by Iny Lorentz
Suddenly remembering her duties as mistress of the castle, she hurried down into the hall where the new arrivals were already streaming through the opposite door, led by the noblewoman whose figure was as wide as it was tall. When she stepped into the light of the tallow lamps, Marie saw that the lady’s dress and rabbit-fur-trimmed bonnet were of a style popular fifty years earlier, to judge by the pictures on the walls of the castle’s chapel. These days, only the wife of a poor knight living far from any large city and the main trading routes would dress like that.
Gazing in admiration at the hall’s furnishings, the lady looked like a child who had just received more presents than expected from Saint Nicholas. She hurried toward Marie, looking her over. “Are you Marie Adler?” Marie nodded, but the lady continued before she could answer. “I am Kunigunde von Banzenburg. My husband, Manfred, is the new captain of the castle and castellan of the count palatine in Rheinsobern.” She pointed at one of the somewhat better-dressed older men who had trailed the lady into the hall.
Marie frowned and shook her head in irritation. It appeared as though Lord Ludwig had wasted no time in filling Michel’s position after his promotion. In her opinion, the noble lord could have waited at least until Michel had returned from the war.
Since Marie didn’t answer, Lady Kunigunde pulled the eldest of her companions next to her. “This is Götz von Perchtenstein, my cousin.”
So skinny as to look underfed, Perchtenstein seemed to have aged prematurely, with scant gray hairs left on his head and only a few yellow, rotting stumps of teeth to be seen when he opened his mouth to speak.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Marie. Please allow me to express my deepest sympathy for your loss,” he said in an unpleasantly hissing voice, likely caused by his bad teeth.
Marie stared at him blankly. “What loss?”
Lady Kunigunde tilted her head to one side. “You haven’t heard?”
Her husband, who hadn’t uttered a word until then, stepped to her side and placed his right hand on the worn hilt of his sword. “Your husband, Knight of the Reich Michel Adler, was killed in battle with the Bohemian heretics seven weeks ago.”
His words hit Marie like a blow to the stomach. She pressed her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming, and shook her head helplessly.
“Please accept my condolences as well,” Manfred von Banzenburg continued in a casual tone, as if asking a servant whether the stables had been cleaned. “It happened during an expedition into Bohemia, under the command of the extremely honorable Heribald von Seibelstorff. His group was ambushed and almost completely annihilated by the Hussite heretics. The survivors managed to get away thanks only to the heroic actions of the knight Falko von Hettenheim, who covered the retreat against a large number of rebels. Because the dead had to be left behind, your husband didn’t receive a Christian burial.”
Rarely had anyone more callously told a woman she was a widow. Anger washed over Marie at the new castellan’s heartlessness along with waves of grief, and she clenched her teeth to keep herself under control. All Marie could think of was how Michel had only survived his glory and new rank by a few months, and she felt so sick thinking of the brutal end he must have met that she wanted to run away and hide.
“Take care of our guests,” she ordered Marga, disappearing without another word. Lying on her bed a few minutes later and letting her tears freely fall, she realized that she, not Sir Manfred and his family, was now the guest at the castle.
After a tearful and sleepless night, Marie arose, feeling shattered. In the last few hours, all she could think about was why she should stay alive now that Michel was dead. Her faith wasn’t strong enough to sustain her, and she wasn’t afraid of the divine punishment for committing suicide. The unborn child in her belly, however, had been restless, making its presence felt all night as if worried for its life, and she knew that she couldn’t simply seek death. Being rich enough to afford a comfortable life for herself and the child provided no consolation, but she did have a sacred responsibility toward Michel to make sure the fruit of his loins was brought into the world healthy and appropriately raised as the son or daughter of a knight of the Reich.
