The miller obeyed, and she sipped. “My only living child,” he explained. “My wife died of a fever last winter, thanks be to God, for what has happened here this day would have sent her to her grave.”
“Perhaps I can be of some help. May I speak with your daughter?”
The miller nodded and blinked, his red-rimmed eyes tragic in his white face.
“Misstress—?” Doe-brown eyes-a study in grief-flickered to his for a moment and then away. “She does not seem to want to talk now. But we’d best find the source of this bleeding. Did she strike her head?”
The miller examined his daughter’s face and neck, running stubby, yet gentle fingers over her head. “Seems the bleeding stopped,” he said. “That knave struck her. And—”.His voice broke. “Worse.”
Albert took a steadying breath. “Would that you had both been at the castle.”
“Hilda begged me to go,” the miller howled in remorse, “but I refused. Business has been brisk, and I had wheat to grind. ’Tis my fault this shame has come upon her.”
“Peace, miller. This is the fault of these barbarians, none other,” he said, nodding toward the lifeless body on the floor.
The girl glanced over at the soldier and began to retch. Her father cradled her head, and wept.
Albert left the pitiful scene to speak with his squire who was waiting under a tree outside. “What news here?”
“Two of the men have reported few survivors,” he said. “The strike was thorough, if brief.” He surveyed his leader with a quizzical look. “What happened in there?”
“A ruffian injured a girl. He will not do it again. He spoke with an accent of some kind. I will question the merchant woman. Perhaps she heard it, too, and can tell us what she makes of it.”
“Did you not keep him alive for questioning?”
Albert shrugged. “It could not be helped. I had to work quickly, or more lives would have been lost. The girl will need transport to the castle. Stand guard, and do not allow anyone to cross this threshold.”
When Albert returned to the miller and his daughter, he found them somewhat calmer. “I will arrange for your daughter to be taken to the castle for safekeeping. Will you go with us?” he asked the miller.
But it was the daughter who answered. “No!” she moaned. “Please don’t carry me away from my home!”
Albert eyed her skeptically. “Why not? There is a healer, a gentlewoman who will tend your wound.”
The young woman sighed and met his gaze. “People will know what has happened to me and will talk. I would not disgrace my father.”
“Nonsense. You have disgraced no one. You are hurt and need attention.”
“Could I go somewhere else?” The dark eyes were brilliant with tears.
“Please, sir knight,” the miller begged. “My daughter has suffered enough humiliation.”
Albert pondered his dilemma. He could not leave his post to take this young woman to some remote region. “I could have a man take you to my parents’ home.”
She began to weep, and whispered something to her father.
“She trusts no one but you, sir,” he said in a plaintive voice.
There was no need for further speculation. “Then I will escort you personally to my parents’ keep,” Albert said decisively. “We’ll be off as soon as my squire has located some blankets.”
Outside, there was a hasty conference with the squire. “I will be making a quick trip to Beroburg, it seems. I need you to ride ahead of me to let them know what has happened here today and to alert the physician. I am certain that our message went astray last night, else Father would have sent help.” Spotting one of his knights, Albert beckoned to him, and he came straightaway.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I will be away for a few hours. I’m leaving you in command of this operation. Evacuate the rest of the village and bring them to the castle. I’ll go for help.”
❧
When a minor incident in the chapel called Father Bernard from her lesson, Margarethe went looking for her aunt in the solar. Lady Mechthild was gazing out the window overlooking the bailey where Lord Einhard was addressing his men in the field. “What is Uncle doing?” she asked.
‘Lady Mechthild put her arm around Margarethe’s slender shoulders. “He is asking them if they would be willing to join Otto’s forces in their fight.”
“Oh,” Margarethe breathed. “Then maybe my dream was true.”
Puzzled, Mechthild drew back to regard her niece. “What dream?”
“I could not sleep, so I was praying. As I asked God to direct my prayers, I fell asleep. I dreamed that Albert was riding through a village weeping in despair. The village was in ruins, and there were bodies everywhere.”
“What then?”
“I woke to a strong desire to pray for Lord Otto’s men, but especially for Albert.”
Lady Mechthild looked stricken, and reached inside her long sleeve to withdraw a piece of paper. “Read this. It’s from Willem.”
Margarethe scanned the letter. “There is great danger, Aunt. Both Willem and I sensed it when we were in prayer. Uncle needs to send help right away.”
“Then we must tell him at once.”
But when they looked, they found the men dispersing. Without waiting to consult her aunt, Margarethe flung back the shutter and cried, “Uncle Einhard! Wait! Don’t send the men away!”
Rushing down the stairs, followed by Lady Mechthild, she ran out to greet him, pulled him aside, and told him of her dream.
Lord Einhard stared hard in concentration, then strode back to his troops, calling them to attention. “The situation has changed. We must prepare to defend Beroburg. We leave at once.”
❧
Willem was working on some music for the entertainment of some special guests when a page dashed into the hall in search of Lord Otto. “Troops approaching, my lord!”
“From what direction?”
“From the east, sir.”
For the first time, Otto smiled. “Einhard.” Looking immensely relieved, he rose and quickly left the hall.
