Page 61 of Heart of Snow
We had to clap for the crossbowmen guild, the sawyers guild, the farriers guild. We clapped for the magistrates, the soldiers, the jesters and fools, the men on stilts. At every new display,I craned my neck, searching the faces for Samuel, but was repeatedly disappointed.
“Are you always so agitated?” The prince nodded toward my bouncing knee, and I reined it steady.
“Do you know when we can expect the German nobles?”
He clapped for the departing guild but shook his head. “If you’re in need of a distraction...” He glanced at me with a tantalizing half smile, but I was spared the burden of responding when a horrible screeching echoed in the square. Rolling toward us on the newest float was a black bear pounding the keys of a heinous instrument. Twenty ragged, sorry cats were trapped in twenty narrow cages, strings tied from their tails to a set of organ keys. The cats became the music, as every note the bear struck rang out in painful wailing from the unfortunate performers. The only sound to compete with the cats’ pitiful wails was the deep belly laugh of Prince Felipe, guffawing and slapping his knee until he settled back against his chair with a sigh.
“I’ve been to processions and parades until I am sick of them, but that was exceptional.”
I glared at him, but he looked past me. “Ah! The food.”
At my right, a page held out a silver platter covered with pickled salmon, candied pine nuts, and a grape-and-melon arrangement atop mint sprigs. I waved him away, and he moved to the kaiser and his son, this time kneeling to prevent obscuring their view. The prince pulled off a glove and reached for the salmon, coming away with a small handful, but the kaiser’s hand hovered over the tray while a short, bearded man whispered in his ear. A sour expression came over the kaiser’s face, and he dropped his empty fist in his lap, sending the page on.
“Who is that man?” I whispered to Prince Felipe. “The one standing behind your father?”
“Vesalius, his physician.”
“Andreas Vesalius? OfDe Humani Corporis Fabrica?”
The prince twisted in his chair to face me, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Of his works, yes. The unorthodox dissection of human corpses certainly garners notice. And overthrowing Galen’s assertion that blood circulates from the liver is rather noteworthy. Though, in truth, I still find it difficult to believe.”
“You are well researched,” he answered. “I’m happy to find a mind so evenly matched with an enchanting face.”
“I’d be surprised to find the same of you.” The words were out before I’d realized, and I instantly regretted them. “I most humbly beg your pardon, Your Grace,” I said, ducking my head in submission, but my ears were attuned to every shift and creak in his chair as I sat in suspense of what he would do.
His finger touched my chin, turning my face up to his. “I’m flattered you think me handsome.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, then released me, and I felt a familiar heat creeping up my neck. I would not allow it. I fought back my blush with a renewed focus on Samuel and the parade.
A two-storied float rolled into the square, the upper story bearing replicas of the kaiser and prince standing proud and resolute, surrounded by billows of white fabric and Grecian columns painted like marble. They rested their fists on their hips, triumphing over a hole that dropped down to the first story, where a miserable figure lay amidst flames of fabric and plaster. In replica, the German monk Martin Luther cowered, his mouth frozen in a scream, his hand covering his eyes as he shied away from the burn of hell.
Despite my anger, I noticed the sudden shift of mood in the crowd. Some onlookers clapped more vigorously, nodding their heads in emphatic agreement with this pronouncement of Luther’s fate. Others folded their arms across their chests with tight lips or stared at the ground. A third set of people clapped softly but shook their heads all the while, as if wishing to displaydisapproval without outright defiance. Their reactions gave me hope. Hope that, regardless of the kaiser’s wars and his edicts, Protestantism could not be crushed.
Brussels was not in the kaiser’s hand. The firm set of his mouth proved that he understood as much and was not at all pleased by it.
The prince seemed too caught up in his own emotions to take notice. He clapped with great vigor, actually standing as the float rolled in front of us. When he sat down again, he tipped his head toward me. “I think I see your German brethren yonder.”
It required a great deal of self-restraint to keep my seat, but I leaned this way and that, hoping to catch a glimpse of the kaiser’s captives. The first hint of them was a small wagon with thick metal bars supporting the roof. As it rolled closer, I saw a group of seven men inside—some standing, some sitting in hay strewn over the floor, as if the wagon housed animals instead of people.
The first figure I recognized as the Landgrave of Hesse. He did not have on the cloaks, furs, or jewels he’d worn whenever my family visited him in the past, but he wore the black round hat that I knew well. Searching past him, I scanned a few forlorn, unfamiliar faces until I spotted Samuel, slumped against the bars in the corner of the cage. If I hadn’t known he’d be there, I wouldn’t have recognized him. His typically neat and trim hair was now long and shaggy. His once-pointed beard clung to his gaunt cheeks and flowed to his chest, looking more like that of a biblical prophet than a German prince. He was thin and pale. And ill.
Indignation burned in my veins. “Is this how you treat your prisoners? Parade them around like animals in cages?”
An amused smile tugged at Prince Felipe’s lips. “Should we offer them horses for escape?”
“Of course not, but this... Look at that one, there.” I pointed at Samuel. “That man is ill. And thin. Are you keeping them from food? From medicine?”
“The men are given sufficient attention. Not all tolerate captivity equally. The weaker ones waste.”
“And that is your excuse?”
“That is my answer.” His tone was sharp.
I turned away, exasperated, refusing to speak to him for the rest of the procession. Even when he thanked me for joining him, I merely bowed and returned to the other ladies, who mostly feigned disinterest. Only Dorthea peppered me with questions about the prince, about our conversation, and about how I’d come to find a seat beside him. I gave her half my attention, unable to stop thinking of Samuel and how changed and sickly he looked.
That evening, I waited at the chess table, eager to talk to the one person in the best position to speak for Samuel’s freedom, but Egmont did not show.
Chapter 29
