The Silver Cup (9 page)

Anna stirred the oily pieces of eel in a pot with chopped onion, shredded cabbage, and ale, set the pot on the hearth, and left the house while the morning meal simmered. She had wiped the smelly eel blood from her hands as best she could, but now she headed for the stream to cleanse them in the icy running water. On the way, she passed the church. Seeing her, Lukas joined his cousin for the walk.

“Good morning, Anna. Where are you going? ”

Anna explained her morning to Lukas.

“So it's eel for dinner? Perhaps I should join you.”

“Please! At least I'd have some reward for all the stink,” said Anna, holding her hands far from her body.

“I'll see if I can,” said Lukas. “I'm sure this will interest you. Yesterday, a priest visited Father Rupert from Aachen. He'd heard a strange little monk named Peter whom they call the Hermit. The priest said Peter was old and dirty, with a yellow face and long matted hair, and he speaks with great skill about about the Pope's war. A vast crowd follows him. The crowd in Aachen was as numerous as the stars. Enough to fill our town twenty times over.”

Anna tried to picture it. “Are these the armed pilgrims Martin speaks of?”

“The Hermit is leading his followers to Jerusalem. I hear my brother Martin thinks this war will make him a wealthy knight.”

Anna nodded. “There is something more bothering him. I think he's worried about his soul.”

“Not Martin.”

“Listen harder, Lukas.”

 
 
Later that morning, after Mass, Lukas arrived for Anna's eel stew, and talked of Peter. The early spring afternoon was bright, but the light was colorless and cold. Inside, the shuttered house was dark and chilly except at the hearth, where a generous fire burned warm and bright. Anna, Gunther, Martin, and Lukas pulled their stools close, sharing orange heat and the stew.

“They say wherever he goes, Peter is given silver and things of great value. He even has chests filled with Jewish silver, collected for his promise to leave them alone. He gives everything to the poor who follow him,” said Lukas.

“The Hermit should buy weapons instead,” said Martin, his mouth filled with chunks of eel, juice dribbling down his chin. “I hope we see him in Cologne.”

“Well, I won't see him,” sighed Anna. “I'll stay here with Smudge, but at least he's better company than Margarete and Elisabeth. Sometimes I feel even more alone with them.”

Martin nodded and wiped his face with his sleeve, “Sometimes when I'm sitting with them, Elisabeth smiles, and Margarete nods her head. Elisabeth has little use for words, and Margarete has little use for people. Could they be more dull? ”

“You shouldn't speak ill of our sisters,” said Lukas.

“They're both so beautiful. I must look like a spotted mushroom next to them,” said Anna.

Often Anna wished she could step outside herself and see her face. She knew her hands, which were strong and straight, and she knew her feet which were not small but not as large as her cousin's insults would suggest. She knew her hair, which was dark bronze and heavy, not golden and curled like her cousins. But she did not know her own face. In a still, dark pool, sometimes, she almost caught herself, a shadowy image that was hard to see.
Am I fair at all?
she wondered.

“What color are my eyes, Father?” she asked suddenly.

“Your eyes?”

“Yes, Father. What color are they?”

“Not blue,” said Gunther without looking up from his stew.

“Not blue? Is that a color? Please, Lukas?”

“Why should you care about the color of your eyes?” asked Lukas.

“They're not blue at all. Not brown either. Nor gray,” said Martin raising one eyebrow and squinting at Anna's face.

“Please. You're so mean. What color are they?”

“Speckled. A bit of green and gold and bit of dark blue. Speckled.”

“Speckled? ”

“Like a hen's feathers, poor girl, you are speckled and freckled,” said Martin.

Well, at least I am not smelly and mean like you
, thought Anna with a lump in her throat.

14

EASTER

 
When she opened the door to go to church on Easter morning, Anna found a lavender dawn sky, streaked with orange. Across the way, a stork was building a man-sized nest in the thatch of a cottage. Anna loved these grand white-and-black birds with their dark red beaks and long red legs. Though mute, they made a joyful clatter, clacking and tapping their bills with their mates. Each day she checked her roof, hoping to find the start of a nest, because a stork's nest in the roof brought luck and the certainty that winter had finally come to an end. Easter. Winter was over, as was Lent—so filled with boredom and herring.

