“Thus the Brethren hiding amidst the woods…”
“Do not have to show themselves as they truly are. With the marriage ceremony only days away, many will be descending upon Heidelbraum castle. No one will turn an eye to a few extra guests.”
The bedchamber door creaked open and both ladies froze. Hette stepped through the space, eyes widening at the picture the two presented upon the bed. She dropped into a curtsy while balancing a tray. “Princesses.”
Christyne straightened. She hated to ask more of the girl, but no other way presented itself. “Hette, come forward. We have need of you this morn.”
She set the tray upon a tabletop and stood with her head bent, eyes cast to the floor.
Christyne feared that adding one more secret to the maid’s load would tip the scale and all would come crashing down at their feet, but how else would they procure men’s clothing? An extra gown could be gathered from her own wardrobe, but lederwams, jerkin, and hosen were not within her reach. “Hette, I wish to borrow a suit of clothes from your brother Nikolaus.”
Hette’s face rose, skin pale. “Another, princess? But why?”
“Is it not sufficient that your lady has requested them?” Another ounce to weigh down the poor girl’s guilty heart. Alas, Christyne did not think Hette could keep her lips sealed if she knew more protestors would soon be under their roof. A confession would burst forth from her lips the moment she laid eyes on Bishop Wilmer.
Hette’s head lowered once more. “Of course, princess.”
“Make haste, as the need is urgent.” The maid turned, but Christyne halted her. “This errand remains a secret, Hette.” The girl dipped another curtsy. As she reached the door, Christyne stopped her a final time. “I thank thee.”
Clare and Christyne helped each other dress and arrange their hair into jeweled nets. They gathered gowns and the menswear Hette had brought them and hid the clothing in a leather satchel that they draped across the maid’s shoulder. Smaller pieces went into pouches slung from their own waists, but if they carried too much on their persons then suspicions would be raised.
“Wait here,” Clare whispered as they paused in the great hall. Prince Ernst sat upon the dais, a league of brightly clad men about him. Clare thrust her chin into the air as she moved toward her intended with the grace of an empress.
Christyne could not hear the words exchanged, nor could she see the expression upon her sire’s face. Clare was placing her head inside the mouth of a lion. Would that great beast sink its teeth into her flesh, or would they be granted permission to leave the castle?
Of a sudden, Clare bowed as though the emperor himself stood in front of her. Over Clare’s lowered form, Christyne witnessed her father straighten in his chair, pride and self-import writ upon his face with the clarity of ink to paper. Clare had stroked the peacock’s feathers, and by the grin that graced her face, received all they’d wished to gather.
Fearing a summons that would impede their steps, they hied themselves from the castle’s belly and into the courtyard.
Christyne tucked her head close to Clare’s and whispered, “What did you say to him to persuade him thus?”
The woman’s cheeks colored, and she tucked her chin into her shoulder. “As he is your father, I would rather keep the words between him and myself. All import is weighed on the swiftness of our feet. We must needs hurry. He will not wait long to dispatch the landsknechte.”
One of her father’s men raised the portcullis, the chains rattling along with the pounding of her racing pulse as he heaved the latticed gate upward. Once it was secured, Clare linked arms with her, and they stepped through the open gate as one, Hette trailing a step behind.
Yards away, the ground darkened, the Black Forest offering either a canopy of refuge or, as the Psalmist said, the valley of the shadow of death.
Let no lives be lost this day, Lord.The prayer left her silent lips, and the rightness that the words should come from her heart and not rote memory made her chest clench. Between her and the risen Savior without the mediation of a saint. Was this blasphemy? Did heresy beckon her away from the arms of a mother church?
Sola gratia. Sola fide.The ideas of grace and faith alone wooed her like a lover. She leaned into their promises. Desired to wrap herself up in the strength and security of their assurances.
The form of a man stepped from behind a tree, blocking their path. Clare’s grip on her arm tightened, but Christyne patted her hand. She knew this man who had barely stepped past boyhood. Verily, his shoulders had broadened since last she’d laid eyes on him, hard work in the prince’s stables adding muscle to his lean body.
“For what purpose do you tread where you should not, Nikolaus?” She raised her chin in his direction.
Meeting her gaze instead of casting his eyes to the ground as his sister would have done, he straightened those thickened shoulders. “The same as you, I would wager, my princess.”
Christyne glanced back to Hette. Indeed, the girl quickly averted her gaze to the packed dirt beneath their feet. On a sigh, she returned her regard to the maid’s older brother. “You proclaim to know what we are about?”
“It is a game you play by speaking thus. We are each of us aware of my sister’s devotion to both you and the Church. In playing that devotion against itself, you have yoked her in two opposing directions.” He looked past her and laid his eyes upon Hette, his features softening. “She had need to speak to someone, especially when collecting my own garments for your purposes.”
Another player at the board. Did their growing numbers speak to strength or doom? Christyne knew not. Though chess was a game for both men and woman, no one had ever deigned to teach her its moves.
“In case you believe I speak false, I have already met Lorenz, the scholar whom you and my sister have secreted away in the undercroft.” His thin lips quirked. “A rather persuasive fellow.”
“Indeed,” Christyne breathed.
“It seems he is for us and not against us.” Clare loosened her grip on Christyne’s arm and gathered her skirts. “We have wasted much time. If we are to save these poor souls from death’s hand, we must make haste.”
