The Sword Brothers (2 page)

Until today.

During the preceding
weeks a regular visitor to the bakery had been a scullion, a lowly
servant who worked in the home of one of Lübeck’s richest
merchants. In an effort to ingratiate himself with Conrad’s mother
he never failed to mention this fact, along with leering at her
every time he purchased a white loaf. Dietmar disliked him and
bristled with anger every time the man looked at his wife in an
inappropriate way. Agnete brushed aside the man’s ogling, though
always maintaining a polite disposition as she relieved him of his
master’s money. The scullion may have looked like a beggar but his
master’s coins were a valuable addition to the Wolffs’ income, as
Agnete always reminded Dietmar.

For his part the
scullion rarely saw his master, Adolfus Braune, though he talked
incessantly about the beautiful woman who worked in a bakery in
eastern Lübeck. Eventually word reached Braune of this woman and he
became curious and decided to pay her a visit to see if the rumours
were true. If they proved false he would have the scullion’s tongue
bored. Being the richest merchant in Lübeck meant he could dispense
justice almost at will. What use was power if it could not be
wielded?

It was late afternoon
when he left his three-storey brick building sited near his
harbour-front warehouses. As usual he took his entourage with him –
half a dozen burly thugs he had recruited in the aftermath of his
father’s death a year earlier. It was his father who had built up
the Braune fortune, establishing a trading network throughout the
Baltic region, only to be stabbed to death on the island of Gotland
by a creditor with a grievance. So at the age of thirty-five
Adolfus inherited his father’s fortune and his fleet of trading
vessels, which at a stroke made him one of Lübeck’s wealthiest
citizens. His mother had died of a pestilence during his early
years and his father had largely ignored him, leaving the young
Adolfus to develop a sly, manipulative character spiced with a high
degree of resentment against first his father and then the world in
general. Being overweight, prematurely bald and unattractive meant
he preferred the company of sycophants and lackeys to polite
society and equals, which would not have mattered had not his
father been murdered. His father’s demise at a stroke made him both
rich and powerful and thrust him into Lübeck’s highest
echelons.

His guards had been
recruited from harbour workers: brutish, uneducated men who would
obey commands unquestioningly as long as they were paid. Adolfus
never went anywhere without them, not least because he feared
suffering the same fate as his father.

The crowds were
insufferable, a sea of stinking bodies, disfigured faces and
raucous individuals, and after a while Adolfus was beginning to
regret leaving his spacious, elegant and sweet-smelling house. His
temper began to fray as his progress to the eastern quarter was
slowed by simple-minded idiots who barred his path rather than
bowing and getting out of the way. He ordered his men to clear a
path, which they did by shoving aside anyone in their way. Adolfus
recoiled in horror when a beggar extended his grubby, calloused
hand to him, earning the poor unfortunate a heavy thwack on the arm
with a baton carried by one of his men.

Eventually they
reached the street of bakers, which also contained shops selling
pies and vegetables. The air was filled with different accents for
Lübeck was a rich trading city that attracted people from all over
Germany, as well as from Denmark, whose king also ruled Lübeck,
Norway and Sweden.

‘This is the place,
lord,’ remarked one of the bodyguards.

Adolfus, who had been
paying careful attention to where he placed his feet in an effort
to avoid stepping in a pile of rotting vegetables or pig dung,
stopped and looked up at a sign hanging over an open-fronted shop
from where the pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread was emanating.
The sign displayed a poorly painted loaf of bread on a red
background.

Adolfus screwed up his
face. ‘This had better be worth it. I fear I may catch some sort of
pestilence just breathing the same air as these people.’

Just then a squealing
pig raced past him, pursued by a young girl in a russet dress.

‘Quite intolerable,’
sniffed Adolfus, who waved his men forward into the shop.

