The Ravens’ Banquet by Clifford Beal Page A

Tollhagen, newly promoted to Lieutenant, as Münden hove into view, a collection of grey and red roofs nestled in a valley below us. Surrounded on three sides by the mountains, its true value was that it was situated at the confluence of the Werra and Fulda rivers, where these enjoined to form the great Weser. Münden sat out on a point of land where these three waters met and the town had for many years reaped the benefit of its happy placement. All boats that stopped there had by law to shift cargoes to the rivermen of Münden for transport down the Weser. The burghers had grown fat on this arrangement such as it was, and they were well defended not only by the waters that served them, but by the thick walls and towers that circled their town.
    Tollhagen reined in and held his hand up for the rest of us to make a halt. From our high vantage we all drank in the layout of the town and Tollhagen shouted to Corporal Pentz as he rode up quickly from the rear.
    “What say you, Pentz, a hard nut to crack?”
    “I’m no sapper. Looks to me to be as any other shithole of a place.” But I saw more. Münden had a stout wall that enclosed it completely. And along its length several tall towers rose up giving vantage upon all sides. One sole bridge, a great construction of stone topped with a roof, joined the town with the far side of the Werra. Across the Fulda there was a small wooden one out to the long narrow island that lay in the middle of that water, yet nothing to the far side. If Tilly lurked along the west bank of the Fulda, he would have to cross that wide expanse to reach the town or else ford the Weser further north to reach the covered stone bridge that spanned the Werra. Neither course seemed without great risk.
    And so we descended into the valley toward the stone bridge as heavy clouds floated over Münden and cast a great shadow upon the place, blotting out the afternoon sun.
    Balthazar rode up to me, eager to enter the town. “We shall take all our booty to the market and exchange it for good silver and gold instead.”
    He prodded me with his huge fist. “Well, what say you? Now we can get your purse filled again, eh?”
    “Aye, I’m with you,” I said, goaded into a response. “If there is Fortune to be had in this war then I shall find it.”
    From that point, I stopped fretting about the black mould that had seeped into my soul. I was a horseman in the army of a king. Nothing mattered except what mattered to us. Take all – before it is taken.
    Our little troop (for we were but five and twenty) clattered to a halt at the far end of the bridge that led over to the town. With us came a tumbrel, loaded to the brim full of our stolen treasures gathered these last two months. Tischler had ordered it to be traded for silver and the proceeds to be taken back for distribution in Göttingen to the fellows who had stayed behind. Enough of this sort of business went on such that few questions would likely be asked, especially in a town as greedy as Münden.
    “This night, you may take your pleasure as you find it,” said Tollhagen to us when we had reached the stables, “but on the morrow we finish our work. Pentz will second any transactions and then we take our money and leave this place. Any man who stands not on this spot by eight o’the clock I shall well and truly gut when I lay hands on them.”
    Although a guard was posted, we took our pistols with us and slung our snapsacks over shoulder till we found alehouse or inn. Twenty-five soldiers in one inn is no good thing, least of all for the innkeeper, so we divided ourselves. Yet the the town was so narrow that one could shout from one end to the other and still carry on a conversation. In the end, we all found lodging a stone’s throw from one another. Balthazar and Christoph joined me and we soon discovered ourselves in front of an inn that lay on the eastern edge of the town.
    “Come, let us fill our bellies, lads!” said Balthazar striding through