Chapter 6: How Joerg Isebrand Makes a Noble Lady Angry

During his time in Lubeck, under Gernot's tutorship, Joerg had learned the rudiments of reading and writing. By necessity, Joerg had to practise those skills with religious writings, with the help of the Count's confessor. At that time, religious writings were the only writings widely available. Among the armsmen of the Count, including his Captain of the Guard, Joerg was the only one who knew his letters, and like most things of importance, this became known to Count Reinhardt.

One night, on guard duty, Joerg saw light and movement under the door of the Count's chamber. He and Ulfried resolved to stand upright, rather than lean lazily against the doorjamb, and it was good they did. Suddenly, the door opened and the Count gave them a nod of acknowledgement.

"You, Ulfried, guard my chamber. Joerg, follow me!" he ordered.

The young men shrugged behind their master's back, and Joerg followed him down the staircase and into the council chamber.

"Keep me company while I read this!" Reinhardt ordered and sat at a table, after lighting a number of candles with the one he had carried with him.

In the flickering light, Joerg saw that his master unfolded a tightly packed piece of parchment and started to study it. More than once, Count Reinhardt cursed under his breath, wrangling with the smeared writing.

"Damnation! Why didn't that rogue take care of this letter? Went swimming with it, the damnable cur! Come here, Joerg, my lad! You know letters, too. Can you make anything out of this?"

Joerg stepped close and bent over the parchment. The ink had spread on the wet parchment, but in many places, the letters were still legible. With the practice he had gained reading the pious writings, Joerg and the Count were able to piece the text together with some gaps.

"Countess ... Albert ... meet ... Torgau ... Saint Wendelin day ... Duke Ernst."

The eyes of the Count narrowed.

"That damnable woman plans treason! Saint Wendelin's day, that's two days hence. That's where she is going, not into St. Ursula's, for praying. I'll thwart her yet! I know where she'll have to cross the river. Up, Joerg, let's rouse the bodyguard. We shall ride within the hour. I can't trust Grumm with this business; his loyalties are mixed, and he'll try to warn her to avoid a confrontation."

'Her', of course, was the Count's stepmother, Irmgard. Count Reinhardt's mother had died giving birth to him, and the old Count had married Irmgard three years later. She had given Reinhardt's father three more sons and a daughter, and Irmgard felt that her eldest, Albert, should be the Count of Merseburg. She was obviously meeting with the Duke Ernst of Saxony-Torgau, to align this powerful neighbour behind her son's claims.

Indeed, within an hour, the Count, with his bodyguard under the trusted Feldweibel Bodo, left the castle at a canter. A full moon helped them find their way in the night; yet, Joerg had a hard time keeping pace with the other riders. He was only just getting comfortable on the back of his charger, and more than once, he had to hold on to the pommel for dear life.

The late dawn of the October morning found them to the South of Leipzig, and after a brief breakfast and feeding of the horses, they pressed on. Joerg was thoroughly saddle-sore by late morning when they had another twenty-five miles to ride. They were not five miles away from Torgau, and dusk was near, when the weary riders saw a coach, tumbling and swaying along the dusty road. They caught up quickly, and soon, the riders circled the coach, forcing it to a halt.

"Revered Stepmother, a word with you," Count Reinhardt called out.

Irmgard of Merseburg alighted from the coach, her face blushing with anger.

"What is all this, Reinhardt? Why are you spying after me?"

"Why, dear Stepmother, far be it for me to disrupt your prayers at Saint Ursula's. But aren't you a little out of the way?"

"I'm not answerable to you!"

"That I have to dispute. When you attempt to conspire against me with my neighbours, I have the right to intercede. Have your coach turned around or be banished from Merseburg for life. It is your choice."

"This is an outrage, Reinhardt! If only your father was here, he would..."

"My father is dead, and he warned me of your ambition. Will you continue to Torgau or will you return home?"

"All right, then. I'll return. You are being unreasonable, though. This was just planned as a friendly visit."

"Save your lies for the gullible," Reinhardt said coldly. "I know all about your visit."

