Chapter Fifteen

Winter 1586 A.D.

The old god’s Intervention

Clifford van Weir knew the most distressing event would be dealing with the horrific consequences of the bloody battle. The once picturesque fields were prominently scarred with the aftermath of war. Those fields, wrestled from the wetlands by the toil of residents, were too important agriculturally to become a haphazard resting place for dead men. The Baron knew the subsequent chore of removing the dead and dying must begin immediately. Knowing his people, he suspected his soldiers would have help with that grim chore. The sound of the battle and the eerie silence that followed the struggle had attracted local citizens, some who arrived from the town even before the enemy’s defeat. Those civilians had inadvertently witnessed the slaughter. They had not come out of curiosity, or plunder, as other populations did following such climaxes in medieval warfare; they came out of concern for the welfare of fathers, husbands and sons who participated in the bloodletting. The earliest arrivals actually observed the snow-coated fields being showered red with blood and body parts of the enemy and their own relatives. All were shocked by the brutal reality of war. Regrettably, some saw a relative or neighbor die, while others were only now discovering the disfigured body of someone they cherished. They would never forget the grotesque manner the men on both sides had met their fate. These people saw firsthand the butchery that could be unleashed by a metal ball or sharpened iron blade used in anger These people would never forget a single detail. If they had been patriotic yesterday, they had seen enough today, to make the very idea of a Dutch “victory” meaningless. Burying a body or pieces of a body you hardly recognize, does that, to even the most partisan of men and women.

The Baron anticipated his worst losses would be within the thin line of infantry, but was not surprised, as events unfolded, that many brave Frisians and his own fearless horsemen had taken so many casualties. He was grateful that his valiant son, who gallantly led his small troop into battle, survived. He hoped Jesus and the old gods would bless all the brave men who had fallen, particularly those who rode to their deaths with Jon and had so willingly ridden with him since the endless war began. Despite the hidden stakes, the spear-tipped barricades, the accurate canon fire, and the awesome volleys of arrows, the thin line of infantry had often been breached by small groups of determined enemy horsemen. The brave farmers and tradesmen used spears, axes, knives, and their bare hands to kill those intruders. Most of the footmen managed to avoid the lances and somehow unhorse the fiercest riders in Europe. They did not falter, they did not run, and many had willingly sacrificed themselves as they swarmed as bees upon each horse and rider who reached their line. The Baron expected that courageous behavior; their ancestors had done similar deeds for almost eternity. Yet, he wondered if ordinarily men could be asked to do such deeds a second or third or fourth time. He knew the battle for the Droger Land would continue beyond this day.

As the conflict subsided, Clifford directed the archers within the walls, who were detached from the most brutal violence, to help deal with the wounded. The local people needed no command. They were already assisting the injured or carrying home the precious remains of loved ones. Their presence allowed the bowmen to concentrate their care on the wounded allies. Many brave men from places like Amsterdam and Frisia had paid a high price for victory.

The invaders were treated quite differently. Their fate was sealed when the Spanish forces executed entire Dutch populations earlier in the war. The Baron watched as his victorious soldiers systematically put the enemy wounded to the sword and stripped the bodies of weapons which the Baron had also ordered collected. Once that was done, the soldiers and even the civilians were free to loot everything else. Since armor and clothing had value, the German corpses quickly lay naked in the blood-drenched fields, even as their comrades were still being slaughtered at the causeway. When that massacre finally ended, the Baron dispatched Karl and his men to advance down the doomed roadway. Karl pursued those who had escaped the logjam of death, killing stragglers and capturing abandoned military supplies. The chase ended three miles into the swamp when some wily German veterans used lamp oil to set parts of the causeway afire behind them. The fire effectively blocked further pursuit but left many of their own comrades to their fate on the wrong side of the flames. Seeing the smoke from the burning causeway, the Baron sent the reserve infantry to collect whatever supplies Karl’s men had secured. While completing the task they came upon pockets of Germans, waist deep in freezing water who offered little resistance. They were all slain and their bodies were left to rot in the swamp. That night, by torchlight, the infantry began dismantling the section of the causeway now in Dutch hands. The Baron ordered the planks and timbers carried to the mainland. He used the wood to make a gigantic funeral pyre upon which the bodies of more than a thousand enemy soldiers were randomly piled. The carcasses of dead horses were added to the pile. The Baron ordered Prince Herman Lutwaff’s body unceremoniously thrown on the top of that gruesome mound. The ashes of these invaders would forever fertilize these fields after the funeral pyre was ignited. The flames would tell the old gods and any future enemies that the Van Weirs would take their just revenge.

