Luther and Katharina (25 page)

She smiled at his teasing. “You're a wise man, Herr Doctor.”

“Then apparently my dealings with wayward nuns has been to my benefit as I'm all the wiser for it.”

“Perhaps that's why God created women in the first place,” she jested in return. “Without women to direct the male species and keep them in line, men are all too apt to wander in their own foolishness.”

At her quip Jonas guffawed and slapped Doctor Luther on the back. “She put you in your place, old man.”

Luther grinned and elbowed his friend back. For a moment they were almost like two overgrown schoolboys teasing each other.

With a final shove at Jonas, Luther beamed down at her. “So what is it you really need, Katharina? You certainly haven't stopped me simply to proclaim the foolishness of my gender.”

She hesitated, but Margaret nudged her from behind. “I want to thank you.”

Standing on the stairs above Doctor Luther, Melanchthon shared none of his companions' humor. Although his expression was softer than the darker, more aristocratic Jonas, something in his eyes warned her not to encourage Doctor Luther further.

She wanted to order Melanchthon to continue on his way, but she bit her tongue and focused on Doctor Luther. “Thank you for writing a letter to Jerome.”

His smile vanished. The light in his eyes disappeared, and coldness filled the space between them. “You're welcome. Now we'll have to pray diligently that he finally comes, won't we?”

The sudden change in his tone slapped her, taking her by surprise, filling her with unexpected hurt. She stared at him, not knowing how to respond.

He gave her a curt nod, then he spun and started up the steps again.

Margaret pushed her.

“Wait!” Katharina called after him.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes shuttered, the window to his feelings closed.

Confusion rendered her speechless for a brief moment. He was the one who'd written the letter to Jerome. Why would a simple word of thanks anger him?

“Please ask him.” Margaret's desperate whisper prodded her.

She forced herself to meet Doctor Luther's sharp gaze. “A mistaken rumor is spreading about Margaret's future—something about an arranged marriage to a man from Brunswick.”

“The arrangement isn't a rumor or a mistake.”

“It most certainly is.”

Doctor Luther descended a step. He towered above her like an imposing fortress on a hillside. “Margaret's a very fortunate woman. Dietrich von Garssenbuttel is an aristocrat sympathetic to our cause. His wife recently died, and he's in need of a mother for his young children.”

“She won't marry a complete stranger.”

“She has no choice.” He glared at her. “She must marry. And since she's still my responsibility, I've made the arrangements. They're final.”

Margaret's trembling fingers poked Katharina's back, prodding her to continue. “You've not had the decency to consider her desires. You must take her choice of a marriage partner into consideration first.”

“Just who is the lucky man?”

“You.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Let me make this very clear. I will never get married. Never.”

The finality of his words slid down the stairs and punched Katharina in the stomach. “But Margaret—”

“Never.” His voice was a low growl.

“You preach of the goodness and naturalness of marriage. You encourage nuns and monks to forsake celibacy. But you yourself are unwilling to entertain the slightest possibility of such, even to a woman as kind and caring as Margaret?”

He opened his mouth as if to give her a rebuttal but then clamped his lips shut. With a shake of his head, he turned and started up the stairway again. “Margaret will marry Garssenbuttel,” he called, a measure of sadness in his voice that Katharina didn't understand. “Accept it.”

Jonas followed his friend. But Melanchthon shuffled his feet for a moment before addressing Margaret kindly but firmly. “Rest assured, there's no fault with you, Fräulein. If Doctor Luther were in a position to take a wife, you'd be a fine candidate. However, he's too busy right now, and marriage would only be a distraction from the greater purposes he's attempting to accomplish at this critical time. I hope you understand.”

Margaret hung her head resignedly. But Katharina's heart stubbornly refused to concede.

“T
he peasants' demands have merit.” Luther rubbed his frigid hands together vigorously. Despite a fire crackling upon the hearth and his friends surrounding him, he was cold all the way through to his bones.

“Their demands may have
some
merit,” Pastor Bugenhagen said, “but you can't take their side.”

“If I support the peasants, the princes will have to take them more seriously.”

“You'll offend the princes who have worked hard to defend you.”

Murmurs of agreement made the rounds of the men.

Wolfgang added another log to the fire and fanned the embers. But Luther couldn't stop shivering even in the warming house, the room in the monastery where the monks had always gathered to keep warm on winter days.

