“Faster!” Sigmund urged, but there was nothing Ehab could do.
For two hours they slowly tacked upstream, but then the wind changed and his crew hoisted a spinnaker and the prow began to cut through the river water.
Viewed from the river, Helmstrumburg looked small and vulnerable, perched on the river banks, its stone walls and tightly packed houses dwarfed by the looming hills and forests. As they turned into the harbour it seemed that the town was in a pitiful state.
Without leadership people were concerned about one thing only: saving themselves.
The White Rose tacked in through the harbour entrance then the sailors hurried to furl the sails and lower the yardarm.
Sigmund was horrified at the sight that awaited them. Gone was the usual frenetic hurrying of dockers with sacks on their backs and the bartering of merchants. Instead, it was a scene of chaos. Crowds of desperate people were rushing up and down the docks and jetties. Half-filled barges were casting off, and there were merchant families hurrying to clamber aboard, stacks of possessions piled up on the docks. White-faced wives and daughters of the rich stood amidships as the poor looked on.
The door of the guild hall was shut and the town watch were nowhere to be seen. A mob heaved back and forth as townspeople attempted to find passage on any boat that was going. At the end of the jetty, they saw an undefended boat and stormed towards it, but the crew clambered for their bill hooks and fended them off. There were screams of pain and horror and Sigmund saw one man who had scrambled aboard getting beaten down with a club. He shouted to the men to stop, but the din of panic drowned out his voice.
Blood spurted out from the back of the man’s head and then he crashed down into the water, and lay there face down in the ripples.
Sigmund shook his head. The town seemed to be floundering in a leaderless panic. Ehab steered them towards the nearest berth and the mob surged towards the barges, until they saw that the boat was full of halberdiers. For a moment they thought it was a new unit of men sent from Kemperbad, but then they recognised the ill-matched uniforms of the Helmstrumburg Halberdiers and their hearts sank.
As the halberdiers began to lift their dead off the boats then the panic only increased.
“We’re in town now!” Freidel shouted to Schwartz, but he remained slumped over. Freidel lifted the man’s head, but his eyes were glassy.
“He’s gone,” Freidel said to Elias, and dragged him to the side of the boat.
Elias watched in horror. A man had just died next to him: silently and without a murmur. He saw the crowd and the panic and did not know what the halberdiers could possibly do to save Helmstrumburg.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Farmer Spennsweich had driven by moonlight, all the while praying fervently for Taal to shield him and his family. When dawn came it seemed that the god of the forest had heard their pleas. The mare was foaming at the mouth, her flanks were dripping with sweat, but they were only two miles north of Helmstrumburg. Farmer Spennsweich flicked the reins and drove the mare onwards. He knew he wouldn’t feel safe until they were inside the town walls.
Roderick was on duty on the west gate, on the Altdorf Road, when he saw the cart came clattering down the road, piled up with possessions and frightened children. He put his hand out to stop it. The last thing the town needed was frightened country folk spreading panic and rumours in town.
“What’s your business here?” he demanded.
Gruff Spennsweich was white with fear. He pointed up to the forests on the hills. “Look! Can’t you see the smoke!”
Roderick refused to be alarmed. It was probably some hayrick that had caught fire. He cleared his throat and spoke with mock politeness. “What is your name, good sir?”
“Gruff Spennsweich.”
“Well, Gruff Spennsweich,” Roderick said, putting his hands inside the tails of his blue velvet coat and resting them on his hips. “I don’t know what rumours and scaremongering have led you to bring your family into town, but I assure you it is safe to return home and your honourable occupation! Is spring not the time to sow your crops?”
Roderick expected the man to doff his cap and give in to good sense, but the farmer refused to back down.
“The whole village of Struhelflossen has been butchered! We saw it with our own eyes!” he said. All his daughters and the two farm hands nodded mute agreement, but Roderick was not to be dissuaded and refused to let them in.
“There is no room for rumour-mongers in town!” he snapped and took the horse’s bridle to turn it away from the gate, but Gruff flicked the reins and drove the horse straight at the officer.
Roderick leapt to the side and the four watchmen at the gate jumped up, grabbed the horse, and manhandled the burly old farmer off his wagon. Valina tried to pull the watchmen off, but her screams were ignored and she turned to Roderick for help, who was dusting his coat down.
“In Helmstrumburg we have laws,” he spat when his watchmen had finished with Farmer Spennsweich and left him lying outside the walls, next to the wheels of his cart. “I suggest you remember that!”
The burgomeister sent word that all refugees were to be denied entrance into the town and ordered to return home, but within the hour there were already fifteen carts outside the west gate, and at least as many more at the east and north gates.
Roderick climbed up onto the gatehouse and held out his arms for silence. Gruff and the other farmers shook their fists at him. Roderick’s face reddened in anger. He gestured to his badge of office as if that would still their protests.
“Good people!” Roderick started. “I implore you to ignore the rumours and superstition that have driven you from your homes! If we are to flee in the face of the smallest threats, then how can we hope to build a prosperous and wealthy community?”
The people booed and the Roderick opened his hands and tried to quieten them down.
