For a Song

by Kathleen Scarth

  The first melody—slow and stately—soared to its majestic conclusion, the two viels in close harmony. Afterward, Willem dropped out and allowed Margarethe to play the new tune. As planned, he joined her, blending in a simple harmony. The song ended on a sustained note that rose past the vaulted ceiling and into the heavens, it seemed.

  “Oh, Margarethe,” Jolan said, “I’ve never heard anything so lovely.”

  Willem, too, was moved. “Have you written a lyric?”

  “Not yet,” she replied and noticed that tears were rolling down Hilda’s cheeks. She hurried to comfort her. “Oh, I’m so sorry that the music made you sad.”

  “Oh, my lady, it’s just that it was so beautiful—and now I am wondering how people like you, who can create such beauty, could care for me?”

  “It is no mystery. You are one of God’s precious ones, and we love you. It’s as simple as that.”

  Jolan bustled over with a handkerchief. “Uncle Otto told me of a new love song you and Willem have been singing, Margarethe. I want to hear it. Would you like that, Hilda?”

  “Yes, please,” she said. Jolan sat beside her on the bed, one hand resting lightly on Hilda’s arm, the other making a commanding gesture in the air. “Then let the music begin.”

  Margarethe picked up her lute and found it already tuned. How like Willem to be so thoughtful, she thought, feeling another pang in her heart.

  He picked up his own lute and laid a soprano recorder where he could reach it and nodded to her. They sang that song, played the instrumental passage without a flaw, and seeing Hilda’s obvious delight, sang the chorus an extra time, ending with a repeat of the last four lines.

  ’Til all our days shall pass,

  We’ll be together, you and me.

  As ever on the brook flows down

  Constant to the sea.

  As it’s renewed by snow and rain,

  Our love’s fed from above.

  “I always will be true to you,” Willem sang in his rich tenor, and Margarethe answered in her sweet alto: “You’ll always be my love.”

  Only when the sun sank low in the western sky did they stop to care for Hilda’s needs. But even with the other women in the room, Margarethe’s heart was bonded with Willem’s once more—as if they had never been apart.

  nine

  With the troops coming home the next day—the Lord’s Day—Jolan had to plead for enough hot water for Hilda to bathe. While servants brought in great kettles of water, heated over the fire, Margarethe made an infusion of soothing herbs to sprinkle in the bath. Hilda would be able to soak her aching muscles instead of sponging off as was the custom. But to everyone’s surprise, the men arrived early, making a great commotion in the vaulted halls.

  Jolan was relieved to hear the shouting and joshing among the men. “When the battle goes poorly, they come home sullen and silent. This noise is a good sign,” she explained.

  “I hope all continues to go well for them, though I must admit I do not understand this war at all.”

  Jolan was quick to supply a brief overview of the turbulent history of their border. “Back when all this started, Uncle Otto and a few others noticed that we had too many robberies on the roads. Uncle sent out some of his men disguised as merchants to see what was going on. From their report, he suspected that these were not ordinary thieves. Indeed, it turns out they were Lord Ewald’s men all along.”

  “But I heard that Lord Ewald and his allies were stopping people on the road and demanding huge tolls.”

  “True—” Jolan looked off as if deciding whether to continue— “along with other crimes. And in exchange for the tolls, the travelers were offered protection from the robbers.”

  “What gall!”

  “Exactly. Of course, Uncle Otto and the other honest people asked Lord Ewald to stop this abominable practice. When he refused, Uncle and his allies broke off trade relations. Unfortunately, this only fueled Ewald’s resolve to steal even more.”

  “Why is it that so many goods pass through this area?” Hilda put in for the first time.

  Ah, a hopeful sign, Margarethe thought. That the maiden should take an interest in something besides her own sad plight was a small indicator of her recovery.

  “The east-west road that intersects the valley is a major trade route,” Jolan explained. “It connects with several other well-traveled roads. Or they would be—if not for the threat of robbers—and this awful war.”

