Chapter Eight:
When I blinked my mortal eyes at the ceiling, its beams blurring into a distorted taupe, I heard a soft gasp to my right. I pushed myself onto my elbows and turned to look at Freia, who sat upon a stool at my bedside, her verdant eyes round. “Oh Swanie, thank goodness you’re back,” she exclaimed, pressing her hands together. “Your ice began to melt not long ago. I feared something terrible had happened.”
“What?” I put a hand to my forehead, trying to stop my thoughts from racing after learning such an odd collection of information. I realized that my hair was still damp, and when I looked down at the blanket beneath me, I saw the dark remnants of a puddle surrounding my body.
“It seemed to freeze up again before you returned,” Freia clarified, her soft hand reaching out to touch my left arm. “But I kept thinking of what you said, that your spirit was apart from your body. I feared that you wouldn’t be able to return if your ice melted. I almost ran outside to call one of the young men to bring some slabs from the ice house.” She favored me with a hesitant smile.
I pushed myself off of the bed, figuring that I had better move around so my dress could dry. “I really appreciate your care,” I told her, moving to the window to look out at the lowering sky. “And something terrible could have happened, but I think everything’s okay. At least for now.” I pursed my lips as I recalled the eldest Bayern brother’s threat: I highly doubt that the Prince would excuse such blasphemies. I was certain that he was right about that. The Prince already distrusted me, and if he learned that I could enter the spiritual realm, he may send me back to my own time by way of execution.
And that dark priest in the archives would likely enjoy that.
Another local lord had arrived to eat lunch with us, so I had no opportunity to consider my situation further until later that day. Count Abelard von Reuter was our visitor this time around, and Freia and I had to entertain him in the front parlor after lunch had ended. During the meal, he had followed Lord Niklas’ example, preferring to chat about the going rate of barley with Count von Meldorf and groan about an illness that had cost him twelve of his piglets. Our host proposed a trade of a portion of his almond harvest for several of Count von Reuter’s hens.
As the two men hashed it out, I wondered whether Count von Meldorf wanted to get rid of his almonds this year due to Joel’s allergy. We had explained it to all of the kitchen staff and to the count himself, who had pledged to distribute the bounty of his trees among his vassals instead of serving it in the great hall. Count von Meldorf had proved himself to be a thoughtful host more than once already. I needed to ask Joel if he had run into any difficulties with the food at the ironworks.
The more I learned of Count von Reuter, while we sat together in the parlor, the more doubtful I became about my potential for finding a suitable partner among the local nobility. He was thirty-four years old and had lost two wives already. His first had miscarried twice and bled to death the second time around, and his second had died of a fever two days after bearing his only child, a daughter. He had begun to fear that his line was cursed, since he was his mother’s only surviving son. “My Teuton blood just wants to die out, I think,” he commented around a sprig of mint from the garden outside.
Freia and I shared a look, and I saw that her countenance appeared rather disheartened. “Maybe you’d have better luck with a woman whose blood status is lower than expected,” I suggested.
He withdrew his face beneath the scarlet cowl he wore, his sneer telling me exactly what he thought about that idea. “I need a woman with strong blood and a strong body, not one who shrivels like a burning leaf when tasked with her natural duty. The Adler matron had eight children. Eight. Yet the women I find can hardly manage one.”
My stomach twisted, and I placed a hand upon it and looked toward the window that faced the front porch. The Teuton men in this era were just as bad as the ones I knew back home. Offspring obsessed. “I thought Lady Adler had only two daughters and a son,” Freia said softly, apparently sensing my momentary loss.
“A bunch of hers died of holy fire the same year she lost her husband to it.” The young count sounded critical, and I heard him scratching at his brown beard as he went on, “Sometimes it seems like God is against us. Like He doesn’t want the Teutons to be as great as they could be, retribution for our past alliances.” He spat a mint leaf into the empty fireplace and grumbled, “I thought His forgiveness was supposed to cover all sins.”
“Oh, it does,” Freia said fervently, and the two of them went on for a good while about the implications of God’s grace. Count von Reuter had spent two years studying at the monastery of Freising, but he was not as faithful with his prayers as my roommate. I quickly grew bored with the conversation and tried to lose myself in the dashes of color outside the window.
