Pilgrims of Promise (17 page)

At long last, Wil and his five companions entered the town and hurried through its streets to the abbey. It was Thursday, and the market was closed, save for a few fish sellers and one badly crippled woman pleading with passersby to buy her plaited baskets. Brushing past a priest, a few carts, and two soldiers on patrol, the group made its way to the portal of the Abbey of Saints Gratian and Felinus. Pale faced and perspiring, Wil took a deep breath and rapped loudly on the door.

A young porter answered.
“Deo gratias.
Thanks be to God!”

“And to you. We come in search of two fair maids, an old priest, and two lads.”

The porter twisted his face and shrugged. “Momento.” He dashed away to return with the prior.

“Thanks be to God.
Grüssen.
Come in, be fed.” The prior bowed and kissed each on the cheek. He commanded two brothers to fetch trays of food and beverage as he led the others past gardens green with the fresh bloom of springtime and swollen with buds. The air was warm and humid, filled with the pungent odor of fresh manure.

Wil’s company followed quietly, scanning the workshops and courtyards for any sign of their two fellows. At last they arrived at the prior’s chamber, where they removed their shoes and submitted to prayers and a ritual foot washing. They nibbled impatiently on flatbread and cheese and then finally faced the prior.

“So, my children, how can we serve you?”

“We come seeking two fair maidens, an old priest, and two lads. Have you seen them?”

“Ah,
si!
And your name, young sir?”

“Wilhelm of Weyer.”

The prior smiled and clapped his hands.
“Si! Si!
Pieter said you’d come. Ha! God be praised.”

“So he is here?” Wil’s brows were arched hopefully.

“No, no, my son. He is not here.”

Wil’s expression darkened. “No riddles.”

“Your pardon. No riddles indeed. Pieter is with the others in
Signora
Cosetta’s castle.”

The group murmured. “The castle on the cliff?” barked Helmut.

“Si, si.
The road leading to it is just beyond the north gate. You need only follow it up the back of the mountain and tell the gate guard that you have been sent by the abbey.”

Frieda nudged Wil to ask that which all had been afraid to ask. He nodded and took a deep breath. “Prior, are our two girls with them?”

“Only one, my son. A sadder day there has never been for us.”

Wil was staggered by the news, and Frieda sobbed. Bravely, the young man lifted his quivering chin. “
Ja
, brother. ‘Tis as I had feared. Many thanks for your charity, but we must find Pieter.”

Heinrich had remained quiet, but his heart was suddenly broken for the pain now evidenced on his son’s face. He stretched his hand tentatively toward the lad’s shoulder.

Wil paused to let the baker’s palm rest lightly. The warmth and strength of his father’s touch felt comforting for a moment. Then Wil pulled away and hurried ahead, wishing to run and weep where none might see him.
If only!
he groaned inwardly.
If only she knew of my love for her and my shame.

Frieda hurried to his side. “Wil, she forgave you long before she was ever sick.”

Wil pursed his lips.

“She was my friend. We spoke often. I’ve told you this before, yet you will not believe me. Please, Wil, trust me in this. She has forgiven you.”

Wil would not yield. For him, grace needed to be earned—a paradox of residual pride. He could not imagine how he might be truly forgiven without evidencing the agony of a guilt-ridden confession. He wanted to rend his heart at Maria’s feet, to pour out his shame in salted tears of blood. It was simply not enough to be granted pardon without penalty.

“She was a light-bearer, Wil. She was sent to show us the way.”

The lad choked. “Then I am yet blind.”

Frieda took his hand. “No more than I. Pieter says, ‘We see through the glass darkly.’ None travels the path without stumbling. Even Maria once stomped her little feet in anger at m’sister!”

“Aye?”

Frieda smiled. “It was a great relief to see she was not without her own faults!”

Wil dismissed the comment. “I pitied her so. Her arm gave cause for many to mock, yet she offered only kindness in return.”

The company pressed its way through the crowded streets and alleyways of Arona, past carts laden with fish or barrels of olive oil. Shopkeepers hawked their wares, working hard to sell the disinterested pilgrims an assortment of colorful products such as blessed trinkets, straw hats, foodstuffs, and even kittens. On any other day the group would have enjoyed the scene, especially since Heinrich was carrying a pouch filled with gold and silver coins!

“There!” cried Rudolf. “There! Look between the roofs and you’ll see the castle.”

All heads bent backward, and soon the pilgrims’ faces were fixed on the foreboding gray fortress perched high atop a sheer cliff rising from the shores of the lake. A few helmets glittered in the sun between the merlons, and Wil cursed. “I’m in no mood for this,” he grumbled.

The six emerged from Arona through its north gate and soon stood at the foot of the massive cliff. “We need to follow that road like the monk said.” Heinrich surveyed their location. He scanned the crowded roadway now clogged with ox-drawn carts and horses. He turned his face to the flat waters of the lake and suddenly wished they might all just sleep along the peaceful shore.

During the pause it was Rudolf who suddenly realized the obvious. “Wil, you didn’t ask the prior
who
died!”

Wil’s jaw loosed and he turned to Rudolf. “What?”

“Who died? Which girl?”

“What a fool I am!”

Frieda was reluctant to let hope rise in her chest. “But, but, Wil, methinks we know—”

“You can’t be sure just yet,” interrupted Heinrich. “You only know one thing… that only one is lost.”

“And that is sad enough,” added Frieda. “I loved them both.”

“
Ja
,” said Wil. “And I as well. Yet I cannot hope but wish it is my sister who lives.”

Tomas had said nothing all that morning. He had always liked Maria, though he often secretly wished misery for Wil. He grumbled, “Enough talk.”

