The Silver Cup (17 page)

“God be with you both, and may our Savior protect you from his own murderers.”

Lukas and Leah hurried through the city, struggling against the human tide rushing away from the large marketplace at the foot of the massive cathedral. It was almost dusk, and the merchants were securing their stalls, while a few haggled for a final bargain. On the far side of the cathedral they passed through a smaller square and entered the Judengasse.

Lukas sensed a stir and hush, for it seemed that he and the pilgrim-dressed child were suddenly outcasts. People drew away. When Lukas tried to speak to a mother who was walking with a small child, the woman lifted the toddler and scuttled away. Leah approached an old man who had just drawn water from a small stone fountain. He shrank from her even though she first spoke in a language unintelligible and foreign to Lukas. When the old man shook his head, Leah began to speak in the language of the land.

“Please, ancient one, can you help me? I am seeking a family.”

“What are you? You seem to speak a little of my language but you're dressed like a follower of the Nazarene. And who is that?” he asked, curling his lip at Lukas.

“I am a daughter of Israel. He is a Christian priest, but he has helped me. I'm looking for a family—”

“How could he help you? With their filthy water? ” he asked, poking a leathery finger at Leah.

Lukas stepped forward, angered by the old man's insult. The old man looked furious but frightened and hurriedly backed away, limping, muttering, and spitting. It was growing dark, and the street was now empty.

“Come Leah. Let's go back to the church where we started. It's getting late.”

“Someone will help us. I'm sure.”

Lukas was unconvinced. “When a bird falls from its nest, you can't return it. It carries a strange scent. It's mother won't feed it.”

“But I haven't been baptized,” cried Leah.

“Anna and I want you to stay with us. We all do, even Gunther, Leah.”

“One more day, Lukas, please. I have not had any time to look. Let me try again tomorrow.”

“One more day, but that is all. Then you must come with me to the convent of Saint Odilia.”

Dawn was pink, and the morning started with an easy warmth. When Leah and Lukas reached the Jewish quarter, it was already abuzz with activity that the midsummer's midday heat would discourage. Several boys were playing with a sheep's bladder that had been filled with pebbles and straw, tossing it back and forth and running. The ball rattled and wobbled, and the boys laughed and chased one another. Leah called out, and they all circled her. Lukas watched but could not understand what they were saying. The boys kept laughing and pointing to Lukas and then shaking their heads at Leah. Then they took up their ball and resumed the game.

“They laughed at me,” she said unhappily.

A small boy had been standing at the edge of the group, not playing with the others. He wandered over to Leah and stared at her and at Lukas.

“Hello,” Leah said, when she noticed him. “Maybe
you
will help me. Do you know a merchant named David Ben Saul?”

The little boy shook his head. “I'm not from here.”

“I'm not from here either. I'm from another city, far away,” said Leah.

“Are you from Mainz, too?” he asked, his eyes wide, with a hint of a smile.

“No. I am not.”

The little boy looked sad, and said, “I'm an orphan.”

“Me, too,” said Leah, and she took the little boy's hand and held it.

“The people here are nice. They will help you. You can stay with me,” he said.

“I had a brother like you. I would like that.”

“No,” said Lukas. “I am not leaving you here with this little boy. You haven't found David, so you must come with me. You made a promise to Gunther.”

“Who is he?” asked the boy.

“He is a friend of mine.”

“He doesn't sound like a friend.”

“Do you think you can find someone who knows the man I am looking for? ” said Leah to the young boy.

The boy pointed to the old man from the day before. He was standing in a doorway watching them. “That old man knows everyone. Ask him.”

“He won't help me.”

“Moise!” yelled the boy. “Moise! Please, come here, and help us!”

The old man walked over to Leah and, in the language of the land and not of Leah's people, he asked angrily, “What is it you seek?”

“The merchant David ben Saul. Do you know him?” asked Leah.

