Chapter 9: How Joerg Isebrand Returns to the Marshes and Gets His Revenge

It took almost two weeks, but in the end, the ransom was delivered and the Merseburg soldiers left Theilheim with their spoils. Joerg rode at the Count's left side now, as befit the Feldweibel of the bodyguard. He was rich now, rich beyond his imagination. One hundred guldengroschen were now added to his earlier winnings from Warnesund and his saved pay and bonus rewards. With almost two hundred guldengroschen, he was set for life, if he did not take to gambling and drinking - a laughable idea, indeed.

Count Reinhardt, too, hummed contentedly as they rode along. With the loss of Theilheim, and the financial burden of the ransom, the Count of Altenburg had sued for peace, and an agreement had been reached, two days ago. This was an important success for him, solidifying his rule over the lands, and discouraging potential rivals, such as his half-brothers. It had been a worthwhile effort to respond to the challenge so decisively, only marred by the death of Bodo, his life-long guardian.

It had been a stroke of luck that he picked up Joerg Isebrand, three years ago, in that roadside tavern. At first, he had only seen a tall and powerful lad, an intimidating presence. There was more to the young man, though. He had a quick mind and a grasp of tactics, even of strategy. He mastered his letters even, something very few people did. Reinhardt cast another glance at the captain of the Guard, Grumm. A loyal and able man, but ageing. Not too reliable, either, when Reinhardt's stepmother was involved. One day, young Joerg would fill Grumm's shoes and be a worthy successor.

Reinhardt hoped to keep the young man in his service, until then. He knew of the banishment Joerg was under, and he knew it was only for another year. The young man would want to go home, at least to see his parents, Reinhardt realised. The point would be to induce him to return. Perhaps, a local girl would be inducement enough? Reinhardt doubted that. He had family, in the North, in that free republic of peasants. It had to be a hard life, though, shielding the land against the incessant attacks of the angry North Sea. From what Joerg had recounted, his father was an outsider in that land, in permanent feud with a wealthy neighbour.

Reinhardt sat up straight in his saddle when the idea came to him. Of course! Reinhardt owned land enough. If he offered some of it, Joerg's family could settle in Reinhardt's lands as freeholders. He could install the elder Isebrand as leader of the local militia, given his credentials as soldier. Reinhardt decided to broach the subject.

"Ride closer, Joerg; I have needs to speak with you in private," he ordered, and Joerg brought his mount closer.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"You have proven a good and loyal servant, these last years. I wish for you to stay in my service, for I have great plans for you."

"I thank you, my Lord. I like your service."

"That is good to hear. Say, Joerg, what be your plans when the banishment from your homeland ends?"

"I wish to see my parents and siblings, Lord. I would ask for leave, the next summer."

"I see. Do you plan to return?"

"I am not sure, Lord. Five years is a long time. My sisters may be married now. My father may be ailing. I must find out whether they need me. With my winnings, I could buy more land, too."

"You'd still be the outsiders, though," Reinhardt threw in.

"'Tis true, Lord."

"You have two brothers you say? Are they strong and warlike like you?"

"Not quite as tall, but used to wield a sword and ready to defy any foe, Lord."

"I have lands that have not been tilled for years, near Steinheim. I could install your father as a freeholder there, if that is what it takes to keep you in my service. And if your brothers are anything like you, I should be glad to have them in my service, too. Think of it. Tell your parents of my offer. Their life should be much easier here."

"I am speechless, my Lord. This is a most generous offer. I shall think about it. Will you give me leave, then, next summer?"

Reinhardt nodded benevolently.

"A son should never forget his parents and siblings. All I ask is that you return."

The land looked bleak to him. The wind came from the northwest and whipped along the low-hanging clouds, while a fine drizzle of rain slowly penetrated his cloak. Joerg Isebrand asked himself whether this was still his home. Even his horse seemed to dislike the direction they were going. Yes, he was looking forward to seeing his parents and siblings, but to stay in the low-lying land behind the dikes? Suddenly, he could not see it anymore. Besides, this was close to Hamburg and to Lubeck, the two great Hanse ports, and he knew that the Hanse was still looking for him. Five years ago, he had single-handedly put the Hanse City of Warnesund to the torch, avenging his betrayed comrades. They had branded him "The Butcher of Warnesund", and a price of fifty Guilders was still on his head.

Unconsciously, his cold hand felt for the reassuring shape of his sword hilt. Anybody trying to bring him to the Hanse's justice would have a hard time, especially with this fine longsword he owned now. Count Reinhardt had presented it to him on the eve of his departure, and a beautiful weapon it was. The blade was over three feet long, forged in the Damascene fashion, tough and resilient at once. The bastard hilt accommodated either one or two hands, the forged crossguard was spiked, and the massive brass pommel added to the fine balance of the weapon. Two fullers, or blood groves, were ground into each side, making the blade light enough to be wielded single-handedly.

Joerg had come about a copy of Johannes Lichtenauer's treatise on longsword fencing in the Count's library, and he had studied it together with the armourer, practising the art diligently. On the road to the North, Jorg had accustomed himself with his new sword, using Lichtenauer's teachings, and he felt very comfortable with the weapon.

