The Lady of the Castle (The Marie Series Book 2)

by Iny Lorentz

“Children grow so fast at that age.” Pleased at Marie’s comment that made her feel like she was taking good care of her children, she also noticed the slightly pinched expression on her friend’s face. “Have you been taking what I gave you a while ago?”

  Marie nodded sadly. “Yes, but it hasn’t helped.”

  “It’s too soon to tell. After all, Michel has only just left.”

  Marie dreamily thought of their last night together, but then she shook her head. “I’ve been married for ten years and have taken every remedy you, the midwife, and the doctors have given me.”

  “And there were many rather disgusting and completely useless things among them. I only recently remembered one of Gerlind’s old recipes and brewed a potion that should actually help you. She prepared it for a woman who wanted to give her husband an heir more than anything.”

  Marie leaned forward. “And? Did it work?”

  “The woman gave birth to several children in the years following, but they were all girls.” Hiltrud had to laugh at the memory while Marie felt hope stirring deep inside her.

  “I’d give anything for a daughter!” Marie looked down at little Giso, imagining how wonderful it would be to hold her own child.

  Seeing tears running down her friend’s cheeks, Hiltrud wished for the powers of a saint to help her. At the same time she had to suppress a smile. Instead of accepting the way things were, Marie was railing against her fate yet again, just like the time Rupert Splendidus ruined her, forcing her to become a wandering prostitute to survive. But now she led a splendid life, richer and of far higher standing than she would have had as a wealthy burgher of Constance. Hiltrud shook off the memories of her years roaming with Marie, took two earthen cups from the wall cupboard handcrafted of spruce wood by her husband, and filled them partway with wine while Mechthild went to fetch water from the well.

  “Here, Marie! Cheers! I’m glad we have a chance to sit together. Would you like more bread?” Marie nodded, and Hiltrud cut another piece, buttering it especially heavily this time. “You have no idea how often I used to dream of a slice of bread and butter when we were traveling together.”

  “Mama, what did you and Aunty Marie do back then?” Mechthild was at an age when children wanted to know everything.

  Marie waited with interest to see how Hiltrud would reply, as Hiltrud had kept her past a secret from her children so far.

  “Well, we traveled from market to market and offered our goods up for sale.”

  That’s one way of putting it, Marie thought, glad of how cleverly her friend had dealt with the situation. Running her hand over her daughter’s pale blond hair, Hiltrud pointed to the door with her chin. “You should go play in the yard with Dietmar and Giso. Aunty Marie and I still have things to talk about.”

  The girl nodded gravely and lifted Giso off Marie’s lap, then caught hold of Dietmar and went outside. When the children had gone, Hiltrud took a deep breath. “I love my little rascals to bits, but sometimes they’re too nosy.” She leaned forward and scrutinized Marie’s face. “You’ve looked happier.”

  “I told you I’m missing Michel.”

  “But that’s no reason for letting yourself go.”

  Indignantly, Marie threw back her head. “Letting myself go?”

  Hiltrud chuckled softly. “You’re trying to withdraw into yourself, and you’re already making yourself sick with worry. You can’t change the fact that Michel has gone to war, but instead of crying, you should make sure to have your house in perfect order for him when he returns.”

  “Are you trying to say I don’t keep my house in order?” Marie was really getting angry now.

  Hiltrud laughed harder. “Everything’s still in order now, of course, but you’ll have to take on Michel’s work to keep it that way. After all, you’re the castellan’s wife, and it’s your duty to ensure that everything continues as usual in his absence. Or do you want Michel to be besieged by the townspeople upon his return, asking for decisions you could have made ages ago?”

  “No, of course I don’t! My husband is relying on me, and I mustn’t disappoint him.” Nodding enthusiastically, Marie gave Hiltrud a tight hug. “I’ll make sure I’m a worthy representative of Michel, I promise. Please don’t be mad at me for snapping at you.”

  “I can take it. After all, I spent enough time on the road with you, wondering how to save you from your own foolishness.”

