Beloved Pilgrim Page 10

  Elisabeth started to ask if Albrecht could come in with her, but thought better of it. She simply held her head high and walk past the man, letting Albrecht take the initiative. She heard his armored footsteps on the stone flags behind her and smiled to herself.

  The hall was a huge and elegantly appointed room that held no furniture save one table on a dais. Though the only one, the table was covered with what looked like fine white linen with gold embroidery, and the candlesticks and wine goblets on the table were likewise made of gold. The three people who sat behind the table were garbed in the richest finery Elisabeth had ever seen.

  None of the three were looking at her as she approached the dais and went down on one knee, her head bowed. She had time enough only to see the profile of a young clean-shaven man not many years older than she. He was strikingly handsome, with softly flowing fair hair and strong cheekbones. There was a cleric of some rank on the man's left. On his right a woman was obscured to Elisabeth's view as she leaned behind him to speak to the cleric.

  "Your Graces, bishop, may I present the Ritter Elias von Winterkirche," announced the man who had brought her and Albrecht into their presence.

  The young man turned toward Elisabeth and said in a warm and welcoming voice, "Ritter Elias, how pleased and surprised we are to see you!" He sounded quite sincere.

  With her head still bowed, she replied in her best male voice, "Your Grace, I am gratified for your welcome. You are too generous."

  She heard a chair pushed back and a man's step first on the dais and then on the stone flags. Fabulously be-ringed hands reached down to hold and raise her by her arms. Astonished, she looked up and into the Margrave's smiling face. His blue eyes sparkled. He still held her arms, and he leaned to kiss her on both cheeks.

  "My lord, we were delighted to learn that the news we received from Bavaria was untrue!"

  "B-beg pardon, your Grace?" was all Elisabeth could muster as a reply.

  The Margrave looked a little abashed. "My dear young sir, we had heard you had died!"

  Impulsively, Elisabeth answered, "Good my lord, I think it was my twin sister's passing that was mistakenly reported as my own."

  Leopold III looked back into her face with concern. Letting loose of her arms, he made the sign of the cross and said a quiet prayer. "I am so sorry. May God bless her and keep her to his bosom. And may Our Holy Mother ease you in your loss." He looked up at the table on the dais. "Do you hear that, Mother? It was his sister, not he. Good news but yet so sad."

  Elisabeth followed the Margrave's eyes and then froze. The woman on the dais sat forward with her hands clasped prayerfully on the table, looking with sympathy into Elisabeth's face. She was as fair as her son, the Margrave, seemed hardly older than he, and Elisabeth immediately saw why this woman, Ida, Margravina of Austria, was called the greatest beauty in Europe. Her skin was smooth and soft, her blue eyes luminous, and her Cupid's bow mouth was red as strawberries. Her hair, where it showed underneath her loose veil of some delicate Eastern stuff, was almost a white gold as it cascaded in soft curls to frame an angel's face and spill out upon white shoulders. Elisabeth thought, "I could die in her arms," then panicked, afraid she had said it aloud.

  The sweet, bell-like voice said, "Your Grace, my lord bishop, can we not have a prayer for this young knight's sister?"

  Elisabeth caught an amused smile on Leopold's face that turned solemn at his mother's words. He knelt next to Elisabeth while up on the dais the Margravina stepped back from her chair and knelt before the bishop who stood, one hand raised, and spoke a prayer in Latin. Elisabeth discovered she had knelt as well, though she could not bow her head. She could not look away from the glorious woman on the dais.

  "In nominee Patri et fili et spiritu sancti, amen," the holy man finished.

  Elisabeth expected a hand under her elbow to help her rise, but it flashed through her mind that men did not do that for other men, unless they were old or infirm. She stood and said gratefully, "Your Graces, bishop, I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you honor me and my family so."

  The bishop, seated again, said in the deep sonorous voice he had used for the prayer, "Young knight, I see you wear the cross of the crusade. Are you then ready to take the vow to serve God and remove the godless Paynim from the ground upon which our Savior trod those many years ago?"

  She bowed her head. "I am, your Grace." She looked up into Ida's eyes and thrilled to see the pride and approval there. "Let me die at your feet, lady," she knew she said only in her heart this time.

