Luther and Katharina (2 page)

Before dawn on Easter morning, 1523

Saxony, Germany

T
ime to jump.

With trembling legs tangling in her scapular, Katharina crouched on the stone ledge of the window and peered down at the matted grass, still hard and untouched by spring. She blinked back a wave of dizziness and hoped the two-story drop wasn't as far as it looked.

The blackness of the barren cloister yard spread before her—the neatly trimmed hedges, the gardens, and the thick stone wall beyond. Nothing moved. No one was in sight…although anyone could be hidden in the thousands of shadows the April moonlight couldn't reach.

“Jump, my lady.” Greta nudged her. Her tight wimple framed delicate features showing the strain of anxiety. “We've waited long enough.”

“You must help lower me.” Katharina clutched her maidservant's arm to steady herself. She took a last deep breath of the familiar mustiness of the abbey, then swung her feet over the edge.

“No,” came Margaret's strained whisper behind her. It echoed against the bare walls of Katharina's cell, gripping her and threatening to immobilize her. “We mustn't leave without Sister Ruth.”

“We've been back from the vigil too long.” Greta spoke urgently. “We can't wait anymore.”

In the scant moonlight Margaret's thin face was as pale as the plain white band wound around her forehead. Her narrow nose and pointed chin were pronounced and severe but belied by the kind worry in her eyes. “Something must have happened to Sister Ruth—”

“It doesn't matter,” Greta said, nudging Katharina further to the edge.

Katharina glanced over her shoulder to the other sisters, some huddled against the wall shivering, others resting on her straw-filled pallet. She had the feeling they were shuddering more from fear than from the frosty air that had swept into the narrow, unheated cell.

If she delayed any longer, she'd put everyone at greater risk and possibly ruin their chance of leaving undetected.

“Just a few more minutes.” Margaret's fingers quivered against Katharina's arm. The tall woman, who was like a sister to Katharina, had one fault—too much compassion.

Through the barred aperture on the cell door, Katharina glimpsed the outline of Aunt Lena's head. But there was no sign of anyone else and no sound—just the utter silence required both day and night. Katharina prayed that all the other Marienthron sisters were sleeping heavily, especially after staying up much later than usual celebrating the Vigil of Easter with the consecration of the Easter fire outside the church. It was the one occasion each year that changed the routine of their carefully prescribed worship hours, the one occasion when they were permitted to stay up late, the one occasion when escape might be possible.

Katharina's chest tightened with agony. She didn't want to abandon Sister Ruth, but they had run out of time. “I'm sorry, Margaret.” She squeezed her friend's cold, bony fingers. “But Greta's right. We need to be far away by the summoning for Prime. We must leave now.”

Katharina tugged up her habit and gripped the rough stone. Did she dare jump? Did she really think she could sneak all nine of them out of the abbey without getting caught?

She'd prepared for this moment for days, considered every detail, from the time they would leave to the exact route. She'd even spent days prying loose the lattice window in her cell so she could remove it soundlessly on the night of their escape.

In spite of such careful planning, something could still go wrong. Anything could happen between her window and the cloister wall. And if they made it over the outer wall, Abbot Baltazar would hunt them down like hares.

The skin on her back prickled at the memory of Abbot Baltazar's whip whistling through the air and slapping against the bare flesh of the Zeschau sisters. Only yesterday he'd beaten the young women because of a letter he'd discovered hidden in one of their pallets. Communication with the outside world was severely limited to help maintain their proper focus on God. But lately the abbot had restricted their visitation rights and missives even more. He was no fool. He knew the rumors about Martin Luther and his writings had begun to make their way into convents. And after intercepting the Zeschau sisters' letter, the abbot was well aware of just how much Luther's teachings had infiltrated Marienthron.

Of course, through the beating, the abbot had hoped to discover who had given the Zeschau sisters the letter and how. But the young women had remained silent, much to his frustration.

Katharina's stomach lurched. If a mere letter could incite him to violence, what punishment would he devise for their attempting to run away?

Fingers squeezed her shoulder tenderly. She pivoted on the ledge and found herself looking into the tear-filled eyes of Aunt Lena. The thick cell door stood open, and another one of the nuns stood guard.

“God will be with you, child,” Aunt Lena whispered. Her black veil shadowed the tiredness and sadness that always seemed to etch her plump face.

“Come with us.” Katharina knew her request would do little good. Aunt Lena had insisted that at age forty she was too old to leave the convent, get married, and start a new life. And now Katharina had run out of time to convince her otherwise. She stroked the woman's fleshy cheek, knowing if she escaped to freedom, she wouldn't see Aunt Lena again.

Aunt Lena cupped Katharina's chin and pointed her face toward the plain wooden cross, the single adornment allowed in the barren cell. “Don't forget to pray.”

“I won't.”

She pulled Katharina's head against her ample bosom and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Katharina von Bora.”

Katharina's throat constricted with an ache that rose from her chest. When had she last heard anyone speak those words? Certainly not in all the years she'd lived at Marienthron, where stoicism was commanded and affection forbidden.

Aunt Lena stepped back, her features reflecting embarrassment at her bold words. Although none of the nuns were supposed to show favoritism, Katharina had always known that her aunt cared about her. But this was the first time she had spoken words of love.

