“Ja. They say their women were taken in the night by soldiers and their property raided. But rather than petition the Church court, they rose in rebellion and now threaten to undo the order of things. Seems Archbishop Hartwig fears for the whole of the northland if these Stedingers are not put into their proper place. The count in Oldenburg is equally nervous of such notions spreading through his nearby manors.”
Heinrich was quiet. He could barely imagine peasants defeating the knights of the realm. He remembered his uncle Baldric unseating and dispatching a handful of rogue soldiers in Weyer so long ago, but he could hardly fathom an organized army of farmers.
Indeed, the legions of Stedingers posed a serious threat to the whole of the empire’s northland. Their ranks had been swelled with escaping German peasants who yearned for the liberty of their tribal forefathers. Stedinger villages and farms had become united in a spirit of common wealth and common purpose. They were becoming more than a population of free farmers, they were becoming a realm unto themselves, and more dangerous than even that—a symbol.
Such intransigence troubled the ecclesiastical and lay lords, for throughout all Christendom storm clouds were gathering. Peasants in Düdeldorf, Pickliessem, and Himmenrode had attacked their masters. The unhappy serfs of St. Pantaleon had planned a mass escape in the dark of night. The folk of the lord of Oberzel rebelled with the torch, the peasants of Gindorf with rocks, those of Goslar with organized sloth.
Blasius stared into the darkness. “I do confess some sympathy for these brave souls. I believe they have suffered abuses, nor do I doubt that they are entitled to special privilege on account of the archbishop’s promises.”
“So why do you come to fight them?” asked Heinrich.
Blasius was quiet again. “I never said I’ve come to fight them. My preceptor sends me to ensure that Templar silver is properly managed. Seems the count and the archbishop owe us a sum of one hundred and forty-seven pounds. They both claim they cannot pay until the Stedingers satisfy their debt of taxes and tithe. I am to witness their collection, then be paid our rightful sum. Afterward I am to arrange an escort of the silver to our representatives in Cologne.”
“Will you fight against them?”
Blasius drew a deep breath. “I have suffered over that question since our journey began. I am not convinced they are in the wrong, yet they are in rebellion. I do swear, good friend, that I am caught in a dilemma. The Stedingers have just claims and grievances, yet their reactions violate all laws of God and man. If… if I must raise my sword against these folk, I shall do so with pain in my heart.” The soldier stared at his feet, blank-faced for a long moment.
Heinrich laid a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Brother Lukas once told me the only way to resolve such snares is to yield to the highest virtue.”
Blasius nodded. “Ah, good Lukas. But it is just that which vexes me. Tell me, which is the higher virtue, Heinrich—order or mercy?”
The baker became very quiet. He drew a deep breath. “I once thought I followed the order of proper cause … and I took another’s life … unjustly.” He trembled and lowered his eyes.
Bright sunshine and merry spirits brought laughter and glad hearts to the high, rounded walls of Oldenburg Castle. The fortress sat squarely on the banks of the Hunte River, where its waters were diverted to serve as a moat. Beyond lay the growing city of Wasserburg, soon to take the name of the castle. With trumpet blasts and welcoming drums, the mounted knights led their column over a drawbridge and through the arched gateway leading into the smoky castle courtyard where the count and a company of his elite men spread their arms in welcome. The mail-clad knights of Heribert embraced their fellows with hearty hugs, and in moments brown ales and foaming beers were splashing into eager tankards.
Heinrich scampered about the castle with the other servants as they hurried the horses to the livery, carried stocks and provisions to the warehouses, and delivered the knights’ personal trunks and barrels to valets. The knights would be bedded in stone-walled chambers within the castle walls and towers. The servants would be chased to timbered, thatch-roofed warehouses, stables, and sheds scattered haphazardly about the muddy bailey.
When Heinrich was finally directed to his own straw-filled cot he rested for a while. Uncomfortable and restless, he sat up, however, and gazed vacantly at the sorry lot of fellows crowding his low-roofed building. Weary, gaunt, and unkempt, his comrades were in stark contrast to the well-dressed, bold, fire-eyed knights they served. Heinrich sighed. He knew he was one of them.