“I do so swear.”
“Good. If you fail I shall steal your soul by night.”
Eleven days after Arnold’s terror, Brother Lukas entered his herbarium to find a large, leather bag stuffed to near bursting with silver pennies. It was on Martinmas, the twelfth day of November, and Lukas thought the gesture most fitting. After all, St. Martin had given the cloak off his back to spare a freezing beggar. With winter coming, Lukas could now grant warmth and shelter to many.
A little more than two weeks passed and the season of Advent began. Father Pious insisted that the Sabbath before Christ’s Mass be more solemn than in previous years. Therefore, the wool-clad folk rose well before prime and began the day in a long procession to the church where they crowded into the nave to stand upon the cold, straw-covered floor for a predawn homily. Then, dismissed until the bells of sext, the villagers returned to their green-bedecked homes and ate their mush, breads, boiled meats, and salted pork.
At the appointed time, the villagers returned to the church to hear prayers and to offer confession. Encouraged by the Archbishop of Mainz to press for the “greater redemption” of his flock, Pious demanded confession now be done at both Christmas and Easter, immediately after which his people would be offered the blood and body of Christ. Souls cleaned and spirits refreshed, the villagers were now free to celebrate the holy day and the three days of respite their masters granted.
Christmas was a time for the wealthy to help the less fortunate, and the abbot joined in the spirit of the season by delivering sundry tasties to his delighted villages. So, on Christmas morning the whole of Weyer gathered in the churchyard to enjoy large casks of cider, mead, ale, baskets of fresh-baked bread and preserves granted by their benevolent abbot. By midday of Christmas, the glebe was kindled with snapping fires and boiling pots.
Lord Klothar sent some musicians to add gladness to the celebration and the village sang and danced in the cold December air as though it were the early days of spring. Laughter echoed against the brown, stone walls of the silent church and on it went through Christmas and deep into the night of St. Stephan’s.
Exhausted from the festivities, Heinrich stood off to the side watching the happy revelers at play. As he scanned the gathering, his eyes fell upon a slight form at the foot of the church’s bell tower. It was a woman, alone and silhouetted against the rooftops of the torch-lit village. He walked carefully through the darkness, beyond the stretched shadows of the feast straining his eyes to be certain it was she.
The night sky was moonless and overspread Weyer like a jeweled canopy. Heinrich walked slowly, placing each foot tentatively forward in the darkness. He came within a few yards of the woman when the front of the church was suddenly awash in a brilliant white light. It was as if a thousand torches had burst into flame before him! There, wide-eyed and startled stood fair Katharina, bathed in a white light, smiling and staring at the sky.
“Look! A falling star … oh!” she cried.
Heinrich’s eyes never left Katharina’s delighted face, even as the illumination faded.
“Heinrich?” Her voice was tender and affectionate.
“Ja, Katharina, it is me.”
“Did you see the star?”
“Nay, but… but I saw you and you looked like an angel.”
If he could have seen her face he would have noticed the color fill her cheeks. Heinrich felt suddenly uncomfortable and a weight of guilt came over him. “I-I ought get back to the others. Methinks the round-dance shall start soon and Marta may want to …”
“Ja, and Ludwig shall be looking for me. But, first tell me, Heinrich, are you well?” Her voice was earnest, almost pleading.
The man wanted to weep, for he was surely not well. His heart had ached for Katharina since the day he first met her. “I am well. And you?”
Katharina’s heart sank. She wanted to hear him say that he was miserable or angry, empty … thinking of her each day. In the darkness she ran her fingers lightly over the bruises her husband had raised on her arm. “I? Yes, Heinrich, ‘tis well with me.”
The two paused for a brief moment and stared at each other in the blackness of the churchyard. Heinrich could hear her breathing and he closed his eyes. He could yet see the vision of her emblazoned by the star. A sound startled him and Heinrich’s eyes opened. It was time to return to their worlds, apart and forever alone.
Heinrich could hardly bear Marta’s touch as she grabbed his arm and scolded him. “You leave me with this brat! Where have you been?” Her voice was grating and harsh, like a blast of sleet.
Heinrich shrugged.