The Ravens’ Banquet (12 page)

“Andreas wears a charm upon his person. A charm he swears has saved his skin on more than one occasion. He has a tiny scrap of parchment, no bigger than a thaler, upon which he’s scribbled a text. Difficult to explain without showing you, but it contains a spell –
abracadabra –
written many times over in such a way as to form a triangle upon the paper. He told me it’s an ancient talisman once used by King Solomon himself.”

“Charms and magic seem little proof against hot lead, my friend. You were merely at the long end of this musket ball’s flight. That’s what spared your life.”

Balthazar grumbled at me. “You’ve got no faith, boy.”

The hour grew late as the company grew tiresome. Eventually, I gave into my fatigue and made my way up the narrow groaning staircase of the inn. The drink had gone straight to my head. I bounced off the walls of the narrow hallway until I found the chamber I had staked out earlier. I pushed the door open and shuffled into the dark, the one tiny window of the place showing a narrow shaft of moonlight on the floor. There was a heap on the bedstead and I flashed anger that my rack had been stolen by someone else. But even as I took a step towards the fellow, the whiff of rotten meat flew up to meet my nose. I stepped back, my arm against my face, an oath on my lips.

I remembered there was a candle and tinderbox on the table near the window. Still cursing this stinking bed thief, I moved forward to lay my hands on them. As I fumbled like a blind man trying to lay my hands on the taper and lighter, something seemed not quite right. My neck hairs stiffened and I stopped rummaging. Slowly I turned my head to the figure on the bed, my eyes straining to get a better look.

That’s when it spoke to me. The voice was a moist gurgle. And barely above a whisper.

“
Lass mir
.”

And the candlestick upon the table suddenly flared to life, illuminating who it was that had spoken. The man was bent nearly in half, legs folded up underneath him, his arms both twisted into unnatural positions, his right wrapped around the back of his neck. His fat flabby face, greyish black, glistened wet in the flickering light. And the eyes were those of a man long dead. I knew it was the fat merchant we had murdered. His velvet suit was foul and torn, his linen collar stained yellow and brown.

I remember my jaw falling open as I tried to yell but nothing came forth but a strangled choking cry.

“Judgement!” it hissed, liquid oozing from its mouth. “It’s coming now. Coming faster than you can run!” And the corpse laughed, gurgling, its head wagging on a broken neck.

I cried out then, just as the thing unfolded itself like a startled crab, arms flailing. And it sprang off the bed. I bolted for the hallway and in half a second my head slammed into the open door. The floor rose up to claim me even as the rasping laughter of the merchant filled my ears. And mercifully, I knew nothing more.

T
HE CLANGING BELLS
of St. Blasius woke me with a start, my arms flying up to ward off the corpse. But the room was empty and I lay sprawled on the floor. I could see the weak light of morning just showing, yet it was early still, perhaps four or five of the clock. More than the unusual hour, it was the vigorous tolling of the bells that left no question that is was an alarm and no early mass.

My head had a bump the size of a goose egg and I struggled to pick myself up. Boots came pounding down the hallway, stopping at the doorway. It was Christoph.

“Get up, Englishman! General Tilly is here to see you!” He looked down at me and shook his head with disgust. “You pay for a good bed and then you end up on the floor?”

Groaning, I hauled myself up. The bed was empty, the room peaceful and nothing disturbed. Had I truly seen that tormented foul creature in the night? Or had I just been that drunk? All my boyhood fears were now flooding back to me anew. Christoph yanked the back of my jerkin and dragged me out of the chamber, cursing my stupidity. We hurried out into the street, every bit of my body aching as I chased after him. I could see and hear windows creaking open and doors slamming. The orange rim of dawn was coming up over the east wall. Balthazar stood in the middle of the street, still fumbling at the points of his breeches, cursing the lacings. A few more of our comrades spilled out to join us and Christoph suggested we take to the walls in order to see what was happening. We quickly made our way to the centre and past St. Blasius, then to the western wall where many were already assembled. Balthazar pushed the confused burghers out of our way and we ascended the stone steps to the battlements, jostling one another to get a clear look in the faint light.