  She rose to straighten Hilda’s bed coverings. “And the north-south route that links Bavaria with the other German lands runs straight through the disputed valley.”

  Margarethe was now curious about this war she had long disdained to be informed about. “Jolan, what other crimes did Lord Ewald commit besides the robberies and collecting tolls he wasn’t entitled to?”

  “He is cruel to Jews. He taxes them more heavily than others. And one night in Rogensruhe, when he burned their homes and shops, many lost their lives.”

  Margarethe was horrified. “How could he do such a thing?”

  Jolan shrugged. “I can’t fathom it myself. But I do know it triggered the war, for Ewald himself had a large house in Rogensruhe, filled with lovely things, and—”

  Margarethe snorted. “Most of them stolen, no doubt.”

  “Someone went to Ewald’s house in Rogensruhe and burned it, just as he had done to the Jews,” Jolan continued. “Assuming the deed was ordered by Uncle Otto, Ewald retaliated by declaring war.”

  “And was it true—that your uncle ordered the burning, I mean?” Hilda asked in a soft voice.

  “I don’t know, but someone I trust says Uncle was not displeased when it happened.”

  Then Jolan told Margarethe of the recent attack on Albert’s village. “Hilda could tell us more—if she’s willing,” she said, glancing toward the pale girl propped against the pillows. “Sometimes it helps to share the things that trouble us most.”

  Hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, Hilda related the whole sordid story, reducing them all to tears before she was through.

  “I’m glad you felt you could share your pain with us,” Margarethe said. “And we are both here if you care to say more.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Hilda murmured. “You and Lord Albert are so kind to take a stranger into your family.” She eyed Margarethe with a puzzled expression. “But then you are not a true cousin to him, if I understand correctly.”

  Jolan grinned and bobbed up from the stool where she was sitting to poke at the fire. “We are all hoping she will be related soon.”

  “I will, in truth,” Margarethe said with a little sigh. “I am to marry one of Lord Otto’s sons.”

  Hilda’s eyes grew wide. “Which one?”

  “All four have proposed, but my uncle and father have assured me that I may have my choice when the time comes.” Thinking to change the subject, which was always burdensome, Margarethe hurried on. “But shouldn’t you get out and dry off? The water is nearly cold by now.”

  Jolan and Margarethe gently eased Hilda from the tub, wrapped her ribs, helped her into a fresh smock, and tucked her into bed again. All this time Hilda was studying Margarethe with a measured look.

  Noticing, Margarethe asked, “Do you have an opinion as to which of Lord Otto’s sons I should choose?”

  “Oh, no, my lady. I have met only Lord Albert, though I must say he is the finest man I have ever known, save for my father. He rescued me and prayed for me and sang songs to help me forget my ordeal. And all of this without ever mentioning that he was a wealthy and powerful lord. In fact, it was not until we were within sight of Beroburg that it came up at all.”

  Jolan sat on the bed by Hilda and gestured for Margarethe to do the same. To Margarethe’s discomfort, the maiden was still gazing steadily at her. “Albert is a fine man, but I will not tell you which I favor.” Margarethe glanced sharply at Jolan. “And you must promise not to tell, either. I would prefer Hilda’s unbiased opinion.”

  “Once
you are able to come down to the hall for meals you will be able to meet all of them,” Jolan told her. “In the meantime, perhaps we should ask Margarethe what she is looking for in a husband.”

  The two women waited expectantly while Margarethe gathered her thoughts. “Well, he must be kind—”

  “They are all kind!”

  “I would like someone who has a good sense of humor,” Margarethe went on, overlooking Jolan’s interruption.

  “Then that lets Klaus out.” Jolan again. “He’s as sober as a monk.”

  “Not to mention pompous and self-important,” Margarethe added. She grew serious again. “I need someone who honors God, someone who can sing with me and make music whenever the mood strikes.”

  “Albert,” Hilda began, then blushed at the slip of her tongue. “That is, I know that Lord Albert is a praying man and he likes to sing. He has a most pleasant voice.”

