They approached Fronicka and her friends, but the noble ladies actually cried out, stepping back and pulling their arms against their bodies, as if they were afraid the little boys would touch them and give them leprosy.
“Go away!” Fronicka shooed them with her hands.
The boys approached another of the ladies. “Please, give me something.”
They went from one of the ladies to the next, but none of them gave them anything. Most of them only shook their heads or turned physically away from them, wrinkling their noses.
Avelina’s heart sank, wishing she had something to give them, but she had nothing, only two small coins in her purse back at the castle.
When they approached Magdalen and Avelina, Magdalen had already reached into the purse she had tucked into her sleeve and was ready with some coins. She placed one coin in each of their hands. Avelina’s heart swelled, so glad her friend had given them something. The margrave should give them something too.
“Cannot we buy them some food? Lord Thornbeck?” Avelina glanced around for the margrave, and he was suddenly by her side.
“Go buy some cakes at the bakery,” Lord Thornbeck told the boys, taking Magdalen’s coins out of their hands and replacing them with his own money. “Go on, now.”
The little boys smiled and ran off toward Bakers Street, laughing playfully. And Lord Thornbeck gave Magdalen her coins back.
“Thank you for your generosity, but they will be provided for.” He bowed and walked on.
What did he mean by “they will be provided for”？ She had never seen beggars who behaved like those boys had—carefree and joyful, a ready smile on their faces. Something was odd.
She and Magdalen exchanged a look. Avelina glanced behind them. Just as she thought, Chancellor Jorgen was marking in his little book with his piece of charcoal.
Lord Thornbeck walked back and spoke quietly again with his chancellor, then the margrave announced, “Let us fetch the horses and return to the castle.”
“Isn’t it strange we didn’t even make it to the Marktplatz and the town center?” Avelina leaned close to Magdalen’s ear. “We didn’t even see the Rathous or the guild houses.”
“Perhaps he was afraid we were tired.”
But that did not make sense. Also, she was beginning to think the begging was a mummery and the mud-smeared boys were players. But why?
9
LATER THAT AFTERNOON Reinhart sat at his desk in the library, Jorgen nearby at his own desk with Odette beside him.
Reinhart had not missed the way the ladies had more or less cringed away from the boys from the orphanage who had volunteered to put dirt on their faces and go begging to them. They had done a good job of it—it probably wasn’t their first time to beg.
He also had not missed Lady Magdalen giving them coins and Lady Dorothea calling to him and asking him to buy them food.
And when they had passed the Jewish part of town, Lady Dorothea had had a look of great concern on her face and stared long at the little boy and young woman. It was very telling of her character, he thought.
“I shall write out my notes in a more legible form and get them to you later today,” Jorgen said.
“Lady Dorothea and Lady Magdalen certainly have the most Christian charity toward orphans,” Odette said, “and they never complained about having to walk in town.”
It would be worth all the indignity of the testing of the ladies’ characters if he were able to find a woman who had similar values. There was no reason why this process should not work well, no reason why he should not get precisely what he wanted.
Odette seemed to think his silence was a hint that she should leave, because she stood and curtsied. “I shall go now, Lord Thornbeck, and allow you and Jorgen to discuss his notes.”
He nodded to her. “You and Jorgen have done well.”
She curtsied again and left the room.
Reinhart tried to concentrate on the numbers and lists on his desk, of the expenses of the previous month, but his mind kept wandering, mostly to Lady Dorothea.
“Here are my notes from today’s outing to town.” Jorgen stood by his desk, holding out a sheet of parchment.
He took it from him. “I suppose you wish to tell me your impressions, which ladies you think distinguished themselves.”
“Lady Magdalen and Lady Dorothea were the only ones who passed the compassion test in my estimation, my lord. And you, my lord? What did you think?”
Reinhart was not used to confiding in anyone. Growing up as a squire in a castle of men whose tastes and humor were often ribald and unrefined, he had avoided spending his spare time with them. And as a knight, he often found a quiet place to be alone, to read or study or pray. The knights who never seemed to want to be alone were often the troublemakers, and he preferred to spend as little time with them as possible. Perhaps that was why he rose so quickly to become the captain of the Duke of Pomerania’s guard. The duke commented many times on his “serious” nature and his superior knowledge, how he did not carouse with the other men who had a penchant for women and strong spirits.