Free The Ravens’ Banquet by Clifford Beal Page B

charge.
    “Aye,” he nodded. “Honour and fathers. That’s where we did last leave off. I told you I would show you the truth of things. Now is the time.”
    I burned. “I shall drag you to the moneylender that he shall see the truth of things. If must needs be I’ll take the silver from out of your hide.”
    Samuel continued to circle and his mouth split into a grin. “I have a proposal for you. I’m now in need of a servant to fetch my supper. What say you?”
    I drew my sword on him, for no man could let such an injury pass without challenge. He quickly brought up his own rusty poker and brandished it at me. Then, his left hand went behind his back and returned with a dagger, which he wagged at me like a schoolmaster’s birch.
    “Let’s see how well you dance, sirrah. Come, give me play,” he laughed. From out of the corner of my eye I could see a wagon being pushed in behind me to cut off any retreat. And I understood in a flash that I was in enemy hands. These were Samuel’s people now. I thrust out and made to beat his blade aside, but his grip was firm. “You’ll have to do better than that, Master Treadwell.” He said softly. “I have waited to take my revenge on your blood since Hamburg. You must not disappoint me.” I had little fear of Samuel’s skill at sword, but I could feel the crowd close around us: a company of thieving rogues and corner creepers. Hemming us in would only favour Samuel and his short piece of rusty steel. I felt a shove at my back and I lashed out with my left hand while keeping my gaze firmly on Samuel. I stepped forward again and tried to run up Samuel’s blade but he stepped inside and swiped at me with his dagger hand. I pulled back out of his reach. He came on, forcing me to parry his sword and side-step and I cracked my hilt into his head as he rushed past. He cried out in rage and turned fast, striking out again. Looking beyond him I saw two baggage camp men wielding cudgels and eyeing me with no good intent. And nowhere was there a bolthole to run.
    “You are all as alike!” he spat at me. “Black and base dogs all and your father the biggest one of all!”
    Suddenly, one side of the crowd parted in great commotion and two soldiers hove into view. It was my own Cornet – Caspar Tollhagen – and his Corporal, Thomas Pentz. I felt a rush of new strength as they pushed through towards me.
    “Hold! Enough!” Tollhagen bellowed out, his sword drawn and ready. A clearly nervous Corporal Pentz drew and brandished his own blade.
    My comrades were met with a chorus of jeers and the two cudgel-wielding rogues stepped forward. Quickly, a few others followed behind them, emboldened by the bullnecked cart drivers. The Cornet reached into his boot top and drew a pistol. Raising it up and drawing the hammer in one motion, he levelled it at the head of the lead man. “This town lies under marshal occupation. By God, I shall blow out your brains lest you withdraw. Now.”
    The leader paused his progress and spit in my direction. “That one there, ” and he thrust his head towards me, “he drew steel first on our companion. This is no concern of yours.”
    The Cornet’s arm did not waver. “Should one drop of blood ruin my new doublet, or one hair of my Englishman’s head be touched, I shall have your neck stretched before sunset. I give you my word on that.”
    This, the blaggart gave some thought to. He then swore and stalked off, shoving bystanders out of his path.
    “Don’t hang an arse,” yelled the Corporal at me, “Get over here.”
    Without turning my back on Samuel, I slowly withdrew.
    Samuel’s eyes burned into me. “Our business isn’t yet finished, sirrah,” he said.
    Then he turned and pushed between two gawping porters and made his way off, into the wild warren of the baggage train.
    I could feel the sweat prickling in my armpits. I had made an enemy in my own camp, and he, my only countryman.
    The Cornet beheld me and shook his head. “The only