The old man's eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know the man. Everyone does. Perhaps I could take a message to him,” he said holding out his palm until Lukas placed a coin in his hand. “Wait here by this well. What name shall I give him for you?”

“Tell him that Leah, daughter of Jakob from Worms is here.”

When he heard Worms, the old man's eyes widened, and he dropped the coin before he hurried away.

“I don't think he'll return,” said Lukas, bending to retrieve the coin. “He wouldn't even take our money.”

“He will,” said the boy.

“Yes, he understood everything when I said I was from Worms.”

In no time, Moise returned, followed by an elegant man, three tall boys, and just behind, a woman and two very pretty girls. Within moments, everyone was screaming, crying, laughing, and praying. No one had believed that anyone in Leah's family had survived. She was enveloped in the silk-sleeved arms of the woman who held her against her heart, weeping. Lukas felt his own eyes fill with tears as he watched the girl, who had been so isolated, melt into this cluster of noise and warmth. He handed the coin to the little boy and turned to leave, but as he walked away, he felt a hand on his sleeve.

“Wait. You have brought us Leah?”

“Yes.”

“I am David. Will you give me some moments to understand? You have acted with unknown generosity. I beg you to visit with us. Please come and talk so we can know all that you have done.”

Lukas saw that Leah was watching him, and smiling.

“Please, Lukas. Come with me to their home.”

“Yes,” said David. “It's very close.”

So Lukas joined David, his wife, and five children, and Leah in the garden behind a wide house, built on the first level with stone blocks, and then with two more levels of timber and whitewashed daub and wattle. The garden was filled with fragrant herbs and flowers, and they sat on benches beneath two ancient chestnut trees. Sweet wine was poured and served with dried fruits, ripe cherries, and nut meats as Leah told her story of the loss of her family, the rescue by Anna, and the journey with Lukas.

“I don't know this Gunther, the trader you speak of. But I will ask of him in the city. Who knows? Perhaps I can trade with him. He must be a very good man, and perhaps I can increase his fortune. And you, Priest Lukas? How shall I reward you?”

“I am not yet a priest. But I need no reward. Leah is my friend.”

“And you have been a friend to her and so to her people. We must repay you.”

“I want nothing. I am going on to a holy place where I will pray for the sight of my uncle Gunther.”

“Take this silver, use it for your people. Or for yourself. You and your uncle and this wondrously brave girl named Anna. We are in your debt.”

“It is too much.”

“It is not enough.”

“Thank you. There are many poor and hungry people in my town. It shall do much good. Thank you.”

 
 
Lukas had continued to the abbey of Saint Odilia where he collected water from the sacred fountain.

As she listened to Lukas, Anna tried to imagine her friend's new life in Strasbourg. She rubbed the silver cup with a soft piece of leather until the metal glittered. Remembering the fall when she had seen Samuel making the cup, Anna recalled Leah laughing with her brothers, the girl in the blue-green dress.

30

THE RETURN

 
 
Though Leah was gone, Anna was still shunned by her neighbors. At the town's marketplace, no woman greeted her. Unless she watched carefully, she would find the goods she received in trade were rotten or spoiled. Her father fared little better, and although Uncle Karl remained true and kind, neither Anna nor Gunther would ever be welcome in Aunt Agnes's home.

Each day Anna wiped a few drops of the holy water over her father's eye which healed slowly but steadily. Father Rupert declared Gunther's recovery miraculous, making his own vial of holy water even more precious. And though Lukas admitted to his priest that he had not saved the Jewish child from her perfidious religion, the holy water and the silver brought great joy to their church. Moving to Worms was daunting, but Anna knew that her old life had ended, and she began to wonder about her new life. She worried that she would hardly ever see Lukas.

“Who else can I talk to about everything? ” he asked. “I'll find a way. There are always errands in Worms. I'll visit so often you'll think I live in the next house.”

“I don't know what either of us would do without you, Lukas. Father needs more than my dull company.”

