Beloved Pilgrim Page 2

  "Not much of a hermit, is he?" Elias quipped, earning a short laugh from his sister and a glare from both parents.

  "Show some respect," Adalberta corrected. "He is a very holy man."

  Sigismund took a gulp of the wine a servant had brought. His men, having seen to the disposition of their horses, were wandering into the hall and taking seats or leaning up against the timber walls to listen to their lord's account of the hermit's tale.

  "He tried to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem before, but he was captured by the Seljuk Turks in Anatolia and tortured."

  Adalberta's eyes grew round.

  "Why?" asked her daughter.

  Sigismund sat forward, shaking his head. "They are heathens. They are devils. Cruel and rapacious. They are the enemy of all good Christians."

  "But a priest!" his wife cried unbelieving.

  Albrecht shyly spoke up. "Mayhap they are even more violent with our holy men?"

  The knight nodded. "It will seem so, lad."

  Adalberta's eyes were guarded as she asked, "And this Peter . . . from Amiens, you say? He is gathering a multitude? To do what, my lord?" she asked.

  "To return to the Holy Land and take Jerusalem back."

  "He is gathering an army?" Elias's voice held a note of excitement. Elisabeth cast an alarmed look in his direction. Elias had been itching to be in a fight. He had been disappointed when their father had failed to take him and Albrecht to Cologne for the meeting with the Emperor's representatives. Both boys hoped the meeting was to plan war.

  "No, not exactly," his father replied, noting Elias's crestfallen reaction. "He is calling it a People's Crusade. Just the poor, the destitute who are under the care of Holy Church. But to hear him speak! It was inspiring. He said, 'Deus lo volt.' God wills it. We could not help but shout it back to him, every one of us in the throng."

  Elias leaned to Albrecht and whispered, "I would wager the local bishops would not be sorry to see their burden thus eased. . . . "

  "Elias!" Sigismund's eyes were flaming. "Enough with your impious comments!" The knight glared at his chastened son, then slowly turned his face back to his wife. "Liebchen, I am going."

  Adalberta hid her dismay. "I thought you might," was all she said.

  "Then it is not just peasants going?" Elisabeth asked.

  Her father sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. "They will need protection. Many of the Emperor's commanders and officers are asking for leave to go with them." He looked sharply back at his wife. "I shall not go, if you are ill and need me here." His eyes revealed his reluctance to make such a promise. In a gentle voice meant only for her ears he added, "But it is in large part to kneel at the Sepulcher and pray for your health and long life that I wish to go."

  Before the lady could reply, Elias burst out, "Then Albrecht and I are coming with you?" He beamed at his friend, who returned the smile, but with anxiety written on his face.

  Elisabeth looked from her father to brother to Albrecht and back again. A glance at her mother's averted face told her Adalberta would not hold her husband back, no matter her misgivings. Tentatively the girl inserted, "Mother has been very weak of late."

  "Nonsense, girl. It's just the season. You know how tired I get in the winter." Adalberta shook her head almost imperceptibly at her daughter, begging her not to say more. "It is March. With the spring I will grow strong again."

  She continued to watch her mother as the men talked excitedly of their upcoming adventure.

  Elisabeth gazed at her mother. Adalberta del Luzio of Lombardy had never been strong, and the midwife told her that giving birth to her twins had weakened her further. The children, as they grew, were used to a mother who did not stir much from the manor, staying quiet and taking to her bed often. The twins were each other's support, as Sigismund was often away in one of the Holy Roman Emperor's frequent wrangling battles with the Pope. Elisabeth spent all the time she could with her brother, playing at boys' games, ultimately begging him to impart all he learned from his weapons master when they were old enough for Elias to be trained. Their mother tried to teach the girl the feminine arts of needlework and to instruct her in seemly comportment, but the moment the ailing woman took to her chambers, Elisabeth was out like a shot looking for her twin and diligently mastering every masculine skill he gained.

  They were accustomed to their mother's retiring life, but Elisabeth thought her mother had become paler of late. She had frequent debilitating headaches. Her joints were swollen and tender. During the occasional periods when Sigismund was not off serving his Emperor, Adalberta masqueraded as best she could.