After the festive Easter mass, Anna and Gunther walked to Agnes's in the warmth of the morning. Anna could feel the sun's balmy breath on her head. Trees were budding, puffed with new leaves. The migratory songbirds, splashed with yellow and blue, brightened the flocks of dun-feathered sparrows who had shared with her the bleakness of winter. Color and music had returned to Anna's world.

Gunther and Martin were back from a long journey north to Cologne, and Anna was happy to have them home. On Holy Saturday her favorite hen had hatched twelve chicks, a blessed number, all butter-tinted and perfect. Her father said it was a very good sign. Everyone and everything had been scrubbed, and winter was cast out from each person and home. Anna breathed deeply, and her chest filled with sweetness.

They gathered at her aunt's table to celebrate with capon stuffed with buttered bread and a spit-roasted new lamb. They ate leeks and borage and new cress. And eggs—so many eggs, boiled and soft and cooked with tansy leaves, and they had oatcakes slathered with butter and honey.

“I think I'm going to burst. I've eaten more than anyone else,” declared Anna. “I can't remember Lent ever lasting so long.”

“Dear Anna! Patience just isn't one of your virtues,” said Lukas with a kind smile.

“I know. I know that all too well. But I love Easter. Good Friday was all dark and serious. Father Rupert seemed so angry.”

“Of course he was angry. Didn't you listen? The Jews still go unpunished for the most despicable crime ever committed,” said Martin. “In Worms, people throw stones at Jews during Lent, because the Jews stoned Jesus. Even old Father Rupert says we ought to stone them during this holy time.”

“How many people in this town have ever seen a Jew? ” asked Lukas. “We may have three score houses, but there's not one Jew.”

“Well in Worms there are many. There are streets in the north quarter with only Jewish houses. No Christian would live among them. They all smell like goats,” added Martin pinching his nose.

“That's not true! When Father took me to Worms last fall, I saw this Jewish family—” began Anna.

Agnes interrupted, “I have heard that Jews kidnap Christian children. Do you think the Jews stole Thomas?”

“The Jews? Mother, there are no Jews here,” replied Lukas.

“They are only a morning's walk away,” said Agnes.

“Mother, have you ever even seen a Jew? ”

“Of course.”

“Here? ” asked Lukas.

“No, but in Worms.”

“And of course, they were in our woods that very day when Thomas was lost,” added Anna under her breath.

“Was I speaking to you?” asked Agnes, slamming her fist on the table. “You see, Gunther? You see how impossible she is?”

Gunther looked disapprovingly at Anna. She said nothing, embarrassed that Agnes had overheard her remark. Only Anna noticed as Karl left the table.

“Let me tell you about Cologne,” said Martin changing the subject. “It's ten times the size of Worms with more churches than we have people in this village. Nearby there are markets with goods from across the seas. And glass-makers—”

“There is no city like Cologne,” said Gunther. “Our trade has never been so good. Martin, fetch our bundles.”

Martin returned, struggling with a huge colorless sack that he and Gunther opened.

“For Elisabeth, the bride, cloth to make her wedding dress. Enough cloth for the next wedding and still more to trade,” said Martin proudly pulling forth bolts of scarlet and azure.

Agnes examined the wool, and declared, “I always thought my weave was fine, but look at this. A weave so delicate, it's as smooth as water. And the color—brighter than fresh blood. Have you ever seen anything like this? ”

“Mother, look at this blue cloth. See? Woven leaves and flowers! We must use this for my gown's sleeves,” said Elisabeth.

Gunther held high a heavy leather purse and then poured the shining contents on the table, “Look, boys. Coins of silver to pay for the swords and tools you made. In Cologne coins were used everywhere. This will be very good for me. Coins are easily carried, and silver does not perish.”

