Luther and Katharina

by Jody Hedlund

  After she finished, the abbess gave her a sheet of paper, ink, and quill. At first Katharina hoped she might be able to write a letter to Doctor Luther and somehow sneak it out of the abbey, but the Reverend Mother stood over her as she wrote her confessions, watching each stroke she made.

  Every day the abbess came to oversee her penance and read her confessions. Katharina guessed the woman was waiting for her to admit she’d sinned by running away from the convent, but she determined never to write it. She would readily confess her sins of pride, anger, and covetousness, but she’d never admit she’d been wrong to leave the abbey.

  Katharina knew she would eventually have to face Abbot Baltazar again. She dreaded the prospect, but she was unprepared for the fear that filled her when the door of her cell opened one evening, and instead of the abbess, he stepped inside.

  The memory of the beating drenched her like icy water and made her back ache again.

  “Sister Katharina.” He rubbed one hand across his protruding middle and held out the other fleshy hand with his long fingernails for her to kiss. His bulging, bloodshot eyes regarded her with the same look he’d given Greta that day he’d arrived in Wittenberg.

  It sent revulsion into her stomach. Nevertheless, with downcast eyes she knelt, took his hand, and gave him the respectful greeting required of her.

  “I gave Abbess Margareta one week to attempt to restore you. She’s asked for more time, but it’s doubtful that you’d repent even if she had a full year.” He motioned for Katharina to prostrate herself.

  Trembling, she lowered herself until she was flat on the floor, nose touching the plank and arms outstretched.

  “The time is past due for you to repent, Sister Katharina.”

  What would he do to her this time? Beat her again? She didn’t know how her back could survive any more. The fresh scabs would easily break and bleed at the first strike of the rod.

  “You must see the error of your ways.” He stepped over her. “I’m convinced that painful punishment can turn many a wayward sinner back to the truth.”

  Holy Lord, have mercy. She swallowed and tried to push down the lump of fear wedged in her throat.

  He circled near her feet. “Such small feet. I’m sure the skin is quite tender.”

  She suddenly pictured Thomas’s crisp, blackened feet, blood oozing from bright pink cracks. Terror circled her neck like a noose and choked her breath. Was Abbot Baltazar planning to roast her feet as he had Thomas’s?

  “Yes, you won’t resist the truth for long.” He hooked his foot in the hem of her habit and began slipping it up.

  Her mind shrieked, and her heart refused to beat.

  “You must learn to submit to my authority.” He slid her habit higher, exposing her stockings tied by garters and the bare legs above them. “A submissive spirit is what God Almighty requires of His children, and He has appointed me to train you in this endeavor.”

  A new fear seized her. What if he planned to abuse her in another, more sinister way? All the years of overlooking, of denying the sordid rumors regarding the priests came back to laugh at her, and the reality of what the abbot was capable of doing mocked her.

  Chills ran up her bare legs. Whatever discipline he was intending, she wouldn’t let him. She’d fight. “No.” She pushed up and tried to scramble forward.

  His rod slapped against the wounds on her back. The pain radiated with such intensity that a scream slipped from her lips and filled the small cell. She fell back to the ground, immobilized and nearly blind from the torment to her skin.

  He jumped on her, and his heavy weight pinned her legs under his knees. “You’ll fare much better, Sister Katharina, if you learn submission quickly.”

  “No!” She struggled against him, twisting and turning to free herself.

  Again the rod slashed her back.

  She screamed again. The shrillness echoed off the walls.

  “Abbot Baltazar?” The door to the misericord opened wide.

  In a haze Katharina saw the abbess with the wooden stocks in one arm and a large candle in the other. The woman refused to meet her gaze.

  Hot hatred pulsed through her—a hatred for her family so intense that she suddenly wanted to weep with the pressure of it. She hated them for abandoning her, for not loving her, for doing nothing to help her at her moment of greatest need. And now her aunt, her own flesh and blood, was planning to aid in her torture.

  “Abbess Margareta.” Abbot Baltazar stood hurriedly, smoothing his habit. His voice was tight with anger. “I thought I told you to wait outside the door and that I would call you when I was ready.”

