The Castle of Kings

by Oliver Pötzsch

  At last, after what felt like an eternity, the soldier murmured the right words.

  “I apologize, fair maid.”

  His sword still stretched out in his hand, the delicately built man turned to Agnes. “Will you accept his apology?”

  When Agnes nodded, a boyish smile spread over his face. Slowly, he lowered his sword. “There, that wasn’t so bad,” he said in the general direction of the landsknecht, who still stood in front of him, sweating profusely. His comrades were about to draw their own swords fully, but the minstrel raised a hand in the manner of one used to command.

  “That’s enough. No one has lost face. This man has apologized, and just as well.” There was suddenly a note of menace in his voice, something that did not quite suit the smile on his face. “Or were you thinking of attacking a nobly born knight, when you’d all end up on the gallows? And a knight who, in the bargain, is under the personal protection of the count? Do you want to be dangling from the oak trees over there this evening, with your blue tongues hanging out while you piss in your slashed hose? Tell me, is it really worth it?”

  On getting no answer, he put his sword back in its sheath and picked up the ivory-inlaid lute that was still lying on the rock. Gallantly, he offered Agnes his other arm. “I think these gentlemen have had enough music for now. Let us leave this place, my lady. I will happily sing you a courtly love song somewhere else.”

  Agnes smiled and did not object when he led her away. The whole situation had been as unreal as one of her dreams. Only now did she feel able to say anything.

  “That was very dangerous,” she pointed out as they walked over to the castle gateway together. “One wrong word, and those men would have struck you down.”

  The minstrel smiled. “Well, you see, that’s it. You have only to choose your words well enough to avoid unnecessary conflict. Words and songs are the strongest weapons of all.” He stopped, and struck his forehead. “But how uncivil of me. What with all of that, I quite forgot to introduce myself.” Taking off his cap, he bowed so low that his red hair fell over his brow. “Allow me to do so now. Melchior von Tanningen, by my condition knight of the Tanningen family in fair Franconia, and at present a traveling minstrel.”

  Agnes could not suppress a smile. The little man was as amusing as he was touching. However, he had been a dangerous opponent in a quarrel.

  “I didn’t know that there were still any minstrels,” she replied. “I thought they’d all died out long ago.”

  Melchior von Tanningen shook his head indignantly. “By God, no! Has love died out? And music? And great deeds? So long as all those exist there will be minstrels, too. We report what goes on in these turbulent times. And we are often there to provide consolation when mourning clouds the mind.” He took his lute and played a chord that sounded both cheerful and melancholy, and to the melody that followed he sang a short verse of lamentation.

  “D’amor m’estera ben e gent, s’eu ma dona vis plus sovent . . .”

  “That was in Occitanian,” Agnes marveled.

  Melchior von Tanningen looked surprised. “You know the old language of singers and minstrels?”

  “Well, only a little. I have read about it, but I’ve never heard it sung so beautifully before.”

  A blissful smile spread over Tanningen’s lips. “Then you are indeed a lady. Would it be appropriate to ask your name?”

  “I am Agnes von Erfenstein, daughter of the castellan of Trifels Castle.”

  The minstrel seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he beamed at her. “Trifels Castle! The residence of Barbarossa, Richard the Lionheart’s prison, the stronghold of the legendary imperial insignia. What finer place could a minstrel celebrate? To see Trifels was one of the reasons that brought me here to the Palatinate.” He bowed deeply. “Lady Agnes, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

  Once again Agnes could not help smiling. No man had ever talked to her like that before.

  “You say you are a knight,” she replied at last. “Then why are you not living in your castle?”

  Melchior von Tanningen straightened up again, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well, to my deep regret I share it with two of my brothers. An unedifying tale of a quarrel over our inheritance. I did not care for that, so I went out into the world. I have traveled through Flanders, Saxony, and Sweden. I have been to Venice, to distant Aragon, and to Castile, where the sun burns down like fire from the sky. I go wherever great lords need a minstrel.”

  “And now Count Friedrich von Löwenstein-Scharfeneck is your master?”

