Quest of Hope: A Novel (36 page)

The steward and his men chuckled quietly as they snacked on bread, cheese, and a bottle of French wine.

Mattias continued. “You have no means of knowing this, but the abbey suffers lost revenue of every sort and we are in grave debt to the archbishop. We’ve given some thought to relieving our debt by offering bakeries and breweries to the archdiocese. Father Pious has already negotiated with us for control of Weyer’s bakery.

“Now, should we give the bakery to Pious, I doubt he would keep you in hire as a freeman. Ambitious men such as he lust for control and free men are difficult to manage. Now, we are not pleased by some of Pious’s ways but we have few choices at this time. But this goes beyond the point. I say this to you and I say it plainly: should we exchange thy land for thy freedom, you shall have no place of labor other than thy half-hide. Neither Pious nor we would employ you. And if you needs leave our lands, then your sons shall surely have no learning in the abbey school.”

Steward Hagan interrupted. “Of course, prior, we have not yet settled on that matter.”

“Ah, indeed, ‘tis still a question.”

Heinrich was now very confused and he looked desperately into the dwindling hearth hoping for some miraculous rescue. His mind was jumbled and his heart pounded. The steward took the floor again.

“I can see, man, that you are troubled.” Hagan spoke calmly, with an almost fatherly tone. “Here it is: your claim for your children is dubious, your inheritance intact. Your price brings problems, for if you barter your land for your freedom you shall have nowhere to enjoy it. And, if the brothers are willing to honor your parchment, your freedom shall surely forfeit it, for you’ll needs live elsewhere. Add to that the worry the brothers have for your soul. It is clear to us, men more accustomed to the temptations of business than yourself, that you are guilty of the sins of greed and ingratitude.”

“Ingratitude?”

“Aye. These Benedictines have cared for you and your kin for generations and have done so with generous hearts and at great cost. Now you wish to dismiss all thoughts of their kindness and charitable service in favor of your own gain. That, poor fellow, is ingratitude.”

Heinrich lowered his eyes.
Indeed,
he thought,
perhaps I am wayward in this. Greed, theft, ingratitude, what else?

The steward let the man be for a few moments, then motioned for the prior to join him in the outer chamber once again. With a wink and a nod, the two left the room. Wil leaned over to his father. “I saw the steward wink! He’s a bad man,
Vati,
a bad man. I hate him! And I hate the prior and I ha—”

“That is enough!” scolded Heinrich. “You’re not to hate at all, least of all a monk! What devils you, boy? Now sit and say not another word.”

The prior and steward returned shortly and took a few relaxed moments to sip some wine and nibble on the tray of cheese now shared with Heinrich and his son. Prior Mattias folded his hands and spoke gently. “The day grows short and our steward would very much like us to close our business in time for thy safe return. He shall propose an offer I think shall serve all of us very well. Steward Hagan, would you explain?”

“Surely. Heinrich, Mattias has instructed me to make a most generous proposal. In exchange for the rightful deed to your land near Oldenburg, the abbey shall honor the pledge to your grandfather. And, though it was my counsel that such a concession was payment enough, they do most graciously and charitably offer you the rights of heritable ownership to the bakery in Weyer. You shall pay a fair rent and you shall keep the profits from the sales of your bread. They, however, shall set the price so as to protect both you and their other subjects.”

Heinrich was weary and his mind was numb. It seemed to him that the ancient pledge should never have been in question at all and perhaps Lukas or Blasius could help him claim it at a higher court. As for Emma’s lands, he was completely confused. If they bought it from him by granting his freedom he might be sent away only to find no employment elsewhere in these hard times. If he was allowed to remain, he’d have no job to pay his higher taxes and would have to offer military service or else pay the scutage.
And Marta wants no parts of freedom anyway,
he thought. Heinrich fumbled for words. “I needs think on this matter for some time, and—”

“Heinrich, I leave for Oldenburg on the morrow. You are aware that Lord Heribert is a cousin to the count in those parts. I must hurry there to secure the abbey’s new lands that Gottwald granted us. We are hoping all is not already lost to the armies opposing the pope’s emperor. You do understand, that if those lands are seized you’d have nothing to barter at all? If I were you I’d take this generous offer while I could. Also, I need tell you the abbot’s charity toward you is encouraged by the expediency of this arrangement. In other words, you must agree now or the proposal is withdrawn.”

Heinrich ground his teeth. He stood to his feet and paced the floor. Dressed in his common homespun he felt powerless and weak.
Perhaps I am being selfish,
he thought.
Perhaps their offer is best for all and maybe I ought take what I can while I can.
He tried to avoid the accusing eyes of Wil.

