The Sons of Brabant: The Devil's Bible, #1

By Michael Bolan

Europe is on fire. Fuelled by religion, politics and power, war rages across the continent, pitting father against son, and brother against brother. 

In the wake of such conflict come horrific famine and deadly plagues. Rumours begin to surface of the End of Days, of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the violent Renaissance of Mankind. 

As Europe burns, betrayal and feuding rages in the Brabant family. Why does Reinald, the powerful yet dishonest Duke fear his younger siblings so? How will headstrong Leo and noble Willem outsmart their older brother, and take back what is rightfully theirs? And what of Isabella, their troublesome younger sister, whose fiery temper lands her in love and in trouble... 

Vowing to put right the wrongs of their family and bring an end to their brother's deadly plans, Willem, Leo and Isabella must chart a course through war, famine and pestilence. 

Meanwhile Reinald forms an unlikely and deadly alliance with a megalomaniac, a warmonger, and a deranged yet brilliant scientist, hell-bent on seeing their holy mission through to its grisly conclusion. 

Can the Sons of Brabant survive? Help appears from the most unlikely of places...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Bolan
• Release date: Aug 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536515855

Michael Bolan

It took Michael Bolan over two decades of running in the corporate ratrace to realise that all he actually did was tell stories. There was no Damascene revelation for Bolan which caused him to pen his first work of fiction, "The Sons of Brabant". An avid reader, he simply felt that he could do as good a job as many of the authors he read and decided to put his money where his mouth was.  Living and working in many countries left him with smatterings of a dozen languages and their stories, and his love for history focused his ideas on the Thirty Years War, the most destructive conflict that the continent has ever seen.  Now living in Prague (for the second time), Michael brings alive the twisted alleys of the 17th century and recreates the brooding darkness of a fractured Europe, where no-one was entirely sure who was fighting whom. Michael writes while liberally soused in gin, a testament to Franz de le Boë, who was mixing oil of juniper with neat spirit while the thirty Years War raged around him.

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The Sons of Brabant

Copyright: Michael Bolan

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Published: 16th February, 2015

The right of Michael Bolan to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

For Kyle and Will

It’s all your fault!

Table of Contents

What Came Before

A Chance Meeting

Trek

Home Sweet Home

The 'King' of Brabant

Hippocrates Spurned

A Time of Farewells

Bread and Circus

Return to Donegore

A Rose Amongst Thorns

Dogs of War

The Eve of Jankov

A Business-like Approach

The Voice of God

Battle is joined

Ambush

Know Thine Enemy

Aftermath

The Codex Gigas

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About the author

CHAPTER ONE

What Came Before

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Your father is dead.

But he was fine! The chirurg said he was improving! He can’t just have died! shouted Leo, youngest of the three brothers, his tousled blonde locks trembling in denial.

A week ago, their father, Duke Henry of Brabant, had been hunting, his life’s passion, when he was gored by a wild boar. The three boys had killed the boar and dressed their father’s wounds as best as they could in the middle of the old forest. By the time they had returned to the castle dragging a makeshift paillasse, the Duke had lost a lot of blood and was, perhaps blessedly, unconscious. The chirurg had attended to him, washing the wound out with raw spirits before suturing it. The medic’s prognosis had been positive, thinking that Henry’s brute strength would see him through. And yet now Henry, self-styled ‘King’ of Brabant, lay dead.

The face of the castellan was grim.

And that’s not all. He changed his will. Your brother will explain the rest.

The words carried more than their simple meaning. Willem reeled, as if his entire life had just been turned on its head. The dark-complexioned middle son shared his younger brother’s confusion, but kept a straight face.

What does he mean, ‘he changed his will’? Willem, what does he mean? And where’s Reinald? pestered Leo, as he had done since he was able to talk.

I’m afraid, younger brother, that we might well be on our own, whispered Willem as he stared into the castellan’s face. The old man had effectively run domestic operations for their father and had been one of their earliest tutors. Now the castellan wouldn’t meet Willem’s gaze, even when Willem addressed him directly, Am I right, old friend?

That’s not for me to say, young sir. The new Duke, your brother Reinald, will explain all to you. Sooner rather than later, I would assume. He wants to see you now. 

