Pilgrims of Promise (21 page)

The minstrel nodded sadly, then looked away. He was surprised at the weight of melancholy that pressed his heart. The man had spent many years singing to travelers and those few brave enough to dare the rough glacier waters of the Rhône. It was a time that had surely passed. He was the minstrel of Fiesch no more.

The valley widened considerably as the pilgrims made their way northeastward. It was dotted with tiny hamlets whose poor residents pastured numbers of milk cows atop fields now carpeted with the most spectacular assortment of wildflowers. Maria dashed from the column from time to time to gather handfuls of them. She decorated Frieda’s flaxen hair and her own, even setting a cluster behind laughing Pieter’s ear. To either side of the splendid valley, the great mountains rose ominously, but not in an unfriendly way. They stood tall and proud, mighty sentinels of things glorious.

It was midday of the second day when the pilgrims stood at the base of the Grimsel Pass. There they gawked slack jawed and in wonder of the sheer magnificence before them. Huge spruce-covered mountains lay in wait, and behind them stood what seemed to be unending folds of snow-blown peaks.

“I can barely speak,” mumbled Pieter. The old priest fell to his knees and gave thanks for the gift of God’s handiwork spread before them all. When he finished, he turned to his little company. “God and nature do not work together in vain! See, whether we stand upon summits or walk in fertile valleys, the Lord is good. He gives us this earth as a glimpse of His greater glory. It is a gift. It is a reminder that He is present in all things, and from that we can draw hope. Look, there, at the mighty cliffs … no, they are not divine in themselves, but He dwells in them. And there, among the tender flowers of the valley floor … He dwells there, too. His Spirit abides in the heavens and in the forests, in the waters of the Rhône and the drizzle of the mist. He is with us, around us, above our heads, and below our feet. And there He shall be—always.”

The pilgrims climbed through the difficult Grimsel with few complaints. The June sky remained bright and blue, and the air was pleasantly cool. About halfway to the top, the evergreens gave way to scrub brush that grew amongst lichen and moss. Streams and waterfalls abounded on every side, and eagles soared overhead. At the crest, the pass was surrounded by rock and swept with cold wind. Snow lay heavy on all sides. Yet, despite the harshness of the silent desolation, five-petaled purple flowers grew stubbornly in nearly every crevice and crack, boasting their beauty.

Delighted, Maria picked a handful of blooms and held them happily to her frost-reddened nose. Her companions, however, were far too cold and shivering to care and wanted only to simply hurry on. So, with a few barks, Wil pressed his followers into the descent—past rock walls striped with tints of green, past more waterfalls and lichen, scrub, and pines—and finally into the spruce, where the scented air was warm again.

The next day they pushed northward along the narrow Aare River and under the watch of three mountain peaks that Heinrich quickly named the “Magi of Mountains.” Staring at them, the baker told stories of his beloved Magi of the Laubusbach. “Under their canopy we learned many things of heaven and of earth. You all would have loved my Butterfly
Frau
.” The very sound of her name brought a lump to his throat. “Wil, do you remember the Magi?”

Wil nodded. “I do. And I remember Frau Emma very well. She made me feel free.”

The road they followed took them toward the sprawling village of Meiringen and past a view of a castle keep set to the far end of the wide Aare Valley. There, numbers of pennants were flying over a large encampment of soldiers. Springtime was the most common season for warfare, and the company grew immediately anxious.

“We must hurry on,” urged Wil.

The column entered Meiringen, where they decided to rest. Sprawling about the shoulder of the road, the group broke into its usual clusters and helped themselves to the remaining stores on Paulus’s back. “Wil,” said Pieter, “our supplies are getting low. Perhaps we ought to see what’s about in the village.”

“Ja.
Methinks the same. Take my father and Otto … and Paulus.”

“And me!” chirped Maria.

“And you,” chuckled Wil. “But have a care. We don’t know much about these parts.” He watched the foursome meander toward the village, and he took the opportunity to call to Frieda. He picked up his bow and smiled at the girl. “Would you like to walk with me?” Frieda nodded, and the two disappeared into a small grove.

In the meantime, Heinrich, Pieter, Maria, and Otto led Paulus to the village edge, where they came upon two old men drinking beer. At the sight of them, Heinrich muttered an oath.

“Ho there, my brothers,” began Pieter.

The two scowled.

“A miserable day for the two of you?”

“Humph,” answered one as he released some gas.

“I see. Well, my name is Father Pieter, and these are m’friends.”

The two looked away and did not respond.

Heinrich curled his lip. “I know you two! Y’sent me on the wrong path!”

One spat. He was a bald, wrinkle-faced farmer. “It would’ve been Edel what done that. He’s daft and doesn’t know it.”

Edel cursed. “Axel is an old fool and dim as dung. Last night he tried pulling his leggings over his head … thought they were his shirt!”

The pilgrims chuckled.

“Did not, dolt. Y’d be dreamin’ again!”

“Enough, good sirs!” laughed Pieter. “Enough! Can you tell us where we might find some cheese and bread?”

The two huddled, then began to argue again. Axel stood and pointed. “There, strangers. Go there, past the church, then past the smiths. The market is behind a row of barns.”

“Nay! ‘Tis the far way,” griped Edel.

Pieter pursed his lips. “So who should I choose?”

“Axel,” muttered Heinrich. “Edel cost me days of trouble.”

Pieter hesitated. “Can you two not lead us there?”

The old men hesitated.

“I’ll give you a blessing.”

The men immediately stood. Pieter laid his hands on both their heads and prayed loudly. When Pieter finished, Axel and Edel bade the foursome follow them through a wandering labyrinth of narrow alleys and tight streets until somehow the old men delivered the foursome to the village market. Otto spotted a stack of cheeses piled in the shape of a pyramid. He ambled to the merchant who waited with his fists on his hips. “
Ja
? You’ve business with me?”

