Luther and Katharina (5 page)

But the power of Martin Luther's writing had resurrected her desires. Now they burned inside, pushing her forward, compelling her into danger, urging her to risk even death.

When Thomas finally halted, they collapsed to the ground once again, breathing hard and perspiring from the exertion that was uncommon for their sedentary life.

After a moment voices carried through the foliage. Katharina strained to hear above the ragged breathing of the others.

“Then I guess you won't mind my servants searching your wagons.” It was the nasally voice she had hoped never to hear again.

Holy Mary
—she signed the cross and fought rising panic—
Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Abbot Baltazar had tracked them down.

Katharina's fingers dug into the moss. Daylight was growing, but within the thick shelter of spruce and fir, darkness covered them. She could only pray that morning would take its time in arriving.

“All we've got are empty herring barrels,” Leonard Koppe was saying. “I've been delivering goods to your convent for years, Father. Haven't I been trustworthy? What have I done to make you think I'd be party to a capital crime now?”

“One of the escaped is your niece.” Abbot Baltazar's tone was condescending, just as it had been when he'd admonished the Zeschau sisters to repent.

“My brother's child isn't my concern.”

“Perhaps you're the holy saint I've always believed,” Abbot Baltazar said. “If you haven't sinned and have nothing to hide, then you won't mind lifting the tarps and letting us take a look.”

“Then perhaps you won't mind finding a new merchant to bring your beer.”

“Now, Merchant Koppe, don't take offense. Salvation is at stake. I know you wouldn't want to be a party to sending souls to their eternal punishment.”

“Of course I wouldn't.”

Katharina glanced around the dense tangle of branches and brush, gauging the best way to escape if they should need to run. Next to her Fronika Zeschau whimpered softly. Sister Ruth, crouched on the other side, quickly cupped a hand over the girl's mouth.

“If you aren't here at this hour helping my nuns escape, then why are you here?” At Abbot Baltazar's pointed question, Katharina closed her eyes and prayed Merchant Koppe had a ready excuse.

“I gave my servant the night off to go about his pleasuring,” the merchant said, sounding frustrated. “He's agreed to meet me and my nephew here at first light, and then we're to be on our way. We've a long day's ride if we're to reach Torgau in time to feast on the sow my Frau is roasting.”

“Then while you wait for his arrival, you surely can't oppose my men searching your wagons.”

Merchant Koppe grumbled through the noise of Abbot Baltazar's men boarding the wagons and overturning barrels.

Katharina knew she would need to thank Martin Luther for sending Merchant Koppe. Apparently the man was not only a trusted supporter but a good actor.

Thomas put a finger to his lips and motioned for them to remain where they were. Then he retreated soundlessly through the woods the way they had just come. A moment later Katharina heard him break through the brush down the road from where they hid.

“There's Thomas now,” Merchant Koppe said. “Get out of my wagons, and tie down the tarps. I hope you're satisfied. Maybe from now on you'll believe my word.”

“You're truly a good man, Merchant Koppe.” Abbot Baltazar's voice was tight. “But for the sake of eternity, I know you won't mind if I question your servant.”

Katharina scrunched her eyes closed and began another round of Hail Marys. Next to her Margaret shivered, and Katharina guessed it was from fear more than from the lingering chill.

“Thomas, Abbot Baltazar claims some of his nuns have left the cloister tonight. If you know anything about the matter, I'm sure our abbot would reward you handsomely.”

“I saw a group of nuns back by the pond,” Thomas replied, “and some fellows were having fun with them. 'Course I didn't want any part of causing those sisters to break their vows of celibacy, so I gave the men the tip of my pike.”

“I've listened to confessions long enough”—Abbot Baltazar's tone grew impatient—“that I can recognize a lie when I hear one.”

“It's God's honest truth.”

“God knows peasants out at this time of night are either fornicating or plotting rebellion,” the abbot insisted and then barked orders for his men to get off the wagons and to remount their horses. “Merchant Koppe, if I find out your servant has fornicated with my nuns, I'll personally castrate him.”

“If he's fornicated with your nuns, I'll castrate him first.”

From the diminishing clatter, Katharina knew Abbot Baltazar and his men had turned their horses in the direction of the cloister pond. In another moment the forest was silent except for the distant echo of horse hoofs in the air.