As eldest son and heir under the old system of inheritance, Reinald had sat the death watch with their father, perched uncomfortable on a hard wooden chair for several days, never one to shirk duty. He would be even colder in manner than usual; hunger and tiredness would exacerbate his overly formal attitude. Reinald had been raised as heir to the Duchy of Brabant and had devoted his life to learning the skills that would prepare him for the job. Somehow he had missed out on not only his childhood, but seemingly any joy in his life. Everything was done with a ruthless efficiency, regardless of the human cost of his decisions.

His life’s ambition was channelled into that one task – to be Duke. Or, as their father had loved to say, the true King of Brabant. Reinald had taken their father’s decision to split the Duchy into three earldoms very badly indeed, but Duke Henry was not to be swayed. Look at what’s happening! he had said. War is laying waste to cities, regions, even entire countries! And there is no end in sight. You are stronger together, as equals. Think of the stool that a peasant uses. Those three legs offer strength and stability. Three allied independent territories will offer you greater protection.

The three brothers had never truly been friends. Indeed, Willem wondered if Reinald understood what friendship was. Reinald had never demonstrated any warmth or care to his younger brothers. There had been no secret adventures, no joint games and little enough conversation. There had been a time when Leo had been closer to Reinald, but Willem put that down to circumstance, rather than friendship. As for their sister, firebrand that she was, Reinald seemed intent on forgetting that she existed. It would be up to Willem to tell Isabella of their father’s passing, a task that he dreaded with all his heart.

Come on, Leo. It’s time. Let’s see what our darling brother Reinald has cooked up for us now, shall we? I suppose he will want to boss us around as usual.

With that, Willem nodded to the castellan and strode towards the door, certain that his worst suspicions were about to be confirmed.

*****

The late Duke’s bedchamber was surprisingly warm, especially since it hadn’t felt a woman’s touch for over a decade. The walls were either painted with soft pastoral murals, or hung with intricate tapestries. The atmosphere was subdued, dozens of candles offering enough light to read. The curtains over the Great Window, however, remained firmly closed, keeping the afternoon’s sun at bay.

Reinald knelt beside the bed, their father’s hand clutched between both of his, his head bowed in prayer. He looked up when the door opened, eyes bloodshot, hair unkempt, face haggard, but quickly turned away. By way of greeting he simply said, Nice of you both to join me. Where have you been? Carousing with tavern wenches again? Scorn tinged his words, although weariness robbed them of their usual edge.

Willem bit his tongue and placed a calming hand on Leo’s shoulder. Actually, Reinald, we have been outside this chamber since before dawn. The castellan has only just now informed us of Father’s passing.

Reinald did not respond. Instead, he slowly drew himself to his feet, stretching as he did so, until his solid six-foot frame was upright. He looked grey in the flickering shadows, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. I would take it kindly, brother, his voice dripping with sarcasm, if you would address me as Your Grace.

I would be only too glad to do so, Reinald, were such the case. However, as you know, Father made arrangements for the Duchy to be divided into three equal parts upon his death and for each of us to rule one part as Earls. So we are equals. As such, the correct formal address would simply be My Lord. Although you’re not displaying much grace with Father lying cold in bed beside you! But that’s typical of you, isn’t it? More interested in what’s supposed to be right than what actually is!

Willem could feel his gorge rising; it pained him to be arguing like this at such a time. Taking a deep breath, he changed tack, offering a diplomatic resolution to the burgeoning quarrel. Let’s retire to Father’s study and discuss the plans for the next couple of days with his small council. And we need to tell Bella. She should hear it from one of us, not from some kitchen maid.

Reinald stiffened, then sighed. You’re right, of course, but let’s do that now. There are changes of which you must be made aware. Father altered his will, in the presence of witnesses. There will be no earldoms, the Duchy will remain intact. He slowly raised his hand, so that Willem and Leopold could both see the ducal ring on his finger. And you will address me as Your Grace.

*****

He’s dead, isn’t he? I can tell. They’re gossiping about something. There’s such excitement everywhere. Look at them. You can almost see the news moving across the courtyard. She rested her hand lightly on the cold stone of the windowsill, her eyes fixed on the scene below. Oh Willem, tell me I’m wrong, please... 

Willem looked at his sister as she looked out the window of her bedchamber. High up in the main keep of Leuven castle, she could watch the activities of many of the townsfolk. Unusually, Isabella had not been denied the same education as her brothers and had a better grasp of burgher politics than they did. She also had the gift of perception, able to quickly understand a situation, even with few concrete facts. Her lithe frame and childish tumbling curls belied a maturity beyond her years.

