Rose went back to Frau Geruscha’s chambers. She felt like crying, but her tears wouldn’t save Gunther. She had to do something. Hoping Lord Hamlin would return in time seemed too little, too late. He might not be any more help than Lady Osanna or Lord Rupert had been. In the meantime, she had no choice but to go to the duke and beg him to show mercy to Gunther.
The thought sent a stab of fear through her. The big, blustery man and his booming voice terrified her. But she would do it. For Gunther and Hildy.
Rose turned and went back to the main castle. She found Bailiff Eckehart sitting on a stool outside the dungeon, cleaning his fingernails with his knife.
“My lord Bailiff, sir.”
He looked up.
“If you please, sir, I would like to speak with His Grace, the duke. Would you ask him if he would speak with me?”
“Certainly, fraulein.” His gray brows lowered. “What would you speak to him about?”
Rose swallowed. “About Gunther Schoff, sir.”
“Very well.” He stood slowly, putting his knife away in its sheath before starting off down the corridor.
She waited near the door to the dungeon. What would she say to the duke? He would look at her with those scary eyes, his bushy eyebrows lowered and threatening, grunting his disapproval of her. She would not cower but would humbly beg him to forgive Gunther, to reduce his sentence to something less harsh, due to the accidental nature of the death. She would tell him what a good man Gunther was, kind and gentle. Surely the duke wasn’t completely hardhearted.
The bailiff’s footsteps echoed through the hall. Rose braced herself as he approached.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. The duke says he cannot see you today.”
Rose’s heart sank. Today. “Will he see me tomorrow?”
“He says he cannot change the sentence and he has no wish to discuss it further.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.” Rose clenched her teeth. She would not give up on whatever slim chance there might be.
She turned and walked down the corridor until she was out of sight of the bailiff.
What if the duke refused to see her? What else could she do to free Gunther? Tomorrow was Gunther’s last day before the execution.
Wilhelm knelt on the stream bank to refill his leather water flasks.
“Will we bed down here for the night?”
Sir Georg and Sir Christoff stared, their shoulders limp, their eyebrows raised hopefully. All three of them were covered with the dust of travel. But Wilhelm shook his head.
“Let’s go on a little farther.” He needed to be home again, to rid himself of this urgency, and to get back to looking for Moncore. This trip had yielded them nothing—a chasing of the wind.
Georg shrugged and Christoff sighed. They turned to their horses and retrieved their water flasks.
He couldn’t explain to them the strange sense of urgency he felt about getting home. Leaving Hagenheim had seemed like a good idea, to look for Moncore in one of his hideouts, and to get away from Rose—and Rupert. But now this vague-but-desperate feeling nagged at him every time they stopped to rest the horses or to bed down for the night, as if something were happening at home and he needed to be there.
That was foolish. He didn’t believe in premonitions. There could be nothing at Hagenheim that his father couldn’t handle. But then his imagination had conjured up all kinds of possibilities. Perhaps his father was ill, or his mother or sister. Or perhaps Moncore was in Hagenheim, stirring up some kind of trouble. It was probably none of those things, but the desire to get home became irresistible, driving him forward.
O God, please give us a miracle.
The last day before Gunther’s execution, and Rose had come up with no new ideas.
Time to find out if Duke Nicolaus would see her today.
Was that a frown on the bailiff’s face? Just the sight of her seemed to ruin his mood. But he nodded in her direction.
Swallowing and sucking in a shallow breath, she asked, “May I trouble you again to petition His Grace to allow me to speak with him today?”
“I’ll see what he says.”
Rose sat on the bailiff’s vacated stool to wait. She consoled herself with Scripture. The unjust judge in the parable of the persistent widow in the Bible had thought to himself, “Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me.”
The fact that she had suddenly remembered this verse might mean that God was making the duke see her. Perhaps her persistence was working and was swaying him in her favor, as the unjust judge had been swayed in Jesus’ parable.