Katharina held her breath and waited, her empty stomach growling like a wolf. What would Abbot Baltazar do when he discovered they weren't at the pond anymore?

“All's clear,” Thomas called from the road. “Get on the wagons. Fast.”

They climbed through the thicket and ran to the wagons. The teams of stout draft horses stomped, ready to be away from the dark forest with its constantly moving shadows.

“Hurry, hurry,” Merchant Koppe urged as he, his nephew, and Thomas lifted them into the wagon beds. Beneath the brims of their berets, their eyes darted to the road and woods. Katharina was sure they were thinking about what would happen if they were caught aiding the escape of a nun. They all knew the punishment could be death.

The last one aboard, Katharina crawled behind the barrels. She sat next to the others and waited as Merchant Koppe finished tying down the tarp. With the heavy covering it took only minutes for the air to grow stale with the smell of salted herring and beer, but after the harrowing trek through the woods, the rest was welcome.

When the wagons began rolling across the rutted road, Katharina whispered the Glory Be. They'd made it. They'd done their part. Now the rest was in God's hands. She could only hope that the bruises from the bumpy wagon ride would be the worst of the trouble to come in the long day ahead of them.

They had not gone far when Greta began to retch with dry heaves. When she finished, Katharina brushed a finger against the girl's cheek, signing,
What ails you?

Greta shook her head, then leaned back.

Katharina rubbed Greta's arm, hoping to convey her concern. But Greta only released a long sigh and closed her eyes, clearly weary. As when they'd jumped from the window of the abbey, Katharina again had the sense that something was wrong with Greta.

Margaret leaned closer, her angular chin bumping Katharina's ear. “I've heard rumors.” Margaret's voice was so soft that Katharina could barely hear it above the clanking of wagon wheels. “It's said she has baby sickness.”

Katharina glanced at the silhouette of her maid. Greta was with child? Katharina shook her head. She wanted to deny that it was true. And yet she'd witnessed for herself the intimacy between Greta and Thomas. It was possible that they had found ways to be alone, however challenging that would have been in the busy convent.

In the dimness caused by the tarp, Katharina gazed with fondness at the slight wisp of a girl who'd been her servant for many years, one of her father's gifts to her when she'd taken her vows. They weren't friends, not in the least. That wasn't to be expected of a nobly born woman and a peasant. Nevertheless, she cared about Greta as a teacher would for a student.

If Greta truly was with child, she would have a difficult time ahead of her. She certainly wouldn't be able to continue as Katharina's servant. In fact, she likely wouldn't be able to find work anywhere. She'd become an outcast with little chance of survival. Unless of course she married the father of her child.

Katharina's spine stiffened with resolution. If they made it to safety without being captured and if they lived to see the dawn of another day, she would make sure a wedding was the first order of business.

T
hey were going to kill him. It wasn't a matter of
if.
It was a matter of
when.

The cold wood floor pressed against Luther's hot cheek and against his trembling limbs. If his enemies had almost succeeded with a piece of poisoned fish, then they would surely get him with drink next time.

Another wave of dizziness crashed over him. A black tide swept him under, pulling him further into the abyss.

“Brother Martinus, can you hear me?”

The voices above him sounded faint, far away.

If only he could just die now and forgo the torture and public display he was sure to endure.

“He's having one of his episodes.”

Luther struggled to push himself upward, but the devil stomped down on top of him. He fell again to the floor, its solidness his only comfort.

He had barely escaped the attempt on his life—but for what? He'd just returned from Mansfeld when he received a letter informing him that his benefactor and protector, Elector Frederick, was ill. Luther knew his archenemy, Duke George, was waiting just over the Saxony border, biding his time until the old elector died. The duke was interested in more than increasing his land holdings. He wanted Martin Luther—dead or alive.

Maybe Luther had been a fool to think he could withstand princes and pope alike. What mortal man had ever accomplished such a feat? Not the martyrs of the past. Not Hus or Savonarola. The pope had tortured them and burned them at the stake for much less than he'd done.

Besides, even if the elector survived another illness, lately all they'd done is disagree. It wouldn't take much more for his benefactor to hand him over to his enemies.

The burden was heavy—much too heavy. Too many people depended on him, looked to him for answers, for direction, for help. What if he failed them?

Luther caught his breath. “
If God is for us, who can be against us?”
The words from Romans whispered through the deafening noise that filled every corner of his mind.

