head, he winced. “Ach!”
Theresia said, “You’ll have a lump there in the morning, but the bone is not fractured.”
Joachim had retrieved Dietrich’s torch and held it so Theresia could see what she was doing. “Are you a chirurgeon, then?” he asked.
“Father taught me herbs and medicines and bone-setting from his books,” Theresia told him. “Put something cold against it, father,” she added to Dietrich. “If you have a headache, take some ground peony root with oil of roses. I’ll blend a compound tonight and bring it to you.”
When she had gone, Joachim said, “She called you ‘father.’”
“Many do,” Dietrich answered dryly.
“I thought she meant … something more.”
“Did you? Well, she was my ward, if you must know. I brought her here when she was ten.”
“Ach. Were you then her uncle? What befell her parents?”
Dietrich took the torch from him. “The Armleder killed them. They burned the house down with everyone in it. Only Theresia escaped. I taught her what I had learned of healing in Paris, and when she turned twelve and became a woman, Herr Manfred granted her the right to practice the craft on his manor.”
“I had always thought …”
“What?”
“I had always thought they had a just grievance. The Armleder, I mean, against the wealthy.”
Dietrich looked into the flames of the torch. “So they had; but
summum ius, iniuria summa.”
O N MONDAY , Dietrich and Max set out for the Great Woods to look after Josef the charcoal-burner and his apprentice, neither of whom had been seen since the Sixtus-day fires. The day broke hot, and Dietrich was sodden with his own sweat before they had walked half the distance. A thin haze mitigated the sun’s intensity, but it was small dispensation. In the spring fields, where the harvest army labored on the lord’s salland, Oliver Becker idled in the speckled shade of a broad oak, unmindful of the scowls of his peers.
“The gof,” Max said when Dietrich pointed him out. “Grows his hair long as if he were a young Herr. Sits on his ass all day and watches everyone else do the work because he can pay the shirking-fine. In the Swiss, everyone works.”
“It must be a wonderful country, then, the Swiss.”
Max cast him a suspicious glance. “It is. We have no ‘mine Herrs.’ When a matter needs settling, we gather all the fighting men and take a show of hands, with no need for lords.”
“I thought the Swiss lands were Hapsburg fiefs.”
Schweitzer waved a hand. “I expect Duke Albrecht thinks so, too; but we mountain folk have a different opinion…. You look pensive, pastor. What is it?”
“I fear the hands of all those neighbors, raised together, may impose one day a tyranny weightier than the hand of a single lord. With a lord, at least you know who to bring to account, but when a mob raises its many hands, which holds the blame?”
Max snorted. “Bring a lord to account?”
“Four years since, the village brought suit against the steward when Manfred enclosed the common greenway.”
“Well, Everard …”
“The lord must save his honor. It’s a legal fiction, but a useful one. Like that quillon of yours. One thumb longer, and it would be a sword, which would be above your station.”
“We Swiss like them,” he said, laying a hand on the pommel and grinning.
“What I mean is, Manfred could then chastise his steward for doing what he had told him to do, and everyone pretends to believe it.”
Max made a curt gesture. “Moorgarten rendered a more vigorous verdict. We brought the Hapsburg Duke to account there, I tell you.”
Dietrich looked at him. “Anything too vigorous ends with peasants dangling from trees. That’s a fruit I’d not see harvested again.”
“In the Swiss, the peasants won.”
“And yet here you are, serving the Hochwald Herr, who serves both the Baden Markgraf
and
the Hapsburg Duke.” To this, Max made no response.
T HEY CROSSED over the millbrook bridge and took the
Theresia said, “You’ll have a lump there in the morning, but the bone is not fractured.”
Joachim had retrieved Dietrich’s torch and held it so Theresia could see what she was doing. “Are you a chirurgeon, then?” he asked.
“Father taught me herbs and medicines and bone-setting from his books,” Theresia told him. “Put something cold against it, father,” she added to Dietrich. “If you have a headache, take some ground peony root with oil of roses. I’ll blend a compound tonight and bring it to you.”
When she had gone, Joachim said, “She called you ‘father.’”
“Many do,” Dietrich answered dryly.
“I thought she meant … something more.”
“Did you? Well, she was my ward, if you must know. I brought her here when she was ten.”
“Ach. Were you then her uncle? What befell her parents?”
Dietrich took the torch from him. “The Armleder killed them. They burned the house down with everyone in it. Only Theresia escaped. I taught her what I had learned of healing in Paris, and when she turned twelve and became a woman, Herr Manfred granted her the right to practice the craft on his manor.”
“I had always thought …”
“What?”
“I had always thought they had a just grievance. The Armleder, I mean, against the wealthy.”
Dietrich looked into the flames of the torch. “So they had; but
summum ius, iniuria summa.”
O N MONDAY , Dietrich and Max set out for the Great Woods to look after Josef the charcoal-burner and his apprentice, neither of whom had been seen since the Sixtus-day fires. The day broke hot, and Dietrich was sodden with his own sweat before they had walked half the distance. A thin haze mitigated the sun’s intensity, but it was small dispensation. In the spring fields, where the harvest army labored on the lord’s salland, Oliver Becker idled in the speckled shade of a broad oak, unmindful of the scowls of his peers.
“The gof,” Max said when Dietrich pointed him out. “Grows his hair long as if he were a young Herr. Sits on his ass all day and watches everyone else do the work because he can pay the shirking-fine. In the Swiss, everyone works.”
“It must be a wonderful country, then, the Swiss.”
Max cast him a suspicious glance. “It is. We have no ‘mine Herrs.’ When a matter needs settling, we gather all the fighting men and take a show of hands, with no need for lords.”
“I thought the Swiss lands were Hapsburg fiefs.”
Schweitzer waved a hand. “I expect Duke Albrecht thinks so, too; but we mountain folk have a different opinion…. You look pensive, pastor. What is it?”
“I fear the hands of all those neighbors, raised together, may impose one day a tyranny weightier than the hand of a single lord. With a lord, at least you know who to bring to account, but when a mob raises its many hands, which holds the blame?”
Max snorted. “Bring a lord to account?”
“Four years since, the village brought suit against the steward when Manfred enclosed the common greenway.”
“Well, Everard …”
“The lord must save his honor. It’s a legal fiction, but a useful one. Like that quillon of yours. One thumb longer, and it would be a sword, which would be above your station.”
“We Swiss like them,” he said, laying a hand on the pommel and grinning.
“What I mean is, Manfred could then chastise his steward for doing what he had told him to do, and everyone pretends to believe it.”
Max made a curt gesture. “Moorgarten rendered a more vigorous verdict. We brought the Hapsburg Duke to account there, I tell you.”
Dietrich looked at him. “Anything too vigorous ends with peasants dangling from trees. That’s a fruit I’d not see harvested again.”
“In the Swiss, the peasants won.”
“And yet here you are, serving the Hochwald Herr, who serves both the Baden Markgraf
and
the Hapsburg Duke.” To this, Max made no response.
T HEY CROSSED over the millbrook bridge and took the
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