For a Song

by Kathleen Scarth

  The miller! she thought. Hilda’s father!

  ❧

  Willem was accustomed to good treatment in this household, but now he was treated with the respect accorded a great hero. At supper, he was given a place of honor at the lord’s table, and afterward, a cry went up for “the song.”

  He looked about and caught Margarethe’s eye, then rose and accepted the lute one of the other musicians handed him. Without introduction, he began the song, his heart swelling as a group of the soldiers joined him on the chorus, filling the hall with the glorious sound.

  At the end of the song a great cheer went up, and Willem felt the joy he saw radiating from Margarethe’s face. It was well. She was pleased—more than pleased.

  Lady Edeltraud rose from her seat and came to see Willem. “I did not understand all the fuss about a mere song. But now that I’ve heard it for myself, I can see how one song could inspire men’s hearts and put an end to war.”

  Willem bowed low over her hand. “Thank you, my lady. But I believe God is the composer of that song.”

  “I believe it, too. And I pray He continues to use it.”

  If he received any more acclaim, Willem thought to himself, he would have to pray against that deadly sin—pride!

  ❧

  Hilda stayed in the hall long enough to hear the stunning song everyone was talking about. Her eyes filled with tears at the sheer beauty of it. She recognized her story, of course, and was happy for Lord Albert, who had been made a hero forever through his part in the song.

  But now she was wondering how he was faring with her father—and what their business might be. Feeling the need to visit the garderobe, she did not remain for the rest of the music, but climbed the stairs for the small chamber down the hall.

  She was inside only a short time and emerged, flushed with happiness and relief. Her feet fairly flew down the steps on her way to share the good news with her friends.

  Then she went back upstairs to give thanks to God and to await Lord Albert’s return. For whatever he was arranging for her would now be for naught.

  fifteen

  Margarethe was doing a ring dance with a group of ladies when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Hilda, wreathed in smiles, with Albert and his parents. They all looked so happy that she withdrew from the dance to learn what had happened. Hilda offered a hug instead of an explanation while Albert left to fetch Jolan.

  At the back of the hall, he launched into an announcement. “We’ve splendid news! It appears that we have discovered a solution to Hilda’s dilemma.”

  Margarethe and Jolan exchanged bewildered glances.

  “You’re both aware of the. . .uh. . .the difficulty Maid Hilda has been experiencing.” At their nods, Albert continued. “Well, my first thought was that she must marry immediately.”

  Jolan shook her head. “We thought of that as well, But it’s impractical, of course, since she is not even betrothed. Besides—” Where was all this leading? Hadn’t Hilda confided that the grievous assault had not left her with child?

  Albert grinned. “Yes, now—thanks be to God—there is no need to rush into a marriage for the purpose of saving her honor.” Well, so now Albert knew as well, Margarethe thought.

  “In spite of all that, however, the lady has consented to marry a man of whom she has grown quite fond.”

  Margarethe watched, astonished, as Albert leaned over to plant a kiss on Hilda’s cheek.

  “So there is to be another wedding in this house,” Lord Otto said, with Lady Edeltraud on his arm, smiling proudly.

  Margarethe could only gape as Jolan let out a little squeal and threw out her arms to both Albert and Hilda. Then Margarethe collected herself. “I am so happy for you both,” she told her friend. Yet even as she kissed Albert’s cheek, she thought of Willem. Such happiness would never be theirs.

  ❧

  Willem looked on as the little tableau at the back of the hall unfolded. Still, he had not an inkling of what was going on until the radiant couple approached. “Willem, Hilda and I are to wed.”

  Willem covered his surprise by drawing them both into an embrace. “My heartiest congratulations, Lord Albert, Maid Hilda.” Then, he inclined his head toward Hilda. “I must say you’ve a job ahead of you, taming this one.” Hilda made a face, but clung to Albert’s arm.

  Had Margarethe known all along? Is this what she’d had in mind when she’d asked him to pray for Hilda? How strange—that a lord could marry a miller’s daughter, when a nobleman could not marry a lady simply because he had no land.

  ❧

  In spite of a sleepless night, Willem rose early on the Lord’s Day and attended Mass. Toward morning his thinking had cleared, and he realized that a miracle could still occur for himself and Margarethe. She was betrothed to another, but that was not the same as being wed, and the betrothal had not yet been made official—with May Day still a fortnight away.

  If Margarethe broke it off after that, it would be an insult to Gregor. Insulting the knight was not something Willem cared to do. He had not intended to like the fellow, but now that they were friends, he felt an unexpected loyalty.

  Hilda joined him at table. “Forgive me, Willem, but you seem sad today. How can this be when God has given you such a wonderful song to encourage the men? Why, you’re a hero!”

  He shook his head mournfully. “I am no hero. I’m a failure.”

  “A failure?” Her eyes grew round. “You are so gifted and talented, and everyone loves you.” He made no answer, but sat watching the servitors bring in the meal. “Does it have something to do with this prayer you have been praying?” she asked.

  He gave her his full attention and nodded. “The prayer that has not been answered.”

  She tapped the table with a fingernail, pondering. “You have never shared with me the nature of your prayer, but did God not instruct you to write a song when you prayed?”