  Melchior von Tanningen nodded. “The very same. After troubled times, most recently where they are fighting in Italy, I thought it better to make the sleepy German Empire my base for the time being. The count kindly allows me to roam around these parts if, in return, I entertain him in the evening with songs about the quiet forest.”

  “If only it really was quiet,” Agnes sighed.

  “What do you mean by that? Are there adventures and quests here as well?”

  “None worth celebrating in song. They’re too disreputable and probably too ordinary for that.” Laughing, Agnes tossed her hair back and scrutinized her chivalrous companion. He must be over ten years older than Mathis, yet in a certain way he reminded her of her friend. He had the same restless nature, the same youthful curiosity. But in addition this Melchior seemed to come from a different world. A world known to Agnes only from her books and her dreams, and one that she had often longed for. Now that world stood before her in the shape of a delicately built, entertaining man.

  They reached the castle gateway. Carters were still unloading heavy chests and crates, and the carts rumbled past the two of them.

  “I was about to pay the count a visit,” Melchior said, letting two men with a heavy chest pass as they carried it into the castle. “I am sure he would be delighted to meet you. Well? Will you come with me?”

  “I know the count already,” Agnes replied. “Another time, maybe. But now I must go home before my father begins to worry about me.”

  Melchior nodded eagerly. “I understand. Then let me at least escort you to your castle. So that those coarse fellows don’t trouble you again.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I can look after myself. And I am sure the count will be expecting you.” Agnes bobbed a curtsy. “So fare you well.”

  Good heavens, I’m beginning to talk in the same old-fashioned way myself.

  Melchior von Tanningen bowed politely. “As you wish. All the same, I hope to see you again soon.”

  “That . . . I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  With a twinkle in her eyes, Agnes turned away and passed the noisy carters, glaziers, and carpenters on her way back to the narrow path leading to Trifels Castle. She smiled to herself, and her heart felt lighter. All the anxieties of the last few weeks—her strange dreams, the robbers’ attack on the Trifels men-at-arms, her father’s wedding plans—all that had made life seem gray and dismal to her on many days. Melchior von Tanningen was the first person to have made her smile in a long time.

  She was still smiling as she passed the tall sandstone rocks, while the noise of the workmen slowly died away behind her. At least life would not be so boring with her new neighbor and his minstrel.

  Deep in the cellars of Annweiler Town Hall, the mayor, Bernwart Gessler, was poring over a stack of yellowed parchments. The records were old and stained; many of them could have been hundreds of years old. They all told the story of Annweiler, which had once risen to power and riches with Trifels Castle, and like the castle was now slowly falling into decay.

  He hoped that his research would get him on the track of what was obviously an extremely valuable secret.

  The visit of the black-skinned man a few weeks ago had left the mayor both anxious and curious. His curiosity had been increased by the visit of another stranger asking the same questions in the last few days. He, too, had given Gessler a heavy bag of coins. He should have been glad, for that m
oney, along with all the other sums that he had put aside for himself over the course of time, was easily enough to allow him to turn his back on this filthy hole in the near future. Gessler hoped that the duke of Zweibrücken would give him a profitable fief, not one of these half-ruined castles but a fine residence, or perhaps an abbey. Anyway, a place where a gentleman could live well, and where the peasants knew who their master was.

  Since the early hours of the morning Gessler had been reading records and church registers going far back into the history of Annweiler. It was like digging away layers of damp, dark earth to get to a buried treasure. So far he had brought nothing of interest to light, but Gessler knew that if two such strangers asked the same questions, then there must be something very important behind it all. The instinct that had brought him, the son of a simple councilor’s assistant in Speyer, to the position of mayor in this town had also advised him to keep the documents in the cellar of the town hall a secret from both men.

  First he must find out what they were really worth.

  The mayor was just pulling another mountain of files across the table toward him when a slight sound attracted his attention. It made no more noise than a draft of air. Before Gessler could turn around, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A cry of alarm—almost a squeak of alarm—escaped him, and next moment he regretted it. Never mind who was standing behind him, whether it was a murderer, a thief, or simply a curious councilor—the mayor of a town should never show fear. It detracted from any kind of authority.

