Chapter 4: How Joerg Isebrand Becomes Known as The Butcher of Warnesund

The winter in the warm quarters in Lubeck had made the men lazy and short of breath, but the long march eastward shaped them up somewhat. The welcome in Warnesund was nothing like what they had enjoyed in Lubeck. There were only tents as quarters for the men to begin with, and the food they were given was neither good nor plentiful. The City had some trouble with the Count of Schwerin to the South, and they wanted to beef up their garrison with the hired soldiers. From what Gernot's men gathered, the city council had not supported the hiring unanimously, and some of the council members were heard complaining about the costs. The lack of food and the reluctant pay made the men unhappy, and Gernot had a hard time quelling squabbles between his men and the citizens. He wanted to stay and fulfil the contract, for the mayor had promised a sizeable premium for the hired troops once the quarrel with the count was resolved.

Young Joerg had mixed feelings about their stay. For one, he did not like the way they were treated by the arrogant burghers. On the other hand, he had met a young girl, a bonded servant in the Mayor's household. Of course, the young mercenary was not allowed to come to that stately home, and he and the girl, Birte, met in an empty storehouse whenever she could get away.

Birte was a friendly girl, always smiling and good to look at, but she was quite unhappy with her master and her mistress. The former constantly tried to bed her, and the latter harassed her all the time out of jealousy. Birte showed him the marks of the beatings more than once. The son of the mayor was almost as bad as his father, and only the daughter treated her with friendliness.

A few times, he saw the Mayor's daughter. Her name was Hildburg, and she was still young, younger than Joerg by two or three years. She would stare at Joerg with an expression he could not read, and when he spoke to her, she would blush and turn away. In his inexperience, he took her for aloof.

This changed, sometime in mid summer. Joerg was returning from one of his trysts with Birte, and he walked along the quay of Warnesund's inner harbour, when he suddenly became aware of some struggle in a narrow passage between two warehouses. Curious young fellow that he was, he walked closer to find out what was happening. To his surprise, he saw young Hildburg struggling against two sailors who held her down.

Joerg could never subscribe to the casual view many of his fellow soldiers had on rape. His parents had taught him to respect women, and the teachings had taken firm hold.

"Let go of her!" he demanded, his voice rasping with suppressed anger.

"Or what, boy?" one of the sailors laughed.

Wordlessly, Joerg picked up a discarded wooden board, two fingers thick and five wide, and broke it in two with a violent twist of his hands. The sailors turned pale.

"Listen, Mate! Why don't we share? She's a pretty one, and there's enough of her for all of us."

"Let her go, and be gone," Joerg repeated coldly.

The taller of the sailors gave up first. He let go of Hildburg's arm and turned tail, running away through the narrow alley and leaving his mate behind. The smaller man was a stout fellow and not easily intimidated, but he was wary, too. When Joerg put his hand on his sword hilt to underscore his demand, he decided to cut his losses.

"I'll cut you a deal, Mister Soldier. You seem like a young gentleman of means. For ten pennies silver, I can find myself a wench in the tavern. You give me ten pennies, and I'll let the girl go."

Instinct urged Joerg to reject the offer, but reason overruled that. He pulled the small coin from his pouch and tossed it over the head of the sailor. With a taunting salute, the portly fellow tossed Hildburg forward into Joerg's arms, and ran to retrieve the ransom. Two heartbeats later, Joerg found himself alone with the trembling girl.

"Come now, Maid Hildburg," he said, offering his hand.

Hesitantly, the girl accepted, and he led her from the alley and back to the open street. Here, she stopped him.

"Please, Master Soldier, this is where we must part," she said. "I thank you from my heart for the deliverance from the foul hands of those ruffians. I fear, though, that if my father or brother saw us together, they will accuse you of molesting me."

She gave him an apologising look.

"They do not care for you or your comrades. I ... I shall give Birte the money to imburse you."

"Do you?" Joerg asked.

"Do I what?" Hildburg asked back.

"Do you care for us?"

She blushed prettily, but she looked into his eyes when she answered.

"I find you a nice man, Joerg Isebrand, and Birte says you are kind and caring. I do not know much about your comrades, but they came here on our bidding, to lend us support. It shames me how my father speaks ill of them all the time."

Joerg took a deep breath. The sight of her lovely face with her big, violet blue eyes touched him to the very core.

"My, but you are a lovely maid!" he exclaimed. "I pains me that I am nothing but a simple soldier. Were that it my father was a merchant like yours, I would give my birthright for the chance to woo you!"

Hildburg's eyes misted.

"Were it you were a merchant's son, Joerg Isebrand, I would listen to your wooing."

With that, she turned and fled down the street and towards the fish market, while Joerg cast a last, longing look after her. He shrugged. Lowly soldiers like him had to contend themselves with maidservants. Nevertheless, young Hildburg was in his dreams repeatedly in the next weeks.