“Aye!” answered Wil with fresh life in his voice. “Aye. To the castle!”

“
Si
, you seek Father Pieter?
Si
.” A guard led the anxious pilgrims through the
Rocca di Arona
slowly. He began to sing as he strolled, pausing to chat from time to time and stopping once for a tall clay goblet of red wine. Finally, the soldier pointed to the figure of an old man lying flat on his back in the middle of a rose garden. “Pieter.”

In an instant, Wil and Frieda sprinted forward. “Pieter! Pieter!” they cried.

The napping old fellow didn’t stir until the shadow of six encircling forms blocked his face from the warmth of the noontime sun. “Eh?” He lifted himself to one elbow and shielded his eyes with the other. “What—?”

“Pieter!” exclaimed Wil. “‘Tis us! We’ve come!”

The old priest nearly leapt to his feet. He shouted his hosannas loudly as he took hold of his staff. “Ha!” He spread his arms wide. “God be praised!” Beaming his familiar gaping, one-toothed smile, he embraced them each. “Wil! My Frieda! Good Helmut and Rudolf! And m’friend for all time, Heinrich!
Laus Deo!”
Pieter was weeping for joy. He turned to the sixth figure and began to open his arms before he recognized the face. “Tomas?” He dropped his arms and stared.

“Ja.
Tomas.” The young man’s face was hard.

Pieter was flabbergasted. “I… I… well, I—”

“We rescued him from the Dragonara,” offered Heinrich. “He wishes to go home with us.”

Pieter smiled with reservation. “Well, God’s will be done.” He extended his hand.

Tomas stared at the old man for a long moment, then smiled wickedly. He placed his hand firmly in Pieter’s and hissed, “God’s will, then.”

“Pieter,” blurted Wil, “we must know of Maria’s fate.” His voice trembled at the sound of his sister’s name. “Is she the one?”

“
Ja
,” answered Pieter matter-of-factly.

Wil’s heart sank and Frieda groaned. “I feared as much.”

Suddenly realizing the confusion, Pieter cried, “Nay, lad. Maria lives!”

Shocked, Wil felt suddenly limp. “She lives? She truly lives?”

“Aye, lad! She lives! Come quickly. She is tending the
signora’s
gardens.”

Stunned and staring in disbelief, Wil and Frieda cried out for joy, then quickly turned to follow Pieter. They scrambled through the castle bailey, up the stone steps, past dozing soldiers on the battlements, and into the lord’s private courtyard. Then they stopped, for there in the center of a rose garden, beneath an arbor of honeysuckle stooped Maria.

Wil smiled a smile such as none had ever seen. His skin tingled and his belly fluttered. Dropping his bow, he ran toward his sister with arms stretched outward. “Maria!” he cried jubilantly. “Maria!”

The little girl looked up, curious, then stood, her little lips pursed in uncertainty. Suddenly recognizing her brother racing toward her, she burst into tears. She had barely taken a few steps toward him when he swept her off her feet and into his embrace.

“Oh, dear Maria, my sister! Oh, I love you so!” Wil sobbed.

Maria held him tightly. She could not yet speak, but the joy she felt filled the whole of the castle with sunshine. A group of courtiers and workmen paused to line the garden and cheer. They knew her sad story and celebrated the fulfillment of her dream.

Hearing the joyous uproar,
Signora
Cosetta emerged from the shade of her arcade. She was a dark, plump
matrona
of some fifty years. She hurried toward the garden with her gown lifted high off her ankles and her gray braids tumbling off her head. “Maria! Maria!” She scooped the little girl from Wil’s arms and held her close, crying loudly to the Holy Mother and praising the saints for the maid’s good fortune.

Frieda would wait no longer, and she pulled the laughing little girl from Cosetta’s grip and held her tightly. Then, finally, after hearts had quieted, Wil introduced his companions. “Maria, this is Rudolf. He is the son of the kindly yeoman near Liestal.”

“I remember!” she exclaimed. “Your
Mutti
sent us with blankets and food!”

Rudolf smiled. “
Ja
, that is m’mother.”

“And this is Helmut. He joined us in Genoa. He comes from the area of Bremen in the far north.”

Maria nodded her head politely.
“Hallo,
Helmut. We shall be friends, I’m sure.”

“And you must remember Tomas.”

“I do. I am happy to see you again.”

The black-haired youth shrugged. “Really? Methinks not.”

Maria said nothing at first, then walked quickly to a nearby garden where she picked a swollen bud. “‘Tis wanting to bloom methinks.” She handed the surprised lad the bud with a sincere face. He took it, saying nothing.

Wil then turned awkwardly to Heinrich. The baker was standing stiff jointed and uncomfortable. He had wondered what he’d do. He studied the little girl carefully.
The sin is not with her
, he thought.
Mismade or not.

Before Wil could speak, Maria brightened and ran to the man. “I remember you! You are Friend … from Basel! You saved us all, and you have one arm, too!”

The man’s kind heart immediately melted. He knelt and squeezed her shoulder lightly. “
Ja
, little sister. I am he. I am very glad you are well.”

Wil stared at the man incredulously. “He still denies her,” he muttered.

Maria turned to Wil. “But Anna died.”

“I know.”

“I tried to care for her with Brother Chiovo, but her head hurt badly and her fever was so high. It was terrible.”

Pieter stepped into the group. “Indeed, my dear, it was terrible indeed.” He raised his face to heaven. “But God is good; His mercies endure forever, my children. We must grieve our losses and enjoy our blessings. And most of all, let us love one another.”