Instead of waiting for Ischi to bring her warm water from the kitchen, she washed herself with the water left in the jug. Cold as snow on her skin, it revived her spirits, and by the time she left her chamber, she appeared completely composed. The servants seemed to have been waiting for her, because they all came up to her, one after the other, to express their sympathy. Their distraught faces showed not only grief, but also worry about the future. With one look at the new castellan and his wife, they knew that the pleasant times they had enjoyed under their former master and mistress were over. Only Ischi didn’t have to worry, because Marie had promised her a generous dowry so she could marry her Ludolf the next spring. Nevertheless, Michel’s death hit her as hard as if he were a beloved member of her family.
She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron without being able to halt her steady stream of tears, and took Marie’s hand. “Mistress, I am so sorry for you and Sir Michel . . .”
Marie gave Ischi a sad smile, stroking her hair gratefully. Then she hurried into the kitchen to turn her mind to other things. There were now a lot more people to feed, and the cook would need additional maids and kitchen hands. When she entered the kitchen, a girl who usually scrubbed the floors brought over her breakfast porridge, staring at her anxiously. Marie gave the maid an encouraging nod and ate a little. The porridge was no different than usual, but she felt as if she were chewing dry, dusty parchment. While trying to swallow the few crushed grains in her mouth, she saw there wasn’t a kettle of fresh water on the trivet above the stove and scolded the cook. “Our guests will want to wash, and they can’t do it outside at the well in this weather.” She couldn’t bring herself to regard Sir Manfred and Lady Kunigunde as masters of the castle yet, but instead viewed them as intruders who had brought nothing but sorrow into her world. To distract herself from the grief that raged in her heart for her husband, she searched out Marga and asked where the new arrivals were.
“I have accommodated the new castellan, his family, and his retinue in the great hall for now, mistress, and I’m just on my way to serve them breakfast.”
“Yes, please do. I’ll also go and see what I can do for them.” Marie turned toward the great hall designed for receiving and entertaining that she had furnished so carefully. She paused at the top of the stairs, looking down at the family gathered there. These people must have lived in a drafty, crowded castle inhabited by several families, where beds of fresh straw were a luxury and the servants huddled closely together in dark corners at night, holding their dogs tightly to keep warm.
Marie had stayed at similar castles with Michel on their way to large fairs, and she shuddered at the thought of having to live like many of those old nobles, who had nothing left but their name, an uncomfortable fort as a home, and a small village with bonded peasants who starved so that the family in the castle could eat.
Lady Kunigunde had already spotted Marie and rushed toward her with open arms. Apparently wanting to make up for the clumsy way her husband had broken the news of Michel’s death, she pulled Marie close and let her eyes grow damp. “I am so sorry for you, my dear. I can perfectly imagine what it must be like to lose your husband so close to your child’s birth.”
You will never be able to understand my feelings for Michel, Marie thought, her voice failing, as Lady Kunigunde continued her one-sided conversation. “Please don’t think we’re trying to push you out, Lady Marie,” she grandly assured her. “On the contrary, you will remain the mistress of the house for as long as you like. My family and I will be content with a few modest rooms and wish for nothing more than to live together with you in harmony.”
Appreciating the genial overture, Marie freed herself from the woman’s embrace with a heavy sigh. “I thank yo
u for your sympathy, Lady Kunigunde, and also for understanding how difficult it is right now for me to accept my fate. But I won’t withhold from you what is your due.”
She didn’t see Kunigunde’s eyes light up at this, because just then, one of the young men in the knight’s retinue joined them. He was wearing a clergyman’s cassock and made the sign of the cross with his right hand.
“This is Matthias, our second-born,” Lady Kunigunde said. “He will remain with us for a while to assist my husband with the oversight of Rheinsobern.”
Matthias looked at Marie with the arrogance of a man who considered himself far superior to the less-educated. “God’s blessing on you, my child,” he said to her, though he was at least ten years younger, adding a few Latin-sounding words. “In nominus Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus.”
Marie suppressed a smile at his clumsy Latin, but before she could reply, he took her by the arm and pulled her closer.