  “Yes, he does,” Jolan agreed. “But Gregor also likes to sing. Now Gottfried, on the other hand, has no sense of pitch, and Klaus can sing, but finds it pointless.” Jolan pulled a face that set the others to giggling. “Klaus will need a wife with an excellent sense of humor, for he has none whatsoever.”

  “It sounds like a choice between Lord Gregor and Lord Albert then,” Hilda wisely decided. “And since I have not met Lord Gregor, I suppose I can be of no further help.”

  Margarethe hesitated, wondering if she should mention her final criterion. “There is one thing more. My husband must be even-tempered. I do not care to be shouted at or abused. Nor could I bear to have my servants or my children mistreated.” At this, she watched Hilda’s face for evidence that she might have erred in suggesting this ugly reminder of the poor girl’s recent experience.

  Not surprisingly, a worried look crossed the maiden’s face. “That may eliminate Lord Albert, my lady. He was quite angry—justifiably so, of course—but he did kill a man in defending my honor.”

  There was silence while they pondered the matter. Then Jolan ventured an opinion. “I do think it’s the only thing he could have done. Else the brute would have been free to terrorize other maidens. And I have never seen Albert angry—only kind and gentle.”

  Touched by their concern for her decision, Margarethe wanted to know more. “Jolan, how do you find Gregor’s disposition?”

  “Oh, I have seen him irritated by small annoyances, but mostly he treats all of life as a great joke. Still, if it were up to me, I would rather have Albert any day.”

  Margarethe grinned over at her cousin. “I already knew what your opinion would be. You’ve always adored Albert, followed him around like a puppy.” She turned to include Hilda in the conversation. “My cousin was always trying to impress him—plying him with flowers or frogs—”

  “Frogs! You should talk about frogs! Hilda, Margarethe was the best frog-catcher around. She would hide them behind her back, then plop them in someone’s lap without warning!”

  From the smile on Hilda’s face, it was clear that she was enjoying the account. Then a sudden frown creased her brow. “Lady Jolan, how old were you when you were following Lord Albert about?”

  “Oh, I must have been three or so, and Albert was nine. He’s six years older than I.”

  “Then if you are fourteen, that would make him twenty now—”

  Before Jolan could respond, there was a knock at the door and she rushed to answer it. It was a page summoning them for supper.

  Margarethe noticed the look of alarm on Hilda’s face. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing, really,” she said, picking at the bedclothes. “I’m being silly, I suppose. I’m sure I will be just fine here alone.”

  “If you feel lonely, we could stay with you during the meal. But after supper, Jolan and I will both be working.”

  “Working?” Hilda seemed genuinely confused.

  “Yes. The men will want music until late at night. I’m afraid we will both be needed in the hall to help Willem,” Margarethe said, carefully watching for Hilda’s reaction. No doubt the poor thing was frightened of the boisterous soldiers she heard romping about the castle. She certainly had reason to be fearful, after the shameful act that had been forced upon her.

  Jolan was quick to sense Hilda’s alarm as well. “I’ll call a guard. Shall I tell him that only Lord Albert or Willem are to be admitted?”

  “Oh, would you, Lady Jolan? I would be ever so grateful.” She looked so wan and defenseless lying there. “I do hope you don’t think me foolish.”

  “Of course not. But we shall hope that by tomorrow evening, you will be joining us in the banquet hall. After all, without your counsel, Margarethe cannot make up her mind who is to be the lucky man to claim her hand in marriage.”

  ❧

  Willem was relieved to see Lady Jolan and Margarethe taking their places at table. Not yet knowing the full potential of the other castle musicians, he intended to work the two young ladies mercilessly. They would love it!

  Right now, observing the warm greetings bestowed on Margarethe by her suitors and the way she responded to each of them with equal warmth, he felt a pang of regret. Why couldn’t he be one of those favored few contending for her hand? Still, no one else made music the way the two of them did, and soon she would be singing with him again—even if there was a large audience to hear them.

  After supper, Willem called on Margarethe for the first song. They had played for perhaps half an hour when Willem noticed a page running down the stairs and back up again. Following that, another page brought a chair and placed it near the back of the hall.

