Chapter 24: How Joerg Isebrand Is Condemned and the Maid Hildburg Loses Sleep

"Hildburg, are those shirts washed yet?"

Hildburg Lauritz sighed inwardly. Her uncle had been dripping sauce on his shirts, ever since his stroke, and to clean them was not easy.

"In a moment, Aunt Helga," she called back.

"Well, don't dawdle, girl! There's butter to be churned when you're done with those shirts!"

Hildburg's groan was open now. Churning butter was hard work, as was laundering sauce-splattered shirts. There was no way around this, though. Her uncle could not afford servants, he'd had a hard time finding the dowry for his daughter, when she married two years ago, and his son was running the fur business. He was not married, so there was no one in the household to do the cleaning and cooking, safe for Hildburg and her aunt.

The fortunes of the Lauritz family had never recovered after that fateful evening when the rampaging landsknecht had slain Hildburg's family and laid fire to the warehouses. True, he had spared Hildburg's life, but he had destroyed all her prospects. A penniless orphan, no man of consequence would marry her, for all her prettiness. Her uncle could not help since his own warehouse had gone up in smoke, too.

Now that her uncle was incapacitated by the stroke, there was even more work and less income. With grim determination, Hildburg bent over the washtub again, venting her anger over her situation on the stained shirt.

It was not fair! She, who was without fault or guilt over the massacre on those hapless mercenaries, had to suffer the consequences for the rest of her life. The new mayor and his council had offered public regret over the treason. They had sacked the captain of the city guard, and a mass was held once a year for the souls of the slain. The name Lauritz came up every time, and Hildburg and her family had to bear the accusing glances, together with Hinrichsen's widow and Lingold's daughter.

From time to time, rumours reached Warnesund about the terrible Joerg Isebrand. He had assembled his four siblings around him and killed off a whole family, over in Jutland, on the North Sea coast. He had participated in the Sack of Rome, and it was said that he was living in his own castle, east of the River Rhine.

Hildburg had mixed feelings about that man. She'd had a serious crush on the young soldier and she had felt jealous towards the maidservant, Birte. It wasn't fair, she had thought then, that Birte could meet the handsome young giant while Hildburg was not even allowed to leave the house without her mother. She'd seen him, a few times, and he had spoken to her, but she had been too shy to answer.

Then, one afternoon, he had saved her from the rowdy sailors, and she had almost melted in his arms when he led her to safety. Her father's strong sentiment against the mercenaries had made any thought of getting to know the handsome young man a folly, though, and she had not seen him again before that fateful night.

When he had killed her family, she had thought at first that he'd rape and kill her, but he had thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of rye and carried her to safety, leaving her in her aunt's care. He himself escaped with Birte. Why hadn't he taken her, Hildburg, as hostage? She would have never deserted him, like that stupid girl Birte. She would sit in a castle now, instead of living as a glorified maidservant in her uncle's house.

Strangely, she could bear him no ill will over the killing of her parents and her brother. Her parents' gleeful comments over the death of so many men had filled Hildburg with loathing. Her brother had been even worse, for he returned from the market place with the cut-off fingers of slain men from which he leisurely pulled the rings.

Hildburg had no way of knowing that the young man, Joerg, was not among the slain, and she heard the cries of alarm in the following night almost with satisfaction. That terrible young man had merely been the instrument of God's wrath, she felt.

The last of the shirts was reasonably clean now, and Hildburg wrung the last drops of water from the fabric. In the narrow backyard, she draped the clean shirts over a clothesline and returned to the house.

"We're almost there, Isebrand. Been quite a long journey, hasn't it? Bet, those stout burghers will be glad ta see ye agin. Damn! I kin smell them guilders already!"

Joerg did not answer. He could not, anyway, for they had kept him gagged for almost the entire journey. Twice a day, they stopped on some roadside to let him relieve himself. They gave him water, too, but little food. He had almost lost track of time, but with an effort, he had kept track. Twenty days had passed since they had sandbagged him. Twenty days, he had spent tied and manacled, rolling from side to side as the wagon tumbled northward.

There had not been one chance to escape. There had not even been one chance to clean himself, and he smelled like it. The many days without food had weakened him, too, and even if there had been a chance for escape, he was doubtful how far he would have got in his weakened state.

Now, a voice sounded from outside.

"Halt! Who are you?"

"Me name's Ewald, an' I 'ave somethin' fer yer Mayor."

"And what do you have for him?"

"A pris'ner, one ye've been looking fer. Isebrand's his name. Rouse yer Mayor an' tell him ter bring those sixty guilders, ye hear!"

"You wait here while I speak Mayor Albrecht. Ulf, watch them and don't let them go anywhere!"

