March 3rd, in the year of our Lord 1439 – Heidelberg Castle, the Pfalz
The still afternoon air was chilling rapidly, and yet there was an underlying whisper of the coming spring that felt almost like a tickling in his nostrils. A gentle scent of rotting leaves and damp straw permeated the palace gardens, rising from where they had been laid over the flowerbeds by the gardeners to protect the fragile plants from the icy depths of winter, and Ludwig von Wittelsbach found himself moved to draw deep breaths to fill his senses with its musty promise - even though the combination of cold air and other aromas made his nose run. Soon – within weeks – his breath would no longer rise in a small cloud with each exhalation, and he would no longer need the heavy fur-lined cloak that he wrapped closely to his body to keep himself warm.
The morning’s court had been frustrating to say the least, with a group of farmers begging an audience to complain about the coming planting. Where, they wanted to know, would they find the able-bodied men necessary to ensure that the soil was turned and the crops were sown in time? With so many men already sent away to war, and a new conscription edict having just been announced, there were few - other than women, children and old men – remaining to ensure that the year’s crops would be in the ground in time. If it was done too late, they went to great lengths to tell him, then the grains might not be ready to reap come harvest time and they all might starve.
Next it had been the woodsmen, all in a furor that nearly half of their oxen had been appropriated for the armies’ supply trains. How were they to bring their precious wood to market, they demanded, if they lacked the beasts to haul the fallen timbers out of the forest? This was, of course, followed by their urgent plea that some of his personal estates near the river be given over to them so that they might float them to market on the eddying currents of the Neckar instead.
Why, he wondered, had they all waited until the day after his uncle’s departure? Johann, certainly, would have known how to advise him in this matter. And then it had occurred to him precisely why they had waited. They hoped, of course, to pressure their young Kurfürst into making unwise concessions that they could never have wrested from him had his uncle been there to advise him. Revelling quietly in this secret knowledge that he had divined their intent, he had calmly and patiently told them that he would consider their request and inform them of his decision shortly…certainly before the ground had thawed and the Easter Mass had been sung. Protesting, although not too loudly, they had gone on their way and left him to ponder a solution.
It did present a problem, he decided, for although their claims might be fuelled by at least some degree of ulterior motive, they did also have a legitimate concern with regards to their claims. Worse, the grain would be needed to feed the armies if they remained in the field beyond October, and wood as well for their cooking fires. His people, he realised, could quickly find themselves starving and cold - both in the villages and as they marched deeper and deeper into France. Why, he wondered, had his uncles not forewarned him of this and given him some advice as to what to do?
Having pondered it over a luncheon taken sullenly by himself in his study, Ludwig realised that he had neither the experience nor an established tradition to fall back upon. It had been may years since the Pfalz had mustered its armies and sent them off to war, and so he had no basis of experience or observation of his father’s actions to draw upon, nor had his uncles seen fit to leave him any instructions. Was this a test or an oversight?
This had lead to the unhappy conclusion that he must consult some of the old scrolls that were housed in the palace’s library, hoping that perhaps some record might be found in the tightly-rolled parchments and heavy-bound books that lined the small dark room’s walls. Climbing the stairs of the tower and finding it growing colder by the step, he had beaten a hasty retreat and sent a servant to kindle a fire for him. Only later, when he had been assured that the little-used chamber was as warm as it could be, did he mount the spiral stairs once more to begin his search.
Several fruitless hours later, hindered by the seemingly haphazard arrangement of the castle records, Ludwig had realised that he had neither the patience nor temperament to pursue this task any longer...and that he was freezing cold once more. Even though the windows were shuttered and the hearth was lit, this was not a room intended to be used in the winter months, and so he descended once more to the his study to think, and to revitalize himself with some sweet mulled wine.
He could, he supposed, send to the local cathedral for a scribe and assign the task to him, but he hesitated to do so for it would reveal a weakness that he was uncertain would be wise to do under the circumstances. While he had absolutely no doubts as the allegiance of the nobility, he recalled many warnings from his father as to the dangers of involving the church in too many affairs of state.
“Always beware of them, son,” his father had often said. “Bishops and priests do not owe their allegiance to the Pfalz, and often only nominally do they do so to the Pope. Many are the younger scions of noble families, and they are as like as not to pass on information to their fathers that they think might benefit others of their blood. Say little to them if possible; and if you must, then speak to them only of matters of faith. In that they may be trusted, but not in matters of state.”
Whom else could he turn to until Johann’s return? It would be at least several fortnights until then, and he could not possibly delay his decision that long. He could send a fast rider to his uncle Otto who would now have resumed command of the siege of Nancy, but he quickly discarded that idea. It wasn’t that he feared exposing his naiveté, but rather that he distrusted the suggestions he might receive. Well…not distrust, precisely. If occurred to him that his uncle was unlikely to be at all sympathetic to needs that ran at all contrary to those of the army, and that his advice would be as likely to incite further discontent as it would be to solve it.
Stefan – perhaps his favourite uncle - would be ideal, except he was no more reachable than the venerable Johann…less so, in fact, for Ludwig didn’t even know precisely where he was. Leading his mounted forces to scout somewhere ahead along the provincial borders to both safeguard against a French counterattack and to prepare for the planned spring offensive, no doubt. No. No help would be forthcoming from that quarter. Where then?
It had been then that an idea had come into his mind and suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, he knew with perfect clarity what he should do. It had taken little time to find a servant who could answer his query, and then grabbing his furs and wrapping them about him he had gone out to the garden. Now, walking along the winding path, he saw a cloaked and hooded form seated on one of the stone benches and lengthened his stride to approach. As he neared, the figure looked up quickly and he saw, with great surprise, tears streaming down raw red cheeks before they were hidden once more by the hood.
Ludwig reached the bench and stood awkwardly for a moment, not knowing quite how to begin under the circumstances. This was the last thing he had expected, and the words he had prepared as he walked fled from his mind. “My lady?” he said uncertainly.
When she neither moved nor responded, he fought down his rising confusion and tried again. “My lady, are you well?”
This time she did look up, a delicate leather-gloved hand trying to brush away the evidence of her distress. Then she made as though to rise in courtesy, but he waved her to remain seated. His own questions, he decided would have to wait. Instead, he sat down beside her and spoke once more. “My lady, you know that I would do anything I can to comfort you. Please tell me how…tell me what ails you.”
She sighed then. “I’m sorry, herr Kurfürst. It is nothing you need be concerned about.”
He didn’t believe her for a moment, and instead had another brief burst of inspiration. Taking a chance, he took her hands in his own and gently turned her to face him. “It is your husband,” he said with certainty.
At this, the Lady Anna von der Simmern began to weep once more and leaned forward to burry her head against his shoulder. Silently, he cradled his aunt in his arms and waited for the shuddering sobs that wracked her body to cease.