  A lady, supported by the first page, slowly descended the stairs. Even from this distance, he could see that it was Maid Hilda. And when she was seated, he whispered to Margarethe and Jolan, and they struck up a lively tune that the maiden had enjoyed.

  While the other musicians were playing and Willem was taking a break, Gregor called him over. “How about that drinking song? We could try a duet if you’re agreeable? And Father doesn’t mind a little dancing, either, now that the Lenten season is behind us. Perhaps a little Saracen dance music, with the chimes and drums and those wailing shawms. I see some toes already tapping.”

  Willem bowed. “As you wish. But I’ll need Lady Margarethe on the shawms,” he teased.

  Gregor looked so comically mournful that Willem relented. “Perhaps she won’t be needed on all the numbers,” he said, at which Lord Gregor’s countenance brightened at once.

  Willem couldn’t help liking Gregor in spite of the fact that this would probably be the man who would take Margarethe from him forever. And he had to wonder what his attitude would have been if he’d known that only a few days ago, Willem had been kissing his intended!

  At the end of the song, Willem announced Lord Gregor’s request. Tables and benches were pushed against the walls, and the hall cleared for dancing. As the music played, the lord and ladies formed a circle—Saracen-style—and began the ring dance.

  Before the first dance had ended, Willem leaned over and spoke into Margarethe’s ear. “The next tune will be a couples dance, so I won’t need you to play.”

  “If I don’t play, I’ll have to dance!” she whispered back fiercely.

  “I believe that’s the idea.”

  “How much did Gregor pay you?” she demanded, sounding snappish and not at all like the Greta he knew.

  Willem laughed. Better that than speaking his heart. The idea of another man holding her in his arms was too much to bear. So. . .best to get the whole thing over.

  He signaled for order as the dance ended, and Margarethe put down her shawm. Instantly, Gregor was at her side, looking smug, and Willem overheard their conversation as he asked Margarethe to dance.

  “I’m a very poor dancer, I’m afraid, Gregor,” she began. “The music I make requires fingers and lips—not feet. Therefore, I’ve never learned what to do with them.”

  “I’ll take my chances, my lady,” he said with a grin. “Besides, it would give me great pleasure to
be your instructor.” He gave Willem a sidelong look. “It occurs to me that your tutors have much readier access to you than anyone else.”

  She appeared to ignore the implication and rushed on. “And for every dance I dance with you, I will have to dance one with each of your brothers as well.”

  “Then you shall be busy indeed, for I plan to dance with you at least seven times this night. Come, lovely lady.”

  She allowed him to lead her out onto the floor and even managed a smile as the music began. True to her prediction, she danced the night away—first with each of the brothers in turn, then with Lord Otto and Uncle Einhard, returning to Gregor again and again. It was too much to be endured, Willem thought.

  At last, leaving the music to a trio of players who had proved themselves adequate musicians, Willem found the nerve to approach Margarethe. Willingly, she drifted into his light embrace with a whisper of long skirts. He easily spanned her small waist with his hands while she placed her hands on his shoulders. Even in this stiff and formal manner, he was near enough to see the pulse beating in her throat, to smell the sweet gardenia fragrance of her skin. The torchlight cast interesting shadows across the planes of her face as they danced, and she kept her gaze fastened on his until the song ended—much too soon.

  Regretting the moment, he bowed low and kissed her hand, then whispered, “Rest for a while, then we’ll sing our song for Maid Hilda.”

  But when he glanced toward the back of the hall, he could see that Hilda’s chair was vacant.

  ❧

  Later, Margarethe and Jolan stole into the chamber where Hilda was staying to see how she was faring. They were surprised to find Albert, sitting beside her and singing softly, accompanying himself on a lute.

  “Albert, I didn’t know you were here. The poor thing will never recover if you keep her up all night,” Jolan scolded.

  “She asked for music when I carried her back upstairs from the hall. But she is sleeping now, I think.”

  “Is there any news from the village?” Margarethe whispered.