“We've all heard the reports.” Pastor Bugenhagen stopped his pacing to stand before the fire. “Thomas Müntzer has returned to Mühlhausen and is stirring rebellion. Karlstadt is in Rothenburg, causing trouble with his preaching. Open revolt will come next, perhaps in the spring. The princes will be forced to act against the rebels.”

Luther buried his face in his hands. Some days he wished he could bury his whole head and take a break from the problems that overwhelmed him. His only comfort came when he immersed himself in God's Word or composed songs. “You know I've been the first one to speak out against the violence.” Weariness made his voice sag. “I've condemned it on both sides. But I cannot stay silent when my brothers ask only for fair treatment.”

Brother Gabriel reached for his mug and poured him a refill. Luther nodded his thanks. With just Wolfgang and Brother Gabriel to help, the convent was too big and costly for him to maintain. A smaller place would give him fewer headaches.

He'd asked the elector to give him a house between the monastery and Holy Ghost Hospital, but the elector had done nothing. It was clear now he was stuck at the Black Cloister indefinitely. Sometimes the elector's indecisiveness benefited Luther, bought him time, even saved him from his enemies. At other times, like now, the elector's inability to act gave him a headache.

In the meantime he struggled to get monastery debtors to pay their interests. Other than a small honorarium from the city for his preaching, he had nothing, which wasn't out of the ordinary. But after housing and feeding the runaways, his situation had grown even more desperate, and he couldn't afford to stay there any longer.

“The elector's health is failing.” Pastor Bugenhagen held out his mug to Brother Gabriel's jug. “And Duke George is waiting to destroy him. We'll need the support of the other princes if the elector dies.”

“But if we side with the peasants,” Luther argued, “perhaps we'll eradicate the influence of some of the devil's handymen, like Müntzer and Karlstadt. The peasants need a voice of reason, of peace. We can be that voice.”

“But we can't afford to alienate the princes.”

“Ach!” Luther shook his head with growing resentment. At times like this he wished he didn't have to worry about pleasing the princes or needing their support.

The door of the warming house opened, ushering in a draft of cold winter air that swept along the stone floor and swirled around his toes, which were already numb.

“Finally,” Pastor Bugenhagen said. “It's Justus.”

Melanchthon stood and offered Jonas his bench.

But Jonas threw off his hood and stalked across the room. He flung aside his cloak and held his hands to the fire. Brother Gabriel poured him a mug of Obstwasser.

“What news have you for us from the Count of Mansfeld?” Pastor Bugenhagen resumed his pacing in an effort to stay warm. Melanchthon lowered himself back onto his bench, his deep-set eyes grave and his thin face reflecting the serious nature of the decision awaiting them as the conflict escalated. Should they side with the peasants or with the princes?

“No more hangings,” Jonas said after he'd guzzled half of his mug.

“You've won him to our side then?”

Jonas shrugged. “Can a fox like him ever really be persuaded?” He slid a glance at Luther. The sharpness gave Luther a sense of foreboding. Jonas had news for him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

“Any more news of the peasant uprisings?” Pastor Bugenhagen asked.

“Much of the same,” Jonas replied. “Peasants are moving in the areas of Schwarzwald and Lake Constance. Their numbers are growing. The nobility can't withstand the attacks. They're either bowing their heads to the Bundschuh banner or having them cut off.”

“There you have it.” Luther sat straighter. “If we support the peasants, we'll already have half of the nobility on our side.”

Jonas snorted. “If you support the peasants, you'll plunge the sword through all we've worked for. The princes will turn against you faster than you can blow wind.”

“Exactly!” Pastor Bugenhagen shouted. “That's what I've been trying to tell Martinus all morning.”

Luther leaned back against the wall, letting the bitter cold of the stone punish him for the predicament in which he now found himself. He was in the middle of a conflict, and no matter what he chose to do, he would anger many people.

Jonas took another long swig from his mug.

Luther watched him and waited with growing unease.

His friend stared into the fire, his gruff scowl more pronounced than usual.

Pastor Bugenhagen's voice carried through the room, but Luther wasn't listening anymore.

“Come now, Justus,” Luther said. “Get it out. What's the real news?”

Jonas shifted to look at him. “I've word from Nuremberg.”

“More skirmishes with the peasants?”

“Baumgartner's betrothed.”

“Of course he is.” Something hot rolled through Luther at the mention of Jerome's name. “That scoundrel's engaged to Katharina von Bora.”

“Not anymore.” Jonas's stare measured him. “He's pledged to Sibylle Dichtel von Tutzing.”

The room fell silent except for the crackling fire.