It only took a quarter hour before voices sounded again.

"I'll have to see him, before I give you any gold," a man's deep baritone voice sounded.

"Orl right, orl right, take a peek at him," the voice of Ewald could be heard, and a moment later, the wagon cover was opened. Joerg squinted his eyes at the brightness. A tall and portly man addressed him, and Joerg heard the deep baritone again.

"Are you Joerg Isebrand?" The Mayor seemed to recognise the futility of questioning a gagged man. "Remove that gag!"

Ewald climbed into the wagon bed and removed the gag roughly. Joerg tried to speak, but he could only croak. He had not had any water since the day before.

Shrugging, Ewald took a ladle of water and let Joerg drink.

"Well, are you?" the Mayor repeated his question.

"I am Joerg Isebrand, Steward of Bellenberg," Joerg answered with as much dignity as he could muster in his present state. "I was abducted from my brother's castle, and I demand my freedom."

"If you are indeed Isebrand, you must stand trial for your crimes," the Mayor answered gravely. "I know how your comrades were betrayed and murdered, but your own crimes still must be punished."

The Mayor turned to Ewald.

"Here, cruel man, take the reward! Hand over Isebrand's weapons to the corporal and go away from Warnesund at once. I like thee not. To let a prisoner starve like this is against the laws of God and men. Holla, Corporal! Bring the prisoner to the gaol. Have someone give him food and drink! See to it that he can wash and have some clothes brought for him."

A moment later, three city soldiers pulled Joerg from the wagon. He was unable to stand by himself when they opened his foot manacles, and two of the soldiers marched him through the city gate and towards the city hall.

Under the bell tower, there was the gaol, and here, they chained his right hand to the wall and let him sit.

"Food will be brought soon, and water," the corporal told him, before he was left alone.

The gaoler came, some half hour later, with bread and a large pitcher of ale.

"Here, get some food into your belly. 'Tis a shame they caught you. I saw them murder your friends, back then, and by God, the old Mayor had it coming, what you did to him and his rotten son! Mayor Albrecht is a fair man, though. He'll try you under the oak, but you'll have your say."

"Thank you for the food," Joerg replied.

The gaoler nodded.

"I'll bring a bucket later, and soap, let you clean up. Eat first."

In spite of the dismal prospects, Joerg ate the bread to the last crumb, and he drank the pitcher of thin ale. Of course, his stomach hurt later, and he felt drunk, but for the first time in weeks, he felt some optimism.

Hildburg had finished with the butter churner and turned to picking lentils for the noon meal, lentil soup with bacon. While the soup was simmering, Hildburg had a little time to do her own laundry. She had few enough dresses to call her own, and she would have to replace most of her blouses soon, threadbare as they were.

The whole family assembled for the noon meal. Her cousin Rudolf was bursting with excitement.

"They finally caught Isebrand!" he blurted, as soon as they had said grace. "They brought him in this morning. They managed to trap him, and they smuggled him out of his lord's domains. The Mayor looks like he bit into a snail; he had to pay the captors the sixty guilders reward."

Hildburg was stunned for a moment, but her aunt began to ask excitedly.

"What will they do now?"

"They'll try him for murder and arson, as is proper. He admits to everything, the cur! Says it was his right to avenge his comrades. Hildburg, you and the widow Hinrichsen can make a claim for his possessions. He had his sword on him and a gold chain."

"What do I do with a sword?" Hildburg asked.

"Sell it! It's a good one for sure. You'll clear at least twenty guilders for it."

Hildburg nodded. Twenty guilders would be a dowry, enough to find her a husband. Not one from the leading families, but perhaps a magistrate or an officer of the guard.

"When will the trial be held?" she asked.

"On Sunday. He admits to everything, so there will be no need for questioning or the torture. The gold he took from your father has long been spent. They say he will be beheaded, for he is a Steward now, in the service of the Baron of Erlenburg."

The meal continued, with Rudolf answering more questions from his mother. Hildburg became silent. She was thinking of the young man she had once known. He must be almost thirty years of age, now. She wondered what he looked like. Would he recognise her? She made up her mind, then.

After the noon meal, she excused herself and dressed in her Sunday's best. Walking briskly, she arrived at the Mayor's house a few minutes later and asked for an interview. The Mayor was still eating, and he let her wait for almost half an hour. When he finally received her, he was brusque.

"I know, I know, you want to claim his possessions as compensation. You have to wait until the morrow."

"It's not that," Hildburg answered. "I would ask to be allowed a few minutes to see the man. I had known him, back then, and I want to face him."

