Quest of Hope: A Novel (22 page)

Again, the village roared.

“He took command and organized us well. And he armed each able-bodied man—servants, pages, groomsmen, it did not matter. Each Christian man held a sword!”

Weyer hushed. Heinrich was amazed and a chill tingled his back. His mind’s eye pictured him taking up arms for his Holy Church and fighting for righteousness.
Imagine,
he thought,
me, a bound-man, armed in a just cause!

Balean continued. “For fourteen days we fought well and we fought hard. But, alas, we soon learned that St. Stephan’s gate was undermined by the demons.”

An angry voice cried from the darkness, “It was them digging from hell!”

“Aye,” answered Balean. “It seemed so when they climbed from their tunnels and spread across the city like a spreading shadow. Our brave commander led us into the churches where we prayed for God’s protection. Alas, though our faith was brittle, God’s mercy reigned. Saladin did the unexpected, he spared us, though Jerusalem was firmly in his grasp.” The man drew a deep, woeful breath. “Now I’ve new troubles to tell you.”

The villagers waited in trepidation.

“Our good emperor, Barbarossa, did in faith and humility leave on expedition to liberate Jerusalem once again; some of you have heard this. But, in the mysteries of God’s ways, he did drown in a mountain stream.”

The peasants gasped. Though the world of popes and emperors was often overshadowed by the daily needs of life, each knew this news would prompt ripples of change like the dropping of a rock into a pond.

Balean stood and raised his hands. “Good folk, fear not. Heinrich the Sixth is now emperor and shall rule well. Meanwhile, the Duke of Swabia is asking the pope’s permission to found an order of Germans to be named, the ‘Order of Teutonic Knights of the House of St. Mary.’ They will wear white robes with black crosses, and it is they who shall avenge Barbarossa and shall someday free the Holy City once again!”

The inspired villagers offered a hearty “hurrah” and filled the visitors’ cups with cider and ale. The night then seemed to pass quickly, far too quickly for Heinrich and the others. They dismissed the bells of matins, aware that midnight was better spent in sleep, but keenly conscious that they might never learn of such things again. Balean spoke on and on of the great sea and its shimmering waters. “A place where the sun presses hope into the soul,” the man said. The young baker closed his eyes and tried to imagine “blue water stretching as far as one might see.” He opened his eyes but saw, instead, a wondrous black velvet sky sprinkled with shining, fiery lights, each twinkling like happy, playful eyes eagerly urging him to smile. For an instant Heinrich paused and delighted in the beautiful sight, then dropped his head and shuddered. He had violated his vow.

By St. Michael’s Day the village was busy with the last of the harvest and the final planting of the winter grains. The hayward had done a masterful job in reorganizing the fields and work schedules. Herwin was pleased with the changes, but unhappy at home. His wife, Varina, had barely spoken to him since Telek’s death. She was certain her brother had not run away, as Baldric and Arnold insisted, and Herwin could do little but look away whenever she confronted him.

Heinrich did his best to avoid her, but sharing the same roof made his efforts difficult at best. He found himself facing her squarely one day as she asked her question directly. “Do you know what has become of my brother?”

Heinrich paled as Baldric emerged from the outer room. The young man looked Varina directly in the eyes and struggled for words. If he told her, Heinrich reasoned, he’d put everyone in jeopardy. If he lied, his soul would be in further peril. “Varina,” he said flatly, “you’ll needs ask another.” Heinrich thought that was the clever answer of a shrewd man! He had avoided risk for everyone. But the wounded look in Varina’s face turned the lad away in shame. He was, indeed, a coward.

Heinrich sighed and stepped toward the door when Baldric laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’ve needs of a word with you out-of-doors.”

Heinrich felt anxious as he stepped outside.

Baldric’s tone was surprisingly easy. “You’d be sixteen and of age to receive your inheritance. Kurt left most to you and some for yer brother, Axel. I’ve been thinking it best to hold fast until Axel is of age. Then you can divide things in better order … and I hope you shan’t forget my good care of what’s yours.”

Heinrich held his tongue. He hadn’t forgotten the burned parchment and the promise that blew away in the ash. He knew nothing of matters of law, however, and it seemed right to wait until Axel’s sixteenth birthday, only one year away. He nodded.

“Good. Then I’ve your pledge that I’m to act as your legal head until Axel’s birthday?”

“Aye,” answered Heinrich with an unconcerned shrug.

“You so swear on the Virgin?”

Heinrich should have been suspicious. “Yes!”

Baldric nodded, approvingly. “Then I’ve another matter. I’ve chosen you a wife.”

Heinrich was stunned. He staggered a little and blurted, “W-what! You’ve not the right… I am of age to choose m’self and—”

“Hold your tongue!” boomed Baldric. “You’ve just agreed to hold your claims. As your keeper ‘tis my duty to negotiate a dowry and make a pick fit for our kin. I’ve taken the matter to Father Pious and he is in agreement. You’ll marry who the priest has approved and there shall be n’ere more talk of it! Refuse, and the girl shall be shamed and you shall be punished.”

