“Thank you, my lord.”
The margravina asked, “But did you not know the archbishop of Milan, Anselm, has already left with thousands of the faithful from Lombardy?”
Elias paled. “Surely, your grace, there will be other parties?”
Leopold, still standing at his shoulder, smiled and reassured him. “In fact, good sir, we have just received a message from Conrad, the constable to his imperial highness, Henry, that he will pass through Austria with his own contingent and shall come here to Mölk to see the new monastery works and accept our hospitality ere he moves on through Italy. You are the emperor’s man, are you not? How more fitting can it be that you and your good squire should join him?”
The bishop inserted, “With your leave, Your Grace, I shall include young Elias in the oath-taking ceremony we plan for Conrad’s arrival.”
Expansively, the handsome young margrave spread his arms wide. “Splendid. Splendid. Just so.” He turned to beam at Elias. Unexpectedly, he leaned closer to him and whispered, “I am flattered that you have adopted my style of being clean-shaven. I should think, on campaign, the fewer places for vermin to live, the better!” He laughed at Elias’s nonplussed look. “Good lad,” he said, and clapped him on the shoulder again. He looked at the servant. “Johann, see to it this noble knight has what he needs for bed and refreshment for his wait here in Mölk.” To Elias, he invited, “I hope you will take time to tour the building we are doing for a great monastery. It shall, in time, take the land on which this building stands as a monument to the glory of Our Lord.”
The margravina rose from her seat and went to the edge of the dais. Seeing this, Elias rushed forward and put out a hand. The woman gratefully accepted it as she stepped down. When Elias did not release her hand but instead stood staring down at her face, she chuckled and conveyed her own delicate hand toward the young knight’s lips. Elias took the cue and pressed a soft but reverent kiss on the back of her hand.
“May God go with you, brave sir,” she said.
Elias lowered to one knee to accept the lady’s blessing. Dismissed, he stood and backed out of her presence, never letting his eyes fall from her form.
As he and Albrecht turned at the door, he heard Leopold’s voice. “Do you ever tire of young knights falling in love with you at first sight, my dear mother?”
The margravina replied, with a smile in her voice, “No, never, and the less so as I grow older. And I will have you know your beloved father did not either. He knew my true faith and—”
The door shut on her words. Albrecht gave Elias an amused grin as the servant handed them over into the hands of a page. Elias had his fingers on his lips, touching the same skin that had touched Ida’s. “So is that how it is, my lord? Welcome to love.”
The narrow streets of Mölk were as busy as the margrave’s courtyard, full not only of the bustling business of a noble city, but of many craftsmen in their aprons and belts with builders’ tools, and occasional men in crusaders’ tabards with their own households. The massive horses of the knights made passing by them on foot a risky affair. But each knight nodded his head in greeting to Elias as he passed. Albrecht opined, “Methinks your guise is a success, my lord.”
Elias glanced down at the tunic and cloak he had donned once he and Albrecht had disposed of their heavy armor. A strip of cloth binding flattened what little he possessed of a bosom. “Methinks people see what they expect,” he replied thoughtfully. “They see the armor and the cross and need look no harder. Shall we find a tavern and have a drink and some food?”
Glancing about, Albrecht spied a tavern sign and pointed to it. “The Pig in Barley, I’ll warrant,” he interpreted the wordless sign that hung over the door. “Let’s see if we can even get a place to sit.”
In the dark tavern, the two peered about at the noisy, smelly crowd until their eyes adjusted. “The only places I see are over there on the far wall, my lord. With those rather disreputable-looking men.”
Elias did not have to stretch to see over the heads of other customers. His height gave his that advantage. He had trouble seeing the men clearly, however, as they were in a far corner with no lamps or candles. “Let’s go introduce ourselves.”
Elias used his presence, his elbows, and sharp looks to force his way around to the corner, Albrecht sailing along in his wake. He stopped at the side of the table nearest the wall and bowed his head briefly. “Good sirs, may I beg a place on the bench for my squire and me to rest our journey-weary arses?”