Would Augustin von Bayern squeal on me to his brother, whom he hates? Or would he rather keep it to himself, maybe spy on me in his own spiritual form sometime when I’m not using my ice to enhance my vision? Maybe I should get in the habit of doing that, especially since I have only fifty-seven pairs of contacts left. Fifty-seven for twenty-two years . . . .
Suddenly, the word Bluotgifuog broke into my consciousness, spoken from the lips of the young count. I jerked into an upright position on the settee where I sat beside my Rhenisch friend and stared icy daggers at our visitor. “Excuse me? Did I really just hear you bring up the blood-transfer? That’s not something Freia needs to worry about,” I snapped at him.
“She doesn’t even know what it is,” Count von Reuter responded with a wave of his hand. Then he focused on Freia and said, “But it’s what you’d be expected to do if you truly want to marry a Teuton lord, my lovely Lady Freia. It’s an honorable course, one that brought us the eminent Schwabing family. Three generations ago, they were foreigners from the west. Now, their Teuton bloodline is strong.”
I leapt to my feet and beckoned Freia to follow. “Teuton lords ought not to pressure naïve outsiders into rituals they’d later regret. And I’m not interested in giving you eight children, so you had best start wooing elsewhere. Maybe Helena Adler will prove to be as ripe a hen as her mother.”
I stormed out the front door, tugging Freia in my wake. She had readily taken my hand, but she looked confused at my verve. I pulled her down the steps and into the drizzle that had laid its sparkle over the flower gardens. “Come on. That squawking cock doesn’t deserve our time of day.”
She trailed me without question until we reached the apple grove, where she snagged my right arm to bring me to a stop. “What is it that he wanted me to do, Swanie?” she queried in a frightened whisper. “He said something about changing my blood into Teuton blood. How can that be possible?”
I sighed and stepped beneath the branches of one of the larger trees, letting its leaves shield me to some degree from the rain. “It’s an old Teutonic ritual that generally leaves one person dead every time it’s done,” I told her. “I’ll bet whoever gave his blood for the original Lord Schwabing didn’t live to tell the tale. We’ll just have to wait for a lord who doesn’t care that you’re Rhenisch. They need to see you for who you are inside, not just for the status of your blood.”
Freia’s shoulders slumped, and she leaned her left hand against the bark of the tree where we stood. “Lord Niklas may not have cared, but he was more interested in talking about himself than anything I had to say. I don’t think he liked the fact that I lived as a Gypsy slave for over a year, though. He mumbled something about my being damaged goods.” Her face fell.
I put my arm around Freia’s shoulders and drew her close. “Hey, you know I’ve got twenty-two more years to stay here in your time. If all of the lords around here are snobby jerks, we can get Joel to come travel with us. We don’t have to stay in Teuton lands. Maybe we can find you a noble lord somewhere else.”
“Thanks, Swanie,” Freia murmured, leaning into my embrace.
On Wednesday we met Paulus Schwabing, the youngest child of the family that ran the local salt mine. He was the same age as me, and he proved entertaining if nothing else, for after lunch we spent several hours playing ball with him outside in the fallow field. He seemed more interested in me than in Freia, but his element bored me, for it was Föhn—the warm mountain breeze—which was good for nothing in the hot summer months. I guessed that it could be useful in the mines.
I asked him about his ancestor who had done the blood-transfer, and he readily related the tale. His great-grandfather had made a fortune in salt in the Schwäbisch lands to the west, and two of his sons struck out to find other cities in which to carry on the tradition. “Opa said it was the scariest thing he’d ever done, even scarier than going into the mines alone,” he said. “But he was blessed with the element of air, perfect for our family’s line of work.”
Freia told me that night that Lord Paulus seemed rather taken with me, but I brushed it off. I did not want to spend two decades living near a salt mine, and the young man had sandy hair and freckles, which did not attract me at all. Also, he smelled like brine. If I had to choose between him and Joel, the outsider would win without question. I had started to suspect that Joel would be my only option, if I married anybody during my medieval venture. I did not want to lie to my husband about the future, nor did I want to tamper with events in any way.
