Luther and Katharina (8 page)

T
he sweet smell of the steeping malt filled the brewery. Katharina sprinkled more heated water into the vat, covering the grist as Brother Gabriel had instructed her.

The old monk was stoop shouldered and watery eyed with age. He wasn't a man of many words, but he had been the kindest to them since their arrival and treated them with a gentleness that made her think of Aunt Lena. And, of course, every time she thought of Aunt Lena, her heart ached with the guilt of leaving her.

“The sparging's almost done,” Brother Gabriel whispered, pumping a bellow on the flame to raise the temperature. “We must get the last of the sugar out of the grain if we want to have the kind of beer Doctor Luther likes.”

“Now we have our wort?” she asked.

“Very soon.”

“Make ready the hops, Margaret.”

Her friend sat on the dirt floor of the shed on a thin scattering of hay. She leaned against the rough-hewed plank wall, her blank gaze on the open door and the steady drip of rain outside.

The brewing process obviously didn't hold the same fascination for Margaret as it did for her. Especially now. Only that morning another of the sisters had left the monastery. Magdalene von Staupitz's younger brother had accepted her into his home. Earlier Lanita von Golis had gone to live with her sister and would regain the title Lady of Colditz. Then Elsa von Canitz had left to stay with relatives. The good-byes had been harder than Katharina had imagined, and she could completely understand Margaret's melancholy about being left behind.

Six of them remained. But they'd heard rumors that Ava Grossin would likely be the next to leave since her family was still prosperous and her parents had agreed to let her live on their estate until they arranged a marriage.

Of course, there was still the problem of Greta's pregnancy. While the servant had finally arisen from her pallet and had begun performing some of her duties again, Katharina was at a loss about what to do for the girl. Katharina had tried to probe further, to discover the truth about the father of the baby and about Thomas, but Greta only shook her head and refused to speak of the matter.

“Margaret.” Katharina spoke gently. “Something will work out for us soon. You'll see.”

The young woman turned sad eyes on her. After the scant rations they'd endured at the Black Cloister, Margaret's thin face was gaunter and her narrow nose more defined.

Doctor Luther wouldn't get letters from their families. Margaret's family, the von Schonfelds, and her own family, the von Boras, lived in Duke George's territory in the part of Saxony where preachers who followed Luther's teachings were imprisoned and Luther's books were burned. Why would their families put themselves in danger to help the daughters they had discarded so many years ago? If they hadn't wanted them then, they weren't likely to change their minds now. Especially with the threat of persecution.

Katharina didn't harbor any hope of hearing from her family. She expected what she'd always gotten from them—silence. Even so, each letter that arrived for someone else pricked at the hurt buried deep inside and made her wish she'd been born first instead of her sister. Then she would have been the one already married and having babies.

She knew Margaret's forlorn feeling; it reflected her own.

Margaret reached for the basket of hops next to her but tipped it, spilling plants onto the floor. She stared at them listlessly, her usual cheer having blown away.

Katharina knelt and picked up a hop. She brushed off the dirt and placed the hop in the basket.

“I'm sorry, Katharina.” Her friend's voice wavered, and her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. “We're hungry. We've no change of clothes. The townspeople harass us every time we venture out of the monastery. And to make matters worse, our families won't claim us.”

“We knew that would be true when we made our plans to leave the abbey.”

“But no one likes us. And it appears no one will have us.”

“We'll find husbands. I'll make sure of it.” Katharina had no plans for how she would accomplish her mission, but she wouldn't give up hope yet.

“Do you ever wonder if we should have stayed?” Margaret asked. “What if God is displeased with us? What if He's punishing us for forsaking our vows?”

“We had no choice in making our vows; therefore God won't hold us accountable.”

“But what if we've thrown away our best chance at salvation?”

Margaret's words were barely distinguishable above the bubbling pot. Nonetheless, Katharina heard her friend's doubt as loudly as if she'd shouted it. “Remember that Doctor Luther has spoken about the priesthood of all believers. He says that Scripture doesn't set apart clergy as being more holy than anyone else. Being a nun or monk doesn't bring us closer to salvation. We're just as sinful and in need of God's grace as anyone else.”

His teachings had been freeing. But she spoke to reassure herself as much as to comfort Margaret.

Katharina scooped the rest of the hops into the basket and stood. Brother Gabriel had begun straining the wort through the false bottom of the mash tun, separating the liquid from the crushed barley and wheat and draining it into a large copper kettle.

“What do you think, Brother Gabriel?” she asked. “You've heard Doctor Luther speak more than we have. Share what you've learned.”

Something flashed in the old brother's eyes that Katharina didn't understand. “I cannot since I'm only a humble man.” His whisper was barely audible.

Margaret released a winded sigh. Her wimple was askew, her habit gray from lack of washing. “What if we were meant to be set apart as the virgin spouses of Christ? How can the marriage union of a mortal man and woman be better than a marriage union to Christ?”

All their lives they'd been taught that celibacy was the highest calling for a man or woman, that it was far superior to earthly matrimony. Who were they to question what the learned and holy church fathers had believed for centuries?

