Pilgrims of Promise (37 page)

Pieter was concerned. “If they do, you’ll be arrested by the reeve. No doubt word of your troubles has found this place. Heinrich, how many bear arms in the village?”

The baker turned to his son. “Wil?”

“We’d about a dozen freemen last year, counting old Oskar and that dimwit Rolf of Metz. So I’d venture about ten worth fearing. Only Ludwig has a crossbow; the others have swords, and methinks Yeoman Franz has a halberd. Only he and Yeoman Rudi serve in combat; the others pay the scutage. But everyone hides slaughter blades, and many have pig mallets, which are as good as a warrior’s hammer.”

At the mention of Ludwig, Heinrich scowled. The man was Katharina’s cruel husband.

Pieter frowned. “So you’ve a full tithing to face if the reeve sounds the horn. And you’d have the others with their hoes and mallets and such.” He faced Heinrich and Wil. “You two would not easily raise arms against your own, and you, