Chapter Eleven:
Joel, Freia, and I went to mass at the cathedral on Sunday, for Master Denlinger had invited my roommate to spend the day with his family. The count lent us horses for the trip and urged us to return to the estate for dinner, so he could hear all about our escapades. His bright blue eyes beamed with satisfaction when we parted ways with him at the door of his stables; he seemed pleased that both of us had begun to find a portion of success with the local bachelors.
I had asked him once whether it bothered him that the two of us may end up in mixed marriages. He had shrugged his big shoulders and responded that he trusted us to judge wisely upon choosing our partners. “If you were of my blood, things would be different,” he had told me, “but you are my guests, and I have no right to forbid your choices. Most of the noble families around here will see things differently, though.”
I considered Count von Meldorf’s words while Joel and I ate our lunches of lentil stew at a restaurant in the Jewish quarter. He blathered about the arguments he planned to present before the Prince, and I nodded along, correcting his linguistic mistakes while my eyes roved around the room. Outsiders filled the restaurant, and all appeared quite lively and content, laughing and joking with each other. But if you stay with Joel, every Teuton in this city will scorn you.
I kept my musings to myself and let Joel pay for our meal. Then we struck out for the Bayern castle, tying our horses to a hitching post beside the iron gates, which were closed as usual. “So how exactly are we supposed to get inside?” Joel asked as I looked at the roaring lion of the Bayern family crest engraved upon each gate. “I’m assuming you have some sort of plan for scaling the walls, since you suggested that we come here today.” He sounded doubtful.
We had halted in front of the gates, and I ran my gaze through the gardens beyond, not detecting a soul. “No, actually, someone is going to let us in. I think.”
Joel’s eyebrows came together in surprise. He turned aside to look up and down the dirt street that bordered the gardens. “And if they don’t let us in?”
In that very instant, Augustin von Bayern stepped out from behind a rather tall shrub to the right of the gate, clad entirely in black with his hair partially down, his light blue eyes fixed on Joel. “Do not worry. Someone will let you in.” He spoke the words primarily in English, a disturbing smile gracing his lips as he unlatched the gate in a rapid motion, swinging it open.
Joel jerked backward, his hazel eyes bulging as he regarded the executioner of Muniche, a man he did not particularly trust. For a second we all stood in silence, Augustin still eyeballing Joel—who had frozen and seemed momentarily at a loss—while I tried valiantly to hold back laughter. “Did he say that in English?” Joel hissed in my ear, sounding appalled.
One laugh burst from my mouth, but I smothered the rest. “Yeah, he did. Let’s go.” I took two steps toward the open gate, gesturing for Joel to follow.
Joel trailed behind me, his expression clearly stating that he would rather turn and run. When we crossed into the Bayern gardens, our host bowed in our direction and beckoned us forward, toward the main entrance of the castle. “Come, both of you. Let us see if Prince Otto has chosen to spend this Lord’s Day within,” he said in a mixture of English and Teutonica.
“And if he hasn’t?” I questioned, taken aback by the notion that we may not be able to see the Prince after all.
“Then I shall give you a tour, and we shall see what we can uncover ourselves.” His answer implied that he, too, was interested in finding out more about Prince Otto’s song, despite his lack of musical ability. Of course Augustin would be inquisitive, I realized. He spent much of his time seeking information.
As our host opened the door to the castle and held it for us, Joel hung back, waving for me to come to his side. I sighed with a touch of impatience and went over to him, giving him a look that said he had better have a good excuse for wasting our time. “Swanie, are you sure that this is a good idea?” he murmured quietly when I stopped in front of him. His eyes shot toward Augustin, then back to me. “I mean . . . he’s the executioner. And he’s really freaky.”
I could not figure out why everyone seemed to think Augustin was so scary. He frightened me only when he wanted to find out my secrets. Other than that, he came across as a normal guy in my opinion, his imposing veneer merely that—a façade. Beneath his outward appearance, he was one of the most intriguing people I had ever met. “You really need to stop being so weird about Augustin,” I told Joel in a quiet voice. “He’s the oldest of the Bayern brothers; of course he can get us into the castle. And he’s not as ‘freaky’ as you think.”
