At Witches' End

by Annette Oppenlander

  “You will?” Adela’s eyes lit up. Another twinge went through me. I had to quit thinking about Juliana.

  I nodded. I’d tell her about Juliana’s wedding later. When things calmed down. Right now I had work to do. “You have any weapons, anything to use for protection?” She pointed at Bero’s old training sword, no more than a glorified stick, leaning in the corner. Still, it was better than nothing.

  “Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head. “Not since yesterday morning. We have no coin. With mother sick we have nothing to barter at market.”

  “Don’t the chickens lay eggs?”

  She nodded. “I have a few, but they are too valuable to eat. And I could not leave mother.”

  “Can you trade them for something, now that I’m here?”

  “The baker will take them for sweet breads. The inn will, too.”

  I scanned the desolate space that smacked of death and picked up a bowl. “Carry the eggs in this and get us some bread. I’ll stay with your mother.”

  Without a word she threw her arms around me. She didn’t say anything, just stood there for a moment, her trembling body pressed against mine—a refresher of the yearning in my heart. I swallowed and patted her on the back.

  “It will be okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Things will work out.” I’d never get used to medieval speech.

  After Adela left, I went outside to scrounge the meager garden. Nothing had been tended and the cooler weather had not helped. Among the weeds I found a handful of onions, a few carrots and some yellowed parsley. I rushed back inside and worked on the fire, then filled the cast-iron pot with water from the bucket. I peeled the onion and cut the carrots, throwing them into the pot. I had no salt or pepper, salt being a luxury only available to the lords who used way too much of it.

  It was ridiculous how cheap salt was in present day. For less than a Euro you could buy enough salt to last a year. I separated the parsley, using most of the yellowish leaves as well as the carrot greens. We needed every bit of nourishment.

  Adela was thin as a wisp. I went behind the hut and picked armfuls of grass. It was dry and hard and came out in clumps. The chickens wouldn’t mind. They needed food to lay eggs.

  Adela returned with a loaf of bread, some turnips and a sack of peas.

  I served the soup in clay mugs. It tasted like hot water with half-cooked vegetables, the onions still crunchy, and the carrots chewy. Adela gobbled it down. For the first time she smiled.

  “Thank you, Max.”

  The look in her eyes deepened and I turned away. I suddenly realized she wasn’t the little girl anymore who’d gazed at me with reddened cheeks. This girl was a grown woman by medieval standards. I got up and cleared my throat, trying to shove away the memory of Juliana’s face.

  “Something wrong?” Adela said.

  “Just thinking about Bero’s pigs,” I lied. “Let’s see if we can make your mother more comfortable.”

  We straightened the sick woman’s blanket and dripped a few spoonfuls of liquid into her mouth, but most of it ran down her neck into the straw.

  I’d never seen anyone die of disease. My grandparents were still alive and when my next-door neighbor had a stroke, he was whisked away into a nursing home.

  While Adela stretched out next to her mother, I crawled onto the platform. Long ago I’d spent my first night in the game here. Much had happened. I’d found a good friend in Bero, the best. Had found and lost love. By now Enders had become a knight. Juliana was married.

  Werner would be furious about me missing the celebrations. Still, I was glad I’d come here. It was your fault, the voice in my head whispered.

  Helping Adela was the best distraction I could hope for. After the meal I’d told her about Enders and Juliana’s wedding, even offered to get Bero so he could visit his mother. But Adela had refused. She didn’t want them to miss the merriment, spoil Juliana’s festivities.

  I’d relented, secretly glad I didn’t have to go and face the cheerful revelers.

  I awoke from a stirring below. In the smolder of the last coals I made out Adela leaning over her mother’s body. She was crying by the way her shoulders trembled.

  “What happened?”

  “She is gone,” Adela said, her face muffled against her mother’s chest.

  I climbed off the ladder and kneeled next to the girl. It was gross but I made myself touch the wrinkly neck of Adela’s mother. There was no pulse, nothing except cold skin, the woman’s eyes open and blank. I closed her lids like I’d seen in the movies.