"You're not planning anything foolish, are you? We have to be careful and do everything according to the law. His baron may raise a complaint at the next Reichstag over this. We cannot have him murdered in the dungeon."

"I only wish to speak to him. I have no desire to bloody my hands."

"So be it, Hildburg. Just remember: those who sow violence will die in violence. Your father and brother wronged those landsknechte first."

"I know right from wrong, Mayor, even if my father didn't," Hildburg replied with bitterness.

"So be it, then," the Mayor sighed.

He rang a bell, and his scribe showed.

"The Maid Hildburg is allowed to see the prisoner in his cell. See to it!"

The scribe looked at her dubiously, but Hildburg merely curtseyed before the Mayor and left the room. On the street, the scribe caught up with her and walked her to the City's prison, under the tower of the City Hall. Isebrand was the only prisoner, currently, and he was chained to the wall. Therefore, when Hildburg entered the dungeon, the warden closed the door behind her and left her alone with the man.

Looking him over silently, Hildburg took stock. Yes, she recognised him. His soldier's beard changed him, of course, but she remembered his eyes and his features. He had been a tall young man, but now he was a huge man. His clothes, although torn in a few places, showed wealth, and this annoyed Hildburg.

"Do you remember me, Joerg Isebrand?" she asked, more coldly than she had planned.

He had gazed at her, too, and he nodded.

"You're Lauritz' daughter, Hildburg."

"That, I am. Have you ever spared a thought of me, in all those years?"

"A few times, yes. I hoped you would get over that night and that your aunt would take care of you. I had liked you fine, back then, but I was not fit to see you."

His voice was a deep rumble.

"Well, you had your sweetheart, Birte, to console you. She left you, didn't she?"

"Yes, what I did that night, it scared her. I found a place for her to stay and left her alone. What about you? Who did you marry?"

"Marry? Me? Who would marry an orphan girl who can't rub two pennies together? You left me alive and unhurt, Joerg Isebrand, I grant you that, but you left me a maidservant to my uncle. My Father's house burnt down, and so did his warehouse and my uncle's. My uncle could barely find a husband for his daughter, with the pittance of a dowry he could offer."

Hildburg found that she was shouting those last sentences, with her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry for that, Hildburg. I really am. I never wanted you to suffer. I was so full of rage that night. Listen, if you can bring in a parchment and a quill, I can write a letter to my brothers. They can compensate you from my possessions."

"How could I ever get to where your brothers live?"

He smiled grimly.

"Don't worry. As soon as they hear about my fate, they will come here and avenge me. That is why I need to write to them, so they will spare you and your family."

"Two brothers against this City?" Hildburg asked.

"I was alone, and look what I did," he retorted calmly. "There are my sisters, too, and their husbands, with all their soldiers. Your Mayor has taken a bigger bite than he'll be able to chew."

"What soldiers? Who are your sisters' husbands?"

"The Count of Nassau married Katherine, my older sister. If they take Warnesund, show her my letter. She is the most reasonable of us, and she can protect you. Nele, my youngest sister, married my Lord Arnulf, the Baron of Erlenburg. We mixed our blood; he is one with me and with my brothers. They will visit bloody retribution on your city."

"Does the Mayor know of this? Perhaps, they will reconsider?"

Again, Joerg smiled grimly.

"Your Mayor is an upright man. He will not allow your City's laws to be bent under a threat. I wish he had been Mayor instead of your father. He would have paid us, and everything would have been right."

Hildburg could only nod. When Joerg spoke to her next, his voice was soft.

"Hildburg, I shall soon face my maker. I don't know whether I shall have another chance to speak to you. If you sent somebody with a parchment and a quill, I will see to it that you can have a new chance at happiness. I deeply regret that I hurt you in my rage, and I wish you the best for your future life."

"You are a strange man, Joerg Isebrand," Hildburg answered in a soft voice. "I wish things had been different, back then. I know how my father wronged your comrades, and my brother was as guilty. I shall speak a prayer over your grave and forgive your soul."

"By my troth, Hildburg, you are a noble maid! I wish I had known you better, back then. It would have curtailed my rage, for sure."

"I need to leave, Joerg Isebrand. May God have Mercy on your soul."

"Farewell, noble Maid! Remember to sent me the parchment."

Hildburg left the gaol in deep thought. Joerg's words had deeply disturbed her. What if those brothers showed up at the head of an army, to avenge their brother? Would her father's misdeeds bring even more damage to the City? What could she do, though? The Mayor would proceed with trial and execution, as was the law. Of that, she was sure. Mayor Albrecht was like that. Certainly, a penniless spinster could not dissuade him, least of all, the daughter of the man who was responsible for the whole mess.