The Healers Apprentice (20 page)

After eating his meal of lamb stew—flavored, so it seemed, with a few weeds and a sprinkling of dirt—in a dark corner table of the inn, Wilhelm wearily climbed the stairs again. He wished for a bath but knew better than to expect any facilities besides a nearby stream or lake. His large tub at home would be a welcome sight upon his return.

In the room, Wilhelm stared at his mattress. Fleas. He scowled with hatred for them and their vicious biting. He had traveled enough to suspect they infested every inn mattress in the Holy Roman Empire. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dried pennyroyal and sprinkled it on his mattress.

“Trying to keep away the little beasties?” Christoff asked. The two knights looked at each other and laughed.

“We’ll see who’s laughing in the morning.”

He lay his sword beside his bed, and Georg and Christoff did the same. Then Wilhelm pulled his blanket from his saddle bag and wrapped it tightly around himself, fully clothed, before lying down. He lay on his back and looked straight up at the ceiling, since turning his head to the side brought the odor of stale sweat to his nostrils. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to sleep.

He was surprised to see bright fingers of sunlight highlighting the dust of the tiny room when he opened his eyes. Georg and Christoff were both stirring. Wilhelm saw Christoff scratching his chest, and Georg was scratching his neck.

“Fleas?”

The two grimaced and muttered under their breath. Wilhelm grinned.

They strapped on their swords and went downstairs. After they had drunk some warm ale, Wilhelm gave his knights a significant stare and inclined his head toward the door. They took the hint and exited. When the proprietress returned, he called her over. “Frau, do you know of any conjurers of pagan magic in the area?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Who wants to know?”

“Someone who’s very discreet.” Wilhelm pushed a gold coin across the rough wooden table toward her.

She quickly covered the coin with her hand and slipped it into her apron pocket. “There are those who adhere to paganism what meets on yonder mountaintop.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the ridge that towered over the little village. “I don’t truckle with none of their kind, not I.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have heard of a man by the name of Moncore?”

“I see and hear nothing, and I say nothing.”

Wilhelm laid down another coin on the table but kept his hand over it. “Are you sure you never heard of him?”

“Well, now.” Her gaze shifted toward the door then made a pass around the room. When she seemed satisfied no one was listening, she leaned forward. “He was in town last winter. Haven’t seen him since.” She looked over her shoulder then went on. “He has a friend, one Dietmar, lives near the mill.”

She stared pointedly at his hand, and Wilhelm lifted it. She snatched up the money.

He nodded to her. Only when she left the room did he allow himself to smile at this bit of information.

Rose marched out ahead of Frau Geruscha. When they arrived at the dungeon, Geruscha talked to Bailiff Eckehart and convinced him to
allow Rose a few minutes with the prisoner. He led Rose to the wooden door at the top of the dungeon stairs and unlocked it with two huge metal keys. It creaked on its hinges as the bailiff pushed it open. The odor of unwashed bodies, excrement, and dead, decaying rats wafted out at them. Rose’s hand flew to her nose, but she yanked it back down by her side.

She turned to Frau Geruscha. “There’s no need for you to go too.”

“I’ll go back and check on Hildy. Bailiff Eckehart will take care of you.”

The bailiff lit two torches and gave one to Rose. He placed a cloth over his nose and mouth then led the way down the uneven stone steps. Rose again fought the urge to cover her nose and instead raised her head. She would brave the smells and not let Gunther see her cowering at the odor.

The stones of the walls glistened with the damp, and far below she could hear water dripping. They continued their descent until Rose began to wonder if they would ever reach the bottom. She heard an occasional scuffling near her feet. Rats. Even with the two torches, she couldn’t see farther than a couple of steps in any direction.

Finally, Bailiff Eckehart said, “Excuse me, Fraulein Rose. You stay here while I go make sure the prisoner is decent.”

Rose hugged herself while waiting on the step. Her arm brushed the cold, wet wall, and she drew it back with a gasp. She didn’t want to bring anything back upstairs with her.

After a moment, the bailiff and his torch came into view again. “You may proceed.”