Katharina wished she could express her feelings for the woman who had replaced her mother. But even if she found the words, they couldn't slip past the tightness in her throat.

Go.
Aunt Lena motioned in the sign language they often used.
No more good-byes.

Please. Come with us.
Katharina signed back.

Aunt Lena shook her head and pointed at the window.

Katharina hesitated. As the nun on night watch, Aunt Lena would be questioned about the escape. Eventually Abbot Baltazar would guess her aunt's involvement in aiding them and would discipline her. How would she survive his wrath, the beating he would surely give her?

Greta gripped Katharina's arms, her fingers digging through the layers of her habit to pinch her skin. “My lady, we're wasting time.” Panic laced the servant's whisper.

Katharina nodded. The time for thinking was over.

She turned back to the window, and then with Greta's assistance she hoisted herself over the ledge so that she was hanging down the cloister wall, her cheek brushing against cold stone. Her soft leather shoes dangled just above the arched window of the first floor.

After Greta released her hold on Katharina's arms, she clung to the rocky edge for a moment, the jagged ledge scraping the tender skin of her fingers. With a whooshing breath she closed her eyes and let go.

In an instant she found herself slamming against the hard earth, the air forced out of her lungs. For a long moment in the darkness, she gasped for breath. At a thud and grunt next to her, she lifted her head to see Greta crouched beside her, struggling to catch her breath too.

“You should have waited for my assistance,” she softly chided her servant as she pushed up from the ground. Pain jarred her legs and radiated to the rest of her body.

“Time is running out,” Greta rasped, staggering to her feet. But the moment she straightened her petite frame, she clutched her stomach, bent over, and retched.

“What's wrong?” She touched the maidservant's arm. “Did you hurt yourself with the jump?”

Greta shrugged off her hand and spit into the grass but not before dribbling on herself. As a servant, her plain, colorless habit and wimple were not so finely woven as the habits worn by Katharina and the other nuns. But that was the only difference. They were all attired alike, their shorn hair was tucked securely out of sight, and their womanly curves were well concealed. Every bit of flesh that could be hidden was.

Only Greta's pretty face distinguished her, except now it was twisted with pain. “I'm not hurt, my lady.” But the moment the words were out, she bent over and retched again.

“Something ails you.” Katharina cringed as her whisper echoed in the air around them. The first-floor windows of the common room in front of them were dark. Now that the nights were not so severely cold, she and the sisters had less need for the abbey's only heated room.

Nonetheless, Katharina rebuked herself to remain quiet and to communicate with signs as they'd planned, lest she alert one of the gatekeepers the abbot had charged with keeping the keys to the main gate. Even if she knew what ailed Greta, she could do nothing to help her servant now. She would have to tend Greta's need later, after they were secure.

Once again her gaze flitted to the shadows that cloaked the cloister yard. A cool breeze lifted the length of her veil. The air slithered underneath and sent chills up the back of her neck. The full moon that marked the coming of Easter hid behind a thin mist of clouds. They would be safer if it stayed there.

Greta wiped her mouth on her sleeve and turned to the window where several others stood, their white wimples gleaming too brightly against the dark building made of unevenly chiseled rocks cut from nearby hillsides. The rough stones lent an austereness that was appropriate for their Cistercian order, which affirmed poverty and banned all luxuries, including statues and colored-glass windows. Even their church was unadorned and indistinguishable from the other buildings in the complex.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Katharina lifted the silent prayer to the Virgin Mother, the Latin words as familiar as breathing. They would need a special measure of divine help if they were to reach the walls without detection.

With quiet urgency she and Greta assisted the others being lowered from the window. All the while Katharina watched the other dormers, waiting for a flicker of candlelight. Faces seemed to lurk in the diamond lattices of each one. But every time she looked closely, she saw nothing.

When everyone was finally down and clustered around her, she motioned them to follow her. With the soft tread she'd perfected over the years, she ducked along the path between the hedgerows and led the women under the brick archway in the wall that opened into the convent's three main gardens. They kept to the outer edge and passed the latrines positioned near the vegetable beds.

She stayed as far away from the Predigerhaus as they could get but continually scanned the narrow windows of the priests' house, waiting for a flicker of light to appear behind one of the leaded panes, the signal that the two monks who lived at the convent as confessing fathers had heard them. Abbot Baltazar was still visiting and was staying in the Predigerhaus too. Although he oversaw the Pforta monastery, where the two monks had come from, he was the spiritual supervisor over Marienthron and visited regularly.

Every nerve in Katharina's body stretched tight as she willed the windows to remain dark. If nothing else alerted the monks to their presence, the pounding of her heart would. It was loud enough to awaken the saints in the graveyard.

She reminded herself again, as she had a hundred times that day whenever fear or doubt had assailed her, that she had no choice but to escape from her empty life. Of late, the desire for marriage and a family had grown so strong she was sure God Himself had put the longing there. Even stronger was the desire to know the truth about her purpose in life. She'd always been told that becoming a nun was the surest way to get to heaven. But Luther's writings that had been smuggled in spoke of faithful women, even the Virgin Mary, who had served God outside of convent walls. Luther claimed that cloistered life wasn't necessary for their souls' salvation. His words had resonated deeply within her, unearthing long-buried questions she'd never dared to ask before. Like some of her sisters of the cloth, she'd begun to ask those questions, unable to deny them any longer.