The early morning
bustle, the busiest time of the day, was long gone and now the
bakery’s shelves and counter were largely empty. However, Agnete
always kept a loaf of table bread for a regular customer who always
visited the bakery late in the afternoon. Roger the Putrid knew he
stank, his neighbours knew he stank and so did anyone unfortunate
enough to pass by him in the street. As a fuller he spent most of
his days walking up and down on wool in huge vats of urine. Wool
was essential to the lives of rich and poor alike but no one wanted
to wear clothes that were itchy and stiff. Therefore the wool was
soaked in stinking, stale urine to draw out the grease in the
material and pounded by feet to interlock the fibres. The end
result was wool that was kind to skin thanks to Roger and his
fellow fullers. Everyone knew that fullers were crucial to the
manufacture of clothing; they just did not want them anywhere near
them.

Roger earned a good
living but his was a solitary life. That is why he looked forward
to his daily visit to the Wolffs’ bakery. In truth he was a little
in love with Agnete, though he would never admit it. But who
wouldn’t be entranced by the angelic beauty with the soft voice who
always had a kind word for him? It was the same today as he passed
her the money for his loaf.

‘Are you well, Roger?’
she enquired as he dropped the coins into her palm.

‘Well, thank you,
praise God.’

She smiled and nodded
at him. ‘Praise God indeed.’

Roger looked past her
to where Dietmar was removing the ashes from his oven.

‘And good day to you,
Dietmar.’

Agnete’s husband
turned and raised his hand to his customer whose aroma was slowly
filling his bakery. ‘Roger.’

Agnete’s smile slipped
as a group of men led by a richly attired overweight man with pale
skin entered the shop. Their leader may have been dressed in a long
scarlet tunic with a bright red trim round the neck and cuffs, but
his companions were all covered in black and had a menacing air.
They were also all armed with daggers and two were carrying batons.
The man in the fine belted tunic suddenly recoiled from the smell
coming from the man standing in front of him.

‘What is that smell?’
he said loudly before covering his nostrils with a thumb and
forefinger.

Roger sighed
resignedly and turned to leave the bakery before he upset the new
arrivals further, only to be grabbed by the collar and thrown into
the street by one of the ruffians. Agnete was appalled as Roger
crashed to the earth outside the shop, spilling his loaf, which was
immediately seized by a grunting pig that scurried away. Adolfus
and his companions laughed and mocked the smelly individual as he
tried in vain to retrieve his loaf.

‘That’s much better,’
said Adolfus who walked up to the counter and studied Agnete.

She may have been the
wife of a low-born baker but even with her hair covered by a white
wimple and the arms of her blue tunic being dusted with flour her
beauty was apparent. Her flawless, fair skin contrasted sharply
with her clear blue eyes and even though her gown was loose fitting
he could see that she had a slender figure.

‘Can I help you, sir?’
Her soft voice only added to her attractiveness.

Adolfus’ piggy eyes
opened wide as he beheld her.

Dietmar stopped his
cleaning and moved to stand beside his wife. His instincts told him
that something was untoward, not because Roger had been treated
poorly – the rich always behaved badly towards those less fortunate
than themselves – but more because this man of importance was
leering at his wife.

Adolfus smiled
lasciviously at her. ‘Indeed. I am here to convey my gratitude to
you for furnishing my table with your fine bread.’

Agnete was confused.
‘I have not served you before, sir, I think.’

Adolfus brought his
puffy hands together in front of his chest. ‘No, indeed, but I have
a servant, a base fellow, who purchases your bread for my table
every week and so I thought it only proper to visit your bakery
myself to convey my congratulations.’

Agnete smiled but
Adolfus did not see it as he was now staring at her chest.

‘My husband, Dietmar,
makes the bread, sir, not I.’

Adolfus looked at the
non-descript stocky man beside her. ‘Mm? Yes, of course.’

While this was going
on Conrad was standing beside the oven observing the scene,
catching the eye of one of the burly men who were preventing anyone
else entering the shop. The man, a swarthy individual with a scar
on his right cheek, regarded Conrad with contempt.

The others looked
bored as the atmosphere in the shop became more strained as Adolfus
continued to stare at Agnete’s chest.

‘Did you want any
bread, sir?’ said Dietmar slowly and purposely.

Adolfus averted his
gaze. ‘Bread?’

‘We are a bakery,
sir,’ replied Dietmar, ‘so people come here to buy bread.’