Meanwhile, the remaining Germanic commander, Count Victor Alschultz, was competently dealing with his own misfortune. He never expected to meet a fresh water beggar fleet with such firepower. This tenacious type of Dutch seamanship had previously been reserved for the high seas. It was only the steadfastness of his courageous veterans that had driven them off. He ordered the construction of earthen works on Karl’s Isle: strong walls that would protect his men from cannon fire. When the walls neared completion, he ordered his soldiers to build shelters, for the weather was turning colder and he had no intention of retreating. He understood the conquest would take longer than expected. Under the cover of darkness, his few remaining boats began bringing reinforcements and supplies across the strait. He used the isle for his main encampment and the stone meeting hall became his headquarters. After two peaceful days passed, without the return of the demon gunboats, he ordered his men to reconnoiter the nearest settlements. Soon his scouts reported that all the outlying islands were abandoned. Alschultz ordered his men to meticulously occupy a new settlement each night. When Werner’s soldiers arrived in numbers, he used their boats to deliver the men and munitions needed to establish a strong military presence on each settlement island. Count Alschultz would not withdraw to Germany. In his long career, he had suffered military setbacks, but had never lost a campaign. He sent a rather brazen message to Count Parma in Antwerp, telling him of his “great victory.” He claimed his troops had destroy or driven off a great fleet and wrote Parma of a fictitious storming of the strong fortifications found on Karl’s Isle. He informed Parma that he put the imaginary Dutch garrison to the sword. He requested re-supply and reinforcements while sending a less laudatory message to Lutwaff, warning him of the power of the remaining Dutch gunboats. It was three days later his tired dispatch rider returned with the letter unopened. By then, Alschultz knew Lutwaff could only correspond with the devil himself. The Count learned of the calamity from a few survivors who stole a farmer’s canoe to make their escape. His rider told him Lutwaff’s infantry contingent was intact and awaiting instructions from anyone of higher authority. This time, Alschultz began a hasty journey to a dead commander‘s encampment. He hoped to rally the troops he found as was done with Werner’s soldiers. The three columns would become a single army bent on revenge and would be under his sole command. He would gather and nurture this huge force patiently, waiting until the winter cold froze Lake Derick. The solidified lake would become an unobstructed highway to the mainland and the ice would make the Dutch gunboats, all but useless.

As Alschultz journeyed to Lutwaff’s camp, the Baron was finding the victories could lead to the loss of his homeland. The disease of overconfidence had infected the army and he was forced to assemble his men on the common green to bid farewell to many of his volunteers. Until this battle, the war with Spain was confined to sieges of towns and cities or guerrilla warfare. This was the first time a Dutch army had stood and fought the enemy on open ground. They had fought gallantly, maybe too gallantly, for his entire army thought they had won the war and many volunteers felt it was time to return home. The Baron knew that was not the case. Jon’s boatswain had returned two of the four remaining gunboats to service and used them to scout the enemy’s activities. The boatswain had used his artistic talents to sketch some of the fortifications being built. His drawings along with the observations of the gypsies, gave the Baron an accurate picture of the situation on the islands. There would be no immediate attack on the mainland but the settlements were being occupied for the long term. The invaders were recovering from the serious blows his forces had dealt them and were preparing for a new offensive, and the Baron was being forced to bid farewell to most of his allies.

Despite his best arguments, the bulk of volunteers from places like Amsterdam and Frisia had decided to return to their homes. All pledged to return if the conflict re-ignited but most thought the enemy beaten. With two enemy commanders dead, and three great Dutch victories, all thought the enemy lacked the resolve to continue the fight. Good men like the Magistrate and many Friesian Lords felt the Germans would withdraw because of the impossible logistics of keeping their forces supplied. The departure of allies, combined with the losses of many local men in battle, left the army seriously undermanned. If the enemy didn’t leave on their own, the Baron had no way of making them go, and little hope of stopping them when they decided to continue their advance. Yet Karl had convinced him “if for no other reason than family honor; no matter what his apprehensions; he must gather the army one last time to properly salute their departing allies with a send-off their heroic service deserved.” As the last of those departing contingents, the Clover Militia, was riding away, the Baron had decided to also allow his local men to rest and recover in their homes but not before candidly addressing the real danger. The gods of his forefathers were on his mind that morning. He wanted again to remind the old gods of the covenant.

