The Fairytale Keeper: Avenging the Queen (16 page)

I stall as long as I can, but the Archbishop grows impatient. I hope a brilliant lie shall come to me, a lie that he shan’t see through, a lie that can save us all. But nothing comes.

“His name is Elias, Excellency,” I mumble quickly, looking away, wishing I had never mentioned this stranger at all, wishing I had never overheard his conversation, and hoping the Archbishop doesn’t ask for more. But more than anything, I hope I have saved Vatti.

“You shall confess that your father ordered you to abandon the Church and tell no one of any other story or I shall have to change my mind about your father’s punishment.”

I wonder if he is seeking a confession in order to punish us as heretics and that all of his other promises are lies.

“But that is not the truth, Excellency. It was—”

“Ah, but, stupid, stupid girl, I do not care. And those are the kinds of words that might make my men want to drive a hot poker up your Father’s rectum and then burn you both as heretics,” he smiles.

“Then I shall say whatever pleases you, Excellency,” I say, swallowing hard. I feel powerless and that the best I can do to save Father from torture and us from death is to do what he wants.

“Perhaps you aren’t so stupid after all,” he says.

He turns and leaves without another word. I want to ask what our merciful punishment shall be, but I don’t want to try his patience and make things worse. I start to kneel again for prayer, but guards enter my cell and yank me up by the arms.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask in terror.

“If you are a good girl and stay silent, you are to go to the stocks for missing Mass,” a guard answers. I want to cry out that we didn’t miss Mass and that we didn’t get a hearing. That only one man decided our fate before the eyes of no one else, but I’m too afraid to say it. If the Archbishop can put us in the stocks without a hearing, what else can he do to us? I think back to the tormented screams from my cell in the North Tower and it makes me cringe.

“And what of my father?” I ask.

“How should I know?”

***

I am marched through Hay Market, though it is empty. I notice the stocks hold a handful of villagers, one of them being Elias. I don’t even look him in the eyes for I am so ashamed of what I’ve done to him, but at least he is in the stocks and not dead. Two stocks are empty and I realize they are for Father and I. I sigh with relief. We shall both live through this.

A guard unlocks my stock and flips it open. I am dragged over to the stock and I obediently place my head and hands in position. Father is brought out a few moments later and I haven’t felt such relief since the day I found him at the Gilded Gopher after he buried Mother. I told God, in my prayers, that if He delivered us from this that I would never mention Father’s affair again, that I would forgive him, that I would be a good girl. Father doesn’t fight the guards either and I am glad that besides a bloodied lip, he looks to be all right. The sun begins to descend and the air grows cool as the wind grows cold. My cloak has been left behind and I know I am in for a long, cold night.

***

“What happened?” Ivo says as he kneels before me so he can look me in the face. “Who did this to you?” His eyes dart back and forth, looking into mine.

“Do not ask,” I say through chattering teeth for it is now cold and dark. “If I say, we’ll be killed.” He looks at me with such pity for just a moment and then his jaw locks. His brow furrows and he punches the base of the stock with a
thwap
that echoes through the frigid air. He rises and shakes his hand muttering curses.

“Was there a hearing?” he asks, but I don’t answer out of fear for all our well-being. “It’s Soren, isn’t it? He did this,” he says heatedly.

“
Ssssshhhh
,” I plead. “Stop, Ivo. You’ll get us all killed,” I whisper through chattering teeth. “Ivo, I am so cold,” I say, shivering. He whips off his cloak and ties it around my neck and rubs his hands against mine to warm them.

“Do you have gloves at your house? Does your father? I’ll fetch his cloak and yours.”

“We don’t have gloves. Besides, the guards would notice them. They probably won’t notice the cloaks though...but my cloak fell into the street during the chase.”

“Where?”

“Don’t bother looking for it. Someone has surely taken it by now.” I sigh.

“You keep mine then.” He says. I want to argue. I know the mornings shall be cold for him without it, but I don’t know how I’ll make it through the night without a cloak.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I’ll fetch your father’s cloak and bring some mulled wine. Does your father have any coin?”       

“Yes, at the house. They are in a purse somewhere near his bed. Why?” I ask.

“I’d use my own coins if I had them.”

“No, I don’t care about the coins. What do you need them for?”

