Luther and Katharina

by Jody Hedlund

  Katharina shifted her attention away, embarrassment making a swift path through her. She’d heard rumors of Greta forming an attachment to the merchant’s servant during his deliveries to the convent, she but hadn’t imagined such familiarity. She’d wanted to believe her servant was as chaste as herself, although she wasn’t naive enough to think that such liaisons couldn’t happen.

  At the grumbling of the other peasants, Thomas shot them a narrowed look, one that silenced them. “We’re done with our meeting for the night,” he said bluntly. “Time to go home.”

  Katharina lowered the hoe and twisted the wooden handle made smooth from years of hard use. It was Easter morn. These laborers certainly weren’t heading to work today of all days. So why did they have their hoes and spades? At such an early hour of the morning no less?

  “We should go,” Greta whispered with a furtive glance in the direction of the convent.

  “Yes,” Katharina said. “Take us at once to your master, Thomas.”

  Through the growing light of morning, he regarded her with a piercing coldness and animosity she couldn’t begin to understand. She tried not to shiver, even though all she wanted to do was sink to the ground and give way to violent trembling. Instead, she began pulling the others to their feet, encouraging them softly.

  They had lost too much time. And with all the noise from their encounter with the peasants, surely they’d alerted Abbot Baltazar to their whereabouts. As if sensing the same, Thomas bade a curt farewell to the laborers and then led the women rapidly away, taking them deeper into the woods. If not for Thomas’s sure steps, she wouldn’t have noticed the nearly invisible path. She couldn’t keep from wondering how Thomas was so familiar with the woods and what his connection was with the other peasants.

  As she struggled along, her lungs burned and her legs grew weak. Under Fronika’s weight, she was tempted to drop to the ground and rest, and she had to keep reminding herself why they were risking so much. They’d destroyed Doctor Luther’s smuggled writings as soon as they’d read them, but his words were seared into her mind: Priests, monks, nuns are duty bound to forsake their vows….Their vows of chastity are contrary to God and have no validity. Marriage is not only honorable but necessary….Men and women, who were created for it, shall be found in this estate.

  Those words had awakened desires that had been forced into slumber when she’d understood the reality of her destiny those many years ago—the reality that she’d lost her family and would never have one again. The closing of the convent gates had slammed shut the possibility of having a normal life or any semblance of freedom. She’d known she would live and die a virgin, without ever experiencing the joys that came from married life and bearing children. And she’d done her best to accept the fate that had been handed to her. She’d believed that becoming a nun was the surest way to reach heaven.

  But the power of Martin Luther’s writing had resurrected her desires. Now they burned inside, pushing her forward, compelling her into danger, urging her to risk even death.

  When Thomas finally halted, they collapsed to the ground once again, breathing hard and perspiring from the exertion that was uncommon for their sedentary life.

  After a moment voices carried through the foliage. Katharina strained to hear above the ragged breathing of the others.

  “Then I guess you won’t mind my servants searching your wagons.” It was the nasally voice she had hoped never to hear again.

  Holy Mary—she signed the cross and fought rising panic—Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

  Abbot Baltazar had tracked them down.

  Katharina’s fingers dug into the moss. Daylight was growing, but within the thick shelter of spruce and fir, darkness covered them. She could only pray that morning would take its time in arriving.

  “All we’ve got are empty herring barrels,” Leonard Koppe was saying. “I’ve been delivering goods to your convent for years, Father. Haven’t I been trustworthy? What have I done to make you think I’d be party to a capital crime now?”

  “One of the escaped is your niece.” Abbot Baltazar’s tone was condescending, just as it had been when he’d admonished the Zeschau sisters to repent.

  “My brother’s child isn’t my concern.”

  “Perhaps you’re the holy saint I’ve always believed,” Abbot Baltazar said. “If you haven’t sinned and have nothing to hide, then you won’t mind lifting the tarps and letting us take a look.”

  “Then perhaps you won’t mind finding a new merchant to bring your beer.”