Of course, Doctor Luther had warned that they might have these doubts about what they'd done, and he'd encouraged them to study the passages of Scripture that recommended and praised marriage. But studying the Bible was another new concept. The holy saints of the past had written interpretations of the Bible to instruct them. Reading the holiest book itself wasn't necessary or safe for the common person. Even attempting to read the commentaries of the saints was better left to the cardinals and pope. Did she dare try what her superiors wouldn't do? How could she hope to understand Scripture if the most educated men couldn't?

Doctor Luther had given them one of his recently printed New Testaments—the illegal version he'd translated into common German. But Katharina had determined that if she ever needed to read the Bible, she would do it properly, in Latin.

She reached over and gave Margaret's shoulder a tender squeeze. “Remember all we've read and heard? We have to continue to believe we're doing the right thing.”

Margaret lifted her head, and Katharina was relieved to see a spark in the woman's eyes again. “You're a true friend, Katharina. And I have no doubt God will bless you with a wonderful husband in reward for all you've done.”

“He'll bless you too.” She grasped her friend's cold fingers; the warmth of the brewery fire had not taken the chill off the day.

At Brother Gabriel's beckoning, Katharina returned to the kettle. “Shall I add the hops?” Katharina asked.

Because of her prodding during another brewing session, the old monk had reluctantly shared his story—how he had arrived at the Black Cloister the previous year, after Doctor Luther had returned from hiding in Wartburg Castle. Brother Gabriel's monastery in the south had closed when the monks there had followed Luther's advice to get married. As an aged man with no skilled trade and no place to go, he'd sought the mercy of Doctor Luther.

Brother Gabriel moved the kettle to the flame. “It's ready.”

Katharina dumped the hops into the wort, careful not to splash the liquid.

“Gabriel, get the Obstwasser!” Wolfgang burst through the door of the shed. He heaved for breath, his black hair wild from the wind and rain. “Quick! Doctor Luther is having one of his melancholy episodes.”

Brother Gabriel hesitated and glanced from the bubbling kettle to the assortment of jugs on the lone shelf on the back wall of the shed.

“Stay.” Katharina wiped her hands on her habit. “You finish the wort. I shall go with Wolfgang and take Doctor Luther the Obstwasser.”

“Oh. No, no.” Wolfgang backed to the door and spread his arms wide to block her exit, his thick black brows crooking into a deep scowl. “Doctor Luther needs Brother Gabriel.”

“Which is the Obstwasser? This one?” She reached for the closest jug, a small one with a slender neck.

Brother Gabriel shook his head and pointed to the identical one next to it.

“I can help.” She grabbed the jug and spun around to face Wolfgang. “Now take me to him.”

Her command allowed no argument. She was, after all, a noblewoman and he only a commoner. He had no authority over her, and he should do as she bade, whether he liked it or not.

She stopped in the infirmary and prepared an infusion of St.-John's-wort. All the while Wolfgang muttered and complained and scrutinized every jar she opened and every ingredient she added.

“Maybe
you
are working for Duke George,” she said as they wound up the spiraling steps to the dormer rooms. “He could hire you just as easily as he could hire me.”

Wolfgang's fierce expression twisted into horror. “We all admire and respect Doctor Luther.” The shock in his voice echoed off the walls. “None of us would be here if we weren't willing to stake our lives on him and his reforms.”

Although she hadn't seen Doctor Luther since he'd accompanied them home from Saint Mary's, she had grown to appreciate his kindness to them more with each passing day. Their presence at his home had surely brought him only more censure and hardship, and yet he'd borne it regardless of the cost.

The least she could do was lend him her doctoring skills. It made no difference to her that the last time she'd aided him, he'd told her to spare him her presence. He'd only said it in anger—at least she hoped. And surely now in the midst of his discomfort he would appreciate her knowledgeable assistance.

When they reached the cell Doctor Luther had converted into an office, Katharina swept into the narrow room that was nearly identical to the ones she and the other nuns occupied on the next level. She stopped short at the sight of him sprawled facedown on the floor, motionless except for the trembling in his hands. With the recent rains the air was dank. The room was lit by a lone candle upon Doctor Luther's writing table.

She stepped around his long, lanky body. Her foot knocked a stack of pamphlets into the papers already spilled across the floor. “How long has he been in this condition?”

“Nigh an hour,” Wolfgang replied, kneeling next to his master, his hands fluttering over Doctor Luther.

“What's the cause of his melancholy?” Katharina pushed aside dried inkhorns and broken quills, then lowered herself beside Doctor Luther and across from Wolfgang. “Tell me what sends Herr Doctor into his episodes. I must know if I am to help.”

Wolfgang hesitated, glanced at Doctor Luther's stiff, prostrate form, and then released a sigh. “An envoy of the elector brought him the results of the Diet of Nuremberg. The princes are having discussions with the pope's nuncio, Chieregati. He's calling upon them to enforce the Edict of Worms.”

Katharina had heard only a little of Doctor Luther's open rebellion two years prior against the pope at the Diet of Worms, where he had stood before the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, and refused to recant his writings against the church. The emperor had issued the edict, condemning Doctor Luther to death.