Bailiff Eckehart appeared around the bend in the corridor. Rose jumped to her feet.
“His Grace will see you. Follow me.”
Rose’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. She could hardly breathe past the lump in her throat as she followed the bailiff into the deepest bowels of the castle. Finally, he stopped before a narrow wooden door and pushed it open for her. Rose stepped through the door and the bailiff closed it behind her.
Duke Nicolaus sat at the opposite end of the room, his head bent low as he scratched furiously with a quill. He paused to dip the quill in the ink pot.
He raised his eyes to Rose. “Well? Come forth.”
His deep voice boomed, seeming to fill the small room with gruffness and impatience. Rose crossed the room on wobbly legs.
“Your Grace, may I speak?”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I wish to plead for the life of my friend, Gunther Schoff.” To keep him from interrupting her, she rushed on, pushing the words out of her mouth as fast as she could. “The death of Arnold Hintzen was not intentional. He fell into the river and drowned. It was an accident. Surely you wouldn’t put a man to death for causing an accident.”
“Pure speculation,” the duke roared. His ponderous gray eyebrows hung dangerously low. “Were you a witness to any of it?”
“No, Your Grace. Please forgive my boldness.” Rose’s heart fluttered, but she clenched her hands into fists to steady herself. “I know Gunther would never kill anyone. He wanted to protect Hildy, who was viciously attacked by this Arnold Hintzen. He only wanted to defend her.”
The duke stared at her with light blue eyes. “So the man thinks we have no order here? That I have no power nor inclination to defend the helpless or punish the wicked? He had to do that himself? No!”
He pushed himself up, sending his chair into the wall behind him with a crash. Rose drew in a quick breath and forced herself to stand her ground, her heart beating wildly again.
“I will not abide my people trying to enforce their own justice. I’m the law here. Your friend made a serious mistake, and now he must pay for it with his life. That is all I have to say. I do not wish to discuss it any further.” He slammed his fist on the desk and took in a wheezing breath, then began coughing, a deep, chest-rattling spasm. He motioned with his hand for her to leave.
With a humble bow of her head, Rose turned and left the room.
I’ve failed. O God, what can I do now? There was no one she could turn to, no one left to help her. A weight descended onto her shoulders.
Since Rose was out of ideas, she should go see Hildy, to offer what comfort she could.
Hildy lay across her bed, but sat up when Rose came in the door. Her face was puffy, with red blotches over her cheeks. “Any news?”
Rose shook her head. The way Hildy’s face fell sent a pain through her heart. “But there’s still time. Lord Hamlin will surely come back today.” Surely God would come through for them…somehow.
“I hope I die of a broken heart. I can’t go on living if Gunther dies—because of me!” Hildy burst into sobs, sinking down into the bed and burying her face in her pillow.
Rose sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on her friend’s head. “It’s not your fault, Hildy. Gunther
certainly doesn’t blame you.”
Hildy lifted her face and stared at Rose through tear-brightened eyes. Her usually tight braid was frayed, with strands of hair hanging loose about her face. “I went to see him today, in the dungeon. I had to see him. He said he wanted to ask me to marry him, would have asked me in a few more weeks.” Hildy sniffed, a look of complete despair in her glazed-over eyes. “I wish they would hang me too.”
Rose patted Hildy’s back while she prayed silently, her throat aching. Please, God, please. Please help us.
Finally, with a vague expression of hope that Lord Hamlin would return before the morning, Rose left and went back to Frau Geruscha’s to wait.
But as the sun drew nearer the horizon, the heavy, sick feeling in her stomach increased.
Night fell. Rose tried to comfort herself in the fact that Gunther would be in heaven, where there was no pain, no parting, no night, only endless, perfect day in the light of the Heavenly Lord. Surprisingly, a measure of peace and even joy for Gunther came over her, but it was fleeting and limited at best. What about Hildy? How could Hildy ever forget Gunther? Her heart would be decimated.
