The Silver Cup

by Constance Leeds

  “You shouldn’t speak ill of our sisters,” said Lukas.

  “They’re both so beautiful. I must look like a spotted mushroom next to them,” said Anna.

  Often Anna wished she could step outside herself and see her face. She knew her hands, which were strong and straight, and she knew her feet which were not small but not as large as her cousin’s insults would suggest. She knew her hair, which was dark bronze and heavy, not golden and curled like her cousins. But she did not know her own face. In a still, dark pool, sometimes, she almost caught herself, a shadowy image that was hard to see. Am I fair at all? she wondered.

  “What color are my eyes, Father?” she asked suddenly.

  “Your eyes?”

  “Yes, Father. What color are they?”

  “Not blue,” said Gunther without looking up from his stew.

  “Not blue? Is that a color? Please, Lukas?”

  “Why should you care about the color of your eyes?” asked Lukas.

  “They’re not blue at all. Not brown either. Nor gray,” said Martin raising one eyebrow and squinting at Anna’s face.

  “Please. You’re so mean. What color are they?”

  “Speckled. A bit of green and gold and bit of dark blue. Speckled.”

  “Speckled? ”

  “Like a hen’s feathers, poor girl, you are speckled and freckled,” said Martin.

  Well, at least I am not smelly and mean like you, thought Anna with a lump in her throat.

  14

  EASTER

  April 13, 1096

  When she opened the door to go to church on Easter morning, Anna found a lavender dawn sky, streaked with orange. Across the way, a stork was building a man-sized nest in the thatch of a cottage. Anna loved these grand white-and-black birds with their dark red beaks and long red legs. Though mute, they made a joyful clatter, clacking and tapping their bills with their mates. Each day she checked her roof, hoping to find the start of a nest, because a stork’s nest in the roof brought luck and the certainty that winter had finally come to an end. Easter. Winter was over, as was Lent—so filled with boredom and herring.

  After the festive Easter mass, Anna and Gunther walked to Agnes’s in the warmth of the morning. Anna could feel the sun’s balmy breath on her head. Trees were budding, puffed with new leaves. The migratory songbirds, splashed with yellow and blue, brightened the flocks of dun-feathered sparrows who had shared with her the bleakness of winter. Color and music had returned to Anna’s world.

  Gunther and Martin were back from a long journey north to Cologne, and Anna was happy to have them home. On Holy Saturday her favorite hen had hatched twelve chicks, a blessed number, all butter-tinted and perfect. Her father said it was a very good sign. Everyone and everything had been scrubbed, and winter was cast out from each person and home. Anna breathed deeply, and her chest filled with sweetness.

  They gathered at her aunt’s table to celebrate with capon stuffed with buttered bread and a spit-roasted new lamb. They ate leeks and borage and new cress. And eggs—so many eggs, boiled and soft and cooked with tansy leaves, and they had oatcakes slathered with butter and honey.

  “I think I’m going to burst. I’ve eaten more than anyone else,” declared Anna. “I can’t remember Lent ever lasting so long.”

  “Dear Anna! Patience just isn’t one of your virtues,” said Lukas with a kind smile.

  “I know. I know that all too well. But I love Easter. Good Friday was all dark and serious. Father Rupert seemed so angry.”

  “Of course he was angry. Didn’t you listen? The Jews still go unpunished for the most despicable crime ever committed,” said Martin. “In Worms, people throw stones at Jews during Lent, because the Jews stoned Jesus. Even old Father Rupert says we ought to stone them during this holy time.”

  “How many people in this town have ever seen a Jew? ” asked Lukas. “We may have three score houses, but there’s not one Jew.”

  “Well in Worms there are many. There are streets in the north quarter with only Jewish houses. No Christian would live among them. They all smell like goats,” added Martin pinching his nose.

  “That’s not true! When Father took me to Worms last fall, I saw this Jewish family—” began Anna.

  Agnes interrupted, “I have heard that Jews kidnap Christian children. Do you think the Jews stole Thomas?”

  “The Jews? Mother, there are no Jews here,” replied Lukas.