  Bernwart Gessler forced himself to keep calm. He slowly pushed the stack of documents away again.

  “Whoever you are, you have no right to make your way in here,” he said.

  “Forgive the intrusion. The guards upstairs told me this was where I would find you.”

  The hand moved away from his shoulder. Only now did Gessler slowly turn his head. The black-skinned stranger stood by the shelves behind him, leafing through some of the files stored there.

  “You have signed a great many death sentences over the last few years,” the man said appreciatively. He indicated a sheet of paper in his hand. “People condemned to death by hanging, breaking on the wheel, drowning in the millstream—even a case of quartering, the criminal torn apart by horses. What a magnificent spectacle. You do not often get to see that in the empire.”

  “Michel Schultheiss. A wanted murderer, rabble-rouser, and arsonist,” Gessler replied with as much composure as possible. “These are hard times. One has to make an example.”

  “Hard times, to be sure, to be sure. And not just here in the Wasgau. The whole empire seems to be aflame.”

  The man leafed through the documents in silence. After a while the mayor could stand it no longer. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m sure you’re not here to discuss the verdicts of trials with me. So tell me what you want, and then leave me to go on sorting out these old parchments. One of my young assistants got them all mixed up. It’s going to take me some time to put everything back in order.”

  “You are right. My own time is severely limited.” The stranger strolled over to him, casting a fleeting glance at the documents on the table. Gessler felt the blood shoot into his face. It wasn’t going to take this man long to find out what he was looking for. With as much composure as he could muster, Gessler quickly moved a few harmless financial lists to the top of the older documents.

  For a moment the stranger seemed to hesitate. Then he went on calmly, “The midwife Elsbeth Rechsteiner, of whom you told me, has disappeared without a trace. We kept her house under observation for several weeks, but she never turned up. Either she is dead, or someone has warned her against us.” He leaned over so close to Gessler that the mayor caught the scent of an exotic perfume: carnations, aniseed, and spices unknown to him. The black-skinned man’s voice was very low now. “Did you warn her?”

  Gessler gave a thin-lipped smile. “Why would I do that?”

  “Did anyone else inquire about her?” the stranger persisted.

  In a fraction of a second, the mayor came to another decision. He made it as instinctively as his determination not to tell the black-skinned man about the documents. In a long life in politics, he had found that, as a rule, it was better to keep one trump card in your own hand. You never knew how the game would turn out.

  “You are the only one to have asked me,” he said firmly. “And why you take an interest in these old stories is a mystery to me. Not that I really want to know. It can be a bad thing to know too much.”

  The stranger smiled. “Very true.” Suddenly he pulled up a stool standing by the shelves and sat down on it opposite the mayor. He took out a bag of coins from under his coat.

  “When we met before, I promised you another sum of money if my search proved successful,” he said quietly, putting the clinking purse down on the table. “Unfortunately that has not yet been the case. Unless you have more information for me. Do you?”

  “I can look in the archives here,” replied the mayor, lowering his eyes. “There may be more records where such things are written down. And maybe I’ll find them yet. But I can’t promise anything.”

  “Then go on looking, if you want this second purse.” There was a short pause. Finally the man went on. “Aside from that, there is something I would like to show you.” Feeling under his coat again, this time he produced two strange metal items, each about the size of a man’s hand, and fitted at one end with a polished wooden grip inlaid with ivory. Curious gadgets were fitted to them: a trigger, little wheels, metal levers. Cautiously, almost devoutly, the man placed both handguns beside the purse of money on the table.

  “I sent to Brunswick for these pretty things,” he said after a while. “They are handguns with a wheel-lock mechanism. A wonderful invention. A gun that will fire itself by means of clockwork fitted to it. You have only to squeeze the trigger. In Constantinople, the sultan’s bodyguard is armed with them. I am sure that this brilliant device will soon be adopted here as well.”