Four pairs of eyes looked up from tankards to stare back at him. Only one set did not look openly hostile. This man looked wary, but there was a spark in his gaze that promised friendliness. In a merry voice, he said, “I think I can persuade my companions here to welcome you both. Can I not?” He was a muscular man of some height, from the look of him, though he was seated. He had long brown hair, a close-cropped dark beard, and a moustache that was waxed and pointed at the ends. He surveyed his companions with dark, clear eyes.
The grudging nods came from an assortment of men of seemingly disparate origins. One was dark of skin, hair, and eye, and wore a thick beard and a hat with a long pheasant feather in it. The next was clearly a Northman, with pale, unkempt hair adorned with gold and ivory beads. His ice-blue eyes glared at Elias. He had a drooping moustache but no beard. A scar across his face only cemented the permanent scowl Elias suspected he wore. The final man was drawn in on himself and looked away as soon as their eyes met. He was clean-shaven and had long, lank brown hair. His squint did not permit anyone to see the color of his eyes. He was not in armor, and his developed chest, shoulders, and arms suggested an archer.
“They are delighted to have you join us,” the first man said humorously. “Sit and make our acquaintance that we may make yours.”
As Elias slipped onto the bench next to the friendly man, he looked up and saw the man with the feathered cap glaring at him. He growled.
“Now, is that any way to treat our new brothers, Sebastiano?” the cheerful man asked.
Elias grinned. “The blackguard doesn’t frighten me, my good man.” He jumped at the blow in his ribs from Albrecht’s elbow.
The dark Italian man, Sebastiano, growled again and started to rise, his hands on the table before him, his elbows bent and his foul breath making Elias wince as he leaned menacingly across the space between them.
Albrecht put a strong hand on his shoulder. “Please, my good fellow, forgive the rash words of my master. He is beyond reason with fatigue.”
Sebastiano continued to glare at Elias but slowly subsided back to sit on his bench. The Northman next to him smirked at Sebastiano.
“My name is Ranulf. I am the leader of this illustrious band of former mercenaries. You have incurred the wrath of Sebastiano Orso Marrone. That nasty son of a whore there is Leif Haraldsson from Daneland, and that taciturn fellow is Thomas the Silent.”
Elias nodded to each man. “I am Elias von Winterkirche, and this is my squire, Albrecht.”
Elias wondered why the grizzled men frowned at him when he introduced Albrecht. He was sure Albrecht would inform him later of his faux pas. Albrecht waved to a serving wench for wine.
Elias turned to the smiling leader of the troop. “You have no nickname, my lord?” he asked, earning a snort of derisive laughter from Sebastiano and the Dane.
The latter explained in a gravelly voice, “He is called the Peacemaker.”
Ranulf the Peacemaker scowled at the man with pale hair and eyes. “It is a jest, I assure you,” he said menacingly. Turning to Elias, he said, “So I see by the red cross sewn to your tunic that you are a crusader. As young as you are, you must be newly pledged to that endeavor.”
The wench arrived with the wine for Elias and Albrecht. Elias started to reach for his purse, but Albrecht grabbed his wrist under the table. He withdrew a coin from his own purse and put it into the woman’s hand. Elias appraised the woman’s considerable cleavage and made a smacking sound with his lips. The wench sh
ook her head and walked away. Elias caught Albrecht’s rolling eyes as he looked away. He decided he should tone down the crude male act.
“A fine, lusty young fellow you are, my friend!” Ranulf clapped him hard on the shoulder. Elias silently thanked Albrecht for his insistence he wear padding to make his shoulders look broader and more masculine. “I would be careful with Greta, though. If you piss her off, you are likely to find a dead mouse in your potage. As it happens,” he went on, changing the subject, “we are bound for the crusade as well.”
“All of you?” Elias asked, taking a swallow of his wine.
It was the Italian who supplied, “Si, tutti.”
“We have plenty to wish absolution for,” added the Dane. The beads and rings in his hair clattered as he shook his head. “Not Thomas there. As far as we know. He’s not saying.”
The silent man lowered his head even more as Sebastiano and Ranulf laughed.