Across the river some five hundred yards distant, like will o’ the wisps, dozens of lights danced up and down. It was the torches of an advancing host. Had the hum of the multitude on the walls not been so loud, I am sure we would have heard the jangle of harness and echo of hooves, and the creaking and rumbling of the gun carriages as they moved along the riverbank.

I was silent as we watched the procession, half imagined.

Christoph stood next to me, his hands gripping the edge of the battlements. Quietly, and without turning, he said, “We had best search out the Lieutenant. This might change his plans.”

B
Y THE TIME
Lieutenant Tollhagen had joined us at the stables, he was a good hour late. Pentz kept company with us while we waited, and some of the troopers took to playing at cards around an upturned tub. When Tollhagen did finally come around the corner, he was mad as a scalded cat, shouting and cursing at us to stand-to. The horses sidled about in their stalls, their ears twitching.

“We’ve been ordered to stay and defend the town. The commander said he didn’t give a turd for our own orders. Goddamned sanctimonious arsehole.”

“Let us make for one of the gates,” urged one of the comrades.

“Shut your hole!” snapped Pentz, not waiting for the Lieutenant to give him a cuffing.

“We’re staying… for the moment leastways,” said Tollhagen “Fetch your pieces and all powder and shot. I have already been bid to station the west wall.”

Christoph and Balthazar exchanged looks, and I knew that those two thought this was rum business indeed. Tollhagen had lost all the swagger of the merry blade, and could hardly conceal his worry or his anger at having our options winnowed to two: stay and fight, or run away. I stood there, rubbing my broken head and still quietly shaking from the visitation in my room only few hours before. What had not happened to me for years was happening again. And I remembered the dead merchant’s words. His ghost knew what was coming. I was no old campaigner to be sure, still green as the grass, but it was clear that unless we left Münden that morning, the Imperial army would have us encircled and then there would be no leaving until the siege was raised – if it was raised.

Nor did we have to wait long before it began. Tilly started raining shot upon us by twelve of the clock. We watched one gun across the river, manned by its crew and with several brightly dressed officers gathered around. The first shot sent a great plume of water spouting up just on our side of the Fulda. A few minutes later the second shot went flying high but no crash followed. Another thumping explosion thundered across the river and rumbled my chest. Behind me a fearful thumping sounded somewhere in the town, quickly followed by the cries of the townspeople. A second shot came on, and this time landed near the great church. I could hear the shards of roof tiles showering down onto the cobbles like broken crockery in a kitchen.

The remainder of that first day they fired upon us as a cat toys with a rat before the death bite. In the darkness, the enemy moved to the island in the middle of the Fulda and began digging trenches. They had found river barges with which to ferry their musketeers but frustratingly, the enemy stayed low so we could not give fire to them.

By the second day we were taking hits all along the defences. By the evening of the third day, we had not moved from our places, still hugging the wall. The musket shot and bombardment appeared to be easing up some, yet Christoph was still hard in concentration on killing, sighting down a long musket he had adopted instead of his short carbine, picking his unfortunate Imperial and then touching match to pan.

Tollhagen came along the platform to us, crouched down low. “I’ve been down to the Mühlentor Gate,” he said. Christoph’s piece rang out and he swore low under his breath.

Balthazar crept over and although Christoph showed no sign as he blew out his pan, I knew he was listening too.

“We’re moving wagons up to reinforce the gate,” said Tollhagen, “but even now it’s been holed in places. A few more well-placed shots and it may give way.”

“What shall we do?” I asked, before Balthazar could get out the same question.

Tollhagen clapped my shoulder.

“Pentz will keep you together if the enemy breaches the wall. Do not any of you venture down there! Make for the stables at the east side. We’ll get out – I promise you.”

And he continued down the battlements, trading words with the others.

Balthazar shook his head slowly. “I don’t like this business. We ought to run out this night.”

Christoph finished ramming his scouring stick down his barrel.

“Not damned likely we would succeed,” he said. “They got musketeers on all the gates. They would shoot us down the instant we tried to lift the bar.”