Adolfus nodded
slightly and leered once more at Agnete before turning and walking
out of the shop, his men following. Dietmar followed them and stood
in the doorway to watch the fat rich man and his rogues disappear
among the now dissipating throng of people who filled the narrow
street.

‘That was most odd,’
remarked Agnete.

Dietmar may not have
been an educated man but he knew lust when he saw it in someone’s
eyes and he felt both angry and helpless at the violation, albeit
mild, of his wife that had taken place in front of him. He ambled
back into the shop, anger rising within him.

‘Conrad, stop idling
and get that oven emptied.’

Conrad jumped at the
severe tone in his father’s voice and began brushing the oven’s
ashes into a sack.

Dietmar went to his
wife’s side and placed an arm around her waist.

‘Are you all right, my
love?’

Agnete smiled warmly
at him. ‘Of course. You think that my head would be turned by a
lecherous overweight man with money?’

‘What? No, but his
behaviour was not right. Who was he, anyway?’

Agnete shrugged. ‘I
have no idea but he obviously likes your bread.’

At that moment Marie
ran in from the street and stood in front of the counter, hands on
her hips.

‘Fritz ate Roger’s
loaf,’ she announced.

Conrad smiled and
Agnete laughed.

‘Who is Fritz?’ asked
her father, still annoyed at the earlier episode.

‘One of our pigs, of
course,’ answered Marie.

Agnete smiled again at
her lovely daughter while Dietmar shook his head and returned to
his oven. Outside Roger the Putrid was loitering, maintaining a
safe distance to ensure the rich man and his brutes did not return
before entering the shop. He took off his hat and sidled up to the
counter. Marie turned up her nose at the smell. He went to reach
into his purse but was stopped by Agnete’s voice.

‘There is no need,
Roger,’ she said, taking a fresh loaf from the shelf and handing it
to him.

He grinned to reveal a
mouth of discoloured teeth and bowed his head to Agnete, then
hurried away. Dietmar could not afford to give away free loaves. He
looked at Marie and then at the pigs in the street. Perhaps the
family would have pork this Sunday.

In the days following
Dietmar and Agnete forgot the fat rich man and their life continued
as before. The family rose from its slumbers before dawn and spent
their days making and selling bread. Spring progressed and the
weather became warmer, though not unbearably so. Agnete took Marie
on her weekly visit to the local market and Conrad continued to
look forward to the end of his apprenticeship. The Wolff family was
healthy and relatively comfortable, for which they thanked God and
prayed that He would continue to watch over them. But the Lord was
not the only one who was taking an interest in them, and in one
family member in particular.

The baker’s wife had
entranced Adolfus Braune, so much so that in the days following his
visit to the dingy little bakery he had ignored his business
interests to plan more occasions where he might lay eyes upon her.
He had the scullion brought to him and instructed the wretch to spy
on her and her family and to report back to him when she left her
home. When the man relayed news that she was visiting the market he
had hurried to the place so he could admire her once more. He took
his men with him as usual, but such was the press of people that it
was easy for him and them to melt into the background and remain
unseen. The scullion may have been a revolting creature but he knew
how to find a face in a crowd and what a face it was. Impure
thoughts flooded Adolfus’ mind as he stood and watched the baker’s
wife chatting to a stallholder who was selling furs of rabbits,
foxes, cats and squirrels. The marketplace was filled with the din
of a thousand voices shouting, arguing, laughing and conversing but
Adolfus did not hear them. All he could hear was the beat of his
thumping heart in his chest and all he could see was the beautiful
wife of the baker in her blue gown and white headdress, a vision as
pure as the Virgin Mary herself.

That night, as the
servants were serving him and his companions supper, Adolfus began
to hatch a plan to snare the tasty dish that was more appetising
than the stewed meat before him. His companions sat on a separate
table at right angles to his own that he shared with his trusted
deputy, the swarthy, scarred Artur, the former mercenary who now
killed and threatened for Lübeck’s richest merchant. While he and
his fellow thugs heaped meat into their sliced trenchers, Adolfus
took sips of spiced red wine from his silver-rimmed mazer. Artur
noticed his master’s lack of appetite.