Quest of Hope: A Novel (26 page)

News of Richard’s injury spread quickly to Weyer. Arnold was enraged and knew he had lost all hopes of a son well-placed in the warring class. Abbot Stephen was disgruntled as well, for he had loaned Lord Simon a healthy young body, only to have a disabled one returned. Indeed, Richard possessed qualities that were better suited for fields of battle than fields of grain.

Heinrich lamented his friend’s misfortune, but he had troubles of his own. It was the eve of his wedding and he faced Brother Lukas with a quaking voice.

Lukas tried to comfort him. “Heinrich, the price of joy is sorrow.”

“Then I shall be a joyful man, indeed!” Heinrich moaned. “And what sort of comfort is that?”

Lukas shrugged. He was at a loss for words, and all Emma could suggest was that the baker renounce the betrothal. “Nay!” snapped the baker. “I cannot break the pledge!”

In another part of the village, Marta, too, bemoaned her fate. She had grown to be a beautiful young woman of seventeen. She was petite, perhaps too much so for the labors of a peasant woman. Her face was even and her skin soft and fresh; her hair thick and rich and braided neatly. She walked about with an air of confidence and had become ever more demanding and critical. She was often given to fits of temper—vices Emma said belied hidden terrors. Yet, beneath the tempest she sometimes showed a brief glimpse of mercy, at least for those at arms’ length.

The wedding day of Heinrich and Marta was blustery and cold “like my bride!” complained the baker. Father Pious met the couple at Sunday’s bells of prime to confirm each as a willing participant. Despite the customs of the folk, the Church had long despised marriages forced upon couples. In truth, Heinrich wanted nothing to do with this marriage, for his heart belonged to Katharina. But Katharina was beyond his reach and he had pledged himself to Marta. He felt bound under the oath by the code of his kin and the expectations of the Church. He suddenly realized, however, that he was facing another dilemma: he must either lie to a priest or break his pledge to Marta. He stared blankly at Father Pious.

“Heinrich, did you hear me? Do you come willingly?”

The baker hesitated.

“Your answer?”

Heinrich closed his eyes.
“Ja.
I come willingly, father.” His heart sank.
Willingly?
he thought. He suddenly felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
Aye, I am willing, though not wanting. I did not lie.

Marta both loved her father and feared him. Dietrich had been a demanding father but also indulgent. She did not dare break the vow he had bound her to. She stared at the auburn-haired baker with an acrimonious submission to her fate. So when Father Pious turned his puffed face toward her she nodded her assent with a snarl.

“And what of the dowry?” asked Pious. “Heinrich? Speak, my son.”

Heinrich did not like Pious and did not like giving his hard-earned money to this woman for whom he had no affection. But he dutifully recounted the negotiation Baldric and Dietrich had arranged. “She’s to have two shillings, a half-virgate of land, rights to ten ewes and their issue in per—”

“Perpetuity.”

“And two sows with the same, rights of use in the bakery unless the prior takes it in my death …”

“Which he surely would.”

Heinrich scowled. “And I had to purchase three ells for her gown.”

“Ah, indeed!” Pious looked at the pretty girl with a glint in his eye that Heinrich did not fail to notice. “Dear sister, you have a marvelous countenance this day! Thy beauty is only enhanced by thy gown.”

Marta blushed. She wore a simple woollen homespun, but it was new and would serve her for many years to come.

“And, so, Heinrich, is that all?”

“Aye.”

“Hmm. And the merchet has been paid, I am told.”

“Aye.”

“Hmm. Well, with assent from each and taxes paid, we are ready. We shall witness your vows at the church door before Mass.”

With that, Heinrich turned away to spend the next hour waiting for the simple ceremony and the nuptial Mass that followed. He would have preferred the marriage to happen as in former times—a simple moment with a few by the village well. Or, better yet, he might have forgone all ceremony and simply live together with the shrew under the same roof; in that simple way God and man would so declare them wed, and he could have slipped into his noose more quietly. But the Church now demanded a public declaration with a priest at the church door. Heinrich spat on the ground. “Always under the eye of the pope,” he grumbled. Irritated and miserable, he walked to his hovel, where he picked at Varina’s meal of mush and boiled bacon. And when he finished, he collapsed into his private bedchamber a man still bound by the expectations of others and longing to be free.