She stepped down carefully, as the last few steps were wet and slippery. The bailiff placed her torch in a sconce on the wall. He took the other and started back up the steps without a word.

Gunther sat slumped against the stone wall, his red-blond head bowed. His feet were anchored to the wall with thick metal chains around his ankles. His wrists were chained as well.

He lifted his head and his eyes met hers.

Her throat closed. She swallowed hard to force out her words. “Gunther? Are you all right?” Tears of pity stung her eyes, but she was determined not to let him see his own pitiable state reflected in her gaze.

He slowly raised himself to stand, his chains rattling—a sickening sound. “Rose. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” Dried blood plastered his hair to his head above one eye. What had they done to him?

She tried to sound cheerful. “But these are temporary surroundings.”

“Very temporary, since I am to be hanged in three days.” His voice sounded flat and unemotional.

“Gunther, tell me what happened.” In her urgency Rose laid her hand on his shoulder.

Gunther looked her in the eye, pain clearly etched in the lines of his face. “I’m so sorry.”

When he didn’t go on, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“I suppose I did kill him. But I didn’t intend to.”

“How? What happened?”

“David and I found him the night after I talked to you. He was sitting on the riverbank, drinking. He didn’t even put up much of a fight, he was so drunk. I beat him senseless and left him lying there, on the bank.” Gunther shook his head. The chain on his wrist clanked as he put his hand over his face. “I think he must have rolled into the river and drowned.”

Rose closed her eyes. “So is that what you told the bailiff?”

“Yes.”

“And the duke still sentenced you to die?” Rose spoke the last word in a whisper and immediately wished she had not uttered it.

“Yes.”

“But surely he understood you were simply defending Hildy. It was an accident. He was drunk. He fell in the river and drowned.”

Gunther shook his head. “You were right. I should have gone to the bailiff with our complaint against Arnold Hintzen. The duke was furious that I took the law into my own hands.” His voice trailed off absently, as if he’d forgotten anyone was listening. He held out his hands, palms up, pulling taut the noisy chains. He stared at his hands, his expression full of misery and anguish.

And I should have tried to stop you.
The guilty thought stabbed Rose like a knife.

“I am responsible for his death, Rose,” Gunther said, as though reading her thoughts. “Only I am to blame.” He shifted his feet, clanging his leg irons. “I had a dream last night. I had been praying, asking God to forgive me. In my dream, an angel came to me here, in the dungeon, and said, ‘God has heard your prayers and has forgiven you.’” He slowly shook his head as he looked her in the eye. “So don’t cry for me, Rose. God has forgiven me.”

A tear slipped off her chin and disappeared in the darkness.
No
,
I
mustn’t cry. I have to think.
She pressed her hand against her trembling lips. “Oh, Gunther, I promise I’ll try to get you out. We have three days. There must be a way.”

“Don’t worry. My soul is at peace.”

She grabbed Gunther’s limp hand. “I haven’t given up hope of saving your life, and you mustn’t either.”

He looked her in the eye. “Tell Hildy I’m sorry, and that I love her. I had hoped to make her my wife…someday. Farewell, Rose. You’re a good friend. Promise me that you will always be Hildy’s.”

“I promise.” Rose stifled a sob and squeezed his hand. She tried to say, “Farewell,” but her voice had left her, and she was only able to mouth the words. Lifting the torch from its stand, she shuffled toward the stairs.

As she climbed the steps, she tried to think of her options. What could she do to help Gunther? She couldn’t let herself feel hopeless. There had to be something she could do.

She reached the top of the steps and knocked on the door. Her only thought was to find Lord Rupert. After all, he was the duke’s own son. Perhaps he could help her win favor with the duke and plead Gunther’s case.

Bailiff Eckehart’s keys clinked against the lock and he opened the door to her. She handed him the torch and moved past him down the castle corridor.

The rain had not let up since the night before in the little northern hamlet. The streets—if such they could be called—had turned into a muddy soup. Wilhelm’s boots slipped and sank into the sucking mire. Raindrops trickled down his neck, chilling him all over. But if Moncore was here, or if there was information of him to be had, Wilhelm would have it.