“I want to talk with your husband’s clerk about the administration of Rheinsobern, seeing that I will be assuming this task from now on.”
“My husband’s clerk is standing right before you—I have been looking after the books.” Marie’s voice was cool because she disliked the greed in the clergyman’s tone, and she heartily wished she could drive to the goat farm and be comforted by Hiltrud rather than having to take this arrogant fellow into the castle’s office to show him the books.
But she couldn’t neglect her duties, and waving at the visibly bewildered man to follow her, she led him through several drafty corridors to the tower chamber where she and Michel kept the documents and account books, along with their own money. There, two upholstered cherrywood chairs and a table with artfully carved legs sat in the middle of the room, from which one could reach the sideboard containing several piles of bound books and numerous scrolls. The most important documents and the money were kept in an iron safe underneath the sideboard, for which she had the only key. The greatest luxury of the small chamber, however, was the fireplace, where several large logs were burning brightly, giving off a pleasant warmth. The two windows overlooked the courtyard as well as the forecourt.
Matthias briefly gazed out a window before turning to Marie. “You will give me the key to the chest now, my child.” Marie hesitated briefly, but reminded herself she wasn’t responsible for the town’s management any longer, and fumbled with the key ring she carried on her belt. Hastily grabbing it, then opening the chest, he glanced only briefly at the documents and books, put them aside, and stared greedily at the shiny gold guilders underneath. But before he could reach for them, Marie picked most of them up.
“This money belongs to me. I only put it in the chest to keep it safe.”
“Anyone could say that!” the priest shouted, outraged.
“Here is the receipt stating the sum, signed by my husband and me.” Marie pulled a sheet from the pile that Matthias had just shoved aside and handed it to him. “If that’s not enough for you, Venerable Father, I can show you the office’s account books listing every sum belonging to Rheinsobern.” Marie was annoyed. She wouldn’t have been much poorer without the two hundred guilders she’d taken from the chest, but it was her money and she couldn’t see why they should have it.
With a sour expression, Matthias counted the remaining coins and then checked the account books to see if the sum was correct. To his irritation it was, and his face fell even more when he went through the tax lists and found the amount Michel Adler sent to the count palatine in duties each year. He had made inquiries as to how much Rheinsobern earned, and he saw to his chagrin that Michel had kept for himself only as much money as was his by right. The sum was sufficient to maintain the castle, pay the servants, and support two people relatively comfortably, but not any more. Matthias was beyond disappointed and had to breathe deeply to prevent himself from venting his anger with harsh words. As the son of a destitute knight, he hadn’t even been able to buy the poorest benefice, and so he had been looking forward to the rich revenues of Rheinsobern.
Noticing his disappointment, Marie assumed he would question her bookkeeping, so she sharply explained the previous years’ income and expenses, pointing out that their books had been just audited and approved that past spring by the learned Master Claudius Steinbrecher.
Matthias stared at the signature and the seal of the palatine auditor and felt like tearing out that page of the book. But he knew as well as did the angry-looking woman standing in front of him that a copy of the account book was kept in the count’s revenue office. Lord Ludwig knew right down to the last penny how much Rheinsobern was making and how much of that he could claim.
“Are you satisfied now?” Marie couldn’t quite conceal her glee.
Nodding with clenched teeth, he slammed the chest shut without placing the documents back inside. Politely but firmly, Marie pointed out his mistake, then left the room with a curt nod. Handing over the books and the chest had been a first but decisive step of her resignation as mistress of Rheinsobern castle.
3.
While Marie returned to her chambers to be alone with her grief and pain, Matthias hurried back to his family members, who had chosen the great hall as their temporary home and settled there with all their belongings. Sir Manfred, his wife, and their eldest son, Martin, were sitting at the table together with Cousin Götz enjoying a meal of bread, roast, and wine, while the children played at the opposite end of the room, supervised by their eldest daughter. When their second-born son entered, the new captain of the castle and his wife looked up expectantly. But their smiles froze on their lips when they saw Matthias’s disgruntled expression.
