Luther and Katharina

by Jody Hedlund

  “It’s not polite to leave without saying a proper greeting, is it, Cal?” The woodcutter spun her around.

  She gritted her teeth. “You won’t get away with this.”

  He laughed. “You’ve got it backward. You’re the one who won’t be getting away.”

  She struggled to pull free of him.

  His grip tightened. “She’s not getting away this time, is she, Cal?”

  The tall laborer with his balding head covered with scant strands of black hair pulled out his knife and flashed it in front of her. The blade glinted, and she only had to think back to the slice he’d made in Margaret’s chin to know he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Except for the anxious twitters in her nerves, she held herself still. “I have important friends who will come to my aid, just as they did previously.”

  “We get paid after you’re locked behind the prison door. That’s all we care about, right, Cal? Getting the payment we’ve been promised.”

  They tied and gagged her and then carried her to an alley that bordered the garden. There waiting in a secluded hedge was a wagon that belonged to the convent. It was loaded with barrels and bags. To her dismay, the laborers stuffed her into one of the barrels, and then she could feel them lift the barrel into the back of a wagon.

  In the dank cramped container, she crouched uncomfortably, unable to move any part of her body. She wanted to scream out for help, cry, pound her hands, do something. But she was trapped. Cal and the woodcutter would be able to ride through the main thoroughfare of Grimma and out the town gates, and no matter her efforts to draw attention to herself, no one would be able to hear her or even begin to suspect that she was inside the barrel.

  The men didn’t have to tell her to which prison they were taking her. She knew. As the wagon bumped along, her mind spun frantically, trying to figure a way to save herself. But this time all she could think about was the irony that she was returning to the convent much the same way she’d left, in a wagon bed of barrels.

  When the wagon finally came to a halt and she heard the clang of an iron gate closing, she tried to push down her escalating fear. Vivid memories of the destruction and gore she had seen the last time she was here assaulted her.

  The men lifted her from the barrel, and she could see that although the convent was neat, it was still in disrepair—windows boarded where there had once been stained glass, doors ripped from hinges, and broken benches. They dragged her past the kitchen and the smell of baking bread to the narrow stairwell that led to the underground cellar. She tried to catch the attention of several lay sisters at work behind large kettles and beg them for help. But Schwester Walperick turned her large backside to Katharina and signaled to the cook’s maids to focus on their work.

  The cook had never been a part of the more privileged community of noble nuns. The servants had their place in the social order of convent life. They lived separately, and no one questioned their God-ordained places—at least that’s what Katharina had always believed.

  She stumbled down the steps and realized no one would be able to help her. The sisters were attending the sacred hour of Sext. Their liturgical chanting from the choir carried through the cloister yard, breaking the stillness. It was a familiar chant, one she had sung countless times, but the words brought her no comfort now.

  She had little hope of getting any assistance from the sisters, even later after they finished the recitation of the divine office. The rumors of her arrival would soon spread, but when they learned she was being held in the prison, who would risk their safety for her? Her closest allies at the abbey were gone. And even though the abbess was her aunt, her mother’s own sister, the Reverend Mother had never shown her any affection or special treatment, unlike Aunt Lena.

  The woodcutter pushed her through the dark passage of the cellar. She staggered along, hopelessness growing within her. When they reached the first prison cell door, he led her inside, locked her feet in stocks, then left her in utter darkness.

  After the key turned and the footsteps faded, Katharina leaned back against the cold brick wall. The dirt floor was damp, and the air had not yet been touched by the spring thaw. With no windows and only a small sliding opening in the door, the blackness of the room imprisoned her as much as the bonds on her mouth, hands, and feet.

  Her heart pounded with a ferocity that shook her body. She wasn’t afraid of the underground cell. She’d seen it before by candlelight. It was damp and dirty but safe. And she wasn’t afraid of the cold or dark.

  No. What she feared most was what would happen to her next. Sooner or later Abbot Baltazar would call for her. She would have to face him.

