Simon snarled. “Aye. You shall have a shilling and a palfrey. See that the boy is scrubbed, shorn proper, and delivered to the abbot.”
The season of Lent began on the twenty-first day of February in the Year of Grace 1189. Fathers Johannes and Pious seemed quite zealous to honor this time of denial and repentance. For his part, the younger priest had taken it upon himself to wander the village footpaths in the dark of night in search of excess. Father Pious, though corpulent and obese, was eager to deny others the objects of his own desires.
Baldric, Arnold, and Dietrich snickered as Pious passed Baldric’s barred door. They had indulged in two jugs of well-spirited cider and were the happier for it. The three lounged in the dim light of the hearth, sputtering and slopping their muddy drink midst foul stories and sundry blasphemies. Herwin and his family huddled against a far wall, feigning sleep, while Heinrich and Effi attempted the same. Unfortunately for Heinrich the ruse had little effect, for he was soon rousted from his straw-mound bed to fetch more mead.
“And hurry, Heinrich!” barked Baldric. “You’ve but sloth in your blood, y’worthless worm!” The man’s eyes were blood red and hung heavy in their baggy sockets. His graying beard was matted and wet, the front of his tunic stiff with half-frozen cider.
The lad rose slowly. He dared not look into his uncle’s face for fear of inciting his anger. The fifteen-year-old trembled and kept his eyes to the floor as he wrapped himself in a sheepskin cloak. Arnold belched and the sound drew Heinrich’s head up involuntarily.
“Aye? And what would you be lookin’ at?” growled Arnold.
“Nothing,” answered Heinrich timidly.
Baldric stood to his feet. “’Tis your uncle, boy. You spoke with disrespect!”
With that, the man struck Heinrich across the face with his open palm. The slap stirred Herwin. “Now, boy,” boomed Baldric, “have you nothing to say for yourself, y’worthless half-a-man, you coward?”
Heinrich held his arm over his face and peeked upward at his towering uncle. “I-I am sorry, sir. I was about to fetch your mead from Aunt Gisela and—”
“Sorry? You say you’re sorry? Ha! ‘Tis what you said when you scrumped Lenard’s dog! ‘Tis what you said when you threw rocks at m’friends at village council! ‘Tis what you always say!” The man thumped the boy on the back and then again in the face. Poor Heinrich tumbled across Telek.
The giant stood to his feet. He had often been witness to Baldric’s violence but now it was enough. The broad-headed Slav took Heinrich by the shoulder and escorted him out the door along with Effi. He then walked over to Varina and her children and led them out-of-doors as well. With a grunt, Telek re-entered the hut and closed the door, barring it with the table.
The Slav grabbed the gaping Baldric by the throat and tossed him against the wall. Before the woodward could gather his wits, Telek seized the stunned man again and threw him over the hearth. Baldric crashed to the floor and then pulled himself to his feet. He pulled a knife from under his wolf-skin cloak and pointed it nervously at the giant. Telek held his ground and growled.
“Y-you, freak!” threatened Baldric. “You’ll hang for this! You’ve attacked your master’s man.” Baldric turned to Herwin. “You—tenant! He’d be kin to you, y’fool. You shall pay a price as well!”
Herwin spoke bravely. “You ought not beat the lad so, or Effi.”
“Find me one man who cares so little for his kin that he stays his hand!”
“Telek loves the boy, as do I. You beat him for hatred, not for care.”
“You’ve bitten the hand that feeds you, fool. Now tell that monster of yours to back away, else I’ll have you and your miserable litter bound in Runkel.”
Herwin knew Baldric meant what he said and he needed to think—and quickly. “Telek was … wrong to lay a hand on you. I should like to add it to my debt.”
Baldric laid the edge of his blade against the Slav’s throat. “I ought cut it,” he threatened. “I’d be in my rights.”
“You’ve no right to that dagger, friend,” said Dietrich. “Methinks you’ll be bringing more trouble than what we needs. Heed Herwin’s words.”
“Ja,” added Arnold. “‘Tis always better to build another’s debt! And y’know what needs doing up by Arfurt.”
Baldric licked his lips. “Aye, ‘tis sure.” He turned to Herwin. “You’ll add no pennies to your debt but you’ll pay this: we’ve business in Arfurt—business with Gunnar kin.”