Chapter 2: How Young Joerg Isebrand Was Banished from the Marshes

Joerg Isebrand was tired. He, his father and his brothers had been working the whole day to bring in the hay from the first cut of the year. With three strong sons and two daughters, the Isebrands prospered. They all worked hard, the land was good, and there were no taxes or rent to pay. The Marshes were still free, and all the Isebrands paid was the tithe for the poor, like everyone else.

Joerg, at sixteen years of age, was the second youngest in the family, but in the last two years he had grown to be a tall youth, and his older brothers, Bjoern and Thorben, were careful of him now. He was a rash boy when angered, and he would fight even his older and stronger brothers when provoked.

He was looking forward to this evening. It was summer solstice, and there would be a dance in the village square, the first he was allowed to attend. Joerg dressed in his best clothes, after washing in the small river that crossed his father's lands. The cold water invigorated him sufficiently and he was all expectations.

The evening began well for him. He even had a chance to dance with a few neighbours' daughters and lost some of his shyness. It helped that he had two sisters at home, and pretty soon the strapping lad was talking to two girls his age, Maren and Elsa. He had been allowed a mug of beer as well, and the world looked bright. All this ended when he was pushed aside by another youth, Ulf Wolfganger, a year or two his senior.

"Get out of my way, you filthy Dutch! It's beyond me how they allowed your family to settle here."

The blood shot into Joerg's face as he retorted.

"Without my father, you would pay tribute to the Dane. Your father never dared to show at Hemmingstedt, as everyone knows."

"My father fought at Meldorf," came the heated reply.

"That's why we lost there!"

"You take that back!"

"Make me!"

And the brawl began. The two boys were quite evenly matched by height and weight, and for a while, neither gained an advantage. That frustrated the older lad, and he tried to ram his knee into the younger boy's groin. Quickly, Joerg snapped his thighs shut, but he could not avoid the blow altogether. Pain shot through his lower body, and for the first time in his life, he experienced a red mist of rage blur his vision. With a furious snarl he lunged at the older boy.

When he came to, Ulf Wolfganger was lying at his feet, nose broken and teeth shattered. The elders came running, and the boys were questioned. Wulf Isebrand and his sons came, too, and so did the elder Wolfganger. The elders conferred with each other, and then with Wolfganger, who was the richest man in the marshes. In the end, Joerg was ordered to appear before the Four the next morning after church.

Under the great oak tree, the Four who meted out justice in the marshes sat and heard the case. The two girls who had been speaking with Joerg were not allowed to testify. At this point, Wulf Isebrand saw what was happening. The cards were stacked against his youngest. The Four deliberated only briefly and then, with faces of stone, they gave their verdict.

"Joerg Isebrand, son of Wulf Isebrand, you have gravely beaten and injured a boy and shown to be a danger to our community. We cannot establish who started the fight, but seeing that you are a dangerous and violent youth, you will be banished from the marshes for five years on peril of being branded."

"My son banished?" Wulf shouted. "For defending the honour of his family? This trial is but a mockery, and I see your hand in this, Wolfganger."

"Be quiet, Isebrand. Do not insult the Four. Only your great merits prevent us from punishing you, but be still, lest you suffer the consequences," the head of the Four shouted.

Wulf Isebrand hesitated for a moment, but then he put his arm around his son's shoulder and led him away from the oak.

"Joerg, my son, this is great injustice. We need to forestall the worst, though. You know that they will have you run the gauntlet out of the village tomorrow. You must not stay. You must leave this afternoon."

The boy was bewildered, angry and certainly frightened.

"But where can I go, father?"

"Go to Holland, son. My family lives there, in Breda. Tell them I sent you. They will take you in."

"To Holland, father?" the boy cried with wide-open eyes.

"Yes, there is no other way."

Thus, for the next hours, while his mother and sisters wept, and his brothers swore revenge against the Wolfgangers, his father gave him what advice he could give in the scarce time. Then, when it was time for him to leave, his mother gave him food for the journey in a knapsack he slung over his shoulder. She had also sewn a number of gold coins into the seams of his pants and vest. Before he left, his father gave him a long and heavy object.

"Son, my own sword will be Bjoern's one day, but I found this good blade on the battlefield at Hemmingstedt. Take it and use it to defend yourself. I've taught all of you how to wield a sword. Do not use it for folly, but do not shy away from defending your life and honour."

Joerg then hugged his family once more and left the low, grass-thatched dwelling. Walking along the familiar paths towards the South, he could hardly believe that he would not see this landscape for five years. In his misery, he almost noticed the men too late. They seemed to wait for him, four of them. He recognised them. They were Wolfganger's knechte, and they bore wooden clubs.

"Now boy, you would not run away before we had a chance for a real farewell, would you?" one of them sneered.

The elder Wolfganger came out from behind a bush.

"You really thought that you would get off that easily? You lousy Dutch beggar, this is the end of your banishment! We will even bury you here, close to home. Get him!"

The four men approached him, their clubs ready. Anger helped Joerg to forget his fear. He unsheathed the sword that hung from his back.

"Wolfganger, you will be short of hands for the harvest this year," he rang out defiantly.

Suddenly, three more men appeared on the scene. Wulf Isebrand and his two older sons stepped from behind a growth of hazelnut bushes.

"I always held you for neiding, Wolfganger!" Wulf shouted. "Five grown men against one boy! Now let us see how you will face even odds."

"Father!" Joerg shouted with relief.

The four knechte shrank back visibly.

"You cowards!" Bjoern, the eldest of the brothers laughed. "I have a mind to carve you up for good."

"Father, don't!" Joerg shouted. "Don't saddle our family with a blood feud. Just make sure they will not follow me. I will make my way to Lubeck all right."