Heinrich arrived at the church door determined to face his future as a good and obedient servant. In the hour before, he had spilled what tears his broken heart had tendered, and in the wake of his grief he had felt shame. He had then sought out Father Johannes and repented of his rebellious and prideful spirit. On his knees he had clenched his fists and chased Katharina from his mind while he re-asserted his submission to the proper order of things. And when the moment passed he had become calm and oddly pleased with the strength of his resolve.

As others arrived, Heinrich found Emma and took her by the hand. “Listen, good Frau Emma!” he boasted. “I shall hold fast to this vow and to my other! For my spirit is strong and my soul is again secured, so Johannes has assured me!”

With those words it was Emma’s time to turn and weep—and she did not weep for joy. She wept for her little butterfly that lay, once again, shackled and bound, consigned to darkness.

After the greetings and well-wishes of the gathering congregation, the couple faced one another. Father Pious offered a brief prayer and each was asked to state their vow. Heinrich set his jaw firmly and took a deep breath. “I, Heinrich of Weyer, son of Kurt of Weyer, do take this woman, Marta of Weyer, daughter of Dietrich of Weyer, to be my wife under God.”

Marta stared steely-eyed and echoed, “I, Marta of Weyer, daughter of Dietrich of Weyer, do take this man, Heinrich of Weyer, son of Kurt of Weyer, to be my husband under God.”

Heinrich dutifully placed a silver ring on Marta’s third finger, the finger said to carry the vein from a woman’s heart, and then stepped lightly upon her foot as a symbol of his claim. Marta took her husband by the elbow and the two walked into the fore of the church where a holy blessing was offered.

The reluctant couple then descended the church steps to a lively village feast set beneath the linden tree in Weyer’s center. Here, despite cool September winds, the village enjoyed special breads made by the groom, casks of ale purchased by the happy father-in-law, and sundry pottages and treats added by neighbors and kin. It was a time for others to be glad-hearted!

By the bells of vespers, the drunken villagers escorted the new couple to their home and all waited outside as the priests blessed the marriage bed. The crowd sang and danced, laughed and teased as the two then disappeared behind a closed door where they began their new life as one.

Chapter 11

A NEW FRIEND

I
t was midday on the eighteenth day of July when all within earshot cringed at the shrieks of Marta gripped in the pangs of childbirth. The midwife wiped the young mother’s brow gently then smiled as she lifted a baby boy into the air.

“He’s a fine one, Marta!” she laughed. “Red curls like his papa.”

Marta, weary and soaked in sweat, reached for her little one. “We Ve needs call the priest for baptism.”

“Yes, little mother. I shall fetch one and your husband as well!”

Heinrich was busy in his bakery when he heard the happy cries of the midwife approaching on the footpath. Frau Emma had been sure to tarry by the baker’s door all morning in hopes of happy news, and when she saw the kind woman waving and laughing, she clapped and hugged the young father like she did when he was a little child playing in her flowers.

“You’d be a father! Heinrich … you’d be a father!”

Heinrich waited nervously for the midwife to announce the child’s health and gender.
Oh, God, be it boy or girl, let it live long and well.

The midwife stumbled into the bakery huffing and panting, red-faced and sweating. She took Heinrich’s shoulders in her thick hands and wheezed, “A boy! ‘Tis a boy! And all is well with both the lad and your wife.”

Heinrich smiled and fought the tears welling in his eyes. “Thanks be to God,” he whispered quietly. In the months since his wedding the young baker had graciously accepted his portion in life and had worked hard to serve his calling in a manner pleasing to all. He was a kindly man, good-hearted, dutiful, and selfless. He would be a good father. “Frau Emma. I… I cannot speak… I…”

“Do not speak, lad! Run to your wife and see your son!”

Heinrich smiled and wiped his hands on his flour-powdered leggings. He hastily threw on a linen tunic and dashed for home.

Varina and her three children met the young baker at his door and congratulated him as he hurried past them toward the straw bed in the rear bedchamber. “Might I hold him?”

Marta scowled. “Nay, he needs to feed.”

“But… for but a moment?”

Marta’s face darkened. “No! You’ve brought me enough pain this day. Now go to the church and wait for the priest with the others. Rosa shall bring the boy.”