  “They are only a morning’s walk away,” said Agnes.

  “Mother, have you ever even seen a Jew? ”

  “Of course.”

  “Here? ” asked Lukas.

  “No, but in Worms.”

  “And of course, they were in our woods that very day when Thomas was lost,” added Anna under her breath.

  “Was I speaking to you?” asked Agnes, slamming her fist on the table. “You see, Gunther? You see how impossible she is?”

  Gunther looked disapprovingly at Anna. She said nothing, embarrassed that Agnes had overheard her remark. Only Anna noticed as Karl left the table.

  “Let me tell you about Cologne,” said Martin changing the subject. “It’s ten times the size of Worms with more churches than we have people in this village. Nearby there are markets with goods from across the seas. And glass-makers—”

  “There is no city like Cologne,” said Gunther. “Our trade has never been so good. Martin, fetch our bundles.”

  Martin returned, struggling with a huge colorless sack that he and Gunther opened.

  “For Elisabeth, the bride, cloth to make her wedding dress. Enough cloth for the next wedding and still more to trade,” said Martin proudly pulling forth bolts of scarlet and azure.

  Agnes examined the wool, and declared, “I always thought my weave was fine, but look at this. A weave so delicate, it’s as smooth as water. And the color—brighter than fresh blood. Have you ever seen anything like this? ”

  “Mother, look at this blue cloth. See? Woven leaves and flowers! We must use this for my gown’s sleeves,” said Elisabeth.

  Gunther held high a heavy leather purse and then poured the shining contents on the table, “Look, boys. Coins of silver to pay for the swords and tools you made. In Cologne coins were used everywhere. This will be very good for me. Coins are easily carried, and silver does not perish.”

  Better a bag of silver than a tub of eels, thought Anna.

  “Uncle, didn’t we bring another gift? ” asked Martin.

  “I almost forgot.”

  Beaming at Anna, Martin said happily, “On the way home, we stopped at the manor, and your father visited his ancient nurse—”

  “She was my mother’s nurse before me,” said Gunther. “She wants you to have this, Anna. It belonged to your grandmother, whose name was Anna.” He reached into a small sack that hung from his belt and handed her a deep lavender stone, an amethyst, set in a thick silver bezel. It was a brooch to hold her cloak together.

  “Well,” said Margarete, “it’s not much of a jewel for a noblewoman.”

  “Anna’s grandmother was barely that and only a second wife,” replied Agnes with a disdainful sniff. Then Agnes put her hand out for the pin. Anna handed it to her reluctantly. “Gunther, it’s a mistake to give this to Anna. She’ll just lose it. And you shouldn’t be spoiling her more than she already is. She’s been rude to me, and twice while you were gone, your chickens were in my garden.”

  Gunther took the pin, and saying nothing, he dropped it back into the little pouch.

  Anna looked down at her lap, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying. She thought, I hate Agnes. She is a liar or worse. But Father would never listen to me. He never hears a word I say. Most of the time he forgets me altogether. When she looked up, she caught Martin staring at her sadly. He winked sympathetically and changed the subject once again.

  “We hoped to hear the monk Peter, the one called the Hermit, but the crowds were too great. They thronged him and tore at his clothing, hoping for relics. His poor donkey wa
s plucked bald. Peter and his army are setting forth for Jerusalem. At least three more armies in the north are gathering to join this battle.”

  “I never thought this would happen,” said Gunther. He picked up a handful of coins and let them slip through his fingers. Anna turned to watch her father, but he never looked at her.

  “One of these armies is led by a knight from the west, a man called Emich,” Martin continued excitedly. “They say he has a cross branded into his flesh, burned on his chest by an angel. Heaven has chosen Emich to lead the final battle and win back Jerusalem.”

  Lukas shook his head. “Martin, don’t be so taken with this Emich. I’ve heard he’s just a landless count, an evil man with a brutal army and no intention of doing the Lord’s work.”

  “You would think that, Lukas. You wouldn’t even heed the call of the humble hermit Peter.”

  “No, I have my work here. But I think this Emich is not a man to follow.”