  The Margrave slapped her on her mailed shoulder. "Good, good. Though you are not a subject of ours, we shall be glad to add our blessing to your act of faith and honor."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  The Margravina asked, "But did you not know, the Archbishop of Milan, Anselm, has already left with thousands of the faithful from Lombardy?"

  Elisabeth paled. "Surely, your Grace, there will be other parties?"

  Leopold, still standing at her shoulder, smiled and reassured, "In fact, good sir, we have just received a message from Conrad, the Constable to his imperial highness, Henry, that he will pass through Austria with his own contingent and shall come here to Mölk to see the new monastery works and accept our hospitality ere he moves on through Italy. You are the Emperor's man, are you not? How more fitting can it be you and your good squire should join him?"

  The bishop inserted, "With your leave, your Grace, I shall include young Elias in the oath-taking ceremony we plan for Conrad's arrival."

  Expansively, the handsome young Margrave nodded and spread his arms wide. "Splendid. Splendid. Just so." He turned to beam at Elisabeth. Unexpectedly he leaned to her and whispered, "I am flattered that you have adopted my style of being clean shaven. I should think on campaign the fewer places for vermin to live, the better!" He laughed at Elisabeth's nonplussed look. "Good lad," he said, and clapped her on the shoulder again. He looked at the servant. "Johann, see to it this noble knight has what he needs for bed and refreshment for his wait here in Mölk." To Elisabeth he invited, "I hope you will take time to tour the building we are doing for a great monastery. It shall in time take the land on which this building stands as a monument to the glory of Our Lord."

  The Margravina rose from her seat and went to the edge of the dais. Seeing this, Elisabeth rushed forward and put out a hand. The older woman gratefully accepted it as she stepped down. When Elisabeth did not release her hand but instead stood staring down at her face, she chuckled and conveyed her own delicate hand toward the young knight's lips. Elisabeth took the cue and pressed a soft but reverent kiss on the back of her hand.

  "May God go with you, brave sir."

  Elisabeth lowered to one knee to accept the lady's blessing.

  As she and Albrecht backed out of the hall, then turned at the door, she heard Leopold's voice. "Do you ever tire of young knights falling in love with you at first sight, my dear mother?"

  The Margravina replied with a smile in her voice, "No, never, and the less so as I grow older. And I will have you know your beloved father did not either. He knew my true faith and . . . "

  The door shut on her words. Albrecht gave Elisabeth an amused grin as the servant handed them over into the hands of a page. She had her fingers on her lips, touching the same skin that touched Ida's. "So is that how it is, my lord? Welcome to love."

  The narrow streets of Mölk were as busy as the Margrave's courtyard, full not only of the bustling business of a noble city but of many craftsmen in their aprons and belts with builders' tools, and occasional men in crusaders' tabards with their own households. The massive horses of the knights made passing by them on foot a risky affair. But each knight nodded his head in greeting to Elisabeth as he passed. Albrecht opined, "Methinks your guise is a success, my lord."

  Elisabeth glanced down at the tunic and cloak she had donned once she and Albrecht had disposed of their heavy armor. A strip of cloth binding it flattened what little she possessed of a bosom. "Me
thinks people see what they expect," she replied thoughtfully. "They see the armor and the cross and need look no harder. Shall we find a tavern and have a drink and some food?"

  Glancing about Albrecht spied a tavern sign and pointed to it. "The Pig in Barley, I'll warrant," he interpreted the wordless sign that hung over the door. "Let's see if we can even get a place to sit."

  In the dark tavern the two peered about at the noisy, smelly crowd until their eyes adjusted. "The only places I see are over there on the far wall, my lord. With those rather disreputable looking men."

  Elisabeth did not have to stretch to see over the heads of other customers. Her height gave her that advantage. She had trouble seeing the men clearly, however, as they were in a far corner and there were no lamps or candles there. "Let's go introduce ourselves."

  Elisabeth used her presence, her elbows and sharp looks to force her way around to that table, Albrecht sailing along in her wake. She stopped at the side of the table nearest the wall and bowed her head briefly. "Good sirs, may I beg a place on the bench for my squire and me to rest our journey-weary arses?"