Heinrich took pity on the weary woman.
Indeed,
he thought,
I did bring her pain ….
He hid his disappointment with a kindly smile and answered softly, “Aye, perhaps later.”

In an hour or so, soon before the bells of nones, Heinrich and some of his household stood at the door of Weyer’s church and waited for Father Pious to arrive from his tasks in the glebe and for Rosa to bring the baby. The annoyed priest arrived on his donkey and dismounted with a grunt. He was sweating and dirty, covered with bits of grass from harrowing wheat. The churchman had grown ever fatter and ever more discontent. Pious wiped his beaded brow and stood in the summer sun impatiently. “Eh? Is someone going to offer me a tankard of ale or cider?”

One of Varina’s children had thought to bring a jug of Herwin’s warm ale. “Aye, thanks to you,” Pious grumbled as he lifted the clay rim to his pouty lips. The household waited quietly as the priest finished guzzling. With a belch and a wipe of his sleeve, Father Pious was ready. “So, heaven’s sent a new soul? The midwife did not christen it with some foul blessing?”

Heinrich answered. “Nay, father, and here she comes with the child.”

As the midwife climbed up the church steps Herwin arrived from the monks’ fields and greeted his landlord with a firm grasp on the shoulder. “Well done, good man!” he whispered.

Father Pious took the baby and held him against his own swollen belly. The infant cried and wriggled in the rough wool of the priest’s black robes. Pious blessed the child, put salt in his mouth to ward away demons, and recited a psalm: “Tu
autem, Domine, ne longe facias miserationes tuas a me. Ad defensionem meam aspice. Erue a framea, Deus, animam meam.
But Thou, O Lord, be not far from me; look toward my defense. Deliver, O God, my soul from the sword.”

“Now, Heinrich,” continued Father Pious, “have you chosen a name?”

Heinrich smiled and winked at Emma. “Johann Lukas,” he answered.

“And have you godparents?”

Heinrich hesitated. Marta wanted her cousin Johann, but he was unmarried, slothful, and often blasphemous. Heinrich’s brother, Axel, was far away in the guilded halls of Limburg and too much like Baldric for Heinrich’s comfort. His best friend and cousin, Richard, was despondent and miserable, wandering the woodland as the village’s new forester in deep melancholy. He was viewed as promiscuous and unrepentant—a soul in peril. “My … my … tenant, Herwin, and his wife, Varina.” Heinrich gulped. He should have talked about it more with Marta.

“Are they Christian man and wife?”

*
Ja
.”

“Are they in good stead and order with the rules of God and man?”

“Ja.”

“Then so it shall be witnessed. Follow me to the font.”

As the group shuffled toward the baptismal of the simple church, Herwin and Varina exchanged nervous glances. Herwin leaned toward Heinrich and whispered, “Marta had oft spoke of her cousin. Methinks shell be furious with us and…”

Heinrich stopped and turned to Herwin with pleading eyes. “You’ve needs do this. None know of Johann’s whereabouts and he’s no wife to bring … and Marta did not want this delayed on account of risk to the boy’s soul. She thinks we’ve much sin under our roof and are in constant danger.”

Herwin nodded.

Pious’s voice echoed through the empty church. “Come, make ready!” With little ceremony he lifted the child over the tub and prayed,
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti.”
He immersed Johann Lukas. “Amen.”

With that, the little Christian was lifted from the water by Pious and the gentle hands of Herwin, and finally placed in the longing arms of Heinrich. The man beamed with pride, a healthy and godly pride. He smiled as if all heaven’s angels were gathered round, and he cuddled the baby’s tiny face tenderly against his stubbled cheeks. After a precious few moments Heinrich turned to his witnesses and invited all to his house to savor a berry bread he had baked that very morning.

As the small group made their way toward the celebration Emma drew Heinrich to one side. She smiled and gave her good friend a hug. Heinrich laughed and he offered her a moment with his son. Emma took the baby gently and tickled his chin as the newborn cooed. “Ah, wonder of God’s goodness … live well and be happy.” She softly kissed the little one upon his cheek and returned him to his father.

“Heinrich,” Emma said with a tone of excitement. “Before you join the others I’ve something to give you.” Her blue eyes twinkled as a huge grin stretched across the happy woman’s face.

