by Lorentz, Iny
A strong female voice behind the curtain restrained him. “Be silent, Giso. It’s their right not to want to part company.”
“But we only need one whore for the lord,” the housekeeper said hastily in support of Giso. “A second woman like this at the castle will just drive the men mad.”
The lady simply laughed. “The two of them don’t look that stupid. I think we can manage them.”
The curtain opened and out stepped a lady. As tall as Marie, she was already in her midtwenties, and she wore a broad, embroidered dress that could no longer conceal her rounded, pregnant belly. Her face was neither pretty nor ugly, but seemed pleasant and friendly, and her long, blond braids gave her a majestic appearance.
“I am Mechthild von Arnstein,” she said. “As you see, I am expectant and must avoid my husband’s bed until after the delivery. But I don’t want to leave him all winter long with no one to sleep with.”
Hiltrud looked at her in astonishment. “You’re looking for a whore for your husband? A farm girl would be much cheaper.”
“My husband doesn’t need a woman quivering and almost dying of fear in his bed, but he wants a healthy, robust woman who knows how to give him pleasure.”
“If you’re looking for a strong woman, take my friend Hiltrud,” said Marie as her friend looked at her furiously.
An amused smile played at the corners of the lady’s mouth. “Your companion is an imposing person, but my husband is . . . how shall I say, not the heroic warrior type. He would hardly allow me to bring him a playmate bigger than he is. But I like you, so I picked you out.”
Marie held up her hands dismissively. “Me?”
“What is so strange about that?” the lady asked with a smile. “You are especially good-looking and have a quick tongue.”
“You can certainly say that,” Giso added sharply.
Marie struggled inwardly. Something didn’t seem to be right here. “Why is a lady like you picking out a prostitute for your husband? That’s no job for a Christian wife.”
“That’s no concern of yours, girl,” the housekeeper interrupted, but her mistress beckoned to her to be silent. “I value harmony in my house, and an important part of that is to ensure that my husband won’t become disgruntled because he can’t prove himself as a man. But I also won’t tolerate his flirting with the maids as my father did. Every time my mother was pregnant—as she often was—he bedded one of her maids. The fresh things thought they were important, shirked their duties, and were nasty to my mother.”
Mechthild von Arnstein didn’t look like one to tolerate such behavior from her servants. In fact, she seemed quite resolute. While Marie was thinking about how to answer, the lady continued.
“My husband laughs at me for my excessive caution and thinks he could do without a woman for the four or five months he has to avoid sleeping with me, but I know men. When winter confines them to their rooms and they find no comfort in bed, sooner or later they get the craziest ideas, or they become depressed.”
Marie nodded, then did a quick calculation. “Five months, you say? That would be the middle of February, too early to be able to move on. We need someplace to stay until the middle of March, or if the weather is bad, the beginning of April. I don’t care to be driven out onto snowy roads.”
“That won’t happen,” Mechthild von Arnstein promised. “You will be our guests until spring even if I no longer need your services.”
As Marie was thinking it over, Hiltrud nudged her furtively. “The idea isn’t really that bad. We’d be under cover all winter and wouldn’t need to spend anything on room and board.”
Mechthild von Arnstein smiled encouragingly at Marie. “Your companion appreciates the advantages of our offer.”
Marie sighed, already half-convinced. “What kind of man is your husband? I usually look men over carefully before I take them into my tent and avoid coarse ones who hurt women.”
The lady smiled. “You don’t need to worry about that. My husband is always very tender and gentle in bed with me.”
“Why are you being so fussy, Marie?” Hiltrud asked gruffly. “Such an opportunity doesn’t come often.”
Marie closed her eyes briefly and tried to think. Hiltrud was right. If she agreed, they would have a roof over their heads for the winter and wouldn’t have to spend their hard-earned savings. Perhaps she’d even earn enough to send someone to Constance again in the spring. She’d just have to find a more reliable messenger than that wandering minstrel who’d cheated her last time.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I accept.”
II.
