Pilgrim's War Page 9

  Out in the court he could hear shouting, and then a horn was sounded. Welcoming the distraction, he walked out, stuffing the empty mazer into his tunic.

  He found the Count marching with Heinnie and his bodyguards, bellowing for their horses to be brought, while a few men wandered, clearly very drunk. One was sitting at a wall with a leather costrel that he drank from regularly, interspersing each glug with words of a bawdy song. Another man was lying full length on the ground, passed out.

  The Count climbed on a mounting block to clamber into his saddle.

  ‘Sir Emicho? Where do we ride?’ Lothar called.

  ‘The Archbishop took the other Jews with him. Now we know where they’ve gone, we ride to catch them!’ The Count made his horse wheel. ‘Set this place afire! The Archbishop will regret trying to save these scum!’

  CHAPTER 8

  Rüdesheim, Thursday 29th May, 1096

  Bodies were already being piled up by labourers as Lothar and the Count’s forces approached the Archbishop’s retreat at Rüdesheim. Another fifty, Lothar counted, to join the thousand or more they had left at Mainz. He sat on his horse and stared down at the figures being dragged from the Archbishop’s yards, to be flung onto a growing pile outside the gates.

  Count Emicho eyed the peasants. ‘What happened here?’

  Lothar edged his pony forward to listen, Heinnie following close by, as the peasant bowed and tried to respond, stuttering and gurning in his terror to be questioned by the leader of such a force. As he spoke, he kept ducking his head as though trying to beat his forehead on the ground.

  ‘Your honour, it was the chief of the Jews did it! It was them! The good Archbishop tried to persuade them to accept Holy Baptism, but they wouldn’t, and when he told them they’d have to, the Rabbi started to threaten the Archbishop. The Archbishop had to call on all his men to protect him, and that sent the Rabbi wild! He killed his own son and wife, and then tried to attack the Archbishop, and that was when the Archbishop’s men killed the Jews to protect his Grace.’

  ‘He killed his own son?’ the Count said. He shrugged and stared down at the figures being pulled out and discarded. ‘He saved the Archbishop that much effort, then.’

  Lothar dropped thankfully from his mount, massaging his inner thighs, where the saddle had rubbed his flesh raw. He was aching, and desperate for a cup of wine or two. The journey here had taken longer than any had expected, and the dust from the roads had settled in his throat in the dry air.

  As the other men dismounted and began to traipse inside, searching for food and bellowing for attendants to see to their horses, Lothar walked back the way he had come, pulling his mount behind him. He had spied a small wine shop in the shadow of the Archbishop’s wall, and Lothar was convinced that there he would find refreshment faster than his companions who were already bellowing for food and drink in the Archbishop’s courtyard.

  It was a small tavern made for the peasants who lived in this town. Lothar walked in and beckoned with two fingers at a maid standing at the bar. She looked terrified at the sight of him, he thought, and he smiled to himself. Nothing was so guaranteed to earn a man respect as the sight of him arrayed for war. There were no chairs, but one worn and rotting bench lay at a wall, and he made his way to it, sitting with a grunt of satisfaction.

  The woman had not moved. He looked over at her with a feeling of grumpiness. She should have brought him his wine by now. He was about to call to her, when something about her made him hesitate.

  She was slender, dark-haired, and had the olive skin of a Galician, he thought. Her cheekbones were high, but not so much as to make her face heart-shaped. Rather, she had a long face with a narrow chin. But it was her eyes he noticed. They were a dark brown, full of intelligence and fire, but even as he looked at her, they were filled with dismay.

  ‘Wine, woman!’ he called. Surely she could hear him? It was unlikely that she could not tell he wanted to be served. He was about to rise to his feet, when he saw her grasp a knife. ‘Wait!’

  But she did not attack him. As he stood, fumbling for his sword, she backed away, crouched over her knife, and then she grabbed at something – a small boy, dark-haired, large-eyed, who stared at Lothar with terror.