Heinrich stood quietly as Emma reached inside her dress and withdrew a rolled parchment. He stared at it as she handed it to him. “I… I do not understand, I…”

“‘Tis a gift from your mother.”

Heinrich held the scroll in hand and waited for more. By the puzzled look on his furrowed face Emma knew she would need to explain.

“You’ve heard of the old pledge between an abbot of Villmar and your grandfather, Jost?”

“Yes. I’ve heard bits of it over the years but I thought most to be wild tales. I was told my sons would be taught in the abbey school.”

Emma beamed. “Aye! ‘Tis true enough.”

Heinrich was astonished. “How can this be?”

“Jost was shrewd enough to have it written, sealed, and witnessed on parchment so no abbot could ever deny it.”

“But Baldric burned it. It would seem to be an empty hope.”

“Well, young man, your mother was a bit timid, but she was no fool. She stumbled on m’quills and inks one summer afternoon and she put me in debt for her silence. Ha, the blessed woman had a good eye for a worthy scheme!” Emma chuckled. “Your
Mutti
brought me the abbot’s scroll one night not long before she died. She had me vow on m’very soul to save this for you and present it at your first son’s baptism. And she wanted me to make a forgery to leave for Baldric at her death. Your mother was wise to Baldric’s black heart. So I did—and a good one at that!”

Heinrich was stunned. Tears of gratitude filled his eyes and he wrapped the woman’s shoulders with his one free arm. He looked at his son. “You, lad, are heir to a promise! You shall sit under the lindens with the princelings and with what brothers may yet come! Ah, blessed Emma, my wonderful Butterfly Frau!”

Tears rolled down the joyful woman’s face as she stood by the boy she had loved as her own now grown. She turned her face to heaven in thanksgiving for the glorious moment. “Ah, dear Heinrich,” she said quietly, “things are not always as they seem … for sometimes they are so much better!”

In the year of 1194 the feast of Lammas would be grand, or so it was hoped. The summer had been warm and dry, but not so in any extreme. The harvest was sure to be bountiful, for the green rye was chest high and the yellow barley was drooping heavy with seed-heads longing for the flail. The swineherds were healthy for once and the oxen void of footrot, lump jaw, scours, or bloat. The sheep had been profligate and the goats were yielding milk with ease. It seemed the witch’s curse had finally lifted.

For Heinrich, Lammas was to be a great test of his skill. He had been told by the reeve that Lord Klothar would be enjoying the feast by the new mill pond in the company of the abbot, the prior, guests from lands afar, and a legate from Rome! It would be the duty of Weyer’s baker to provide the loaves, the buns, the twists, and the dainties for ail to enjoy.

Dietrich was flabbergasted that the monks chose him to grind their grain over the abbey’s miller and began scrubbing his millstone of all residue of the inferior rye or barley chaff left behind from the villagers’ last grind. However, he was as suspicious as he was flattered by the monks’ decision and feared any error of his part. He wanted to give them no cause to take his mill away.

Dietrich was no saint. He knew of the conspiracies he and his son had plotted against their fellows and was in terror that God might now call him to account. He had insisted on a private confession of all sins and had farther pleaded for Fathers Johannes and Pious to climb about the inner workings of his mighty, churning giant and bless each part with the sign of the cross. And when the weary priests had descended from the last oaken post, he begged them to offer one more blessing. “Please, good fathers,” he lamented. “Please bless my ears that I may proper hear the stone sing the grind, and bless m’thumbs that I may proper feel the grist is good.”

Heinrich was also anxious and his belly fluttered at every thought of the occasion. He did not fear what Dietrich feared. After all, he was no cheat; he had kept his vows, was not slothful at task, nor truant from Mass. In fact, he now attended three Sabbath services weekly as the priests urged of late. So, for the baker the day-at-hand was free of risk, other than to his reputation!

Lukas brought Heinrich rosemary, sage, a few pinches of thyme, and a bushel of onions. These were added to the bakery spice boxes along with some caraway and sundry herbs the baker had grown fond of. Sourdoughs were offered by the kitchener some fortnight before, and fresh salt had recently arrived from Ulm. The priests blessed the man’s ovens and his water, his paddles and troughs, and the baker of Weyer was left to his business.