Pilgrims of Promise (34 page)

Wil’s company joined the caravan at the rear, behind the lord’s servants but still within the protective reach of the soldiers. They walked happily along the highway northward, past numerous villages recently liberated from the diocese and from their local lords. It seemed that concessions were being successfully wrangled from the feudal order. With cities rapidly expanding and towns emerging across the countryside, serfs had been fleeing their lords’ lands and successfully finding both refuge and employment elsewhere. Inspired by news of the Stedingers and others, peasant rebellions were strengthening in frequency and in effect. The brave village folk were slowly reclaiming some semblance of their divine birthright that had been long since suffocated: liberty.

The landscape was still flat and easy to walk, so the caravan made good time as it passed by Colmar and drew close to Strasbourg. It passed meadows of orange-red poppies and sparkling ponds of turquoise blue. “Each land has its own beauty,” said Pieter as the column was halted for a wagon repair. He looked upward and pointed to a skyscape of fluffy white clouds. “Do you see, baker?”

Heinrich lifted his eye to the sky boldly. It was a simple act for most but a demonstration of much more for him. “Aye, Pieter. I lookup often now.”

Alwin smiled and nodded. “God be praised, good fellow. A curse on those fools who bound you otherwise. They had no right.”

Pieter’s gaze drifted across the land until his eyes rested peacefully on a barley field moving softly in the breeze. He followed the wending of its green grasses as they yielded to the skipping currents of air. “The angels are playing again,” he mused.

The others watched as a stronger breeze etched the green field with dashing paths of silver made bright by the sun’s reflection on the bending blades. A couple of merchantmen walked by, completely unaware of the sky above but pausing briefly to look at the healthy field of grain. Their conversation turned to prices of springtime plantings and the likely harvests in the month to come.

Pieter sighed. “It is my observation that all men are either poets or merchants. Poets see beauty for what it is; merchants see it for what it does!”

Alwin agreed. “I daresay we are in a long line of merchants who’d squeeze deniers from the stones at our feet if they could! Look there.” He pointed at three squabbling peddlers. “One sells cloth; the other, metals; the third, feathers. They’ve naught in common but greed.”

Heinrich grunted. “They’d quarrel over a comfit.”

Pieter nodded and studied the column. “Seems we’ll be spending the day with the song of hammers. That wagon’s leaning badly, and it looks like an axle broke on the other.”

Wil joined the three and heard the news that the caravan would need to make an early camp. “Will we ever come to Weyer!” he groused.

“I shouldn’t be so much in a hurry about it, lad,” answered Alwin. “Much can happen in a year’s time.”

“I swear, if that old hag Anka stole our land or if Pious stole the bakery, I’ll lay them both in new graves!”

Heinrich darkened. “We own both for all time. It is the law.”

Pieter sighed. “Nothing is owned for all time, baker.
Omnia mutantur.
All things are changing.”

“No!” retorted Wil and his father simultaneously. Heinrich’s face tightened. “The land was m’father’s father’s. It is only a half hide, but it is
my
half hide! The bakery is mine by law as well. The abbot bartered it to me in fair exchange for land I inherited from a dear friend. No other shall have it!”

Wil felt suddenly anxious, and he turned sheepishly to his father. “I … I did swear to Father Albert that I’d give a quarter of our land to
Frau
Anka if mother is alive when we return.”

Heinrich stared blankly at his son. “A quarter of our land? By the saints, boy! That would be seven hectares!”

“Enough to feed a family for six months,” added Otto as he joined them.

“Aye!” The baker’s face was flushed.

“But she gets it only if mother is alive when we return,” blurted Wil.

Heinrich’s conscience was suddenly snagged. He would prefer to keep his seven hectares, to find them plowed and planted and still recorded in his name. Yet choosing a plot of earth over the life of his insufferable wife was shaming. “I … I … well, what’s right is right, boy. Pray you’ve yet a mother.”

Otto interrupted. “My mother died soon after Lothar was born.”

“I know, lad,” answered Heinrich. “Your mother was a good woman.”

“She hated my father.”

Heinrich was not sure how to answer. “I wouldn’t know much about that. Your mother seemed content enough when she came for bread. Your father kept a distance from me, and I ne’er knew him very well… even though he was baptized the same year as m’self. He has a strong way about him, and it was good when he got the mill. Better him than that fool Dietrich, I thought. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Otto shook his head. “He swore he’d beat me and throw me out of the village if I didn’t bring Lothar back unscathed.” The lad’s voice became thick, and he wrung his hands. “He loved m’brother like no other. After the wild
Schwein
killed my sister, he was never the same. Then Lothar was born and
Mutti
died.”

“I remember when your sister was killed,” said Wil. “It was horrible.”

“My father found her lying with two dead lambs. He said she had been torn in pieces. He keeps a lock of her hair tied round his neck on a cord.”

The group fell quiet while they made camp for the coming night. Wil ordered a few to tasks, and then built a small fire and sat by Otto and Tomas as they spoke of home. Frieda and Maria had spotted mushrooms on some trees in a woodland they had passed, and the pair imagined adding these to the afternoon meal along with a sprinkling of poppy petals.

