“Verbum caro factum est….”
Ursula had always thought of the Christmas hymn as far too glum for the happy news it bore: The Word has become flesh and dwelt among us. But today to her ears the music sounded joyful. It was funny how that worked, she thought with a smile: if you were sad, nothing could cheer you; if you were happy, though, everything–even the most mundane things, even the accidents–was happy.
That’s how it was on this Christmas day for Ursula. And it had started early, with the thunder of hooves in the forecourt and Mathilde and Ursula coming out from their morning rounds to find Gletscher and a strange, enormous black horse skidding to a halt before them on the pavers. Then, Leopold was upon them in a swirl of snow and fur, kissing Mathilde’s cheeks and forehead, pulling Ursula up completely off her feet and spinning her around until she yelped. It took a few minutes to get the story out of the men, and in the end, it was the Freiherr von Tiefental who told it, through laughter at his friend’s speechlessness.
“So, you’ll have your graf this summer,” he finished. “God knows what you’ll do with him!”
“More importantly,” Ursula said to Mathilde when the servants had led the horses to the stable and the lords to dry their clothes at the hearth in the Great Hall, all done up now with boughs for Christmas. “The killing is done.”
Mathilde squeezed her hand. “For now, my child. And may God make it ever so.” They went in to see how preparations were coming for the St. Stephen’s Day Feast. The castle steward had used Sigismund’s Christmas purse to make up for the stores the burg was lacking and then some: it would be the most luxurious banquet in Kiefersheim for years, with chickens roasted on spits and fresh sausages in addition to the usual breads and stews. Some of the patients were even well enough now to offer to stir pots and knead loaves.
All the bustle meant Mathilde and Ursula barely had time to brush the flour off and throw on their new tabards for the procession down to St. Hildegarde’s for Christmas Mass. And now here they were. Ursula stole a glance backward at the burgermeister’s pew and was surprised to see Sidonie wave back at her, a big smile on her angelic face. Ursula smiled back and wondered what had changed.
That she was able to see for herself an hour later as they filed out of the church to find a circle of girls already wheeling around the great Christmas tree in the square singing the carol as they danced it: “Ach, Tannenbaum.” Sidonie laughed and leapt into the circle, against her mother’s protestations, and after a round or two, she waved to someone in the crowd, her eyes shining like sapphires. Ursula followed the line of her gaze and found Sir Bernard’s younger son Ulrich on the other end, waving back.
“Looks like we’ll be laying in stores for a spring wedding,” a voice said in her ear, and Ursula glanced up to find the graf standing behind her. Her heart suddenly thumped a pulse in her ears to match the drums, and then she saw he was watching the same spectacle she was. She laughed, put a hand to the back of her neck, rubbed the hair that had stood up there back into place.
“Oh no, my Lord. It will take Sidonie at least three trips to Salzburg to get a satisfactory trousseau together. I believe what you’re looking at there is a Christmas wedding….” Leopold snorted a laugh. Bernard caught them staring and returned a resigned, though not unhappy, shrug.
That night there was more dancing and merry-making in the town, but Ursula was happy just to sit quietly with Mathilde at the fire in the hospital, drink a mug of hot cider, and leaf through the new medical book the graf had given her as a Christmas gift–the first volume of Ibn Sinna’s Canons of Medicine, translated from the Arabic to Latin. Ursula couldn’t imagine where Leopold had found it, or how much it must have cost him.
“Reading your new book?” Mathilde looked up from her stitching with a smile. Ursula flushed.
“I can’t…. My father started me in Latin, but we didn’t get far before he died.” Mathilde nodded.
“The graf told me. He’s going to send his old tutor, Herr Dietmar, to give you lessons starting after New Year’s. You’ll be reading in no time, quick as you are.”
The pages of the book blurred in front of Ursula’s eyes, and she shut it quickly so she didn’t drop tears on the precious ink and vellum. She set the book carefully on the table and mumbled something to Mathilde about being right back.
The clouds had blown off and the air on the roof was knife-sharp. Ursula bundled herself to her eyes in her new rabbit-fur cloak from Mathilde. The sickle moon dangled over the forest and the Milky Way frosted the sky above it from right to left like a spray of snow on a black velvet cloak. Below, she could hear the merriment in the Great Hall spilling out into the courtyard: not only Sir Harald had come to feast, but also a few of the Graf’s retainers from Regensburg, and of course Sir Bernard, the burgermeister, and the Councilmen. Ursula could even make out the song the musicians were playing, “Es Ist Ein Rose Entsprungen.” Another sad carol with happy words. This time, it felt right to Ursula. She was happy and sad at the same time, too, in a way that couldn’t be sorted out like beans or socks.
“Shove over, von Koppl.” Ursula startled as the graf’s shadow blocked out the moon. She coughed out a laugh and did as instructed.
“You just want my warm spot.”
“If I was looking to be warm, I wouldn’t be up here, trust me. I’d be down at the fire with Mathilde in your chair.”
“Not enjoying the company in the Great Hall, then? Sir Harald seems like good fun at least.”
“That’s why I left him in charge,” Leopold brushed snow off a boot. “Why aren’t you down where it’s warm?”
Ursula shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’m so happy. This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time, maybe even ever. Thanks to you and Mathilde. But at the same time, it reminds me of everything I’ve lost, and warns me of everything I have to lose.”
Leopold nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Ursula sighed. “I guess there’s nothing to be done.”
Leopold shook his head. “If there’s one thing you taught me this Christmas, Fraulein von Koppl, it’s that we make the world we want to live in–at least in part, and with Heaven’s help.” He looked at her and held out a hand; she could see the scar shining on his cheek in the moonlight. “Will you stay with me and help me do that? Help me be a good graf for my people. I’m not asking for more than that. I don’t even fully know what I’m asking. But, will you, anyway?” She took his hand in both of hers, wrapped it warm in her fur cloak.
“I will, your Grace.”
“Leo,” he corrected her with a flash of a smile.
“Leo…. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Ursula.”
The Rookery 