Eifelheim

Nothing was ever settled when men complained over steins of beer; and Hans said afterward, “I see now how a folk can worry themselves into agitation.” Then, after further thought, he added, “Should they try to banish Krenken as they did Jews, I ca

On St. Agatha’s Day, Dietrich recited the Mass alone. There were the sick and lame to pray for. Walpurga Honig had suffered a kick from her mule. Gregor’s older son, Karl, was laid up with a fever. And Franz Ambach had asked prayers for the repose of his mother, who had gone to her reward this past month. Dietrich asked also the intercession of St. Christopher for Bertram’s safe return from Basel.

He gave thanks, again, that the pest had gone to England and not to the high woods. It was sinful to take joy from the suffering of others, but Oberhochwald’s good fortune was a

“Meménto étiam, Dómine,” he prayed, “famulórum famularúmque tuárum Lorenz Schmidt, et Beatrix Ambach, et Arnold Krenk, qui nos praecésserunt cum signo fídei, et dórmiunt in somno pacis.” He wondered if that were true about the krenkish alchemist. He had certainly died with a “sign of faith” clutched in his hands, but self-murder was normally a bar to heaven. Yet God moved no tragedy but that some good might come of it, and, seeing how affected the visitors were by their companion’s death, many of the Hochwalders who had before been wary or fearful of the Krenken, now greeted them openly and, if not warmly, with less marked hostility.

As he put the sacred vessels away, he thought to go by Theresia’s cottage. Lately, he had invented reasons for pausing there. Yesterday, she had told him about Walpurga’s leg and that she had set the bone. Dietrich had thanked her and waited for her to say more, but she had dipped her head and closed her window shutters.

She must by now know that she had been wrong about the Krenken. Recalling his own terror upon first sight, it was easy to forgive Theresia her more lingering dread. She would admit her error to him, she would return to the parsonage and do his chores, and in the evenings, before she returned to her cottage at the base of the hill, they would eat sweet-cakes together as they always had beforetimes and he would read to her from De usu partium or the Hortus deliciarum.

He found her arranging some herbs for drying by the glass light in her window. These herbs, she had grown in clay pots set on the sill. She bobbed to him as he entered, but continued cutting. “How goes it by you, daughter?” Dietrich said, and she answered, “Well,” and Dietrich searched for something to say that did not sound like an admonition.

“No one attended Mass today.” But that was an admonition, for Theresia had attended daily.

She did not look up. “Were they there?”

“Hans and Gottfried? No.”

“Fine new communicants you have admitted.”

Dietrich parted his lips to debate the point. After all, few ever attended the daily Mass. But he thought better of it and commented instead on the warming weather. Theresia shrugged. “Frau Grundsau saw no shadow.”

“Herwyg says it will be another cold year.”

“Old One-eye feels the cold more each year.”

“Do… Do your herbs prosper?”

“Well enough.” She paused in her labor and looked up. “I pray for you each day, father.”

“And I for you.”

But Theresia only shook her head. “You baptized them.”

“They desired it.”

“It mocked the sacrament!”

Dietrich reached out and took her by the sleeve. “Who has been telling you such things?” But Theresia pulled away from him and turned her back.

“Please leave.”

“But, I—”

“Please leave!”

Dietrich sighed and turned to the door. He hesitated a moment with his hand on the latch, but Theresia did not call him back, and there was nothing for it but to close the door behind him.

Manfred returned from Benfeld on Sexagesima, morose and taciturn and, when Dietrich came to the manor house, he found the Herr thoroughly drunk.

“War can be honorable,” Manfred said without preamble, after Gunther had closed the door of the scriptorium and the two were closeted together. “A man puts on the cloth of war and his opponent also, and they meet on a field agreeable to both, and they use the tools of war, such as have been agreed upon, and then… God defend the right!” He saluted with a goblet, drank it dry, and filled it again from a flagon of neat wine. “God defend the right… Drink with me, Dieter!”

Dietrich accepted the cup, though he only sipped from it. “What befell at Benfeld?”

“The devil is loose. Berthold. Lacks all honor. Flies with the wind. A bishop!”

“If you would have better bishops, let the church choose them, and not kings and princes.”

“Let the Pope choose, you mean? Pfaugh! There would be French spies in every court of Europe. Drink!”

Dietrich pulled a chair across from Manfred and sat. “How has Berthold driven you to this intemperance?”

“This,” Manfred filled his cup, “is not intemperance. It’s what he’s not done. He’s lord o’ Strassburg, but does he lead? A few lances would’ve settled things.” He smacked the table with the flat of his hand. “Where is that Unterbaum boy?”

“You sent him to the Swiss to learn the true state of affairs.”

“That was on St. Blaise’s Day. He should be back by now. If that gof has run off -.”

“He’d not run from A

“It makes nothing,” said the Herr in sudden swing of temperament. “Learned all ’n Benfeld. Y’know what happened in the Swiss?”

“I heard the Basler Jews were gathered up for banishment.”

“Would they had been banished. Mob stormed th’ compound an’ set it afire, so… All died.”

“Herr God in heaven!” Dietrich half-stood, crossing himself.

Manfred gave him a sour look. “I’ve no love for usurers, but… there was no charge, no trial, only th’ mob run wild. Berthold asked Strassburg what they intended regarding the Jews, and th’ councilors answered that they ‘knew no evil of them.’ An’ then… Berthold asked th’ burgomeister, Peter Swaben, why he’d closed th’ wells and put th’ buckets away. By me, that was mere prudence, but there was great outcry against Strassburg’s hypocrisy.” Manfred emptied his cup again. “No man ’s safe when the mob runs loose, Jew or no. Wants only a grudge — as well you know.”

At that reminder, Dietrich drained his own cup and it shook as he replenished it.

“Swaben an’ his council stood fast,” Manfred continued, “but the next morning, th’ minster bells ’nounced a procession of the Cross-Brothers. Th’ bishop detests them — all th’ better folk do — but he daren’t speak while th’ vulgar favor them. They — Drink, Dietrich, drink! They marched two-by-two, the flagellants did, heads bowed, somber habits, cowls thrown up, bright red crosses front, back, cap. Up front, walked their Master, an’ two lieutenants with ba