The Silver Cup

by Constance Leeds

  “I hate them.”

  “Most everyone hates them. Magnus is a fierce one,” said Martin. Then he laughed. “Did you draw blood?”

  “I don’t think so. Wilhelm is a bully, but Magnus is a monster.”

  “They don’t care what you think, Anna. But they’re too scared of your father to ever hurt you.”

  “Scared of Father?”

  “His sword is famously quick.”

  “Father? He never fights.”

  “No one would dare draw against him. Not with all the stories.”

  “What stories?” asked Anna.

  “That Gunther is faster and more skilled with a sword than his brother. Or anyone else.”

  “People speak of Father that way?”

  Martin nodded, “In Speyer I heard a story—”

  “I’d rather hear how Father might scare Magnus. But tell me what you heard about Father.”

  “Don’t tell him. He would be angry that I spoke of it.”

  Anna nodded.

  “They say your father was once cornered by four armed men who meant to rob him.”

  “When?”

  “Long ago. But listen.” Martin looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. He lowered his voice. “All four robbers were killed by Gunther’s sword. He was untouched. Not a cut. Not even a bruise.”

  Anna shook her head. There was so much she did not know about her father.

  SPRING

  12

  SMUDGE

  March 17, 1096

  At last, burbling, bubbling water replaced winter’s silence, as ice and snow melted. In the silky early spring wind, Anna felt brighter, like the glowing morning sky. She opened the shutters and doors and shoveled the fouled, stinking reeds into a steaming pile behind the house. Manure from the animals, carefully saved through the winter, would be added to this straw and turned into the garden soil. She spread all that remained of the clean fall rushes over the swept floor and added the last of the rye grass to the bedding. Afterwards, Anna took all the blankets and fur skins outside to beat and air in the sun.

  The promise and warmth of the morning lifted her spirits, and the day only improved when her father appeared.

  “We’ve brought something for you,” said Gunther. “Bring him in, Martin.”

  “Well, we didn’t find you a husband, but look at this,” Martin said, his cheek dimpled by his crooked smile. He pulled a rope lead, and in came a large brindled dog. He had a soft wooly coat of nut brown, prick ears, and a creamy plume tail which wagged merrily over his back. His muzzle and paws were as black as his nose.

  “Make this dog your own,” said Gunther. “Don’t let anyone else feed him until he learns you’re his mistress.”

  “Carry a lump of bread in the pit of your arm from morning until dinner. Then feed that bread to your dog, and he’ll protect you forever,” added Martin.

  “Father, he’s beautiful,” said Anna, ignoring Martin’s advice. She kneeled on the ground in front of the wagging dog, staring into the blue-brown pools of his eyes and rubbing his head.

  “Hardly,” said Martin. “He’s a fat, stumpy cur next to Gray.”

  “I’m glad he looks nothing like Gray,” said Anna defensively.

  “He’s a muddy mutt with his face and paws all blackened. It looks like he has been digging in a charcoal pit,” said Martin, scratching the dog’s ear.

  “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Father.”

  “From now on, he can bite any intruders,” added Martin.

  Gunther scowled at his nephew and said to Anna, “Pick a name.”

  She thought for a moment. “What about Smudge?”

  “Smudge?” Martin groaned. “Smudge? I hate it. Call him Beast. Better, call him Ax, because that’s what he cost your father.”

  “No. He’s mine, and I shall call him Smudge,” she said stubbornly.

  “A silly girl name,” Martin said. He looked disgusted.

  Anna did not reply. Although her father had never mentioned the incident with Magnus and Wilhelm, Anna understood that the dog was a mark of his concern. She was surprised and touched.

  Lent had begun, and she prepared a dreary meal of fish broth and barley, but she was so pleased with having her own dog that she noticed neither the flavorless food nor Martin, who criticized everything. When his attempts to annoy his cousin failed, Martin turned to the dog. At last, he set off to meet his friends, and Anna was glad to see him leave and happier still to see Lukas in the late afternoon.

