He stood, moving as quietly as he could in the direction of the sounds. He could tell he was getting closer, as the labored breathing was getting louder.
He paused. If the large animal was human, he might be about to interrupt a young couple from Thornbeck doing things they could not get away with in town. But no. The blowing noise sounded like a deer in distress, and not a sound any human could make.
He stepped closer, entering a dense thicket of bushes and vines and small trees. Finally he saw it: a large hart lying on its side. He wasn’t moving, except for the heaving of his sides as he struggled to breathe. An arrow stuck out from his back haunch, with both dried and fresh blood around the wound. And the feathers on the arrow were white, just like the one he had found earlier.
Heat rose from his neck to his brow. Someone was poaching deer in Thornbeck Forest. This could well be the same poacher who stalked Jorgen’s father and then killed him.
The deer was dying. The kindest thing would be to dispatch him and put the poor creature out of its pain. He drew an arrow from his quiver and the bow from across his back and aimed for the spot behind its skull and from the angle that would kill the animal instantly. He released the arrow, and the hart’s heaving sides stilled.
Jorgen’s own breath was coming hard as he clenched his teeth and stared down at the poor dead deer and the arrow protruding from its flesh.
Who was poaching in Thornbeck Forest? If it was only an occasional deer to feed a man’s family, Jorgen might never catch him, but with as many deer as Jorgen suspected were missing, he must be selling the meat.
Anyone caught selling deer meat in the town center on market day or any butcher selling it from his shop would be arrested. This poacher was probably selling it secretly—which meant he was operating a black market.
But this could work in Jorgen’s favor, since the black-market selling would give him another way to find this poacher.
This was Jorgen’s chance to avenge his father’s death. No matter what Jorgen had to do, he would capture this poacher. And he would make sure the margrave did not let him off easy. However, he had a hunch that he needn’t worry about that. Lord Thornbeck would be inclined to punish this poacher to the full extent of the law.
Although Jorgen’s new job as forester was not well known inside the walls of the town of Thornbeck, he needed to make sure no one would recognize him today.
Jorgen donned a long dark-blue surcoat that reached to his ankles. The air was still moist and cool from the heavy rain of the early morning, so he would not appear quite so strange as he pulled the hood over his head to partially obscure his face.
He set out from his home in the forest. Once inside the city, he headed toward the town square. As it was Tuesday, the market would be underway, with sellers and buyers crowding the circular cobblestoned area. Even the rain earlier would not stop most of the sellers. But first he went inside a shop on Butcher’s Guild Strasse, the street where nearly every shop sold meat of various kinds.
He asked the shopkeeper, a plump woman old enough to be his mother and who was probably the butcher’s wife, to tell him what kind of meat she sold.
“What kind do you want?”
“I want something that tastes of the wild.”
“Tastes of the wild?” She scrunched her face at him. “What do you mean? All our meat was raised in the meadows surrounding Thornbeck. We don’t sell wild meat here.”
“Do you know anyone who does? I would pay a lot of money for some deer meat.” He watched her for her reaction.
“I know not where you can get such meat.” She huffed and turned on her heel and went into the back room. When she returned, she laid a large goose, all plucked and ready to be cooked, across the counter. “That’s as wild as we sell here, and it was raised at the old Schindler farm north of town. They clip their wings when they’re young, so their meat is as tender and tasty as any you will find.” She fixed him with a narrowed stare. “If you find deer meat, that’ll be poached from the margrave’s own land, and we would never sell poached meat here. The margrave would have our heads. Unless you are daft, you should know that.”
“I see you are an honest woman. That is admirable. Perhaps I will come back for the goose on my way home.”
Jorgen left the shop, joined the crowd on their way to the market, and looked around. Sellers of every description had their booths set up and their wares on display, and Jorgen saw nothing out of the ordinary. No one looked as if he was selling venison. No one even looked suspicious.
He would not find the black-market seller in the open market. He must look elsewhere or find someone who knew where this seller was located. The seller could be anywhere, but it seemed advantageous for him to be near the market.
Who should Jorgen ask? He had already raised the suspicions of the woman at the butcher shop.
Glancing around him, he saw women with large baskets on their arms as they did their shopping. Some were servants, and others were middle-aged or older women shopping for their families. Most of the sellers were busy and did not have time for a private chat. But as he drew closer to the side of the marketplace that was flanked by the massive town hall building, he saw a young man. He was lounging against the side of the Rathous, watching passersby. He looked fully grown but younger than twenty. Would he know anything?
Jorgen approached him. “Do you know where I might buy some deer meat?”
“Why do you want to know?” He looked lazily back at Jorgen from half-closed eyes.
“I want to buy some venison. Is that so strange?”
“Not strange at all.” The young man pushed himself away from the stone wall and turned to go around the corner.
Jorgen waited a few moments, then followed him down a narrow alley between two buildings facing the marketplace. Could he have found a person who could lead him to the black market? Or was Jorgen about to get a rude greeting from brigands?