On Friday afternoon, Freia and I prepared ourselves extensively in our room before meeting the count, Master Denlinger, and Joel for dinner. Both of us chattered animatedly while we checked our dresses and hair, sharing predictions on what the young ironmaster might be like. Maybe he would give Freia a fair chance. I hoped so, for I sensed her growing disappointment as she checked one lord after another off her list of potential husbands. She chose a vibrant yellow dress for herself, while I wore an elegant purple dress and veil, adding a pair of my mother’s earrings and giving Freia her diamond necklace to borrow. She could focus her attention on the ironmaster; I would do my best to entertain Joel.
Our evening together was a glorious success. Joel and I sat opposite one another at the count’s table, joking together in English from time to time while still paying heed to what the others discussed. Freia sat next to me and across from the ironmaster, and Count von Meldorf headed the table as always. Master Denlinger was an intelligent young man, having studied at Freising in his teen years before becoming his father’s apprentice at the metal works. He could read and write both Latin and Teutonica, and he had extensive knowledge of the proper ways of molding metals into all sorts of objects from weaponry to crockery. His hair was a light brown and hung down around his ears, his matching beard trimmed quite neatly, his gray eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of youth. Freia was impressed by him, I could tell, and I made several clandestine remarks to Joel about this in English during the meal.
After dinner, the four of us went outside to the count’s gardens, where Master Denlinger confidently challenged Joel to an archery contest, since he had heard that Joel claimed skill at the bow and arrow. Once I had translated the ironmaster’s challenge, hinting that Joel should accept it, he did so with enthusiasm after commenting to me under his breath that he had not shot an arrow in several months.
One of the count’s servants retrieved the proper equipment, including a large target, which the ironmaster requested be set up on a tree in the distance. Freia and I stood back, watching and snickering as the young men boasted to each other about their skills, Joel struggling valiantly to put the correct words together in Teutonica. They did not act like an employer and his underling in this setting. I had a feeling that eventually Joel and Master Denlinger would become friends, just like Freia and I had. I hoped for it, since Joel needed a decent friend in Muniche.
Both men shot eight arrows before declaring the contest at an end. While Master Denlinger hit the target with six of his arrows, only two of his struck the bull’s eye. To my surprise, Joel actually hit the bull’s eye with four of his arrows, three of his having fallen short as he slowly got the feel of the bow. Another of Joel’s arrows struck the target just below the bull’s eye, knocking one of his employer’s arrows to the ground. Freia and I applauded both men, and I told Joel in Teutonica that his archery skills really were commendable, after all. The ironmaster echoed my praise, shaking hands with Joel. Shortly afterward, we all headed for the small stream on the southern edge of the count’s property, ready to enjoy a short walk before the men would have to return to the city.
While weaving our way through the apple trees threaded with blackberry bushes, Joel described some of the new tasks he had been given at the ironworks. We conversed in English while Freia and Master Denlinger walked about ten meters behind us. “I’ve been running the bellows for an hour each morning and afternoon, and it’s really starting to pay off, even though it makes me sweat like a pig. I could probably lift you with just one hand after a few months of this.” He folded his right sleeve back and flexed his arm to illustrate, his biceps bulging impressively.
I smirked at his self-confidence. “It’s probably a good thing for you to be on the burly side, especially if you ever run into any thieves on your walk here from the city. On that note, have you had any problems with your roommates?” I asked.
Joel rolled his sleeve back down and stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Today he wore the black pair that I had sewn for him back home. “It hasn’t really been all that bad since I moved into the dorm above the ironworks. The first week was a bit sketchy at the inn, but my boss runs a pretty clean show. There are four of us single guys in our room, and there’s three other family apartments down the hall. We can get free meals if we eat what’s cooked downstairs, and the clothes we wear at work were free, too. I guess you could call them uniforms.”
He gave a short snicker that sounded more impressed than amused. “I’ve never seen anything like it in our world, really. Here, a boss gives you more than just spare change.” He glanced back toward Master Denlinger and Freia.
“Kind of like working for my Pappi,” I recognized, somewhat surprised at the similarity. “Four of his staff live in the cottages I showed you out back, and technically they can eat whatever’s in our kitchen. He’s more generous than most wealthy people are.” I curled my lip, thinking of the times I had visited Morgen and Ava at their lavish penthouses. Their employees all had the habits of the underpaid.