  My throat tightened as I put an arm around the girl. I hadn’t exactly liked the mother. She’d been tough with absolutely no sense of humor. But then, why should Adela’s mother have laughed or been happy? Her life had been a cruel joke.

  Adela moved her wet face against my chest. We kneeled like this, me holding her until she turned still.

  “You should sleep,” I mumbled into her hair. Instead Adela pulled away and crossed herself. Then she tied a rag around her mother’s slack jaw, closing her mouth.

  She hurried to push open the window and door. A cool breeze rustled the straw. I shivered yet savored the fresh air. “What are you doing?”

  “Her soul must be able to leave.”

  I watched in awe. Why hadn’t I studied medieval death rituals back home? I’d been so concerned with riding horses, researching herbs, squires and lords, I’d never considered how peasants did things. “What about the burial?”

  Wordlessly Adela handed me a bucket. “I need to wash her.”

  The well chain creaked in protest, an eerie sound in the stillness of early dawn. I imagined Schwarzburg’s troops rushing me, but all remained quiet. Maybe they were afraid to do things so close to Hanstein, now that Knight Werner was home with an army.

  I turned away as Adela washed her mother’s lifeless body. To distract myself, I heated water and stuffed two mugs with dried pine needles.

  “Father Tybalt will expect payment,” Adela said when I handed her a mug. “I must go.”

  “Wait.”

  “I will return soon,” she said, hurrying outside.

  I rummaged for candles, but all I found was a single clay pot with tallow. Grayish light crept through the smudged glass so I sat for a moment watching the dead woman. That was worse.

  I jumped back up and went to the outhouse and in search of more grass. The chickens clucked sleepily as I threw greens into their pen and refilled the water trough.

  As a weak sun crept across the horizon and the last bit of heat had left the shack, Adela returned. Behind her walked the priest of Rimbach’s Catholic Church, carrying a flagon and white cloth. Compared to the richly dressed vicarious in Heiligenstadt, this priest looked miserable in a black frock and some sort of velvet hat that had seen better days. The villages of Bornhagen and Rimbach were poor.

  Ignoring me, Tybalt crossed himself while mumbling something in Latin. He took off his hat to reveal a bald head. Bending over the dead woman he continued his mumbling. He dipped thumb and forefinger into the flagon and began crossing the woman’s eyes, forehead, lips, hands and upper arms.

  “I anoint this body with holy oil, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, so that her sins be forgiven. Taketh away her shameful acts, her forbidden thoughts and wonton ways. May she rest in peace.” Tybalt draped the cloth across the body until it was completely wrapped.

  Meanwhile a couple of neighbors appeared at the door. They crossed themselves, speaking quietly to Adela while throwing furtive glances at me, reminding me that to them I was an intruder. More neighbors trickled near until a crowd filled the dusty front yard.

  They spoke too low for me to understand and I tried staying out of sight. Some prayed standing. Some kneeled in the dirt. Everyone appeared afraid, yet unable to leave.

  Adela came back inside. She stood forlorn in the middle of the room, her eyes red but too tired and sad for tears. Tybalt ignored everyone except for a
few of the stronger men outside. They scurried inside—their heads low—taking hold of the body.

  The procession of priest, men carrying the dead woman, followed by Adela and the line of mourning neighbors snaked off.

  The sun reflected on the fall leaves, another beautiful day in the making. To me everything looked gray and dead. I’d never wished more fervently to be back home.

  The door flew open. “He says she will not go to heaven,” Adela cried. “That I waited too long.” Had Adela been distraught before, she was now hysterical.

  “What do you mean waited too long?”

  “He said”—she heaved and wiped her nose with a sleeve—“I was supposed to call him before Mother died. So she could tell him her sins and be absolved. Now it is too late.” Adela slumped into the straw in front of the fire, I’d coaxed back to life.

  “Listen,” I said. “I don’t think he knows how God wants it done. What did your mother ever do but work and raise you?”

