Anna beamed. “A baker! So, you must tell us how one might prepare—”
“Leave him be,” laughed Cornelis. “By heaven, Mother, let the man recover first.” He turned to Heinrich and slowly repeated the story of the battle and how it was that the baker had come to his home. Heinrich’s memory began to return, though he had few recollections of the battle itself.
“The last I remember is pushing m’glaive under a footman’s jerkin. I remember because I think I knew him … I fed him bread the day before.” His voice trailed away and he sighed. “As for the rest… it is nothing but a vague dream.”
“Just as well. Now, friend, eat.”
Heinrich had lost a great deal of weight. His face was drawn and his legs were spindly. He was helped to the table, one not unlike his own, and he slumped into a simple wooden chair. He glanced about the farmhouse and felt good. The house was tidy and bright, clean and airy. It was part of a small village placed at the juncture of the Weser and the Hunte at the northern border of Stedingerland.
A northerly breeze brought fresh, sea air through the open door and Heinrich breathed deeply. Despite the heat of the summer day he felt chilled and Edda wrapped him in a warm cloak. He patted little Anki atop the pale braids piled on her head and he smiled kindly at shy, little Bolko, the farmer’s son. That day friendship sprouted in a seedbed of gratitude—a place where trust and devotion send the deepest and most lasting roots.
By mid-August Heinrich had regained much of his strength. At thirty-three years of age he did not heal as quickly as a younger man might, and he found the long recovery to be frustrating. His patient caregivers were unrestrained in their generosity, but few things troubled the man more than receiving without giving in kind—it was a veiled vice rooted in the subtleties of pride. He did what he could to serve Cornelis’s household, but with one arm and one eye his opportunities were severely limited. He pulled weeds from the kitchen garden with the children, helped Edda herd the cattle from field to field, and did what he could to bake bread for the family and their friends.
By the Feast of the Assumption Heinrich’s face had healed completely, and on the morning of the feast day Edda presented him with a leather patch she had fashioned from a well-tanned cowhide. She tied it neatly around his head with a cord of hemp her daughter had braided as a gift. Heinrich thanked the six-year-old with a gentle kiss on her cheek and squeezed Edda’s hand with heartfelt appreciation.
Anna then stepped forward with a smile and presented their patient with more gifts. She and her daughter-in-law had sewn the man new leather leggings, a wool tunic, a leather vest, and a winter cloak of sealskin. “This is no empire wool!” boasted Anna. “This is Danish wool. It looks rough but wears smooth. And the cloak comes from Norway. The breeches are of mallet-softened sheepskin! They ought last to the end of your days. Ah, and here, we’ve made you good linen under-breeches as well!”
Heinrich received the gifts with a trembling hand. He felt the fabrics and knew they’d last him many, many years. “I … I—”
“Ah, you’ve no need to speak, good sir!” interrupted Anna.
Heinrich sat speechlessly and stared at his hosts with wonder.
“We didn’t want you to be worried about the winter to come.”
The man embraced each woman as best he could with one arm. “I’ve no right words to thank you. I shall gratefully wear them on m’journey home.”
Cornelis had been watching quietly from a corner chair. “You need another month, maybe more, to get your strength.”
“Nay, sir.” Heinrich shook his head. He yearned to return to Weyer. “I must leave soon, else I risk an early winter.”
Cornelis beckoned all to gather round him. He looked at Heinrich with compassion but with a firm expression. For a young man of twenty-two years he was strong and wise, brave enough, but prudent. “First, I’ve news … Duke Philip has been assassinated and that means the empire’s in greater confusion than ever. Alliances are shifting and the lords are in chaos. I must confess it makes me smile some!
“But, I’ve other news that makes a problem for us. Seems common talk has put us all at risk. Word of a runaway servant has found its way to Oldenburg—a runaway that helped us set a trap for the soldiers.” Cornelis shook his head. “Our neighbors know of you. They love you for what you did and always shall. But this village is filled with idle tongues and men who ought know better! Word of a stranger always moves quick, especially one with a story. Methinks they’ve talked of you from place to place over the summer, and the words have even found their way to Bremen. From there … news travels the world.