On 1 December 1585, The Baron Clifford van Weir spoke to the assembled army in a fatherly tone, “Men of the Droger Land, it is still a time for vigilance, but your courage has kept our homeland safe for the moment. Go home to your families, celebrate your victory, and mourn the loss of our friends and neighbors. When you hear the signal cannon, rally to me, for the enemy across the lake will surely visit us again this winter.” Then, he shocked his Calvinist and Catholic soldiers with his tone, one best associated with a prayer: “The ancient gods of our ancestors will provide whatever we need to maintain the freedom of our land. The ancient gods will keep the covenant made fifteen hundred years ago, but we must all remind them of that eternal pledge.” The ranks of his men stirred because it sounded as if the Great Lord was asking his Christian solders to pray to someone other than Jesus Christ, but the Baron caught himself and added, “Ask those ancient gods to call upon the Son of Highest God, Jesus Christ to assist us.”

It was that same day, the First of December, when Count Alschultz arrived at Lutwaff’s encampment, somewhere midway between a German State and the turnip fields. To his delight he found anything but a defeated army. The cavalrymen, who had survived the fiasco at the turnip fields, had already fled the encampment fearing the wrath of any new commander. The infantry, to a man, felt that even one company of pike men could have averted the disaster by screening the withdrawal at the causeway. Yet the thirty-five hundred infantrymen felt they were excluded from the battle. They believed the defeat belonged to Prince Lutwaff and his cavalrymen, not to them. They demanded the campaign continue and had already proven their determination to Alschultz. In the absence of any commander, they had guarded the camp’s supplies of food and munitions, forcing the disgraced surviving horsemen and others who fled, to leave for home hungry and empty handed. A quick survey by Alschultz found enough food to feed the entire combined army until he felt the Droger Land could be conquered. He was tempted to immediately lead his new enthusiastic command to Karl’s Isle, but decided he needed a good night’s rest; it had begun to rain heavily and the Count hoped it would help remove the coatings of ice and snow that had already accumulated on all the roadways.

As historical records show, the Little Ice Age brought not only cooler but more erratic weather to Northern Europe. The rain that began that day became part of one of the most unusual December weather patterns ever recorded in the Netherlands. Such conditions were last seen when the Saxons were forced, by never ending downpours, to flee with their entire populations to England. The Dutch were already adapting to fouler weather; only fifteen years before, in 1570, all of the Netherlands had suffered the “All Saints Flood.” It had been a great storm that came out of the North Sea on All Saints Day and drowned tens of thousands of people. Even Walled cities like Amsterdam and Muyden were flooded. This December’s weather would be different; no massive storm, only rain, endless rain.

Some weather historians might point out, that the recent subzero months of December at the time, reverted to the more temperate climate that preceded the Little Ice Age. During the daylight hours the temperatures always hovered but a degree above freezing and barely plummeted below freezing at night. Meteorologists tell us Holland’s normal weather, like England’s, is influenced by the south-western trade winds following the Gulf Stream currents but it changed that December of 1585. The skies permanently darkened with grey clouds and the rain oddly fell, each and every hour, of each and every day. It was an occurrence that medieval people would have considered the will of God. Today we classify rain as light, moderate, or heavy, but that sheer endless amount of liquid precipitation defies these normal classifications. Noah and his Ark would have been the last to have been acquainted with such rain. Even more extraordinary, the area hardest hit by the deluge was the Great Swamp that divided Holland from Germany.