How did you know it was me? he asked, his confusion apparent. She was still staring intently at the people below.

Who else was it going to be? she sighed, turning to face Willem. Reinald has the grace of a dungheap and would prefer it if I simply ceased to exist. And Leo, God bless him, is more suited to action than to words. He would try and tell me, but would get all confused and I’d have to drag it out of him. And none of the servants would dare approach me, regardless of the fact that they practically raised us. But you, you would want me to hear the news directly. So tell me, Willem, who else would it be? Who else would come to tell me that my father is dead, that I’m now an orphan?

Willem sighed. He loved his sister, as she reminded them all so much of their mother. Sometimes, however, her insight could be downright annoying.

You’re right. On all counts. Father’s dead. I can’t paint a nice face on it - he’s gone. It doesn’t make sense. The chirurg said that the wound was clear of infection and that he was gaining strength. I don’t understand. Willem looked at his feet, afraid to give voice to the thoughts which were troubling him. It’s almost as if someone or something interfered with the healing process. Isabella looked up sharply from the window, curls bouncing as she snapped her head round to face him. But that’s beside the point. What’s more important is that the will was changed and Reinald is Duke. What that means for the rest of us, I can’t tell. We are to meet with the small council within the hour. You are invited to join us in Father’s study. He moved across the room and laid his hand on her shoulder sympathetically. And Bella, I’m sorry. I know what he meant to you. To all of us.

Isabella jerked free of his touch. All of us apart from Reinald, you mean? He has never cared a whit about anyone or anything in his entire life. She turned to finally look at her brother, her eyes red with tears which he hadn’t heard in her voice. I have a bad feeling about this, Willem. It’s not going to end well. I’d better get ready, if I have been graciously invited to join the dignitaries. I’ll see you downstairs.

Willem could feel her pain, but had no words of comfort for her, so he just bowed his head and turned to the door. As he left her chambers, he wondered why he didn’t feel more pain at his own loss and why her parting words resonated so strongly with his own feelings of dread.

*****

There were already six in the room when Willem arrived in the company of his younger brother and sister. They all stood, as there were no chairs in the room: Duke Henry had believed it kept meetings short and keep arguments to a minimum. The study was gloomily oppressive, one wall entirely lined with book-filled shelves and an ornate desk in the corner. Dust motes flickered in the light from the narrow leaded windows.

Reinald stood in the corner by the window, looking better than earlier, having washed and changed his clothes. The old castellan stood next to the chirurg, Denys, the two men deep in quiet conversation. The mayor of Leuven and Ferdinand van Boisschot, the Chancellor of Brabant, stood stiffly beside one another, their heads lowered respectfully in recognition of the Duke’s passing. The two men were considered leading intellects and were proponents of the burgeoning natural philosophy movement. Duke Henry had loved to surround himself with men of learning and had been adamant that his sons follow in his footsteps.

One man, however, stood apart from the others, casting a shadow across the study. Corneille Janssens was also a professor at the university, but had amassed a strong following across Europe with his anti-Jesuit, anti-everyone-else brand of Catholicism. He was a dark man, both in his appearance and character, and was fascinated with the malevolent side of Christian mysticism. Some whispered that he held converse with the Devil himself. Willem shuddered; he felt Janssens was one of the few truly evil people he had ever encountered. For Reinald to have allied himself with Janssens spoke ill for the future.

Willem. Leopold. Isabella. Come in. We have much to discuss. Reinald was as blunt as ever.

What’s he doing here? asked Isabella coldly, her dark eyes flashing suspiciously at Janssens. He was never a member of Father’s council. And where’s Lastage?

My Lord Janssens is here because I have invited him to join my advisors, replied Reinald. And Lastage...? Well, you know Lastage. He’s not exactly a law-abiding citizen, for all of his airs and graces. I believe the militia is taking him into custody as we speak.

Reinald did have a point, thought Willem wryly. At first glance, Lastage was a successful businessman, a member of the Burgher Council, but many questioned the legitimacy of his commercial activities. While nothing was ever proven, Willem’s own suspicions about the breadth of Lastage’s reach across the city, indeed across the entire Duchy, had been confirmed a long time ago. For a businessman, he was exceedingly well-informed about current events. Moreover seemed to be able to procure anything with ease; for the right price, of course. Duke Henry had been aware of this, but had still chosen to accept advice from the man, keeping a close counsel with possibly the biggest criminal in all of Brabant.

