“I said you would have a say in it. But I have narrowed your choices to these six.” He indicated the stack of parchments on his table. “I would not want to overlook anyone who might be worthy to claim your hand.”
“And have you a preference?”
It was clear that her uncle was loathe to answer. “I want you to be happy, child. At the same time, I must take into account what is best for our household. These are turbulent times. We have lost revenue in the fields due to the floods. Then this everlasting war of Otto’s has involved us more than I would like.” He rose to pace before the fire, hands behind his back. It was as if she were not even in the room. “Still, it might be wise to strengthen our ties with the House of Otto. I have not supported him in battle as often as he might have wished, being reluctant to lose any of my own men for a cause so far removed from my borders.”
He paced some more, and Margarethe waited, fascinated with his monologue, so revealing of the affairs of this family. “Of course, having our daughter Jolan there these past two years has helped, though she can form no lasting alliance since she is too closely related to marry any of Otto’s sons.”
At this, Margarethe spoke up, unable to contain her disgust. “Uncle Otto is the only person I know who is so fussy about cousins marrying. He’s certainly not strict about other things forbidden by the Church!”
At this, Uncle Einhard let out a loud burst of laughter. “Aha! It seems I do recall being served meat there during Lent once—and finding it quite enjoyable, too.” He straightened his face. “But Jolan is reconciled to having Albert as nothing more than a cousin, and besides that, we were speaking of your prospects, I believe. As you know, any of Otto’s four sons would be an excellent match.”
She supposed there was no hope for it, but perhaps she could put off the decision just a little longer. “Will Jolan marry soon? She is only two years younger than I.”
Uncle Einhard returned to his chair and narrowed his gaze to look directly into her eyes. Margarethe knew that he suspected this delaying tactic, but he answered kindly. “It won’t be long before she has her choice of suitors as well.”
“Then I would like to allow her to consider Selig and Helmhold, along with the others. As for me, I shall choose one of Otto’s sons, Uncle, for I know it would please you.”
Uncle Einhard’s gaze softened. “Good. Very good, Greta. I had hoped you would come to that decision on your own. Do you have a particular son in mind?”
She sighed, thinking again of Willem and wishing it could be their betrothal under discussion. “Yes,” she conceded weakly. “Of those four, I would choose Gregor, I suppose.”
Now that she had been so bold, she regretted it at once. “Still, I really don’t know him very well. Perhaps I should speak with Jolan about him. Living in the same household, she would know. He could be foul-tempered or stingy or a boor, for that matter.”
Uncle Einhard seemed amused, but consented readily enough. “You’re right to consider carefully. Besides, it is time Jolan came home for a visit. So I shall send for her. In the meantime, I’ll tell Mechthild that you have agreed to marry one of her nephews—though I’ll be sure not to mention which one. It shall be our secret.”
He rose in dismissal and Margarethe followed suit, releasing a long sigh. Her uncle’s attempt at humor had failed miserably. Instead of bringing a smile, Margarethe felt her cheeks growing moist with tears.
“Greta, dear child, I love you as my own daughter. I know how hard this must be for you. But all will be well, you’ll see.”
“I do hope you’re right, Uncle. It will take me a while to get used to—”
“I know, Liebchen. I know.” He held out his arms, and she walked into them, sobbing openly. How many tears had she shed in these past few days? If this continued, she would not have to worry about marrying. No man would want a wife with red eyes and a voice as raspy and shrill as a shrew.
❧
When Willem arrived at Beroburg, he was greeted warmly by Lord Otto’s wife, Lady Edeltraud. “Otto will be sorry to have missed your arrival,” she said. “But he was called to the battlefield. Would you like to get settled before we talk?”
Willem bowed over her hand. “I am entirely at your disposal, my lady. My journey was not overlong; therefore, I’m not tired. But I would like to rid myself of some of this mud.” He swiped at his mud-spattered cloak.