  Lothar lifted both hands and sat down again. ‘Woman, I have no quarrel with you, and I don’t have the energy or desire to bed you. Just bring me wine.’

  She said nothing, but there was a sudden scuffle from behind her, and a large, buxom woman, her coif all awry and her round, red face perspiring, burst into the room.

  ‘Master! My apologies for keeping you waiting! Wench, back into the buttery with you! There’s more churning to be finished off. And take that rascal with you! He shouldn’t be out here playing when there is work to be done! Come, be off with you! Do you think there is time to dawdle all the long day? Begone! Now, master, let me serve you a good portion of ale, or would you prefer a wine? I have the best of both, and I can serve you some sliced cold ham, if you wish, that’s been preserved well over the winter, with a loaf of good bread?’

  ‘Wine, and some meat, yes. What was the matter with that child?’

  ‘The boy? Nothing, he’s just not the fastest rat in the sewer, master!’ she chuckled, but even as she moved quickly about, pouring a jug of wine, selecting a dried leg and slicing off a few cuts, he could see that her eyes often slyly lingered on him.

  ‘I meant the mother. I assume it was his mother, not an elder sister? Are they your children?’

  ‘Bless you, sir, no. She and the boy are brother and sister. They’re here from a village a few miles away.’

  ‘But she drew a knife to keep me away.’

  ‘Nay, master, she was scared! Look at you! With your leather and steel! She was of course anxious in your presence. Who wouldn’t be?’

  ‘You.’

  She laughed at that. ‘Me? I fear no man. I run a good tavern here, and any man who tried to—’

  There was a loud clattering behind her, and she gave a fleeting scowl, then hurried out to the back room.

  Intrigued, Lothar stood and followed her.

  The girl and the boy stood far away in the corner of the room. A broken pot smashed to pieces on the floor, its contents spilled everywhere near an open shutter, told a story: the two had been trying to flee. The woman of the house was remonstrating, and as Lothar walked in, she whirled around as though to conceal the two.

  ‘Well,’ Lothar said.

  As he spoke, the girl whipped her knife up in his direction again, while the older woman squeaked at her to put it away.

  Lothar slowly pulled at the buckle of his belt and let his dagger and sword fall to the ground, before holding up his hands. ‘Tell the child I’m no threat to you or her, mistress,’ he said. ‘I’m unarmed. But if she tries to scratch me with that little knife, I’ll break her neck.’

  The woman was right. Both children were terrified. Lothar found a small barrel and sat on it, waiting.

  ‘She is scared of men of war like you,’ the mistress said defiantly. She had her chin sticking up so she could look down her nose at him, but Lothar didn’t care. He kept his eyes on the girl with the knife.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  The girl’s eyes went from him to the woman, unsure.

  ‘She is a young chit, that’s all,’ the woman said. ‘Leave her alone. If you don’t go from my buttery, I’ll call for help. You shouldn’t be here. It’s not right.’

  Lothar ignored her. ‘She’s a Jewess, yes? If she will accept the true faith and be baptised, I will see her safe.’

  ‘And what if she doesn’t want to become Christian?’ the woman snapped. ‘Have you seen what they did to the poor souls in the Archbishop’s fine house up there? Slaughtered them because they wouldn’t agree to submit to being baptised!’

  ‘What would you do with those who don’t follow God?’ he demanded.

  ‘The Jews have lived here in our town for a hundred years or more. They’ve never harmed us! They’ve been good n
eighbours – better than most!’

  Lothar crossed himself fervently. ‘You should be careful of such blasphemy, woman! The Jews have been given opportunities to save themselves by paying, or agreeing to become baptised, but if they refuse to help us with our holy iter to Jerusalem, we are justified in punishing them.’

  ‘Punishing them? You mean murdering them all!’

  ‘Woman! We have been told to kill all the Jews. You know that they were guilty of the murder of Christ, but you would defend them?’

  In answer, she took the girl’s shoulder. ‘Look at her! This child has done nothing. But her parents have been killed. Her mother was raped in front of them, and these two were knocked down and their house set aflame about them. It was a miracle that they were saved. Her brother here? Look at him! How could he be responsible for a crime at his age?’

