Pilgrims of Promise (19 page)

But alas, the night’s merriment came to its inevitable end. The
signora
rose to bid her guests farewell. She gestured to Benedetto. “Leave them with a song, little fellow.” The minstrel climbed wearily upon a table and sang of his Rose of Arona—a song about a beauty from this very town whom he had once seen for a fleeting moment. After spending years dreaming of her, he had been frustrated all this time that he could neither find her nor learn anything of her! The guests stood respectfully as their sleepy hostess slipped away from the table, then listened to Benedetto’s heartfelt verse. The feast over, the hall emptied quickly.

Before retiring to her bed, however,
Signora
Cosetta summoned the eleven pilgrims to the door of her chamber. “I wish you all Godspeed.” She smiled and laid a hand on Maria. “I am thankful you gave my husband joy in his final days. I could have asked no more for him.” She smiled and winked at a servant.

All heads turned as a protesting donkey was led into the corridor. “This creature is more stubborn than any drunken fisherman I have ever met. Only Maria can move him without effort! We call him ‘Paulus’ because the priests say he is as stubborn and fixed of purpose as the apostle!” She took hold of the lead and handed it to Maria. “Now, my little dear, I present this old friend of mine to you. Treat him well and think of me often.” She smiled as Maria’s eyes widened.

“For me?” she squealed as she stroked the muzzle of the big-eared beast.

“
Si
.” Cosetta motioned for the servant and turned to the others. “Now, Paulus shall wait for you all at the gate on the morrow. But as for me, I shall bid my farewell now.” She handed Paulus’s lead to the servant and summoned the pilgrims into her apartment. She sat on a chair and reached for Maria. Lifting the little girl up onto her ample lap, she began. “My husband was something of a poet. He was surely no warrior. I wish all of you might have known him. He learned to love Pieter almost as much as he loved the little one.”

Cosetta pick a folded paper from within her gown and opened it slowly. Her eyes moistened. “As he was dying, he scribbled these words. I should like to share them with you, now, before you leave me to carry on with your lives. I think he would have wished me to do it.”

She held the paper at arm’s length as if to read, but she simply closed her eyes and recited the words from memory. “‘Live life wisely, and have a care for the passage of time. For our world is a garden and we are like roses. Our blooms open and spread over others fading nearby. In time, new buds shall surely come, and they will bloom fresh and fragrant near our own withering petals. It is the cycle of life—the way it ought to be … and it is good. “‘

It was Friday, the twenty-fourth of May in the year 1213 when the pilgrims rose to begin their journey home. The dawn was bright and warm; cocks and songbirds filled the air with the sounds of springtime. A light dew lay upon the green grass, and a gentle mist hung lightly over Lago Maggiore. The cliff-top fortress was beginning to bustle with the tasks of a new day, but few gave any notice to the travelers gathering at the gate. Only one servant was waiting for the group as they organized themselves. He was a disinterested young man who led them through the gate and to a braying Paulus tethered to a post just beyond.

Maria ran to her four-legged friend and hugged his long face. “I love you, dear Paulus! We shall go far away together.” Solomon walked a tentative circle around the animal. He had been kicked twice and bit once over the past months.

Heinrich looked at the donkey with a satisfied smile. The beast was strong—he’d be a great asset for the journey. But more than that, he had been loaded with a generous stock of provisions that were tied in bundles hanging heavily across his back. “So many gifts!” the man exclaimed.

Eager hands quickly dug through sacks and bedrolls strewn about the ground as well. “Olives and fish!” cried Rudolf.

“Flatbread and spelt!” added Heinrich.

“
Ja
,” laughed Wil. “And see here, arrows and string for me, blankets and cord, ells of wool and thread, flints, rope, salt—even fat scraps for Solomon.”

“Salt?” exclaimed Pieter.

“
Ja
! A fortune in salt!”

Helmut foraged through a large bag. “Pots and a kettle, a ladle and tongs … a dozen knives …”

Maria laughed. “She said we were barbarians and ought not eat with our fingers!” The girl turned her face upward, and her smiling eyes accidentally met Heinrich’s gaze. She held her smile shyly and hoped. For these weeks, the little maid had longed to hear the man call her “daughter,” and she could not understand his apparent indifference. She had been told by Wil that he was her father, yet he had never said a word of it. She had heard the others prod him, and though he had not been unkind, his heart had not warmed to her. She longed for him to find her worthy of his love. Her gaze lingered and held the man’s attention for a moment, and then he looked away. Maria’s chin quivered and her heart sank.

Otto and Benedetto opened a small bag and showed it to Frieda. “Honeycomb and berry preserves. God’s blessings upon that woman!”

Tomas had spent the previous weeks quietly. Though still somewhat distant from the others, he had taken the first steps toward reconciliation by sharing both work and respite. Now he tugged hard on the cork of a long clay bottle. With a loud “pop” it came out, and he held his nose to the opening. “Humph,” he grumbled. “Olive oil.”

“Good for most anything, lad,” chuckled Pieter. “And see here, a set of wallets filled with herbs. We’ve horehound and dock for coughs, ground lemon rind for whitlow, garlic of course, and here’s tansy, wormwood, thyme, lady’s mantle for headaches, licorice for the belly, flaxwood, nettles … God be praised!”