Heinrich suddenly felt ashamed for doubting the world that ruled him. It was all too much to bear and the man yielded. “I… I accept your terms.” Heinrich sighed in resignation and collapsed into his chair, exhausted.

Chapter 16

LIFE

H
einrich’s hand shook as he accepted the offer with a few carefully witnessed scratches of a quill on parchment. The deal done, the baker was hurried out of the prior’s chamber and escorted to the novice cloister where he and Wil made a brief appearance before the abbey’s lay-instructor, Herr Laurentius.

Laurentius fixed an intimidating stare into the face of the lad who would become his pupil. Wil stood stiff-jawed and silent and studied his schoolmaster with equal determination while he received a brief orientation of the day to follow. The boy said nothing but finally offered a respectful bow as Laurentius finished his lecture.

“Thank you, m’lord,” said Wil. “I shall do m’best.”

“Aye, the lad shall work hard,” added Heinrich. With that, the pair stepped into the abbey’s courtyard and began their journey home.

After a long period of silence, Wil finally spoke. “He’s a terror. He held the rod like he loved it and I think he’ll use it often!”

“If he uses it too often I’ll use it on him!” boasted Heinrich. The two walked up the long slope leading away from Villmar and said little. Heinrich’s mind ran over the business of the day and he shook his head. “Methinks I should have done better.”

“Aye, you let them trick you.”

Somehow knowing that Wil was right, Heinrich hung his head.

The two finally arrived home in the dark hours of that most difficult day. Wil knew only that he hated everyone he had met and was in dread of the morning’s hike to his first day of school. Heinrich stared at his hovel door as nervous as a cat approaching an angry hound. He knew his wife would demand an explanation for all that had transpired, and he knew that his answers would likely be derided no matter what they were. He entered his home with trepidation.

“And where have you two been? The mush is stiff and cold; you’ve a few dried peas and a hard-boiled egg. ‘Tis more than you deserve for coming home like this!”

Dietrich was half-asleep on the floor. He sat up to his elbows and groused, “What kind of man comes to his meal at this hour. I tell you, Marta, I wouldn’t put up with it!”

Heinrich closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “We’ve much to tell, wife,” he began. He sat at the trestle table by the cook-fire and dipped his fingers in the mush bowl. “First, your son begins his instruction tomorrow by terce. His master is a young man from—”

“Cologne,” interjected Wil. “And he’s a brute. He hates me; I can see it in his eyes.”

“Nay, nay, Wil,” said Marta. “He needs keep good order. ‘Tis no hate in that.”

Wil grunted and looked carefully at his father, wondering how he would share the rest.

“And there’s other news.” All eyes turned toward Heinrich as Karl climbed playfully into his lap. The man hesitated. He would need to be more clever now than he had been a few hours earlier. “Wife,” he began slowly, “what say you to bartering our land from Emma for our freedom?”

“Freedom? Nay! Better to stay safe in these times. I’d rather be rich and safe than poor and free!” She suddenly fixed a hard eye on her husband. “What did you do, Heinrich? What sort of fool thing did you do?” Her voice was shrill and loud. Heinrich wanted to stuff his ears with wool. Instead, he drew a deep breath and sighed.

“No, fear not, you are not free.” Wil noted a subtle hint of sarcasm in his father’s voice. The man continued. “What say you to keeping the lands for their rents?”

“Nay!” the woman growled suspiciously. “Your head is thick and filled with dung. I’ve told you time and time again we cannot trust land on the other side of the world, and I do not trust that Templar!”

Dietrich grumbled as he climbed to his feet. “You’ve always been a dolt, Heinrich. Your uncles,
ja,
those are men who are men! But you? Ha, you learned nothing from them. Your papa, Kurt, he was—”

“Enough, Father,” ordered Marta. “Heinrich, what have you done?”

Heinrich would have liked nothing better than to throw the old intruder out the door. He bit his tongue, then answered his wife. “Would you have me barter the land for more land here, by Weyer?”

Marta paused. “Anka says we ought take silver, so when we’ve a bad harvest, all’s not lost.”

“But where would we hide so much silver?”

“The Templars.”

“Aye, but, wife, you’ve said you do not trust the Templars.”

Marta grew quiet. Heinrich found the brief interlude refreshing and he took a few bites. Finally, the woman pressed again. “So, tell me.”

Heinrich wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sat cross-legged by the fire crackling in the center of the room. “I’ve bartered our lands, not the Weyer lands of course.”

At this news Marta began pacing around the room. “You bartered them! For what?”

“I, dear wife, now
own
the bakery; the buildings, ovens, tools, flours and spices, and the sole rights to bake for Wey—”

“The bakery?”

“Ja.”

“We own the bakery?”

“Ja.”
Heinrich began to perspire.