The doorways on either side of him along the alley were too shadowy for him to see if they were open or closed. Hardly any sunlight came through the narrow alley, and a large tree at the end further shaded the street. Jorgen made sure he could reach his knife, letting his hand rest on it in its sheath underneath his surcoat.
The young man reached the end of the narrow alley and glanced back at Jorgen. He then turned to the left and disappeared.
Jorgen followed, looking first to the right and then the left. No one was lurking behind the buildings, and the residents were obviously using this back side to dump their chamber pots. The smell made it difficult to breathe, mingling with the summer heat like a stifling fog.
The young man was several feet ahead of him and motioned for him to catch up. Jorgen proceeded, alert for any motion in the dark back street. His boots squished through filth. They turned right when they came to another back alleyway that led behind a row of houses. A woman stood in the first doorway. Her hair was red and wiry, somehow managing to stick out in all directions even though it was braided down her back. A couple of her teeth were missing in front.
“What do we have here?” She let her gaze linger on Jorgen’s face.
“I want to buy some venison.”
“Why did you come here? You don’t think we have that here, do you?” She kept one hand on her hip, and she used her other hand to wave around when she talked, as though she were spreading out the words. She gave him a provocative half smile. “You do look like a man who knows what he wants, I admit.”
He suspected he was standing behind the house of prostitution called The Red House, which faced Waschefrau Strasse.
“He only wants venison,” the young man said. “Give him what he wants.”
She reached out and slapped the young man on the side of the head.
“Ow!”
“Who do you think you are? You do not tell me what’s what and who’s who. Do you know this man?”
“Nein.” He sounded petulant, more boy than man.
She turned her gaze back on Jorgen.
<
br /> “I want to purchase some venison for my aged mother. The barber said the red meat would strengthen her blood.”
She stared at him, then stepped back. “Come in.”
He went inside the dimly lit back room and followed the woman down a corridor and into a small kitchen. Slabs of fresh deer meat were laid out on the tables.
“Is this what you were looking for?”
“Ja.” Jorgen examined the meat, skinned and readied for cooking. He was certain this was venison. He pretended to look it over, selecting what he wanted. The only other person in the room was a boy about fourteen years old who stood and offered him a hemp cloth to wrap his selection in.
Jorgen did choose a slab of venison, wrapped it in the cloth, and handed over the money to the woman. She stuffed the coins in a purse that hung from a belt around her waist, then escorted him back to the door in the alleyway.
As she opened the door to let him out, two people were standing there waiting. One was a servant from a wealthy household, if he read her tidy appearance and clothing correctly, and the other was a young man, also with the appearance of a servant.
Did the wealthy people of Thornbeck know about this black market of poached deer? If only he could find out who was behind it.
Perhaps he could find out who owned this building.
When he was back on the street and unescorted, he circled around to the front. It was the brothel as he had suspected. As much as this house of prostitution had been spoken of by all the boys his age when he was growing up, he couldn’t recall anyone saying who owned it.
Nevertheless, he had discovered the black market the poacher was using to sell his meat.
The margrave invited Jorgen into his library. Lord Thornbeck looked preoccupied, his face drawn and somber as he stared down at the papers on his desk. His chancellor stood just behind him, glaring at Jorgen.
“Jorgen, do you have news for me?”
“Lord Thornbeck, thank you for seeing me. I do have news. I have discovered that there is a place in town where people are going to buy venison, and I believe it is deer that have been poached from Thornbeck Forest.”
The margrave’s brows lowered, giving him an even darker look. He stood, then limped while leaning on a walking stick as he moved toward the tall windows overlooking the steep, wooded ravines behind the castle. The sun had not yet broken through the clouds, even though it was almost midday, and he stopped and gazed out.
“Tell me everything you know,” Lord Thornbeck said without looking at Jorgen.
Jorgen began by telling him about the deer he had found with the arrow sticking out of his side and the white feathers that matched the other arrow he had found. He described the situation in the back alleyway behind the Rathous, not far from the marketplace, the meat, the buyers, and the sellers.
“In which house was it located?”
“The house of prostitution everyone calls The Red House.”
“I will have my steward find out who owns it.” He turned back to Jorgen. “I thank you for your diligence in finding out about the black market and poaching problem. That was very good work.”
“It was my duty and honor, my lord. I intend to capture this poacher.” Jorgen bowed.
“Please do keep me informed if you discover anything new.”
“I do have one other matter to ask you about, my lord, if I may.”
“Of course.”
“Since we are snaring so many hares this week, would you like to donate some of them to the poor?”
He stared, as though the question surprised him.
“Donate them to the poor?” Contempt oozed from Ulrich’s voice. The chancellor stepped forward to glance at the margrave’s face. “My lord, I have never heard of previous margraves doing that.”
“I do not do the things the previous margraves did, Ulrich.” Lord Thornbeck cleared his throat. “I think it is a good idea, Jorgen. Besides, I do believe my cook is ready to start tossing hares in the rubbish heap. Therefore, you may give all the hares you snare, from this point on, to the poor. You will take charge of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Ulrich.” The margrave glanced at his chancellor. “Send for my steward. I have a matter to discuss with him. And you may show Jorgen out.”