  “Now, Merchant Koppe, don’t take offense. Salvation is at stake. I know you wouldn’t want to be a party to sending souls to their eternal punishment.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.”

  Katharina glanced around the dense tangle of branches and brush, gauging the best way to escape if they should need to run. Next to her Fronika Zeschau whimpered softly. Sister Ruth, crouched on the other side, quickly cupped a hand over the girl’s mouth.

  “If you aren’t here at this hour helping my nuns escape, then why are you here?” At Abbot Baltazar’s pointed question, Katharina closed her eyes and prayed Merchant Koppe had a ready excuse.

  “I gave my servant the night off to go about his pleasuring,” the merchant said, sounding frustrated. “He’s agreed to meet me and my nephew here at first light, and then we’re to be on our way. We’ve a long day’s ride if we’re to reach Torgau in time to feast on the sow my Frau is roasting.”

  “Then while you wait for his arrival, you surely can’t oppose my men searching your wagons.”

  Merchant Koppe grumbled through the noise of Abbot Baltazar’s men boarding the wagons and overturning barrels.

  Katharina knew she would need to thank Martin Luther for sending Merchant Koppe. Apparently the man was not only a trusted supporter but a good actor.

  Thomas put a finger to his lips and motioned for them to remain where they were. Then he retreated soundlessly through the woods the way they had just come. A moment later Katharina heard him break through the brush down the road from where they hid.

  “There’s Thomas now,” Merchant Koppe said. “Get out of my wagons, and tie down the tarps. I hope you’re satisfied. Maybe from now on you’ll believe my word.”

  “You’re truly a good man, Merchant Koppe.” Abbot Baltazar’s voice was tight. “But for the sake of eternity, I know you won’t mind if I question your servant.”

  Katharina scrunched her eyes closed and began another round of Hail Marys. Next to her Margaret shivered, and Katharina guessed it was from fear more than from the lingering chill.

  “Thomas, Abbot Baltazar claims some of his nuns have left the cloister tonight. If you know anything about the matter, I’m sure our abbot would reward you handsomely.”

  “I saw a group of nuns back by the pond,” Thomas replied, “and some fellows were having fun with them. ’Course I didn’t want any part of causing those sisters to break their vows of celibacy, so I gave the men the tip of my pike.”

  “I’ve listened to confessions long enough”—Abbot Baltazar’s tone grew impatient—“that I can recognize a lie when I hear one.”

  “It’s God’s honest truth.”

  “God knows peasants out at this time of night are either fornicating or plotting rebellion,” the abbot insisted and then barked orders for his men to get off the wagons and to remount their horses. “Merchant Koppe, if I find out your servant has fornicated with my nuns, I’ll personally castrate him.”

  “If he’s fornicated with your nuns, I’ll castrate him first.”

  From the diminishing clatter, Katharina knew Abbot Baltazar and his men had turned their horses in the direction of the cloister pond. In another moment the forest was silent except for the distant echo of horse hoofs in the air.

  Katharina held her breath and waited, her empty stomach growling like a wolf. What would Abbot Baltazar do when he discovered they weren’t at the pond anymore?

 
; “All’s clear,” Thomas called from the road. “Get on the wagons. Fast.”

  They climbed through the thicket and ran to the wagons. The teams of stout draft horses stomped, ready to be away from the dark forest with its constantly moving shadows.

  “Hurry, hurry,” Merchant Koppe urged as he, his nephew, and Thomas lifted them into the wagon beds. Beneath the brims of their berets, their eyes darted to the road and woods. Katharina was sure they were thinking about what would happen if they were caught aiding the escape of a nun. They all knew the punishment could be death.

  The last one aboard, Katharina crawled behind the barrels. She sat next to the others and waited as Merchant Koppe finished tying down the tarp. With the heavy covering it took only minutes for the air to grow stale with the smell of salted herring and beer, but after the harrowing trek through the woods, the rest was welcome.

  When the wagons began rolling across the rutted road, Katharina whispered the Glory Be. They’d made it. They’d done their part. Now the rest was in God’s hands. She could only hope that the bruises from the bumpy wagon ride would be the worst of the trouble to come in the long day ahead of them.