“So I can stay at the Giggling Pig.” He points down the market to a tavern frequented by the butchers’ guild. “Just in case.” He shrugs and whips the hair from his eyes. I give him a worried look. “Don’t worry. My parents know. It was Father’s idea, but beside that, no one knows…. I’ll make sure no one knows. I’ll make sure nothing else happens to you.”

“What about your apprenticeship? Does the armorer know? Will he let you take leave?”

“He knows I need a leave, but he’s been told that it is best that he doesn’t know why.” He puts his hand against my face, knits his brow, and pouts pitifully at me. “Don’t let such things worry you.” I let my neck release and rest my head in his hands. He kisses me on the forehead and is gone.

I have never been so cold. My teeth chatter and I shake violently even though Ivo has placed a second cloak over me. I try to keep my feet moving to stay warm. This has been the longest night of my entire life.

The Archbishop parades through Hay Market as the bells toll nine, when trade is at its busiest. A procession of provincial guards and clergymen from the many churches in Cologne follow him. The councilmen from the wealthiest patrician families of Cologne follow as well, whispering to each other and looking upon the Archbishop with suspicious eyes. I wonder if they are angered that the Archbishop has sentenced us without a hearing by them. I hope they see that their power is being taken for I don’t doubt the ambitions of Konrad von Hochstaden and nor should anyone else.

The people in the market part for the parade like the Red Sea parted for Moses. The faces in the crowd show a mix of confusion, fear, contempt, and surprise. We have all wondered if the Archbishop was really here since his warnings were nailed to our doors only eight days ago. I, of course, had learned of his return last night in the North Tower, but it is news to them.

A few of the provincial guards give alms to the poor and crippled as a few others hand out pfennigs. A woman crosses herself and gets two pfennigs for it. Suddenly, everyone is crossing himself, cheering, or kneeling to see if he can get three pfennigs too. It seems the price of adoration, the price of abandoning reason is low in Cologne; it only costs two pfennigs. Two pfennigs buys smiles, bows, hurrahs, and holy gestures for the Archbishop who abandoned us for Rome during the Great Fever, who is about as holy as Judas.

Soren saunters at the right side of the Archbishop, which is just where he belongs, at the right hand of Judas. Soren’s nose is in the air haughtily. His lips squeeze into a pursed smirk which pushes his fat cheeks into his baggy eyelids, causing him to squint.

The Archbishop raises his hand and the crowd grows silent. “These heretics confessed to me a grievous sin.”

The crowd gasps collectively and a few shout curses at us. The Archbishop raises his hands again and they hush. Many stand on their toes and lean closer to listen. They are anxious to hear the details of our sin, the more horrendous the better. Great punishment for us means great entertainment for them.

“They have abandoned the Church!” he proclaims. The market is silent. There are no gasps, no hisses, no curses. The Archbishop’s face sags in disappointment. Where are the cheers for punishment? I’m sure he wonders. Soren’s proud smirk falls away and he catches my stare as I smile impishly at him.

Who cares if we have abandoned the Church? Not the people of the market, or so it appears, unless, of course, there are more coins in it for them. If I weren’t so miserable or scared of further punishment, I think I’d laugh out loud.

This isn’t a terribly interesting scandal. Perhaps if he’d said we’d abandoned
God
, the people might be a little more interested in our crime. It also may have helped if he’d had us dragged out as prisoners, but we are in the stocks already. Our sentence has already been issued. The people know there isn’t to be a hanging, or a burning, or a cutting off of limbs.

Besides that, the Church has lost favor with the people, as its priests have stopped giving last rites and funerals, since its clergymen have grown fat from our tithes, and especially since the Archbishop had parchments nailed to the door of every man in the city ordering him to attend Mass or face punishment. I’ve heard the complaints myself.

The people who were given pfennigs for crossing and kneeling at the sight of our Archbishop now turn from him and make their way back into the market to spend his coins. His eyebrow raises and he snaps his fingers at the guard. A half-dozen of the men-at-arms toss pfennigs into the air to lure the crowd back to him and most of them return.

The Archbishop raises his arms to the sky as if he’s summoning the holy grace of God. “Like the great Shepherd, Our Heavenly Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, I have decided to show mercy and not burn these heretics at the stake, but guide them back into the good graces of the Lord.” There is applause from the crowd and the guards shower the crowd with coins again.