“We’re looking for food.”

“
Ja
?” The man stared at Otto for a few moments, then turned his face toward Maria and the two men. “Who be you?”

“Pilgrims,” answered Heinrich.

The man shook his head and looked carefully at the children. “Their black clothes do not deceive me. Methinks the imps be failed crusaders.”

“No,” answered Pieter with a bite. “We are pilgrims, not crusaders.”

The merchant sneered. “Nay? She carries a crusader’s cross in her belt.”

Pieter grimaced. “She’s a pilgrim, and the crusade did not fail.”

“Well, the caravans are full of talk of it! Yes, indeed it did fail. The little fools have caused good Christians great harm everywhere. They took pestilence with them wherever they went, they stole and murdered, then gave up the cause of Christ in their unbelief. Shame on them! Shame on all of them! They’ve failed the Holy Mother and the saints above. Now God is judging us all for their sins!” He turned a twisted face to Otto. “No, beggar boy, I’ll not give you cheese. And if you try to steal it, well hang you quick. Begone from m’sight. You disgust me!” The man shoved the boy hard.

Voices from the crowd cried out, “Aye, Hartman! Strike him again!”

Pieter and Heinrich both reddened with fury, and Heinrich stepped forward with a menacing scowl. Two eavesdropping soldiers burst from a gathering crowd with swords drawn. “Hold, stranger! Hold or die.”

Pieter whirled about and snarled, “Back away, fools. You’ve no business with us.”

The soldiers’ brows furrowed, and they stormed toward the pilgrims. Maria suddenly leapt in front of them. “Please, sirs! We mean no harm.”

The men stopped and stared at the dirty-faced little girl. They began to laugh. “Well, now that’s a comfort to us,
Mädchen.
For we were surely in terror of you!”

The growing crowd laughed loudly.

Maria smiled politely, but Pieter noticed a sudden defiance in the glint of her eye. The tyke set her jaw. “Sirs, we only want food for our journey.”

A volley of hisses and taunts flew from the enclosing villagers. “Look at ‘er arm!” shouted one. “A crusader,” sneered another. “No wonder they failed. Look at ‘er.”

“Leave us, y’miserable waifs. Leave our sight! Hartman will not give even a nibble to the likes of you.”

Pieter’s mind was racing, and Heinrich was ready to draw his sword. A village boy threw a dirt clump at Otto when Maria stated firmly, “We’ve silver enough and gold to buy your cursed food!”

Heinrich paled.

“
Ja
?” blustered the merchant, suddenly surprised. “Well … well then, we ought take it from you and give it to the Church. That might pay a bit of the mighty penance you owe.” He puffed his chest and held his bearded chin high. “But we’re no thieves like the lot of you. Begone and take yer sin-stained coins elsewhere.”

Maria was unaffected. To the dismay of Pieter and Heinrich, she set her little jaw and walked directly to the man. The crowd hushed. “Herr Hartman, you are afraid of us. I see it in your eyes.”

The man laughed. “Afraid? Afraid of the likes of you? Methinks not!”

“You fear to do business with us.”

The merchant faltered.

Maria looked about the crowd. “Will any sell to us?”

Eyes shifted from one to the other, many tempted by silver and gold whether tainted or not. A few halfhearted “nays” were mumbled.

The six-year-old raised her brows. “Then, would any of you be willing to make a wager with us?”

The villagers leaned close, intrigued. “Wager?” asked the merchant incredulously.

“Ja,
sir. Is our money good enough to be wagered for?”

A voice grumbled, “Aye! Gold is gold!”

Pieter was now as pale as Heinrich. The baker was nervous, for he had unwisely brought
all
their gold and silver with him. Inciting this growing mob might easily lead to a beating and a robbery. “Maria?” he said nervously.

The imp tugged lightly on the man’s hand. Heinrich bent low and the girl whispered in his ear, “Trust me.” She smiled.

Heinrich’s heart raced, and Pieter’s foot tapped nervously. The baker cleared his throat. “You heard her!” he boomed. “We’ve a wager to offer—unless you
all
fear this little maid.”

The crowd murmured as Hartman pulled on his beard. Wagering was the one pastime few could resist.

Pieter lifted his chin. “Pathetic, cowardly women! You’ve not the manhood to make a wager with our little sister. Ha! Go to your beds ashamed.”

“What’s the wager?” shouted a voice.

“Aye! What’s the wager, old man?”

Pieter had no idea. He turned a helpless face toward the girl and waited.

Maria’s eyes twinkled. She whispered to Pieter and Heinrich, and when she was done, what little color had remained in their cheeks was drained away. The men took deep breaths and faced the crowd. Pieter raised his staff with feigned confidence. “Hear me, men of Meiringen. First, we’ve need of your priest as witness and guarantor. Second, we need your magistrate to pledge our fair treatment and safe escort away.”

“What’s the wager?” demanded several voices.

Heinrich looked anxiously at the little girl, then turned to the sea of encircling faces. “See the stack of cheeses? She is to be blindfolded whilst you make three new stacks of any size. She will then be allowed to touch only the bottom rows of each, and before the priest can say three
‘Aves,’
she will tell you exactly how many cheeses are in each stack.”

The crowd roared. “Not possible!” chortled one.

“How much to wager?” chimed another.

Pieter quickly took control. “Tell us, Herr Hartman, tell us the price of cheese enough to feed eleven for a fortnight. Add the price of six fresh loaves of spelt bread, a hogshead of dried pork, three gallons of beer, a quarter of vegetables, and a ring of ground grain. Oh, and four gills of honey.”