Suddenly there was a noise and they drew apart.
A boy had led two horses to the stream to water them, but he did not notice them as Chassim had quickly pulled Anna behind a tree.
Both pretended that nothing had happened as Anna fixed the bandage by ripping its end with her teeth to make a final knot. In so doing a thousand thoughts shot through her head, though she tried not to show it, and took a step back.
‘Well then, now you can remount your horse and get ready to have your head bashed once again,’ she said more harshly than she had intended, and looked into his eyes.
‘Anna Ahrweiler,’ was all Chassim murmured and he shook his head. ‘Anna Ahrweiler – you are made of flesh and blood after all!’
‘Did you think that there was no blood flowing through a medica?’ she asked unintentionally abrupt.
‘No, I didn’t. Just someone doing their duty,’ he replied and looked at her seriously.
‘Well, being a medica is the task I have dedicated myself to.’
‘With your heart and soul?’
‘Yes, absolutely and completely.’
‘Well you can hardly expect me to believe that. I know that you are hiding something from me. Why won’t you talk to me? Do you not trust me?’
‘It is true that you don’t really know me,’ she said. ‘But equally I know you little.’
‘We should change that.’
‘How could that be done? You are the son of a count and I am but a medica. You should stay among your own. And so should I.’
‘Who says so?’
‘Tradition. The Church. The Law. Common sense. Did I forget something?’
‘The heart perhaps. What does your heart say?’
‘To do as my reason tells me.’
‘And what does your reason tell you?’
‘That I should go now.’
But she did not go. Silently they stood looking at each other and not avoiding each other’s eyes.
‘Will you come again tomorrow?’ he asked at last. ‘Tomorrow is the day when it’s all or nothing, when only the best will succeed.’
‘And – is that what you are?’
‘We shall see.’
‘Who will you be fighting against?’
‘The opponents have been decided by drawing lots. Do come along and watch.’
‘No, I won’t. I will be otherwise engaged.’
She turned around and wanted to leave. But Chassim stepped forward and took her by her arm.
‘Anna, if you don’t come, I will come to you. Through the secret passage.’
Anna looked into his face to see whether he was serious or joking. She could see mischief in the corners of his eyes.
‘That, I would not recommend to Chassim the knight,’ she said. ‘It would turn out badly for you. My infirmarius, Brother Thomas, whom you have not yet met, occupies a room in my house. He is a light sleeper and very strong. He might take you for a thief and would not hesitate to batter you.’
‘Well, then you would have to put me back together again,’ said Chassim smiling at her.
‘Not even I can work miracles,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said and let go of her.
Anna disappeared without looking back.
The sun was shining in the cloudless sky when Gero headed to the stream which flowed by the forest to cool down after the exhibition fight. He was looking forward to the contest the following day during which he would try to unseat his opponent with a blunt wooden lance – a genuine fight at last. He didn’t exactly see himself as a juggler or travelling showman whose task it was to amuse the spectators, though he had complied and done his best at the buhurt. Perhaps his best had been a little too good, as he had tackled his pretend opponent a lot harder than had been agreed. But once he got going, he found it difficult to stop. In the general tumult nobody would have noticed this except for his opponent who had sustained more injuries and bruises than he would have liked. Gero wasn’t worried about who his opponent at the joust would be. The first round was decided by lots and he didn’t care who he had to face, as he was a match for anyone. What mattered to him was the opportunity to prove to himself and to the other knights that he was the best.
He was about to leave the bank of the stream and carry his mail shirt back to his tent when he heard voices that sounded familiar. Carefully and under cover he sneaked towards the sound along the stream on the forest side and hid behind a large tree. And what did he see but the medica together with Sir Chassim, the count’s brother-in-law! She was taking care of a small injury, which seemed to Gero a thing of nothing. And then, would you believe it, the young count and the medica kissed!
He was dumbfounded and could not take his eyes off them. How could a prince like Chassim stoop so low as to kiss a witch, and moreover in a place where they could be seen by any passer-by. What a fine scandal that would create! As Gero kept watching he thought furiously. What if he surprised them . . . but no, that would only make him an enemy of the count and that would not be wise. Moreover, perhaps this sorceress had somehow bewitched Chassim. Yes, that must be it. What kind of a plan did she have? This he couldn’t seem to work out. That medica was the spawn of the Devil. And if at times it was hard enough to understand God’s plans, how on earth could one hope to know what the Devil was up to?
When Gero saw that the medica and Chassim had gone their separate ways, he had an idea. Ever since their paths had crossed again at Landskron Castle, he had failed to think of a way to hurt the medica without endangering his uncle’s far-reaching plans or risking being put under an evil spell – but now he knew. Anything that would hurt Chassim would hurt the medica, too. That was the solution! What’s more, a brilliant solution! Nobody would know about it, not even his uncle. He would thus at least have the first part of his revenge. There was no way he could get close to the medica without drawing attention to himself or incurring the displeasure of his uncle. Chassim, however, was a different case. He was a knight at the tournament in which he was also participating. Nothing could be easier than to hurt him. Gero even knew how he would go about it. It would look like an accident . . .