  “Father Tybalt says we are all sinners. And mother fornicated with father. Even when she was with child.”

  I tried to remain cool about Adela’s reference to sex, but she didn’t notice. “They all do. Even Lord Werner and every guy I know…”

  “What?” Adela met my gaze, her face tear-streaked, her hair a tangle of blonde. Despite her distress she looked adorable.

  “I mean, it’s normal for human beings to want to have sex, right?” I hurried. “Women want to do it and men want it even more.”

  “It is sinful.”

  “Says the church. Women are wicked,” she whispered.

  “That’s what the church preaches, because the church only allows men and they don’t want to take responsibility. It’s much easier to blame women for everything.”

  “But witches do change the weather and they bring draught to our fields.” Adela crossed herself.

  “Says who?”

  “Father Tybalt says it on Sundays.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nah.”

  For a moment we sat quietly, me contemplating how the church succeeded in holding women responsible for everything while taking the peasants few possessions and promising them a glorious afterlife.

  “He wants me to go to Lord Ott’s manor. He offered to go with me.”

  “Who?”

  “Father Tybalt. He wants his money and thinks Ott will pay him for the mass and burial if I work there.”

  I jumped up, my chest suddenly tight. “You’re not going to Ott’s place. He’ll kill you.”

  “I will be all right,” she said, her voice small. “If I make myself ugly, he may leave me alone.” She picked up a rock from the fire pit and dropped it. “Ouch.”

  I hurried to her side and shook her. “What are you trying to do? Burn yourself so Ott won’t rape you? It doesn’t work that way. We have to find another solution.”

  The knock on the door came out of nowhere.

  My hand searched for the wooden sword.

  Chapter 19

  Our eyes met.

  Finally Adela called out. “Who is it?”

  “Father Tybalt.”

  Adela straightened and opened the door, shaking the straw from her worn linen dress.

  “You ready, child?” Tybalt entered without ceremony, ignoring me. I watched with the stick behind my back.

  “Father, I…” Adela’s resolve crumbled in front of the churchman.

  “Now, now…it will be well in time.” He patted her hand. “You cannot stay here alone. Trouble is brewing.…” His tone changed to that of a concerned father. “Imagine what they’d do to a young maiden.” He shook his head and clucked.

  “But I do not want to serve Lord Ott. Or Miranda.” Adela’s eyes shone with fresh tears.

  “Nonsense, my child. They will take you in. Lord Ott has said as much to me. He will not let you starve, child.”

  I remembered Ott taking off Juliana’s dress with his eyes. I thought of the girl in Ott’s room when I’d hidden under the bed. Ott would grab what he wanted.

  “She isn’t safe at Ott’s place,” I said.

  Tybalt turned to look at me, his jaw muscles chomping under the loose skin.

  “What concern is it of yours? This maiden needs protection. A place she can do honest work.”

  I gripped the sword stick tighter. “Ott will rape her and get her pregnant.”

  Tybalt took a step back. “Lord Ott is an honorable man, devoted to the church,” he shouted. “A generous man at that and his father, Lord Dörnberg, is the landgrave’s master of household, a powerful man.”

  You kidding? The priest was either completely ignorant or he cared only for Ott’s money. “Ott gambles and rapes women.”

  “You, you…” the priest pointed a forefinger at me while searching for an obvious insult. He caught himself. “She does owe the church for her mother’s burial. Will you pay for it? Will you take care of her?” The priest glanced at me. “A sinner who takes advantage of an innocent girl. Who refuses to attend church?”

  “She’s safe with me.”

  Tybalt ignored me and placed his bony fingers on Adela’s arm. “Come with me now. Ott will pay for your mother. There is nothing to fear,” he soothed.

  Adela nodded. “I will collect my things.” She rummaged in the corner while I stood frozen. I’d contemplated taking her to Hanstein, asking Werner to hire her. But I knew Werner would be pissed at me for missing Enders knighting ceremony, the most important event in a knight’s life. As his squire—even with a two-year interruption—I should’ve been present. Bero and Juliana would be livid for deserting them again.