“Thank You, Father,” Willem breathed, striking a chord to harmonize with the prayer he sent heavenward.
seven
Willem ran to the door to hear the news when it was rumored that Lord Albert’s squire had ridden in alone—the first sign that something was very wrong. When Willem learned that the village had been attacked and the message system had failed, he was appalled. Even more so when, in lowered tones, the squire told Lord Otto of a savage crime committed against a village girl.
Lord Otto called Jolan over at once. “I hope you don’t mind delaying your visit home for a while. I will need your healing skills for an unfortunate young woman.”
“Of course, Uncle,” she murmured. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
He gave her a grim smile, then inclined his head toward the squire. “See that a page carries your message to the physician, then get some dinner. You have ridden hard and long.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I need to get back to Lord Albert.”
“We will see Albert soon enough. Right now we must summon my knights for a war council.”
❧
Lord Einhard’s entire household was in a state of chaos at the news that their soldiers would be joining Otto’s war. Lady Mechthild, in particular. She had not expected her husband to accompany his troops, and Margarethe could tell that her aunt had been weeping, along with countless other women—from chambermaids to knights’ ladies.
So it was that Margarethe made a bold suggestion. “I know it is not the usual time of day for songs in the hall, Aunt, but perhaps it would help to ease the tension.”
Mechthild nodded thoughtfully. “A good idea. We could have some music before the dinner hour. Let’s sing some of the psalms to fortify our hearts.”
Margarethe called over two of the other musicians, who helped gather a few instruments. They started with the psalms as her aunt had suggested, a
nd went on to some other uplifting tunes. Indeed, some said later, it was as if a blanket of peace had descended over that portion of the hall where the stringed instruments and voices blended in celestial music.
❧
“Come with me, Willem, and sing us off,” Lord Otto said as he strode to his waiting horse.
This was no invitation; rather, it was a direct command. With his horse saddled and ready, Willem mounted, accepting his lute as if it were a saber from the hand of a servant who stood by.
At Lord Otto’s signal, he advanced to the head of the troops just outside the gate, listened to a brief rallying speech, then led out in the fiercest battle song he knew, followed by an invocation of God’s blessing on their efforts that day.
As the troops paraded by, banners streaming in the balmy breeze and lances poised, Willem watched with a kind of mingled pride and dread. So many men. But how many would return at battle’s end?
The last man rode by, and Willem turned to ride back to the castle when Lord Otto halted him with an upraised arm. “Stay. That must be Albert coming. We’ll hear what he has to say.”
Near the outskirts of the village, a cloud of dust signaled an approaching horseman. As the rider drew nearer, Willem could see that he was carrying something that appeared to be the figure of a woman, slumped forward in the saddle in front of him.
“Father, well-met. Greetings, Willem,” Albert hailed them.
At close range, Willem could see that the maiden’s face, bearing the pallor of battle shock, was badly bruised and she was trembling. She did not meet their gaze, but glanced quickly away.
“Father, this woman was attacked by one of the enemy soldiers. I have brought her here to recover. She is Hilda, daughter to the miller.”
“Greetings, Hilda. Would that we had met under more pleasant circumstances. But you will be avenged—that I can promise you.”
“My lord Albert has already avenged me,” she said softly, “and it is enough.”
Lord Otto then turned his attention to his son. “Did you discover why the relay system failed?”
“The second messenger was murdered moments after receiving the message. I found his body and that of his horse not a furlong from the relay point.”
“Then we should have had a backup messenger. Einhard and his troops have just ridden out with ours.”
Willem noticed that Hilda shifted a little in her seat.
Albert glanced at her and nudged the horse forward. “That is good news. How did he know to come?”
Lord Otto and Willem fell in beside him, and they rode three abreast. “Willem wrote of our troops’ sad lack of morale.”
“So, you are visiting then, Willem?”
“Ah. . .no. Your father has prevailed—”
“Willem has consented to join our household,” Lord Otto said with surprising pride. “He wrote Einhard to ask for troops for the next battle. When young Margarethe revealed a dream she had last night Einhard and his troops rode out at once.”
As Lord Otto was speaking, Willem watched Hilda’s eyes grow large and fearful.
“A dream? How so?”
“Apparently she fell asleep while she was praying.” Otto recounted the details as he recalled them.
Albert nodded in understanding. “Margarethe has always seen more than others. Would that she could join our household as well.”
“God grant that it may be so,” his father agreed.
Willem felt a flush heat his cheeks, then caught Hilda stealing a glance at him.
“Father, one of the foot soldiers spoke with a strange accent. There is a merchant woman among my people at the castle. Perhaps she heard it and can help us.”
“And the foot soldier?”
There was a long pause. “In self-defense, I was forced to kill him.” He cast Hilda a quick look, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “There must be others in the prison who could be interrogated. Meanwhile, we have work to do right here.”
Lord Otto nodded. “It is a good thing Jolan had not left for her journey home to visit her parents and Margarethe. Her healing skills will be of help to our miller’s daughter.”