  “Hello, Anna. I’ve come to see your new pup. It’s a shepherd’s dog? ”

  “Yes. I can’t believe he’s mine.”

  “He’ll be good company when your father and Martin are off on the road.”

  “I’ll be glad to see the back of Martin,” said Anna with a huff.

  “And why is that? ” asked Lukas who knelt and rubbed the dog’s cream colored belly.

  “He’s so mean! He just heated some bread in the fire. Then he offered it still smoking to Smudge. I yelled at him, but three times he did this. The dog yelped and was burned twice. And Martin laughed. Finally Smudge learned and wouldn’t be tempted. No matter how sweetly Martin called, Smudge sat away from him, just watching with his ears pressed flat against his head.”

  “Smart dog.” Lukas looked at Anna and added, “I’m worried about my brother. I know some of this is just Martin. He’s always loved to joke and tease.”

  “But he’s cruel now.”

  Lukas nodded. “I had a troubling report of him, and came to speak with him. And to meet Smudge.”

  They looked up and saw that Martin had just returned. “Hello Lukas,” he said, clapping his older brother on the back.

  “Hello, Martin. We were just speaking of you.”

  “Singing my praises, no doubt. What brings you here?”

  “I came to see the Anna’s dog. But I’d like to speak with you.”

  “Whatever I’ve done, I apologize, Lady Anna,” said Martin with a big smile and a deep bow to his cousin.

  “No, Martin, this isn’t about Anna. It’s about two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?”

  “You and some other boys were down by the town gate where three lepers were seeking alms.”

  “They would bring their disease to our town.”

  “You threw stones at them.”

  “Good riddance. They’re evil,” said Martin, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “No, they’re afflicted, but they are still the children of God. They have no choice but to seek charity.”

  “They’re a waste of food and firewood.” After a pause, he asked, “I’m evil? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Maybe I am. What does it matter? All my sins will be forgiven soon enough.”

  “What sins? ” asked Lukas looking hard at his younger brother. “I don’t understand you.”

  Martin met Lukas’s eyes and said, “You’re the one who wants to be a saint. I want to be a soldier. I’ll be a stronger man than you’ll ever be. Someday I’ll be a hero in this holy war. You don’t understand anything. Mother says how fortunate we are that you chose a life of prayer. You’d never have the courage to do what’s necessary. We understand what has to be done for the sake of all of us. Lepers and fools! Would you share the last of the winter’s food with a useless fool?”

  Anna had been listening with increasing dismay. He’s becoming a monster. She looked at Lukas, who opened his mouth but found no words. He kneeled near the fire rubbing his hands, chilled through, startled, and staring.

  “Where’s your heart?” asked Anna as Martin stormed out.

  13

  HERRING AND EELS

  March 31, 1096

  After a morning helping at the forge, Martin returned to pack for a long northward journey along the Rhine, to Mainz and Koblenz, then on to Cologne. For the past two weeks, he had tried to placate Anna, who had been repelled by her glimpse of his cruelty. He was u
nfailingly cheerful and considerate. Today, he brought a knot of leather to Smudge, who accepted it reluctantly, after much gentle and patient coaxing. It was hard to stay angry with Martin.

  “What kind of fish broth and peas are we about to enjoy? ” Martin joked as he inhaled the steam from the pot.

  “Don’t blame me for Lent.” Anna stirred the pot and tasted the meal. She wrinkled her nose and was embarrassed.

  “Lent lasts forever,” sighed Martin.

  “I think we’re at the bottom of our herring barrel.”

  “There’ll be more, soon enough. Your father and I will bring back herring and salted codfish.”

  “Bring back some fresh fish, too. I hate herring. Nasty little fish, filled with salt and bones.”

  “Cousin, if you could cook like my mother, we might have delicious oat cakes and stews with smoked fish that would taste like pork bacon.”

  “I’ll never cook as well as your mother.”

  “Well, Mother can’t sing as well as you. And besides, even Mother struggles during Lent.”

  “How I long for an egg or a sip of milk! Heaven must be filled with sausages. And it must always be Lent in hell,” said Anna, setting a bowl of warm water in front of Martin.