  Four pairs of eyes looked up from tankards to stare back at her. Only one set did not look openly hostile. This man looked wary, but there was a spark in his eye that promised friendliness. In a merry voice, the man said, "I think I can persuade my companions here to welcome you both. Can I not?" He was a muscular man of some height from the look of him, though he was seated. He had long brown hair, a close-cropped dark beard and a moustache that was waxed and pointed at the ends. He surveyed his companions with dark clear eyes.

  The grudging nods came from an assortment of men of seemingly disparate origins. One was dark of skin, hair and eye and wore a thick beard and a hat with a long pheasant feather in it. The next was clearly a Northman, with pale unkempt hair that was adorned with gold and ivory beads. His ice-blue eyes glared at Elisabeth. He had a drooping moustache but no beard. A scar across his face only cemented in the permanent scowl she guessed he wore. The final man was drawn in on himself and looked away as soon as their eyes met. He was clean-shaven and had long lank brown hair. His squint did not permit anyone to see the color of his eyes. He was not in armor and his developed chest, shoulders and arms suggested an archer.

  "They are delighted to have you join us," the first man said humorously. "Sit and make our acquaintance that we may make yours."

  As Elisabeth slipped onto the bench next to the friendly man, she looked up and saw the man with the feathered cap glaring at her. He growled.

  "Now is that any way to treat our new brothers, Ruggiero?" the cheerful man asked.

  Elisabeth grinned. "The blackguard doesn't frighten me, my good man." She jumped at the blow in her ribs from Albrecht's elbow.

  The dark man growled again and started to rise, his hands on the table before him, his elbows bent and his foul breath making her wince as he leaned menacingly across the space between them.

  Albrecht put a strong hand on her shoulder. "Please, my good fellow, forgive the rash words of my master. He is beyond reason with fatigue."

  Ruggiero continued to glare at Elisabeth, but slowly subsided back to sit on his bench. The Northman next to him smirked at the Italian.

  "My name is Ranulf. I am the leader of this illustrious band of former mercenaries. You have incurred the wrath of Ruggiero Orso Marrone. That nasty son of a whore there is Ragnar Haraldssen from Daneland, and that taciturn fellow is Thomas the Silent."

  Elisabeth nodded to each man. "I am Elias von Winterkirche and this is my squire, Albrecht."

  The grizzled men exchanged looks. Ranulf raised his eyebrows but chose not to comment on the young knight's introduction not only of himself but of his squire as well.

  Albrecht waved to a serving wench for wine.

  Elisabeth turned to the smiling leader of the troop. "You have no nickname, my lord?" she asked, earning a snort of derisive laughter from Ruggiero and the Dane.

  The latter explained in a gravelly voice, "He is called the Peacemaker."

  Ranulf the Peacemaker scowled at the man with his pale hair and eyes. "It is a jest, I assure you," he said menacingly. Turning to Elisabeth he asked, "So I see by the red cross sewn to your tunic that you are a crusader. As young as you are you must be newly pledged to that endeavor."

  The wench arrived with the wine for her and her squire. Elisabeth started to reach for her purse, but Albrecht grabbed her wrist under the table. He withdrew a coin from his own purse and put it into the woman's hand. Elisabeth appraised the woman's considerable cleavage and made a smacking sound with her lips. The wench shook her head and walked away. Elisabeth caught Albrecht's rolling eyes as he looked away. She decided she should tone down the crude man act.

  "A fine lusty young fellow, you are, my friend!" Ranulf clapped her hard on the shoulder. She silently thanked Albrecht for his insistence she wear padding to make her shoulders look broader and more masculine. "I would be careful with Greta, though. If you piss her off you are likely to find a dead mouse in your potage. As it happens," he went on, changing the subject, "we are bound for the crusade as well."

  "All of you?" she asked, taking a swallow of her wine.

  It was the Italian who supplied, "Si, tutti."

  "We have plenty to wish absolution for," added the Dane. The beads and rings in his hair clattered as he shook his head. "Not Thomas there. As far as we know. He's not saying."

  The silent man lowered his head even more as Ruggiero and Ranulf laughed.

  "He may be as white as the fairest virgin's character or the very Beast himself, for all anyone knows," the leader observed, fingering one waxed moustache tip.