  They had not gone far when Greta began to retch with dry heaves. When she finished, Katharina brushed a finger against the girl’s cheek, signing, What ails you?

  Greta shook her head, then leaned back.

  Katharina rubbed Greta’s arm, hoping to convey her concern. But Greta only released a long sigh and closed her eyes, clearly weary. As when they’d jumped from the window of the abbey, Katharina again had the sense that something was wrong with Greta.

  Margaret leaned closer, her angular chin bumping Katharina’s ear. “I’ve heard rumors.” Margaret’s voice was so soft that Katharina could barely hear it above the clanking of wagon wheels. “It’s said she has baby sickness.”

  Katharina glanced at the silhouette of her maid. Greta was with child? Katharina shook her head. She wanted to deny that it was true. And yet she’d witnessed for herself the intimacy between Greta and Thomas. It was possible that they had found ways to be alone, however challenging that would have been in the busy convent.

  In the dimness caused by the tarp, Katharina gazed with fondness at the slight wisp of a girl who’d been her servant for many years, one of her father’s gifts to her when she’d taken her vows. They weren’t friends, not in the least. That wasn’t to be expected of a nobly born woman and a peasant. Nevertheless, she cared about Greta as a teacher would for a student.

  If Greta truly was with child, she would have a difficult time ahead of her. She certainly wouldn’t be able to continue as Katharina’s servant. In fact, she likely wouldn’t be able to find work anywhere. She’d become an outcast with little chance of survival. Unless of course she married the father of her child.

  Katharina’s spine stiffened with resolution. If they made it to safety without being captured and if they lived to see the dawn of another day, she would make sure a wedding was the first order of business.

  They were going to kill him. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when.

  The cold wood floor pressed against Luther’s hot cheek and against his trembling limbs. If his enemies had almost succeeded with a piece of poisoned fish, then they would surely get him with drink next time.

  Another wave of dizziness crashed over him. A black tide swept him under, pulling him further into the abyss.

  “Brother Martinus, can you hear me?”

  The voices above him sounded faint, far away.

  If only he could just die now and forgo the torture and public display he was sure to endure.

  “He’s having one of his episodes.”

  Luther struggled to push himself upward, but the devil stomped down on top of him. He fell again to the floor, its solidness his only comfort.

  He had barely escaped the attempt on his life—but for what? He’d just returned from Mansfeld when he received a letter informing him that his benefactor and protector, Elector Frederick, was ill. Luther knew his archenemy, Duke George, was waiting just over the Saxony border, biding his time until the old elector died. The duke was interested in more than increasing his land holdings. He wanted Martin Luther—dead or alive.

  Maybe Luther had been a fool to think he could withstand princes and pope alike. What mortal man had ever accomplished such a feat? Not the martyrs of the past. Not Hus or Savonarola. The pope had tortured them and burned them at the stake for much less than he’d done.

  Besides, even if the elector survived another illness, lately all they’d done is disagree. It wouldn’t take much more for his benefactor to hand him over to his enemies.

  The burden was heavy—much too heavy. Too many people depended on him, looked to him for answers, for direction, for help. What if he failed them?

  Luther caught his breath. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” The words from Romans whispered through the deafening noise that filled every corner of his mind.

  “Doctor Luther, can you hear me?” The voice of his faithful manservant sounded nearer.

  Luther raised himself to his elbows and shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness and the clamoring. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” The words grew louder. The thudding of his heart against his chest began to slow to a steady tap.

  “The merchant Koppe and his nephew are here.” Wolfgang knelt beside him, his dark bushy brows furrowed into a scowling V. “I told them to come back later when you’re feeling better, but they insist on seeing you.”

  Luther pushed himself up. His black habit was coated with dust from the floor. Wolfgang and Brother Gabriel crouched shoulder to shoulder over him, their faces etched with anxiety.