  What would he do to her?

  Her mouth dried at the remembrance of the jagged pink slices across Aunt Lena’s back.

  What torture would Abbot Baltazar devise for her? She had no doubt he would make her an example to the entire convent, an example of what would happen if they dared to defy him.

  Holy Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

  Would the Holy Virgin Mother really intercede for her?

  O God…Her body trembled uncontrollably. Her mouth hurt from the tight cloth gagging her. Her wrists were chafed by the rope binding them. And the wooden stocks elevated her feet awkwardly, making her whole body slide to an awkward angle.

  Everything within her longed to pray, really pray. But what should she say? What could she say in a situation like this? She’d heard Doctor Luther preach that one would never pray well from a book, that written prayers can teach how and what to pray for and could kindle a desire to pray, but ultimately prayer must come freely from the heart, without any made-up or prescribed words. It must form the words that are burning in the heart.

  Before now she hadn’t felt the need to give up the comfort of the old prayers, but at that moment with the cold blackness of the cell pressing on her and the uncertainty of her future tormenting her, how could she do anything but pray freely from her heart?

  Help me, God. O God, I need Your help.

  She hesitated, but fear pulsed through her and pushed out the burning words.

  I believe I shall die right now just thinking about what Abbot Baltazar has planned for me. O God, please save me. Please help me.

  She lost track of time. Occasionally she heard the bells sounding in the distance. And yet she prayed in a way she’d never before dared. She wasn’t sure when or how, but calm began to penetrate the frenzy of her anxiety, and she had an awareness of God’s presence.

  Eventually Sister Agnes, as cellaress, brought her bread and water and untied the bonds on her hands and mouth. Sister Agnes didn’t speak to her or answer her whispered questions, but she was gentle, and Katharina drew comfort from that.

  Hours blended into days with only Sister Agnes’s ministrations breaking the monotony. And finally, just when she had begun to hope she might not have to face Abbot Baltazar after all, Sister Agnes arrived with Sister Illssee. They unlocked the stocks and pulled her to her feet. Weak and stiff from lack of use, her legs couldn’t hold her. Each sister took one of Katharina’s arms and half dragged, half carried her out of the cell and up the stairs to the cloister yard. After days of complete darkness, she squinted at the light, the brightness bringing painful tears. She knew without asking where they were taking her, and she began to shake uncontrollably. The moment of reckoning had finally come.

  Fresh fear squeezed her chest as they led her to the lone elm at the center of the yard, the same elm where the mutilated priest had been hung by the Bundschuh. The well-groomed shrubs and lawn were alive with spring and immaculate in spite of the evidence of the attack. Through a blur she saw that all the sisters had gathered. They stood quietly along the edge of the grass with their eyes down and their hands folded and tucked into the cuffs of their habits. They wouldn’t savor her torment any more than she had the Zeschau sisters’. But they were compelled to watch or face the same
consequence.

  Sister Agnes and Sister Illssee stopped in front of the elm. They pushed Katharina to her knees, then stretched her arms around the trunk and bound her hands. Katharina rested her cheek against the rough bark, trying to still her shaking limbs.

  The minutes dragged. The silence stretched tighter. Only the whistling song of a finch echoed in the overwhelming hush of the courtyard. Finally low voices could be heard. Abbot Baltazar’s nasal tone came closer, along with the soft responses of the abbess and prioress.

  A chill swept through Katharina. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer like the ones she’d already prayed, except more desperate.

  “Sisters.” Abbot Baltazar finally spoke behind her. “You’re here to witness the discipline of our wayward Sister Katharina.”

  Protest rose within her like bile.

  “She’s broken her vows to Christ, her Bridegroom. She’s fallen prey to the heresy of that rebellious monk who has been stirring up dissension against the true church of Christ and the doctrines established by the holy apostles.”

  Why hadn’t Doctor Luther come to her aid? He would have heard of her capture by now and would have had time to act on her behalf.

