Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [105]
“Lorenz siezed Wittich’s arm to pull him away,” Gottfried told Manfred’s inquest afterward, “and the fluid coursed through him as well.”
Like old Pforzheim, Dietrich thought. And Holzbrenner and his apprentice. Only stronger, as if a torrent had washed the man away. Man’s days are like grass, he thought, the wind blows over him and he is no more.
“The man Lorenz did not know what would befall when he touched Wittich?” Grosswald asked. He sat by Manfred and Thierry on the judge’s bench since the affair involved his folk.
Gottfried said, “He saw that Wittich was in pain.”
“But you knew,” Grosswald insisted.
The servant of the essence made the tossing motion and all could see the burns on his hands. “I moved too late.”
Baron Grosswald ground his forearms slowly together. “That was not why I asked.”
AFTER LORENZ’S poor burned body had been laid to rest, and Dietrich had given Wanda what comfort he could, Gregor came to the parsonage to offer his own condolences, “since the two of you were so close.”
“He was a pleasant and gentle man,” Dietrich said, “good to talk to and always with the air of more left unsaid. A friendship is shallow, I think, if everything between two men can be said. I’m sure there were things he wished to tell me, but there was always time for them later. Now, there is no ‘later.’ But Wanda’s grief must be the harder.”
Gregor shrugged. “She liked him well enough, but they lived as brother and sister.”
“So! I hadn’t known. Well, Paul commended such a life in his letters.”
“Oh, she took no vow of celibacy, not so long as Klaus Müller could visit. As for Lorenz, he seemed disinclined, Wanda being Walküre enough to daunt any man’s ardor.”
“Klaus Müller and the Frau Schmidt!”
Gregor smiled knowingly. “Why not? What joy does Hilde bring to the miller’s bed?”
Dietrich could not contain his astonishment. While Hildegarde Müller’s wantonness was well known, he had not expected the same of Wanda, a woman by no means comely. He remembered how, on Rock Monday, Lorenz had compared his wife and Klaus to the upper and nether millstones. Had the smith known of, and perhaps tolerated, his wife’s infidelity?
Fra Joachim came breathless to the door. “You are needed in the church, pastor!”
Alarmed, Dietrich stood. “What’s wrong?”
“Gottfried Krenk.” The young man’s cheeks, red from the cold, glowed on his pale face. The dark eyes flashed. “Oh, surely, no name was more wonderfully chosen! He has embraced Jesus, and we need you to perform the baptism.”
GOTTFRIED AWAITED by the baptistery, but Dietrich took him first into the sacristy and spoke to him alone. “Why do you choose baptism, friend grasshopper?” he demanded. No sacrament could be valid if its meaning was not understood. Baptism was a matter of will, not water.
“Because of Lorenz the Smith.” Gottfried rubbed his forearms slowly, a gesture which Dietrich had concluded meant thoughtfulness, although the precise rhythm of the rasps might indicate irritation, confusion, or other sorts of thought. “Lorenz was an artisan, as am I,” Gottfried said. “A man of low besitting, to be used as those above him would. ‘In justice do the strong command; in justice do the weak submit.’”
“So the Athenians told the Melians,” Dietrich said. “But I think our word ‘justice’ and yours do not signify the same thing. Manfred cannot use us as the Baron Grosswald uses you. He is limited by the customs and bylaws of the manor.”
“How can this be,” the Krenk asked, “if justice is the lord’s will?”
“Because there is a Lord above all. Manfred is our lord only ‘under God,’ meaning that his will is subordinate to the higher justice of God. We may not obey a bad lord, nor follow an unlawful command.”
Gottfried grasped Dietrich’s arm, and Dietrich