  Lifting her cup in a toast, Elisabeth proclaimed, "Well, here's to all of us on our holy quest. May the Paynim piss themselves with fear when they hear we are coming."

  Even silent Thomas lifted his cup to share in the group's "Death to all enemies of God!"

  Elisabeth was relieved to catch approval in Albrecht's look. "Where are you all from?"

  Ranulf's eyebrows hitched as the other men scowled at her. "Young lord, men like us have no country, no family, and no past." He responded to Ragnar's noise of protest. "Except Ragnar. He is a proud son of Harald Some-bastard's-son and a Dane. Or so he claims."

  Repressing her curiosity to know why these men were so loath to speak of their pasts, she asked instead, "Are you all waiting for the Constable to the Emperor to arrive?"

  Ranulf signaled for more wine. "Just so," he affirmed. "We hope to attach ourselves to the imperial faction."

  The wench brought a pitcher of wine and refilled all six cups. As she passed by Thomas she attempted to veer away but he caught her by the waist and put his nose down into the cleft of her breasts and made a slobbering sound. Greta punched him in the side of his head and swore like a sailor. Thomas pulled his head away and grinned evilly at her. The woman complained, "Disgusting!" as she swabbed out her bodice with the rag she carried.

  Ranulf turned back to see the young knight's puzzled expression. "Thomas likes mice in his potage," he explained. Lifting his cup to his lips he commented, "You cannot be staying at this tavern. There is no room."

  Elisabeth shook her head. "No, we are bedded down in the castle."

  Ragnar and Ruggiero made mock approving noises as they glanced at each other. Ranulf looked sincerely impressed. "My lord, you are indeed a nobleman then." He cast a questioning eye at his companions. "I trust you will be willing then to cover the cost of our wine?" He made a signal to his men with his head.

  "But of course!" Elisabeth proclaimed. "But you are going?" Ranulf and the other three men had downed their wine and were standing.

  "We have urgent business to attend to. My deepest gratitude to you, my young lord. May we meet again."

  Ragnar chuckled. "Deus lo volt."

  Elisabeth looked after the band as they jostled their way roughly through the packed tavern to the door.

  Greta hurried over. "Who is going to pay for their wine?" she deman
ded.

  "How much is it, my saucy lass?" Elisabeth asked. She paled as the woman answered and held out her hand. She nodded to Albrecht. "Pay her," she grumbled.

  Albrecht sighed and pulled out his purse. He counted several coins into the woman's dirty palm.

  "That was almost all we had left," the squire revealed when the woman had sidled her way back through the press.

  "I have a lot to learn," Elisabeth observed.

  "You said it, not me," Albrecht responded, adding a rueful "my lord."

  Elisabeth and Albrecht did not see the band of former mercenaries again as they waited for the Constable and the ensuing departure of the Imperial and Austrian contingent to the crusade. Albrecht somehow managed to come up with a few more coins, but if they stuck to the castle they had all the food and drink they wanted.

  Elisabeth was watchful of all the new arrivals in Mölk. As each band rode in or boatload alighted, she began to think that perhaps she and Albrecht had gotten clean away. She was still uneasy, wondering how she would manage to maintain her ruse for the foreseeable future. She had Albrecht shave her every morning, a treatment she did not enjoy, but she was oddly pleased at the result. Her chin became rougher and some bristly hairs began to grow out, though not remotely like a beard. Being that they were in a castle, bedding down in the hall at night, and that no one undressed to sleep, she had few worries about her disguise being seen through. There were garderobes about where she could relieve herself. No one bathed. She was happy just to be one of the stinking company.

  Albrecht lectured her soundly after the near disaster of the tavern. "The squire always pays. You do not serve yourself. You do not acknowledge me to others. In fact, I should not have even sat down with you."

  "Tell me one thing," she begged as she acknowledged his correction. "Why did I get in trouble when I used crude language with that Italian fellow?"

  Albrecht winced. "You only talk like that with men you know and have been accepted by. You insulted the man. He would have been in his rights to call you out to defend your assertion that he was a 'blackguard.'" He shrugged. "Just go slow. Watch men and how they interact. That's the best way to learn."