“We’ll fare little better if the enemy storms us,” replied Balthazar.

“Trust in the Lord,” said Christoph, grinning like an ape.

And so we remained.

The following day was Whitsun Monday. That’s when Tilly decided to break us for good. The ferocity of the attack increased from midday, and never before had I been under such a bombardment. The shot came down without respite and screams followed near every crash. Great clouds of powder smoke drifted to the walls and broke upon them, curling upwards. In the town, I imagined the burghers hiding under their beds; the braver ones shifting shattered house beams to save their neighbours or else bundling their possessions and hiding treasures. The previous night, more of the enemy had dug in on the island, only a stone’s throw from our side. I could also see many river barges piling up on the island’s far side, in anticipation of them making a crossing.

We managed to get hold of a basket of bread and smoked hams and some casks of beer to sustain ourselves as the afternoon wore on. I found it hard to get the food down my throat but I did manage to sit on the planks and drain a few cups of watery beer. The sun, a faint halo of orange in the low cloud, sunk low over the hills in front of us, and still the guns roared on and the muskets crackled.

So much smoke billowed up and out down near the Mühlentor Gate that one could scarce see a thing and the spattering sound the lead shot made inclined one not to raise the head too high over the wall. It was going badly. We all knew it. Then, came more cries, the voices of hundreds raised in alarm. Balthazar left the wall without a word to anyone, but returned in haste.

“I swear I hear steel upon steel down there now!” he said. We all strained to listen, to cast out the reports of the guns from our ears, and to concentrate on the sound underneath.

One trooper said we should follow the battlements down to the gate. Christoph raised a hand to signal him be silent. Then I heard the sound, faint amid the cacophony around us. It was the ring and jangle of swords, and the clack of pike shafts jostling.

Christoph said nothing but turned and gathered up his snapsack. He knew full well what was happening. I too, picked up my pack and told the few troopers around me to fill their powder flasks from the little barrel that lay tucked in the wall near to the stone steps. As I charged my piece again, I saw Christoph hook his carbine onto his belt swivel and then make for the steps.

“Christoph!” I called out. “Where are you going?”

“To the stables, where else? I wouldn’t hang about here long, Englishman.” And he disappeared below into the streets. Neither Tollhagen nor Pentz were anywhere to be seen. The sounds of combat grew louder and now I was in no doubt that the enemy had breached the walls.

Balthazar capped his flask and turned to me. “If we wait here we’ll be trapped on the walls. I say we follow Christoph’s example.”

“Aye, Tollhagen told us to return to the horses ere he left,” I replied. The others were casting glances about one another, waiting for someone else’s legs to make the decision to abandon the post.

“Come, let’s make for the stable!” I heard myself declare. And I hooked my carbine and dashed down the stairs to the street. Balthazar was right at my back and quickly too, the others followed.

There were terrible cries and the screams of women near to the great church off to our left, but we ran straight onwards. Many townspeople crossed our path, fleeing the advancing enemy. We had run not far when we saw garrison soldiers running too, and I knew Münden was done for. Now, I had been in that town for four days but I was still sore confused in that maze of streets. We found ourselves caught up in a stream of townsmen, women, children and soldiers pouring into us from side streets but we pushed our way through, still trying to make our way to the eastern side of the town.

I turned to catch sight of Balthazar, yet he and the others of the squadron had disappeared off down another street. I halted my flight and turned back to find them. Rounding another corner, I stopped so fast my hobnailed boots screeched out from the cobblestones. At the far end, a body of musketeers was walking towards me. They wore black coats and I saw a red sash or two, but I did not have to ponder their allegiance overlong. A shot rang out and a piece of timber flew off the house behind me. Two other muskets cracked and I crouched and ran off the way that I had come.

I will make no bones of it: it was a mad rout. I pushed past the few people remaining out of doors and sent at least one sprawling in the street. I must have sounded like a peddler on his rounds with my powder flask, spanner, carbine and sword jangling and bouncing about, waggling this way and that. I only wanted to find my horse and beat as fast a retreat as I could.