“He may be as white as the fairest virgin’s character or the very Beast himself, for all anyone knows,” the leader observed, fingering one waxed moustache tip.
Lifting his cup in a toast, Elias proclaimed, “Well, here’s to all of us on our holy quest. May the paynim piss themselves with fear when they hear we are coming.”
Even silent Thomas lifted his cup to share in the group’s toast, “Death to all enemies of God!”
Elias was relieved to catch approval in Albrecht’s look. “Where are you all from?”
Ranulf’s eyebrows hitched as the other men scowled at him. “Young lord, men like us have no country, no family, and no past.” He responded to Leif’s noise of protest. “Except Leif. He is a proud son of Harald Some-Bastard’s-Son and a Dane. Or so he claims.”
Repressing his curiosity to know why these men were so loath to speak of their pasts, Elias asked instead, “Are you all waiting for the constable to the emperor to arrive?”
Ranulf signaled for more wine. “Just so,” he affirmed. “We hope to attach ourselves to the imperial faction.”
The wench brought a pitcher of wine and refilled all six cups. As she passed by Thomas, she attempted to veer away, but he caught her by the waist, put his nose down into the cleft of her breasts, and made a slobbering sound. Greta punched him in the side of the head and swore like a sailor. Thomas pulled his head away and grinned evilly. The woman complained, “Disgusting!” as she swabbed out her bodice with the rag she carried.
Ranulf turned back to see the young knight’s puzzled expression. “Thomas likes mice in his potage,” he explained. Lifting his cup to his lips, he commented, “You cannot be staying at this tavern. There is no room.”
Elias shook his head. “No, we are bedded down in the castle.”
Leif and Sebastiano made mock-approving noises as they glanced at each other. Ranulf looked sincerely impressed. “My lord, you are indeed a nobleman, then.” He cast a questioning eye at his companions. “Being a landed man, I trust you will be willing to cover the cost of our wine?” He made a signal to his men with his head.
“Of course!” Elias proclaimed. “Are you going?” Ranulf and the other three men had downed their wine and were standing.
“We have urgent business to attend to. My deepest gratitude to you, my young lord. May we meet again.”
Leif chuckled. “Deus lo volt.”
Elias looked after the band as they jostled their way roughly through the packed tavern to the door.
Greta hurried over. “Who is going to pay for their wine?” she demanded.
“How much is it, my saucy lass?” Elias asked. He paled as the woman answered, holding out her hand. He nodded to Albrecht. “Pay her,” he grumbled.
Albrecht sighed and pulled out his purse. He counted several coins into the woman’s dirty palm. “That was almost all we had left,” he revealed when Greta had sidled her way back through the press.
“I have a lot to learn,” Elias observed.
“You said it, not me,” Albrecht responded, adding a rueful “my lord.”
Elias and Albrecht did not see the band of former mercenaries again as they waited for the constable and the ensuing departure of the imperial and Austrian contingent to the crusade. Albrecht somehow managed to come up with a few more coins, and if they stuck to the castle, they had all the food and drink they wanted.
Elias was watchful of all the new arrivals in Mölk. As each band rode in or boatload alighted, he began to think perhaps he and Albrecht had gotten clean away. He was still uneasy, wondering how he would manage to maintain his ruse for the foreseeable future. He had Albrecht shave him every morning, a treatment he did not enjoy, but he was oddly pleased at the result. His chin became rougher and some bristly hairs began to grow out, though not remotely like a beard. Being that they were in a castle, bedding down in the hall at night, and that no one undressed to sleep, he had few worries about his disguise being seen through. There were garderobes about where he could relieve himself. No one bathed. He was happy just to be one of the stinking company.
Albrecht lectured him soundly after the near disaster at the tavern. “The squire always pays. You do not serve yourself. You do not acknowledge me to others. In fact, I should not have even sat down with you.”
“Tell me one thing,” Elias begged as he acknowledged his correction. “Why did I get in trouble when I used crude language with that Italian fellow?”