“Wil, we’d like to gather some mushrooms from the wood,” Frieda said. She pointed to a dark stand of forest not far from the roadway.

Wil was lost in his conversation. With a distracted wave of his hand, he sent the two smiling girls away, and within a short time, Frieda and Maria were skipping across a narrow field with baskets on their elbows.

The day was warm, almost hot. An hour or so before, distant bells had rung the hour of nones. But, as this was near the middle of July, the day would be long. The young woman and her little sister sang happily as they dashed through waist-high barley. Their flaxen braids shimmered golden under the bright sun, and their pink skin flushed with joy as they raced toward the cool of the woodland shade. In moments, the pair disappeared from sight, swallowed into the shadows of the silent forest.

Chapter Sixteen

FOREST HAUNTS AND A MERRY INN

A
s though drawn by an invisible spirit of some ancient myth, the two hurried deeper and deeper into a magical realm of heavy timbers and soft ferns. The air smelled musty, and the earth beneath them was padded with the crumbled black residue of centuries. Now quiet, the girls slowed their pace and looked about carefully. A slow, creeping sense of dread had just begun to crawl over Frieda when Maria’s happy voice cried out, “There!”

The tyke sprinted toward a damp, shallow dish in the forest floor that was covered with mushrooms. She stopped at the edge of the heavily shaded clearing. “Frieda! Look how many!”

Indeed, before the two girls stood a veritable world of mushrooms on their stout, singular pillars like a field of multicolored umbrellas. Frieda smiled. “There, steinpilz, the fat brown ones. And there, see the pretty blue caps? They’re blewits, and those huge gold ones! Those are pfifferling and they’re delicious! I remember them from m’Mutti’s kitchen.”

The two girls stared wide eyed at the enchanting glade. Covering the moist earth was a host of varieties. Some flat, some rounded, many brown, others red or blue. A large arc of fairy-ring mushrooms encircled a splattering of dark-capped ones standing tall on their cream-colored pillars. Ledge like flattops grew from the sides of rotting logs, and white-toothed semmelstoppelpilz mingled with many others to boast nearly every color of the rainbow.

Frieda led Maria carefully into their newfound mushroom kingdom. The two tiptoed gingerly among the host of fungi at their feet, staring incredulously at their treasure. “These are too soon ready,” whispered Frieda. “It is summer; most are not ready until St. Michael’s!”

Maria nodded, suddenly a little fearful. “Are they witched?”

Frieda paused. The word had always frightened her. She looked about for any sign of spell-casting or charms. “I… I… methinks not.”

Maria waited as Frieda thought hard to provide some other explanation. “It is cool here. Perhaps they grow differently in this wood.”

The answer seemed right enough, and, relieved, the girls were soon bobbing amongst the little pedestals, snatching this one and that with grasping hands. It took very little time to fill the baskets, and with broad smiles the pair stood and faced one another proudly. “Well, methinks we’ve too many!” boasted Frieda. She set down her overflowing basket and Maria giggled.

“We’ve enough to feed the whole of the caravan!”

“Aye. But we wanted poppies as well,” answered Frieda.

They looked about. “We should find a more sunny place,” said Maria.

Frieda turned in circles. “I saw lots of them along the highway. Shall we go that way?”

Maria stared vacantly at what suddenly seemed to be endless forest. She shrugged. “I’ll follow you.”

So the two wanderers began a brisk walk with their baskets in hand. They spoke of things touching both their hearts, and Frieda probed Maria on the secret particulars of Wil’s past. “He was always kind, but he liked to be alone mostly,” Maria said as she thought carefully. “He seemed to be unhappy a lot.”

Frieda nodded.

“Mutti
was usually angry with him.”

“For cause?”

The little girl shrugged. “Methinks not.
Mutti
was angry with everyone. Karl worked hard to please her, though, more than Wil did.”

“And you?”

Maria stopped and her face fell. “I tried to be good, but she thought this”—she lifted her deformed arm—“was a punishment. I think she was ashamed of me.”

Frieda set her basket down and hugged the girl. “No one is ashamed of you, Maria.”

The maiden smiled.

Scanning the forest, the two spotted a distant dip in which a pool was likely lying. They hurried forward and, to their delight, they did, indeed, come upon a clear spring filled with crystal water and laced with watercress. “Ah, Maria, we should have brought another basket!”

They removed some of their mushrooms and topped their baskets with the green water plant. They took long, refreshing draughts of water and sat to speak of times past once more. It was a restful conversation that wandered between Frieda’s life as the daughter of a lord to Maria’s and the particulars of Weyer. Frieda spoke in somber tones of her lost siblings and her father’s shame and lovingly of her mother. Maria giggled over May Day tales and cried a little when she remembered Karl playing bladder ball with his friends.

Frieda turned the talk toward Wil again but suddenly stopped. An uncomfortable breeze had chilled her, and she sat erect, looking about with wide eyes. The woodland had become ghostly quiet, and the shadows had slowly thickened around the two like creeping villains enclosing their prey. Frieda took short, anxious breaths. She stood and whirled about, first this way, then that.

