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CHAPTER 10

A Garden Party

      THEY PASSED though a covered gallery and out onto a broad terrace that overlooked a large, walled garden. Flowering vines were trained against the walls, old trees gave it shade, and the entire area was paved with smooth, irregular slabs of stone, punctuated by beds of scented herbs and brilliant flowers. Dozens of tiny tables had been set up under the trees, and from an arbor at the far end of the garden, a group of musicians was providing music.

      Twenty or thirty fashionably-dressed people were gathered there, enjoying themselves. Some were seated at the tables, others were strolling about and talking, and still others were listening to the musicians.

      The two young man paused on the terrace for a moment, looking down at the company. "What a beautiful place," Peter murmured politely.

      Dieter gave a comical groan. "But good Heavens! Just look at the guests," he whispered to Peter. "Big pantaloons like that have been out of style for over a year! And over there — that woman's headdress — terrible! What a dowdy crowd it is out here in the sticks!"

      Peter glanced down at his own simple tunic and linen hose. "I'm not very fashionable myself," he said calmly.

      "Nonsense! You may be simply dressed, but you carry yourself like a gentleman," Dieter answered seriously. "It's these peacocks who are decked out in the height of last year's fashions — they're the ones who look ridiculous!"

      A tall, old man in a rich, fur-trimmed robe was headed up the stairs toward them. He was deep in conversation with a smaller, fatter man whom Peter recognized as the mayor of the city. Dieter hurried down to meet them and greeted the tall man with a bow. "Uncle, I'd like to present my friend, Peter Schoeffer, the son of Mr. Rudolf Schoeffer, of Frankfurt."

      He turned back to Peter, "This is Dieter von Erbach, my uncle, the Archbishop and Elector of Mainz."

      Peter bowed, and the tall man favored him with a chill nod. "Good day, Schoeffer. I've heard of your father. They say he's a worthy man."

      "Yes, Sir, he is that — and much more."

      The Archbishop gave them another slight nod and then continued up the stairs and into the house. Dieter watched him go. "Well, Peter, that's my famous uncle. What a friendly fellow he is, to be sure!"

      Then he shrugged. "Oh well, come along into the garden. My acid-tongued beauty and her family have already arrived. See, that's her father — the one sweating himself to death in the big ermine collar." He pointed to a group of people who stood at the far end of the garden, near the musicians.

      Peter located them at once. Their backs were turned to the rest of the crowd, and they seemed to be listening to the music. The man was heavy-set, and — yes his thick neck was encircled by a showy, white fur collar that was obviously too warm for the day's heat. Two women stood near him. One was plump and all a-flutter with feathers and ribbons. The other looked young and slender.

      Von Erbach bounded down the stairs and headed toward them, threading his way among the little tables.

      The trip across the garden took an unexpectedly long time, however, because Dieter seemed to know everyone they passed. Following the young nobleman, half listening to his sociable chatter, Peter kept his eyes on the girl and her family. He was by now very curious about this young woman whom Dieter constantly referred to as his "dragon." What sort of person would she turn out to be? Was she really clever? Would she be pretty? And was she as sharp-tongued as Dieter had said?

      The music stopped, and the girl and her family began to talk together. As Peter watched them, a feeling of uneasiness grew in him: hadn't he seen that man's broad back somewhere before? And the woman whose head was half turned from him, surely that was . . .

      Dieter was bidding farewell to a garrulous, red-faced woman. Now he was bowing to her son. Then at last he strode forward, calling eagerly, "Mr. Fust! Frau Margarete, I've brought someone to meet you — a friend of mine, from Frankfurt."

      All Peter's fears were realized. The man who turned to greet them was Johann Fust himself, and when the slim girl beside him turned — Peter's heart skipped a beat. It was Christina, beautiful as an angel, with roses in her hair!

      Margarete Fust greeted Dieter effusively, fluttering her ribbons and feathers like some plump, flightless bird. Then she turned and gave her hand to Peter. "But I think we know this person," she twittered, peering at him nearsightedly. "Johann, isn't this nice young man an acquaintance of yours?"

      Old Fust gave Peter a curious look. "Yes . . . it's young Schoeffer. Why didn't you tell me that Mr. von Erbach was your friend!" His voice and manner had become astonishingly polite. Evidently Peter had risen sharply in the banker's estimation.

      "Dieter and my brother, Albrecht, have been friends for many years," Peter answered. "They were students together at Heidelberg."

      "Ach, yes. Heidelberg — those were great days," Dieter murmured sentimentally. "And what a long time ago it seems! My old friend is now a married man, well settled in his comforts. How I envy him!"

      Peter was hardly listening. It was true, then, it was Christina that Dieter was planning to marry! She was the Dragon! He glanced at Johann Fust, realizing unhappily that the banker would be delighted to see his daughter become a member of a lord's family, no matter whether or not she herself was willing.

      "This is terrible," Peter thought bitterly. "Dieter doesn't appreciate her at all — he doesn't even like her! And he's sure to make her unhappy! But old Fust won't care about that. He'll make her marry Dieter the minute he asks, and she'll have no choice but to obey!"

      He glanced uneasily at Christina, but she had moved away. She had given Peter one unfathomable look, and then, with hardly a glance at the young nobleman beside him, she had walked away as if she'd seen something deeply interesting about a large flowerbed near them.

