Chapter 21: How Pelle Thwarts the Abbot’s Evil Schemes And Gets Rewarded

Two months later, in the hay moon, word came from Birkenhain. The Baroness Lieselotte, by God’s Grace, had given birth to a boy, healthy of limbs and well formed. Upon hearing this message, Pelle and Ingeburg hugged briefly, but then Pelle ran to alert the priest. A few moments later, the church bell rang and Father Ortwinus led the villagers in a prayer for the safety and health of the baron’s firstborn son.

The next day, more news came. The birth of an heir had occasioned great celebrations in Birkenhain. The baron himself had visited each and every tavern in his town and purchased rounds of drink for all present. Another day later, the baron sent word to summon the reeve of Lemdalen, his wife, and a delegation from Lemdalen to the baptism of the Honourable Lodewig of Birkenhain, firstborn son and heir presumptive of the noble Baron of Birkenhain.

A week later, horses were harnessed and gaily decorated wagons were readied as the delegation from Lemdalen set out towards Birkenhain. Ingeburg rode the wagon with Hunold, her stepbrothers Hanke and Tjark, and Tjark’s wife Luise. Pelle rode his horse, wearing his armour and sword and leading four of the six guardsmen under his command.

Hanke was sullen around his younger brother and Luise, still unhappy with his own role in the lead up to Luise’s trial. He was the oldest, the heir, and still his brother and his stepsister were the ones with spouses and even children. There was no bride left for him in Lemdalen now that Margrite was shamed, and he would have to look elsewhere. Add to that that his younger brother Tjark was set to be a wealthy man, with now three masonry kilns running and seven or eight people filling and firing them. True, Tjark paid Pelle for the use of the kilns, but from what Hanke heard they shipped coal to Birkenhain twice a week now and were building a fourth kiln.

Arriving in Birkenhain the people of Lemdalen mixed with the crowds of the town and of the four other villages that belonged to the baron. Only Pelle and Ingeburg with little Ermegart were led into the castle where they were given Ingeburg’s old chamber. Almost at once, Ingeburg rushed to Lieselotte’s chambers to see her sisterly friend. She found the young baroness well recovered if tired, whilst a gaggle of nurses and maidservants fussed around her firstborn son.

Also in the room was the countess of Rennenberg, Lieselotte’s stepmother, who had accompanied the count to the baptism of his first grandson. Ingeburg could see that there was no friendship between the countess and Lieselotte, and she found out immediately that the countess saw the half-sister of the baron as an unworthy intruder too. It was the old Baroness Ermegart who calmly stated that Ingeburg was counted among the baron’s close family. Ingeburg felt uncomfortable under the disdainful looks of the countess, but she endured them for her friend’s sake.

The count had far less compunctions accepting the new reeve of Lemdalen. He even remembered the former collier from the wedding banquet and gave him a friendly nod when introduced. The men were standing in the great hall of the castle waiting for the summons to church, and the count told of the fearsome spread of the Black Death through the lands along the River Rhine.

“I can see the finger of God in this,” the abbot of Tosdalen announced with his wheezy voice.

Once again Pelle felt the hatred against the fat priest wash over him, the man who had Pelle’s father burnt at the stake. Once he had the attention, the abbot continued his pontifical statement.

“The City of Cologne was befouled by the presence of the accursed tribe of Juda. See how many of them crawled about that fine city and how mercilessly God punished those of the city who allowed them to ply their ungodly trades. Truly, my good Baron, you must rid your town of those. Extinguish them in blood and fire, and your town will be spared from God’s holy wrath.”

“My good Abbot, you cannot speak in earnest,” Baron Sigfrid returned showing his irritation, and even a trace of anger. “Those of Juda’s tribe who dwell in Birkenhain are but honest traders and business tenders. Did you not take loans from Levy?”

“I did, and he charged me with unholy interest.”

“He made you pay back a loan, my good Abbot. Surely, you did not expect the son of Juda to gift you seven hundred Ducats?”

The count laughed grimly. “Isn’t Tosdalen the richest abbey far and wide? Why would you need to lend money, good Abbot?”