Sensing her sudden fear, Maria stood and clutched Frieda’s gown, scanning the view for whatever had given Frieda such unease.

“Maria, I think … I think we’re lost,” murmured Frieda.

The word struck terror like few others. “Lost!” exclaimed the little girl. Her eyes arced upward and widened. “But it will be dark! And what of trolls? What of wild boar or bear? What of spirits? What of—”

“Enough, Maria,” interrupted Frieda with a faint voice. She squeezed her fists tightly, as if to press courage quickly into her own body, then knelt before the frightened tyke. “My dear, we can’t have wandered so very far. We’ll try to find our way, but Wil and the others will come looking soon.”

“But…”

“No. We’ve both faced far worse than this. Look about. We’ve water, food aplenty, shelter under these old trees.” Frieda swallowed hard.

“Which way do we go?”

Frieda did not know.

“Where is my wife?” asked Wil. He searched the faces of his comrades now ringing the campfire.

“And where is Maria?” added Heinrich.

“You said they could go for mushrooms,” retorted Otto.

“What? When?” answered Wil as he stared into the distant wood.

“When we were talking. Must have been some hours ago.”

Wil stood and looked up at the dimming sky. “I don’t remember that. ‘Tis past vespers, to be sure. Compline is but two hours away!”

The whole company now stood. Alwin cast a worried glance at Heinrich, who was turning pale.

“They may be lost,” said Tomas anxiously. “Lost in that wood.”

“Lost!” gasped all. “Lost at night, lost with what devils lay about that place?” cried Friederich. He stared at the trees standing nearly motionless. “Something is amiss,” he muttered. “I can feel it.”

Licking his dry lips and wringing his hands, Wil paced back and forth. “What to do? What to do?” he mumbled. The lad looked at the sky, then at the wood, at the sky, and at the wood again. Highwaymen and rogues … the forest is filled with them! He turned to his father when his eyes fell on Pieter kneeling quietly nearby. Wil hesitated, then took a step toward the old man. He paused, looked at his companions, then at the forest one more time. Finally, with a deep breath and a slow release, the worried husband—the worried brother—walked slowly to the old priest and knelt awkwardly at his side.

Pieter’s heart soared. He continued petitioning the Almighty for mercy, to “shield the fair maidens from what evil might be lurking near and comfort them in this moment of terror. Guide them, O great Shepherd of Israel, like your people of old, and return these two lost lambs to the fold. Hide them in the comfort of your mighty hand, and be a sword of might to any who would wish them harm!”

Wil’s spirit echoed the priest’s words, shyly joining the yearnings of his heart to the old man’s. And when Pieter pronounced his “amen” loudly and with confidence, the lad did as well.

But such noble submission was not limited to the priest and the young man at his side. It had also touched the whole of the company, which had fallen quietly to its knees. So, when Pieter stood and faced the silent ring of his rising brethren, the man cried aloud for joy; his flock had learned and learned well after all.

“Now,” exclaimed Wil. “Now we need a plan.”

Alwin stepped forward. He wiped his hands through his hair and turned his dark eyes toward the flames. “Darkness can be a friend in the forest… it is when light is most easily seen. We once hunted for a wounded comrade in a heavy wood near Grenoble. We took torches and formed a line within sight of one another. We moved forward slowly, calling for him as we went. Every bowshot we held fast and listened until we found him.”

Wil nodded his approval. “That we can do. Pieter, you remain behind with Paulus and our provisions. Leave us have Solomon.”

The old man yielded. He had become increasingly aware of his failing strength, though it was a painful admission. He looked forlornly at the donkey. “Paulus, I have now aged beyond aging… I shall soon be the man that used to be,” he mumbled.

“Pieter?”

“Eh?”

“You’ll stay with Paulus?”

“Ja,
lad. I will stay behind.”

Heinrich was sent in search of oil with which to soak long-burning torches. He returned promptly with a reminder from the master that the column would leave at daybreak with or without them. “Here, I’ve oil enough, and I’ve found two horns. Soak the torches well and let’s be off!”

“Frieda, I am scared,” whispered Maria.

“Me, too,” answered Frieda slowly. “But fear gives us our wits. Now, we needs put the breeze to our backs. It was in our face when we entered the wood.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite.” The young woman feigned confidence. “Now, let’s have a good drink from the spring and be off.”

The pair drew ample draughts of water from the spring fast losing its sparkle in the fading light of day. Ready, they peered into the darkening canopy overhead for some sign of rustling leaves. The trees were still. Frieda licked her finger and held it in the air, feeling for the cool side. “There.” She pointed. “The air is coming from there.”

Hurrying across the soft floor of the forest, Frieda and Maria made their way into an ever-deepening thicket of unfamiliar saplings and tangled bushes. Both soon realized that they had not come that way before. They stopped. The sun had now set below the unseen horizon, and cool breezes swirled from each direction. Frieda was perspiring and pale. She dared not display her growing terror to the little girl at her side, but she wanted for all the world to burst into tears.