“Doctor Luther, can you hear me?” The voice of his faithful manservant sounded nearer.

Luther raised himself to his elbows and shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness and the clamoring.
“If God is for us, who can be against us?”
The words grew louder. The thudding of his heart against his chest began to slow to a steady tap.

“The merchant Koppe and his nephew are here.” Wolfgang knelt beside him, his dark bushy brows furrowed into a scowling V. “I told them to come back later when you're feeling better, but they insist on seeing you.”

Luther pushed himself up. His black habit was coated with dust from the floor. Wolfgang and Brother Gabriel crouched shoulder to shoulder over him, their faces etched with anxiety.

“It's the devil again.” Luther dragged in a deep breath of the chilled, musty air. “He's wrestling me down.”

Brother Gabriel placed a warm mug in his shaking hands. “Take this.” With his wrinkled, veined hands, he guided the mug and steadied it as Luther took a sip. The light fruity flavor burned as he swallowed, but it was a comforting heat.

The darkness in Luther's head began to fade, and the reality of where he was began to push into his consciousness. “I despise myself for this weakness.”

“You're a great threat to the devil's work, Doctor Luther,” Wolfgang said. “And the greater the threat, the greater his attack.”

Brother Gabriel cupped his hands around Luther's, raised the mug again, and supported it as he put it to Luther's lips. “Another sip.” His voice never rose above a whisper.

Luther obeyed. Brother Gabriel had distilled the
Obstwasser
in the monastery's brewery. He'd brought the secret recipe with him when he'd arrived at the Black Cloister. Luther didn't know what the drink contained other than apples and pears. He didn't care as long as the old brother kept making it. The drink seared his throat and chest and chased the lingering demons from his mind. How long had he fought the devil this time? A glance at the small, high window told him darkness had settled.

Wolfgang rose. “So what would you like me to tell Koppe of Torgau?”

“Merchant Koppe is here?”

The servant nodded, his thick black hair poking up in disarray.

“Well, why didn't you say so, Wolfgang?” Luther stood and groaned at the stiffness of his limbs. Brother Gabriel took an arm and stabilized him. In the narrow cell Luther had converted into his study, there was hardly room to maneuver, especially with his stacks of papers everywhere.

“How long has Koppe been waiting?”

Wolfgang brushed rapidly at the dust that covered Luther's habit. “They arrived at the ringing of Vespers.”

“They?”

“Koppe and his nephew.” Wolfgang straightened the hood of Luther's cowl. “I told them to go away.”

Luther batted at Wolfgang's hand. “Let me go make my apologies, and let's all pray he'll still be kind enough to leave us the usual supplies.”

His back ached. His legs moved too slowly. At forty he was an old man.

Wolfgang picked up a thick candle that dripped tallow on the floor and then started into the hallway. “Merchant Koppe has more than supplies this time.”

“We'll gratefully take whatever he has,” Luther replied.

The servant shook his head firmly. “We shouldn't take his delivery. Not this time. Merchant Koppe has brought a wagonload of illegal cargo.”

Illegal cargo?
The stiffness evaporated from Luther's limbs, replaced by excitement. After his plea for help, had Koppe finally turned himself into a criminal? With the beginning of a grin, Luther passed by his servant and started toward the winding steps of the tower.

“I don't think they should stay,” Wolfgang called.

Luther's footsteps echoed off the high ceiling and stone walls as he descended the stairs two at a time.

“Any one of them could pose a threat to your safety.”

“Come now, Wolfgang,” Luther called over his shoulder. “I thought I was the only one with a wild imagination.”

Wolfgang chased after him citing a dozen other reasons why he should send the merchant on his way. But when Luther reached the bottom of the three flights of stairs, he pushed aside the voice of reason warning him, calling him to sanity. He strode down the hallway toward the front entry of the monastery, passing the infirmary and the refectory. Both were in disarray because they were seldom used anymore, much like the rest of the building.

He stepped into the square parlor with a ready smile. “Merchant Koppe, my partner in crime—” He halted so abruptly that Wolfgang bumped into him from behind.

The plain, sparsely furnished room was crowded with nuns. Some sat on the stone floor, some rested on benches, and others stood.

“Our Lord have mercy.” Luther gaped at the pale faces that greeted him. “How many are there?”