“Why blame me for your plight? If you have not been protected then you should take your complaints to the barracks and Captain Jorg!”
The jeering relented for a moment as another target of their anger was presented. “I assure you it is safe to return home!” Roderick said earnestly—then a fresh lump of horse manure flew up and splattered against his blue coat. At the same moment a stone hit the man next to him and within seconds there was a hail of missiles flying through the air. The farmers surged up to the wall, hurling stones and abuse, but the gates were shut and instead of offering them shelter, the city walls left them locked out.
At the Jorg family mill, Andres Jorg got up early to see his wife and son to town. The upper slopes of Galten Hill all, the way across to The Old Bald Man were shrouded in smoke.
“Please come with us!” his wife begged one last time, but he shook his head and scowled. He refused to flee before beastmen.
His wife wiped the tears from her cheeks and Andres helped him up onto the cart, and nodded to his son. Look after your mother, the nod said.
His mill-hands stood behind him, watching the cart head down the slope and over the bridge towards town. Their master was the most famous soldier for fifty miles. He had served the count’s father himself in his personal bodyguard. They would stay as long as their master did. Andres spat and then turned towards his men, and gave them a look as if they were soldiers waiting for orders.
“Right men! Back to work!”
The wheel of the watermill turned all morning. Andres stumped under the rafters, listening to the hypnotic sound of the water splashing through the mill mechanism. The huge grind stone turned slowly and ponderously: one man fed grain into the hole in the centre, coming out from the outside edges in a fine white powder.
The others sacked it up and piled the sacks against the far wall. All the men were dusted with flour. Even Andres had started to take on the ghostly white; he brushed the flour from his shoulders and went back outside, for the tenth time that morning.
The smoke from the high forest fires crept steadily downhill.
What was that son o
f his up to, skulking in town when raiders were terrorising the higher settlements? If only he had his leg back. If only he were Marshal of Helmstrumburg. He would march out and destroy those cursed goat-men!
The morning was well underway when the halberdiers clambered out of the White Rose and lined up on the dock-side. The scene around them was one of pure panic. People streamed from the town and there was a terrible crush on the docks as they tried to find safe passage away from Helmstrumburg. Fighting erupted over another boat and Sigmund barked an order and drew up his men in rank, Osric’s men at the front, Gunter’s men behind, Edmunt standing with the colours of the Helmstrumburg Halberdiers hanging from the banner pole.
The mob shrank into itself, but pushed from behind by terrified people the crowd surged forward again.
“Back!” Sigmund shouted to the terrified people, but they were too frightened to listen. “Back to your homes!”
“So we can be torn apart by beastmen?” one man shouted, but Sigmund could not see who.
“I am the Marshal of Helmstrumburg!” he shouted, trying to find a way through to the people in the mob. “This morning we killed sixty beastmen!”
People jeered him and someone shouted something about refugees being shut out of town to stop the truth spreading about the numbers of beastmen.
“You may have killed sixty but there are hundreds more!” another voice shouted.
Sigmund saw the man who spoke and addressed him by name. “Master Ekker! I thought you were a man who held his head up with pride—not abandoned ship at the first sign of trouble!”
The man stopped. Sigmund pointed to another man. “Gurge Svenson! I would never have thought you would be here—with this rabble!”
The mob paused for a moment and lost it coherency. Sigmund seized the opportunity. “My men are the match for any beastmen! Does the town not have strong walls? What is there to fear? Why leave all that you have here to be wandering beggars in a foreign land? Go back to your homes. If there is any news, you will be informed!”
The mob dissolved into clumps, but many people saw the sense of what he was saying and began to drift back to their homes.
Sigmund set Osric’s men on guard until he could send relief from the barracks, then left Gunter and Vostig in charge of taking the men and the dead back to the barracks. When all was set, Sigmund straightened his uniform, cleaned his face and hands then pushed his way through the crowds to the guild hall. There were more and more people hurrying over the cobbles, sacks and bags on their backs containing all that they could carry with them. There was a number of rich tradesmen and artisans who had servants or ponies to carry crates—or coins no doubt—but all their progress was slowed by the people who were making their way back home, for there were no more boats to be had for blood nor money.
Sigmund shook his head. There was no point in telling them to return home. When they saw that all the boats were full or had left then they would leave. There was no choice.
Sigmund hurried up the steps of the guild hall. There were four town watchmen at the door. They looked as nervous as everyone else, truncheons in their hands. They stood well back in the doorway, as if the crowds of frightened people might turn on them. When they saw Sigmund stride up the steps relief washed over their faces.
“Captain Sigmund!” said one of the men. “We heard you had fled!”
“Who told you that?” Sigmund demanded.
The man shook under Sigmund’s glare. “Why—Master Roderick,”
“My men were fighting,” he snapped. “Tell Master Roderick that the Helmstrumburg Halberdiers killed sixty beastmen last night!”
The men nodded fearfully, and Sigmund strode inside and pushed the door to the burgomeister’s hall open. The room was empty except for the burgomeister and a smartly dressed merchant. They were standing by the tall windows, peering down into the river that ran along the side of the guild hall, deep in conversation.