Rose lay on the bed and covered her head with her hands. “O God, I can’t bear this. If you will not rescue Gunther, then give us all the grace to see something good in it.”
But what good could there possibly be?
Rose cried until the soothing darkness of sleep closed over her.
When Rose awoke the next morning, it only took a moment for her to remember that it was Gunther’s execution day.
She rolled over to face the tiny window, where the pale sunrise glowed yellow. Her whole body seemed made of lead, as though the weight in her heart had spread into her arms and legs and head. She rose slowly and put on her dress. Her fingers were so stiff and clumsy she could hardly tie the laces.
She opened the door of her bedroom and felt the tears begin again. She grabbed a handkerchief then plodded down the steps. Frau Geruscha waited for her with a sad, solemn look on her face. They walked to the castle kitchen together to take their breakfast, though Rose was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat.
The two sat on a wooden bench with several servants who were also breaking their fast. Rose looked around at them. Some were talking. A couple of maidservants broke into loud guffaws. Others seemed oblivious to their surroundings, intent only on their food.
Rose looked down at the fruit pastry Frau Geruscha had retrieved for her. How could she possibly eat? How could these people act so jolly, as if life was the same today as every day? Hadn’t they heard the workers’ hammering as they built the scaffolding in the Marktplatz? Didn’t they realize her friend would be executed in two hours?
Two hours. She wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.
“Fraulein?”
Lukas stood behind her, staring at her with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you last night, but Lord Hamlin, he came home. It was too late for me to be about—”
Rose jumped to her feet. “He’s here?”
“Yes, fraulein.”
“Oh, thank you, Lukas. You’re a good boy.” Rose grabbed him by the arm. “Come. I need you.”
She ran from the kitchen and made sure Lukas kept up as she took a shortcut across the courtyard then entered the door nearest the Great Hall, between the north and south wings of the castle. She stopped just inside.
“Lukas. Do you know where Lord Hamlin’s chamber is?”
“I think so.”
“Run and knock on his door. Tell him that Rose needs to talk to him. It’s urgent. I’ll be right here.”
Lukas turned, but Rose caught him by the arm.
“Here.” She put two marks in his hand. “I’ll give you more if you fetch Lord Hamlin as quickly as possible.”
Lukas’s eyes widened. He took off at a canter.
Rose clasped her hands, prayed, and waited.
Chapter 17
Rose heard footsteps coming, too loud to be the footsteps of a little boy. She stared into the barely lit corridor, straining her eyes, her hands clasped in front of her. She forced herself not to hurry toward the sound of the heavy boots.
Lord Hamlin! She exhaled in relief. Tears stung her eyes—oh, he was a beautiful sight! Impulsively, she wanted to leap forward and hug him and tell him how grateful she was to see him. Instead, she clasped her hands tighter and pressed them to her chest.
He strode briskly toward her down the long corridor. “Rose.” He must have dressed quickly, as he wore only a white linen shirt and hose, no doublet. His dark hair was wet and clung to his forehead, and he had not shaved in days.
Rose almost forgot to curtsy. “Lord Hamlin, please forgive me, but I need your help.”
“What is the matter? Tell me.” Even in the dim light she could see how intensely he was looking at her. And even with several days’ stubble on his face, he was still so familiar, so handsome. There was such an earnest expression on his face, she believed he could—and would—help her. Gratitude swelled inside her, almost taking her breath away.
“It’s Gunther Schoff.”
“The young illuminator.”
“Yes, well—” Rose hesitated, but she had to tell him the entire story, and quickly. “My friend Hildy was attacked. Gunther learned of it. Rather than make her report the incident to the duke’s bailiff, he decided to punish the man himself.” Rose drew in a shaky breath then pressed her hand against her mouth so that Lord Hamlin wouldn’t see her lips tremble. She fought to keep her voice steady. “He found the man by the river. Hildy’s attacker was drunk, and Gunther beat him. He knows it was wrong, but he did it for Hildy.”