Marie was accustomed to traveling on foot, and she would gladly have done so this time as well, for the wagon she and Hiltrud were sharing with two maids and a dozen crates, baskets, and barrels creaked and groaned worse than a barge on the Rhine. Every bone in her body ached, and she envied the servant walking beside the draft oxen. Hiltrud’s goats had been tied to the back of the wagon and ran along happily, stopping from time to time to pull up a few tufts of grass or bleating to gain Hiltrud’s attention.
Up in front, Mechthild von Arnstein’s closed carriage sank into a pothole every two or three paces, then rose again, pitching and rolling. Though the servants bedded the mistress down on soft pillows to protect her from the jolting wagon, the trip must have been painful for the pregnant lady. This concerned Marie. Everything now depended on the health of the lady. If the child was stillborn, the master of the castle would view two itinerant prostitutes as useless baggage and throw them out.
Marie sighed and grabbed hold of the wagon side as an especially hard jolt threw her off balance. She sent a brief prayer heavenward that they would really arrive at the castle that evening, even though she had no illusions about what she’d find there. Since they had visited some imposing fortresses before and even spent the night at a few of them, Marie’s notions of what they were like had been completely confirmed. Knightly castles were drafty, cold, damp, and swarming with people. Judging by experience, Hiltrud and she wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable in the castle as they had been in the old cabin they had come across the winter before. Marie thought longingly of the thick floor covering of dry leaves where they had slept, and the fire in the hearth they kept burning constantly with grass and twigs so they could cook and have enough heat.
Suddenly Hiltrud kicked her, snapping her out of her gloomy thoughts.
“What’s wrong?”
Hiltrud pointed to the soldiers escorting the wagon train as they tightened the buckles on their suits of armor and held their weapons at the ready.
Directly in front of them, the road continued over a narrow wooden bridge where several dozen men on horseback had taken up position, clearly intending to block their way. As their wagons drew closer, Marie could see the coat of arms on the men’s breastplates—a red tower topped with battlements and a hovering black boar’s head. She knew the sign, but couldn’t place it, which didn’t surprise her since she had seen many different shields on the breastplates of vassals and knights loyal to various lords on her travels. But at the sight of this coat of arms, her hair stood on end, and she wasn’t sure why.
Shortly before the bridge, Giso ordered the wagon drivers to stop, trotting his bay horse slowly toward the highwaymen. He paused just before reaching the first man, so that the head of his horse was almost touching the man’s nose.
“Clear the way at once!” he barked at the men.
“Why should we?” replied their leader belligerently. “Just so you know, Arnstein’s riffraff aren’t welcome on this land anymore.”
Giso jutted out his chin. “This is Sir Otmar’s land, and Keilburg’s scoundrels have no place here.”
With his loud pronouncement, Giso’s voice drowned out the oxen’s restless lowing and stomping. Marie swallowed hard and pressed her hand to her pounding heart, for now she remembered where she had
first seen that coat of arms. It was the signet on the ring Rupert wore, the symbol of his father, Heinrich von Keilburg. Her father, in his attempts to stress the generosity of her fiancé, had spoken often about the count. Marie waited tensely for the Keilburg leader to answer.
“Where have you been hiding? Everyone knows that Sir Otmar bequeathed his possessions to my lord, Count Konrad, then renounced the world and withdrew to a monastery.”
Giso laughed scornfully. “That’s another one of those lies your master likes to spread. If Sir Otmar in fact has retired to a monastery, then his land now belongs to my lord, because Sir Otmar made a contract of inheritance with him and cannot transfer his belongings to anyone else.”
“Apparently he can,” the Keilburg knight replied in an impassive voice. “In any case, my lord’s claim is documented and sealed. Friedrich von Zollern, the new bishop of Constance, and Abbot Hugo von Waldkron signed the contract as witnesses, and the kaiser himself ratified it.”