The merchant turned and Sigmund was surprised to see it was Eugen, the Reiklander he had rescued three nights earlier.
The two men seemed just as surprised to see Sigmund as he was to see them.
“I see you have returned,” the burgomeister said. “Although you seem to have forgotten to knock before you enter my chambers.”
Sigmund could not believe what he was hearing. “Sir,” he said, holding back his impatience. “I do not believe you understand that Helmstrumburg is in terrible danger. My men killed sixty beastmen last night and yet there are a hundred more fires burning in the hills.”
“Please captain—I have heard enough of this scaremongering this morning!”
“If you cared to step outside these four walls then you would see that those fires span from Galten Hill all the way across to The Old Bald Man! Do you think they will ravage the land and then return to their caves, like obedient school-children? No—they are making their way here! For what reason I cannot guess, but one thing is certain. The numbers of the beastmen must surely outnumber my men ten to one. Unless we take urgent action I am certain that the town will be overwhelmed!”
Eugen put his hand out to the burgomeister and the master of the city stepped back, as if this was not a matter for him to be concerned with.
“I do not think the town needs your hysterical rumours,” Eugen spoke slowly.
Sigmund tried to look past him to the burgomeister. “Sir! We should raise free companies at once!”
The burgomeister seemed hesitant. He glanced towards Eugen and the Reiklander stepped back and gave the burgomeister a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“The town cannot afford such expenditure!” the burgomeister said.
Sigmund could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Sir—have you stepped outside these walls to look for yourself?”
The burgomeister did not reply.
Sigmund stepped forward. “People are saying that the country refugees have been locked out of the town? Why have they not been let in?”
“I will not be spoken to by a mere sell-sword!” the burgomeister snapped. “I run Helmstrumburg, Captain Jorg, and I will not have cowards and beggars littering my town!”
Sigmund shook his head, but held back his frustration. “Sir—I beg you to come and look for yourself!”
“In my own time,” the burgomeister snapped and turned his back.
Sigmund slammed his palm onto the table and glared at the lord of the town. “Master burgomeister—your position is given to you by the Elector Count of Talabecland. It is your job to govern in his name. It is your job to protect the people! I insist that you call for all men who can bear arms! There is an army of beastmen in the hills and if we do not mobilise all who can fight then we will surely be overwhelmed!”
Sigmund was about to mention the standing stones that he’d found when he caught a slight shake of the head that Eugen gave to the burgomeister and felt his skin prickle. What games were these men playing? He had no intention of bringing them up now. He took a deep breath. “Sir! If you deigned to look out from this hall then you would see that the whole of Helmstrumburg is in a state of near riot. Even though you are convinced that there is nothing to fear, then perhaps you would share that sentiment with the townsfolk.”
“Captain Jorg, I do not know what has possessed you. Am I to jump each time a rat farts? The people live on rumours! I can scarcely credit that you expect me to concern myself with each panic that grips the fools! I can hardly believe that you are so giddy as to be swayed by them—or is this a case of you promoting these fears?”
Sigmund bristled at the implication. “I returned to the docks this morning to find the area in a state of near riot. The town watch are too frightened to go onto the streets. I have stationed a company of men on the docks to restore order.”
“Good. When the rabble have returned home then please return your men to their barracks. I am sure they need a good rest.”
Sigmund bowed politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I am tired. I will return to barracks. If the situa
tion changes then I am at your command!”
Sigmund shut the door behind him, but instead of leaving, he hurried down the stairs to the stone vaults, where Maximillian, the town treasurer worked in the inner vault. The stone walls arched over his head, the walls glistened with river-damp. Between the thick columns that supported the ceiling was set his desk, made from slabs of Talabheim oak. There were ledgers spread all around him, and a number of candles cast puddles of flickering yellow light over their intricately-inscribed pages, tithes received and monies spent. When the treasurer heard footsteps on the stone stairs he dipped his quill in the ink pot and finished the line he was inscribing then sighed and looked up.
“Maximillian!” Sigmund whispered, and the man looked up from the vellum page he was working on and gave a weak smile.
“Captain Jorg!” he said, and then in a voice that betrayed no sense of irony. “This is a pleasant surprise. Please tell me that you have lost no more men?”
Sigmund had no intention of wasting time. “I need your help finding out a piece of information,” he said.
Maximillian laughed for a moment—a dry, humourless laugh. “I don’t know if I can help. All I do is add and subtract all day.”
Sigmund smiled, but his heart was racing. If the burgomeister had any idea that he was still in the building then he was sure he would hunt him down, and he needed to be discreet.
Sigmund wasn’t in a mood to play games. “I need to find out about that burial mound south of town.”
“Where that fire was last night?” Maximillian said and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Yes,” Sigmund said.
“Come now, Captain Jorg, don’t play the fool with your old friend Maximillian. I saw that fire last night. And I heard the boats sailing out of the harbour in the middle of the night. This morning I hear that you have fled the town, but now you come back, and if I have heard true then there are fourteen of the count’s soldiers dead this morning. That makes fifty-two pennies, if I am not mistaken. I have already written it in this column, here. See!” Maximillian smiled. “Now what is you want to know?”
Forged in Battle Page 11