  “Then I guess I’m doomed to an eternity of herring,” answered Martin. “Another reason to take the cross, and fight the Pope’s holy war.”

  “Big talk, Martin.”

  “We’ll see. You talk more than anyone. I shall do something.”

  He began to rinse his hands in the water.

  “I know,” said Anna. “All I do is talk. And I’ll probably be damned for complaining. Instead of thinking of my sins, I dream about sausages.”

  “I have bigger dreams, Anna. Stop complaining, the days are lengthening. Lent will end soon.”

  Martin wiped his hands on his britches and dumped the bowl of water back in the pot on the hearth.

  “That’s filthy!”

  “Not very.” He smiled and asked, “What do you think I did this morning?”

  “Something was tortured, I’m sure.”

  Martin rolled his eyes, “Very amusing, cousin. No, you wouldn’t believe the work my father has, what with this holy war.”

  “Father says it’s all talk. No one from this town will actually go.”

  “Your other cousins are going. They’ve asked my father to make a sword and helmet for Magnus.”

  Martin helped Anna set the boards across the trestles to serve as a table for dinner.

  “Good riddance!” said Anna. “I hope the Turks skin them alive!”

  “You should see the armor that was your grandfather’s. It’s being fitted for Wilhelm. All morning I rolled it in sand to clean off the rust. Then we rubbed it with goose fat until it gleamed. My great-grandfather made the suit. Our great-grandfather. Come to the forge to see it. He was your great-grandfather too; you carry the blood of the craftsman and the knight.”

  “I’d like to. Perhaps this afternoon.”

  “Good, then you’ll see all the other swords, spears, and arrowheads that are being made for the armies coming together for this holy war.”

  “Lukas says those who talk of ‘taking the cross’ are those with nothing.”

  “Perhaps. These times have not been hard on my father’s trade or even on Gunther’s, but for the farmers it hs been a poor growing season. There are enough empty bellies to field a grand army,” said Martin.

  For more than two years, throughout the valleys along the Rhine, the harvests had been especially poor. In the spring and summer of 1094, there had been no rain. Fields were parched and lifeless. The harvest was meager, and by the grim winter of 1095, hunger was widespread. Spring followed with another blow— too much rain, and farms were flooded. Villages vanished and sheep drowned as the river crested far beyond its course, wiping its banks clean. Anna would sometimes see the hollow-eyed survivors. They spent their days in the church, hoping for mercy and a bit of grain. Often people ate nothing but nettles and bark. And there were rumors of much worse, families where the weak would disappear, unspeakable tales, unspeakable meals.

  “How will these men buy weapons? They cannot even buy food,” said Anna.

  “True. A sword costs as much as two sheep. But they’ll join an army that will provide them with food and some means to fight. Don’t listen to Lukas. The holy land is filled with riches, and this is God’s war. I wish I had your noble blood, the blood of knights. I want to be a soldier, maybe a hero. I’ll fight my way into heaven. I’ll become a knight of Christ.”

  Anna was grating a white piece of horseradish root into a bowl. The root was pungent. She coughed, and her eyes began to tear.

  “Are those tears because you are going to miss me when I go to war? ” Martin asked, patting her shoulder.

  “I’d miss you as much as I’d miss a blister,” replied Anna as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You won’t go, Martin. Your brothers aren’t going.”

  “Not Lukas, of course. And my brothers in the forge are craftsmen—the very best. Their work is known throughout the land, but what am I? I’ve no craft like my brothers,” said Martin with pride and regret.

  “You’ll be merchant, like Father. His trade is good, Martin. He needs you.”

  “His trade is good because my father is so skilled.”

  “You trade more than iron.”

  “Yes,” replied Martin beginning to brighten. “This time we have furs and leather and even wine. Your father will soon trade Flemish woolen cloth as well.”

  “Isn’t that as good as being a smith? ”

  Martin shrugged, “There’s no glory in either.”