Jorgen bowed one last time to the margrave, then followed Ulrich, whose face was red and pinched, as if he were tasting something bitter.
At least Odette would be pleased when she learned that the poor would receive a great bounty of hares in the next few days.
10
ODETTE ARRIVED AT the dinner party with Peter and Anna. She was awed upon entering the Burgomeister’s home to find it even larger and more luxuriously furnished than Rutger’s.
At one point Odette noticed Rutger and Mathis’s father speaking to each other in a corner by themselves. Then Herr Papendorp led Rutger out the back door, and they disappeared.
“Odette,” Mathis said, brushing against her arm as he appeared at her side. “You don’t seem to be enjoying this party as much as the last one. I am so sorry there is no music. My father says he cannot hear what anyone is saying if musicians are playing, so he never has dancing at his parties.” Mathis quirked an eyebrow at his father’s failure as a host. “Can I get you anything? Anna? Something to drink?”
Before they could answer, Mathis motioned for a servant carrying goblets of wine on a tray. He took two and gave them to Odette and Anna.
While Mathis talked, Odette sipped her wine. She remembered the cutting words of the woman who had been their cook for the past ten years. Would she be wrong to reject Mathis if he should ask her to marry him? Could she marry Mathis? He was charming and young. Cook thought she was selfish not to marry someone rich. Perhaps Rutger would finally marry if Odette was out of the way. He was thirty-five years old, not too old to get a desirable wife.
But should she allow their cook to influence her thoughts about something as serious as marriage? Cook would not have to live Odette’s life if she pushed her into making a poor choice of husband. Only Odette would have to face the consequences.
“It’s a pity,” Mathis went on, “we don’t have any music. I would love to dance with you again.” He drew closer, and she noticed the gray flecks in his light-blue eyes. Certainly, he was not unattractive. Most women would think him handsome.
“Mathis! Come here and tell this man what you said about the mules and horses my men brought from Spain.” An older man motioned him over to where he stood with two other men, all elaborately dressed in the latest fashions—brightly colored robes with fur trim and long liripipes hanging from their hats and hoods.
“Excuse me.” Mathis looked reluctant but moved away from Odette and Anna and joined the three men across the room.
Peter drew near. “Anna, darling, come and meet someone. It will not take long.” And then Odette was left alone with her thoughts.
Unlike Mathis, she would rather talk than dance, knowing she would soon be out on her nightly hunt—or perhaps it was because Jorgen was not here to dance with her. But she should not be thinking about him like that. Sleeping in the daytime was difficult, and she had not been sleeping well, plagued with bad dreams. Besides, talking with Jorgen had been even more pleasant than dancing. Her mind so often went back to their conversation in the tiny garden behind her house. She would see him tomorrow.
“What is going on inside that fair head, Odette?” Mathis had gotten rid of the interloper and was leaning close to her again.
She laughed, a nervous sound. “Nothing very noteworthy.”
“I am sure that cannot be true. You must have many noteworthy thoughts.” He grinned. “Since we cannot dance, I would wish you to come with me to the inner courtyard. I have something to show you there.” Without waiting for her answer, he took her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm and led her out of the large room and down a short corridor and into the twilight of the open courtyard.
Perhaps Odette should have refused to go with
him, as she was very aware that she was leaving the safety of the crowd. Even though she and Jorgen had gone out into the garden at her birthday dinner, other people had been in the garden as well, and she was not sure she trusted Mathis as much as she trusted Jorgen.
Mathis pulled her into the relative darkness. “Our gardener plants beautiful flowers out here.”
She glimpsed a few men standing around a small pony penned at the other end of the courtyard. They appeared to be discussing the animal. Seeing other people made her breathe more freely.
Mathis led her to some large pots overflowing with flowers. One pot was filled with red geraniums that shone bright in the nearly dark courtyard. Another pot was home to a rosebush with several pink flowers.
“My mother loves roses, and my father likes to indulge her.” He was looking at her and not the flowers. “Do you like them?”
“They are very beautiful.” Odette touched a petal with her fingertip.
Mathis broke one off and held it out to her. “For you.”
“Thank you.” Odette brought the flower to her nose. “It smells wonderful.”
He led her to a fresco painted on the wall facing the courtyard, a scene of two lovers embracing in a garden of flowers.
“It is well done and looks quite real. The artist is very talented.”
“My mother loves color. Father commissioned the artist to come all the way from Heidelberg to paint it. My father loves my mother very much.” Mathis leaned closer. “I would like to make a love match when I marry. I do not care so much about a dowry, as long as the woman is able to love me, and I her.”
Odette placed her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. “That is very commendable.”
“I believe I could love you, Odette, the way my father loves my mother.” He moved even closer, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Oh.” She leaned back. “Your feelings do you credit, and I thank you for the honor of expressing the thoughts of your heart to me, but—”
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