Luther and Katharina

by Jody Hedlund

  Confusion rendered her speechless for a brief moment. He was the one who’d written the letter to Jerome. Why would a simple word of thanks anger him?

  “Please ask him.” Margaret’s desperate whisper prodded her.

  She forced herself to meet Doctor Luther’s sharp gaze. “A mistaken rumor is spreading about Margaret’s future—something about an arranged marriage to a man from Brunswick.”

  “The arrangement isn’t a rumor or a mistake.”

  “It most certainly is.”

  Doctor Luther descended a step. He towered above her like an imposing fortress on a hillside. “Margaret’s a very fortunate woman. Dietrich von Garssenbuttel is an aristocrat sympathetic to our cause. His wife recently died, and he’s in need of a mother for his young children.”

  “She won’t marry a complete stranger.”

  “She has no choice.” He glared at her. “She must marry. And since she’s still my responsibility, I’ve made the arrangements. They’re final.”

  Margaret’s trembling fingers poked Katharina’s back, prodding her to continue. “You’ve not had the decency to consider her desires. You must take her choice of a marriage partner into consideration first.”

  “Just who is the lucky man?”

  “You.”

  His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Let me make this very clear. I will never get married. Never.”

  The finality of his words slid down the stairs and punched Katharina in the stomach. “But Margaret—”

  “Never.” His voice was a low growl.

  “You preach of the goodness and naturalness of marriage. You encourage nuns and monks to forsake celibacy. But you yourself are unwilling to entertain the slightest possibility of such, even to a woman as kind and caring as Margaret?”

  He opened his mouth as if to give her a rebuttal but then clamped his lips shut. With a shake of his head, he turned and started up the stairway again. “Margaret will marry Garssenbuttel,” he called, a measure of sadness in his voice that Katharina didn’t understand. “Accept it.”

  Jonas followed his friend. But Melanchthon shuffled his feet for a moment before addressing Margaret kindly but firmly. “Rest assured, there’s no fault with you, Fräulein. If Doctor Luther were in a position to take a wife, you’d be a fine candidate. However, he’s too busy right now, and marriage would only be a distraction from the greater purposes he’s attempting to accomplish at this critical time. I hope you understand.”

  Margaret hung her head resignedly. But Katharina’s heart stubbornly refused to concede.

  “The peasants’ demands have merit.” Luther rubbed his frigid hands together vigorously. Despite a fire crackling upon the hearth and his friends surrounding him, he was cold all the way through to his bones.

  “Their demands may have some merit,” Pastor Bugenhagen said, “but you can’t take their side.”

  “If I support the peasants, the princes will have to take them more seriously.”

  “You’ll offend the princes who have worked hard to defend you.”

  Murmurs of agreement made the rounds of the men.

  Wolfgang added another log to the fire and fanned the embers. But Luther couldn’t stop shivering even in the warming house, the room in the monastery where the monks had always gathered to keep warm on winter days.

  “We’ve all heard the reports.” Pastor Bugenhagen stopped his pacing to stand before the fire. “Thomas Müntzer has returned to Mühlhausen and is stirring rebellion. Karlstadt is in Rothenburg, causing trouble with his preaching. Open revolt will come next, perhaps in the spring. The princes will be forced to act against the rebels.”

  Luther buried his face in his hands. Some days he wished he could bury his whole head and take a break from the problems that overwhelmed him. His only comfort came when he immersed himself in God’s Word or composed songs. “You know I’ve been the first one to speak out against the violence.” Weariness made his voice sag. “I’ve condemned it on both sides. But I cannot stay silent when my brothers ask only for fair treatment.”

  Brother Gabriel reached for his mug and poured him a refill. Luther nodded his thanks. With just Wolfgang and Brother Gabriel to help, the convent was too big and costly for him to maintain. A smaller place would give him fewer headaches.

  He’d asked the elector to give him a house between the monastery and Holy Ghost Hospital, but the elector had done nothing. It was clear now he was stuck at the Black Cloister indefinitely. Sometimes the elector’s indecisiveness benefited Luther, bought him time, even saved him from his enemies. At other times, like now, the elector’s inability to act gave him a headache.