Confusion swirled through Luther. What exactly was Jonas saying? He met his friend's sharp gaze. Was Baumgartner giving up his claim on Katharina?

Jonas's eyes answered him before his words could. “Sibylle is fourteen and has a rich dowry. What nobleman can turn up his nose at that?”

Luther's heart sputtered with an unexpected surge of victory. Jerome wouldn't get Katharina. He hadn't deserved her in the first place.

“I'm sure his parents had a large part in choosing the girl.” Pastor Bugenhagen stopped his pacing. “After all, they'd want someone young, rich, and beautiful for their son.”

“They wouldn't care if she was as ugly as a sow,” Jonas retorted, “as long as she brings her big dowry and gives them a baby a year.”

Luther grinned. “Baumgartner deserves a sow.”

Melanchthon's face grew more troubled. “Baumgartner should have fulfilled his promise to Katharina von Bora.”

“Lighten up, Philipp.” Luther suddenly felt years younger. “Baumgartner wasn't good enough for Kate, and you know it.”

Jonas pretended to cough and spoke through his throat clearing. “I doubt anyone will ever be good enough for your Kate.”

“
My
Kate?”

Jonas rolled his eyes. “Don't play the idiot now.”

Luther stared back, trying to make sense of his friend's insinuations. Yes, perhaps Kate had earned a place closer to his heart than some of the other nuns he'd helped. It was natural after their interactions—her doctoring him and his rescuing her. But that didn't mean he had any claim on her.

“That settles it then.” Pastor Bugenhagen folded his hands across his chest. “Katharina von Bora must marry Dr. Glatz. He's shown some interest in her.”

“Glatz?” Luther choked on the name. “That old
Geizhals
—”

“Now, Martinus.” Pastor Bugenhagen frowned. “Dr. Glatz is well respected, wealthy, influential. He'd make Katharina a fine husband.”

“He's cranky, tight fisted, and old—”

“You're cranky, poor, and old.” Jonas leaned back and gave him a knowing look.

“I don't see what difference all this makes,” Pastor Bugenhagen said. “You've damaged your reputation enough by involving yourself with these nuns. The rumors surrounding you and your various women have grown to epic proportions. At least now with Katharina you have the opportunity to put to death one of the rumors.”

Luther shook his head adamantly.

Melanchthon interrupted his protest. “She must marry someone. Why not Dr. Glatz?”

“Because…” He had no valid reason. But he felt compelled to argue anyway. “Because…I know Katharina won't like him. He wouldn't bring her happiness.”

“Happiness?” Melanchthon's question was laced with disbelief. Although they'd tried to make favorable arrangements for all the nuns, happiness wasn't their primary concern.

It was a poor excuse. It was true, but it was still poor. The muttering from the others indicated they agreed.

“She needs a husband, not happiness,” Pastor Bugenhagen persisted. “As long as the partnership benefits both of them, that's what matters.”

Luther rubbed his stiff fingers and wished he could find some words to contradict Pastor Bugenhagen. But he could find nothing.

The pastor continued. “Did you consider the happiness of Margaret von Schonfeld when you made her marry Garssenbuttel?”

He pictured Margaret's pale, resigned face as she'd ridden away with Garssenbuttel. If Katharina was right, Margaret had been heartbroken. He shook his head and growled. “What other choice did I have for the woman?”

“And what other choice do you have for Katharina? Do you have someone better in mind for her?”

Luther closed his eyes and remembered all the times Katharina had looked at him, the times she'd clung to him, the times her fingers had gently soothed him. Just the memory of it warmed his body. But more than that, he craved her untamable spirit, her vibrancy, her energy. The conversations he'd had with her stimulated him in a way his friends couldn't. Had she ever felt more for him than a passing flutter? Was it possible she could harbor any affection at all for him?

He shivered, the perpetual chill just one more sign of his old age.

There was no way in heaven he would ever ask her how she felt about him. Only a desperate man would expose himself to the possibility of rejection and humiliation at the hand of a woman like Katharina.

He wasn't desperate.

Katharina von Bora was compassionate, but she was also proud and, like so many of her class, wasn't open to change. She'd probably agree to wed old miserly Glatz before breaking tradition and marrying outside the nobility.

Besides, he was never getting married. He would put a wife in as much danger as he was in himself. The thought of doing that to Katharina sent a ripple of coldness through him.

He exhaled a long, noisy sigh. “Fine. Give her to Glatz.” At least with Glatz she'd be relatively safe, even if she wasn't happy. “Make the arrangements.”