  Marie’s face reflected memories of when she had doubted not only earthly justice, but also God’s grace, and she replied seriously: “If you want to call me foolish for taking my revenge on those who defiled me, took away my home, and pushed me into the gutter, then so be it.”

  “Yet if any of your actions had gone even slightly wrong, the Rhine would have carried our dead bodies out to sea.”

  “You’re right, as usual. But if I hadn’t dared to reach for the stars, you wouldn’t be a wealthy farmer now, with a nice husband and a whole stable full of healthy children.”

  “While you are the poor, mistreated warrior’s wife. Marie, I have a feeling you’ll never be fully content. Try and accept the way your life has turned out, and you’ll see that despite the hard years on the road, you’ve been extremely fortunate.”

  Refilling Marie’s cup, Hiltrud began to talk about her children, a topic dear to her heart. Marie listened with interest, as she was the girls’ godmother and Michel was the boys’ godfather. Not many farmers’ children had such generous godparents, Hiltrud knew. At one point, Michel had even hinted to Hiltrud and Thomas at the possibility of raising one of their sons as his own once Marie was past her fertile years. Marie knew nothing of these plans, and Hiltrud still fervently hoped for her friend to bear a few children of her own. She was only just over thirty, after all, and healthy from a good diet and plenty of exercise outdoors.

  A little while later, Thomas returned from the fields and as usual, greeted their guest with a timid smile. Marie had made it possible for him to marry the only woman he’d ever loved, and she’d also been responsible for his transformation from a humpbacked, bonded goatherd living in a remote castle in the Black Forest to a rich freehold farmer. Over the past ten years, his love for his wife had only grown deeper and stronger, and he would have done anything to thank Marie for his happiness.

  “Michel has gone, hasn’t he?” he asked as Hiltrud handed him a cup of wine mixed with water.

  Sighing, Marie nodded and gazed out the window toward the east. The cloud of dust his men had raised had long since blown away, and the clear horizon made Marie’s heart even heavier. Thomas reached for Marie’s hand and held it tight. “Don’t worry. Michel will come back. As you know, only the good die young.”

  Marie laughed despite herself. “You both know how to make people feel better. I’m so glad I’ve got you two, because I wouldn’t know how to get through this on my own.”

  “You’ve become lazy,” Hiltrud joked, but then took Marie’s other hand and looked at her earnestly. “If you have any problems or need help, come straight to us. You can always count on Thomas and me.”

  Taking a deep breath, Marie gratefully returned her gaze. Her friends’ words had given her strength, and she was feeling far better than when she’d first arrived at the goat farm.

  “Well, I’ll leave you again now. There’s plenty of work waiting for me in the castle.” Marie hugged Hiltrud and squeezed Thomas’s hand, then turned to the children who were noisily demanding their due. Michi, the firstborn, though only nine years old, was a bright and hardworking boy who’d soon realized his godmother was sad. “I’m already looking forward to Uncle Michel’s return. He’ll bring back something nice for each of us, don’t you think?”

  Marie nodded with a smile. “I’m sure he will. What would you like?”

  The boy squirmed with embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t really know. But he’ll certainly bring a pretty piece of jewelry for you, as h
e always used to do.”

  “I want jewelry, too!” his sister Mariele called out. Though the little girl was only eight years old, her mother said she was already in danger of becoming vain. The three little ones were now standing in a circle around Marie, content with the prospect of a large piece of gingerbread such as Michel brought them every year. With their cheerful questions and clamoring, the children didn’t allow for any glumness, and when Marie finally managed to mount Bunny and leave the farm, she was still laughing at their antics. Dark clouds might occasionally roll onto life’s horizon, but friends like Hiltrud and Thomas with their children made it easier for her to get through the rough patches.

  5.