Better a bag of silver than a tub of eels,
thought Anna.

“Uncle, didn't we bring another gift? ” asked Martin.

“I almost forgot.”

Beaming at Anna, Martin said happily, “On the way home, we stopped at the manor, and your father visited his ancient nurse—”

“She was my mother's nurse before me,” said Gunther. “She wants you to have this, Anna. It belonged to your grandmother, whose name was Anna.” He reached into a small sack that hung from his belt and handed her a deep lavender stone, an amethyst, set in a thick silver bezel. It was a brooch to hold her cloak together.

“Well,” said Margarete, “it's not much of a jewel for a noblewoman.”

“Anna's grandmother was barely that and only a second wife,” replied Agnes with a disdainful sniff. Then Agnes put her hand out for the pin. Anna handed it to her reluctantly. “Gunther, it's a mistake to give this to Anna. She'll just lose it. And you shouldn't be spoiling her more than she already is. She's been rude to me, and twice while you were gone, your chickens were in my garden.”

Gunther took the pin, and saying nothing, he dropped it back into the little pouch.

Anna looked down at her lap, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying. She thought,
I hate Agnes. She is a liar or worse. But Father would never listen to me. He never hears a word I say. Most of the time he forgets me altogether.
When she looked up, she caught Martin staring at her sadly. He winked sympathetically and changed the subject once again.

“We hoped to hear the monk Peter, the one called the Hermit, but the crowds were too great. They thronged him and tore at his clothing, hoping for relics. His poor donkey was plucked bald. Peter and his army are setting forth for Jerusalem. At least three more armies in the north are gathering to join this battle.”

“I never thought this would happen,” said Gunther. He picked up a handful of coins and let them slip through his fingers. Anna turned to watch her father, but he never looked at her.

“One of these armies is led by a knight from the west, a man called Emich,” Martin continued excitedly. “They say he has a cross branded into his flesh, burned on his chest by an angel. Heaven has chosen Emich to lead the final battle and win back Jerusalem.”

Lukas shook his head. “Martin, don't be so taken with this Emich. I've heard he's just a landless count, an evil man with a brutal army and no intention of doing the Lord's work.”

“You
would
think that, Lukas. You wouldn't even heed the call of the humble hermit Peter.”

“No, I have my work here. But I think this Emich is not a man to follow.”

“Emich is the greatest living hero. He'll rule the new Jerusalem. I'd love to be a soldier in his army.”

“You're still a smooth-cheeked boy! Your voice is only a man's some of the time, and then you croak like a young rooster,” replied Lukas with a laugh.

“Insult me all you like big brother,” said Martin, rising from the table and looking down at Lukas. “I'm your size already. And I'm ready for this battle.”

“Patience, Martin. Our holy Pope has declared that no one shall join his war without permission from his priest. And even if you can convince Father Rupert, no one may leave before August, after the fields have been harvested.”

“Emich waits for no permission.”

Elisabeth interrupted. “Where's Father? ”

“I didn't see him leave the table,” said Lukas.

“I'll look in the garden,” said Anna.

“Father's never been one to miss a celebration,” said Margarete.

Anna found Uncle Karl sitting in the garden, silent but tear stained, holding the knife that would have been a gift for Thomas.

15

THE DISAPPEARANCE

 
The days lengthened, and throughout the garden, bees were flying, their hairy legs dusted pollen yellow. Anna planted vegetables and weeded all morning. Martin helped Gunther tend to their roof where the winter winds had loosened and lifted the thatch. Martin carved out an unfinished wasp's nest and cursed when he was stung on his shoulder, but soon he was laughing and working again. For all his meanness, for all his insults, Anna had come to realize that her cousin was quick to forgive, quick to forget. Often, she would be boiling at a remark that Martin had long ago forgotten. She also was beginning to understand that Martin needed to find his place, that he wanted something else in his life, just as she wanted something more.

At midday, Anna served a simple dinner of duck eggs and tender sorrel greens. Martin was overly cheerful, bright with talk of a recent trip to Mainz.