Heinrich was sweating and confused. “Uncle, I’ve need to make m’own choice in this. Can y’not hear me?”

Baldric grinned a toothless grin and laughed. His foul breath burned the boy’s nostrils and Heinrich turned in disgust. “Speak, boy, who is the one you’ve such an eye for?”

Heinrich eyed the brute directly. “Katharina, the daughter of the mason.”

“Ha! Ha, ha!” roared Baldric. “Katharina? That green-eyed wisp? Her? She’s the daughter of a freeman, y’fool. The abbot forbids marriages ‘tween bound and free.”

“But what if I buy my freedom?”

“With what? Dolt!”

Heinrich lowered his head. Truly, the fee for freedom was high, far too high. His only other choices would be to escape to a free city and hide for a year and a day, or follow the colonists into the marshes of heathen Prussia—a bleak and dreary life for such as Katharina. “But what if she pledged her fealty to the abbot?”

Baldric shook his head. “I wonder what kind of man would ask such a thing!”

Heinrich was suddenly ashamed of himself. Indeed, what sort of man would ask a woman to surrender her freedom for his selfish desires? And what father would permit it? Heinrich yielded. His voice thickened and he asked his uncle the dreaded question. “S-so who have you chosen?”

Baldric grinned. “Marta, daughter of Dietrich.”

Heinrich’s legs wobbled. “Marta? Marta? That selfish, spoiled wench who … who … spends her days complaining and grousing… and …”

“Aye.”

“Oh please, Uncle, not Marta. Give me … give me Elke of the cotter, or Etta, or Maria of Tomas or—”

“It is done, boy. At least she’s a pretty one, a bit small for my taste, but spirited.”

“I’d rather marry a monkey!”

Baldric darkened and bent into the young man’s flushed face. “But Dietrich’s an old and loyal friend to us. He knows things ‘bout us all. He’s a miller, you’re a baker; ‘tis a fit match and ‘tis done. The wedding shall be in two years or less. Dietrich needs her at the mill till Sigmund can be of some use. I’ve already pledged this, but you needs so swear to Dietrich and to the girl at the altar in the coming Lent.

“And I’ve pledged Axel to a carpenter’s daughter from Emmerich. She is named Truda. Your brother’s a good lad; he looks like Arnold but seems more like me.”

Heinrich grunted. He was far too overcome by his own misery to care much about his brother’s plight.
Marta!
echoed in his head.
My God, it cannot be!

It was a miserable, damp morning on the first day of Lent when Heinrich and Marta faced each other to formally accept their betrothal. With a heavy heart, Heinrich stood beneath the low timbers of the manor’s mill and stared vacantly at his bride-to-be. Marta, for her part, was not pleased with her father’s selection either. She had little respect for this curly-headed baker with the melancholy eyes. But her desires were given no more heed than a groaning ewe, and she would submit to her father’s decision void of joy.

Heinrich was sick of vows and weary of the expectations he labored to fulfill. He had paid a high price for a simple glance at the stars the year prior. For that he had been required to walk barefoot in the snow with a weight tied round his head that kept his neck bent toward the earth. And, at Christmas past, he had failed to mark the monks’ bread with their dove stamps. For this he was called to publicly repent of sloth and carry firewood for Father Pious each day of Christmas’s twelve.

Oddly, he still drew some pleasure from his sufferings, a sinister, captivating comfort that kept him chained beneath the millstones grinding at his soul. Perhaps his submission to the order granted him a greater comfort than did craning for the sun, and perhaps it was pride in penance that gave him pleasure in his pain. Either way, the young man had lost sight of most of Emma’s dreams.

Heinrich and Marta stood stone-faced as Dietrich and Baldric clasped hands. For Dietrich, the gain was good, for his future son-in-law was a baker and would have the means to care for him should he ever lose the mill. Heinrich would also soon inherit his father’s land, a half-hide of good yield, and he had coins as well.

It was formally agreed that the wedding would be delayed until Sigmund could be trusted to help with the affairs at the mill. Marta had kept the reckoning of measured grains and had quickly grasped the cunning ploys of the miller. Sigmund, on the other hand, was slow of mind and apt to err in the wrong favor. However, in the hopes of Sigmund’s eventual success, Dietrich set the date for St. Michael’s in the year following.

The matter settled, each turned away, save Marta’s uncle Gunter who presented the girl a gift of a clay bowl he had fashioned for her with his own hands. Marta smiled halfheartedly, then cast an icy glare at Heinrich.

Heinrich returned to his bakery in a mood none had seen before. He kicked open the door, flung resting doughs against the walls, and broke his long paddle across the table. He tossed baskets in all directions and stomped the monks’ stamps to pieces on the hard, clay floor. When his tantrum was over, the flour-caked baker collapsed into a corner and wept.