  “You did call, didn’t you?”

  “No,” he growled, “I did not.”

  “I beg your forgiveness. I thought I heard you call for me. Please forgive me.”

  “Very well. Now take your leave. And next time don’t enter until I bid you.”

  The abbess hesitated and glanced down the hallway outside the misericord. “Are you sure you’re not ready to begin?”

  Katharina lifted her head and tried pushing herself off the floor. Dizziness from the pain in her back weighed her down, but she realized this was her chance. If she wanted to escape Abbot Baltazar, she must get away now.

  “I’m ensuring Sister Katharina’s submission.” Irritation dripped from Abbot Baltazar’s voice. “Now take your leave and close the door. You’ve interfered enough this week in Sister Katharina’s discipline.”

  The abbess didn’t reply but instead stepped into the hallway and peered out expectantly.

  Katharina struggled to her knees. Warm rivulets trickled down her back.

  “I don’t think you’d like me to report any insubordination to the bishop, would you, Abbess Margareta?” Abbot Baltazar asked. “We both know what he’d do to you.”

  Before the abbess could reply, a tall, dark-hooded figure filled the doorway.

  Katharina scrambled to sit up and suffocated a whimper of pain with her sleeve.

  “Who are you?” Abbot Baltazar turned a withering glare on the intruder.

  The abbess rushed toward Katharina, jerked her to her feet, and began to tug her toward the door. Confused, Katharina couldn’t make her legs work even though she knew she should. Instead she watched the stranger slip a long dagger from his belt.

  Abbot Baltazar quickly took a step back. “I demand to know who you are and what you’re doing here.”

  The abbess wrenched Katharina’s habit and motioned for Katharina to come with her. But Katharina couldn’t turn her attention away from the blade. The hand gripping the hilt was missing several fingers. The stubs were ragged and uneven and deeply scarred.

  “I vowed I would kill you,” a rasping voice said. “And I always keep my vows.”

  Abbot Baltazar’s eyes narrowed. “Abbess Margareta, call the gatekeepers to arrest this man.”

  The abbess grabbed Katharina’s arm and ignored the abbot.

  The stranger threw back his hood and revealed a disfigured face with an empty eye socket. “Remember me?”

  Abbot Baltazar’s face blanched.

  Katharina stared. Was it Thomas, Greta’s Thomas, the one the abbot had so hideously tortured?

  “Sister Katharina, come with me,” the abbess whispered, her face grave with urgency.

  Abbot Baltazar stepped back farther, his eyes reflecting fear. “How did you get out of prison?”

  “Martin Luther.” Thomas thrust out the knife. “At least there’s one monk in this world who’s decent, who doesn’t take out his lusts on helpless servant girls.”

  “Katharina, you must come with me now.” The abbess’s whisper was harsh, and there was something in her aunt’s eyes that Katharina had never seen before—concern. The concern loosened Katharina’s body. She lurched forward against the abbess, letting her guide her away from the abbot.

  “Abbess Margareta, I told you to get the gatekeepers.” Abbot Baltazar’s voice had a ring of panic.

  Thomas stepped to the cente
r of the room.

  The abbot shrank back, bumping into the writing desk and rattling the ink bottles and quills that lay abandoned. “How did you get in here without the gatekeepers seeing you?”

  Thomas threw off his cloak and then nodded at the wooden stocks and candle sitting where the abbess had placed them. “Those are for you, Baltazar.”

  Abbot Baltazar turned a stunned gaze upon the abbess.

  “Quickly, Katharina.” Without a glance back the Reverend Mother dragged Katharina from the room into the long, silent hallway.

  “By the time I’m finished with you,” Katharina heard Thomas say, “you’ll beg me for mercy. But you won’t get what you wouldn’t give.”

  “Abbess Margareta, you’ll be punished for this.” The fear in the abbot’s voice followed them. “Severely punished.”

  The abbess glanced at another cloaked figure, smaller and more womanly, and nodded. The woman stepped forward, closed the door, and lowered the wooden bar that would trap Abbot Baltazar with Thomas.

