Just before they reached the edge of the forest, Odette pulled an old gray cloak out of her pouch and used it to cover her longbow and arrows, tucking them under her arm. She called to the young men, “Wait.”
They stopped and looked at her.
“Give me one of those bags. I will deliver it.”
They exchanged glances. Then the tallest boy said, “Rutger said we should deliver all the game to his storehouse, for him to distribute.”
“I will tell him that I delivered this bag.” She lifted a heavy haunch of venison off his shoulder. “He will not mind.”
The boys continued on, but Odette, dressed as a boy with a long dark tunic and hose, her blond hair hidden inside her hood, went in a different direction.
She headed for the little hut just outside the town wall, a place where many of the poorest people lived in makeshift shelters. She knocked on the house that was leaning to one side and held up with sticks, and little Hanns opened the door, peeking around the side and rubbing his eyes with his fist.
“I’m sorry for waking you, Hanns.”
“Odette!”
“Shh.” She put her finger to her lips, then whispered, “I brought you something. In the morning you will have some fried venison for breakfast. How does that sound?”
Hanns stopped rubbing his face, his mouth fell open, and his eyes got round. As Odette held out the leather bag, the air rushed out of him with an excited, “Oh!”
“Don’t wake your mother now. You can surprise her in the morning.”
“I will!” Without closing the door, he turned and, straining to carry the heavy meat, disappeared inside the dark one-room, dirt-floor house.
Odette closed the door and turned to hasten home while it was still dark.
Jorgen Hartman knelt before the altar of Thornbeck Cathedral and bowed his head. As it was the feast day of St. John the Baptist, he and many other people from town had come to pray. Some of the townspeople had brought herbs to the church for the priest to bless, which should give the herbs special healing abilities. Others, like Jorgen, were there because they had missed the midday Mass and wanted to offer prayers on this holy day.
Jorgen finished praying and rose to his feet. As he did, a woman several feet away caught his eye as she lighted a candle. She was lovely, with long blond hair that fell in curls down her back from underneath her veil. In the candlelight, her face seemed to glow with piety and sweetness. He drank in the beauty of her facial features as she knelt, making the sign of the cross. But then she drew the veil over her face as she bowed in prayer.
Since he didn’t want to stand and gawk at her profile, still visible beneath the veil, he made his way to the other end of the nave, perusing the stained glass windows depicting various stories and people of the Christian faith. He focused on the one where John the Baptist baptized his cousin Jesus and the Holy Spirit came down in the form of a dove. He’d always loved the brilliant colors of the windows and had often slipped into the nave as a boy, hiding in a corner to stare at the depictions and their bright reds and blues, greens and yellows.
The beautiful girl finally stood and was joined by a man. Was he her husband? Holy saints, let him be her father.
As they made their way toward the door, he tried not to stare. She passed by him and out the cathedral door without ever looking his way.
Perhaps he would see her at the Midsummer festival in a few hours.
Jorgen went to visit his friend Paulin, who had broken his leg and was not able to go to the Midsummer festival. Afterward, Jorgen joined with the crowds who were flowing toward the sound of the Minnesingers in the town center. Young maidens skipped along in their flowing dresses, carrying bouquets of flowering herbs and wearing woven crowns of white wildflowers.
There would be a bonfire in the Marktplatz and dancing, and unmarried maidens would be alert to find their future husbands. Now that he was nearing five and twenty years, even his mother had approved of him coming to the Midsummer celebration.
Winking, she had said, “Perhaps if you dance with some pretty maidens, one of them will dream of you tonight.”
He kissed her wrinkled cheek. “You should pray that whoever dreams of me tonight will be a good daughter to you.”
“I will and do not doubt it.” Her tone was gentler now. “She will be a good girl indeed to deserve you.”
He touched her cheek and looked into her faded blue eyes. “Thank you, Mama.”
Now he looked around and wondered which of the maidens, if any, his mother was praying for. Already he had seen a pretty red-haired maiden glancing back at him, and a raven-haired girl of perhaps sixteen smiling and waving at him.