Gunther looked up from the straw he was twisting into a length of rope and smiled at his daughter. “Dull? Dull is one thing you are not.”

He had been sitting with Anna and Lukas, listening as they talked. An afternoon rain drummed against the roof. Earlier, Gunther had received from Leah's new family a bundle of exotic spices to trade for them in Worms. With the spices and the Flemish cloth, he could have the most valuable trade in the city. They had received something else from Strasbourg: a large shimmering piece of green silk that seemed to change colors in different lights, sometimes green, sometimes blue-green, sometimes almost violet. A note said,

 
For Anna, to match her eyes.

 
Gunther had given Anna a kirtle that had belonged to her mother. He was speechless when he realized that his daughter was as tall as his wife had been. It was a simple dress, but the cloth seemed almost new, and the celery colored wool had faded little. There were two pairs of sleeves, one a simple blue gray, but the other rose colored and still lovely. Anna was happily cutting her old dress into squares for rags. Meanwhile, the steady rain hammered the thatched roof with increasing force.

“Wait out the storm here, Lukas. This rain is too hard to last,” Gunther said.

But Gunther was wrong, and the summer downpour continued, loud and relentless. By nightfall, puddles appeared beneath the windows and in corners of the room where the soaked straw had begun to slide away from the roof. The hearth pinged with steady raindrops, and the noise was loud enough so that at first no one noticed the rapping on a shutter, a soft tapping that was faster and more insistent than the rain. Smudge began to growl.

“Is someone knocking at the window? ” asked Anna.

Gunther reached for his sword before he and Lukas went to unbar the shutter. Drenched and owl-eyed, Martin stood with a finger against his lips in a plea for their silence. As Lukas reached out and hoisted his brother into the room, he was surprised at the boy's weightlessness. Then he saw that Martin's hand was coarsely bandaged. While Gunther struggled to close the shutters against the storm, Anna threw her arms around her cousin. She had given up any hope of having Martin back in her life, and she began to cry. Martin began to sob so violently that he crumpled, and Lukas gently lifted his brother and carried him to the bed, where he removed the wet clothing. Gunther pulled a dry shirt over the boy's head, and they laid him back on the bed, where his crying continued. The only thing Martin said that night was, “I beg you, tell no one I've returned.” The rain continued through the night. Martin grew quiet, his breathing lengthening, as he eased into sleep.

Anna awoke first but had no luck in starting a fire on the wet hearth. Gunther appeared with kindling and straw, and using a flint and all his patience, succeeded in getting a hissing fire started on the damp stones. Lukas kissed the forehead of his sleeping brother and promised to return as soon as he could. Anna gathered her cousin's wet clothes, but she did not bring them out to dry in the morning sun. Instead, she draped them over a bench near the hearth fire. Gunther nodded.

“He may sleep for a while. He's weak, Anna.”

“At least there's no fever.”

“No, he has seen the worst of it.”

Martin slept throughout the morning, and Anna and Gunther hovered near the bed, each hoping to offer some comfort to the young man they had so missed. Gunther put a hand on Anna's shoulder.

“I know how much you miss Leah. We all do. At least we have Martin back now.”

“He'll move to Worms with us, won't he?”

“I hope so, Anna.”

When the church bells rang at noon, Martin stirred and stretched.

Sitting up, he looked about the room. “I am terribly sorry, Uncle.”

“I'm glad you've returned, Martin. We have all missed you.”

“So, so much,” added Anna.

“They don't know I am back?” asked Martin indicating his parent's house.

“Not yet. But we must tell them,” said Gunther.

“I was so wrong. So wrong. You have no idea.”

Gunther sat on the bed next to Martin and gently covered his nephew's bandaged hand with his own. “Whatever you've done, Martin, it can be forgiven. You're so young.”

“No Uncle. You don't understand. No one will understand. And my mother—” added Martin, moving the injured hand away from Gunther.

“Your father would forgive almost anything, Martin,” said Anna.