  Katharina tried to peer past the woman’s hood, but the abbess’s grip tightened, and she hurried Katharina down the hallway.

  “Greta?” Katharina strained to look over her shoulder.

  The woman’s dirty face was illuminated by the fading evening light that came from the one window at the end of the hallway. “I’m sorry, Greta,” Katharina called. “I’m so sorry for not understanding, for not protecting you.”

  Greta’s blank gaze shifted away.

  “Please forgive me, Greta. I was naive and wrong and—”

  “Hush now.” The abbess’s whisper was sharp.

  Katharina cast one last glance at Greta and wanted to weep at the injustice of the girl’s life all those years at Marienthron and what it had now become.

  “You couldn’t have protected her even if you’d tried.” The abbess spoke matter-of-factly and slowed down only when they reached the stairway that led away from the dormitory. “Your own safety was purchased with a high price. You need only ask your Aunt Lena.”

  Katharina shuddered to think of what lengths her aunt may have gone to in order to protect her over the years, what sacrifices she had made to keep her safe from Abbot Baltazar. She owed Aunt Lena her life.

  A scream like that of a swine in the slaughterhouse came from the misericord and echoed down the hallway.

  Katharina’s skin prickled. But the abbess pressed her down the winding stairway. When they reached the bottom, the woman shoved her toward the garden, deserted at the late hour. “Hurry now.”

  Katharina stumbled and almost fell.

  “Use the back gate.”

  At that moment Katharina understood the depth of sacrifice the abbess was making for her. Katharina started forward but then glanced at her aunt one last time. She was surprised at the stark guilt in the woman’s severe face.

  Although the abbess had never shown her any love or kindness, Katharina realized that now, when it mattered most, her aunt had put aside her jealousy of her sister and was setting Katharina free—free to have the kind of life that she’d envied.

  “Go.” The command was harsh.

  Katharina nodded. Then without further hesitation, she turned and ran.

  The light of the candle fell across Katharina’s back, revealing the welts and bloody slashes in the otherwise pure and creamy skin. Even from across the room, Luther could see every mark, and his own skin burned as though feeling the beating too. Fresh rage rampaged through him, and his fingers clenched into a fist with the unfamiliar urge to slam his hand against something or someone.

  “How is she?” he whispered.

  Sister Magdalene gave a start from where she knelt beside Katharina. Her eyes widened. “Doctor Luther?”

  Katharina faced the wall, but he still heard her soft gasp and whisper. “Cover me, Sister Magdalene. Immediately.”

  Sister Magdalene groped for the blanket already half covering Katharina and draped it gingerly over the rest of her back.

  As Luther crossed the short distance to the pallet, Magdalene moved away. The scent of onion and an assortment of strong spices told him she had recently applied poultices to Katharina’s wounds.

  As he lowered himself, Katharina shifted her head to face him. Her hair cascaded over her flushed cheeks and down her bare neck. The flicker of candlelight danced on the copper tints that mingled with the silky blond. He’d never seen it down and loose. It was beautiful, and he was strangely relieved that it hadn’t been sheared.

  She peered at him from beneath the thin veil of her hair, her blue eyes luminous.

  A strong force clutched his gut and twisted it. He’d told himself a thousand times he was through with any desire for Katharina von Bora. He was absolutely finished. But now that he was by her side, the pull was too strong. He couldn’t deny that something about her drew him irresistibly. He wasn’t sure what it was. All he knew was that he had to be with her and make sure she was all right.

  He lifted his fingers and brushed at the soft strands.

  She sucked in a breath.

  He shouldn’t. But the silkiness beckoned to him like gold to a treasure seeker. He twisted a long piece against his thumb, marveling at God’s handiwork in a woman. These past years when his friends had started marrying, he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t need a woman. He’d tried to cut off any longings before they’d had the chance to begin. But now he couldn’t imagine why he’d tried so hard to resist his natural urges, not with Katharina lying before him so exquisite and womanly.

  The light in her eyes warmed his insides. Was she happy to see him?

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m alive.”

  “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Magdalene’s poultices are a godsend.”