“Refresh yourself then. We’ll talk later.” She summoned a page, a fresh-faced lad of about ten, who appeared instantly to show Willem to his quarters and help with this belongings. But the sack of musical instruments he carried himself.
He found his bedchamber slightly smaller than the one he had occupied at Adlerschloss. With the addition of an anteroom, however, furnished with a table and chair, the walls hung in rich tapestries, his accommodations were even more sumptuous. Indeed, this castle was quite large, having been added onto through the years, including garderobes, for which Willem was most grateful. Other options for taking care of personal needs were either inconvenient or downright crude.
Willem thanked the page and stowed his possessions in a coffer. Then after washing his face and hands in a bowl of water prepared for him, he joined Lady Edeltraud in the solar. She was eager to get on with the discussion of his duties, mentioning a handsome wage.
“And if that is not enough,” she said, scanning his face anxiously, “Otto has authorized me to offer more—with an additional stipend for instructing our musicians and fosterlings, if you are so inclined.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You are generous, my lady. When can I meet with the other musicians?”
The lady sighed. Though she seemed physically robust—tall and broad-shouldered—the constant warfare of past years had surely taken a toll of her spirits. “I’m afraid there are only a few—some women and two men. All the others are with Otto in battle. It has not been going well this week.”
“I will pray them Godspeed,” Willem murmured, his stomach twisting at the thought that he might be similarly pressed into service one day.
Lady Edeltraud waved a hand. “You need not concern yourself. We’ve become accustomed to this way of life. Now, is there anything else we can do to make your stay with us more pleasant?”
“Well, there is the matter of a borrowed horse. I could return it on the Lord’s Day if you cannot spare me on a working day.”
The lady appeared to be thinking. “Not even those barbarians Otto fights will do battle on the Lord’s Day, so the men will be home. Music would encourage them. I pray you might be willing to play for them then, or do you object to working on that day?”
Willem inclined his head and replied solemnly, “To serve you is to serve Him, my lady.”
❧
On his way into the banquet hall, Willem was hailed by a young woman. To his delight, he saw that it was Jolan, striding briskly toward him.
“It really is you, Willem. Then have you finally given your consent to join this household?”
“I have. I might say that you’re looking well, my lady.” Like his Greta, the young girl had blossomed into a lovely young woman—though she was more like her father in appearance than her mother or her sweet cousin.
“How will Greta manage without her handsome teacher?”
“Ah. . .” To his utter embarrassment, nothing came to mind, and he felt a slow flush heat his cheeks.
“Never mind. Her loss is my gain, for we’ve been in need of a music instructor. My high notes—when I move from chest voice to head voice—are most unpredictable lately.”
He suspected he knew the cause of the symptoms she was describing, but restrained the grin that threatened to break across his face. At a certain stage in life, young lads had much the same problem. Her vocal problem was surely related to her age and would settle on its own. “It would be my pleasure to assist you.”
“We have all been hoping that you would decide to come here. We’ve been too long without a voice teacher and someone to help us make merry in these dismal ha
lls. But couldn’t you have come sooner? The trip is not so very long except when it is raining or snowing.”
“And, of course—” he went along with her jest— “it never rains or snows in Bavaria.”
“Of course not!” Her rosy cheeks dimpled. “You’ll do us all good, Willem.” She glanced at the lord’s table. “I had better go. Lady Edeltraud is scowling at me. Well met, Willem. Let me know when you will have time to help my poor voice.”
“It is no small gift you have, my lady,” Willem protested. “We shall meet again.”
He watched her swift departure as he seated himself, then bowed for prayer before the meal. Jolan did look well, and she had matured considerably since she had been his student at Adlerschloss. Such a voice she had, and now that it had deepened a bit, he could work with it. Her sense of pitch was slightly lacking, but she had the resonant range of her mother, Lady Mechthild. He welcomed the challenge.
