The Silver Cup by Constance Leeds Read Free Book Online Page B

Anna.

9
    COLD WINTER TALES
    January 20, 1096
    Â 
Nothing was enough to warm her, not her hands nor her heart. Anna was no longer certain of things she had never questioned. She thought about Thomas all the time. What had happened to him? Had Agnes committed an unthinkable crime? Was suspecting her aunt itself a sin? Winter was a season with too much time to think and to worry. Each breath smoked. Her feet ached, and her toes felt smashed. Day and night, she sat so close to the hearth that she could smell her woolen dress begin to smolder. Nights lengthened endlessly in the shuttered houses, for with so little light, people hibernated like the animals of the forest. Except for sleep, there was only time.
    Along the inside walls, the tamped ground was iced and stone hard, white with frost at the edges. Near the fire, the floor softened and was muddy. No place was comfortable. Uncle Karl had made Anna a slatted iron box to hold charcoal, which she would light. She could rest her feet nearby and try to do some mending. She wore gloves without fingers, but her hands were clumsy with the cold, and she needed to warm her fingers between stitches.
    After Christmas, Gunther and Martin never traveled again until Candlemas on the second of February, a holiday that signaled the end of winter’s darkest days with a blessing of the candles. For now, Anna and Gunther would repair or replace whatever was worn or broken--a loose ax handle, a splintered bench. She wove baskets, and her father made wooden buckets and bowls. Martin started many tasks and finished nothing. He was restless and rarely useful, except for the tunes he played on his pipe and his stories.
    â€œAnna, have you ever seen Blue Jorg? ”
    â€œNot in a long while. Not him nor anyone else. All I do is sit and look at these walls,” said Anna, feeling very sorry for herself.
    Martin rolled his eyes, “Well, you know old Jorg? ”
    â€œYes. The old tanner who limps.”
    â€œLimps? Now that’s kind. I would have said the old drunk staggers.”
    â€œThey say he has bad luck,” said Anna with a shrug.
    â€œBad luck? ” scoffed Martin. “The man was a drunk. Well, I heard a very funny story this morning.” Martin pulled a stool next to Anna who bent and plaited strips of willow for a basket. He sorted through the pile and handed her a curling band to weave.
    â€œThe ice on the Rhine is thick enough to hold a loaded ox cart. Your father says it’s the harshest winter in memory.”
    Martin looked for long pieces of willow as he spoke. “Jorg lived alone below the tannery where he used to work. That’s why his skin looked blue. He was a lazy sort; instead of going outdoors to relieve himself, Blue Jorg used buckets and pots, and sometimes the corners of his hut. Imagine the smell! The windows all shuttered, rags stuffed in every chink? They say the house smelled so bad that Blue Jorg’s dog kept running away, and Jorg would drag him back inside—the poor animal with his paws splayed out, whining and yapping. Well, last night Jorg was at Gert’s.”
    â€œThe spooky alewife with those hideous teeth? ”
    â€œExactly. Snag-toothed, wall-eyed Gert. Horrible creature.”
    â€œI’ve heard that she’s a witch. Ouch!”
    Anna had cut herself on a sharp-edged willow. She popped the bleeding finger into her mouth, and Martin crossed himself and chuckled.
    â€œCareful what you say about Gert! Maybe she is a witch. Anyway, Gert wanted to be rid of stinking Blue Jorg, so she offered him a free ale, but only if he promised to drink it elsewhere. The old sot couldn’t believe his good fortune. He stumbled home, but never made it inside. I’ll bet he spilled his beer and tried to eat the beer-soaked snow. They found him frozen this morning. Stone dead. When they opened the door to drag his body inside, his dog shot out and ran down the street—no one has seen him again. The