The Wandering Harlot (The Marie Series) (16 page)

IX.

When Marie arrived in Lady Mechthild’s quarters, the lady was lying on her bed, screaming with pain, eyes tightly closed and fingers clenched. Nevertheless, she seemed to know what was going on around her, for as Marie bent down, she grabbed her by the shoulder and looked at her with wide, anxious eyes.

“You must try to comfort my husband. I don’t want him to be too worried about me. Recently, he has suffered more misfortune than even the bravest of us can bear without God’s help.”

“Very well, I’ll try.” Marie nodded, then quickly slipped out through the side door into the anteroom leading to Sir Dietmar’s bedroom. The lord of the castle was standing against the wall near the door, staring at it as if he expected to see the devil.

Marie brushed past him, picked up a goblet that had rolled across the floor, and wiped it off with a cloth. With trembling hands, she refilled it with wine and handed it to him. “Drink, my lord. It will do you good. Then we must kneel down and ask the saints to stand by Lady Mechthild in her hour of need.”

Time crawled by as Marie searched her memory for suitable prayers for a woman in childbirth and recited them for the knight. As she did so, she listened to the sounds coming from the next room in the hope of hearing the shouts of joy and praise that would announce a successful delivery. All she heard, however, were soft whimpers, the tiptoeing of many feet, and the lady’s cries penetrating the thick walls and drowning out all other sounds. Sir Dietmar cringed each time he heard his wife’s voice, pressing his fists against his stomach as if sharing the pain she had to bear. Finally, he could stand it no longer and jumped up to run to his wife. Marie tried to hold him back, but he pushed her aside. At the door he bumped into Giso who struggled to keep his master from rushing into the neighboring room.

Dietmar shouted angrily at his vassal. “Let me go, you scoundrel! I must see my wife!”

Marie tried to help Giso and pleaded with the lord. “You can’t help her. The midwife is with her, and if you disturb her, you will just make everything worse. So be sensible and stay here!”

“God will not be so cruel as to take my wife from me?” he asked Marie, his eyes wide with fear.

“Certainly he will not,” Marie swore, hoping that all would be well. She shuddered as she imagined what the lord might do in his anguish if Lady Mechthild did not survive the birth.

“I love her so much. Without her I am only half a person. She is my strength, my . . .” Sir Dietmar broke out in tears that neither Marie nor Giso viewed as a sign of weakness. The liegeman adored the lady of the house and would have given his life for her, but in this difficult hour no one but God could help.

She didn’t dare leave the lord alone, so she had no choice but to stare at the door, waiting for any news. Only two heartbeats later the door handle moved. Marie held her breath and clung to the knight’s trembling arm. The door swung open and Guda entered, cradling something wrapped in one of the cloths Marie had embroidered. With a broad smile, she held the bundle up to the knight.

“You have a son, my lord, and he’s as happy and healthy as can be.” As if to confirm her words, the infant let out a robust wail.

Disregarding the baby, the knight looked anxiously at the housekeeper. “How is my wife?”

“She’s very tired, but she survived the ordeal.”

Dietmar broke out in a cheer that frightened the child into another loud cry. Dietmar glanced only briefly at the red, wrinkled little face before he pushed Guda aside and ran into the next room. Relieved, Marie and the housekeeper followed. Lady Mechthild lay in her bed, looking tired and worn out, but very happy, and she smiled as her husband knelt down beside her.

“I told you it would be a boy,” she whispered.

“The most important thing is that you survived,” Dietmar replied. He kissed her and nodded to Marie who remained at the foot of the bed while he congratulated Lady Mechthild on the blessed occasion.

“To show our thanks to the Holy Virgin who has spared the life of my wife and son, I promise to go on a pilgrimage to Einsiedeln and light a candle on her altar,” he said solemnly. “But first we shall have my son baptized.”

“What name will you give him?” Marie asked curiously.

“Grimald,” the knight answered with a sparkle in his eye. “And I already know who his godfather will be.” He looked at his wife and laughed out loud as if all his cares had suddenly been swept away.

X.