      That look — he hadn't been able to read her expression at all. Was it only that she was surprised to see him? Or disappointed? But no, Peter thought, it was more than that. There had been real dismay in her eyes.

      Meanwhile, Dieter was discussing the festival with Johann Fust and his wife, looking from time to time at Christina. Now he said abruptly, "Your lovely daughter is very cruel today. She won't even speak to me!"

      Margarete Fust began to flutter. "Christina dearest," she called. "Come here right away and talk to Mr. von Erbach and his friend. My goodness, where are your manners!"

      Christina didn't answer at once. For a moment, she continued to examine the flower bed. Then, with a cool, indifferent face, she strolled back to them. "Good day, gentlemen, are you enjoying the Archbishop's gathering?"

      Dieter caught her hand, and bowed elaborately. "There was nothing to enjoy about it until I reached you," he said with a simpering smile. "Even the sun was overcast until I saw it shining in your sweet face."

      Christina's expression never changed. "Forgive me if I can't believe your compliment, Mr. von Erbach. The weather has been fine all day, and I understand the festival is unusually good this year."

      Dieter's smile hardly faltered. "If so, it's because your beauty gives it luster!"

      Without answering, Christina turned to Peter. "And you, Mr. Schoeffer, are you enjoying your holiday?"

      "Very much," Peter answered. But he was not telling the truth. All at once he felt absolutely miserable! As he met Christina's eyes, he realized that she knew exactly what Dieter was like and what kind of future was waiting for her as his wife. But — what was Christina thinking about him? Did she think that he approved of Dieter's courtship? Did she think he and Dieter were close friends? Oh, why had he let himself be dragged here!

      Meanwhile, von Erbach had called a servant to bring over several benches. "Let's sit down and be comfortable," he suggested pleasantly. "It seems the music is about to begin again."

      With a brief nod, Christina seated herself at the very end of one of the benches and motioned for her mother to sit next to her. But Dieter not so easy to avoid. He immediately dragged the second bench to a new position, so he could sit on the other side of her.

      "Now, Miss Christina, shall we talk of art? Of literature? What a pleasure it is to know a young woman who can converse sensibly on so many subjects," he said with an engaging smile.

      Peter scowled. Remembering the things von Erbach had said earlier, he knew that Dieter was secretly making fun of her. How dared he, Peter thought. And how could he be so stupid that he didn't understand what a lovely and worthwhile person Christina really was!

      When her daughter did not answer, Margarete Fust put in timidly, "What a lovely garden your Uncle has here. And how nice it was of him to invite us. Do you know — we've never been to one of his parties before!"

      Dieter answered rather grimly, "Oh, really? I am amazed!"

      The musicians now began to play again, and they all settled back to listen. A young man with long, curled hair began to sing. He had a pleasant voice, but the solemn hymn he chanted seemed oddly out of place in the sunlit garden.

      Johann Fust leaned forward to catch Dieter's attention. "That singer was trained at our own song school, right here in Mainz, Mr. von Erbach."

      Dieter nodded indifferently.

      "We're famous for our Meistersingers," Fust persisted in a loud whisper. "This music is as fine as anything you'll hear anywhere — even at Strassbourg!"

      Dieter yawned. "It's excellent, I'm sure, but to tell you the truth, this modern style doesn't move me like the music of the old-fashioned Minnesingers. Call me sentimental if you will, but — ach! — those old songs fill my eyes, and make my heart ache with love and longing. Don't you agree, Christina?"

      She considered the question for a moment before answering. "Yes and no. The music of the old songs is sweeter, but I don't care for the stories they tell. Ladies and knights dying over unrequited love? That's nonsense!"

      Dieter leaned closer to her. "Surely you believe in love."

      "Love? Yes — but I think real people would have more pride than to die over a person who doesn't care for them!" As Christina spoke, she turned a scornful look on both the young men, and it seemed to Peter that her eyes rested most especially on himself.

      Dieter glanced over at his friend, giving him the ghost of a wink. Then he moved even closer to Christina and murmured, "What you say may be true of coarser folk, but the heart of a noblemen — once it's fixed on a lovely lady — is easily wounded and slow to heal."

      But at this point, Peter could endure no more. He was thoroughly disgusted with Dieter's mercenary courtship, and his heart ached to think of what Christina's life would be like, once she and the young nobleman were married. And the marriage would indeed take place; that was clear. Old Fust was fawning over Dieter already, and he would grab at the chance of having a noble son-in-law.

      Angry with Dieter, angry with the Fusts for their social-climbing, angry even with Christina for submitting to Dieter's attention, Peter gave them all a cold bow. "Mr. and Mrs. Fust — Miss Christina — it's been a pleasure to see you today, but I've left my work long enough, and I must be going. Dieter, I'll give your regards to Albrecht when I next write to him. In the meantime, please make my apologies to your uncle."

      The words came out all in a breath. And before any of them could answer, he turned on his heel and left them.

      As he strode away through the crowd, he could just hear old Fust saying, "That young man's a hard worker. Very commendable. You know, Mr. von Erbach, once it's completed, I'm going to offer several copies of my Great Bible to your noble uncle — as a gift."

     


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