  “Emich is the greatest living hero. He’ll rule the new Jerusalem. I’d love to be a soldier in his army.”

  “You’re still a smooth-cheeked boy! Your voice is only a man’s some of the time, and then you croak like a young rooster,” replied Lukas with a laugh.

  “Insult me all you like big brother,” said Martin, rising from the table and looking down at Lukas. “I’m your size already. And I’m ready for this battle.”

  “Patience, Martin. Our holy Pope has declared that no one shall join his war without permission from his priest. And even if you can convince Father Rupert, no one may leave before August, after the fields have been harvested.”

  “Emich waits for no permission.”

  Elisabeth interrupted. “Where’s Father? ”

  “I didn’t see him leave the table,” said Lukas.

  “I’ll look in the garden,” said Anna.

  “Father’s never been one to miss a celebration,” said Margarete.

  Anna found Uncle Karl sitting in the garden, silent but tear stained, holding the knife that would have been a gift for Thomas.

  15

  THE DISAPPEARANCE

  May 1, 1096

  The days lengthened, and throughout the garden, bees were flying, their hairy legs dusted pollen yellow. Anna planted vegetables and weeded all morning. Martin helped Gunther tend to their roof where the winter winds had loosened and lifted the thatch. Martin carved out an unfinished wasp’s nest and cursed when he was stung on his shoulder, but soon he was laughing and working again. For all his meanness, for all his insults, Anna had come to realize that her cousin was quick to forgive, quick to forget. Often, she would be boiling at a remark that Martin had long ago forgotten. She also was beginning to understand that Martin needed to find his place, that he wanted something else in his life, just as she wanted something more.

  At midday, Anna served a simple dinner of duck eggs and tender sorrel greens. Martin was overly cheerful, bright with talk of a recent trip to Mainz.

  “With this fine weather, the roads have been filled with travelers,” he observed.

  “Yes. I’ve never seen it so busy,” Gunther agreed.

  “On the way to Mainz, Anna, we met peddlers with all sorts of bright bits of pottery, pins, threads and ribbons.”

  From his sleeve, Martin produced a dark green ribbon and handed it to Anna.

  “My favorite color! It’s lovely. Thank you, Martin.”

  He smiled and continued. “We traveled with some soldiers, and even three knights who had fought against black-skinned soldiers in the lands of Castile. The whole road is a fair.”

  “Tell Anna about the monkey,” said Gunther.

  “We met a tiny man, a juggler.” Martin was warming to his story. “He was no taller than my elbow, and dressed in dandelion-colored cloth. He had a little gray-faced monkey on his shoulder. Really, the creature had the very same face as the juggler and was dressed in the same bright yellow cloth. And the monkey could do all the same tricks as the man.” Martin shook his head. “Anna, you would have laughed. Then we met a priest who offered to sell us a tooth of Saint Apollonia.”

  Each evening Anna scraped her teeth with hazel wood twigs and chewed mint leaves, for a sweet mouth with an ivory smile was a rare thing of beauty. When a tooth began to ache, it rarely could be saved, and people would seek miracles from Saint Apollonia whose life was well known. Apollonia had been an elderly nun who had lived long ago, when it was dangerous to be a Christian. She met her death when an angry pagan mob attacked her convent. Before she lost her life, the angry mob knocked out all her teeth. Thereafter, she became the saint to pray to about a troublesome tooth.

  “This priest—”

  “Martin, he was no priest. He just wore the robes,” corrected Gunther.

  “He said he was a priest,” argued Martin.

  “He said many things.”

  “He had a pouch of white kidskin, and inside was an ancient tooth from the very mouth of Saint Apollonia.”

  “Which, of course, he was willing to part with for a price,” added Gunther.

  “Well, he said his church had great need.”

  “He was more concerned with his own needs.”

  “Anna, we could have had this miraculous tooth for our own. Never another pain or chipped tooth. You know how much your father suffers.”

  “Me? I doubt that man’s tooth would help my jaw. Besides, Martin, I’ve been offered this very saint’s teeth before.”

  “Yes, but this one was her tooth, I’m sure. Did you see how old it looked?”