Sir Manfred pounded the table with irritation. “What’s the matter? Does Rheinsobern not make as much as we had hoped?”
“That’s impossible!” his wife shouted. “I heard that Sir Michel and his wife were enjoying a good life right from the start.”
“Definitely not from the money they kept from the duties.” Matthias didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “I checked the books twice for irregularities in their favor, but Lady Marie has been keeping the books correctly. I couldn’t find even the smallest mistake. Worse yet, the accounts of the last few years have been audited and approved by Master Claudius Steinbrecher. We can consider ourselves lucky if we get two hundred guilders a year.”
Lady Kunigunde snorted. “In that case, we’ll just increase the citizens’ taxes.”
Matthias raised his hands to object. “Knowing folk like that, they’ll go running to the count palatine to complain, and, next thing you know, there’ll be an audit.”
Contemptuously, his mother waved away his concerns. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“Unfortunately it is, Mother. This Michel and his wife paid the count palatine every single penny he was due, so if we deliver less, he would ask why and we’d be in trouble. As it is, we’ll have to pinch pennies for many years to save enough money. If I’d known that, I would have stayed in the monastery with the pious brothers and tried to find a wealthy benefactor.”
He sat down with his parents, whose faces showed the sting they’d felt from their son’s last words, reached for one of the small boards stacked on the table, and helped himself to a large piece of roast. His disappointment clearly hadn’t spoiled his appetite, because he ate as if he had been starving for weeks.
Lady Kunigunde wasn’t about to accept her fate this easily. “It is said that Lady Marie is very wealthy, so we should make sure we benefit from her treasures. Luckily, Cousin Götz is single and can marry our golden goose. Then we’ll have enough money to live well, and our dear Matthias can buy any benefice he likes.”
As her husband and her son mulled over the idea, Sir Götz bared his rotting teeth in a broad grin. “I wouldn’t mind marrying the beautiful widow, even though her big belly makes her no good in bed right now. Indeed, the marriage would be worth her excellent wine alone, and I’ve
rarely eaten a better roast.”
“You won’t have to wait long for your marital pleasures. Lady Marie will slip her pup next month, and you can prepare your lance for jousting only a fortnight after.” Lady Kunigunde winked at her cousin mischievously and kicked her husband under the table. “As the new captain and castellan of Rheinsobern, you’re basically her guardian, and therefore you will arrange this marriage before the count palatine gets the idea of marrying Marie to another one of his followers. As you know, a woman with money doesn’t stay lonely for long at his court.”
Her husband nodded reluctantly. “Shouldn’t we at least wait until she’s given birth?”
Shaking her head so vigorously that her bonnet slipped, Lady Kunigunde looked admonishingly at her husband. “Then we would waste precious time, and our golden goose might fly away. If you won’t do it, I’ll speak with Marie myself.”
“Yes, you take care of it!” Not up to the task of convincing a stubborn widow of the need to remarry, Sir Manfred was visibly relieved at handing over the chore to his wife. Plus, no one could easily resist his wife’s will, and Kunigunde wouldn’t rest until Lady Marie was in her cousin’s bed—pregnant or not.
4.
Michel stared in confusion at the rock ceiling arcing above him. Whenever he moved, he felt a dull pain in the back of his head, and the open wound in his left thigh felt as if it were on fire. His muscles appeared to be made of water and his tendons of old leather, because it was only with almost superhuman effort that he managed to sit up and look around. He was inside a long, low cave, where someone had made him a primitive bed from birch twigs and leaves, covering him with an old horse blanket. Apart from a small vent, the only entrance had been closed off with branches and thorns, and just in front of it, where the cave widened onto a round area, was a two-wheeled cart with a skinny mare tied to it, picking at the half-dead leaves of a few branches with her lips.