  “It’s the devil again.” Luther dragged in a deep breath of the chilled, musty air. “He’s wrestling me down.”

  Brother Gabriel placed a warm mug in his shaking hands. “Take this.” With his wrinkled, veined hands, he guided the mug and steadied it as Luther took a sip. The light fruity flavor burned as he swallowed, but it was a comforting heat.

  The darkness in Luther’s head began to fade, and the reality of where he was began to push into his consciousness. “I despise myself for this weakness.”

  “You’re a great threat to the devil’s work, Doctor Luther,” Wolfgang said. “And the greater the threat, the greater his attack.”

  Brother Gabriel cupped his hands around Luther’s, raised the mug again, and supported it as he put it to Luther’s lips. “Another sip.” His voice never rose above a whisper.

  Luther obeyed. Brother Gabriel had distilled the Obstwasser in the monastery’s brewery. He’d brought the secret recipe with him when he’d arrived at the Black Cloister. Luther didn’t know what the drink contained other than apples and pears. He didn’t care as long as the old brother kept making it. The drink seared his throat and chest and chased the lingering demons from his mind. How long had he fought the devil this time? A glance at the small, high window told him darkness had settled.

  Wolfgang rose. “So what would you like me to tell Koppe of Torgau?”

  “Merchant Koppe is here?”

  The servant nodded, his thick black hair poking up in disarray.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so, Wolfgang?” Luther stood and groaned at the stiffness of his limbs. Brother Gabriel took an arm and stabilized him. In the narrow cell Luther had converted into his study, there was hardly room to maneuver, especially with his stacks of papers everywhere.

  “How long has Koppe been waiting?”

  Wolfgang brushed rapidly at the dust that covered Luther’s habit. “They arrived at the ringing of Vespers.”

  “They?”

  “Koppe and his nephew.” Wolfgang straightened the hood of Luther’s cowl. “I told them to go away.”

  Luther batted at Wolfgang’s hand. “Let me go make my apologies, and let’s all pray he’ll still be kind enough to leave us the usual supplies.”

  His back ached. His legs moved too slowly. At fort
y he was an old man.

  Wolfgang picked up a thick candle that dripped tallow on the floor and then started into the hallway. “Merchant Koppe has more than supplies this time.”

  “We’ll gratefully take whatever he has,” Luther replied.

  The servant shook his head firmly. “We shouldn’t take his delivery. Not this time. Merchant Koppe has brought a wagonload of illegal cargo.”

  Illegal cargo? The stiffness evaporated from Luther’s limbs, replaced by excitement. After his plea for help, had Koppe finally turned himself into a criminal? With the beginning of a grin, Luther passed by his servant and started toward the winding steps of the tower.

  “I don’t think they should stay,” Wolfgang called.

  Luther’s footsteps echoed off the high ceiling and stone walls as he descended the stairs two at a time.

  “Any one of them could pose a threat to your safety.”

  “Come now, Wolfgang,” Luther called over his shoulder. “I thought I was the only one with a wild imagination.”

  Wolfgang chased after him citing a dozen other reasons why he should send the merchant on his way. But when Luther reached the bottom of the three flights of stairs, he pushed aside the voice of reason warning him, calling him to sanity. He strode down the hallway toward the front entry of the monastery, passing the infirmary and the refectory. Both were in disarray because they were seldom used anymore, much like the rest of the building.

  He stepped into the square parlor with a ready smile. “Merchant Koppe, my partner in crime—” He halted so abruptly that Wolfgang bumped into him from behind.

  The plain, sparsely furnished room was crowded with nuns. Some sat on the stone floor, some rested on benches, and others stood.

  “Our Lord have mercy.” Luther gaped at the pale faces that greeted him. “How many are there?”

  “Doctor Luther, it’s about time.” Koppe hefted his bulky frame off one of the wall benches, removing his beret.

  The women rose to their feet too, quickly tucking their hands out of sight and diverting their eyes to the floor. Black veils still covered their tight wimples and starkly outlined faces coated with the grime of travel. Their once-white habits were now disheveled and dusty.