Chapter XI
The castle chaplain entered the sacristy of the castle fully vested and carefully locked the door behind him. He had said Mass outdoors that afternoon to which the common people were invited along with the many noble guests. The sun had beaten down unmercifully during the long and tiring ceremony and he was sweaty and exhausted as a result. Alone at last, he enjoyed the welcome quiet after all the exasperating and demanding liturgical niceties and empty ceremonial phrases and salutations during which he couldn’t allow himself a single mistake. The stern gaze of the archbishop was particularly unnerving even before the Mass had begun. After all, he wanted to prove himself worthy of more demanding tasks and capable of conducting a complex ceremony. He was pleased with himself though, as the Mass had gone off well, very well indeed. Now he decided he had earned himself a little wine. Courtesy of a merchant in the city, he had an exceptionally fine vintage, which he kept for himself in a special little cabinet in the sacristy. Later he would change before participating in the festivities of the evening.
Carefully he poured some of the ruby red liquid into a cup and was lifting it to his lips when he was shaken by the sound of a terrifyingly familiar voice.
‘Do you not want to offer me a drop as well, castle chaplain?’
He shook as he turned towards the voice, spilling a few drops of the wine and staining his immaculate white alb.
‘Your grace,’ the castle chaplain said, befuddled. ‘Forgive me, but I didn’t see you.’
In a far, dark corner of the sacristy the archbishop was sitting on an upholstered stool. His face was in the shadow but the chaplain had immediately recognised him by his creaky voice. The ringed hand appeared from the shadows, invitingly holding an empty cup out to him.
‘Hurry up, I’m thirsty, your Mass in that heat went on too long!’
> The castle chaplain hurried to carry out the order while he feverishly pondered whether it was because of some liturgical inadequacies that the archbishop wanted to talk to him in private.
Konrad von Hochstaden took a deep draught of the wine which seemed to agree with him, and looked at the castle chaplain with piercing eyes. ‘What do you know about the medica who is hanging around Oppenheim?’
‘Anna Ahrweiler? She is young, too young for a medica. Moreover she is arrogant and rebellious, and has a reputation for being a miracle healer.’
‘How long has she been here?’
‘She came into the city one day with the Jewish medicus. That was shortly before the delivery of the countess almost six months ago. Apparently she received her training in Nuremberg from a relative of the medicus. That’s what she told me anyway.’
‘Do you believe it?’
‘With respect: no, I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘She is a poor liar, if a bold one.’
‘And what do you believe is the truth?’
‘I believe that she is a witch who carries out her nefarious deeds in the guise of a medica.’
‘That’s a very serious accusation. Have you got any proof?’
‘She has a green and a brown eye.’
The archbishop shrugged his shoulders as if to say: so what?
The castle chaplain continued: ‘Your nephew Gero von Hochstaden believes, your grace, that he knows her from of old. He witnessed how she drowned in her previous form as Brother Marian. And then this Jewish medicus must have brought her here somehow. Ever since she came to Oppenheim there have been unmistakable signs of the arrival of a messenger from Hell, your grace.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the biblical plagues over Egypt’s land described in the second book of Moses. Out of the blue, the very day that this Anna Ahrweiler arrived here in Oppenheim with the Jewish medicus, a chain of accidents and acts of violence took place at the Gautor gate in which two people died and several more were injured. Immediately afterwards the city and its surroundings were enveloped in sudden darkness, and then struck by a terrible hailstorm that largely destroyed the cereal crop and the blossoming fruit trees across the locality. Another day before the exodus of the Jews, red rain fell from the sky; I saw it with my own eyes.’
‘What else?’
‘Well, ever since this witch arrived here there has been such an increase in the healing of illnesses that something strange must be going on.’
‘Such as?’
‘The saving of the countess and the child in circumstances not compatible with natural and God-given processes. The use of magic ingredients that put sick people to sleep and make them wake up again. And then, a short time ago and according to reliable eye witnesses, this Anna Ahrweiler brought a girl back to life through her witchcraft alone.’
The archbishop had listened most attentively and at the last sentence his upper body leaned forward out of the shadow. ‘Can you name those eye witnesses?’
‘Yes, your grace.’
‘And these people would if necessary repeat their statements in a court?’
‘Yes, your grace.’
The archbishop leaned back satisfied. ‘You must know that I am in the process of putting an end to the unholy activities of this medica. But that must remain between us. The count especially must not learn of this for the time being. I will inform him myself when the time is right. Meanwhile you will participate in the celebrations this evening and the activities scheduled for the final day tomorrow as if nothing had happened. Is that understood?’
‘Certainly, your grace!’
The archbishop stood up and raised his hands as if in thanksgiving for God’s blessing on his plan.
‘This affair is very close to my heart and at the same time it is highly political. It is my deepest conviction that every heretical act must be prosecuted and stopped mercilessly before it can infect the souls of men with its diabolical poison. To rule out any possibility of this medica somehow talking herself out of this, I will need every witness, every testimony and every proof. In this particular case we must not make the slightest mistake. Do you want to help me send the witch back to where she belongs? To Hell?!’ As if preaching a sermon Konrad von Hochstaden had worked himself into a rage, and the fire of righteous anger was blazing in his eyes.