“But they must serve a penance to rectify their sin!” The crowd applauds and cheers louder. Their enthusiasm is rewarded with another showering of coins. “They have spent one night in the stocks and must spend another two.” The crowd boos and hisses us.

Two more nights,
I think. I ache from head to foot already. I nearly froze last night. How am I to make it through two more nights?

“Good people of Cologne, let them suffer as they should to be absolved from their sins. Let us pray they reform so we shan’t have to burn them on the pyre. And let it be known that the next heretics I find shall be burned so all can see the horrors of an eternity of hellfire!” The crowd cheers its loudest.

The throng dissolves into the market stands to make purchases with their coins as dozens of other rush at the Archbishop to make requests of him. Soren walks over to me.

“You thought you were pretty smart, didn’t you? You didn’t think I would find out about your little plan, did you? Oh, but I did. You’d be surprised at how little I had to pay for that information. And now look at where you and your father are.” He cocks his head to the side. “I bet you’d like to throw another stone at me now, wouldn’t you? But you can’t with those pretty little hands bound, can you? No, no, no…” he tuts.

“You’ve become a thorn in my side, girl. And I think you’ll find that I can become a spear in yours.” He pulls a cloth from his robes and I recognize it immediately. “This was your mother’s, was it not?” He places it beneath his nostrils and breathes in deeply. “She smells lovely, nothing like that day we burned her.”

I’ll claw out his eyes, I think as I shove my hands through the holes as far as they can go.

“You are a feisty little witch!” he laughs. “This is the last of your mother’s things. I am having the rest of them burned in the streets right now. I am having
all
of your things burned in the streets.”

I pull backwards slamming the base of my head hard against the wood. My neck burns from the pain, but I try again desperately to break through the stock so I can get Mother’s clothes, her lavender satchels, anything that smells like her, anything that reminds me of her. Soren laughs.

“Do you want this back?” he asks smugly and I narrow my eyes at him. Of course I want it back. He knows I want it back. “Swear to me, on your mother’s soul, that you shall sit in my church every Mass for the rest of my days. I shall save you a seat in the first pew so I can look upon your angry, defeated face.”

I collect all the saliva in my mouth and spit, hitting him on the side of his nose. “Keep it,” I hiss.

He wipes my spit from his face with the cloth. “Very well then, I think I shall use this to wipe my arse.” He rises and walks away.

The tears are heavy behind my eyes. I shall not let him see me cry. I shan’t even hang my head so he can think that I am defeated. I huff angrily, desperate not to let the sobs or the tears surface. After a few moments, he disappears into the market and I put my head down and sob quietly.

As sunset turns to twilight, I hear a familiar set of footsteps and a tall thin waist pauses in front of me. Ivo.

“I heard you’re going to be in there for two more nights,” he says with pity.

“Yeah,” I reply hoarsely.

“I brought you something.” He reaches into a satchel and pulls out a chainse that belonged to my mother.

“How did you get this? All our things were burned,” I gasp. He places the garment in my hand. Had they not been pinned, I would have cradled it to my face.

“I saw the guards putting all of your things into a pile so I grabbed this before they set it on fire. Here, give it back so no one realizes it’s yours.” He pulls the tunic back and stuffs it in the bag. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Father might be.” Ivo checks on him, but he won’t eat either. Truth be told, hunger pains me, but none of us have the luxury of privacy or chamber pots and I refuse to defecate outside like a dog. It also doesn’t seem quite fair to eat when Elias and the others have nothing.

“I’ll be in the Giggling Pig again. Whistle three times if you need me or scream if you’re in danger, but I’ll be keeping an eye out.” I nod before he heads to the tavern.

“Wait,” I say and he turns. “Can you bring me some warm wine? I am so thirsty.”

If I am to bear another frigid night, I’ll need wine to warm my stomach and soothe my rigid muscles. Perhaps I might even find a way to sleep, though I don’t know how.

This night is just as cold as the last and I find no comfort in telling myself that after tonight there is only one more to go. My teeth chatter and my body shivers. I must tense my stomach and run in place to stay warm though I am beyond tired. I see and hear things that I know are not there. I am stiff all over and stretch as much as I can to keep the pain bearable. I try to roll my neck and wrists about to ease the stiffness in my arms and shoulders. But eventually I give in to the cold, the pain, and the exhaustion and try to rest. Unfortunately sleeping means hanging by my throat, knees dangling, so rest is impossible. I am frustrated into tears.