  Looking at her now, her daughter could see she was lagging. Adalberta leaned to whisper in her husband's ear. He looked at her sharply, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. "Are you sure? Are you well enough?"

  Adalberta deftly feigned enthusiasm. "I am, my lord, and it has been some time."

  Sigismund grinned delightedly. To the company in the hall he proclaimed, "I and my lady are tired and wish to seek our bed for a nap." He looked down when a few suggestive comments came from his men. "My love, go on up to our chamber. I would speak with our daughter." He kissed his wife on the cheek as she rose and made her way to the stairs.

  He watched his wife's retreating figure, then gestured to his daughter. "My dear, I have some excellent tidings for you. Come with me."

  Elisabeth was already focused on her father, wondering what it was he had to tell her. Now she stood, exchanged puzzled looks with her twin brother, and followed their father to where he stopped near the foot of the stairs Adalberta had mounted. "Yes, Papa?" she asked.

  Sigismund hesitated, unsure how his daughter would take the news he had brought her. "Liebchen, you are almost sixteen now, a woman. Your mother and I have neglected plans for your future."

  Elisabeth eyed him warily.

  "I have betrothed you to a fine man, a Freiherr of the Duke of Bavaria, I think you know him."

  Elisabeth's face went white. "Oh no, Papa, please! I do not wish to marry."

  Resigned, Sigismund looked sternly into the girl's eyes. "But you must. Unless of course, you wish to take the veil. I did not think so," he went on when she recoiled at the suggestion. "You will need a home and children like any other woman, and I have chosen a man of noble blood and excellent reputation who will provide for you and protect you."

  Elisabeth stared, unbelieving. "Wh-who?"

  "The Baron Reinhardt von Linkshändig. You remember some years ago when he came here?"

  "B-but I thought he was married!" she stammered.

  Sigismund put an arm around her and looked at the rushes on the floor. "He was. He lost his wife in childbed. Actually, both of his wives. He is twice a widower." He raised his head to look compassionately into her eyes. "My darling, he is a good man, a great knight and loyal subject of the Emperor. He is going on the pilgrimage with me. Now promise you will think about this, pray about it, and see the wisdom in it. Your brother will marry and his wife will not want a spinster sister about. And you will want a household of your own. You know that's true."

  Elisabeth nodded dumbly. "Yes, Papa."

  "You will be married before we set out."

  To Elisabeth his words sounded like a death knell.

  The household plunged into activity at once. Despite anxiety for his wife, Sigismund could not hide his anticipation. Elias and Albrecht did not even try.

  Elisabeth found herself left out of the boys' preparations. She could only stand on the periphery and watch glumly as the three men in her life spent every waking moment arranging to leave her behind and to a fate she could not comprehend. She realized how much more her mother must dread this parting. Though they had rarely talked, mother to daughter, she sought her out and confided.

  "Mama, how will we bear it?" she sighed while the two sat together in Adalberta's solar.

  The older woman put a comforting hand on her daughter's supple one. "That is our lot, my dear. Women wait while men go abroad."


  "Men are so selfish!" Elisabeth could not restrain her outburst.

  Her mother shook her head. "Nay, it is not selfishness. It is duty. Theirs is to obey their masters. Ours is to obey them."

  "I don't understand why it has to be like that. Peasant men and women work together in almost everything. I have seen them, side by side in the fields, planting or harvesting. Why can we not do the same? And why do they have to go to war anyway? It seems to me that life would be so much better without going to war." The girl's face held a petulant sort of challenge.

  Sighing, her mother shook her head. "I have failed you, my daughter, and for that I am most heartily sorry. I have not spent the time with you that I should. You spend all your time in your brother's company, never learning what it is to be a woman. I hoped Marta would fill my place, but she is even more indulgent than I." Reaching to cradle her daughter's chin in her palm, she drew Elisabeth's reluctant eyes to her own. "Perhaps it is best if my lord does go to the Holy Land and prays for my health. Perhaps it is not too late for me to spend the time with you I have neglected. There is so much you have to learn before you are wed."

