Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [76]
Gregor laughed and, taking Dietrich by the elbow, steered him from the inn’s courtyard. “I remember when Everard was just a simple peasant like the rest of us,” Gregor said. “Now he beats the kettledrum.” He looked around and spotted the bell tower rising over the roofs of the modest buildings on the north side of Oberlinden. “This way.”
They breasted a flood of tradesmen, soldiers, guild masters in rich coats of marten; apprentices rushing about their masters’ business; miners from Ore Chest Mountain that gave the town its lead and silver wealth; country knights gawping at the buildings and the bustle; Breisgau spinsters toting baskets of thread for delivery to the weavers; a man wearing the dank smell of the river and balancing a long pole on his shoulder from which dangled a multitude of dripping fish; a “gray monk” crossing the square toward the Augustiner.
The town had been founded in the great silver rush, a hundred and fifty years before. An oath-band of merchants had taken lots fifty shoes by a hundred at an annual rent of a pfennig each, for which each settler received hereditary tenancy, use of the commons and the market, exemption from tolls, and the right to elect the maier and the schultheiss. The liberties had drawn serf and free from the countryside.
From Salt Street, they passed through a narrow alley to Shoemaker Street, pungent with leather and uncured hides. Small rivulets flowed through channels alongside the streets, a restful and cleansing sound.
“Such a great city!” Gregor cried. “Each time I come down here it seems grown bigger.”
“Not so great as Köln,” said Dietrich, searching the passing faces for the first widening eyes of recognition, “nor Strassburg.”
Gregor shrugged. “Big enough for me. Did you know Auberede and Rosamund? No, that was before you came. They were serfs who held a manse in common near Unterbach, which they farmed to a gärtner—I have forgotten his name. He ran off to the ‘wild east,’ became a ‘cow-knight’ on one of those big cattle drives. I suppose he lives now in a ‘new town’ under Flemish Rights and battles the ferocious Slavs. What was I saying?”
“Auberede and Rosamund?”
“Ach, ja. Well, those two were hard workers, and cunning. At least Auberede was cunning. My father always counted his fingers after he shook her hand. Hah! While the gärtner farmed their land, they dressed some vines belonging to Heyso—that was Manfred’s brother, who held the Hochwald then. They talked him into granting them custody of a storeroom near Oberbach, as well as some of the vines for a half-share in the increase. After a few years, they’d done well enough that he granted them the whole thing as a life income—manse, vineyard, storeroom, plus a wagon and some Flemish horses! Finally, weary of working for half-shares, they convinced Heyso to convert the grant to a lease. They purchased a house in Freiburg with the increase; and one day they moved here with no more farewell than that.”
“Did they ever buy their freedom?”
The mason shrugged. “Heyso never went after them and after a year and a day, they were free. He farmed their strips to Volkmar, as was his right—it was salland, after all; but the women still send a man of theirs to tend the vineyard under the lease, so I think everyone is content with the arrangement.”
“One serf less,” said Dietrich, “is one more manse escheated to the lord. Coin is valued more than handservice. The folk on a manor were once called a familia. Now, all is money and profit.”
Gregor grunted. “Not enough of it, if you ask me. Here’s the minster-place.” The square was raucous with the clatter of hammers, creak of pulleys, snap of canvas, and the curses of workmen as they erected the booths for the market. Above them soared from the bustling square a