The next morning, Giso took a few men to bring the news of the birth to Sir Dietmar’s friends. Marie also learned that he was going to seek the man who the lord hoped would be the child’s godfather, but no one knew who that was. Even the lady was dying to know, but the knight wouldn’t tell her. Curiously, the castellan took packhorses as if he were setting out on a long trip.

Marie was less interested in the godfather’s identity than in what happened to Brother Jodokus. Now that she was indebted to him, she despised him even more and didn’t want to run into the man in a dark corner. Tiptoeing past the chapel, she was surprised at how quiet it was, so she peeked inside. As a sign of heavenly gratitude for the birth of the son and heir, three candles were supposed to be lit in honor of the Trinity, and one candle should have been burning before the statue of the Holy Mother. But Marie was puzzled to see only the almost-horizontal rays of the sun coming through the windows illuminating the totally empty ornamented vault.

One of the maidservants told her that Jodokus hadn’t gone to congratulate the lady after the birth, nor was he in the great hall where Sir Dietmar and his liegemen were celebrating the birth of the castle’s heir. Marie learned that Philipp von Steinzell had returned to his father’s castle the previous afternoon, and she wondered guiltily if the young squire had killed the monk out of anger for helping her. When Jodokus didn’t show up for supper, she pointed his absence out to Guda.

The housekeeper seemed not to care where the monk might be. “Brother Jodokus is an old homebody. To tell you the truth, it’s fine with me if that
man
stays out of our way. I don’t like how he creeps up on you, and I’d advise you to stay away from him, because I don’t trust him.”

Guda stressed the word
man
as if she knew about the monk’s obsession with the young prostitute. Somewhat mollified, Marie later mentioned the monk’s disappearance to Hiltrud, who teased her. “Do you miss your admirer? I didn’t think you cared for two-legged goats.”

But after Marie had told her about the incident with Philipp von Steinzell and the monk, Hiltrud became serious. “You’d better keep your mouth closed if you want to stay out of trouble. The favor of the mighty is fickle, and who’s to say what the lady will think?”

When Jodokus had still not shown up by the next evening, Sir Dietmar began to worry.

He ordered a search within the castle walls, which proved unsuccessful. Finally, he sent servants out with torches to search the surrounding area, as he thought that the monk might have had an accident while out on a walk. Though there was little hope of finding him alive in the bitter cold, not even a trace of him could be found, and the monk’s disappearance remained a mystery that no one at Arnstein Castle could solve.

A few days later, Hartmut von Treilenburg and Abbot Adalwig of Saint Ottilien’s monastery appeared in person to offer their best wishes to the knight and his wife, promising to come back for the baptism. After more than a week, Giso returned and handed his lord some documents covered in official seals, and all the lord’s worries seemed to disappear in an instant. Beaming with pride, Dietmar ordered his people to prepare a great feast and hurried to his wife’s room to deliver the good news.

Marie was free sooner than expected of her duties to the lord. After the birth of his son, the knight firmly rejected making use of the beautiful young woman, preferring instead to wait longingly for the day when his wife could again share his bed. Marie still had plenty to do, since Guda needed every available hand to prepare for both the baptismal feast and the Christmas holiday that had been postponed by the betrayal of the Bürggens and overshadowed by the birth of the heir.

Even though the baptism was still several weeks off, it didn’t initially seem that things would be ready in time. But Lady Mechthild was gaining strength every day, and after she recovered enough to leave her bed and take charge, the servants sprang back into action, laughing and joking despite the hard work. Even the soldiers pitched in, although they usually regarded servants’ work as beneath them.

January passed and Candlemas arrived. Since Brother Jodokus was still missing, the abbot of Saint Ottilien said the Mass. The abbot was a good friend of Sir Dietmar’s and a determined foe of the Keilburgs. Everyone assumed that Sir Dietmar had chosen Abbot Adalwig as his son’s godfather, but Sir Dietmar postponed the baptismal service and asked forgiveness of his guests for postponing the feast because one important guest had not yet come. But he didn’t say who that was.

Two days later, the tower watch announced the approach of a large group of men on horseback. Hartmut von Treilenburg and some of the other nobles feared a surprise attack by the Keilburgs and called their men to arms, but Sir Dietmar reassured them and ordered the gates to be opened to receive the visitors. Dressed in festive attire and protected from the frigid air by nothing but an overcoat lined with fox fur, he strode into the courtyard to greet their guests. Lady Mechthild joined him, along with a maid carrying a pitcher of warm mulled wine and some goblets for the new arrivals.