He had to leave the main road now, to go westward. There was the small copse of chestnut trees his grandfather had planted to shelter the low-lying farmhouse against the incessant winds from the North Sea. Joerg could make out the house itself, and he smelled the smoke of the kitchen fire. Another ten minutes had him riding up to the house when a voice challenged him from behind a shack.

"Who goes there?"

Joerg squinted through the drizzle to make out a tall person who trained a longbow on him. Could that be ... his sister Katherine?

"Katherine? Is that you? It's me, Joerg!"

The figure moved closer cautiously, keeping the bow trained on him.

"Joerg?" she asked with doubt in her voice, but then a jubilant "Joerg!" broke forth from her throat. "You've come back, little brother! Get off that horse so I can hug you!"

Katherine had always been tall and strong, and Joerg found himself in a violent hug. Just then, the door of the farmhouse opened.

"Bjoern, Thorben, Joerg is back!"

Two tall men rushed to them, and once again, Joerg found himself in bear hugs from his older brothers. Then, another young woman approached them, and Joerg stared in disbelief.

"Nele? Is that you? You are so beautiful!"

Nele Isebrand blushed prettily. She had been only twelve when her brother had been banished, and the five years had all but extinguished her memory of him. But there he stood, taller even than her older brothers, a bushy beard adorning his chin, and in the clothes of a soldier. But he was upon her and lifted her up into the air before she could finish her observations.

"Let's go into the house, Joerg," Bjoern said. "You need a fire to warm up and dry. Jon, take care of my brother's horse!"

The latter sentence was directed at a scrawny boy of perhaps fifteen years who took the reins from Joerg and led his horse inside the stable, but not before Joerg had retrieved his weapons from the saddle.

"So, you turned soldier, little brother?"

They were seated around the large table in the kitchen, the fire in the hearth burning brightly.

"Yes. It was on the morning after I left, in Elmenhørn, when Wolfganger's serfs caught up with me again. A troop of landsknechte was there, too, and they forced them to fight me on even terms. I killed their leader, and the rest ran off. The landsknechte offered me to join them. But, Brothers, where are Father and Mother?"

The older brothers looked down, as did Katherine, and Nele bit her lips.

"Father was slain. We are sure it was Wolfganger, or his men, but the Four refuse to have him stand trial," Bjoern said through clenched teeth.

"What makes you sure, Bjoern?" Joerg asked.

He felt his rage well up, but he managed to keep his voice calm.

"Father had killed Ulf Wolfganger. The scoundrel had waylaid Nele," here, Nele nodded, "and he tried to dishonour her. She fought him fiercely, and we heard the noise. Father was there first, and he gutted the neiding with his knife. A month later, last fall, Father did not come home. We looked for him the whole night, and we found him slain in the rye field. There were traces of a fight. We charged Wolfganger before the Four, and although he bore the marks of a fight on him, they pronounced him innocent. You know, the Four always sided with him."

"What are you going to do about it Brothers?" Joerg asked, still outwardly calm.

Katherine stared at him, her head tilted, expecting him to fly into his rage at any time. In the last years, however, Joerg had worked hard on himself, to control his violent temper, for he knew it to be a dangerous weakness.

"We could not do much. Wolfganger has armed his serfs, and he has fifteen of them. Then, Mother died, and we had to bury her. The crop has been bad last year, and we will go hungry before summer. Hinrichsen has offered to buy our land, but what can we do then?"

Joerg nodded slowly.

"Have you heard the story of the Butcher of Warnesund?" he asked them.

They looked at him and nodded. He could see their apprehension.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Katherine asked, and Joerg nodded.

"Yes, they betrayed us, killed all my comrades. Only I escaped, and I returned at night and took my revenge. Brothers, do you have any doubt that Wolfganger killed our father?"

The older Isebrands shook their heads in unison. Joerg then looked at his older sister. She had more sense than all of them. She shook her head grimly.

"What is your plan, little brother?"

"We be three against fifteen. That sounds hopeless, but it isn't, for they won't know when we shall strike. I say, you sell the land to Hinrichsen, and the sheep, too. Let nobody know I returned. Once we are ready to leave, we shall go over to Wolfganger's at night and challenge the niding."

Bjoern squinted his eyes.

"We shall be vogelfrei, for killing without proven cause."

"Yes, but what harm is there? Life here has been miserable for a while. Come with me! I am in the service of the Count Reinhardt of Merseburg. I am feldweibel of his bodyguard. You can join his ranks, brothers, and together we can properly support Katherine and Nele."

"You want us to leave home?" Nele spoke up for the first time.

"What home? They have been against us forever, calling us Dutch beggars. Look at this sword! The Count gave it to me before I left, as reward for my services. Look at my clothes! We shall never go hungry again, never have to wring the fruit from the poor soil, never have to build dikes to protect the lands of others."

Katherine spoke up.

"You said you were three, little brother, but I say we are five. I have learned to shoot the bow and to wield a sword, and so has Nele. If we are to avenge our parents, I shall fight at your side. With all else you said, I agree. If we stay and do nothing, Wolfganger will kill us, one by one. If we do something, we have to leave. So I say we do something right away, kill the neiding and his family and serfs!"