Sixteen. Confession and Absolution
Not long after Kasandra had given birth to their sixth child, Norbert (after the same
Sankt of Xanten who had founded the Norbertine Order), Mathias started to become aware of a vague but growing sense of discomfort when in the presence of his wife and newest-born. It was a feeling akin to the awareness of having lost something valuable, but much harder to define and thus much more troublesome to the calm and logical Mathias. He often felt his attention drifting during his solitary meditations to where his wife lay recuperating from the birth of Norbert, wondering if she was alright or if she needed anything. He could only vaguely recall when he had last felt this helpless.
Ah, yes, it came to him now: the day of his wedding. A horny sixteen-year-old boy with only the most idealistic notions of marriage in his head, standing next to a downright voracious older woman who knew precisely what she wanted from him and had told him so up front. And he had recalled trembling in fear as
Vater Siegfried had read the vows, as though he was waiting to be buried beneath an avalanche. But the avalanche never came. Instead, he had settled into a kind of complacency: Kasandra was ever-ready and ever-willing to sate his fleshly hungers, and she had provided him not only with heirs but also with a presence in the Imperial court to be envied. Not only was he secure, he was blessed many times over! So what, then, was this growing anxiety, the threat of sudden burial alive returning to his mind? In truth, what was he missing now?
His thoughts kept drifting back to their brief-but-impious courtship and the early days of their marriage. How rare it had been ever to see Kasandra without a mug of wine in her hand! And though at the time he had been scandalised by her wanton immoderations, now he couldn’t look back on them without feeling a sense of endearment. Since their marriage, however, she had been a constant omnipresence in his life, ever ready with a compassionate ear, a generous hand, a supportive arm when he was exhausted or drunk or injured. And she had been a steadfast and loyal friend to his sister and to his brother-in-law. And the truly amazing thing was that it was all from her nature and nothing from her art, if such a thing indeed existed for her! A woman of grace, integrity and innocence in spite of all her excesses, as open as the sky, as clear as water from an Alpine brook; to say that she forbore from all subterfuge would still be a callous misjudgement of her character: some errant beatific element in her constitution kept her pure even of the temptation to it.
And her beauty, as he recalled it when she was twenty-three, had only ripened and sweetened with repeated motherhood as Kasandra approached thirty-seven years. Maybe her hair had lightened a touch around the temples, and maybe the lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes had deepened, her neck tendons a little more prominent, her hips a little more low- and widely-slung beneath her love-handles – but in the
Herzog’s eyes now these all served to make her even more the matronly Juno. And her liquid amber eyes were as flawless and youthful as ever, and all the more enticing now that the
Herzog had come to a true appreciation of them, and of the gentle and tolerant spirit behind them. It was as though, upon seeing Kasandra now, he had awakened from a thirteen-year stupefaction, and all of a sudden he was that horny sixteen-year-old boy again, awkward and insecure – and now
needing her to approve of him, not just as husband, not just as
Herzog, but as one heart to another heart. The which want made these pangs of yearning all the more sore than they had been thirteen years ago.
And still, it was impossible! What had she said? Long had he put the words aside, but now they returned to haunt him and rang in his ears as though she had just said them in passing: ‘The title of
Gräfin of the linchpin of the Brennerpass trade route, and all the comforts that affords? Reason enough for me!’ Even then, she had been incapable of deceit – but the realisation was cold comfort to him now! She had pursued what she had wanted with all fair warning and scruple to him. And yet, none of it was owing to him, and all to his title. In his heart he began to curse the elderly
Kaiser Friedrich Red-beard for placing the war-garland upon his head, now searing in upon his brain and weighing him down with doubt. Had he known then that he would begin to regard his
Herzogin this way, he would have been content to be nothing more than a serf or a tradesman, if only he could have her at his side! But what she had wanted all along were the creature comforts that came with marriage to a landed lord. How oppressive the daylight could be when it shone upon those secret parts of his heart that he did not want himself to see!
‘I am such a fool…’ the
Herzog would say to himself in dejection.
Love – and the
Herzog, fool though he may have been, was not so self-deluded as to call it anything but love – does different things to different men. Some men it makes run hot; others it makes run cold. Mathias von Danzig fell into the unhappy latter sort. He inexplicably lost the use of his tongue, and his feet, when in her presence, remained either rooted to the spot or were given the impulse to take him out of it, so great was his mix of awkward desire and shame, made all the worse by the fact that it had never afflicted him this strongly before, and never with his wife! For her part, the
Herzogin began to suspect Mathias of being displeased with her, and began to show signs of her frustration.
Eventually, though, she cornered him.
‘
Mein Herzog,’ she said. ‘
Was gibt mit dir?’
Mein Herzog, thought Mathias dejectedly.