Within days, the roadways that both Alschultz and Lutwaff had built with the help of Spanish engineers were impassible for supply wagons. After a few more days of rain, they were impassable for any man or beast. The Germans tried using their boats to traverse parts of the causeway constructed too near the swamp floor but they had too few to keep the army supplied. To make matters worse “teardrop-shaped” raindrops by day now became freezing rain and hail each night, coating everything with an icy glaze as the water level continued to rise. On the mainland, the Baron was receiving reports that neither new enemy troops nor supplies were arriving because of the massive flooding. The Baron, after long conversations with his brother, decided to make the enemy’s positions even more tenuous. He and Karl had already decided to block the entrance way to the canal that took the excess water across the width of the Droger Land. Both knew if lake water no longer filtered through the marshes to the sea, the levels of water in the swamp would rise even higher but they also knew the settlements and parts of the mainland would also flood. Both had faith their people would again reclaim the saturated land. They also knew he could not replace the lives lost in an unnecessary defense of the homeland by force of arms. Those lives could never be reclaimed.

As commanded, the Flemish villagers sealed the canal’s entrance way. The walls built for protection from an enemy assault now protected their village from the rising water levels. The same was true for the other village within its stone walls. The islands had no such protection and the raising water flooded everything, including all of the recently built enemy encampments and fortifications. The faster raising water level also forced the evacuation of farm families along the banks of the mainland, but these patriotic people utter not a single word of complaint. They understood the need to sacrifice their homes and thought it but a small price to pay to rid the land of invaders. By the third week in December, Alschultz was struggling to ferry his hungry and water-logged troop’s home to Germany. Even a determined general like Count Alschultz knew his first responsibility was to save his army. It would not be a simple task. With too few boats, he ordered rafts built to ferry his troops. That meant trees had to be downed while men stood in freezing water reaching up to their armpits. Sickness, hypothermia, and death were the price these ax men paid so others could escape.

By early spring, the German soldiers who survived the massive flood had joined Parma’s army in the South, and the canal was reopened. Lake Derick swiftly returned to its normal level. To the delight of the farmers, they found the flooding had deposited a layer of beneficial silt, which regenerated agricultural yields for years to come. That extra layer of river stone, which Sir Wilhelm Wind had demanded, a century before, had held the bulk of the topsoil in place on the islands. Even with the massive flooding, the precious soil had not returned to the swamp. Soon planting began on the islands and on the mainland shoreline. By the end of that first summer, the industrious farmers were replanting orchards and harvesting an abundance of grain and vegetable crops from the once-flooded fields. It would be a few years before all the houses and barns were rebuilt.

* * * *

The Baron told everyone, particularly Jon, Karl, Henri, and Gustoff, that the ancient gods had sent the rain, keeping the commitment made over fifteen hundred years ago. His offer of proof was the fact that there had been so little lasting damage. On the islands, the rain had actually saved many of the homes and barns when the bitter Germans tried to torch them in their retreat. Some residents began to agree with their Great Lord that the old gods had indeed been partly responsible. Most, with a stronger Christian fervor, assumed that Jesus had rendered the most important support. Lord Karl, a good Calvinist, like many of his brethren, kept his tongue, but felt privately that an all-powerful Jesus had probably played the major role in their redemption and felt the rain was preordained. Jon and Gustoff wisely just remained silent. The only contrary opinion, or at least the only person willing to loudly argue with Clifford, was Henri. He had recovered from his gunshot wound and for reasons unknown to the van Weirs, added a touch of cockiness to his personality. He felt nature had much more to do with the weather conditions than any new God or even any ancient god and often said so.

Henri’s new swagger had everything to do with Reylana. She and Kahili have given him the kind of care that allowed him to survive his serious wound and he truly appreciated the way they nursed him to health. Except for the loss of some arm strength, Henri was feeling fit and anxious to return to his shipyard. He meant to keep a commitment he had made to Teewes, his oldest son that kept him safe and away from the battlefield. At the time, Henri committed to build a new warship because it was the only way he could convince Teewes to leave before the actual fighting began. Having seen one of the new English warships, Teewes thought they could build an even more powerful version, and his brother Petrus, who had his mother’s gift for finance, was intent on finding the guilders to fund the project.