“Doctor Luther, it's about time.” Koppe hefted his bulky frame off one of the wall benches, removing his beret.

The women rose to their feet too, quickly tucking their hands out of sight and diverting their eyes to the floor. Black veils still covered their tight wimples and starkly outlined faces coated with the grime of travel. Their once-white habits were now disheveled and dusty.

“As you can see, we have finally arrived. By no small miracle, mind you.” Koppe approached Luther and pumped his hand. The merchant's jerkin was stylishly slashed to reveal the leather doublet underneath. Bright lining bulged out of the splits in his plunder pants. His ostentatious attire provided the only color in the room.

Luther rapidly counted each head and swallowed his astonishment. “Are there nine?”

“We started with twelve. But three, including my own niece, I've already delivered to the safety of their families, who are willing to take them.”

Luther nodded. He would write letters and pray that more of the fathers would heed his advice to take back their daughters. For what would he do with nine runaway nuns? Two or three he could help. But
nine
? How would he find homes and husbands for all of them?

One young girl swayed, clearly tired or injured, and a petite nun next to her slid her arm around the girl's waist, bracing her. The petite nun murmured a word of encouragement before turning startling blue eyes wide with expectation upon him.

Compassion stirred deep inside. He would do all he could to help them. He was responsible for their predicament. He'd been the one to encourage them to leave. Had he not instructed all priests, monks, and nuns to forsake their vows? They'd only done what he'd preached.

The church had forced them to deny the God-created desires and dreams woven into the very fabric of their bodies. Luther had come to the conclusion—contrary to the teaching of the church that praised a monastic life—that God had not made many for singleness. The nature and functions of their bodies testified to the naturalness of marriage, as did Scripture itself.

“I cannot deny I'm relieved it's over,” said the merchant, mopping his brow and giving off a sour odor, a testimony to the amount he'd recently perspired. “There was more than one occasion when I feared I would not get my first taste of pork since before Lent.”

“I commend you, Koppe.” Luther turned to his friend. “You've done a new work that will be remembered by the country and the people.”

“Now, Doctor Luther, we both know if word of my involvement in this escapade spreads, this could be very bad for my business.”

“Certainly some will scream and consider it a great detriment, but others who are on God's side will praise it as being of great benefit.”

“Let's hope our wise Elector Frederick will see it as a benefit.”

Luther shrugged. Their ruler was never predictable or easy to understand. So far he'd tolerated the rebellion, mainly because Luther had brought notoriety to his Wittenberg University—not to mention more students and thus more money. If the elector handed Luther over to the emperor and the pope, the elector's dreams of having a great university would come to naught. Duke George's rival Leipzig University would be superior.

“We'll leave the consequences of our crimes in God's hands, Koppe.” Luther clamped a hand on the man's thick shoulder. “In the meantime the least I can do is offer you and your companions a meal.”

“We've traveled hard all day and would be grateful.”

Luther grinned. “I can
offer.
But you must do the providing.”

Koppe's brows shot up, and he rubbed a hand over his beard.

“We have nothing,” Luther admitted, “except for the new provisions you have brought us.”

“What happened to the stores I gave you last time?”

“He gives to any poor soul who comes to the door,” Wolfgang grumbled. “And now apparently he's planning to shelter them as well.”

“If Koppe has dared to risk his life for these women who have been wronged,” Luther said, “then I can do no less myself, especially if Koppe will bless us with the provisions we need.”

Luther waited calmly in the silence that followed. How long would it take for Koppe to give in this time? His friend was generous, although perhaps not as openhanded as he himself. But Luther could always count on Koppe for aid.

“Very well,” said Koppe. “I was planning to sell my load tomorrow at market. But I'll give it to you instead.”

“We're grateful for your generosity.”

“Mind you, as long as I get a mug or two of Brother Gabriel's Obstwasser.”

Luther nodded at the stooped, frail form of Brother Gabriel in the gloom of the hallway as silent and unobtrusive as always. “Obstwasser we have.”

As Koppe gave instructions for his men to unload the wagons, Luther took a deep breath and turned to face the nuns. In the years since he'd taken his vows, he'd had almost no contact with women and even fewer occasions to converse with them. He'd never been good at talking with the fairer sex. In fact, he had memories of making a donkey of himself, especially during his law school days. But the compassion that swelled again prodded him to issue some words of comfort.