Chapter 12: How the Isebrands Settle In

With King Francis captured and the victory thus complete, Lannoy sought to reduce his army in size and to distribute them over Northern Italy. He dared not disband his troops entirely, though. Thus, while the captive French king was sent to Spain, the Saxon fähnlein were sent west, to billet in the small town of Casale Monferrato, on the mighty River Po.

Here, in the Castello Dei Paleologi, they made themselves comfortable. Wine was plentiful in the region, as was food in general, and the Saxons had gold enough to pay. Thus, their stay in Casale was agreeable for both sides, soldiers and townspeople.

In the castello, Gudrun Isebrand gave birth to a son, named Wulf after his grandfather. For want of a reformed preacher, Thorben had the baptism performed by a rogue priest who also served as part-time mercenary. Don Ferugio, as he styled himself, conducted a decent enough ceremony in which Bjoern and Joerg stood as godfathers to their father's namesake.

It was a good thing that the peace negotiations between the Emperor Charles V. and Francis of France took a lot of time. The Isebrands had no complaints, living in the peaceful little town, in reasonably comfortable quarters, with good food and with neighbourly relations to the townspeople.

During this time, Katherine began to acquaint herself with the arquebus. The fuse-lock mechanisms, reliable enough in dry weather, bothered her some. It just seemed a bad idea to handle gunpowder near a glowing fuse. Thus, when a trader showed in town offering the newly introduced wheel lock muskets, Katherine invested some of her winnings in two of the precious weapons. They were far superior, both with regards to the firing mechanism and the accuracy of the bore, and Katherine soon became known for her deadly accuracy with the new weapons.

Neither Katherine nor Nele had many suitors that fall. The men of their fähnlein knew better, and the townspeople were wary of the "Isebrand Witches", for it had become known that both women surpassed most men in fighting prowess.

While Thorben spent the fall in Casale at Gudrun and little Wulf's side, Bjoern and Joerg had a good time, roaming the wine taverns and some houses of even less repute. The dark beauty of the Italian women and girls intrigued them, and more than once, the brothers sampled the charms of a willing tavern wench. With their size and their reddish hair, the Isebrands stood out, and it became a matter of pride for the whores in Casale to bed at least one of the giant soldiers.

This all changed late in that year when Joerg, accompanied by his eldest brother and seven more men, exercised their horses by exploring the vicinity of the city. They were riding past an outlier farm, when Joerg spotted a group of armed men in front of the dwelling. Some dispute was going on, as Joerg could see. Always sensible of the plight of peasants in those warring times, Joerg and Bjoern decided to investigate. After all, the town of Casale and the vicinity were Joerg's responsibility.

Drawing nearer, they quickly saw that the riders had dismounted, and a struggle was going on. Joerg spurred his horse, and in short time, he arrived at the scene. An older man in peasants' clothes lay motionless on his back, a spreading pool of blood under his head, while a younger man writhed in pain, a stab wound in his abdomen.

Two girls were on their backs, with two men between their flailing legs, humping away. All the men looked up in alarm, hearing the hoof beats of the new arrivals.

In a flash, Joerg was off his charger, the longsword in his hand. A sidewise glance told him the Bjoern was at his side, and now the rest of their men dismounted. One of the soldiers, seeing the predicament they were in, tried a grin.

"You want to share? No problem."

"What are you doing on the Emperor's lands?" Joerg asked coldly, for those men wore Venetian colours.

"What's it to you? We're having fun with two peasant wenches, what gives?"

"These people were entrusted to my protection by his Grace, the Conde de Lannoy." Joerg turned to his men. "Seize them!"

"Oho, not so fast, young man!" the speaker shouted. "You're a bit cocky for your age, and I'm of a mind to teach your humility!"

The six Venetians unsheathed, and leaving the girls lying on their backs, jumped to attack Joerg and his men. They were credible adversaries, to be sure, but no match for either Isebrand brother. Joerg's first blow almost cut their speaker in half, from head to chest. While wresting his blade free from the dead man, Joerg gave a mighty kick to a second attacker, caving in his chest, while Bjoern ran a third cleanly through with his longsword. The remaining three found their masters in Joerg's followers, and only one of them was able to inflict a minor wound on one of them before he was dispatched.

The two girls looked up at Joerg, obviously unsure whether they may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. They tried to gather the tatters of their dresses around them while they cast fearful glances at the imperial soldiers.

"Can you stand, girls?" Joerg asked.

They stood on trembling legs, wincing with pain, too. The older one nodded and addressed Joerg.

"May we tend our father and brother, please?"

Joerg cast another glance at the two men. The younger one still had life in him, but he was in need of better care than what two peasant girls could render.

"You have a cart?" he asked the girls.

"Si, Signore!" the older girl nodded, indicating a gaily painted, single axle donkey cart.

"Load your brother on that cart. We'll bring him to town, for the feldscher to look after him. He's wounded badly. We must also bring your father in, for burial."

