The Legacy (15 page)

“Wine would be fine, thank you.” She sat gracefully, hands folded in her lap—every inch the noble, and yet patently unaware of her demeanor.

Wolf sat down. Peter’s hand suddenly shot past him and picked up the pewter pitcher on the table. He poured the wine into Sabina’s cup.

“With my compliments, Baronesse,” Peter said, offering it to her and ignoring Wolf’s fulminating glare. Sabina smiled and took the cup.

“Please, call me Sabina,” she invited.

“And you must call me Peter. All my friends do.” Peter smiled engagingly, likely enjoying Wolf’s discomfort.

“Then I am pleased to be counted among them … Peter.”

“Speaking of your friends,” Wolf interjected, “what happened to Fya and her
Frau
Mama?”

Peter looked down into his stein, a shadow crossing his handsome face. “I don’t think their meals sat very well in their bellies when last they were here. At least, I imagine it is what caused the sour expressions on their faces as they were saying good-bye.”

Sabina’s face showed a flicker of regret. “No doubt as the result of my discourtesy at our meeting. I do apologize. I was not at my best.”

Peter looked up sharply. “You had every right not to be, considering… everything. And you were remarkably well behaved, given their disrespect.” He took a sip from his ale. “I had no idea they could be so ill-mannered.”

Sabina fingered her drinking cup. “Still, I have no desire to be the cause of dissention between you if you intended to … offer for the young lady.”

“I’m not certain what I intended.” Peter sighed. “Fya is a pretty girl, certainly, and in her own way pleasant, when she chooses to be. And their family would have provided a nice little dowry. However,
Frau
Schumacher has always been of two minds where I am concerned. She enjoys the idea of her daughter being married to a physician, yet she has always looked down on me at the same time for my origins. She disliked our father too, yet she certainly favored Wolf’s position in Nürnberg well enough.”

Sabina looked confused. “But you are of the same class. What right has she to look down on you?”

Peter glanced over at Wolf.
How did one explain such things to a member of the patrician class?
his look seemed to say. To nobility, there were the nobles, and everybody else. To everybody else, there was a myriad of classifications dividing and elevating one above the other.

“We are the grandchildren of miners,” Wolf answered for him. “Her daughter is the grandchild of a shoemaker. Either way you look at it, we have the ground in common. But I believe she thinks we have a little more of it in common than they.”

Sabina stared steadily at both men. “Then they are fools, and you are well rid of them.” So saying, she picked up her cup to drink, the subject apparently closed.

Wolf exchanged surprised glances with his brother, and then Peter raised his stein. “Here, here!” he toasted, and clanked his stein with theirs.

At that moment, Franz arrived with the first course of the meal, a green pea soup with bacon sprinkled on top, and hearty buttered rolls. Sabina rubbed her hands together, picked up her bowl, and delicately lifted the steaming soup to her lips. She sniffed it appreciatively and then swallowed it with the gusto of a sailor on shore leave.

Wolf laughed, but when she lifted an inquiring brow over the bowl, he merely pushed the rolls in her direction. She smiled, grabbed a handful, and continued to eat.

At the opposite end of Wittenberg, outside the city walls and up on a hillside, a shadowed figure watched Baron Marcus von Ziegler slip carefully away from the Grand Hall, where a handful of nobles reveled in drunken debauchery. The shrieks of a few maidservants, some willing, some not, mingled with the hoarse grunts of those men who could not wait long enough to find a secluded corner of the castle to conclude the night’s festivities.

Most of the maids would be well-rewarded by the men for their haste. It was the only thing that kept the women from fleeing the Castle von Ziegler and seeking other, less demanding, employment. Except of course, the refusal of the baron to give them anything but the worst of references. And without references, most of the women would end up in the bawdy house, pawed over by the same sweaty animals but on a nightly basis, their hard-earned coin given over to panders instead of secreted away for a future escape. Overall, it was the lesser of two evils, so the women stayed.

The debauchery interested the solitary watcher not; the baron’s destination did. During such revels, when the men were too drunk to notice an occasional bauble gone missing, a coin or two less in the purse, the baron would make his way to the Tower for a brief period, and then reappear. The watcher had anticipated this night’s visit, and had waited patiently for the hour to come.

Now, the solitary person stayed to the shadows while the baron made his way to the North Tower, stealthily closing the ancient tower door behind him. The figure hung back, watching the baron’s torch flash intermittently through the arrow slits in the thick tower wall while he made his assent to the top.

After a quarter of an hour, the torch made its way back down again, as usual, and the baron reappeared. He turned and locked the door behind him, pocketing the heavy key along with the smaller keys the figure had previously observed. The shape and location on the brass loop was quickly memorized prior to its disappearance, so it would be easier to select the right one from the number of keys dangling there when the time came. The watcher knew there was access through the loose stones on the other side of the wall, but it would be noticed, and harder to replace without discovery. Access to the inner door at the top of the tower would be much more difficult. On the other hand, there were ways to copy keys, if one could simply obtain the master. And there were ways to obtain the master.

When the baron slipped back into the Hall, the baronin stepped slowly into the light.

There were always ways.

D
uring the next few hours, Wolf found himself in the midst of a lively conversation. He and Peter, well versed on a number of interesting topics, encouraged Sabina to contribute. Raised by a strong-willed and well-informed mother, he had never believed a woman’s opinion was useless, as many men did. Sabina had missed much while in the cloister; she was curious about everything, and asked many questions.

The topics ranged from Peter’s glowing description of an acting troupe’s visit to Wittenberg to the more recent New World discoveries. Peter also informed her Wolf had just finished a term as Nürnberg’s
bürgermeister,
the youngest ever.

