was catching up to him. No fool, he knew this, and rather than find a sword in his back, he stopped and raised his blade into a hanging guard to meet my blow. Even as I closed, my boot struck a root and I was flying through the air, striking him and taking us both down into the stinking moss, mud, and bracken.

  We grunted as each struggled to raise his sword up. But these were near useless now and I lost my grip on mine and began to pummel his head with my closed fist.

  “Bastard!” I spat at him.

  He kneed my belly, missing my bollocks, and pushed me back. Far more practised than I, in a blink he had reached behind his back to draw a dagger. I threw my arm forward to catch his wrist as he struck, my other hand snatching a fistful of his long lank hair. Both of us had gained our knees now, pushing one against the other. His head shot forward to strike my nose, sending lights dancing before my eyes. I cried out in pain but still I would not release his wrist or hair. To loosen my grip would mean a ripped gut.