  “Yes. And I obeyed.”

  “Then surely the answer to this prayer is on the way. Can you not see? It is something like going to a bazaar to purchase something from a merchant. At his booth, you choose some cloth. The merchant tells you how many coins, and you lay them on the counter. After all that, would you then walk away without the cloth?”

  “Of course not.”

  She gave a little smile. “There, you have it. You should be thanking the merchant and picking up your purchase. Do you not think that our Lord is much like that merchant, and you—the buyer?” She eyed him expectantly, and Willem blinked in amazement.

  “That is a weighty matter,” he said, clearing his throat. “I will have to give it some thought.”

  At that moment Jolan and Margarethe joined them. “Are you planning to purchase some cloth, Willem?” Jolan asked.

  He felt the beginning of a blush. “Not likely.” Then he changed the subject. Looking about, he saw none of Lord Otto’s family. “Where are all the lords?”

  “They are meeting in the solar,” Margarethe replied.

  She was lovely today in light blue and purple, a combination she favored.

  “For what purpose?”

  She shrugged. “Gregor was secretive. Did Albert mention anything to you?” she asked Hilda.

  “Nothing.”

  “I need to talk with you today, Willem,” Margarethe began, “about your students and the music for this week. Jolan, you should come, too, for you’ve had your share of students.”

  Willem bowed. “I shall be ready whenever you need me, my lady—in the music room.”

  He quickly finished eating and excused himself. In the music chamber, he took up his lute. There he strummed as he considered what Hilda had said. The maiden made good sense. The answer might well be on the way.

  Thanking God for that which had not yet come, Willem hummed a tune he heard in his mind, then plucked the strings, feeling his way through the song. Before it slipped away, he reached for parchment to seize the moment. The Lord continued to surprise him at every turn. Mayb
e Maid Hilda was right, after all. . .

  ❧

  “A messenger, my lady, with a letter from the Schwarzwald,” announced a page, interrupting the music lesson Margarethe was giving.

  Offering no explanation, she excused herself and dashed down the stairs. She had seen her parents only twice in the nine years she had been a member of her uncle’s household, and news from home was dear. In fact, because of the danger on the roads, they had all been advised against traveling and so it had been several years since she had seen them.

  With trembling fingers, she took the letter the messenger handed her, unsealed it, and read:

  Our dear Greta,

  Too much time has passed since last we were together. And now we learn that our little one—only a babe yesterday, it seems—is to wed.

  With the improved roads and the battle far to the south, we are told that travel to Oberburg is safe, and we long to help you celebrate your betrothal at the feast on May Day.

  Until we meet again,

  Papa and Mutti

  Margarethe wiped a tear with the back of her hand. Would that her parents were coming for a visit only—and not to celebrate the beginning of her lifelong imprisonment—a marriage she dreaded with all of her heart.

  ❧

  It was late on Lord’s Day Eve when the fighting men returned, more boisterous than ever. Margarethe ran down the stairs with Jolan and looked for someone who could tell them what was happening.

  “Willem!” she called, spotting him among the men. “What is the news?”

  “It was a complete rout. Ewald’s men turned tail, and Lord Otto gave chase. The front has been pushed all the way to his castle,” he said, grinning. “I rode along when I heard. It was glorious! I may have to add another verse to the song.”

  Jolan grimaced in a comical expression. “I hope I never have to learn that long song.”

  “Oh, Willem, is it almost over?” Margarethe asked.

  “Very likely. The scouts from the south reported that many of Ewald’s hired Austrian troops did not stop at the castle, but kept going toward home.”

  Someone sent out a cry for a healer, and Jolan responded, leaving Margarethe and Willem alone. “My parents will be here soon,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward.

  His gaze pinned her to the spot, and she felt as if she could not draw her next breath. “I know you will be glad to see them.”

  “Yes—but. . .oh, Willem, why did it have to end this way?”

  Glancing about to be sure they were not being observed, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Remember, our God can do anything. Never give up hope.”

  Gregor came in just then and enveloped her in a hug. “Sweet Greta, how goes the battle at home?”

  “We are still praying, Gregor.” She looked around for Willem, half expecting him to be gone. But he stood there, grinning.

  “Did Willem tell you why we are so late tonight?”

  “Yes, and it is good news indeed. Do you think the war may be over before Midsummer?”

  “Sooner than that, I’d wager.” Gregor lowered his voice, “I cannot tell you here. Shall we find a more private place?”

  She nodded. “The music room?”

  “Very well. You go first,” he instructed. Margarethe was curious about the wink Willem sent her way, but she preceded Gregor through the rowdy mob and toward the stairs.

  Gregor followed, closing the door behind them and sinking wearily onto a stool at the table. “Ah, it is good to be home again.”

  For a moment she wondered if he would expect the kiss she had neglected to give him upon first greeting him. But he seemed content to sit and rest. And their kisses were unremarkable anyway, so she held her peace.

  But what was this that could not be discussed in front of the others? She was curious.

  “The war, Margarethe, my dear, may be over this coming week.”

  “But how? It would seem to be time for a siege now, and those are most tiresome and drawn out.”