“We had some improvements made in my private chapel, for the greater glory of God.”

The count snorted derisively, and the baron shook his head.

“My good Abbot, your chapel would well behoove an archbishop in its glory, yet your peasants are ill-fed and ill-clad. ‘What you do to the lowest of my brothers, you do to me.’ Hungry peasants do not work well either. Methinks your need for loans of Jewish gold stems from bad overseeing. My grandfather granted the rich lands for the sustenance of the pious brothers of your order and not for vain efforts at glory.”

The abbot glowered at the baron. “Yet, the Jews will bring bad luck to the town,” he maintained.

“Hold your peace, Abbot,” the count retorted. “The Emperor himself has granted the Jews peace and licence to ply their trades, and they pay him taxes and fees plenty. Even the Bishop says so.”

Pelle studied the object of his hatred carefully finding no redeeming quality in the man at all. He was immensely fat, even more so than fifteen years ago when Pelle’s father had been burnt, and in his small deeply sunk eyes Pelle saw base instincts and falseness. Yet Pelle knew that his hatred was futile. The abbot was safe from Pelle’s wrath. Just then, the small eyes focussed on Pelle.

“You’re Bero’s son, Pelle?”

“That I am, revered Abbot,” Pelle answered with an effort.

“You better not stray from the path of our Holy Church. Mind your father’s fate well lest you share it.”

“The Reeve Pelle is well known to attend the Holy Mass and to follow the teachings of the Church,” the baron stated not bothering to hide his dislike. “He is my voice and my justice in Lemdalen, and I find his service true and without fault.”

“I wouldn’t know that. I know the Reeve Markward well and I always found him a good and honest man.”

The baron laughed easily. “Abbot, better tend to your scriptures, for you know not the wickedness of men. Markward cheated me and he cheated you; that’s why I had him branded and driven off my lands. It speaks not well for your loyalty to give that man shelter.”

“The Holy Church will forever be a haven to those in dire need,” the abbot wheezed. “He will serve me well.”

“Better make sure then that he never sets foot on my lands,” the baron retorted grimly, “for he is banned on peril of death. My Reeve, should he ever show in Lemdalen again, his life is forfeit.”

“Aye, my Lord,” Pelle answered. He saw the hatred in the abbot’s eyes, and he allowed himself the luxury of unmasking his own odium for a brief moment. There! The abbot paled and even flinched! The knowledge that his nemesis feared him gave Pelle a rush of excitement, but he also felt apprehension. Scared dogs bite, and he would have to be leery of the false priest.

Soon it was announced that the women with the infant were ready. Pelle found his place behind the nobles and the more senior retainers. From there he could watch the abbot unobtrusively. He caught the malevolent glare that the priest cast at the Baroness Lieselotte and the little boy in her arms. Of course, the birth of the baby boy would block the hopes of the abbot to take over Birkenhain as possession of Tosdalen Abbey after the baron’s death.

They were in the church now, and the women joined their husbands in the pews. Ingeburg sat with Pelle holding her infant daughter who slept peacefully.

“I just fed her,” Ingeburg whispered smiling warmly.

Pelle pressed her hand in response. Looking up again he saw the abbot searching the pews with his look. His look swept past Pelle and then seemed to fixate on somebody to Pelle’s left. Letting his eyes dart into the same direction, he saw a matronly woman nod back at the church man. Seemingly satisfied, the abbot returned his gaze towards the altar.

“Who is that woman yonder,” Pelle whispered to Ingeburg indicating the stout matron.

“She is one of Lieselotte’s new waiting women. I think she is in charge of little Lodewig’ cleaning.”

Pelle’s eyes narrowed when he heard that. The woman had clearly given a clandestine signal to the abbot, the same abbot who would profit if the baron were without an heir.

“Arrange for me to speak to the Baroness Ermegart in private, right after the baptism. It’s urgent!”

Ingeburg heard the urgency in Pelle’s voice, even as he whispered. She did not understand, but she trusted her husband’s judgement. She nodded.

“I shall do your will,” she whispered back.