In late August, the merchants and the Count of Schwerin resolved their quarrel for a sum of money the city paid. Two days later, the Mayor informed the hired soldiers that their services would not be needed anymore. The men were more than happy to leave the inhospitable city, but when Gernot demanded the promised premium, the Mayor flatly refused.

"You never fought for us, there will be no premium. You have cost us enough money for food and lodging, now go!"

"The premium was promised," Gernot countered. "We shall not leave until you give us what's ours!"

And the men collected their arms and marched into the city, demanding their pay. For two days, they blocked the market square, knowing full well that the city's guard was not strong enough to dislodge them. They saw the council convene in the City Hall, day after day, and the council members looked at them angrily.

On the fifth day of the stand-off, the Mayor Lauritz relented. If the Free Companions promised to leave the City on the morrow, he would pay them their premium. To that, the landsknechte readily agreed. They had their fill of the city and the miserly burghers.

They were in for a surprise. The Mayor Lauritz not only paid out the premium, but he had three casks of stout ale brought to the market place and tapped, to celebrate the peaceful end of the dispute, as he said. The Free Companions revelled in their victory and partook freely of the offered ale. When the casks were empty, two more were brought. The landsknechte emptied those, too, and by evening, most lay asleep against the walls of the houses that lined the market place.

Joerg was one of the few who were still able to stand, come evening, and he was the only one who had not accepted the ale at all. Knowing that this was his last night in Warnesund, he met with Birte in their usual hideout in a waterfront warehouse.

"Thank god you came, Joerg! The Mayor is up to something. The Captain of the Guard spent the whole afternoon with the mayor and his wife. They are plotting something, I swear! Edgar Lauritz was with them, too."

Edgar Lauritz, the Mayor's son, was lieu tenant of the City Guard, as Joerg knew. What would they plot? Joerg was alarmed immediately.

"I have to wake our men. Can you stay here? If I am not back in the next hour, go home. Thank you, Birte."

He kissed her fresh lips and slipped out of the storehouse. He had not come far when he suddenly heard the telltale twangs of crossbows. Under the cover of the houses, he made his way to the market square, but he was too late. The City Guard had surprised the drunk mercenaries, and a hail of bolts had killed nigh on half of the sleeping men already. Now the guards moved in with their halberds and pikes. Even the inexperienced Joerg could see that the few remaining men of his platoon stood no chance. Still, he wanted to rush into the fray when a sound behind him made him whirl around.

The soldier was running at him with a long pike aimed at his chest, but the nimble young man side-stepped the clumsy attack. The soldier ran past him, and Joerg tripped him with his foot. Before the man could get up again with his heavy breast plate, Joerg had rammed a knife into his neck, killing him instantly.

Turning to the market square again, he saw that the massacre was all but finished. His fatherly friend, Gernot, was lying on his back with a bolt in his eye, and now, the last two remaining comrades were skewered by the soldiers. The noise died down, and Joerg saw the Mayor Lauritz approach, accompanied by his son Edgar, both wearing the uniform of the City Guards. The wool merchant Hinrichsen was with them, and the head of the fish traders, Lingold. They kicked at the bodies and laughed easily. Then the Mayor ordered to clear the square of the bodies and to collect the premium back from the slain men. Carefully, Joerg retreated to the warehouse.

He found a crying Birte who had heard the noise of the fight and who implored him to sneak out of town in the cover of night lest he was detected and killed. By now, Joerg was filled with rage, a new, cold and powerful rage he had never felt before. The Mayor had acted as a neiding, had betrayed Gernot and his men. By the code of the landsknechte, there was but one answer for this. He took the girl by her shoulders.

"Birte, when the bell strikes midnight, open the rear door to the Mayor's house. I will take you away with me, but do not pack anything, lest you will arouse suspicion. Never fear, we will both be avenged tonight."

The frightened girl nodded, not sure whether she knew the young man anymore. He was transformed, and she could see the cold fury in his eyes. He saw her apprehension.

"Never fear me, Birte. I shall set you free come midnight."

The girl left in a hurry, and Joerg waited for the darkness to come. He knew the houses of the council members; they stood prominently around the market square, and when darkness settled over the subdued town, he moved.

The first house he entered belonged to a wool merchant, Hinrichsen by name, who had berated Gernot's men more than once, calling them foul names. Quietly, he moved up the creaky staircase, waiting until the wind worked the timbers of the roof to cover the sounds of his steps. He entered the bedroom on the second floor and, in the faint light of the moon, he saw the man and his rather young wife sleeping peacefully.

He pounced on them, his left hand on the mouth of the woman, his right hand slashing the throat of the man. Only a gargle came from the mouth of the dying man while the woman looked up at Joerg in stark horror.