  “True. But we will parley. Messengers have been sent to all of our allies. If they all appear, it will be a most impressive sight, and Ewald will be hard put to resist. Your uncle arrives tomorrow, and my father will have him do the talking, as he is the best diplomat among us.”

  “You will go on this. . .excursion?”

  “Yes. I am counted as one of the allies, as are my brothers.”

  “Oh, Gregor. I hope your plan is successful. I fear for you, for all of you. When you came close to taking that lance—” She shuddered, feeling the pain as if it were her own.

  “It was not one of my best moments,” he admitted, rubbing his side and wincing a little. “But I was spared—thanks largely to your prayers, my lady.” He took her hand and smiled into her eyes. “You are the angel God has given to bring me safely through this war.”

  Margarethe forced a smile. How could that be—when her own heart did not bear witness to his?

  He rose reluctantly. “We must get back to the hall. The men will be assembling shortly for further instructions about our venture later this week. But keep my secret, my lady. We need the element of surprise.”

  “Will you be armed?” she asked in a small voice.

  “We will dress to make an impression, I can assure you. And we will take along a secret weapon.” He grinned at her look of puzzlement.

  “I will cover you with my prayers as always, but won’t you please wear the mail hauberk underneath—just in case?”

  At this, he tugged her into his arms and held her tightly. “For you, my lady, I would give my life.”

  Margarethe closed her eyes and yielded to his embrace. Perhaps—just perhaps—she could learn to love this man, after all.

  ❧

  At Mass on the Lord’s Day, Margarethe was surprised to see Gregor, Willem, and Klaus dressed—not in mail—but in traveling clothes. She waited outside the chapel for them, hoping to find out what they were up to.

  “An affair of state,” was all Willem would confide when she asked. Klaus looked watchful and as stern as ever, but Gregor reserved his most tender smile for her. “Once more we’ll need your prayers, my lady.”

  “And you shall have them.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you wearing the mail under your tunic as you promised?”

  At that moment, Gregor looked no older than little Friedrich now, and ducked his head in embarrassment. “I fear I forgot.”

  “The lady is wise,” Willem put in. “We should pray as if everything depends upon God, and be as prudent as if everything depends upon ourselves.”

  “Hmmph!” Klaus snorted. “We’re wasting time if we have to add the hauberk. But come, Willem. I have an extra that would fit you.”

  Seeing their haste to be off, Margarethe gave each of them a fond farewell. But Gregor held her a moment longer than the others, then gestured for her to follow him to his chamber.

  She hesitated only a moment. After all, they were betrothed, and—if the mission failed—this might be the last time she would ever see him.

  Inside, she could not resist a quick look around. The man surely needed a valet, even in these temporary quarters in his father’s house. With no one to keep order here and lay out his garments, no wonder he had forgotten to put on all the necessary armor.

  “Well, Greta, have you decided what we will be doing this day?” he asked, beginning to remove his outer clothing.

  She averted her eyes, looking instead at the cluttered room and mentally rearranging the furnishings. “Since you chose not to arm yourself, I suspect you are not going into battle today but may be planning a rendezvous with some of your allies to persuade them to come parley with Ewald tomorrow. Am I right?”

  He grinned. “Your reasoning is most admirable, my lady. Ewald will not be convinced to surrender if certain allies do not appear. Therefore, we need our very best diplomat.”

  “Well, then, that explains Klaus’s part. Despite his morose attitude lately, he is known to be the best diplomat among you brothers
. But what of Willem? He is not a soldier.”

  Gregor would not answer directly. “Trust me, my lady. He is needed. Now you must leave so I can prepare myself as you directed.” He gave a little bow and pushed her toward the door. “But I have one last request. We will break our fast along the road. So don’t come to see us off. We’ve said our farewells, and time is short.”

  She nodded, brushed her lips against his cheek and left the room. But when the three men mounted up to ride out of the courtyard, she was watching from her chamber window. Carefully strapped to the back of Willem’s horse was a package the size of a lute.

  She left her room to go to the chapel to pray, and did not emerge until dinnertime.

  sixteen

  When Margarethe went to the hall for dinner, she found that her aunt and uncle had arrived, along with young Friedrich. She laughed as she flew into her aunt’s outstretched arms. “Oh, Aunt Mechthild, it feels like years since I’ve seen you! I’ve missed you so.”

  “Ah, Greta, you’re looking well,” said her uncle, giving her an assessing glance.

  “Greta, when are you going to show me around this great big castle. It’s the biggest castle I’ve ever seen!” Friedrich piped up. “I want to see everything! The secret hiding places and the dungeons and all the best ponds to catch frogs!”

  There was a round of hearty laughter as they were escorted to the head table, where Jolan was already seated, waiting for them.

  “From what Otto tells me, son,” began Lord Einhard, sliding into the seat a page held for him, “Margarethe has been much too busy to explore her surroundings.”

  “True, Friedrich,” she admitted. “When I first came here, I helped your sister Jolan care for a lady who had been sadly injured. And since Willem has been away with the troops, I’ve been helping with the music students.”

  “Did the sick lady get better?” The freckled face grew sober. “Or did she die?”