Irmgard looked around at her followers, fixing her stare on a young woman, almost a girl.

"Have you been flapping your mouth, ungrateful wench?"

"No, your Grace, indeed not!" the girl wailed, terror in her eyes.

By the narrowing of her eyes, it was clear that Irmgard did not believe the girl.

"You'll pay for this," she snarled, climbing back into the coach.

The girl stood there, looking around for help. It was clear that she was terrified to climb in after her mistress. Reinhardt noticed that.

"What's your name, wench?"

"Ilka, your Grace," the girl answered hopefully.

"Holla, young Joerg! Have the wench ride behind you! If I know my stepmother, the girl would not survive the journey in the coach."

"Thank you, your Grace, thank you, indeed!" the girl gushed.

Carefully, Joerg steered his horse close to her and held out his hand. She was small and rather skinny, and he had no trouble lifting her up with one arm. In the approaching darkness, she moulded herself against his back, trying to stay warm, while the whole party headed back westward.

They stopped for the night at a tavern. The Countess Irmgard went up to a room on the second floor of the house, and Count Reinhardt ordered a watch over the door to her room, lest she escape in the night. This was more to needle her than for practical purposes, as she had already agreed to return in Reinhardt's train.

For Joerg, it was an unwelcome task, to stand watch at her door for half the night when his body ached from the long ride. When he was relieved at midnight, he wanted nothing more than to drop on his straw mattress. However, when he entered the narrow chamber he shared with three other guards, the mattress was partly occupied by the girl Ilka. She snored slightly, sleeping on her back, and Joerg arranged himself at her side, managing to find some much needed sleep.

He woke up with a skinny girl cuddled in his arms. It seemed that Ilka had no qualms to seek warmth and comfort in his arms. Nature was calling though, and he disentangled himself from her arms to visit the latrine. With that done, he found out that the kitchen was busy already, and he talked one of the maids out of a chunk of bread and some cheese.

Ilka showed, too, awakened by the suddenly cold bed, and they shared the bread and the cheese. The young guardsman and the maidservant thawed to each other and talked over their shared meal. Joerg learned that Ilka had been born in Prague, and she had come to Merseburg as the handmaid of some merchant's wife. The mistress died in childbirth, leaving Ilka stranded. She entered the Countess' service then, quite happy for the comfortable position. This had changed now, and she contemplated going back to her native Prague.

For his part, Joerg told her of his travels and of the trouble at home. Unlike most women and girls Joerg had spoken with in the last weeks, Ilka understood him when he told her of the revenge he had exerted on the City of Warnesund. In fact, she nodded appreciatively when he told her of his deeds.

"You're a strong lad, Joerg Isebrand, honest and straight as an arrow flies. You'll make a good husband to a girl one day in the future. I know I can mean nothing to you, but would you be my protector? I fear the mistress is not finished with me, although I swear I did not blab on her. I cannot offer much for your protection. If you want, I can lie with you at night, though. I'm no virgin anymore, and you're a good lad; I wouldn't mind spending a few nights with you, until I find transport to Prague."

Joerg was a little flustered at her forwardness.

"I can give you some shelter, Ilka, but you don't have to ... I would not ... It's not necessary."

"Oh my, a big lad like you, and you're shy? Haven't you ever lain with a woman?"

Blushing, Joerg nodded.

"I was with a young whore in Lubeck, and in Warnesund, there was Birte, a maidservant," he mumbled. "We met whenever she could get away from her mistress."

"See, no reason to be shy. You protect me, and I'll make you feel good at night."

The kitchen maid giggled in the background. Joerg had to grin, too, in spite of being embarrassed. Ilka was forward.

"I guess, we have an understanding," he answered, still red of face.

The return to Merseburg was done at a moderate pace. They made one more stop for the night, with thirty miles to go, and in the safety of his own domains, Count Reinhardt relented his distrust of the Countess. This gave Joerg an opportunity to catch some sleep. Again, Ilka shared his straw mattress, limiting his movements and thus lightening his sleep.