She was accompanied by a stoutly-built man in his early thirties who must have been her eldest son and Jutta’s brother, the current Count von Sponheim. “You do us great honor, Sister.” The countess opened her arms.
“We are grateful for your welcome,” I replied. There was something maternal about the way she embraced me, and it brought back another childhood memory that made my throat tighten. “I trust you and your family are in good health.”
“We are, God be praised.” Sophia beamed. “This is my son Meinhard. He will be married this autumn, and I look forward to bouncing my first grandchild on my knees soon.”
Meinhard inclined his head courteously. “We know how close you were to Jutta, and we assure you of the same welcome we would give our kin.”
“That is generous of you, my lord,” I said, noticing a grimace of pain flashing across the countess’s face at the mention of her daughter’s name.
“We should let our guests rest,” she said in a suddenly hoarse voice and motioned us to follow her toward the guest quarters.
Our room was furnished simply with two beds, an oak table with an oil lamp, and a chest, but it seemed luxurious in comparison with our enclosure.
“Before your nurse took you away to bed that evening at Bermersheim”—Sophia turned to me on her way out, her emotions seemingly under control again—“you said that my dress was the color of the grass in your garden in spring.”
I nodded, the memories rushing back again.
“I promised to show you my garden one day, and I am going to do that tomorrow.”
I joined the countess in the main hall for breakfast the next morning. It was the finest place I had ever seen, with brass and silver wrought candelabras gracing the corners, rich tapestries depicting hunting scenes, and numerous swords, shields, and other manner of armor once worn by the von Sponheims displayed on the walls. It reminded me of the hall at Bermersheim, much smaller and more modest, but also decorated with breastplates and weapons my forebears had worn while fighting the Christian cause in Damascus and Palestine.
After the meal, Sophia led me across the courtyard. It was bustling with soldiers marching in and out of the lookout towers, peasants hauling carts of vegetables to the kitchens, and servants carrying loaves of freshly baked bread and rolling barrels of beer out of the brewery. There was a sense of domesticity in the commotion, in the smells of cooking, even in the clanking noise of metal from the smithy somewhere on the other side of the keep.
We walked to a small ironbound door which Sophia unlocked to let us into a walled garden, surprisingly quiet for its proximity to the busy household. It was exquisitely maintained. Flowering rosebushes and beds of eyelets, peonies, lilies, and irises lined the gravel paths. In the center, a fountain trickled with water like molten silver in the sunlight, and along the perimeter there were benches and thick vines draping over the walls behind them.
I gazed around in delight. “This place is truly divine.” I breathed in the heady scents. “Nature is God’s gift that we must cherish and care for. And when we do, it repays us with such beauty and bounty.”
“I hear you have an impressive garden of your own at St. Disibod.”
“It is a working garden.” I tried to sound modest, but I could not keep a note of pride out of my voice. “I grow herbs for medicines. It is not nearly as pleasant as yours, but I enjoy working in it.”
“My gardener does most of the work, though I do a little bit myself.” The countess started down a path, rubbing her knuckles in the same manner Brother Wigbert had used to. “But I fear it won’t be possible much longer because I am getting old.” Walking beside her, I noticed that despite strands of gray in her hair and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, she still carried herself straight and walked with the same graceful gait. And her skin, though no longer as supple, had retained a great deal of its luminosity.
“I will send you a bottle of aconite oil,” I said. “It is very effective at alleviating discomfort of aching joints.”
Sophia smiled lightly. “Your reputation as a healer reached us long ago, and I must say I am not surprised. Already when I first met you, a little child that you were, I was struck by your cleverness and judgment that were far beyond your years. I was overjoyed when I learned of your rise to the head of the convent.”
I blushed. “You do me too much honor by speaking so highly of me, Countess. Surely your daughter is far better known around these parts, as she should be.”
“It is true that Jutta’s reputation here is excellent.” Again, that strange shadow crossed her features. I would have expected more enthusiasm from a proud mother, but it was lacking in her tone. “She is best known as a martyr, and that pains me greatly.” Sophia kept her composure, but I could sense powerful emotions beneath the surface. “The news