Impressed, the castle chaplain sank to one knee and kissed the archbishop’s proffered ring. ‘With all my strength, so help me God, your grace,’ he replied fervently.
He then looked straight at the archbishop. ‘If I may ask, your grace – how do you intend to take action against her?’
‘I will accuse her of heresy.’
The castle chaplain stood up filled with satisfaction.
‘The stake is the punishment for proven heresy!’
‘That’s correct,’ the archbishop replied, as he collected himself again. ‘And I presume there’s enough wood in the count’s forest, don’t you?’ he concluded without emotion.
The castle chaplain, on the other hand, could not suppress a perfidious twitch around the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh most certainly, your grace, there most certainly is.’
Not for the first time did Brother Thomas wonder about Anna’s behaviour when he lost sight of her in the tournament field. He had eventually given up looking for her. There was something which she was keeping from him. It was partly her strange behaviour, her absentmindedness, her unusual overreaction at the show fights – all these were so unlike the calm, self-possessed medica that he knew.
He decided however to postpone further reflection on this matter and instead enjoy a little recreation. There is, he recalled, a time for fasting and a time for celebrating. This is how the Lord arranged things, and who was he to question God’s will? He had fasted long enough, albeit unwillingly, since his expulsion from Weingarten Monastery until he found himself here in Oppenheim. He now felt it was time to declare an end to this phase of mortification which had been his self-inflicted penance for his frequent insubordination and constant grumbling. He would henceforth turn over a new leaf. So in total harmony with God’s wise counsel he had let himself be carried away by the cheerful mood of the crowd and, like everybody else, he had been drinking, singing and dancing until he was nearly exhausted.
As darkness fell he joined some cheerful minstrels by a campfire and partook amply of the smooth beer that was being generously dispensed. When he had had enough, he retired to the edge of the forest, sank onto the grass and stretched out.
There he lay on his back looking up at the starry sky, which was said to contain as many heavenly bodies as drops of water in the sea or grains of sand on the seashore. He thought long about this. The night was balmy without a breath of wind and the crickets chirped as Brother Thomas began to count the stars. When he was about to start again for the third time, a lingering worry about Anna made him pick himself up and make his way home unsteadily.
After her encounter with Chassim, Anna was so upset that she went home as quickly as possible and immediately began to heat water in a large pot over the fire. She was alone in the house as Berbelin was also at the tournament and thus in complete peace Anna could prepare and then stretch out in the warm water and reflect on the situation into which she had manoeuvred herself. On the one hand, she now knew that Chassim reciprocated her feelings, and this was something beyond her wildest dreams. But on the other hand . . . she was so confused that she could not think straight any more. On impulse, she plunged fully underwater, held her breath as long as she could and then emerged spluttering. But that didn’t clear her head. She fingered the little cross and chain which she hadn’t even taken off when she got into the water. What was she to do? How should she behave towards Chassim in future? No matter how she looked at it, it did not help. She had to think, think, and reflect . . . but she just could not.
Today the full bath and scented soap failed to have the usual calming effect. She stood up energetically,
dried herself until her skin was red and decided that she would not go to the tournament the following day. Under no circumstances did she want to watch as Chassim was pushed off his horse, or worse. The thought alone was unbearable. Of course it could happen that Chassim might leave the field victorious, and this she wished for with all her heart. But even then it would be difficult to meet him again. No, it was better to remain at home for the time being. Her mind made up, she slipped on a fresh tunic and withdrew to her bed chamber where she intended to immerse herself in her studies until tiredness and liberating sleep would come.
Gero was sitting in his tent listening. It was long past midnight when the last snatches of singing and music and the odd cry and burst of laughter from the campfires had died down. Gero had attended the outdoor Mass and, unusually, had abstained from drinking much afterwards. Instead he had gone to check his body armour and his many wooden lances again. Sometimes during a joust like the one planned for the next day, one went through dozens of lances when fighting for points – one point for a body strike and two for unseating the opponent.
In the afternoon he had attended the drawing of lots to select the pairs, and he had been assigned an unknown opponent. Since he presumed that he would emerge victorious, he would meet Sir Chassim sooner or later. In a joust only a winner by three points would advance to the next round, and Gero did not doubt that Chassim von Greifenklau would make it into the finals, as he was known to be a brilliant fighter. But Gero would not wait that long, even though he would have liked to fight him and show him how to handle a lance properly.
He peeked out of his tent. The air was clear and a three-quarter moon was in the sky. There was enough light to execute his plan, he thought as he set off, careful not to stumble over the many guy ropes. He slunk past the back of Chassim’s tent, the sharp knife that he always carried at the ready. He crept to the horses’ paddock, which was guarded but as he had guessed, the guard had fallen asleep at the still glimmering campfire and was snoring gently. The horses sniffed him and one snorted lightly. Gero stood still, watching, but the guard did not move.
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