  ‘She should be taken to the Archbishop to be baptised,’ Lothar said.

  ‘No! If you do that she will die! You will be guilty of her murder as much as any other.’

  That stung. ‘Guilty? How dare you, woman? There is no crime a pilgrim can commit that will not be expunged by his march to Jerusalem. We win life eternal for killing the heathens who are tormenting the peoples of Christ’s city.’

  He reached down to his sword belt, and as he did the girl dropped the knife and burst into tears. She fell to her knees and pulled the boy to her side, weeping all the while.

  Lothar buckled on his belt, trying to avert his eyes. ‘Child, it will all be well. Come with me and be baptised and your life will be much improved. Come!’

  She collapsed, folding in on herself as if she could compress her frame to the size of an ant, still holding on to the boy at her side. It put Lothar in mind of Mary Magdalene. Surely she would have looked the same, clinging to the bottom of the cross on which Jesus was crucified? It was an uncomfortable thought. Lothar rested his left hand on his sword hilt. A sudden vision of the two Jewesses returned to his mind. The one holding her child to be stabbed, and then willingly exposing her breast to accept the gift of death from her friend.

  He forced the thought away. ‘Come, child. The Archbishop will be compassionate, I am sure.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Rüdesheim, Thursday 29th May, 1096

  It was much later and growing dark when Lothar left the tavern. In that time, he had happily accepted the hospitality of the landlady and drunk two pints of wine while she cajoled, pleaded and occasionally berated him. She had brought a loaf, some cheese and a portion of dried sausage to eat, refilled his jug, and gave him a second loaf for his journey, until in the end he succumbed to her persuasion.

  ‘Very well, mistress. I will leave her here with you. But I swear, she should accept the Word of our Lord. What does she fear from our faith?’

  ‘She has seen her parents and the rest of her family slain because of our faith. How would you feel if you were forced to deny your religion and accept another, after seeing it shed the blood of your friends and family?’

  ‘Me? That’s different! No one could make me forswear the one true faith!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said soothingly. ‘I hope you never have to make such a choice. You are a good man, Lothar. I will never forget your kindness today. She and her brother are too young to understand, but she will grow to love you like her own lord.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Lothar said with a belch.

  He did feel comfortable. The woman’s wine was refreshing, a strong, dark red that washed down the cheeses and meats she had pressed on him. He had intended to bring the girl and her brother to the Archbishop, but after the fourth and fifth cup of wine his determination had been eroded, and by the time he had seen the jug refilled and had taken a little more, he was feeling mellow. If the girl really objected to seeing the Archbishop, who was Lothar to demand that she should? After all, most of the Jews of the town were dead already, and he was reluctant to see these two also slain. Those who had not been killed by the Archbishop’s men in the scuffle in his court would have been hunted down by now. As he left the tavern, he saw smoke rising from a building further down the road. Later he heard that one Jew had agreed to be baptised and underwent the ceremony, but then went to the synagogue ravaged with guilt and self-loathing, and set it ablaze before throwing himself on the flames. That smoke was likely caused by the synagogue, the pyre of the Jew who had recanted. These Jews were determined to cling to their mistaken beliefs, Lothar thought, shaking his head.

  Heinnie saw him as he approached the Archbishop’s house. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I found a good tavern,’ Lothar said, jerking a thumb back the way he had come. ‘The mistress was very amiable.’

  ‘You’ve been drinking away the afternoon, you mean,’ Heinnie said.

  Lothar shrugged, but could not prevent a broad grin from encompassing his features.

  ‘You son of a whore!’ Heinnie said with a low growl of jealousy. ‘You found a wench there?’

  ‘Just a young woman. And no, I didn’t do that. All I had was wine from her.’

  ‘Perhaps she didn’t find you satisfying enough. She needs a man with a longsword, not a fruit knife,’ Heinnie laughed.