As the servitors brought in the food, Willem noticed that most of them were women. So it was true that Lord Otto had pressed nearly every available man into service. If this continued, it wouldn’t be long before the lord of the castle would be calling on his neighbors at Adlerschloss for reinforcements. Thinking of the home he had just left—and Margarethe—brought a fresh pang of grief.
He was relieved when Lady Edeltraud called him forward to be introduced to the household. “Our new chief musician has agreed to favor us with a song,” she said. “Come now, Willem. But please—give us anything but a battle song!”
five
The next day in the morning hours, Willem auditioned the musicians one by one, then assembled them as a group to rehearse for the evening’s entertainment. In the process, he noted individual strengths and weaknesses, hoping to give encouragement where it was needed. There seemed to be a dearth of enthusiasm about the place—a general malaise hanging over the entire castle. He wasn’t sure it was the war only that robbed these good folk of their life and vitality.
Shrugging off the effects of melancholy, lest it settle over him, he set off to find the chapel. At this hour, it would be deserted. All the better. He needed time to pray. For his new household. For the wisdom and discernment to know how to help them. And, of course, for Margarethe and her impossible dream.
Afterward, he strolled in the bailey, dropping by the stables to see to his horse and the pack animal he had borrowed from Lord Einhard. They had been fed and watered and were nibbling at the straw in the stall. He talked with the groom and the avener for a while, then went out again, noticing a commotion at the gate.
No one had expected the soldiers home that night, but it appeared that there had been a lull in the fighting, and Lord Otto, his sons, and many of his men arrived an hour before sunset.
Suddenly there were people everywhere. Knights in blood-stained armor. Squires stabling the horses, lathered from a hard ride. A flurry of maids and pages hurrying to lay out fresh linens for the baths, and extra cups and trenchers in the banquet hall. And Lady Edeltraud, quietly supervising—instructing the steward to prepare several additional courses for the meal, then calling for the physician and other healers—including Lady Jolan—to help tend the wounded.
Ever practical, she arranged for a portion of the great hall to be curtained off as a bathing area and hospital. And soon there was a steady procession of servants bringing steaming cauldrons of water, strips of bandaging, and various medicinal herbs from the garden.
Willem wondered how he could help, and remembered his prayer not an hour past. This would be his chance to offer encouragement. Music was as healing—to his mind, at least—as any herb, and he went in search of the other musicians to tell them of his plan and enlist their aid.
He was talking with some of them when he heard a manly voice call out, and turned to find Gregor striding toward him. “Lord Gregor! How good to see that you escaped an enemy arrow or spear,” he said as they clasped arms in greeting.
“I am well,” Gregor announced. “Are you here for a visit, or has my father finally persuaded you to join this household?”
Willem grinned. “I’m here to stay—as long as I can be of service. And you and the other fighting men—what about you?”
“It depends on word from our scouts. We may be here for the night only, or we may rest another day. But it’s good to be home, and to have you here.” He glanced around to make sure the other musicians had left, then added, “We can use some pleasant music in this drafty old hall. I’ve been longing to lend my voice to some harmonies, but have had no inspiration until now.”
Gregor looked so comically sad that Willem laughed. “You shall sing with us tonight. No doubt this group will want many songs.”
A page appeared at Gregor’s elbow. “Your bath is ready, my lord.”
“Ah, and not a moment too soon. A hot bath is sorely needed about now. As for this evening’s songs, Willem, I would suggest that long ballad you wrote about the victorious lord—”
“I’ve had my instructions from Lady Edeltraud. No battle songs. . .allowed at dinner yesterday.”
“So my mother has already made use of your talents.” He nodded. “But we are here now, and the men need uplifting. We’ve suffered defeat lately on the field. Come, sit with me while I bathe, and I’ll tell you about our latest skirmish.”
Willem followed Gregor into the curtained-off partition, hoping the others would not find his presence offensive. Perhaps they would even be amused.