“Oh, so you’re on a first name basis with him now?” Joel stared at me in shock. “What have you been doing behind my back?”
Freia had been right. I glared at Joel in aggravation and jammed my fists against my hips. “Unlike you, I have a lot of spare time, and I have to find something to occupy my mind. Augustin has been helping me with the local form of Teutonica, and in return I’m teaching him English. That’s it. Now let’s go inside, before you forget all those persuasive arguments you’ve prepared for the Prince.”
“I don’t know if they’re all that persuasive,” Joel muttered as he followed me inside. Augustin stood holding the door open for us, and I looked at his face for a moment, trying to discern how much he had caught of what Joel and I had said. He wore a rather satisfied expression, and when our eyes met, he smirked and gave a single nod, appearing unsurprised.
As Joel and I waited in the vestibule, its columns reaching up to the ceiling high above our heads, Augustin summarily retrieved a small bell from a pedestal near the doorway and rang it twice. I looked around at the painted scenes on the paneled walls, some of which suggested biblical subjects, while others portrayed the Bavarian countryside. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, calling my ice forth just enough to help me appreciate its intricate architecture, marble columns branching out in all directions. This place was impressive.
A moment later, a middle-aged servant appeared, clothed more opulently than the common townsfolk. A look of fear darkened his eyes when he saw Augustin, but he bowed at each of us in turn, welcoming us to the Bayern castle and asking if he could be of assistance. Augustin inquired whether the Prince was at home, and the servant’s countenance grew even more upset when he replied negatively. “I believe he is visiting the Lady Maria’s father, my Lord Augustin. Knight Felhozer is not expected to live much longer, and Lady Maria has spent much time at his bedside this past week.”
Augustin frowned severely at the servant’s words, prompting the poor man to scuttle backward. His Teutonica ran together as he added that Prince Otto was expected to return within the hour. “Well then, we shall have to wait, if you have no other pressing business this afternoon?” Augustin looked at me, and I shook my head. He trained his gaze back upon the servant, who had the look of a scared rabbit, ready to bolt into the shadows at the first opportunity. “The three of us shall wait for the Prince’s return, and in the meantime I intend to give my companions a tour of the castle. I expect you and the other staff to take care not to disturb us.” He eyed the servant darkly.
“Yes, of course, my Lord Augustin. We’ll stay out of your way.” The promise tumbled from the man’s lips, and he vanished down a corridor an instant later. Augustin nodded in approval and beckoned Joel and me, announcing that the tour would commence immediately.
We passed through countless halls and massive chambers, ascending and descending quite a few staircases. Part of my brain listened to Augustin’s frank descriptions of all items of note, his tone of voice resembling an exceedingly bored tour guide. We encountered many beautiful tapestries and paintings that would likely cost a fortune, had they survived until the twenty-first century. One spacious room contained a collection of marble sculptures depicting each Bayern Keyholder of Muniche since Prince Abelard in the late 800s. The Ladies of Muniche were also represented in this room, each of their carved faces appearing kind and peaceful.
I especially took note of one youthful maiden whose loveliness far outweighed the others. Her expression spoke of glory and triumph, and her curled hair fell to the middle of her back. The base of her statue read: Lady of Muniche, Marelda Louise von Förster und von Bayern, A.D. CMXCVII-MXXII. Augustin had already drifted toward the door, prepared to lead us down another hallway. “Is this your mother?” I called out to him, gesturing at the gorgeous sculpture.
Augustin’s mouth turned sharply downward at my inquiry, his light blue eyes glowing with his fire. “Yes,” he answered. An instant later, he had exited the room with Joel trailing behind. I paused to look again at the image of Marelda, then ran to catch up with the other two, my mind working overtime. I was almost certain that I had seen something resembling heartache in Augustin’s harsh reaction to my question—a sorrow I had never before seen in his gaze. It was a look I knew too well. The man hated by everyone, the man who yearned to kill, who lived for worldly and intellectual pleasures—yet apparently, this man loved his mother. His dead mother.