Is that all I am, a title? He entertained briefly the thought of banning his title and forcing everyone to call him simply ‘Mathias’, but wouldn’t that be just as bad? It wouldn’t get him what he wanted anyway. And he could tell now that it would do no good to lie to his wife and tell her ‘nothing’s wrong’ – it would only make him feel worse. And it would be a lie so transparent she could simply call him on it and take herself off, leaving him to wallow alone in his ‘nothing wrong’. He stifled a sigh.
‘Kasandra,’ he began. Huh. Had the name always sounded so perilous? Well, it stood to reason: if it had once belonged to a beauty who could snare the heathen god Apollo and the doomed king Agamemnon, how much less of a chance did one mere Mathias stand against another such beauty bearing her name? ‘Do you recall the day we became engaged?’
At that, Kasandra cracked a smile. ‘Vividly. Why?’
‘When… when I asked you, why you agreed to wed me. What did you say?’
At that, Kasandra’s eyes widened slightly and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks, but she answered. ‘W—well, I told you, um… I wanted the title of
Gräfin of Innsbruck – to be wed to the
Graf controlling the Brennerpass and to have advantage of all its luxuries in trade.’
‘Blunt as ever,’ Mathias said, with a bleak laugh. Then, after a few moments’ silence, he blurted: ‘Do you still feel that way? About me? If I were to ask you again, would you—’
He never got a chance to finish, but he got his answer all the same. Grasping the back of his neck, Kasandra had pulled his thinly-bearded face toward her own, pressing her lips against his. Not the complacent and tranquil peck of an obedient wife, this! It was as though he had looked into a mirror and found reflected there every single one of his insecurities, doubts and secret gnawing aches, staring back at him, deepened in a stifling silence stretching back for years – and now they scalded and seared him in their sudden release. When they parted, tears were running down Kasandra’s face, and she struck him in the shoulder.
‘You—! You… idiot—!’ she sobbed, before clutching him back to her again, harder than before.
‘How long?’ asked Mathias breathlessly, when she released him at last.
She gave him a watery grin. ‘Years. Before young Thias was born. Why do you think I named him so? And then Adalheidis, and Nikolaus—yes, I wanted victory; I wanted
you back!—and I redoubled my efforts in burnishing your name to your peers… but I didn’t dare do more! You were always on your own business. You and the war. You and the
Turnier. You and that blasted book. And… you know the sort of person I am! I’m fat, I’m idle, I’m unappeasable, I’m untidy – even Thias said so. Even
you said so! But I have my pride – you gave me everything I had said I wanted; how could I ask you for still more?’
‘You hid it a long time,’ Mathias said, more in relief than reproof.
‘And I’m not proud of it,’ Kasandra admitted, in the same tone. ‘Truly. I never was tempted to lie to you about anything… but… somehow I
couldn’t deal with feeling… this, even for my husband. How could I ask you to deal with it?’
They had shared that one night of sin over thirteen years ago, and it had always lay between them – never regretted, never fully reckoned with, leaving its mark on both. Now, they reprised it with a weightier emotion, confessing to and shriving each other in the act, leaving nothing hidden or unpardoned. As they basked together, entwined in the afterglow warmth, Kasandra asked him:
‘How long for you?’
‘About a month,’ Mathias said drowsily.
Kasandra kicked him with a laugh. ‘Took you long enough, didn’t it, Mathias? Oh, well. I can’t say as I begrudge the outcome.’
~~~
It was in a much-improved mood that Mathias entered his study the next morning. There lay on his desk a still-sealed letter bearing the mark of
Stift Stams, addressed to
Schloß Hohentübingen from
Bischof Vater Agilulf, the man who had been appointed to the post after Siegfried’s passing to God last year. Much as Mathias missed Siegfried, Mathias liked Agilulf, and also deeply admired him: Agilulf was a brilliant and confident scholarly mind with modest habits, a stout heart and a generous orthodoxy, whose sole faults lay in his hermit-like eccentricity. Though he enjoyed tending to his garden and his herbal workshop, he also was not neglectful in his duties. Mathias opened the letter.
My lord Herzog Mathias,
I have recently been in contact with an extraordinary priest who teaches philosophy at the cathedral school at Dom St Jakob; he has very kindly offered to assist me in my work popularising devotions amongst the laity in Innsbruck. I believe we should take him up on his offer; he believes a full five marks in gold for this work would be a fair price, but he assures me that if we adopt his plans we would see a great flowering of lay religious customs in that city. What say you, mein Herzog?
Respectfully, I am
Agilulf+ of Stams
Mathias easily answered a quick affirmative to his bishop – more devotions amongst the laity were always good for keeping in Mother Church’s good books, even if they did rather cost a mint to spread – and sat at his desk to tend to his other duties for the
Kaiser. Once again he could not keep his attention on his rightful work, and his mind kept drifting once again back to his wife, but his thoughts now were blessedly of a far more contented nature than they had been of late. Confession was balm for the soul, and not just before the Lord.