Albert looked thoughtful. “Yes, and Margarethe would also be a good companion for Hilda. They are about the same age and Margarethe’s gifts would be helpful to her.”
“Let us send for her then.”
Once more Willem had to restrain his emotions, lest his face betray his heart. They rode in silence to the very door of the donjon, where Lord Otto waved off a bevy of curious servants.
In his heavy armor, Willem suspected that Lord Albert would have difficulty in dismounting, with the maiden still clasped in his arms. But when Lord Otto instructed his son to hand Hilda down to him, she leaned hard against the young lord and clung to his surcoat.
Lord Otto appeared completely bewildered.
“The maiden has learned to trust me alone, Father,” Albert explained. “But we do have a problem, Maid Hilda,” he said, leaning down to speak gently. “You will have to allow someone else to carry you until I can rid myself of this breastplate.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she whispered back. “Can Lord Willem help?”
At the nod, Willem hastened to dismount, handed his lute to a servant, and put up his arms to lift Hilda down from the horse’s back.
“Use care, Willem,” Albert cautioned. “She is injured and cannot stand.”
Willem gathered her into his arms and waited while Albert dismounted. But before he knew what was happening, a flash of blue whirled past. It was Jolan, Margarethe’s young friend. She took both Albert’s hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Albert,” she cried, “I am so sorry about your village and your people.”
Albert appeared not at all flustered, but immediately took her into his confidence. “Greetings, Jolan. This is Hilda, the miller’s daughter. She will need rest and quiet and the ministrations of a physician. But in the meantime, I thought you might befriend her,” he said under his breath.
Hilda regarded the trembling girl with great sympathy. “Bring her to my chamber. It is more private than the infirmary.” She looked at Hilda, lying in Willem’s arms. “You will be quite safe with us, and well in no time.”
And with that, Jolan led the way to her chamber, where she ensconced the maid in her own bed and covered her tenderly.
❧
As the servitors brought in trays laden with steaming venison soup for the noon meal, Margarethe arranged for an hour of rehearsal in the banquet hall after dinner. Even Lady Mechthild agreed to be one of the players. If nothing else, Margarethe thought, the diversion would provide her aunt a welcome respite from thoughts of the war.
She sat beside Lady Mechthild at table and talked a little with young Friedrich who was permitted to join them today.
“Cousin, do you remember how to catch frogs?” he asked, leaning up on his elbows to speak to her around his mother.
Margarethe laughed at the child, his impish face all ears and earnestness. “I suspect I’m a little out of practice.”
“Well, you should have caught up on your music at least after this afternoon’s rehearsal,” her aunt observed.
Margarethe dipped her head in a little bow. “I count it my small contribution to the cause, Aunt.”
“Cousin, I would be honored to help you practice catching frogs,” the boy persisted.
She stifled a smile. “How thoughtful of you, Friedrich. But we should wait until the weather is warmer, and we can hear them singing in the rushes. Then we’ll know for sure where to look for them.”
Friedrich pursed his lips in a pout. “They never sing until almost May Day. And that’s such a long time from now.”
You’re wrong, young Friedrich, Margarethe thought to herself. May Day will come all too soon.
❧
Troubled by the events of the past day, Jolan rose early the next morning for Mass. It was not her usual custom, but extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary measures. I
n assisting the physician, she had learned the nature of all of Hilda’s injuries. Of course, she was no child and had heard of such things. But to sit and talk with someone who had suffered such an atrocity was new to her.
If Hilda recovered quickly, she knew that Albert would be greatly encouraged. And so she prayed—out of pity for the maid, out of love for her favorite male cousin. Still, it was Margarethe who was her true favorite.
How she wished they could be together now. Margarethe and her parents had invited her for a visit, and she would have left this very day, except for this dreadful turn of events. Now Hilda needed her, and there was no help for it but to stay. She could not be so selfish as to leave on a holiday, or even to beg Margarethe to come here instead. She must do her duty. Albert had requested it himself.
“Help me, Father God,” she whispered into the near-empty chapel. “I have no wisdom in such things. Tell me what to do. Or send someone else to help Hilda. She cries all the time, and I don’t know how to comfort her.”
Jolan noticed that Willem, too, was attending Mass and wondered if he came often, or only when he was in trouble as she did. No, that couldn’t be. Willem was older and wiser and could handle anything.
Leaving the chapel, Jolan allowed Willem to catch up with her, using his familiar springy step. “Good morning, my lady. How is your patient?”
“She is quiet this morning, thanks be to God. But she cried most of the night. I’m at my wits’ end as to how to help her.”
“And so you have come to the chapel to pray. A very good start indeed. I trust God will answer all your prayers, my lady.”
“Thank you, Willem,” she answered, her cheeks warm. “I hope God answers all your prayers as well.”
He walked at her side in silent speculation, then spoke up. “If I recall correctly, you are to have a voice lesson today. When would you be available?”
Jolan shook her head. “I don’t know when Hilda might sleep, and I don’t want to leave her. Since the. . .incident. . . she seems afraid of men—” Suddenly, realizing what she had said, she clapped her hand over her mouth.
For a Song Page 6