  “To save her from the torments of hell and eternal punishment,” Abbot Baltazar continued, “it’s our sacred duty to restore her to the convent and to her vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Her salvation, her very life, depend upon her restoration.”

  She couldn’t bear to think that Doctor Luther was purposefully ignoring her plight, especially in light of the finality of his good-bye the last time she’d seen him. Surely he was too good a man to let that stop him from attempting to procure her release.

  “The Holy Scriptures instruct us to discipline.” Abbot Baltazar’s voice rang with holiness and conviction. “It clearly speaks to us: ‘No chastening seems to be joyful for the present, but painful; nevertheless, afterward it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.’ ”

  A deep sense of loneliness welled up within Katharina. Her family hadn’t wanted her and wouldn’t protect her. Jerome had left her with promises but little else. Doctor Luther had walked away from her. Dear Aunt Lena had abandoned her to go into a world of silence.

  She had no one. If she died today, would anyone care?

  “Sister Katharina must be punished for her sins.” Although she couldn’t see the abbot, she could feel his presence behind her. “And this must be done publicly so that all who witness and hear of her punishment will be deterred from erring as she has. If we can save even one soul from repeating her sins, then we will be rewarded by God.”

  The abbess silently moved behind Katharina, tucking her hair out of the way and fumbling to untie her collar and expose her shoulders.

  “No, Abbess Margareta.” Abbot Baltazar approached. “We’ll need to bare more than shoulders for this discipline.”

  Katharina winced when Abbot Baltazar sliced the threadbare linen of her bodice and ripped it down the length of her back. He attacked her underbodice next with his knife, struggling to tear the material.

  She sucked in a breath and waited for the knife to slice her skin.

  “There.” He finished and stepped away. “She’ll never wear these unholy clothes again.”

  Cool spring air prickled the exposed skin of her back.

  “We’ll burn them as a sign that she’s putting heretical ideas to death. And when she has received due punishment, she’ll don her habit and perform acts of penance until she has abolished every thought of adultery with the world.”

  His cold fingers grazed the smoothness of her back with an intimacy that made her shudder. “Sister Katharina,” he said in a low voice, “you’ll learn to accept me. And someday in heaven you’ll thank me for saving your soul.”

  “I shall not be able to thank you in heaven, for you won’t be there.” Her response slipped out before she thought of the ramifications.

  She heard a startled gasp from the abbess, but the whistle of the rod slicing through the air and the connection with her bare flesh took away all thought. The fire of the strike across her skin reached inside and tore a scream from her chest.

  “Your defiance is from the devil.” Abbot Baltazar brought the rod down upon her skin again, then again, and again. Her agonized cries spilled out as he beat her over and over. Fire raced up and down her back until she thought her body would burn up altogether and she would find herself a heap of ashes. Finally he stopped. His heavy breathing filled the air where her screams still echoed.

  Her throat was hoarse, and she was sure she was in hell with a demon on her back torturing her flesh with a flaming torch.

  “Your turn, Abbess Margareta. You and the prioress will alternate disciplining now.”

  “But, Abbot Baltazar, hasn’t she—”

  “Abbess Margareta, I would not like to report any further obstinacy to the bishop.”

  There was a brief moment of silence before the abbess responded in a resigned tone. “How many more lashes?”

  “You may not stop until Sister Katharina says, ‘Mea culpa, I will amend.’ ”

  Katharina closed her eyes, dizzy, weak, and wishing she could fall into oblivion so she could be freed from the torment where her back had once been.

  “Sister Katharina.” The abbess spoke firmly behind her. “You must repent of your waywardness at once. Then we shall be finished with your discipline.”

  Katharina couldn’t remember a kind word the Reverend Mother had ever spoken to her. In fact, Katharina had decided she reminded the abbess too much of the family she’d been denied. Perhaps the abbess had resented her sister for her freedom and normal life the same way Katharina had resented her sister.

  “Quick repentance is always best,” the abbess said.