A whistle trills through the icy nighttime air as a pair of boots shuffle in the distance. The sounds come from behind me, making it impossible to see who makes them. It is hallucination from being overtired, I tell myself. Pay it no mind. Father, who is nearly a foot taller than me, rests his knees on the ground without strangling himself. Motionless, he appears to sleep.

The scuff of the boots grows louder and closer by the moment. My chest constricts as I debate whether or not I should scream for Ivo’s help.

The whistling pierces the air from directly behind me. I hold my breath. The warm breeze of a body passes me.

The scuffling grows quieter as the body veers off to my left. It is probably some drunkard making his way home after a long night of indulgence. I look over to see who the stranger is. A dark-haired, lanky figure stands next to Father, drawing back his fist.

Just as I am about to scream for Ivo, I see him run past me. The dark-haired man lands a punch on Father’s jaw and Ivo crashes into the man whose feet fly into the air as he lands on the hardened ground with a thud. The man gasps for air as Ivo rolls him over and starts punching. Father shakes the stock, trying to free himself and cheers on Ivo at the same time. The dark-haired man whimpers, curls into a ball, and cowers behind his arms, but Ivo doesn’t stop, landing blows on his sides and his back.

Ivo pauses for a moment, exhales a few hard breaths into the cold night air, and punches a few more times before he stands. The man rises to his hands and knees, coughing and spitting the blood from his mouth. Ivo circles, ready to go at him again. The man stands and the moonlight shines upon his swelling face. I recognize him immediately. It’s the priest’s bastard, Haimo.

“What’s wrong, Haimo? Can’t land a punch unless a man is in chains?” Ivo says to Haimo who stumbles with his fists drawn shakily. A red trail trickles down his nose and stains his surcote.

He stumbles some more and a smirk spreads across his face, still smug despite his beating. “There is still one more night for them and I think I should like to keep that pretty little girlfriend of yours warm.”

Ivo’s eyes narrow when the word “pretty” passes Haimo’s lips and he charges again, barreling him to the ground once more. He punches his face, then focuses his blows on Haimo’s stomach. Father rattles the stocks as he fights to free himself, shouting curses at Haimo. Ivo stands and spits on his face as he groans in pain. He pulls back his foot and kicks him as hard as he can between the legs. Haimo howls, rolls to his side, and retches.

“That is a low blow!” Haimo cries.

“So is forcing yourself upon a girl in the stocks.”

“Good man! You’ve got a little of your father in you after all!” Father laughs.

Ivo nods his head, but I know he doesn’t see any comparison with his father as a compliment. He walks toward me.

“Thank you,” I say.

Ivo nods. His knuckles are bloodied, but other than that he hasn’t a scratch on him.

“How’d you know he’d come after us?”

“I knew someone would. Remember Anna Metzger?”

“Yes.” I pause as I remember Anna Metzger. Her father was one of the butchers, but three years ago he got sick and died. The family had no coin and she’d been caught stealing from the baker who turned her in immediately. They sentenced her to two days in the stocks at only thirteen years old. She had a baby less than a year later. It was a real scandal in the borough. People thought she had turned to selling herself to get enough coin to feed her family.

“She wasn’t a whore like people thought,” Ivo sighs. “She entered the stocks a maid, but she didn’t leave one.”

“No!” I gasp, not wanting to believe it. Poor, Anna. Ivo shakes his head, stands, and walks back to Haimo.

“If you speak of this to anyone, you shall lose your tongue and your testicles,” he says.

“I don’t know that I have any testicles left,” Haimo groans.

“I don’t think you ever had them to begin with, but my threat stands. If I am arrested or if they are harmed, I know people, many people, who shall see you tortured in ways you can’t imagine. Things shall be done to you that would make the executioner blush.” I am shocked to hear him sound so much like his father.

Haimo looks up with terrified eyes and nods. He stands and limps away. Ivo returns to me.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asks, kneeling to look into my face.

I nod. “Well enough for someone in the stocks.” I say and wave my hands to illustrate my confines. “Thank you.” I look at his face carefully and suddenly notice how much he has changed. The childish softness of his face has hardened. He is quiet, contemplative, and threatening men with torture. I am grateful for what he has done for me, but feel guilty that he has had to. These are hard times, indeed. I wonder if I shall ever again see his wide grin and the tiny lines that used to fan out on the sides of his eyelids.