Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [75]
“The Wicked One reminded him that the seventh year would expire on the morrow and his wife would wed his cousin. But he promised to bring him home before the morning, and that he would not lose his soul—provided he slept throughout the journey. So it was that he made his wicked compact.
“The Evil One changed himself into a lion which, when the knight mounted, flew off high over land and sea. Terrified, he closed his eyes and slept—until a falcon’s screech roused him. He looked down horrified, where far below stood his castle. A marriage procession was entering. With a wild roar, the Evil Spirit dashed him down and fled.
“During the banquet, the Gräfin Ida noticed this stranger who never turned his sorrowful eyes from her face. When he had emptied his goblet, he handed it to a servant, to present to his mistress. When she glanced inside the cup, she saw … half of a ring.”
Everyone gusted a satisfied sigh. Thierry continued.
“Thrusting her hand into her bosom, she pulled forth the other half of the ring and threw it joyfully into the goblet. Thus were the two halves united, and the wife enfolded in her husband’s arms. A year later she bore him a child. And that is why the family puts a falcon on their arms.”
Everard said, “One almost understands how a man might strike such a bargain.”
“Always the Evil One holds out a lesser good,” said Dietrich, “hoping to turn our hearts from the greater. But a man cannot lose his soul by a trick.”
“Besides,” said Thierry, looking with satisfaction over his audience, “Ernst could have been a saint, and Philip would still be a robber.”
“That was a romantic age,” Gregor suggested. “Those tales I used to hear of Redbeard and that English king …”
“Lionheart,” said Dietrich.
“They knew how to name their kings back then! And Good King Louis. And the noble Saracen who was friend and foe of the Lionheart, what was his name?”
“Saladin.”
“A most chivalrous knight,” Thierry commented, “for all that he was an infidel.”
“And where are they now?” said Dietrich. “Only names in songs.”
Thierry drank from his goblet and handed it to his junker to fill again. “A song is enough.”
Gregor turned his head up. “But it really ought to be …”
“What?”
The mason shrugged. “I don’t know. Glorious. To save Jerusalem.”
“Ja. It is.” Dietrich was silent a moment, so that Gregor looked over at him. “The first who took the cross did so from piety. The Turks had destroyed the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and barred our pilgrims from the shrines. They were not so tolerant as the Arabs, who held the Holy City before them. But I think many went also for land, and the vision grew soon tarnished. The legates could not find enough volunteers, so that Outremer lacked reinforcement. The Regensburgers assaulted those who took up the cross; and the cathedral chapter at Passau preached a ‘holy war’ against the papal legate, who had come recruiting.”
Gregor threw his head back and laughed. “Stag’s Leap.”
“What?”
“Why, the knights, after chasing the Saracens out of the Alps, forgot to stop and tried to leap all the way to Outremer!”
THE HOCHWALDERS entered Freiburg by the Swabian Gate, where they paid the Graf’s toll-keeper an obole for each hide and four pfennigs for each barrel of wine. Walpurga’s honey was taxed at four pfennigs the sauma. “Everything is taxed,” Gregor grumbled as they passed through the portal, “except the good pastor.”
The party entered a small square called Oberlinden, and so to the tavern called the Red Bear, where Everard arranged for lodgings, “although you, pastor, will probably stay with the chapter at the Dear Lady Church.”
“Always tight with the pfennig,” cried Gregor, who had pulled a casket of clothing from the wagon and set it beside the door to the inn.
“Thierry and Max have taken their men to the Schlossberg,” the steward said, indicating the stronghold perched on the hill east of the town. “Bad enough to share a bed with the likes of this