  “Forgive me, Reverend Mother,” Katharina managed to croak. “My conscience will not permit me.”

  “Resume the lashes,” Abbot Baltazar called.

  The rod connected with her inflamed flesh, and she screamed. Although the abbess didn’t have the same strength as Abbot Baltazar, the pain radiated as though ten more demons had descended upon her.

  The rod fell again and again until she couldn’t breathe enough to scream. In her agony she could think of nothing but death.

  “Say the words, Sister Katharina.” The abbess’s plea penetrated the haze in her head.

  Did she have the strength to utter the words they wanted to hear? Would they beat her to death if she refused?

  “Repent.” The abbess’s tone was urgent and angry. “It’s not so difficult to claim responsibility for your sins.”

  Would she be able to live with herself if she uttered the words? Or would she save her outer body only to kill her inner spirit and end up a shell of a woman like Aunt Lena?

  “If you cannot repent for leaving”—her aunt’s voice dipped to a harsh whisper meant only for her ear—“then repent for anything. But just do it or he’ll kill you.”

  Katharina wasn’t ready to die, not when she’d just begun to live. She still had too many hopes and dreams that she wasn’t ready to let go of.

  But could she find anything for which to repent?

  The metallic taste of blood trickled from her cracked lips where the bark had chafed her. What about her pride? Surely her pride and callousness had hurt Greta. She’d taken her maidservant too much for granted. She’d presumed to think she was superior to the girl in every way simply because of their respective birthrights. If she’d truly loved Greta, not just as a master for a servant but as a friend, perhaps Greta would have confided in her. Perhaps she never would have run away.

  “Mea culpa,” she said. “I will amend.” The hoarse voice that spoke didn’t resemble hers.

  “She has said it.” The abbess expelled a tremulous breath and dropped something into the grass. It was the rod, slick and bright red.

  When Katharina awoke, she desperately wished to return to the unconscious world, where she could escap
e the horror and pain of what had befallen her. Although her beating had finally ended, someone had moved her into the misericord, which meant one thing—her discipline would continue.

  At least they hadn’t returned her to the cloister prison. She didn’t have to view her back to know her wounds were too serious to leave untreated. The unending pain and warmth of oozing blood told enough.

  They had laid her on a pallet and exposed her tortured back to the ministrations of the infirmarian. No one spoke to her as they entered and left the room, not even in the sign language they used for communication. The sisters took turns acting as deputy and watched over her day and night, guarding the door to her room.

  Over the following days Katharina had too much time to think and sleep. Since idleness had never agreed with her, in her mind she wrote and rewrote a letter to Doctor Luther. She’d smuggle it out of the convent the first opportunity she had. In the letter she’d beg his forgiveness for anything she’d done to anger him, and she’d plead with him to come to her rescue—again.

  Prayer was her one comfort. Her efforts to pray without recited words grew steadily easier and more natural. The calm she’d felt in prison returned to her. She’d reached the worst point in her life, where everything that could go wrong had, and praying kept her from sinking into the pit of despair.

  When her back had finally healed enough for her to begin sitting up, the sisters dressed her in the customary habit, tied a belt loosely around her, then draped the long, wide scapular over her shoulders. As they wrapped a wimple around her head, she wondered how long it would be before they cut her hair. Over the past year it had grown until now it reached well past her shoulders. Sooner or later they would shear it short. She could bear the nun’s habit; she could even endure the monotony of silence. But she would greatly miss her long hair.

  One morning after Prime, the abbess came to her. With bowed head Katharina knelt and kissed her outstretched hand. The abbess stood silently for a long moment until Katharina wondered if her aunt might actually speak to her. But when she finally did, she only gave whispered instructions for penance. She made Katharina prostrate herself on the cold floor with arms outstretched and then required her to recite the Divine Office, two Pater Nosters, three Hail Marys, four creeds, five confessions, the Ten Commandments, and finally the Act of Faith.