The Fairest Beauty

The woman ambled slowly toward her, and as she drew closer, Sophie still couldn’t see her face. She wore a headscarf of brightly colored cloth, and from underneath it peeked strands of white hair. Her hands appeared crippled and gnarled, and the handle of her basket hung on her wrist.

 

“May I help you inside?” Sophie moved forward to take the old woman’s arm so she could help her the rest of the way, but the woman seemed to bristle when Sophie touched her, as though her help was unwanted. But surely Sophie imagined it.

 

“You mustn’t mind an old woman.” The woman’s voice squeaked as though rusty from disuse. “I can manage. But I would like to come inside and rest a moment.”

 

“I should think so. Did you walk far? I wasn’t aware there were any other houses around here.”

 

“Oh, I am on my way to visit my sister. She lives in a village over that way.” She moved her head to indicate the direction she was heading, but Sophie hadn’t heard about a village, there or anywhere else nearby. She must still have a long way to go.

 

Sophie helped her inside the kitchen and led her to a wooden chair. The old woman sank down heavily on it and groaned. Poor thing. She shouldn’t be walking so far on such a warm day.

 

“Let me get you some cool water.”

 

Sophie filled a clean tankard from the bucket of water she’d just brought back from the well.

 

“Here you are.” Sophie tried to see underneath the woman’s scarf, but the old woman reached up to pull it lower over her forehead. Sophie noticed that her hand wasn’t nearly as wrinkled as she had initially thought. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as old as her hunched back would indicate.

 

The woman shook her head and refused to take the water. “I have something to give you, since you are so kind to allow an old granny to rest in your kitchen.” She uncovered her basket and showed Sophie a single red apple resting inside.

 

The hair on the back of Sophie’s neck prickled, she wasn’t sure why.

 

“Thank you.” Sophie held out her hand for the gift.

 

The abbot took the letter Gabe handed him, the letter Bartel had written, and read it. Then the abbot stared.

 

“So you are Gabehart Gerstenberg, second son of Duke Wilhelm of Hagenheim.”

 

Gabe nodded respectfully.

 

“I had the pleasure of meeting Duke Wilhelm once. He is a fine man and great leader.”

 

“Thank you for saying so. He is indeed.”

 

Gabe waited. The man stared down at the letter again. Finally, he rang a bell and a young monk entered the room through a side door.

 

“Go to Brother Baldewin and ask him to come. Have him wait in the anteroom.”

 

The young man bowed and walked away.

 

“You may wait here.” The abbot rose and left the room.

 

Gabe sat in the only chair available and waited. The monks had welcomed him and let him share their food. They had shown him to a room with a small cot where he had stowed his things, assuring him he was welcome to rest after his long trek. But he could not sleep until he found Duke Baldewin.

 

Was Sophie the duke’s daughter? He found himself wishing more and more she wasn’t, not only to lessen his guilt, but also the number of other meetings he would need to orchestrate to make Sophie his bride.

 

He should soon find out. Unless the duke refused to see him.

 

Gabe tapped on the arm of his chair, humming a song and thinking the words in his head. He got up and paced around the bare room, counting the cracks in the walls. The floors were very clean, but a spider with furry legs was busily building a web in the corner. Gabe watched it, impressed with the creature’s structural techniques. Finally, he walked back to his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “How much longer, O Lord?” he asked aloud, just as the door opened.

 

“Brother Baldewin will see you now.” The abbot’s assistant stood in the door, his hands hidden in his robe.

 

Gabe crossed the room and followed the monk down a long corridor to a small chamber. Once he was inside, the abbot’s assistant closed the door, leaving Gabe alone with a still form. As his eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, he saw the form was actually a man wearing the same brown robe as the monk who had brought him here. The man was kneeling at the back of the room facing a small crucifix on the wall, his head bowed over his clasped hands.

 

Was Duke Baldewin praying? Gabe wasn’t sure if he should interrupt, so he stood and waited, staring at the kneeling figure, willing him to look up and acknowledge his presence.

 

“You wished to speak to me?” The figure didn’t move.

 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 

“Don’t call me ‘Your Grace.’ I have not been that person for fifteen years now. You may simply call me Brother Baldewin.”

 

The man still had not moved. His face and head were hidden by the cowl of his robe.

 

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Brother Baldewin.” Speaking to a person’s back was a little uncomfortable, especially when what Gabe had to say was already difficult. But he was too anxious to have his questions answered to spend much time dwelling on how to broach the subject.

 

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