The Witch of Cologne
The archbishop holds out a letter, the emperor’s seal clearly visible. ‘This contains details of the whereabouts of your brother. It is impossible to completely disappear these days, when even the sky has eyes.’
‘Indeed.’
Reluctantly Gerhard takes the letter; already it weighs heavily on him, like a betrayal.
‘Heinrich, you astound me. To think that we are cousins.’
‘Power demands many sacrifices, and matters of the heart belong in the realm of youthful folly—let us not get nostalgic. Besides, beyond twenty years of age there is no such thing as an innocent kindness.’
The count laughs bitterly then stands, collecting his ivory-topped cane.
‘Heinrich, you deceive yourself. Unlike Detlef, neither you nor I have ever possessed anything remotely resembling innocence from the moment we were born, nay, even conceived. However, I shall endeavour to liberate my brother from his current delusions and bring him back to this city. Until then I trust you will stay the hand of the inquisitor.’
With a curt nod, Gerhard von Tennen leaves the archbishop’s chambers, followed by his page.
Heinrich, watching the count’s trim figure stride through the courtyard some moments later, finds himself remembering a time, many years before, when his own heart would have quickened at the sight. Saddened, he sits back down at his desk.
My dear Brother,
It may seem strange to you to receive this missive after so many years, but I have grown sentimental in my maturity. The passing traveller has supplied us with some news of you, mainly of your vocation and spreading support amongst the Lowlanders. Detlef, please be convinced when I swear that I wish to cast aside all religious differences. I seek a reconciliation and, naturally, the acquaintance of my nephew (I do believe you have a son?). My own marriage has proven barren and my life, as you know, has been bereft of children. I would take great pleasure in his company. Also, my health has been failing in this past year. My gamekeeper and companion Herr Wolf was gored in a hunting accident two years ago and I miss him greatly. There is now a hollow echo at Das Grüntal that I wish to eradicate.
I am willing to make the journey to the port of Amsterdam and have heard that a trading ship of reputation is due to leave the sixth of next month. Please give your reply to the accompanying messenger, he is to be trusted and is instructed to ride back directly to me only.
Yours in faith and in blood,
Your brother, Gerhard von Tennen
The Dutch nursemaid playing with Jacob on a low ottoman sneaks a glance at the handsome German chevalier waiting at the door, a royal crest visible on his short cloak, and wonders how the humble Tennen family knows such a man. Meanwhile, at the table Detlef finishes reading the letter from his brother and without a word hands it to his wife.
A moment later Ruth looks up.
‘I cannot help myself, Detlef, I mistrust the honesty of his intentions.’
‘I have my own misgivings, but he is family. I will agree to his visit.’
‘No.’
‘Wife, I want him to visit us here. I want him to see what it is to survive by one’s wits and not one’s estate. This way he will learn humility and true brotherhood.’
‘But this is a man who has only ever lived by politics. What makes you think his character might have transformed?’
‘The awareness of mortality. When a man confronts the end of his life he is left with nothing but a mirror of his actions. Besides, what harm can he do in Amsterdam? We are much loved and well protected, there is nothing to fear. I shall find him a tavern of status for his lodgings. In the meantime I shall compose my reply and you shall trust in the better will of mankind.’
‘It seems I have no choice.’
‘Indeed.’
Detlef turns away to instruct the nursemaid to offer a jug of hot spiced wine to the messenger.
Intensely frustrated by what she perceives as Detlef’s naivety, Ruth sweeps Jacob into her arms and carries him to the kitchen. Will he ever listen, she thinks furiously as she enters the cosy chamber which has become her retreat. How much longer is he going to give untrustworthy people the benefit of his doubt?
The kitchen, a back room dominated by a large hearth which harbours the firepot with the stewpan and peat box on either side of it, is Ruth’s private sanctuary, her heart of their house. Against the white plastered wall opposite is a copper sink fed by a pump attached to a cistern, and next to that Detlef’s cherished wedding gift to her, a freestanding walnut cupboard of delicate French design with a sparse collec
tion of English porcelain behind its glass doors. Seeing it she cannot help but feel a wave of affection despite her anger, remembering Detlef’s childlike enthusiasm when he presented it to her. It is her favourite piece of furniture: a symbol of their marital fidelity and material wealth, and of the Dutch people’s acceptance of their union.
Lentil and pheasant soup bubbles on the firepot. Ruth stirs it with a large ladle while Jacob, slung on her hip, plays with her long hair. Mother and child are caught for a moment in a brass mirror hanging on the wall—the reflection of an elliptical magical world. The smell of the soup drifts around the kitchen as the child struggles in Ruth’s arms. She puts him down.
As Jacob runs for his spinning top, Ruth finds herself enveloped by a familiar dread, a sensation she has not experienced for years but recalls with vivid intensity as it claws its way through her body. Without thought she begins to recite a kabbalistic chant for protection, but stops when her son, laughing, pulls at her skirts.