But that’s irrelevant, continued Reinald. Van Boisschot, the will, if you please.

The chancellor deftly unrolled an ornate parchment scroll and cleared his throat. A thin, almost comically studious man, van Boisschot had a nasal, penetrating voice, well-suited to the argument and debate that made up his former function as lawyer and auditor-general. Since his elevation to the nobility, he had provided sage advice to Duke Henry and had performed excellent diplomatic service, first in London, then in Paris.

"Before God the Highest and in the presence of notarial witness, being of sound mind, I do solemnly declare,

All lands, titles, and estates in my possession shall pass to my eldest son and heir, Reinald, who shall reign as first of that name, to do with as he sees fit.

Adequate provision shall be made for my other sons Willem and Leopold, and their progeny, including such titles and positions at court as are deemed fitting for the sons of a Duke. For my daughter Isabella, a dowry shall be set aside, valued at no less than sixty thousand pieces of silver.

Provision shall also be made for the construction of a new monastical establishment, a seat of learning at Tervuren, ancient birthplace of our family, under the management of Bishop Cornelius Jansenius.

Executor to this will and testament shall be my chancellor, Ferdinand van Boisschot, who has given me great counsel over the years and has earned my heartfelt trust.

Set this day by my hand and seal, Jan Henry Sigismund, XXIV Duke of Brabant."

Van Boisschot continued, looking directly at Willem and Leo, It’s all here and follows the correct protocols. Duke Henry was lucid until the end and the will was signed in the presence of his son and heir, witnessed by Bishop Janssens. I think he realised the folly of his previous plans. The chancellor’s eyes were troubled, but his face was professionally smooth.     

Willem fought to suppress his anger. But he was so convinced of the value of the three separate Earldoms! He knew that it would allow us to work together, yet succeed in our individual ways. He put too much effort into making sure it would work. It was his focus for years. He wouldn’t recant on that! he shouted. Leo and Isabella stared at their eldest brother, similarly shocked by the scale of their father’s volte-face.  

Reinald smiled thinly. "Well, he obviously did, little brother. Before his spirit fled, he spoke to me at length of desire for a strong Brabant, a united Brabant, with me as me sole heir. 

But fear not, Father’s instructions are clear. You will both be settled with lands and titles and will always have a place at my court. You will be rich and free to follow your heart’s cares. And you, Isabella, have a dowry large enough to attract serious suitors. Reinald’s cold eyes glinted. "Not that that will change your shrewish attitudes, I would assume.

And his gracious gift to the Church will ensure that intercession is made at the highest levels on behalf of his soul. He will be welcomed into Heaven as an honoured guest, concluded Reinald piously.

A sombre voice broke the seething tension in the room. It is as your brother says, young Willem. Your father was a sinner, as are we all, but he recognised his crimes before the end and saw fit to make recompense. Rest assured that Mother Church looks after her pious children. Your father’s rapid deterioration scared him and the fact that modern medicine could do nothing to save him reaffirmed his deep religious conviction. He will be a Knight of Heaven.

Willem turned to stare at Janssens. I wonder, priest, do your shallow sentiments belie a secret satisfaction? You stand to gain much from my Father’s death. Perhaps you can offer an explanation of how our father, who was recovering from his wounds, suddenly succumbed? Willem took a step closer to the bishop. How much is a new monastery worth these days? Wealth, prestige, power – these seem very earthly things for a man of the cloth.

All parties gasped. To even to hint at foul play with such a senior cleric was tantamount to heresy. Turning to face his older brother, Willem raged on.

"And you, Your Grace. Isn’t it convenient that you inherit everything and we are left hanging on your coat-tails. You were always ambitious to the point of greed. I wouldn’t put it past you to..."

Enough! shouted Reinald. You go too far, boy, brother or not! You cannot simply accuse people of ill deeds because things haven’t gone your way! Apologise at once and we will put this down to emotion at this trying time.

Apologise? Apologise? For what? For speaking my mind? I will have none of this. None of your fake generosity or pious charity. I hope the Duchy crumbles around you. The walls of Leuven will fall before I set foot within them. In fact, I may bring them down myself! With that, Willem turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a sea of stunned faces.

It was Isabella who broke the ensuing silence. I assume, dear brother, that I am to be sold off for political gain? After all, with a dowry of that size, you can probably bag yourself a prince as a brother-in-law. When no answer was forthcoming, she simply gathered her skirts and strode indignantly out of the study.