  Although the weather was unusually dry and pleasant for this time of year, Michel’s mood had reached a new low. Indeed, he’d entirely given up on the hope that the knights and their followers would accept him as their leader and treat him with trust and respect. Falko von Hettenheim was still doing everything possible to set the other nobles against Michel. At the same time, opposition also came from the knights’ own sense of status. As sons of noble families, they despised having to obey an innkeeper’s offspring, and they wasted no opportunity to let Michel know of their displeasure. Yet his sense of honor dictated that he had no choice but to keep feeding his arrogant companions, because otherwise they would have shamelessly robbed peasants along the way. As thanks for his generosity, he received nothing but mockery and malicious comments.

  Just when Michel thought things couldn’t get any worse, he learned otherwise. As he traveled between two forested ranges, a small village in a clearing a little way off the road came into view. It consisted of a few run-down cottages, thinly thatched with straw, and was home to no more than a dozen people, all out working the surrounding fields as the procession passed by. Set slightly apart from the others, a girl was herding the village’s goats. Michel was more interested in the condition of the road ahead than in the people they met along the way, and he only glanced briefly at the shepherdess. Falko von Hettenheim, on the other hand, riding right behind him as usual, stared at her lustfully and felt an urge rising in his loins that was begging for relief. When he noticed that Michel wasn’t paying any attention to him, he slowed his horse, turned off the track, and rode toward the girl.

  Unsure as to his motives, the girl anxiously backed away from the knight. Falko jumped out of the saddle, grabbed the shepherdess, and dragged her into the forest, stuffing his glove into her mouth to stifle her screams.

  At the same time, Michel noticed Falko’s absence and turned to look for him. At first thinking the knight had fallen behind to relieve himself, he then spotted his horse in the goat meadow, where it was enjoying the fresh grass. When Michel realized that the shepherdess was also nowhere to be seen, he cursed, wheeled his horse around, and rode toward the herd of goats. A sound not coming from an animal told him where to look, and so he spurred his horse past shimmering green beech trees into the semidarkness of the forest canopy, soon spotting Falko debasing the shepherdess. The girl’s face was twisted with fear and pain, and she struggled against the man on top of her as much as against the glove in her mouth, which threatened to smother her.

  “Let go of the girl immediately!” Michel roared angrily as he approached, but Falko continued, unperturbed. He finished before Michel reached him, slowly rose to his feet with a taunting stare, and ripped the glove so roughly out of the girl’s mouth that blood dripped from her lips.

  Michel’s hand shot to his sword, and for a moment it looked as though he’d draw his weapon and strike Falko down. “You’re the foulest brute I’ve ever met!”

  Instinctively, Falko ducked and took a few steps back. But then he straightened up again and waved dismissively. “You’d be a fool to pick a fight with me over a worthless farm girl.”

  “At least give her a few coins for her lost virginity.” Even as he spoke, Michel regretted his words because it sounded like he was condoning the knight’s actions.

  “Pay a filthy maid? She should be happy to have been with a real man.” With a nasty laugh, the knight turned around and walked back to his horse.

  Michel clenched his fists helplessly, looked down at the crying girl, and got off his horse. “I should have bashed his head in,” he cursed, holding out his right hand to the shepherdess. “Come on, girl. Get up! I won’t hurt you.”

  The girl pulled her skirt down, curled up, and covered her face with her hands. At that moment Michel wished Marie were there. She would have known how to deal with such a brutally ravaged creature. Eventually he opened his purse and took out some coins.

  “Money can’t give you back what you’ve lost today, but maybe it can help you in some other way.” Since the girl didn’t react, he took one of her hands, placed the coins in it, and closed her fingers around them. “May God be with you, little one. He surely hasn’t left you, even if it feels like it right now.”

  The shepherdess pushed herself farther away from him, and Michel’s fury at Falko von Hettenheim grew until it almost choked him. He knew that there was really no way to make the man account for his crime; that would have been the responsibility of the local lord or governor, or the girl’s owner if she was a serf. But nobles didn’t usually start a fight over a peasant girl with someone of their own rank.