  Anna laughed. “I know two families here in our narrow town who each claim to have a tooth from that holy mouth.”

  “There are enough of that sainted woman’s teeth to fill the mouths of several towns. Your cousin believes the tales of everyone we meet,” added her father.

  Martin insisted the tooth was authentic.

  “Still, I am glad for all the tales Martin brings home,” said Anna, smoothing her new ribbon on her lap.

  “Well, I’m glad I’m good for something,” answered Martin, but his face was grim. “Thank you for dinner. It was good, Anna.”

  Anna became suspicious when her cousin patted her shoulder awkwardly and said, “I’m sorry I haven’t said ‘thank you’ more often.” Then Martin asked Gunther if there was more work. Since there was none, he said he was off to join some friends.

  What is Martin up to? Anna wondered as Martin waved good-bye and left.

  Night came. Martin did not come home. Evening meals were light and easily skipped. Spring nights deepened to gray but never turned winter black. He’s probably up to no good with that awful Dieter, thought Anna. She did not worry until the next day when Martin did not return for dinner.

  Anna and Gunther set off to find him.

  “Dieter, have you seen Martin? ” asked Anna when they found Martin’s friend struggling to pull a handcart filled with large stones.

  “No,” he grunted, releasing the cart handles and stretching.

  “He didn’t sleep at home last night,“ said Gunther. “Do you know where he might be? ”

  “He wasn’t with me. I never saw him yesterday, nor today.”

  “Dieter, tell me what you know,” said Gunther laying a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Dieter stepped away from Gunther and said, “I think he’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where? ” asked Anna.

  “Well, I didn’t see him leave, but if he hasn’t been home, then he’s left. He didn’t say good-bye to me, but I know he’s been planning to go.”

  Gunther grabbed Dieter’s arm. “Planning to go where ? ”

  Dieter pulled free from Gunther. “Why ask me? I do the work of an ass. Martin has traveled everywhere with you, but I’ve never even seen Worms.”

  “Dieter, where did Martin go? ” asked Anna. Dieter’s face was dirty, and his shirt smelled sour.

  “Well, he always boasted of all the places he’s seen. And since Easter, when he went so far north, to that city. . . .” Diete
r began to clean his nails with his teeth.

  “To Cologne? ”asked Gunther.

  “Yes, where Martin heard that man.”

  “The man they call the Hermit? ”

  “No, the other one. The one who is branded with a cross by the Lord,” said Dieter, and he spat out a fingernail.

  “Count Emich?”

  “Yes. That’s it. Martin has talked of nothing else since Easter. He planned to join the soldiers of Count Emich.”

  “He cannot. He is only a boy,” said Gunther angrily.

  Anna began to walk toward home. She did not want to cry in front of Dieter.

  Dieter glared at Gunther and said, “He’s no boy. He’s already seen most of the world. He’ll be a soldier. And now he’ll see Jerusalem.”

  “Martin doesn’t even have the sense of a boy. He knows nothing of war,” replied Gunther, shaking his head slowly as he turned to follow Anna.

  “You should be going, you with your famous sword. I wish I could go,” called Dieter as Anna and Gunther walked away.

  Without turning, Gunther answered, “Stay home where you belong, Dieter. Martin is a fool.”

  “No, he’s a hero.”

  “I do not think so. I only hope that he will live long enough to be a man,” muttered Gunther angrily.

  Wet tears marked Anna’s cheeks.

  16

  ALONE

  May 16, 1096

  Sitting by the hearth on a damp, too quiet evening, Anna held Smudge’s head on her lap and worked to untangle a burr that was matted into the fur behind his ear. For more than two weeks, no one had seen Martin. Though she had hated his teasing, Anna missed her cousin. He had been the music and laughter in her life. She looked up at her father who was, by habit, almost silent. Every now and then, he tried to talk, but he had little to say. It had always been Martin who filled their evenings.

  When the burr was free, Anna scratched her dog behind his ear, and he thumped his tail and licked her face with his warm tongue. His breath was swampy, and Anna rubbed her cheek with her sleeve.