“Maybe your dad thinks he’s a medieval Teuton,” Joel suggested.
I barked out a laugh. “I don’t think so. He’s shunned the mere idea of Teutons since my Mutti died. But I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ve had any issues with the food. Does the cook at the ironworks know about your allergies?”
Joel winced and looked away from me. “Yeah, I explained it to him, but I had to use one of my pens earlier this week. My roommate Arik got some loaves from his sister, and they had almond flour in them.” His face was hued with green.
I shivered and reached out to touch his arm, my fears for his safety coming to the forefront of my mind. “You’d better just stick with what they cook downstairs, then,” I said. “I don’t want to be stuck here by myself.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Joel smiled a little and reached up to pick a clutch of apples from the branches above us. “For my roommates,” he explained.
As we made our way through the front gardens in a trajectory for the stables, I decided to broach the subject of what I had learned in the archives on Monday. “So I found out that the city executioner exists after all,” I related, quickly compiling a believable but less frightening tale of my experience. “Did some poking around in the archives with the help of a scribe, and we found Augustin von Bayern’s birth certificate.” I brushed my fingers against the lavender along our pathway, its floral scent wafting into the sultry air around us.
“Wow.” Joel rubbed his beard and gave me an inquisitive look. “Guess the scribes are like the eleventh century librarians. So when was he born?”
“New Year’s Day, 1018.”
“Huh. That’s a disappointment. I was hoping that executioner was like, one of the undead or something.” Joel grinned and did a pantomime of stabbing himself in the heart.
I snorted and reminded him that in spite of our powers, Teutons had not yet uncovered the methods of raising the dead or turning them into vampires. “But it still doesn’t make sense that no record of an Augustin von Bayern exists in our own time. Apparently he does exist now, and everyone in the city seems to agree . . . but why does history ignore him?” I pushed a few stray hairs back under my veil and peered at the darkening sky above, the mystery of the eldest Bayern brother nibbling away inside of me. I still worried that he might mention my spiritual prowess to the council, if not to the Prince himself.
“Maybe while we’re here we’ll get to see him turn into the first werewolf or something,” Joel said, prompting me to roll my eyes at him. He and Master Denlinger retrieved their horses not long afterward and parted ways with Freia and me. I could tell that Joel was grateful to not have to walk all the way back to the city after a hard day’s work, and I thanked the ironmaster for lending his employee a horse for their journey. He bowed at me and assured me that it was no trouble at all, his bearing just as courteous as Count von Meldorf’s.
When Freia and I retired to our bedroom that night, I asked her opinion of the ironmaster. “It seemed like you enjoyed his company,” I noted as I ran a brush through my hair, working out its tangles. “And I also noticed that he could hardly take his eyes off of you during our walk.”
“He comes across as a decent man,” Freia admitted, a small smile gracing her face as she washed it in front of the mirror. “He’s twenty-nine, he says, and has three younger sisters. He finished his apprenticeship two years ago but hasn’t found a suitable wife. I think he’s looking too hard.”
“Maybe he needs to broaden his horizons to the western half of the Germanic lands,” I suggested with a grin. Freia giggled, sounding more hopeful than she had for a while. Maybe Master Denlinger would prove to be the man that she needed. My Rhenisch friend might actually find love here in medieval Muniche, while my heart continued to yearn silently for Hans, the one I had left behind.
You’re honestly a fool, Swanie, an immature child, I told myself as I got into bed, my eyes drifting toward the table that held our candle, where I laid my locket down each night. You’ve been here for nearly two months, and you still can’t detach yourself from the aged priest who doesn’t want you. All your efforts to feel something more for Joel have fallen short; you and Beth have different tastes in men. He’s a good friend but isn’t romantic material. The local lords are all hung up on archaic expectations about strong blood and loads of children. How can you find a place for yourself here for two decades? Did you really think you could achieve something in the past that eluded you in the future?
I did not know, and when I drifted to sleep, my dreams were haunted by dark Teutons calling to me from the shadows, luring me toward enticing defiance. And my subconscious began to tell me that maybe what I really needed was an enigma like Augustin von Bayern, an educated Teuton priest who had spurned his place.