Joerg IsebrandChapter 5: How Joerg Isebrand Joins The Count Reinhardt Of Merseburg free porn video
From the innkeeper, he bought a smoked ham and bread, before he left the village, heading westward. He did not follow the road for long. East of Dassow, he turned south on a sparsely travelled road. He spent the night in the inn of the small town of Schoenberg, and in two more days, he reached Ratzeburg, the seat of the Bishop, with its impressive cathedral. Here, he was able to buy new clothes and better shoes. He also traded for a horse, a sturdy animal, able to carry him. He knew that he had to leave the Hanse territories, and that meant travelling south.
Travelling on horseback not only let him cover the distances faster, but he was also able to carry food supplies with him. After two days, he reached the wide River Elbe at Lauenburg, and he crossed the river on a ferry, reaching the large trading city of Lueneburg in the evening.
He stayed for a few days, sleeping long and eating well. Then, the first rumours began to circulate in Lueneburg, about the terrible Butcher of Warnesund. Already, he had killed two score soldiers and citizens, and Joerg realised that the story would get bigger and bigger with each telling. He also knew he had to leave.
He mounted his horse again and directed it southwards, up the valley of the River Elbe. He travelled unchallenged for almost two weeks. Mostly, he slept in taverns along the way. This allowed him to eat decent suppers and gave him an opportunity to speak with the local folks who frequented these places.
After a dozen days, though, his aimless travelling ended. He never knew the name of the small village, but the tavern was named "Golden Cockerel". He had secured a straw mattress in a small chamber that he had to share with two other travellers, and he sat with them in the guest room when new guests arrived.
Seven men, armed well and dressed richly, entered through the low door, demanding loudly for the publican. They wore harnesses and broadswords, and the most richly clothed bore a coat of arms on the vest over his breast plate.
The new guests were shown to the best rooms the tavern could boast of. They returned to the guest room soon thereafter, and the publican and his serving girl began to pile the riches of the cellar onto the newcomers' table.
Joerg judged the leader of the group to be in his late twenties. He was a strongly built man, a shade under six feet tall, and the eyes in his bearded face were taking in the other guests with a ready alertness. The eyes rested briefly on the tall youngster, before he was distracted by one of his followers.
Meanwhile, the last of the newcomers entered the guest room, obviously coming from the outhouse. He was tall, too, but his face was set in a constant scowl that made him look threatening. He looked about and found that all stools were taken. Letting his gaze sweep over the room, he looked at Joerg and nodded grimly. Approaching the sitting youngster, he growled.
"Get up from that stool, boy!"
Joerg looked up and met the gaze of the soldier.
"Who are you to give me orders?" he asked calmly, trying to control his temper.
"Get your lazy arse off that stool, you lout! I have need for it."
Joerg eyed the man coldly.
"Had you asked me politely and in a way becoming of a fellow-soldier, I would have moved to yonder bench. Now, the answer is no."
"You damned whippersnapper, I'll teach you politeness!" the soldier fumed and proceeded to unsheath his broadsword.
In a flash, Joerg jumped from his stool and gripped the hilt of his sword that had lain at his feet.
"Teach me then!" he challenged the scowling soldier.
"Ottfried! Do not breach the peace of this house!"
The sharp order came from the leader of the newcomers. The man called Ottfried hesitated but for a moment before he sheathed his sword again. It was only then that the leader noticed Joerg's size.
"My, you are a big lad, and fearless. What might be your name?"
"I am called Joerg Isebrand, Wulf Isebrand's son, Lord," Joerg answered politely. He had no quarrel with the nobleman, after all. "May I ask your Grace's name?"
A grin spread over the nobleman's face.
"Ottfried, you fool! You almost picked a fight with the Butcher of Warnesund. You are Wulf Isebrand's son, too? What is your purpose on my lands?"
Joerg knew then that this had to be the Count of Merseburg.
"My purpose, your Grace, is to get away from Hanse territory," he answered truthfully.
"Spoken like a wise man," the Count chuckled. "Are you looking for service?"
"I am, your Grace."
"I can always use men like you. Are you true?"
"That I am, lest you ask neiding's deeds of me," Joerg answered proudly.
"What say you, Hauptmann Grumm? Will he fit?" the count asked an older, bearded man at his right side.
"The Master of Arms will have a look at him; then we'll know," the captain said cautiously.
"I'll take you into my Guard, young Isebrand. Four silver guldengroschen each week, and ten extra on my birthday. Holla, Landlord! Bring forth bread and salt!"
And thus, Joerg Isebrand ate bread and salt from the Count Reinhardt's hand and pledged troth to his new lord.
The journey to Merseburg, the seat of the Count Reinhardt, was uneventful. The other armsmen treated Joerg guardedly; even the loudmouth Ottfried kept his haughtiness in check. The Count spent most of the ride talking to his other followers. They spent one more night in a tavern, but now Joerg sat at the Count's table and partook of his food.
Although his clothes were new and well made, he stood out from the rest of the group who wore the clothes of feudal vassals. Since he was in the Count's service now, he obeyed any commands coming from the Captain or his lieu tenant, a pock-marked fellow by the name of Ottmar, who was Ottfried's brother. Apparently, neither Ottmar nor Ottfried bore him ill will,
When they reached Merseburg, Hauptmann Grumm bade him follow and brought him before a smallish man of undefined age. That worthy was the Master of Arms, Ludewig.
"His Grace picked up this young lout in a roadside tavern. He has a nasty temper. Find out if he can be a guardsman!"
With that, Captain Grumm left Joerg with Ludewig. The Master of Arms studied him for a while, and then ordered him to follow. In the courtyard, Ludewig told him to drop his bundle and gave him a practice sword, picking up one himself.
For the next quarter hour, Ludewig did his best to disarm Joerg or to break through his guard and was rewarded for his efforts with two stinging blows to his upper arm and his ribcage. Panting, the older man finally stepped back.
"Who taught you fighting, youngster?"
"My father, Wulf Isebrand, did, and my rottenführer, Gernot of Brederode," Joerg answered, slightly winded.
The Master of Arms showed his surprise.
"You know Gernot? How is that old rascal?"
With a sombre face, Joerg told Ludewig of Gernot's end in the market place of Warnesund and of the revenge Joerg had exacted. Ludewig sighed.
"'Tis no end for a fine man such as Gernot," he said. "You did well, lad, to avenge him. I guess you'll fit in well with the Guard. You still have to learn horsemanship and how to behave around the nobles. There's that fellow, Engelbert, he's the head page. He'll teach you manners and such. Tomorrow, after breakfast, meet me at the stable. I'll find you a decent charger. You had better sell that farm horse of yours. It'll do you no good in the Guards."
With that, Joerg was dismissed. The quartermaster showed him a cot in one of the sleeping chambers and the way to the hall where they would have supper. Then he left Joerg to unpack and move in.
He shared the chamber with five more armsmen, privates like him. A feldweibel (sergeant), a rotund fellow named Bodo, sought him out to talk to him. Bodo commanded the bodyguard of the count, the two dozen men who stood watch over their lord and shielded him against assassins. Joerg was to serve under him, and he began to teach him the rules.
"Never speak unless spoken to by Count Reinhardt or me. Never let anyone approach the Count unless he allows it first. Always stay within two steps of His Grace. If there is a commotion, stand in front of him and shield him."
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