Albrecht winced. “You only talk like that with men you know and have been accepted by. You insulted the man. He would have been in his rights to call you out to defend your assertion that he was a ‘blackguard.’” He shrugged. “Just go slow. Watch men and how they interact. That’s the best way to learn.”
Elias kept his eye out for glimpses of the margravina. If anything, his soulful glances and sighs helped his attempt to pass as a man. Many of the other knights he met teased him about his infatuation. He blushed deeply when they did, but that only made the other men laugh the harder. Nor was he the only young man so smitten. The margravina basked in the adulation, but she did not actively seek or encourage it. She remained aloof.
For his part, the margrave mixed with the soldiers in his hall. He made much of not being able to go with them to the Holy Land, but he regretfully shared that he was needed where he was to ensure the military force would remain to keep the borderlands free of strife. It was clear his regret was sincere.
Elias learned quickly from his observation of the knights around him. That they accepted him as one of them continued to astound him.
Albrecht was less surprised. “I think you are right. They are not looking for a woman when they look at you. They just see a very young man. And you were right. The shaving helps.”
His observations did not extend to every place the other men went. When he was invited to accompany then to find a bordello, he demurred, giving the excuse that he was pledged to his lady, the margravina, and would not dishonor that pledge. The other knights seemed to eat this up. It fueled the taunts they delighted in casting on him.
There were other knights who brought Elias into their fold, knights of more rigid character who praised him for his steadfastness in not going off to commit sins of the flesh. “Just because our quest will cleanse away sins does not mean that we should commit them willfully,” one older knight counseled. “You keep yourself pure, young Elias, and God will reward you in heaven.”
Leopold appeared to have noticed as well. He seemed amused but also pleased by Elias’s good behavior. The margrave was a saintly man himself, strictly observant of the commandments, dedicated not only to his lovely mother but also to his wife and young children.
Elias’s daydreams—and night dreams, for that matter—about the radiant Ida remained chaste. At no time did he let his fantasies reach the truly sensual level. The most bodily imagining he had was what he thought the margravina’s lips would feel like on his own. Not being a musician, he could not join in with other young knights’ writing and performing of chansons to the lady, which she seemed to enjoy. All Elias could do
was sit, gaze, and sigh. He wondered at his sudden interest in a woman, but after all, it was the great beauty of all Europe, so radiant, so magnificent. How could he not have come under her spell? Perhaps this was part of accepting his manhood. A real man seeks to worship an ideal woman.
“My lord,” Albrecht asked hesitantly when they found themselves alone, “I thought you said you did not find women attractive….”
Shooting him an annoyed look, Elias said, “I did not say that. I said I didn’t really know. And besides, this is different. It’s not base. It’s….” He searched for a word. “It’s rapture, holy and glorious rapture. She is our lady.”
“Whatever you say, my lord,” Albrecht replied, not looking at all convinced.
Elias scowled at him, but as soon as Albrecht turned his back, Elias scrunched his face and wondered, It is, isn’t it? It’s not carnal. I don’t think it is. Of course not.
THE FEAST of All Hallows came and went with no sign of Conrad, though he was expected to arrive any day. Some of the knights, a motley collection of Frankish, Flemish, Germans, and Austrians, began to fret that if Conrad took much longer, they would all be stuck in Mölk when the Alpine passes turned impassable in the winter weather. Fortunately, they had an outlet for their impatience in the form of daily fighting practice, of which Elias and Albrecht took full advantage.
Elias found himself embraced by a small cadre of knights a half generation his senior. He came to their attention one early morning as he and Albrecht practiced swordplay in the castle courtyard. Neither had noticed the gathering group, who watched as they matched blow for blow as they had with his brother not so very long before. They were startled when cheers rose from the sidelines, after a particularly hearty blow Elias landed with his sword on Albrecht’s teardrop-shaped shield cracked it in half.
A big man with a bushy black beard and likewise bushy black eyebrows sauntered over and put one hand on the shoulder of each combatant. “Well delivered, young Elias! And you, my friend, need a new shield. Without it, you are a sitting duck for whatever the paynim devils have in store for you!”
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