  The man turned the barrel of one of the handguns so that it was now pointing straight at Gessler, like the hand of a clock. “Its firepower is truly enormous. I myself have seen the head of a traitor disintegrate into blood, splintered bone, and white brains. One moment the head was there, next there was only the man’s torso mounted on a horse and spouting blood. Impressive, do you not agree?”

  “I think I take your point.” Repelled, the mayor nudged the weapon so that the barrel no longer pointed at him. “Please excuse me now. I still have a great deal to do.”

  “Of course.” The stranger got to his feet and put away the bag of money and the two weapons again. “I have already taken up too much of your time. When do you think I may trouble you again?”

  “Come back a week from now. No, let’s say two weeks. This is an old town; there are many records to be examined. And as I said before, I can’t promise you anything.”

  The man nodded briefly, and turned away without another word.

  “One more thing,” Gessler called after him. “I’m accustomed to know the name of a man with whom I do business. So what’s yours?”

  The stranger hesitated, and then he smiled, white teeth shining in his black face. “Call me Caspar,” he said at last. “Like one of the three kings from the Orient. For I will tell you that a star has fallen to earth in these parts, and we must look for it. I wish you good day, Master Mayor.”

  Like a dark shadow, he disappeared through the open door. Soon his footsteps had died away on the cellar stairs.

  ✦ 8 ✦

  Trifels, 25 May, Anno Domini 1524

  DAYS OF SUMMER CAME AT LAST, like a much-missed guest. Grain crops grew in the fields. The white blossoms of fruit trees gave way to swelling apples, pears, and plums. In contrast to the last few years, everything seemed to promise a plentiful harvest. That lifted the mood in the villages around Trifels Castle, and there was a festival with music and dancing almost every day. It was like the people were banishing the long wint
er and the cold, wet spring with their songs. Even if work in the fields was as hard as ever, the peasants often had smiles on their perspiring faces.

  Erfenstein had firmly made up his mind to take Agnes to Speyer in search of a rich bridegroom for her, but it was a little while before they actually set out. The castellan of Trifels wanted to wait for the next great market day in the city. In just under a week, that time came. Two horses were saddled, the castle gate opened, and the travelers rode out.

  Philipp von Erfenstein was mounted on Taramis, while Agnes had to make do with the old gray, who stopped at every blade of grass and could often be induced to move on only by kind words. With every step that they rode away from Trifels, Agnes felt her heart grow heavier. Soon they had left the castle behind and trotted along the dusty road to Speyer, which was some two days’ journey away.

  So far as the reason for their expedition was concerned, her feelings were mixed. She had not been to the cathedral city since she was a little girl, and then she had been overcome by amazement at the sight of all the houses and the crowds of people surrounding her. So she looked forward to seeing the city again. But she also knew that she was to be offered for sale there like a cow in the cattle market.

  She had not told Mathis anything about her father’s intentions yet. Since making up from their last little quarrel at Scharfenberg Castle, they had secretly spent every spare moment together. They had grown closer to each other than they’d been since they were children romping innocently in the hay. For that very reason, Agnes did not want to let her friend in on the plans for her marriage. Nor did she mention her dreams to him again, now that she saw how brusquely he reacted to them. Those two things together would inevitably have spoiled their last summer of freedom. So Mathis thought that Agnes had gone to Speyer with her father only to buy cloth and wool at the market, and so Erfenstein might borrow money at a reasonable rate.

  Philipp von Erfenstein sang cheerfully as they rode, now and then telling stories of the old days. Soon they left the tree-covered mountains of the Wasgau district behind. Beyond the last of the foothills, the land fell steeply away, the woods thinned out, and the Queich, a rushing river back where they had come from, flowed on at a more leisurely pace as it went to join the Rhine. They stayed the night at a village inn not far from the little town of Landau, sharing a large if flea-infested bed. Early next morning, after a meager breakfast of barley groats, hard bread, and cold pheasant, they were off again on the road to Speyer. Agnes was silent, although her father did not notice. Nor did her gloomy mood improve when it began to rain steadily, drenching them to the skin.