  Lothar smiled, but less broadly. He thought again of the girl and her brother, but now he was thinking of the woman in the tavern. She had not seemed a heretic, but she was shielding the young Jews from the men of Lothar’s group. It was peculiar, but he felt as though he shouldn’t reveal her complicity. He didn’t want to see the Jewess hurt, and as for the boy, what was the point of hurting him?

  ‘So, where is this place?’ Heinnie asked. ‘I should go and show the woman what a real man looks like!’

  Lothar smiled again. ‘My friend, if you took off your braies and showed her what you’re made of, she would hold all men to ridicule. No, better that we should go and see what the good Archbishop will give us for our efforts in protecting him and his people from the scourge of the heathens in his towns.’

  The reek of burning wood, material and flesh was all over the town when Lothar left the Archbishop’s compound later that evening.

  Smoke from a burning house caught in his throat, and he coughed, wafts stinging his eyes and making them water profusely, and he was fain to wipe them clear before he could continue on his way. When the wind changed direction, he carried on, but before he had gone far he found himself confronted by four bodies outside a building that billowed smoke. Flames belched from a window, and he could see a body dangling, arms stretching towards the ground as though desperately reaching for safety, but the hips were gripped in the bars of the window. The poor soul had been burned alive.

  He scowled and continued onwards, but always with a nagging doubt in his mind.

  It did not make sense. The girl in the tavern was guiltless of crimes against Christ. Punishing her was no more than a symbolic gesture against her race. Was there some inherent evil in people who were born Jewish? He found it hard to believe. If there was some evil in the girl, surely he would have sensed it?

  He walked slowly down the lane, occasional fumes making him wipe his eyes again. The child in the tavern was determined to defend her brother, to the death if need be. She deserved respect, not punishment. His thoughts returned to Mainz: surely the two women knew that to kill a child was the most foul crime, and to kill themselves was just as evil?

  From along the roads he could hear shouts and occasional screams as the Count’s men searched for more Jews. He hurried his pace.

  And came across Heinnie.

  The man-at-arms was leading six others, all battering at the doors of the tavern Lothar had visited earlier. As he watched, the door began to give way, and he heard Heinnie’s high giggle over the screams of the people inside: the girl, the tavern-woman, the boy. Lothar gave a roar, and began to run, but as he did he saw the first of three men approaching Heinnie’s men. Two held swords, one had a spear and a small shield, and they ran at the flank of the soldiers, surprising them. Lothar saw a sword rise and fal
l, and one of Heinnie’s men dropped, but before the townsmen could take advantage of their position, they were being pressed back, with Heinnie’s men stabbing and cutting at them. There was no doubting the outcome. The townsmen were not as experienced in fighting and killing as the Count’s paid men. One soon lay dead. More would have followed him, had Lothar not run and joined them.

  ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘These are not Jews, and nor are the people in that tavern.’

  ‘We have been told that there is a Jewess and a boy in there,’ Heinnie said. ‘And they didn’t open the door when we demanded.’

  ‘I wouldn’t open a door to you in this state,’ Lothar said. He kept before the townsmen, protecting them, but aware that they could at any time attack him. They had no reason to trust any of the Count’s men after the harm already done to the town. One was a younger man, who panted angrily, grey eyes flitting over the men with Heinnie.

  ‘Lothar, come, let us search the house together,’ Heinnie said.

  ‘No, leave it. I was here earlier.’

  ‘This is your brothel? I didn’t realise! Then I can check the quality of the service for myself!’ Heinnie laughed.

  ‘My friend, I ask you again, leave it.’

  ‘There is something here, Lothar, or they would have opened their door when I asked. Why should they hide if they have nothing to fear? If they cower inside, it is because they have something to conceal. You perhaps did not see them, but we have informers who said that a young woman and boy are in here. So we have to look.’

  ‘Heinnie, I give you my word, there is nothing in here.’

  ‘Lothar, you are my friend. Don’t get in our way.’

  Lothar braced himself, but just as he thought Heinnie would attack him, his companion grinned broadly, held up his hands, and retreated a pace.