“And you stay away from those figs!” cried Otto.

Pieter grinned sheepishly. “Aye, lad, indeed.”

Wil ordered his company to resecure Paulus’s load before arranging the column. When all was in order, he faced his fellows quietly, then spoke in earnest. “We’ve a long journey ahead, and we know little about what faces us. I am in command, though Pieter and …” he glanced briefly at Heinrich and forced himself to continue. “And my … father … are our counselors.”

The sound of the word
father
comforted the baker.

“Otto,” continued Wil, “you are my sergeant.”

Frieda stifled a giggle. She leaned toward Maria and whispered, “The great general thinks he’s in command of a mighty army!”

Hearing her, Wil quickly blushed. “Well … now, Pieter and Maria follow behind me with Paulus.
Herr
Heinrich and Frieda are to be next, then Benedetto, Heinz, Otto, then Tomas, Rudolf, and Helmut. We need the rear well guarded.”

Frieda was a little disappointed. Though she enjoyed Heinrich’s stories, she would rather have walked alongside Wil. The baker leaned toward her and smiled. “Not to worry. After a day hell miss you, too.” He winked.

Wil continued. “We’ve agreed that we should follow our old route north to Weyer. A merchant in the castle told me that returning crusaders are being treated badly in the northland. Seems we failed in our faith and are now hated for it. So we must be clever and careful. As before, we’ll not be near many monasteries, so we’ll need to protect one another.

“Along the way we hope to find Friederich and Jon where we left them. Rudolf, we’ve hopes of returning you to your family.” He turned to Helmut. “After we reach Weyer, you’ll need find a way to your home.”

The lad nodded.

“Frieda …” Wil was in a bit of a predicament. “I … we … have you a plan for yourself?”

The girl paled slightly, but she set her face proudly and lifted her chin. “Well, master, I suppose my home is still in Westphalia. Perhaps Helmut can escort me there after we reach Weyer.”

Wil threw a hard glance at the beaming Helmut. “I see.” He squeezed his hands into fists. “And Benedetto, your wish?”

The little minstrel shrugged. “Once I thought I might find the village of my childhood, but I doubt it would feel like home to me now. The dock holds me no more. It seems I belong with all of you.” He reached a tiny hand toward Maria and crooned,

Let each day bring

What each day will.

Just let me sing;

My cup, please fill.

Within the hour, the company of eleven souls had descended the castle road and were embracing the prior and a teary-eyed Brother Chiovo. The two monks hastily fed the group a meal of salted fish and red wine, then escorted them through the streets of Arona, chastising two peasants for eating mutton on a Friday—a fish day. Pieter chuckled to himself and gnawed on some salted pork. Breaking fish-day restrictions was one of his most delightful violations!

The company arrived at lakeside near midmorning, about an hour before the bells of terce. The road leading north ran along the water’s edge and was bustling with horses and carts. The morning mists had lifted, and the sky was blue; the air smelled of fish and wet rocks. Above, the sun was warm and comforting. Heinrich lifted his face upward and looked at the few white clouds high overhead. He smiled.

Pieter gathered his flock into a tight huddle and raised his staff. “Brothers and sisters,” he began, “our journey does not begin here; it merely continues. Let us honor those we have left behind, and let us walk in love with those yet by our sides.” He held his staff to his breast and turned his face to heaven. “Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of your love. We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you. For by your holy cross You have redeemed the world.” He proceeded to pray for their safety, for their health, and for the happy arrival of “hearts at the place you would have them call ‘home.’”

The old priest then fell to his knees and implored the Almighty to shield them from all manner of wicked peril and pestilence of the world. Finishing his petitions, he rose and laid a hand on Maria’s shoulder as he drew a breath deeply through his nostrils. “Wil, ‘tis an astonishing journey we are on. Indeed, goodness and mercy have followed us, and the swords of heaven’s legions go before us, each and every one.”

Brother Chiovo stepped forward with a bowed head.
“Prego
, all of us. Together let us recite the Lord’s Prayer.”

When they finished, the group stood silently, each listening to the soft lapping of the lake against its stony shore. Then, with matters of both heaven and earth put to right order, Wil raised his bow and boomed, “Homeward!”

The landscape rose rapidly from Arona, and the pilgrims followed the lake highway to Stresa where they took a rest at the edge of town. By nightfall they had said good-bye to Lago Maggiore and made their first night’s camp by the roadway alongside the Toce River. Too weary for conversation, the group fell asleep quickly and rose at dawn, stiff and footsore.

“Too many weeks without suffering!” lamented Pieter. “We’ve become soft.” His old bones were aching. “You see, Heinz? Look at m’feet!”

“Blisters
already
?” teased the imp.

“
Ja
, I fear so.”

Heinrich distributed some cheese and fixed a quick mush for his fellows. He had been elected the camp cook, with Frieda and Maria as his helpers. He set a steaming bowl of boiled spelt in front the group and laughed. “Fingers in!” he cried.

The highway was oddly empty; only a few passersby hurried this way and that. It was a condition that did not escape the attention of either Heinrich or Pieter. “Saturday ought to be a busy day of market traffic,” said Heinrich.