  In the meantime he struggled to get monastery debtors to pay their interests. Other than a small honorarium from the city for his preaching, he had nothing, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. But after housing and feeding the runaways, his situation had grown even more desperate, and he couldn’t afford to stay there any longer.

  “The elector’s health is failing.” Pastor Bugenhagen held out his mug to Brother Gabriel’s jug. “And Duke George is waiting to destroy him. We’ll need the support of the other princes if the elector dies.”

  “But if we side with the peasants,” Luther argued, “perhaps we’ll eradicate the influence of some of the devil’s handymen, like Müntzer and Karlstadt. The peasants need a voice of reason, of peace. We can be that voice.”

  “But we can’t afford to alienate the princes.”

  “Ach!” Luther shook his head with growing resentment. At times like this he wished he didn’t have to worry about pleasing the princes or needing their support.

  The door of the warming house opened, ushering in a draft of cold winter air that swept along the stone floor and swirled around his toes, which were already numb.

  “Finally,” Pastor Bugenhagen said. “It’s Justus.”

  Melanchthon stood and offered Jonas his bench.

  But Jonas threw off his hood and stalked across the room. He flung aside his cloak and held his hands to the fire. Brother Gabriel poured him a mug of Obstwasser.

  “What news have you for us from the Count of Mansfeld?” Pastor Bugenhagen resumed his pacing in an effort to stay warm. Melanchthon lowered himself back onto his bench, his deep-set eyes grave and his thin face reflecting the serious nature of the decision awaiting them as the conflict escalated. Should they side with the peasants or with the princes?

  “No more hangings,” Jonas said after he’d guzzled half of his mug.

  “You’ve won him to our side then?”

  Jonas shrugged. “Can a fox like him ever really be persuaded?” He slid a glance at Luther. The sharpness gave Luther a sense of foreboding. Jonas had news for him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

  “Any more news of the peasant uprisings?” Pastor Bugenhagen asked.

  “Much of the same,” Jonas replied. “Peasants are moving in the areas of Schwarzwald and Lake Constance. Their numbers are growing. The nobility can’t withstand the attacks. They’re either bowing their heads to the Bundschuh banner or having them cut off.”

  “There you have it.” Luther sat straighter. “If we support the peasants, we’ll already have half of the nobility on our side.”

  Jonas snorted. “If you support the peasants, you’ll plunge the sword through all we’ve worked for. The princes will turn against you faster than you can blow wind.”

  “Exactly!” Pastor Bugenhagen shouted. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Martinus all morning.”

  Luther leaned back against the wall, letting the bitter cold of the stone punish him for the predicament in which he now found himself. He was in the middle of a conflict, and no matter what he chose to do, he would anger many people.

  Jonas took another long swig from his mug.

  Luther watched him and waited with growing unease.

  His friend stared into the fire, his gruff scowl more pronounced than usual.

  Pastor Bugenhagen’s voice carried through the r
oom, but Luther wasn’t listening anymore.

  “Come now, Justus,” Luther said. “Get it out. What’s the real news?”

  Jonas shifted to look at him. “I’ve word from Nuremberg.”

  “More skirmishes with the peasants?”

  “Baumgartner’s betrothed.”

  “Of course he is.” Something hot rolled through Luther at the mention of Jerome’s name. “That scoundrel’s engaged to Katharina von Bora.”

  “Not anymore.” Jonas’s stare measured him. “He’s pledged to Sibylle Dichtel von Tutzing.”

  The room fell silent except for the crackling fire.

  Confusion swirled through Luther. What exactly was Jonas saying? He met his friend’s sharp gaze. Was Baumgartner giving up his claim on Katharina?

  Jonas’s eyes answered him before his words could. “Sibylle is fourteen and has a rich dowry. What nobleman can turn up his nose at that?”

  Luther’s heart sputtered with an unexpected surge of victory. Jerome wouldn’t get Katharina. He hadn’t deserved her in the first place.