  Fear clouded Elisabeth's eyes. "And that is another thing! I hardly know Reinhardt. What I do remember I did not like."

  "He is strong and can provide for you and your children. He is an honorable man you can be proud of." She let go her daughter's chin. "It is for the best."

  Elisabeth stood and stepped stiffly to the window embrasure. "I shan't need to be provided for. I will die giving birth to his brats just like his other wives. That's all women are for. To have babies then die." Her thoughtless words hit her like a slap. She whirled to face her mother. "Oh, my dearest Mama, I am so sorry! I did not mean . . . "

  Adalberta shook her head compassionately. "I know you did not mean to hurt my feelings. And truly, darling, I understand your fear. You cannot know the joys that make it all worthwhile. The companionship of your husband, the satisfaction of running your household, and, most of all, the love for your children." She put out her thin arms to her daughter who went to her, knelt, and leaned into the embrace.

  "You have Papa. He loves you. That is why you endure it all."

  Pressing Elisabeth's head to her breast, she reassured, "Your Papa and I love each other very much, and it is true. But we did not even know each other when we were wed. Love came over time. And from our union came you and your brother. Just think, if I had thought like you do now, none of that could have ever come about."

  The girl nodded her head against her mother's body. "I don't understand how Papa can go and leave you suffering."

  "It is because I am suffering that he is going!"

  Looking up at her mother's strained expression, Elisabeth shook her head. "I know that, Mama, but it is more. He wants to go. Almost as much as Elias and Albrecht. Why do they want to go and leave us behind?"

  The knight's wife pulled her daughter up so she would sit beside her on the settle. Putting her arm around the girl's waist she chuckled. "I think you know why the boys want to go. As for your father." She paused. "Let me see if I can explain it. Your father was ever a loyal man to Emperor Henry, in spite of the great man's petty quarrels with the Holy Father. Over the years he has become disillusioned. He says that he now believes that the Emperor has used the disputes simply for his own arrogant purposes." She leaned her head on her daughter's. "You know your father is a brave and honorable knight. He needs to turn his energies to a worthy cause. He needs . . . redemption."

  Elisabeth subsided. "I know, Mama. But I will miss them all. And I will worry as well."

  "As will I, dearest. As will I." She lifted her head and leaned to look into Elisabeth's face. "But think of it, liebchen, we have a wedding to plan! Is that not exciting too?"

  Without conviction, the young girl answered, "Yes, Mama."

  Yes, Elisabeth felt left out of everything that involved her brother and his friend. They were almost giddy with the preparations, the bond that had developed between them magnified by the prospect.

  Natural, her mother had said, and no doubt she was right. But there was more. She could feel it, but she could not put words to her feeling. There was a bond between her brother and the squire that went beyond comradeship. She chided herself for her jealousy. She knew perfectly well that she and Elias, as close as they always had been, would someday separate. She would marry the baron, or some other man, and Elias would wed and become the Ritter of Winterkirche. Perhaps that was all it was. She was anticipating the separation especially now that the pilgrimage hastened it.

  Try as she might however she could not shake the sense that something she could not be part of was developing. She again thought to talk with her mother about it, but an intuition told her this would be a betrayal of the trust she and Elias shared. She was uncertain why that would be, but she was no less sure.

  As she watched the boys, Elisabeth started to notice things. Looks. Touches. Intimate smiles. She ventured to tease Elias into explaining. "I swear, Elias, I might think Albrecht is your brother, or maybe more than that." She meant nothing but to elicit a reaction, and she got it.

  Elias's face went pale and his eyes slid away from hers. "W-what do you mean?"

  Startled, Elisabeth laughed. "Oh nothing. Just that you are so tight. I begin to wonder if you have forgotten all about me."

  Elias heard the appeal in her voice. "Oh my dear sister, never fear that. You are my one and only, my twin. No one, not a . . . friend . . . or a bride . . . or anyone else could ever sever our ties." He put a gentle palm on her cheek. He looked tenderly into her face. "Albrecht and I just have so much planning to do."