“The city council even asked him to stay on another term,” Peter said, obviously proud of Wolf despite their occasional competitiveness.

“Will you?” she asked.

Wolf shook his head. “No time. Behaim Press is undergoing considerable expansion right now,” he explained, and looked away. “And then there’s my father’s shop, Silver Press. I need to devote time to it. I’ll reconsider it when the position becomes available again in the summer.”

“You mentioned trouble with the peasant league in Mühlhausen. Can you tell me any more about what is happening there?”

Sabina seemed particularly interested in Mühlhausen, and Wolf wondered why. He finished a bite of fried mushroom pancake before responding. “Müntzer has returned openly to Mühlhausen, and works against the government there. He has many sympathizers in the city. It doesn’t bode well.” He frowned, concern chaffing him. “He sees himself as a new prophet, like Daniel, and it maddens him when the princes do not fall under his sway as the peasants do. If they don’t go along with his idea of bringing God’s kingdom to earth by letting the peasant class rule, they will be slaughtered wholesale, according to him.”

Peter glanced at Sabina. “The princes, of course, have a small problem with Müntzer’s point of view.”

She shook her head. “It is incredible how a man can delude himself, but horrifying how he can delude so many others.”

With his dagger, Peter speared a slice of ham wrapped in bacon strips and smothered with sauerkraut from the platter in front of him and lifted it onto his trencher. He attacked it, chewing blissfully. “The Elector has given notice to all of Electoral Saxony’s male citizens to be prepared to do their duty,” he added between bites. “Landgrave Philip of Hesse has already moved against the uprisings in his region, and he’s offering artillery support to Elector Frederick should it become necessary.”

“I hope it will not.” Wolf tapped the side of his stein, watching the ale inside ripple. “The Elector is a man of peace. He has no heart for the fight. He would rather wait and let God decide the outcome than be forced to deal with the peasants outright. It could otherwise mean the death of thousands of peasants, as Landgrave Philip has already proven.”

“But perhaps Duke John of Saxony will issue the call instead,” Peter said, speaking of Elector Frederick’s heir apparent. “From what I hear from the Elector’s royal physician, I suspect Duke John will become the new Elector any day now.”

Sabina crossed herself.

Wolf noted the gesture.

“Enough of this.” He waived all the talk of death away with an open hand. “What will be, will be. Let’s talk of pleasanter things.” He noted the last helping of sweetened quince on the table with interest and reached for it, but he wasn’t fast enough. Sabina already had her table dagger in it.

She looked up at him with wide, suspiciously innocent eyes.

“Oh, you did not want this, did you?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

Wolf raised a brow. He did, but he could hardly say so now. He had noted early on when one ate with Sabina, it was every man for himself.

“Nay,” he said dryly. “Help yourself.” He took a quaff of ale while she scooped up every last bit.

“Uh-oh,” Peter observed with amusement. “You had better keep an eye on this one, Wolf, or she’ll have you eating out of her hands—or some such thing—in under a sennight.”

Wolf choked on his ale, and quickly drew his sleeve over his mouth. Peter started to laugh, but hid it behind a cough.

Sabina stared at them both, obviously confused. Wolf thanked God for the brief marriage that had left her innocent of the ribald jests of men.

“And on that note, I believe I will take my leave,” Peter said, patting his belly in appreciation. “I must tell Bea she has outdone herself once again.”

He took Sabina’s hand, bowing politely.

“I am pleased you could join us.” She smiled up at him. “Will you be staying the night?”

Peter’s return smile was broad. “I wouldn’t dream of it. However, it was good to see you again. You are—a revelation.” He kissed her fingers.

Wolf clenched his teeth with an audible click.

Peter laughed outright. “Yes, a revelation indeed,” he mused. Whistling carelessly, he strolled out of the dining room.

Wolf stared after his brother.

“Well, he’s certainly in a cheerful mood,” Sabina observed.

Yes, he certainly was. What
had
Peter found so amusing all evening? Wolf suspected it had something to do with him.

“He seems like a naturally pleasant person,” Sabina ventured into the silence. “It must make him very easy to be around.”

Wolf turned to look at her. A pang settled over his heart. “Do you find him so?”

“Why, yes.” She seemed surprised at the question. “Don’t you?”

“Usually,” Wolf muttered, and stared down into his ale.

With Peter gone, the atmosphere in the room changed. There was no buffer between them now, and he was suddenly more aware of her than ever before, if that was possible. He lifted his gaze and noticed the sheen of candlelight reflecting off her hair, the deep blue of her thickly lashed eyes, the soft pink lips he had kissed too long ago. His body reacted predictably to the thought, and he abruptly averted his gaze.

She set down her cup and rose from her stool. Wolf looked up at her in surprise.

“Where are you going?” He flinched at the sharpness he heard in his own voice.

“I—I thought I would retire for the night?” She cleared her throat. “If you will excuse me. Supper was wonderful. Thank you.” She turned to go.

The moment Peter left the room she got up to leave, too. Why? Was
he
not pleasant to be around?

Of course not, you ass, you have to exert yourself to be pleasant.

“Sabina!”

She stopped, turning back at the doorway with an inquiring look.

“May I—” his mind searched frantically for something to say, something to keep her with him a few moments longer. “May I escort you to your chamber?”

The light in her eyes returned. If she thought it strange he wanted to escort her now when she had managed to find her way to the dining room all by herself, she gave no hint of it. Instead, she smiled shyly at him.

“Yes, thank you.”

He just barely avoided breathing a sigh of relief. He rose, went to her, and offered his arm. She took it, and together they climbed the stairs. A sense of familiarity floated through him, and he groped at the memory, trying to place it. It was not until they’d reached the landing did he realize what it was.