Chapter 19
THE CHOICE
A fortnight passed and the castle quickly filled with fresh troops finally ready for the campaign against the obstinate Stedingers. Soldiers of the archbishop had arrived from other places and now bivouacked in tents scattered throughout the bailey. The first days of May were filled with the sounds of their drills and training.
At last, the Count of Oldenburg appeared in all his finery to address the gathered army. He was a vain man, given to the same bloated sense of self that prompted his forebears to claim the title of “count” in the first place. With smug satisfaction he surveyed the rows of armored knights now lined in parade formation at his feet. They were fully bedecked in their colors and proudly bore the standards of their liege lords. Behind them gathered ranks of mounted sergeants—soldiers nearly equal in skill to a knight but from a lower station. Rows of archers formed the next line, and behind them stood an orderly throng of footmen dressed in leather jerkins and grasping maces, axes, lances, and glaives. Heinrich and the other servants were sent to their places amongst a long row of wagons and packhorses laden with provisions for the march that lay ahead.
The count shouted words of encouragement and introduced the army’s commander, one Lord Egbert of Hamburg. He, in turn, announced the knighthood of three former squires. The trio had pledged their fealty in a ceremony of homage that very same morning in which they had knelt before their liege lord and placed their hands within his. After reciting their pledge and receiving the prayers of the archbishop himself, the three were touched upon each shoulder and the head by their lord’s long-sword, forever sworn as his obedient vassals.
The archbishop’s army was comprised of men from all parts of Christendom. Fear of the Stedingers had spread as far as sunny Spain, for it seemed that spontaneous peasant armies were beginning to display astonishing acumen in many parts of Europe, and the kings’ courts were growing nervous. A few English lords had considered sending a company of footmen to join the cause but did not. Perhaps the heritage of liberty savored in that good land had blunted their enthusiasm.
The Archbishop of Bremen’s cause was served by thirty knights from the empire, forty mounted sergeants, and a host of footmen numbering nearly a hundred. In addition, the dukes of Lorraine sent sixty footmen, five mounted sergeants, and four Norman knights under contract. Distant Cordoba offered two black-haired knights on fine, Arabian mounts. Added to these were an entourage of teamsters, cooks, bakers, smiths, groomsmen, armorers, priests, women-of-the-camp, and physicians. The castle of Oldenburg had become host to an encampment of a vigorous and impressive army.
To the surprise of all, Archbishop Hartwig suddenly emerged from his guest chamber bearing his scepter in one hand and his sword in the other. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti!”
The army fell to its knees as the great bishop prayed over them. “Have mercy on us, Lord.” Bishop Hartwig bowed to the priests at his side, then descended the steps toward Lord Egbert’s mount and offered his sword and standard to the commander. The trumpets lining the battlements sounded and a thunderous cheer rose up. Then, as Egbert waved his army forward, the knights of the Church passed beneath the outstretched arms of their bishop and through Oldenburg’s high gate.
Heinrich felt the hairs on his neck tingle and rise as he took his first steps forward. There he was, a simple baker from little Weyer, marching midst trumpets and cheers beneath the snapping pennants of a castle keep. He suddenly felt as though he were more than a breadmaker. His chest rose and his stride lengthened as he imagined himself a soldier in God’s army, commissioned to help bear the sword against evildoers and the legions of Lucifer! Tears of inexplicable wonder blurred his eager eyes as he strained to find Blasius.
Heinrich smiled as he spotted the noble monk trotting briskly a short distance ahead. The Templar was surrounded by an enlarging group of devout knights from far-off places that shared his faithful love of God and duty. These true soldiers of Christ wanted little to do with the shameful ways of their fellows and were drawn to the piety of the warrior-monk. They were the flower of Christian knighthood, the lingering fragrance of a fading glory.
The sun shone brightly as Heinrich passed beneath the outstretched hands of the bishop. He closed his eyes to feel their power bring him strength from the Almighty. He breathed deeply and smiled and marched across the drawbridge to the long roadway lying before him.
The army followed the Hunte River for a short distance, then turned southeastward toward the prosperous town of Hude lying in the very center of Stedingerland. The day slowly faded, like the thrill of its beginning. Heinrich’s heart did fly in those early hours of that special day, but it would have soared to even greater heights had it not been tethered to the memory of poor Richard. Why, Richard? What a foolhardy, stubborn, selfish thing to do! As the baker stepped to the rhythm of his wagon’s turning wheel he reflected on their boyhood together. His mind carried him to happy times in Emma’s garden and beneath the boughs of the Magi. He thought of Ingly and how the three of them had sat in speechless awe to hear Emma’s tales of sprites and gnomes, of Dragon-rock and the Knight of the Swan. He remembered lying between Ingelbert and Richard beneath the warmth of a kindly summer sun to discover faces in the clouds. Ah, to gaze at the heavens again, he thought. Heinrich sighed and shook his head.