  I’d failed them all because I was jealous when in reality I should’ve been glad somebody took care of Juliana. I wasn’t going to be around very long anyway, certainly not to marry and become a knight…or was I? What had happened to my James Bond action? Sweep in and get out. Right.

  If I didn’t get my cape I’d never go home. What if the chance of living at Hanstein had evaporated and I’d wander the countryside in rags, begging in front of the church in Heiligenstadt?

  How could I show my face and ask for a favor? Werner would kick me out. And Adela with me. The truth was I was stumped. I’d had my jealousy and hurt destroy my only chance for a safe place.

  The priest ambled to the door. “Make haste. I must return before evening mass.” He crossed himself.

  Adela’s bundle was no larger than a shoebox. “Be safe, Max.” She hugged me quickly as if she were afraid of showing affection in front of the churchman. I wanted to whisper to her, tell her to stay and ignore the shriveled priest.

  “Bye,” was all I managed. Standing in the doorframe, I watched as Adela and the priest hurried toward the inn. Ott’s manor was at least a three-hour march.

  I crumbled on the doorsill, the wooden sword uselessly on my lap. I’d failed miserably once again.

  Inside the enclosure the chickens scratched. Even they sounded mournful. I thought that I should’ve asked the priest about something. But I couldn’t remember what it was. My mind whirled.

  I contemplated frying the two eggs that had appeared among the muck in the chicken yard. But the idea of cooking where someone had just died made me queasy.

  Let Adela believe that the soul of Bero’s mother had left through the windows. I was sure she was still around, pointing a grimy forefinger accusingly. You did this, Max Nerds. I knew you were no good, the first time I laid eyes on you.

  I shivered and hugged myself. Sitting outside wasn’t exactly smart when you wore nothing but a thin shirt. I needed my winter cape.

  I closed the door behind me and grabbed the eggs. Undoubtedly Adela’s neighbors were watching as I wandered toward the inn. Why couldn’t I just go in, grab my things and leave? I wanted to go home so badly.

  I thought of my mother again. The pressure behind my eyeballs gave and the path turned blurry. I angrily swiped an arm across my face and walked faster.

 
The Klausenhof was quiet like yesterday. On a whim, I rounded the main building and entered the barn.

  “Alexander?”

  “What?” The boy in question sat on a turned-over pail repairing a leather harness. He looked even worse than last time, his pants ripped and his shirt a few shades darker with grime.

  I sagged against the first corral trying to appear casual. “Hey again.”

  “Hey?”

  “Good morn.” I forced a smile. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “I am fresh out of favors,” Alexander said, turning his back toward me. “Last time, your visit got me a beating and cost me dinner.”

  “Sorry, man.” Time to cut through the chase. Alexander continued to ignore me, piercing a lethal-looking curved needle through a leather strap. “I’ve got two eggs.” I placed them on the ground next to Alexander. “Have breakfast on me. All I want to know is what happened to my cape.” I walked casually into the empty pen. It smelled pleasantly of clean straw, a serious improvement over Bero’s hut.

  Alexander glanced at the eggs, the needle in midair. “I think the master sold it,” he said.

  “To whom?”

  The boy shrugged. “I will not ask him.” He glanced at the eggs again.

  I nodded. “Take them anyway.”

  “Thanks.” Alexander carried the eggs into one of the partitions where he’d set up house.

  “Sorry you had to suffer because of me,” I said and meant it.

  Outside the clip clop of horses grew louder, then deafening before it stopped. Alexander hurried toward the open barn doors.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered.

  Alexander came back inside. “Schwarzburg’s men. I recognize the yellow and blue crest. Better stay put…there are many. I will be right back.”

  I crouched inside the enclosure. If Alexander got the innkeeper or the guards, I’d be done for. I waited, trying to decipher the shouts outside. It sounded like a lot of commotion. Horses neighed. Metal clinked. I heard the cruel voice of the commander, Wolf, who’d taken Bero and me to Heiligenstadt.