It was Reylana’s folly, a few days following Henri’s injury, which modified his personality. She had a moment of weakness, convinced that Henri was dying, and felt obligated to tell Henri what she hid from him about her departure from Spain. She disclosed the bastard Inquisitionist’s and other corrupted royal officials who ransacked her home found more than they expected. Besides her father’s jewels, in another part of the hacienda, where her grandfather resided, they found a wooden chest. It was filled with ancient scrolls, all written in Hebrew. The cache clearly indicated her family were or had once been Jewish. There could be no other reason that her family patriarchs, over two hundred years, felt obligated to keep and protect the scrolls. Those ancient Hebrew writings would have provided spectacular evidence at a show trial and justify some of the other more heinous activities of these Inquisitors and their allies. Yet the fools had killed everyone and were only left with a thirteen year old girl to bring to trial. A young girl being protected by a convent’s devout Mother Superior who had family ties to the King. Initially, an agreement was reached between the nun and the Inquisitors that Reylana could be questioned, without torture, and within the confines of the convent’s meditation room. Even in her conversation with Henri, Reylana would hide the horrific experiences she had in a small room with those Inquisitors. These men of God did unspeakable things to her. Yet she only felt obliged, for some reason, to tell her husband she could be Jewish. Reylana could not have chosen a worse time to make the disclosure.

Henri too thought he might be dying and was revisiting his own thoughts about things like the existence of God. He had come face-to-face with that final quandary met by most agnostics and atheists when dying. If a God does not exist on the day of one’s death, then tomorrow, there will be no tomorrow. The timing of Reylana’s disclosure challenged the sincerity of the feelings he held about all religions. It angered him that his wife would think he would love her less, because over two hundred years ago, an ancestor she had never known, had worshipped God in a synagogue rather than a church. The tardiness of what seemed to Henri, an ancient tale from Valencia, challenged Henri’s perception about his own integrity. Did Reylana think she had married a dishonest person? Henri became infuriated that Reylana would have doubts. He did not want to be reminded of his own doubts at this time and under these circumstances. He feared having second thoughts about issues he thought he settled within his own mind decades ago.

Henri couldn’t help himself so he began to chastise Reylana for being a “silly woman” who thought his love so shallow that she kept this meaningless revelation from him. He became overly defensive and told her that after all their years of marriage she should know his feelings about such matters. He yelled at her that he always suspected that possibility, when so many prominent Jews befriended them. He declared that he always wondered if at least their Jewish friends suspected her family had been followers of David. He scornfully told her he really did not care about such things as Reylana fled the room in tears. So, for the next few weeks, husband and wife had a strained relationship forcing Kahili into the role of intermediary. As Henri mended, his less-angry old self began to return and one day he spontaneously slapped Reylana on her behind and said, “Woman, don’t tell our sons what you told me about your family’s roots in Valencia, you know what a Rabbi would do to our three “little” boys!” Soon their relationship returned to normal but they were both very careful to never again discuss Reylana’ family’s roots.

That spring, the Baron, Lord Karl, and Henri often secluded themselves in Henri’s room, lifting pewter cups and pondering the future. The Venetian Ambassador in France had dispatched a rider to inform Jon and his father that Maria had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Soon after they received a letter from Maria that she had consulted the stars and appropriately named the baby Fredrick in honor of Jon’s maternal grandfather. The Van Weirs liked the name and were growing anxious to meet Maria and behold the Droger Land’s newest young lord.

The year 1586 had nearly passed without the imminent threat of bloodshed. It was a quiet, peaceful year for the Droger Land and most of the Dutch Republic. The Spanish King was fixated on the ever-growing English threat. He was obsessed with invading that island nation, removing Queen Elizabeth, and restoring a Catholic to her throne. Because of the preparation for the invasion, Spain had few military resources available for the war against the Dutch. Phillip’s obsession was giving the Dutch Republic what it needed most, the good gift of time. The Republic needed time to consolidate borders, to raise a larger military and of paramount importance, to find a leader who could unite the people.

It was in late September, when a fleet of three Venetian warships, larger but strikingly similar to Abrahams Youngest Son, arrived in Amsterdam. Two were flying the flag of the Venetian Lion. The third ship had a simple green banner embodied with an oak tree and a sword attached to its topmast. On the quarterdeck was a very beautiful young woman standing beside Venice’s first Ambassador to the new Republic. She held the hand of a small child. The toddler, Fredrick, was destined to become another Great Lord of the Droger Land.