  He let go of her hair and trailed his fingers down her cheek, finally letting himself exhale the breath of relief that he hadn’t been able to expel in the weeks since she’d been taken.

  From behind him Sister Magdalene gave a slight cough.

  Luther pulled his hand away and frowned at the woman. Couldn’t he have a moment alone with Katharina?

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” Katharina whispered.

  “I’ve been in Torgau this past month, pleading with the elector for your release.” Elector Frederick, as usual, hadn’t wanted to involve himself in the case. With the conclusion of another Diet of Nuremberg, the pressure on Elector Frederick had escalated too high. A new pope, Clement VII, and his nuncio had demanded the elector begin at once fulfilling the Edict of Worms—rounding up the followers of the reforms and putting them to the sword.

  Luther was still a hunted man, wanted dead or alive. But this time at least the German princes had taken a stand for him. They were angry that the new pope had ignored their list of one hundred grievances, the Centum Gravamina. In fact, the new pope had not just ignored their grievances; he’d scoffed at them and said that such a paper could never have emanated from the princes, that it only could have originated from someone who hated the court of Rome.

  Luther no longer thought the princes would hand him over to the pope. God was bringing more of them to his side. But the pope’s nuncio had stirred up the church’s persecution of those who dared to defy him. If the nuncio couldn’t get the princes to squash the reforms, then he would incite his faithful bishops and religious dignitaries to fulfill the edict.

  Officials like Bishop Petrus were on a holy mission to cleanse the church. He’d vehemently opposed Luther’s efforts to get Katharina released and had made Luther’s life a nightmare over the past weeks.

  “Word of your escape reached me only two days ago,” he said bending closer. “I thought you’d be safe with Sister Magdalene here in Grimma. But now we’ve reason to believe your life is in jeopardy again.”

  The light in her eyes faded and was replaced by fear.

  “That’s why I’m here.” He wouldn’t tell her he’d been frantic to get to her and had barely slept since he’d r
eceived the news. “I’ve come to take you away before it’s too late. We must leave as soon as possible, before dawn.”

  “She’s in no condition to travel,” Sister Magdalene said quietly.

  “Tell me the trouble.” Katharina looked at him without wavering, although a haunted fear lingered in her expression.

  He’d traveled all night, telling himself he’d do the same for any other nun in trouble. But the fact was, he’d panicked when he’d heard the news. After weeks of not knowing Katharina’s condition inside Marienthron, he didn’t want to lose her to the convent again.

  “Bishop Petrus is accusing you of murdering Abbot Baltazar. He’s asking for your arrest.”

  “No one will believe him. How could they?”

  Luther had heard enough about the hideous condition of Abbot Baltazar’s body when it had been discovered to know that Katharina couldn’t have inflicted such torture upon the man. “We both agree you couldn’t possibly have had the strength or the fortitude to murder Baltazar in the way he was. But without any other suspects, they’re concluding you murdered him.”

  She shook her head. The movement shifted the blanket, revealing the curve of her shoulder.

  He started to raise his fingers to the spot of flesh but then folded his hands together and looked away from the tempting stretch of skin. “Are you willing to identify the true murderer?”

  “I can’t.” Her face said everything. She knew who had killed Abbot Baltazar, but she would never divulge it. She probably owed that person her life.

  “I had a feeling you wouldn’t tell anything. That’s why we’re leaving. Now.”

  “But Aunt Lena.” Katharina strained to see past him to the opposite side of the bedroom, where Aunt Lena lay asleep on her pallet. “I can’t leave her.”

  “She’ll be safe here. The officials won’t interfere with Sister Magdalene, not as the sister of one of their own important leaders.” Doctor Johann von Staupitz, Magdalene’s older brother, had been one of the most important figures in Luther’s life during his early monastery days. Even though they weren’t close anymore, Luther still thought of him as his spiritual father. Staupitz had been the first to distribute copies of the Bible to the monks of his monastery. The reading of Scriptures was usually strictly controlled and rationed, but Staupitz had encouraged them to study their Bibles. And Luther had obeyed him with more zeal than anyone else.