“Am I mistaken, or is that Count Eberhard von Württemberg’s coat of arms?” a soldier standing near Marie cried out in surprise.

The man was right. The banner depicted the leaping stag of the Württembergs. The horsemen were wearing sheepskin greatcoats over their capes to protect them from the cold, and their beards were encrusted in ice. The horses had been wrapped in blankets, their legs partially bandaged, and white clouds of steam puffed from their nostrils.

“Sir Dietmar must stand high in the favor of Count Eberhard if he makes the long trip here from Stuttgart in the middle of winter,” one of the guests whispered to Hartmut von Treilenburg. The latter nodded with his mouth hanging open, but he also looked a bit doubtful, as if he didn’t know yet what to think of it all.

Count Eberhard rode through the gate, stopping before the lord and lady of the castle. Two servants ran forward to help him out of his saddle, as he was almost frozen stiff despite his blanket and fur-trimmed coat. Gratefully he accepted a goblet of mulled wine from Lady Mechthild and emptied it at once.

“That tastes wonderful,” he said while the maid poured the warm drink for his companions as well. Count Eberhard knocked the rest of the snow from his coat, removed his gloves, and leaned forward to shake Dietmar’s hand.

“Best wishes on the birth of your son, Sir Arnstein. Nowadays one cannot have enough brave men.”

“I thank you for coming, Count von Württemberg.” Sir Dietmar sounded relieved, as the count treated him as an equal, apparently spared from the bitter cup of vassalage that Degenhard von Steinzell would have to swallow under Friedrich von Habsburg. Hartmut von Treilenburg’s dark face quickly brightened. He went to Count Eberhard and took his outstretched hand. “I am greatly pleased to see you, Count Eberhard.”

“I feel honored to be invited,” Eberhard replied, quickly glancing around the interior of the well-fortified castle. What he saw seemed to please him, and he patted Dietmar on the shoulder to show his approval as the servants stepped forward to help the men take off their capes and heavy winter coats.

Marie now got a better look at the visitor and guessed that Eberhard was in his midforties. Though he was tall and imposing, he had remained slender in contrast to many others his age. His face was framed by a dark blond beard speckled with gray, and his eyes sparkled with cheerfulness. His jerkin was of the black and gold colors of Württemberg, though the yellow seemed a bit faded, reminding Marie with amusement of a courtesan’s yellow ribbons. The count’s trousers were dark blue and the codpiece generously padded to suggest his noble rank.

Everything was ready for the guests in the great hall, and the maids were already bringing in warm food for the count and his men. Marie helped with the serving until Lady Mechthild beckoned her over.

“Let the maids do the work and sit here with me since I can see you’re dying of curiosity. In any case, I have a job for you.” The lady sounded happier than she had in a long time.

Marie quickly accepted, setting the bowl of pork roast that she was carrying down on the table in front of Eberhard. Untying her apron, she handed it to a maid and took the seat near the lady. Hiltrud, who was also serving the guests, looked on in astonishment.

Looking admiringly at his new seatmate, Eberhard leaned forward and tugged on her sleeve. “You’re a damned beautiful woman. By what name may I call you?”

“This is Marie,” Lady Mechthild answered for her. “She’s a courtesan and will satisfy your needs if you wish.”

Count Eberhard’s eyes flashed with desire, and Marie knew that by evening she would be lying in his bed. For a moment she was infuriated, as she didn’t expect Lady Mechthild to pass her around like a shiny plaything; then she laughed at her own naïveté. She’d been brought there as a courtesan, and why should she suddenly be treated like something else?

The count was an enemy of Konrad von Keilburg, and she knew that Lady Mechthild had arranged this pairing so that Marie could get close to Count Eberhard and relay all that she learned back to the knight and the lady. In any case, the count was certainly more affable that Philipp von Steinzell, and he didn’t share Jodokus’s repulsive odor.