We passed through many more halls and rooms, eventually coming upon a rather impressive collection of armor and weapons, which naturally grabbed Joel’s interest. Our excursion came to a halt as he and Augustin exchanged a few words about medieval fighting styles. I noticed that Joel’s fear of Augustin seemed to fade into the background when he talked about blood and guts—a topic that young guys seemed to relish.
During our brief respite from the tour, I considered the many questions that had arisen in my mind since we had entered the Bayern castle. I had caught sight of several other servants as we had progressed down the halls; each of them had disappeared into the shadows the moment they saw Augustin. Everyone here is afraid of this man, the oldest Bayern brother, especially that first servant who greeted us. Fear really seems to be the prevailing opinion of him. Why? But in spite of his dark demeanor, he has the capacity to love . . . Marelda.
I barely noticed that our procession had advanced once more, descending a twisted staircase to the ground floor. I was too busy formulating questions to ask Augustin the upcoming Tuesday, when he would come to the count’s estate for our language studies. This man was a mystery to me; I had to figure him out.
Suddenly, my thoughts sped back to the present when I realized that we had entered a room bearing some similarities to my father’s music room in the twenty-first century. A harp stood in one corner; several lutes, fiddles, and flutes lay upon shelves . . . and against the wall opposite the entrance stood a decent-sized organ, its pipes reaching to the ceiling. My feet failed me, and I froze just inside the doorway, my mouth falling open, all of the organ songs I had memorized flooding my brain. A burning desire grasped my soul, awakening the musician in me anew. I wanted to play that instrument . . . I needed to play.
Both Augustin and Joel observed my reaction. Joel sped to my side and spoke to me urgently in English, his words not even entering my ears. I watched Augustin smile and walk to the center of the room, throwing his blue fire upward to light the ornate chandelier above. Next, he retrieved a rather large candlestick from a table, lighting it as well and placing it atop the organ. He turned to face me, throwing one arm out in a wide arc toward a nearby shelf stuffed with music scores. “I think you should play for us, Lady Swanhilde.” He eyed me expectantly.
Joel started and turned to stare at Augustin, apparently having understood the gist of what he had said. I began to tremble slightly, my fingers itching. When I spoke, the words barely left my lips. “It’s been . . . a long time.”
“I want to hear you.” Augustin’s smile grew sardonic as he added, “I would like to compare your abilities to those of my brothers. Both the Prince and Paulus play, but something tells me that your talent outranks theirs.” I ogled him, seeing no trace of bluff in his expression. He took two large steps toward the music shelf, yanking out a score and waving it at me. “The Prince wrote most of these for use at mass. Perhaps you could decipher his notation.” Augustin peered at the score and stated matter-of-factly, “I understand none of this.”
A huge smile broke across my face and I leapt forward in excitement, totally disregarding Joel’s cautionary exclamation. Snatching the score from Augustin’s hand, I said in Teutonica, “This should be interesting. I haven’t touched the organ in months.” I glanced back at Joel with a grin and added in English, “I’m probably going to suck.” Turning my attention to the music in my hands, I squinted at it in horror. The notes were formed in a style I had never encountered, ancient and crooked, the lines almost unreadable. “Jeez!” I cried out in English, switching to Teutonica to demand, “Where did the Prince learn how to hold the pen?!”
Augustin burst out laughing, and I jerked in surprise, for I had never heard him laugh before. His blue eyes lit with fun, he smiled grandly as he laughed, the darkness completely gone from his visage. I shook my head in wonder and began chortling myself. Joel looked from one of us to the other, an uncertain smile appearing beneath his sandy beard. Eventually Augustin composed himself enough to ask, “So . . . can you . . . play that?” He snickered again.
“I’m going to try,” I answered, jumping onto the organ bench. I spread the music across the stand, then turned my attention to the organ itself: two keyboards, wooden pedals, about thirty stops. I looked around for the on switch, then said, “I think I need somebody to pump this.” I glanced at the bellows on the floor.