  Though his tone lacked complete conviction, she smiled her reassurance. "Oh, Elias, I do understand. I think I am just jealous of the excitement. I want to go with you."

  A twinkle in his eye, Elias leaned confidentially to her. "I can tell you, I wish you were too. I don't want to leave you behind. But that is the way the world works."

  She pouted, making him laugh. "It's not fair."

  An hour later she saw Elias and Albrecht together, deep in some private conversation. Elias was speaking, and Albrecht's face blanched. He looked about furtively, then back, earnestly, at Elias. He seemed to ask something, looking as if he feared the answer. Elias shook his head, causing the dark-haired boy to look relieved. The two boys glanced about and walked in opposite directions.

  Elisabeth needed more than ever to speak to someone. Who was there? A thought came to her. Magdalena, the woman who lived in a hut in the woods. She lived like a nun, though she was of no particular order. Some called her a saint, some a witch, but most simply brought her what they could of their own food and discarded clothing, respecting her wish to be alone.

  Approaching the simple hut, no more than rough wood planks with a turf roof, Elisabeth could hear the woman somewhere outside singing a hymn. There was a drumming sound that she identified as churning. People brought big jugs of milk, which the woman turned into butter or pot cheese for them, freeing them for other work. The girl hurried forward and around the hut to see the woman at work.

  "Magdalena!"

  The woman looked up from her task. Her clothes were others' castoffs, often patched and patched again. Her hair was tied up in a cloth, but it need not have been, for she kept her hair shorn almost to the root. Her smile lit her plain face as she saw the girl. "Elisabeth, how pleasant to see you. Come, sit, and talk to me while I finish the butter."

  This was far from the first visit that Elisabeth had made to the solitary woman. Anchorites were religious men and women who chose to keep to themselves to live in simplicity and prayer. Many walled themselves up in churches and accepted the charity of those who visited and who asked the anchorite for blessings. But not all entombed themselves. Some were little more than hermits, living away from society.

  Elisabeth once asked the woman, whom she had found out here on one of the twins' meanderings why she did not like to be around people. The woman had chuckled and resp
onded, tousling the girl's hair, "It is not that I do not want to be with people. It is that I want to be closer to God. Many people can do that in their own hearts. I have not that ability. I find I must have solitude and quiet. That is why I live out here."

  To her child's mind, Elisabeth found this reasoning quite understandable. She accepted it, as did Elias, and they visited as often as they had things to bring the woman hermit from the manor and whenever they had questions or troubles they needed answers to.

  "I hear that the men of the manor are preparing to go to the Holy Land," Magdalena stated as she resumed the pumping motion with the churn.

  Sitting on a low stool that sat in the yard, Elisabeth nodded sadly. "Yes, they are. They are going to take back Jerusalem from the heathens."

  Magdalena looked up and sideways. "They are going to war, then."

  Elisabeth nodded.

  "Are you afraid for Elias? For your father?"

  Elisabeth's dark eyes were full of regret. "Yes, and Albrecht." She thought she saw some recognition in the woman's face. "You have met Albrecht haven't you?"

  "Indeed, I have, a fine young man. Very devoted to your family."

  Elisabeth let her gaze rest on the woman's face. "He and Elias are . . . well . . . very close."

  One eyebrow lifted on the woman's face. "Yes, I have seen them together."

  Elisabeth stood and meandered thoughtlessly about the yard, touching a fence post, clothes hung on a line, the windowsill of the hut. "One time . . ." she began.

  Magdalena stopped churning. She wiped her hands on her makeshift apron and put them on her hips. She waited for the girl to speak.

  Elisabeth glanced up when she realized she had every bit of Magdalena's attention. "Oh, I don't know. I saw something . . . it puzzled me."

  The woman sighed. "Come sit with me in the shade. I think we need to talk."

  Elisabeth's heart beat faster. Was it possible that this woman could explain the kiss, the looks, and the touches? She hesitated, then followed her over to where a crude bench rested under a linden tree. The woman patted the bench beside her, and the girl obediently sat.