  “I’m sure his parents had a large part in choosing the girl.” Pastor Bugenhagen stopped his pacing. “After all, they’d want someone young, rich, and beautiful for their son.”

  “They wouldn’t care if she was as ugly as a sow,” Jonas retorted, “as long as she brings her big dowry and gives them a baby a year.”

  Luther grinned. “Baumgartner deserves a sow.”

  Melanchthon’s face grew more troubled. “Baumgartner should have fulfilled his promise to Katharina von Bora.”

  “Lighten up, Philipp.” Luther suddenly felt years younger. “Baumgartner wasn’t good enough for Kate, and you know it.”

  Jonas pretended to cough and spoke through his throat clearing. “I doubt anyone will ever be good enough for your Kate.”

  “My Kate?”

  Jonas rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the idiot now.”

  Luther stared back, trying to make sense of his friend’s insinuations. Yes, perhaps Kate had earned a place closer to his heart than some of the other nuns he’d helped. It was natural after their interactions—her doctoring him and his rescuing her. But that didn’t mean he had any claim on her.

  “That settles it then.” Pastor Bugenhagen folded his hands across his chest. “Katharina von Bora must marry Dr. Glatz. He’s shown some interest in her.”

  “Glatz?” Luther choked on the name. “That old Geizhals—”

  “Now, Martinus.” Pastor Bugenhagen frowned. “Dr. Glatz is well respected, wealthy, influential. He’d make Katharina a fine husband.”

  “He’s cranky, tight fisted, and old—”

  “You’re cranky, poor, and old.” Jonas leaned back and gave him a knowing look.

  “I don’t see what difference all this makes,” Pastor Bugenhagen said. “You’ve damaged your reputation enough by involving yourself with these nuns. The rumors surrounding you and your various women have grown to epic proportions. At least now with Katharina you have the opportunity to put to death one of the rumors.”

  Luther shook his head adamantly.

  Melanchthon interrupted his protest. “She must marry someone. Why not Dr. Glatz?”

  “Because…” He had no valid reason. But he felt compelled to argue anyway. “Because…I know Katharina won’t like him. He wouldn’t bring her happiness.”

  “Happiness?” Melanchthon’s question was laced with disbelief. Although they’d tried to make favorable arrangements for all the nuns, happiness wasn’t their primary concern.

  It was a poor excuse. It was true, but it was still poor. The muttering from the others indicated they agreed.

  “She needs a husband, not happiness,” Pastor Bugenhagen persisted. “As long as the partnership benefits both of them, that’s what matters.”

  Luther rubbed his stiff fingers and wished he could find some words to contradict Pastor Bugenhagen. But he could find nothing.

  The pastor continued. “Did you consider the happiness of Margaret von Schonfeld when you made her marry Garssenbuttel?”

  He pictured Margaret’s pale, resigned face as she’d ridden away with Garssenbuttel. If Katharina was right, Margaret had been heartbroken. He shook his head and growled. “What other choice did I have for the woman?”

  “And what other choice do you have for Katharina? Do you have someone better in mind for her?”

  Luther closed his eyes and remembered all the times Katharina had looked at him, the times she’d clung to him, the times her fingers had gently soothed him. Just the memory of it warmed his body. But more than that, he craved her untamable spirit, her vibrancy, her energy. The conversations he’d had with her stimulated him in a way his friends couldn’t. Had she ever felt more for him than a passing flutter? Was it possible she could harbor any affection at all for him?

  He shivered, the perpetual chill just one more sign of his old age.

  There was no way in heaven he would ever ask her how she felt about him. Only a desperate man would expose himself to the possibility of rejection and humiliation at the hand of a woman like Katharina.

  He wasn’t desperate.

  Katharina von Bora was compassionate, but she was also proud and, like so many of her class, wasn’t open to change. She’d probably agree to wed old miserly Glatz before breaking tradition and marrying outside the nobility.

  Besides, he was never getting married. He would put a wife in as much danger as he was in himself. The thought of doing that to Katharina sent a ripple of coldness through him.