He, Georg, and Christoff had found another, cleaner inn on the other side of town and returned there to devise a plan.

“I’ll disguise myself,” Wilhelm said, “and go to Dietmar, asking for Moncore.”

“No, my lord,” Georg spoke up. “It’s too dangerous. You might be recognized.”

“Better that one of us should do it,” Christoff said.

“I won’t be recognized,” Wilhelm said. “Nobody here has ever seen us before.”

“Better that one of us should do it.”

“Very well. Christoff, you go to Dietmar, and Georg and I will be nearby if you need us.”

Morning was a slow time of day for the inn, and, due to the rain, the big downstairs room was empty. Wilhelm and Georg waited inside while Christoff started across the street to see what he could discover from Moncore’s reported friend, Dietmar. After he was a good distance down the street, they started out behind him.

Wilhelm hunkered against the wall of a mill which faced Dietmar’s little house. He took out his dagger, picked up a small tree limb from the ground, and began to whittle, glancing now and then at Dietmar’s door. Georg was positioned on the other side of the street, under the overhanging roof of an abandoned hut.

Wilhelm whittled so long, he almost forgot where he was for a moment. His shoulders began to ache from the cold and wet and from hunching over. He straightened, flexing his shoulders.
Where was Christoff?
He couldn’t imagine what he and Dietmar could be talking about at such length. But perhaps it only seemed like a long time because he was weary, in both mind and body. He hadn’t been able to sleep well most nights of the trip for thinking about Rose.

The farther away he traveled from home, the more he thought about her. It was tiring to try to force her from his mind, to try to focus on something else. Again and again his thoughts went back to the moment in the forest when Rupert had sworn his commitment to her, saying, “
I vow to love her only and to take care of her for the rest of her life.
”

His face burned with shame even now as he remembered his reaction—he who was already betrothed, experiencing such pain at knowing someone else would marry Rose and love her. He was ashamed for envying his brother, and even more shameful was the resentment he felt toward his betrothed. He had thought himself above petty feelings like envy and resentment, but he saw now that he was a common sinner after all.

He shoved such thoughts away.
God will absolve my heart of these feelings.
He refused to let them gain a foothold. As long as he pushed any tender thoughts of Rose away each time they foisted themselves
on him, as long as he tried to “take every thought captive,” God would help him overcome. Besides, he had an important task to accomplish. He must keep his mind clear to find Moncore and free his betrothed. It would be a balm to his soul when he finally was able to capture the evil conjurer.

Wilhelm studied the house. A faint light shone out from the cracks around the windows, but there was no indication of what was happening inside.
O God
,
give Christoff success. Let us find the man this time.

At that moment Christoff emerged from the door. Wilhelm’s pulse quickened. He continued whittling but watched his knight make his way slowly along the street and pass by him. Georg left his place and started down the road behind Christoff. Wilhelm waited. Finally he sheathed his dagger and pocketed the stick of wood that had grown considerably smaller.

By the time Wilhelm reached the inn, he found his two knights already there, tugging off their muddy boots.

“Well?” Wilhelm stood waiting to hear what happened.

“He said Moncore left this region a month ago.”

“Where did he go?”

“Hagenheim.”

Wilhelm stared then rubbed his jaw. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“Five minutes!” Christoff and Georg set up a loud complaint, but Wilhelm wasn’t listening as he gathered his things and stuffed them into his bag. He was frustrated and angry, as well as uneasy, about what Moncore might be doing in Hagenheim. And he was several days’ ride away.

Rose made her way through the castle corridors and stopped the first servant she saw. She asked him if he knew Lord Rupert’s whereabouts. He didn’t. “Will you please go find him?”

Surprise flickered over the man’s face, but he nodded and set off.

Rose leaned against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and prayed.

The sound of footsteps broke her concentration. She looked up as Rupert came striding toward her.

“Rose! What’s wrong?” He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I need your help, my lord.” Rose was surprised at how steady her
voice sounded. “My friend, Gunther Schoff, has been sentenced to die for killing a man. I need you to convince your father that he didn’t do it. You have to stop them from hanging him.”