Inside, Willem dropped down onto a bench that ran alongside the wall while Gregor disrobed with the help of a page. Others stood about in various stages of dress—some being assisted out of their heavy mail and into one of four large wooden tubs filled with soapy water. One such tub stood waiting for Gregor.
He settled into the suds with a loud sigh and closed his eyes. “With this bath and a night’s sleep, I may be fit for battle again come morning.”
Willem launched into a rousing verse of a tune Gregor was likely to know. It wasn’t long before the young lord was singing along, blending his voice in harmony.
When they were done, one of the other men—a knight judging from his age and scars—spoke up. “My lord, what I have heard about Willem is true. He can sing with anyone, and make them sound good.”
A hearty chorus of laughter rang out through the hall. This time, when Willem struck up a tune, the others joined in lustily. A good quarter of an hour went by before a page entered to wash backs. When there was a lull in the music, he was quick to take advantage. “Pardon me, my lord, but Lady Edeltraud told me to ask all of you to bathe faster. The supper is cooling.”
Gregor frowned. “You may tell my mother that I am not done with singing yet, and that I will leave my bath when the songs are through!” he bellowed, obviously pitching his voice so his lady mother would hear.
“My lord, I love my life,” said the little fellow, “and do not wish to cross my lady.”
Gregor chuckled. “Wise lad—to know, at such a young and tender age, whose wrath to fear!”
§
There was no music at Adlerschloss the night Willem left. Instead, Lord Einhard called for the games to be brought out after supper. Margarethe liked chess well enough and would have challenged Lady Mechthild, but she was occupied in some kind of child’s play with young Friedrich.
When she realized that Lord Einhard had excused himself to attend to some business and that Father Bernard was also nowhere to be seen, she approached the youngest knight, who was sitting by himself at one of the trestle tables, his bandaged ankle propped on a stool.
He appeared alarmed when he saw her with her game board and her leather bag of chessman, and glanced about the hall nervously, as if seeking escape.
“Greetings, Sir Johan,” she began. “Will you be my opponent tonight?”
“Uh . .with pleasure, my lady. But I hope you don’t mind a short game.”
She gave him a curious look. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“I am quite good at chess.�
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She laid the board on the table between them and got out her playing pieces. “Then mind your moves. It wouldn’t be wise to let down your guard just because I am a lady.”
❧
Willem had difficulty falling asleep. It had been Lord Otto himself who had briefed him on the progress of the war, inviting him to the solar while he gave the news to Lady Edeltraud, Jolan, and the rest of the family at home. It was clear that Otto was concerned that he might have failed to consider his enemy’s superior strength—now that he had obtained replacements and supplies from some unknown source. To regroup, therefore, Otto had broken off the battle at the first opportunity, and had fallen back. In the meantime, he would wait for the reports of his scouts, who had set up a relay system to forward messages to their general.
With Albert’s castle in jeopardy, Otto had dispatched his youngest son there with what he hoped would be an adequate armed guard and a unit of archers. It was not likely that the nearby villagers would be threatened, but they should take no chances.
“I have no idea where Ewald has gotten his extra support,” Otto fumed. “He can hardly afford mercenaries, so I fear that one of our neighbors may have reconsidered his alliance with me. If that’s the case, we may be facing war on two fronts.”
His audience was stone silent as he paced in front of the fire. At length, he looked up, searching the faces until his gaze fell on Willem, and his countenance brightened. “Ah, there’s a good man. It is you, Willem, who have fortified us today with your songs and your merrymaking. I was questioning the wisdom of falling back until I realized that the men were receiving far more than a few hours’ rest and a hot meal. They’ve received hope—from your music. Already you are proving to be an asset to this house.” He squinted at Willem. “What is it, my good man? You appear disturbed. Is Edeltraud paying you well enough?”
“It’s not that, my lord. I was just wondering if you would call for troops from among your allies?”
For a Song Page 4