  He exhaled a long, noisy sigh. “Fine. Give her to Glatz.” At least with Glatz she’d be relatively safe, even if she wasn’t happy. “Make the arrangements.”

  Katharina couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move, not even to smooth the delicate curls off Ursula’s overly warm forehead. Katharina was suddenly as listless as the youngest Cranach girl she’d been cradling in her arms.

  From across the study, the hard gleam in Jonas’s eyes declared his morbid news again. She could understand why he’d been appointed to bring her the tidings. He’d had no trouble delivering it.

  The iciness of the room crept off the wooden floor and slithered under her skirt. Jonas’s news certainly wasn’t unexpected, but the finality of it hurt nonetheless.

  Sitting at the counting table next to her, Barbara Cranach laid down her quill pen and pushed aside the household ledgers she’d been studying while Katharina held the sleeping child and looked on. Barbara was an efficient manager of the estate. She worked ceaselessly, often far into the night. Although she was big boned and full of figure, she always moved rapidly and with purpose. Early gray threaded through her earthen-brown hair, and her face was aged with dark circles and lines, all attesting to her tireless labor to manage the enormous bustling household.

  “Justus, you must be mistaken.” Barbara gently squeezed Katharina’s arm. “Jerome is betrothed to Katharina.”

  “I’ve spoken with Herr Dichtel von Tutzing,” Jonas said without blinking. “He’s promised Jerome a large dowry for his daughter.”

  “But Jerome is practically married to Katharina—”

  “Did you consummate your union?” Through the soft flickering of the candlelight on the dark winter day, Jonas probed Katharina and demanded honesty.

  Katharina quickly dropped her attention to the little girl in her arms, relieved to see that the child was still asleep and wouldn’t be subject to a topic not meant for young sensibilities.

  “You’re out of line, Justus.” Barbara patted Katharina’s arm again. “You don’t need to answer him, Liebchen.”

  Katharina shook her head. “Thank you, Barbara. I wasn’t planning to respond except to ask the same question in return.” She lifted her chin and glared at Jonas. “Do you think I consummated my relationship?”

  Jonas stared at her intently. Then finally he shook his head. “No, I don’t think you did. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Even if you had consummated it, Baumgartner wouldn’t have married you. He
just liked the challenge of getting a vestal virgin into his bed.”

  No! She wanted to scream at Jonas, to deny everything he was saying. She wanted to lash out at him for his calmness, but she forced herself to answer with the measure of control appropriate to a noblewoman. “I believe he had only the best intention of marrying me but that something unforeseen has prevented him from his obligation.”

  “He wants money and prestige. Sibylle Dichtel von Tutzing will give him both.”

  Her name was Sibylle?

  “She’s fourteen.”

  Jonas’s words twisted the knife deeper into her chest. She wanted to double over with the pain, but she held herself rigid in the chair. Suddenly the room with its thick carpet and the heavy tapestries against the walls couldn’t hold out the winter chill.

  “She has time to give Baumgartner all the children he could ever want. But you…”

  “No.” Katharina shook her head and fought the urge to cover her ears. Instead she smoothed her fingers across Ursula’s silky curls and told herself that one day she’d do the same to her own offspring.

  “Arrangements will now move forward for you to marry Dr. Glatz—”

  “I have no wish for such arrangements.”

  Jonas sat silently for a long moment. “Your problem is your pride, Katharina,” he finally said. “You need a dose of reality.”

  Barbara stood, nearly tipping her chair in her haste. “I think it best if you refrain from saying anything else.”

  Jonas stared at Katharina as though he hadn’t heard Barbara. “Jerome didn’t want you and there’s no guarantee that Dr. Glatz will have you either.”

  “Justus,” Barbara chided, “you’re being unkind.”

  Katharina met Jonas’s gaze calmly even though her body trembled with the urge to run from the room. She then stood and was grateful when Barbara took Ursula from her, as though sensing the turmoil warring within her.

  Jonas’s eyes finally softened. “Maybe it’s time for you to stop putting so much stock in outward qualifications and consider other marriage arrangements beneath your class—”

  “You’d have me marry a butcher or a tanner or some other common laborer?”