Quest of Hope: A Novel (40 page)

Heinrich was staring aimlessly. He had spent much time during the past two weeks considering his sins.
I was unfaithful in m’heart,
he concluded,
and had murderous intent, and was prideful, and filled with sloth that day.
He had already spent days reciting the Commandments and concluded he truly was guilty of all. Shame washed over him like the torrent of rain now crashing on the village.

“For Mother Mary, he must willingly release the bakery to the parish.”

None spoke. The falling rain was all that could be heard. Father Albert looked at Pious incredulously and turned a now sympathetic eye toward the baker and his wife.

Marta gasped. “But, but father, if we lose his bakery then we all suffer for this miserable man’s failings!”

“One flesh, dear sister.”

Heinrich stiffened. Guilt-ridden or not, he had been pushed beyond his limit. Anger chased away his melancholy. He looked at his wife and wanted to vomit. Then he looked at Pious and his hands closed into fists. He fixed his eyes on the priest and held his stare for a long, agonizing moment.

The rain slowed to a steady patter on the thatch above and all waited. Heinrich’s heart pounded within him, yet he said nothing. He listened to the rain and the trickling rivulets of water just beyond his door. His thoughts drifted the Laubusbach and he began to grow calm. His fury faded quickly and his mouth felt dry. In another moment his mind was seized again by accusing thoughts:
I am an evil man.
The baker could not speak. His fists relaxed and he sighed. Much of him wanted to surrender the bakery if only it would finally free him of the shame and the confusion that was driving him to madness.

Words of submission began to form on Heinrich’s lips and Pious leaned forward, waiting anxiously. The baker paused. He suddenly pictured dear Emma by the Magi and he thought he could hear her voice whispering words of wisdom in his ear. Heinrich raised his chin. “I shall offer my confession to Father Albert, and will consider your penance under advice from others.”

The satisfied twitch of Albert’s lips told Marta that her husband would not lose the bakery. Frustrated and furious, Pious rose and leaned toward the baker. “You shall yield a heavy penance,” he hissed. “For it is due me!” The priest cast a scheming eye toward Marta. “Poor woman. I shall pray for God to rescue you. Until then, stay clean in spirit and in flesh, for you are surely in grave danger.”

Heinrich wept on his knees alongside a sympathetic Father Albert. His confession was heartfelt, though rambling, yet the tortured man left the church still unsure of his heavenly absolution. With hope obscured by doubt, he spent the miserable harvest of 1206 doing every sort of penance Marta’s wild imagination could demand. He reasoned that he truly needed to suffer harsh earthly penalties for the heavy sins forgiven in heaven, yet his instincts shielded him from Pious’s self-serving demands.

By the bitter days of the Epiphany Marta insisted that Heinrich do a belly-crawl to Oberbrechen and Heinrich complied. His contrition was confusing him, however, for though he felt sorrow and shame for his imperfections and his failings, he also felt a growing hatred for the very penances intended to reconcile him to those offended. He found no relief and his only joy was in knowing that his sons were far away in the abbey and not witness to his embarrassing distress. Given his ambivalence, he was also further convinced that his soul and those of his family were surely in jeopardy of a terrible lingering in Purgatory, perhaps now more than ever.

By summer, poor Heinrich wished he might just fly away. He enjoyed neither his days in the bakery nor his Sabbath walks, for everywhere he went he did not fail to see the sneers on others’ faces or the malice in their tone. Most now believed him to be filled with deceptions, ill-will, hidden hatreds, and untoward desires. News had also reached his ears that Katharina had been beaten by her husband more than once for the rumors spread about her and the baker. Heinrich confronted him twice but the man would not be goaded into striking first.

Good Richard remained faithful and true, and Lukas did what he could to encourage and embolden the man. On a few occasions even Blasius made a special effort to bring a cheery wish or kind word. So Heinrich endured. He denied himself all thoughts of Katharina and agreed with Lukas that such desires were, indeed, not in keeping with God’s ways.

Yet, news of Katharina’s beatings tortured him, prompting him to make the mistake of begging Father Albert to protect her. He was warned that any assault on Ludwig would cost him the bakery and land him in Runkel’s lethal dungeon. Hopeless and desperate, Heinrich wanted to raise his eyes to heaven and beg for mercy. “Look beyond the sun,” Emma used to say. “Hope lies in heaven, dear boy,” she would cry. But he did not look beyond the sun, for he thought the keeping of his horrid vow to be his lone surviving virtue.

On a cool and blustery Sabbath day in early September, Father Pious returned to Heinrich’s door. He was accompanied by a well-dressed man who identified himself as Bernd, a deputy of Lord Heribert. Bernd gawked about the hovel and lifted a lip in some contempt. “Heinrich,” said Pious flatly, “’tis time your account is settled. I’ve come to you this day to spare your life and that of fair Marta.”

Marta nervously bade the two inside, and scurried to fetch some bread and wild plums. She placed a pitcher of ale atop her table and two tankards, and cast a look at Pious that did not escape her husband’s notice.

“As you know, baker, for the sake of thy wife and children I have been seeking counsel for your penance yet due.”

Heinrich stiffened. He had known this day would surely come.