Giso was about to grab his adversary by the throat, but he held back in view of the drawn swords of the Keilburg mercenaries. “That’s a lie! Get out of our way! I must bring my mistress home. She is with child and won’t survive a long detour over bad roads.”
The leader of the Keilburg horsemen laughed scornfully. “Then she ought to stay home, as any respectable lady would. You won’t pass through here unless you get on your knees and beg me to make an exception for your mistress.”
His face turning beet red, Giso raised his sword. His men rushed forward to join him, and it appeared that a fight was inevitable. Since the Keilburg warriors outnumbered Giso’s people three to one, Marie feared the worst, but at that moment Mechthild von Arnstein drew back the curtain on her wagon and called out.
“Come back, Giso! I won’t allow armed conflict without an official declaration of hostilities, and I won’t sacrifice good men without knowing what has really happened. Come, we’ll turn around and find another way. But you, sire,” she said, turning to the leader of the group, “can tell your greedy master that we Arnsteins will defend our rights.”
Giso shook as if a cold bucket of water had been poured over his head. “Mistress, we cannot withdraw like whipped dogs. Look at these scoundrels. They’ll spread the word that the Arnsteins are cowards.”
“That’s just what you are,” the Keilburg knight sneered.
For a moment, Giso appeared about to disobey the command of his mistress, but then he placed his sword back in its sheath and ordered his men to do the same. As his men returned to their wagons, Giso slowly pulled back his horse while keeping a close eye on the Keilburgs.
“Your master will bitterly regret this,” he finally shouted, then guided his horse to his mistress’s wagon, speaking in lowered tones.
Marie could see Mechthild von Arnstein shake her head briefly but emphatically through her window. “We’re turning around, Giso, even if it offends your honor. Count Konrad will pay for this, I swear.”
Even though her voice was calm, there was a determination in her words that earned Marie’s respect. Giso was unable to see any farther than the point of his sword, but she seemed to be looking far into the future. In Mechthild von Arnstein’s eyes, drawing back here was the intelligent thing to do, and despite her anger, she appeared a bit mischievous, as if pondering her next move.
The castellan accepted his mistress’s decision with a curt bow and shouted a command. Immediately, some of his men began to unhitch the oxen, while the rest formed a defensive line against the Keilburg warriors.
It was hard work turning the wagons around on the narrow road. Since the animals were in danger of sinking in the swamplands or river flanking the road, the heavy wagons had to be turned by hand. Following the example of two maids, Marie and Hiltrud jumped down from their wagon to help. Mechthild von Arnstein also wanted to assist her men, but Giso allowed only Guda, the housekeeper, to leave the lady’s wagon.
“My lady, you don’t want to give the riffraff over there even more reason to heap scorn on us.”
“Who are these people, anyway?” Marie asked Giso, who was standing beside her to help pull the wagon out of the mud.
“Leaderless mercenaries and robbers that Count Konrad von Keilburg has hired.”
“I’ve heard of a Count Heinrich von Keilburg,” Marie persisted. She was curious to know if Rupert Splendidus was connected in any way with the people on the bridge.
Giso happily vented his anger. “Heinrich was the father of the current count. When, thank God, the devil took him away, we were all very relieved and thought everything would improve. But his son, Konrad, is even greedier and more unscrupulous than his father, and now he’s trying to steal property belonging to Sir Otmar von Mühringen. But I swear, he’s finally bitten off more than he can chew.”
Taking a deep breath, he gave the wagon one last push so the men could hitch up the oxen again. Since Marie kept looking at him expectantly, he stopped to explain to her how the Keilburgs were attempting to increase their wealth at the expense of their neighbors.
“They presented Gottfried von Dreieichen with his uncle’s last will, demanding a third of the family castle and treasure. When refused, Heinrich von Keilburg secretly obtained a declaration of hostilities and seized Dreieichen Castle. They also took Walter vom Felde’s land by presenting him with a sealed document signed by witnesses in which his father had pawned his property to the Keilburgs. Walter swore over and over that this was not possible, and the only thing he gained by trying to defend his castle was a place in the Keilburg dungeon. These two men are not the only ones to have suffered losses at the hands of the Keilburgs, who will seize half the Duchy of Swabia if no one stops them. At present, Heinrich is trying to seize the inheritance of Sir Otmar from my lord, but Sir Dietmar and especially Lady Mechthild aren’t going to give up that easily.”