His eyes were riveted on her, his brows drawn together. Thank God, he was still giving his rapt attention to her half-rambling story.
“Gunther left him there. Three days later someone found him in the river. Gunther was accused of murder, and your father sentenced him to death.” Please sympathize. Please help us. Please save him. “You’re his only hope.” Her voice broke. Anxiety twisted around her heart as she tried to read his expression.
Lord Hamlin rubbed his stubbly jaw. “I suppose you know that the duke’s ruling cannot be changed.”
His words did not cast her down, because she could see by the look on his face that he was trying to think of something they could do. Just knowing he hadn’t given up gave her hope. Oh please, God, help him save Gunther.
“There is a way.” His face was suddenly alight.
She held her breath as she waited for his next words.
“How quickly can you get your friend Hildy to the Marktplatz?”
Wilhelm sat astride Shadow at the back of the crowd. He frowned at the number of people who had gathered in the Marktplatz to watch the hanging. Scanning the heads, he saw neither Rose nor her friend. She had left at least an hour ago. Had she been unable to locate Hildy?
From the castle courtyard, the drum began its steady, slow tempo, beating out the last minutes of the prisoner’s life.
Soon the procession came into view, making its way through the castle gate. A collective “Oh” issued from the spectators, who then fell silent.
The sight of the prisoner increased the sick feeling in the pit of Wilhelm’s stomach. Young Gunther Schoff’s hands and feet were bound as he followed behind Bailiff Eckehart. Wilhelm recognized Gunther’s mother and sisters huddled together, weeping openly as he entered the Marktplatz.
Wilhelm searched the crowd again but saw no sign of Rose or Hildy.
Gunther’s shoulders were stooped as he shuffled his feet toward the ominous platform. A rope dangled in the middle. Gunther’s eyes, too, darted through the crowd as he walked. Apparently not finding who he was looking for, he bowed his head again.
Make haste, Rose. She had to come quickly or he would have to figure out some way to delay the proceedings. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs.
Gunther reached the scaffold. He stumbled on the first step but caught himself. He continue
d slowly up to the platform.
The bailiff climbed up behind him and declared, “This man, Gunther Schoff, was accused, judged guilty by Duke Nicolaus, and has been sentenced to die for the murder of the man Arnold Hintzen. May God have mercy on his soul.”
Wilhelm’s heartbeat quickened. No, it’s happening too fast. Where were Rose and Hildy?
Bailiff Eckehart slipped the noose around Gunther’s neck and tightened it. He turned back toward the crowd. Wilhelm nudged his horse forward a step and opened his mouth to speak as someone called out.
“Wait! You must wait!”
Rose. She was pushing her way through the crowd, her chestnut hair glowing in the morning sun. Hildy followed as the press of people parted to allow them to get through.
Rose reached the front of the crowd, two feet from the platform. She turned and let Hildy pass. Even from across the square he saw the determination on Rose’s face. Hildy was deathly pale, and she swayed on her feet. O God, don’t let her faint now. Gunther might be dead by the time she came to.
“If it please you, sir, may I speak?” The crowd was so quiet, Hildy’s soft voice carried even to Wilhelm.
Gunther lifted his head. A pained look of love infused his features, as though he had both dreaded and expected this moment.
“What is it, maiden?” The bailiff stared down at her from the platform, curiosity as well as a bit of annoyance in his tone.
She raised her voice, as though her courage had returned. “I wish to invoke the ordinance of redemption—to wed the accused to save his life.”
Murmurs erupted from the spectators.
Confusion creased Gunther’s face as a look of surprise crossed the middle-aged bailiff’s. He wrinkled his forehead and cleared his throat, either waiting for the crowd to quiet down or trying to figure out what to say.
“The ordinance of redemption? No one has spoken of that ordinance in years. I’m not certain…that is, perhaps we should consult His Grace, the duke—”