  Michel left the sobbing girl, took his horse by the reins, and walked back into the clearing. He saw a few peasants coming toward him, their picks and axes clear signs that they realized something was amiss. He jumped into the saddle and pressed his spurs into his horse’s sides. He was annoyed he had to flee, but otherwise the villagers would assume he was the rapist and vent their anger on the wrong person.

  A man on horseback was faster than any peasant, even if their steps were fueled by anger, and the sight of marching soldiers didn’t particularly encourage the villagers to pick a fight. They soon stopped their pursuit, cursed the noble lords who’d seen their girl as fair game, and thanked God that the entire troop hadn’t come and savaged their village and women. Gathering at the edge of the forest, the peasants crossed themselves, and prayed for the knights and soldiers to find a cold grave in enemy lands.

  Michel wasn’t willing to let Falko get away with his behavior so easily. Riding up toward the knight’s heavy warhorse, Michel stared at him furiously. “Don’t do that again, Sir Falko, or next time I won’t be able to restrain myself.”

  Falko von Hettenheim spat and looked at Michel scornfully. “I’d like to see you try, loudmouth!”

  As Michel’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword, the other knights also reached for their weapons, determined to stand by one of their own, and their troops followed suit. Though Michel’s own people appeared eager to teach the loathsome knights and their retinues a lesson, rather than start a battle, he let go of his sword and raised his hand. “Everyone back to march formation! Anyone causing trouble will be sorry.” Turning to Falko, he added grimly, “Consider yourself warned. Do something like that again and you’re done for.”

  Before Hettenheim could respond, Godewin von Berg grabbed him by the arm and held him back. He knew as well as Michel did that survivors of an internal armed conflict could expect severe punishment, especially if they—unlike Falko—didn’t have any powerful relatives or friends at the count palatine’s court.

  “That man’s not worth a fight,” he murmured, and quietly asked what had happened.

  Falko gnashed his teeth. “He was getting cheeky because I poked the shepherdess.”

  “Damn, Falko, you’re a lucky devil. Why didn’t you take me with you?”

  Falko von Hettenheim shot him a mocking glance. “That wouldn’t have been much fun for you, since that innkeeper’s brat would have stopped you.”

  “Between the two of us, we could have knocked the stuffing out of him.” Godewin stared at Michel’s back and felt sorry that he hadn’t been there.

  Hettenheim, however, spent les
s time thinking about how they might put the loathsome man in his place and instead plotted ways for him and Godewin to end Michel Adler’s life during their march. Once the innkeeper’s brat was out of the way, he could declare himself leader of the group and put the impertinent boy’s money to better use than a few loaves of bread and a bit of fresh meat.

  Meanwhile, the target of his malicious plans was looking out for other groups traveling to the meeting place at Nuremberg since the kaiser had called on all of the kingdom’s nobles to join together, with the support of Pope Martin V, who compared the fight against the Hussites to the crusades against the infidels. They didn’t see any other soldiers for a long time, however, and when they finally met up with two Frankish knights and their followers, Michel was soon glad it was only a handful of people, because the two men joined Falko von Hettenheim, ignoring Michel and treating his pikemen like the lowest serfs.

  Two days later, as Michel had expected, the situation came to a head. That evening, Michel’s people had arranged their five carts in a fortified circle of wagons in a clearing to the left of the road, while the knights and their followers set up camp on the other side of the road underneath a few ancient beeches that had been split by lightning. When Michel went to draw himself a cup of wine from the barrel, Gunter von Losen, one of the two Frankish knights, came over and held out his cup.

  “Hey, innkeeper, pour me some of your best wine.” His voice was dripping with ridicule.

  Taking a deep breath, Michel suppressed his desire to flatten this man who barely came up to his chin. Smiling sweetly, he took Gunter’s cup, held it under the tap, and filled it to the brim. The knight grinned broadly and shot a triumphant glance at his companions, who were watching the scene expectantly. But when he reached for his full cup, Michel pulled it back.

  “You called me an innkeeper, so that’s how I’ll treat you. It’s three pennies for the wine, payable in advance. The same goes for the other knights and their people from now on.”