This was when the girls realised that their father was beyond help. There was a large puddle of blood under his head, two feet wide, and his skull was caved in. With heart rending sobs, the two girls threw themselves over his body, crying pitifully.

"Load the wounded lad on that cart," Joerg ordered. "Be careful, lest the pain will kill him. Put the old man on the cart, too."

In a matter of minutes, they were ready to leave. The bodies of the killed Venetians were dumped unceremoniously into a nearby trench. Joerg told the two girls to put on new dresses. They were both ashamed when they re-emerged from the farmhouse, ashamed for their poverty, for their second-best dresses were worn and threadbare. Both Joerg and Bjoern felt sympathy for them. Not too long ago, they had been dirt-poor peasants, too.

Each of the brothers took one of the girls behind them, on their horses, and they rode back to Casale in a solemn procession. The wounded lad was given into the care of their feldscher while the body of the dead farmer was unloaded at the shop of a carpenter, to be fitted for a casket. The girls looked about apprehensively when they were taken to the Castello, clearly afraid of what might lie ahead of them.

They need not have worried. Once Joerg and Bjoern had explained the events, Gudrun swooped down on the girls and took them under her motherly care. They were cleaned up and presentable when the family sat down for supper, and Gudrun announced they would stay, for the time being, and help her with little Wulf. The brothers knew better than to interfere.

Katherine brought news from the feldscher. The young lad was alive and might just recover. It was a clean stab wound from an iron pike, and there seemed to be no damage to the innards. The next days would bring clarity.

This news barely cheered the girls up. Joerg and Bjoern had been too late to save the girls' innocence, and they knew to be condemned to a live as tavern wenches, maidservants or whores, for no man would marry a 'ruined' girl. If there would be a dowry, things might be different, but their brother would be hard pressed to keep the farm running. Still, both girls made an effort to thank Joerg and Bjoern for their deliverance.

The older one, named Crescencia, was a little over twenty years of age. She had an oval face, with a well-formed mouth and a straight, if longish nose, and her face was framed by long, straight, black hair. Her hands showed the traces of hard farm work, and her face had faint wrinkles, in spite of her youthful age. Nevertheless, she had a melancholy beauty about her, like one of the ubiquitous Madonna images. Of quiet disposition himself, Bjoern felt immediately drawn to her and spoke to her in encouraging words, and she gratefully sat with him until the fire had died down to glowing embers.

The younger girl, Theresa, was different. Her hair, black like her sister's, was curly. Her features were sharper, and she had a strong chin over a wide mouth. She was possessed of a fiery temper, and her primary emotion was a deep-seated hatred at the men who had destroyed their lives. When she heard that Katherine and Nele lived the lives of soldiers, she eagerly asked to be allowed to join. She wanted to learn how to fight.

Katherine understood the girl and promised to teach her the use of the arquebus and the crossbow. Theresa was not tall and not stocky, but her body had been tempered by the hard farm work. Katherine had trained male recruits who had been weaker. Nele, in turn, promised to teach her the use of the sword and of knives. That seemed to calm her down and satisfy her.

Still, when Katherine and Nele went to bed, Theresa was pacing the common room. Bjoern and Crescencia were talking quietly, and Joerg was busy honing his Saracen sword with a whetstone. Suddenly, Theresa stooped in front of him.

"What is it like, to kill a man?" she asked.

Joerg looked up, a little startled at the question. He considered.

"It's always different. In battle, there isn't time to think, you just react. Afterwards, you see the dead, and they're just soldiers like we are. Then, I feel bad. When we killed the murderer of our father, I felt fulfilled. When I killed those men who hurt you, I felt nothing bad, either. They were asking for it. I just don't like killing honest soldiers. I can't help it, but it makes me sad."

Theresa nodded.

"If I learn how to fight, will you let me join, like your sisters?"

"You really want that? We could help you and your siblings. You can get a share of what we took from those Venetians. You're a pretty girl, too. With time, you may still find a husband."

The girl shook her head angrily, and her black curls danced.

"What for? To be forced, one day, to watch soldiers rape my children? I don't want to live like my parents. If there is pillage, I want to be the one who does it, not the victim."

"Still, being a soldier is dangerous. A few times, Nele barely escaped being hurt."

"I'm ruined as it is. What worse can any man do to me? Please?"

Joerg considered. If that was her choice, how could he deny her wish? He gave her a nod.

"If Katherine declares you ready, you can join."

She grabbed his hand.

"Gracie, Condottiere Giorgio!"

Joerg smiled at her. The title she had given him amused him. A condottiere was a leader of a band of mercenaries, a contractor of war. The various independent cities in Italy did not keep armed forces of their own. Rather, they contracted their protection to free lancers, mercenary troops. Theresa's choice of words gave him an idea. With only sporadic pay from the emperor, perhaps they would need to get into that business, too. His fähnlein was loyal to him, and they would follow him. Still, there was the Count Reinhardt to whom he had sworn fealty. He sighed. He would have to return to Merseburg, if only to ask for his release.

He returned to the present. Theresa was still looking at him.