  When Gunther returned, Anna and Martin sat down with him to eat herring once again. Still, this time, Anna had skinned it to cut the salt and then simmered the fish with mustard greens and dried beans and bread crumbs. She served the stew on a trencher of coarse bread with a dollop of very strong mustard mixed with horseradish.

  “Not bad,” said Martin reaching into the pot for a second helping.

  “Thanks,” said Anna, surprised. “But I would so love a bit of butter.”

  “That you must not have, but I have a treat for us,” said Gunther. “This morning I was paid in lenten currency.”

  “What do you mean, Father? ”

  “A barrel of live eels!”

  “We shall dine well tomorrow,” said Martin using bread to sop up every bit of his stew.

  Eels! thought Anna. Father expects me to rejoice, and I might, if only someone else would do the skinning! Martin always disappears when there are eels.

  The next morning, as Anna predicted, Martin escaped to the forge, so she sighed and set about the unavoidable morning chore. As she lifted their limp gray-green bodies from the water-filled barrel, two eels appeared more dead than alive. She skinned them easily and quickly, but the third and largest eel was hard to catch and twisted in her hands as she lifted it from the water. Anna quickly smashed its head on a hearthstone. Even with a crushed skull, the eel wriggled and writhed, and she cut crookedly along its length and began to peel the skin away from the body. Now, although dead and skinned, the eel still twitched in her hands. Anna cut a deeper gash along the length of its white belly and removed the guts. The sticky blood smelled horribly sweet and disgusting. Anna breathed through her mouth and held her stomach down with prayers and with curses at Martin, as she cut the snakelike carcass into chunks. When she lobbed the head to the floor, Smudge snatched it up and retreated to a dark corner with his prize.

  Anna stirred the oily pieces of eel in a pot with chopped onion, shredded cabbage, and ale, set the pot on the hearth, and left the house while the morning meal simmered. She had wiped the smelly eel blood from her hands as best she could, but now she headed for the stream to cleanse them in the icy running water. On the way, she passed the church. Seeing her, Lukas joined his cousin for the walk.

  “Good morning, Anna. Where are you going? ”

  Anna explained her morning t
o Lukas.

  “So it’s eel for dinner? Perhaps I should join you.”

  “Please! At least I’d have some reward for all the stink,” said Anna, holding her hands far from her body.

  “I’ll see if I can,” said Lukas. “I’m sure this will interest you. Yesterday, a priest visited Father Rupert from Aachen. He’d heard a strange little monk named Peter whom they call the Hermit. The priest said Peter was old and dirty, with a yellow face and long matted hair, and he speaks with great skill about about the Pope’s war. A vast crowd follows him. The crowd in Aachen was as numerous as the stars. Enough to fill our town twenty times over.”

  Anna tried to picture it. “Are these the armed pilgrims Martin speaks of?”

  “The Hermit is leading his followers to Jerusalem. I hear my brother Martin thinks this war will make him a wealthy knight.”

  Anna nodded. “There is something more bothering him. I think he’s worried about his soul.”

  “Not Martin.”

  “Listen harder, Lukas.”

  Later that morning, after Mass, Lukas arrived for Anna’s eel stew, and talked of Peter. The early spring afternoon was bright, but the light was colorless and cold. Inside, the shuttered house was dark and chilly except at the hearth, where a generous fire burned warm and bright. Anna, Gunther, Martin, and Lukas pulled their stools close, sharing orange heat and the stew.

  “They say wherever he goes, Peter is given silver and things of great value. He even has chests filled with Jewish silver, collected for his promise to leave them alone. He gives everything to the poor who follow him,” said Lukas.

  “The Hermit should buy weapons instead,” said Martin, his mouth filled with chunks of eel, juice dribbling down his chin. “I hope we see him in Cologne.”

  “Well, I won’t see him,” sighed Anna. “I’ll stay here with Smudge, but at least he’s better company than Margarete and Elisabeth. Sometimes I feel even more alone with them.”

  Martin nodded and wiped his face with his sleeve, “Sometimes when I’m sitting with them, Elisabeth smiles, and Margarete nods her head. Elisabeth has little use for words, and Margarete has little use for people. Could they be more dull? ”