“When you return to Lieselotte’s chambers, keep Lodewig in sight at all times. That waiting woman may scheme to hurt the boy,” Pelle whispered, and Ingeburg’s eyes widened for a brief moment before showing a grim resolve.

“I shall do as you say,” she responded, her free hand pressing her husband’s arm.

“Take this for your protection,” Pelle whispered, giving Ingeburg his own, finely forged dagger. She hid it under her robe.

The Archdeacon of Birkenhain then started into the ceremony. It was an elaborate affair, and it went well until the parents with the God-parents assembled around the basin. Here, the intended God-mother, a niece of the Baroness Ermegart, suddenly tottered, sinking to the stone floor. At once, several women rushed forward to tend to her, but she was wobbly on her legs having indulged in too much of the good wine, and certainly unable to hold the infant boy over the basin. After conversing with Lieselotte, Baron Sigfrid stalked along the aisle and approached a surprised Ingeburg.

“Sister, will you do us the service and stand in as my little son’s God-mother?”

Ingeburg looked at Pelle, but he only reached out for little Ermegart. Blushing furiously, Ingeburg stepped out of the pew and the baron led her forward on his arm causing excited whisper in the pews. It was a struggle for Ingeburg not to faint herself as she held the wriggling bundle whilst the Archdeacon performed the rite and the Count of Rennenberg as the God-father looked on.

Pelle watched his young wife with amazed pride. How far had she come from being a spoilt, insufferable shrew, hated by the entire village and disdained by the baron, to serving as God-mother to his heir. Then he saw the abbot again, and he became aware of the urgent need to warn the baroness.

Ingeburg kept her word. Whilst leaving the church, she quickly bent over the old Lady, seemingly to hug her, but Pelle could see that she whispered into her ear. The quick look that the baroness darted at Pelle confirmed that. Thus it came that Pelle, still holding the sleeping Ermegart, gave the old woman a quick, whispered account of his observations.

“Follow me to Lieselotte’s chambers, Reeve, and hold your sword ready!” she commanded immediately, taking Ermegart out of his arms and carrying her herself.

She led him up a secret stairwell that Pelle had not known, and they entered into the dressing chamber of the baroness. Right when they stepped in, they could hear Ingeburg’s angry hiss.

“Foul traitor! Try your worst, but know that you are already discovered.”

They entered, Pelle in front, to see Ingeburg with little Lodewig pressed against her chest, brandishing his dagger against the traitorous waiting lady who also wielded a long, extremely thin bladed dagger. Without thinking much Pelle jumped forward and the woman whirled to face him. He could see that the tip of the dagger was greenish, poisoned in all likelihood, and he approached the woman warily. She turned with him, neglecting Ingeburg who then made a dash towards the adjoining room and into the arms of the old baroness. Smiling triumphantly, Pelle now bore down on the would-be assassin.

“Watch out, Pelle!” Ingeburg warned him from behind.

Pelle approached cautiously, knowing that the baron would want the traitor alive, yet unwilling to sacrifice his own life in the process. The woman lunged at him a few times, but Pelle was not confident enough to counter. However, during her next attempt he succeeded in slashing her arm with his good sword and the dagger dropped. She quickly bent to grip it with her left hand, but Pelle caught her head with the flat side of his sword and she went down in a heap.

The baroness strode forward with little Ermegart still in her arms.

“Bind her, Reeve, whilst I alert my son, but be wary of other weapons she may hide.”

Pelle nodded silently. He used a fire poker to turn the traitor on her back and to flip the dagger into a corner. Whilst Ingeburg watched with the infant boy in her arm, Pelle tied the woman up using his own boot laces. He was finished and the assassin was waking slowly when the baron stormed in followed by the count, his father in law. Behind them Pelle could see the pale face of Lieselotte who cried out and rushed for Ingeburg to make sure that her son was unharmed.

“Report, my trusted friend!” the baron addressed Pelle, and Pelle related his observations of the abbot first, and then the exchange of winks and looks with the serving woman. The baron looked down at the bound traitor and she winced knowing full well the cruel punishment awaiting her.