Pious’s voice tightened. “And, good Marta, I’ve sought a way that preserves your own good standing.” He had found little choice but to design a new path to his prize, one that required a few extra steps.

Marta smiled.

The priest pointed to Bernd. “This man comes with news that is most unusual and I am quite certain it is God’s answer to my prayers. Sire, please tell of your needs.”

Bernd studied Heinrich for a long moment.
Broad-built, though a bit old,
he thought.
A bit beaten of spirit? But seasoned, perhaps, and not one to risk mutiny or escape.
He cleared his throat. “How old are you, man?”

Heinrich wasn’t sure. “I am not certain.”

Pious interrupted. “Brother Martin tells me you are near the age of Christ at His death.”

Heinrich shrugged. “How old was that?”

“Thirty-three,” snapped Bernd. “That makes you older than many. You’ve survived much and I am told you are a good baker.”

Heinrich shrugged again.

“Yes, and you understand that elder men are less important to a growing village than the younger ones.”

Heinrich remained silent.

“Let me come to the matter. The Holy Church has called on my lord, Heribert, to support her in parts far north of here. As if the civil war was not enough, it seems Archbishop Hartwig of Bremen has a need to protect his diocese from some rebellious serfs who would deny their Church her proper taxes, rents, tithes, and the like.”

Heinrich leaned forward. The words “rebellious serfs” were suddenly appealing. “What men are these?”

“Some wild and untamed Frisians; peasants who have strayed. Lord Heribert’s cousin is the Count of Oldenburg and has called on Heribert to satisfy a debt by providing assistance.”

Heinrich was curious. “And why, sir, are you here?”

“Yes, of course. My lord is sending a small troop to help the archbishop, and I am charged to support them with servants, groomsmen, cooks, armorers, and others. We’ve a terrible shortage with our losses in the war, so I am to recruit some from the villages.” He turned to Pious. “If you have not already learned, the pope has abandoned his support of Otto and now allies with Duke Philip.”

Pious raised his eyes. “And then what of the Templars?”

“Aye, the blessed Templars. Like us they follow the pope wherever he may go. Seems they imagine him to be infallible. Incredible! The local preceptory is to send one of theirs with us—as a spy, methinks. The abbot has permitted us to take servants from among his serfs as payment toward his contract with us, and he has graciously offered free rents for the time spent. Father Pious and the bailiff have suggested you to go.”

Marta looked pleased and she smiled at her priest.

Pious nodded.
“Ja,
Marta, this is somewhat easier than what is truly deserved, but I have seen that you have called him to tasks of obedience and suffering these many months.”

“But what of my bakery?” quizzed Heinrich.

“The commission is for the usual forty days, a most manageable time.”

The priest grunted. “You shall be home by Advent. And more, you may be pleased to know that your cousin, Richard, is a most eager recruit, as well. Seems he’s a few matters of his own to settle under God!”

Heinrich was all the more tempted.
Oh, a chance to fly, to be away from this place—away from her, and an adventure with Richard … like we are boys again!
He quickly condemned himself.
Nay, it is to be a penance… a serving of the Church in her time of need.
He looked at the faces staring at him. “Forty days you say?”

“Aye.”

Heinrich hesitated. The penalty seemed too light and he did not trust Pious. But he desperately wanted to feel clean and he wanted peace returned to his mind. Despite Lukas’s pleadings to the contrary, he had become obsessed with the fear that his sons would soon suffer because of his failings. He needed to be sure this would save them all. “I am not certain, father, that this is penance enough for my sins. It seems … somewhat gentle.”

Bernd laughed. “Gentle?” the deputy scoffed. “It shall not be an easy time! Indeed not. You shall be required to carry firewood and cook, lift carts out of mud, push them through fords. The knights shall demand much of you. And worse, you are helpless in ambush and there are oft attacks. We’ve lost more servants than soldiers while traveling the Empire! The civil war has brought naught but confusion. If attacked, the knights have armor and you have nothing. When the enemy fears to engage our knights, they creep into camp to slaughter the servants, then disappear, leaving the knights to cook their own supper! Ha! It is not a light thing.”

Heinrich was satisfied; the plan seemed to give God a wealth of opportunities to punish him properly. “Father,” he asked, “this penance covers all my sins?”

“More than likely. You’ll need report thy sufferings upon thy return.”

Marta did not approve of that answer. “But father, if he fails to return and is not absolved, shall I be at risk for—”

“Fear not, sister. If your husband fails to suffer enough I shall find some other way to finally absolve you and your brood. You must trust in me.” He picked a dark, caraway-seasoned roll from the breadbasket and lifted it to his nose with a wry smile.

Ignorant of his secret schemings she was satisfied and grunted her approval.

Heinrich listened carefully. He stared at Pious, aware that the ambitious priest was setting some kind of snare.
But what can happen in forty days?
he wondered. The baker looked at Marta.
She’ll keep the bakery safe; she’s too much greed to let it slip away. And if I die, Lukas shall surely protect the bakery for m’sons. I do
own
it.
He paused to consider Wil and Karl.
Only forty days, free rents to put in the strongbox, the lads released from my sin and still safe in the abbey—and time away from Marta.