Astonished, Marta sat down slowly on a three-legged stool and stared at her speechless father. None in either family had ever owned an enterprise. She was dumbstruck and struggled to say what came next. “Heinrich, I think it a … a good thing you’ve done.”

Wil grinned at his father and giggled as he burrowed into his straw bed. Heinrich smiled back, surprised at the unexpected and unprecedented approval of his wife. The feeling was delicious and he suddenly felt like a giant among men. His round face glowed and it stretched with a smile as he walked toward Marta in hope of a kind embrace.

News of Heinrich’s gain followed the man like flies to the dunghauler. At every hut he passed, a curse or an oath, a jeer or an insult, reached his ears. Marta, too, suffered the jealousies of small souls. Few, however, were as outraged as Father Pious. The abbot had clearly outmaneuvered the ambitious priest, and the man was humiliated by the defeat. For Pious, Heinrich’s simple bakery had suddenly become more than a coveted asset; it had, instead, become a symbol of personal pride. And symbols, of course, are given power greater than their substance.

The day before Christmas, Father Pious arrived at Marta’s door. The woman was surprised to see the overstuffed priest and invited him inside.

“Greetings to you and your father,” grunted the churchman.

“And to you,” grumbled Dietrich from a corner.

Marta scurried to gather some beer, bread, and an egg for the priest.
She is a rare beauty, indeed,
Pious thought. He pursed his lips. “Good woman, I thank you for your kindness. I have learned of your happy news. Your husband now owns the bakery, a worthy prize for a servile man. Forgive me, sister, for my tardy well-wishes.”

“Yes, father. Of course.”

“It is duty that calls me here. I must take this joyous occasion to remind you that ‘to whom much is given, much is required.’ So says the Holy Scripture.”

Marta wiped her hands and sat down to listen.

“Firstly, you needs be ever mindful of your tithe. God’s blessings follow sacrifice and faithfulness. His wrath, however, follows unrighteousness and pride. Which brings me to my fear for you. I’ve heard from another that Heinrich is suspect of secret sins.”

“I do believe so as well,” answered Marta, “though I know not of what sort.”

“Ah, with pardon, woman, I cannot divulge. I’ve simply come to warn you that God is not mocked. As long as Heinrich hides his sins, your gain is at great risk. It is my joy to shelter you from sorrow, so I beg you heed my words. “The priest said nothing else, for he had sown his seeds of fear—seeds destined to sprout misery and discontent—tools of opportunity, indeed.

Wil suffered greatly through his first week in school. As his instincts had forewarned, Master Laurentius did hate the peasant boy. “No right!” he was heard screaming to any who would listen. “The peasant scum has no right to learn with these others.” Indeed, Wil sat on the granite gradine alongside oblates of high birth destined to serve the Church or to rule petty kingdoms all over Christendom. His classmates hailed from castles up and down the Rhine and from manor houses from Staufenland to Saxony. Eleven in all, these were offered by their parents with a pledge that granted them to the cloister. It was hoped these young and promising gifts to the abbey would secure the salvation of both child and parent alike.

Wil was the only servile child and was not pledged to the monks. He sat stone-faced and proud through five days of taunts and mockery. His rough-spun tunic and close-cropped hair earned him more than a few fists in the face. His only joy at week’s end was the knowledge that for every bruise he tended, another nursed a lump!

The baker’s son began his training with three new oblates, each slightly older than himself. The four sat in the corner of the cold novices’ chapter house atop long stone benches. The group was first taught to respect the Rule of St. Benedict. They were not to engage in conversation or activity with the monks until or unless they were admitted as novices.

“Boys,” began the master the first morning, “the brothers spend their lives in service to God and others. They live by the strict code of the Rule and most of you shall follow them in their way of life. What they do is always for a reason. They scurry about with bowed heads because the Rule says, Whether sitting, walking, or standing, our heads must be bowed and our eyes cast down. Judging ourselves always guilty on account of our sins, we should consider that we are already at the fearful Judgment, and constantly say in our hearts what the publican in the Gospel said with downcast eyes, “I am a sinner, not worthy to look up to the heavens.’””

Wil thought of his father.

Master Laurentius continued. “The Rule further reads, ‘we speak gently and without laughter … without raising our voices.’ You boys need to respect this. No feigning of bad ears just to hear a brother yell. I shall beat any who does such a thing.

“They are joyfully sworn to obedience, to chastity, to poverty, and someday you may be honored to take their vow. Do not tempt them with idle talk, with trinkets in your purses, with whispering deeds. The Rule says, ‘every exaltation is a kind of pride.’ Do not praise them for their flowers in springtime, their food, their piety… nothing! The Rule and their customaries guide them in all they do. You shall treat them with respect, I say, or you shall be beaten until you do. Have you questions?”