Joel volunteered, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic to reveal his developing arm muscles. Moments later, he pumped air through the bellows while I tested each stop. There were twenty-eight of them, actually, and none were labeled. The organ had several horn stops, quite a few reeds, some flutes, and one that sounded like church bells. I would probably ignore that one. Taking a deep breath to prepare myself, I glanced once at Joel and once at Augustin standing behind me. Then I hit two reed stops and two flutes before beginning the Prince’s piece.
I played the first three lines cautiously, squinting at the strange notation, discovering instantly that this song had no pedalwork at all. I stopped completely after those lines, my mouth twisting in discontent. “This is awful!” I complained, insatiably bored already with the simplicity of the piece.
Augustin chuckled from somewhere behind me. “It improves toward the end. I have heard this one numerous times in church.”
I glanced back at him briefly, raising an eyebrow. “You go to church?”
He smiled wryly and replied, “I once did.”
That figured. I shrugged and turned back to the music, finishing the piece after about five minutes of struggle. I needed to find someone to teach me how to read eleventh century music. If the Prince ever decided to be gracious and give us his song, I would not be able to play it properly without hours of practice, and that would never do. I sighed as I let go of the keys, folding up the score and handing it to Augustin. “I’m really out of practice,” I said, shaking my head in disgust.
“You must have some pieces memorized,” Joel commented, looking up from the bellows. “Why don’t you play something you know, like Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor?”
It seemed like that was the only organ piece Americans recognized, aside from the main theme from Phantom of the Opera. I rolled my eyes at Joel and told him I needed the music for that one, but that I could think of a few others. “There’s one problem, though. I can’t play anything good without organ shoes.” I looked down at my feet sticking out from beneath my red-violet dress. I was wearing the leather shoes from that shop back home.
“You can’t play with bare feet, like they do at church?” Joel asked.
I sighed in frustration at his ignorance. Although his younger sister played in an orchestra, Joel certainly knew little about organ playing. “No, not unless I want to break the arches in my feet. When you play classical music, you have to use both your toes and your heels. Hymns are simpler, but they’re boring.”
I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and I spun halfway around on the bench to regard Augustin. He held up a pair of black shoes with a suggestive glint in his eye. “The Prince uses these when he plays complicated pieces.”
I eyed the shoes distrustfully. “They’re probably too big.” But I took my shoes off anyway and tried one. It hung off of my foot rather wretchedly. I dangled it at Augustin with the remark, “The Prince has big feet.”
Augustin smirked at me. “Paulus’ feet are smaller. Try his organ shoes.”
I soon discovered that although the middle Bayern brother did, in fact, have smaller feet, his shoes still extended about two centimeters past my toes. I shook my head and pronounced that this would not work. “Maybe I’ll just play something that doesn’t involve the pedals,” I said, wracking my brain for an appropriate song.
Augustin frowned at me and summarily began ripping pieces of fabric from his black robe. “A solution always exists. Give me your foot.”
I stared in shock, unable to reply while he wrapped my feet tightly with strips of dark linen. He must have countless more such robes at home, I figured, or he would not ruin this one. Apparently, he really and truly wanted to hear me play. I would have to play well, and perfectly. When he had finished wrapping my feet, he placed each of Paulus’ shoes upon them himself, tying the laces securely. Stepping away from me, he turned his gaze upon Joel—who crouched on the floor beside the organ bellows, gaping at Augustin. “Pump those bellows, Mr. Hudson. My lady?” He nodded expectantly in my direction and ordered, “Impress me.”
I grinned, anticipation overtaking me as I spun to face the keyboards once more. I had already decided what piece to play, and I doubted that I would make a mistake on this one: Praeludium in C, by Buxtehude. I pulled out all of the stops except the one that sounded like bells, took a deep breath, and began the opening pedalwork with a flourish. I played the entire piece without one flaw, the glory of the music filling my soul, the entire castle seeming to reverberate with the sound waves. I played the first movement grandly, then pulled back several of the louder stops for the fugue. When I reached the chaconne, I brought the entire organ to life again—including the church bells this time—bearing down on the final chord in exultation.