She listened carefully to the conversation around the table, remembering what she knew about Count Eberhard von Württemberg. Along with Friedrich von Habsburg, who ruled over large holdings of land that spanned countries, Count Eberhard was one of the most powerful and influential noblemen in the old Duchy of Swabia, whose title had been vacant since the previous duke died. Until now, none of the noblemen in Swabia had succeeded in gaining a duke’s title or rank, which would give them power over the other noble houses. Marie wondered if Eberhard wanted this position for himself, but nothing of what she heard suggested that.

At first Eberhard and Sir Dietmar talked about ordinary things such as the unusually cold winter and the council that would begin in the fall. Count Eberhard would be attending, and he invited the lord and lady of the castle to come with him to Constance. Only later, after the maids had cleared the table, did the men get around to discussing their problems with the Keilburgs. “I hear that Count Konrad seized a castle that belongs to you,” Eberhard began.

“Indeed,” declared Sir Dietmar, and told the count about his uncle’s alleged second testament that supposedly awarded Mühringen to the Keilburgs. “Konrad took the castle in a surprise attack and refuses to recognize my claims,” he concluded with a grim expression.

Eberhard von Württemberg puffed out his cheeks. “Can’t someone ask Sir Otmar what convinced him to make up this new will?”

“Count Konrad asserts that my uncle entered a monastery, though he doesn’t know which one, or I would have asked him long ago.” Sir Dietmar’s expression clearly indicated he considered this a lame excuse.

Supporting his bearded chin in his right arm, Eberhard fiddled with one of the ornamental silver buttons on his jerkin. “I can’t say I like the situation. In any event, I’ll present your case to the kaiser. You say you have your uncle’s document, signed and sealed before witnesses?”

“I do indeed, and in two copies,” Dietmar replied with a contented smile. He fumbled with a key on his belt while holding out his other hand to his wife, who gave him the second key. Taking another key from his belt, Giso gathered all three of the keys and left the great hall to fetch the document. Soon after, he returned, holding a leather binder in front of him.

“Here is the contract, sir. But I can’t say it smells very good.”

The lord of the castle looked up in irritation and sniffed the leather. Its odor made him cough. “There’s something wrong here,” he said, regaining his breath. Carefully opening the cover, he stared dumbfounded at the shreds of parchment inside, all of which were illegibly stained and emitted a foul stench.

Eberhard had a servant bring him a cloth to protect his hand while he picked up one of the pieces. The parchment seemed burned, and it was impossible to read a word. Shaking his head, the count handed it back to Dietmar. “It looks like Keilburg played a dirty trick on you. Someone poured acid over this and destroyed it. I’m afraid you have a spy in the castle.”

To her horror, Marie saw several people look her way. Meanwhile, Sir Dietmar stared at the leather as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, with a curse, he flung the stinking mass on the ground and started pounding the table.

“That won’t help Keilburg. The second copy is stored safely in Saint Ottilien’s monastery, certainly beyond the reach of Count Konrad’s people.”

“No, Sir Dietmar!” Abbot Adalwig, sitting on the other side of Dietmar, cried out in shock. “You had the testament picked up a few weeks ago by Jodokus, your scribe.”

The lord of the castle stared at the abbot wide-eyed. “That’s not possible. I never . . .” Grinding his teeth, he paused. “So that’s the reason Jodokus disappeared. First he destroyed this testament with acid and then he went to get the second copy in the monastery. Oh, fool that I am! Why wasn’t I suspicious right away when that damned monk disappeared?”

Silence descended over the great hall following the knight’s outburst. People looked at one another, their faces showing fear of an enemy whose power was strong enough to destroy contracts stored behind thick walls in heavily locked chests. Some in the group crossed themselves.

Count von Württemberg felt that something had to be done to dispel people’s evident fear of the seemingly unlimited power of Konrad von Keilburg. Taking a long gulp of wine, he placed his hand on his host’s shoulder.

“Didn’t you invite us for the baptism, Sir Dietmar?” The latter nodded in surprise. “Yes, but . . .”

“No buts!” Eberhard said in a thundering voice. “We’re not going to let Count Konrad ruin this event! Lady Mechthild, bring my godson and some holy water. But no, wait . . . no holy water. That has been sullied by the traitorous monk. Speak your blessing for the child, Abbot Adalwig. That will certainly be pleasing to God.”