Giso winked at Marie, then turned serious again and shouted at the men who were energetically turning the lady’s wagon around. “Careful, you fools! Are you trying to drive Lady Mechthild’s wagon into the river?”
The wagon had tipped alarmingly to one side and looked about to slide down the embankment, but at the last moment the men were able to get it back onto the road. A soldier quickly placed a large stone under the wheel and vigorously wiped the sweat from his brow.
“If we don’t pay these fellows back soon for this outrage, I’ll choke on my anger.”
“You are not the only one,” Giso replied, gesturing as if he wanted to throttle the forty horsemen on the bridge with his own hands. He didn’t trust them and was afraid they might consider seizing his lady as a hostage to extort her husband. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the last wagon was hitched up and they were able to move on.
At first they made good progress, but before long they turned onto a rough road overgrown with grass and small bushes that forced them to move slowly. After a while, they came to the river again, but it was wider than back by the bridge and the current was slower. Previous travelers had placed stones in the water to create a ford, and even Mechthild von Arnstein had to get out of her wagon here. A burly soldier carried her across the water, set her down carefully on the other side, and remained guarding her with drawn sword.
After the column of wagons had made the crossing, the sun was approaching the western horizon. Both the men and animals were so exhausted that the drivers scarcely had enough strength to lift their whips, and Giso reluctantly gave the order to set up camp for the night. It was evident he was going to hold the Keilburgs to account for their having to spend this night out-of-doors as well.
Mechthild von Arnstein and her housekeeper settled down comfortably in their well-padded carriage while Marie and Hiltrud, accustomed to sleeping outside, wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down under a tree. The soldiers didn’t make a fuss, either, bundling up in their coats and falling asleep almost as soon as they hit the ground. The two maids,
however, were trembling with cold and fear and whimpering pathetically. At their lady’s command, Guda handed them blankets and pillows, ordering them to crawl under the wagon. They didn’t quiet down, however, until they saw Giso, who was still seething with rage and had therefore taken the first watch of the night, circling the camp like a guard dog.
At dawn the next day, they broke camp with the prospect of a good meal only when they reached Arnstein Castle. The sun stood at high noon as the beech forest thinned and a long valley with fields and meadows opened up before them. Shortly thereafter they passed through a village that appeared completely abandoned. Visibly nervous, Mechthild von Arnstein urged them to hurry. Turning back onto the main road, they finally saw Arnstein Castle towering above them.
The castle had been built on a ridge jutting out over the valley with flanks falling off steeply on both sides. Above the steep slopes were sturdy defensive walls with towers spaced along the wall and two larger corner towers in the front. Marie had learned from the maids that the castle had two open spaces enclosed by the walls and that the main buildings had been positioned so they could be defended even if the outer walls were overrun by the enemy. The entire complex looked like a bizarre gray mass of rock to Marie, and she couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable there.
When a guard spotted the lady’s caravan, he sounded a horn so loudly that it echoed throughout the valley. A few people emerged from the battlements guarding the entrance to wave at the new arrivals, and only moments later a group of horsemen led by a nobleman in light armor rushed toward them. Ignoring Giso and the others, the nobleman hurried to the traveling coach, pulled back the curtain, and stuck his head inside.
“Thank God for your safe return!” he cried joyously.
So that was Dietmar von Arnstein, Marie thought. Well, for a knight, he certainly didn’t cut a heroic figure. He was at most two or three finger-breadths taller than she. It appeared he’d been worried about his wife. Marie liked him for that, edging her way forward so she didn’t miss anything. The knight disregarded the impish smiles of his men, speaking to his wife in almost childish terms of endearment and making amply clear how worried he had been about her.