I lifted my hands and feet from the instrument, spun around, and leapt off of the organ bench as I would do for a concert, bowing to my audience of two. Joel clapped and hooted enthusiastically and Augustin applauded more discreetly, a sneaky smile creeping across his face. As I smiled back at him, he nodded his head once behind him and to the right. To my shock and horror, I saw two young men standing just inside the room, one of them Prince Otto, both of them staring at me in disparagement.
Joel stopped clapping a second later as he also noticed our company, and Augustin turned his body just slightly to acknowledge the two men. “Here we have discovered a prodigy, my brothers,” he said with a rather mocking expression. “This woman plays more masterfully than either of you.”
I had frozen beside the organ, and Joel moved to stand beside me while we watched this impending Bayern family confrontation with wide eyes. Prince Otto glared at Augustin, marching into the room with the heavy steps of authority. “What have you done?” he demanded, his eyes flashing red.
“I have merely given my two acquaintances here a grand tour of the castle,” Augustin replied calmly, his arms folded across his chest. “They came seeking you, my dear Prince, for you will remember that you hold information they desperately desire. They have come to present their pleas to you once more, in hopes that you will uncharacteristically grant mercy, for once.” Augustin’s expression darkened considerably when he finished, his eyes narrowing.
Prince Otto stared back at Augustin, his eyes glowing a deeper red. He shot one furious glance in our direction, recognition and frustration evident on his face. Turning his attention back to his oldest brother, he said, “What they seek does not concern you, Augustin.” His voice was laden with distaste.
“It might,” Augustin responded shortly, his own eyes glittering a bit now. “Perhaps if I held the information myself, I would not be so unwilling to disclose it to our guests from the future . . . murderer.”
That jolted me from my frozen state beside Joel. Confusion engulfed my thoughts as I tried to understand Augustin’s accusation. Murderer. Why did he call Prince Otto a murderer? The Prince, in the meantime, bared his teeth at his brother, his fists curled into tight balls, apparently trying not to completely lose his composure in the presence of strangers.
Augustin smirked, turning abruptly back to Joel and me with the words, “I do greatly apologize, for I do not believe either of you have been properly introduced to my brother Paulus.” He gestured toward the Prince’s companion, a smaller man wearing the clothing of the Catholic clergy, his brown hair cut in a tonsure, his expression rather frightened. “May I present to you Father Paulus Hobart Christian von Bayern. My brother, the Lady Swanhilde von Thaden and her good friend, Mr. Joel Hudson.”
The middle Bayern brother said nothing in reply. He nodded once in our direction, still looking horribly worried, his eyes drifting back to the Prince. I could see that Augustin had been correct in labeling him the Prince’s toady. He looked weak and indecisive, certainly the least attractive of the Bayern brothers.
Prince Otto suddenly huffed in displeasure, then addressed Augustin once more. “Enough with the pleasantries. This case has already been closed, at our first meeting.” The Prince’s eyes locked with mine for an instant. “I expect you to keep your nose out of matters that do not concern you, Augustin.”
He pulled a small bell from his clothing and rang it sharply. A moment later, the same servant who had greeted us appeared. “Bruno, see to it that these two leave this castle now.” He pointed at Joel and me, then said to Augustin, “I am not finished with you.”
The servant came forward to escort Joel and me back to the street. I bent down to remove Paulus’ organ shoes and shoved my feet back into my own. Hopefully the excess fabric would not stretch their seams too badly. I turned to Augustin before joining Joel and the servant at the doorway, a bit of concern seeping into my veins. “You’ll be all right without us, I hope?” I whispered to him, praying that the Prince could not overhear.
Augustin’s gaze softened just slightly as he looked down at me. “Do not fear. He can do nothing to me. He is my brother.” Part of his mouth curled upward in a satisfied smile before I turned from him, the hated one, the enigma.