Reinald turned to Leo. Well, brother, it seems your lands and titles have grown already. You will be an important man. A rich man.

Leo was used to being patronised by his elder brother; by most people, for that matter. I must beg your leave, Your Grace, and decline your kind offer. You see, in my observation, it is a man’s spirit and his actions which make him important or otherwise, and a man’s wealth is best measured in friendship and experience. I care not for lands and titles. Being purchased for thirty pieces of silver didn’t work out too well for Iscariot – why should it prove better for me? I shall not burden you, or the Duchy, with my presence either, but shall find my own fortune. 

His departure left the council shocked, not so much by that fact that he had chosen to follow his siblings, as by the eloquence with which he had expressed himself.

*****

Dusk softened the stone walls of the castle as a chandler’s boy lit the torches ensconced on the city walls. Few folk were on the streets, most were safely at home at the end of a normal day. Some were saddened by the news of Henry’s demise, some indifferent, but no-one was fully aware of its ramifications.

The brothers met at the rear door of the castle armoury, having helped themselves to provisions, arms and substantial coinage from the petty coffers. None of this would have been possible without the help of Deventer, the castellan, who held the purse strings for the castle.

Are you sure you won’t reconsider, young sirs? Is this not just pride talking?

Leo looked saddened. Old friend, you have spent as much time with us as any one person. Did you ever know Willem to do anything that wasn’t right? I don’t mean what other people think is right, I mean what is right. And I, as ever, will follow him. God’s truth, it saves me from thinking for myself, he added with a wistful smile. Willem said nothing, not rising to the teasing tone in his younger brother’s voice. He was staring down the alley into the shadows the torches had not yet lit. The others followed his gaze.

Come, brother, there’s nothing there. Reinald is too busy to care where we are, chided Leo. He moved to turn his horse away, but Willem held up his hand, fist clenched. The brothers had long communicated using hand signals when hunting and Leo froze when he saw it.

You might as well come out, whoever you are. I could always come and get you, threatened Willem, still staring down the alleyway.

A silvery peal of laughter greeted the menacing tone of his voice. And when could you ever catch me, Will, on horseback or on foot? Slowly the shadows coalesced into the form of Isabella, garbed in a soft grey cape, perched atop her favourite mare, with another horse behind her, packed for travel.

I might have known it was you. You seem in a good mood. Going somewhere?

I am. Are you coming with me? laughed Isabella. I’m leaving behind the thought of being sold as a broodmare and am going to take my chances on the road. I have many acquaintances across Brabant and beyond; I have a few skills and I figure I can probably look after myself. She smiled. For the first time in my life, I can make my own decisions.  She turned her horse towards the castle’s postern gate and looked back over her shoulder. So, my favourite brother dunces, are you coming with me?

Leo looked at Willem with a smile. As the youngest brother, the burdens of responsibility had always sat lightly on him. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Willem.

Willem looked back, his eyes clouded. He dropped his gaze to the old castellan. Go with God, old friend. Look after yourself and those that we hold dear. Shaking his head, his face broke into a smile. As he turned his horse to follow his brother and sister, he laughed. Dear Sister, Heaven help the man who stands in your way. Or the one who wins your heart! Whipping his horse’s reins, he cantered past them and shouted, Let the devil take the hindmost!

CHAPTER TWO

A Chance Meeting

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Mist clung tenaciously to the floor of the ravine, a carpet of smoke that seemed to swallow all sound. The early morning sun had yet to penetrate the tree cover overhead, leaving the twists and turns of the narrow valley full of foreboding darkness.

Willem knew they were in there, both of them. He and Leo had been tracking the boars for two days now, following their path across several mountain ridges and down into the great primeval forest that still blanketed much of the Ardenne region. They were both hungry, as were all their men. War had ravaged much of Europe, leaving vast areas barren, fields ploughed with the blood and bones of entire armies. And still the fighting continued. Or at least it would, if Willem could continue to feed and clothe his men and procure them enough work at the right price. Which was why he found himself, crouched on the lip of a narrow ravine, soaked to the skin, watching for when the sun’s rays would outline the two sows he knew were trapped in the blind ravine.

Leo lay in a similar position about fifty yards away, on the other side of the ravine. As if he had heard his brother, Leo looked up. It was still difficult to see any more than the vague shape of Willem’s body, but he could see the hand raised and noted Willem’s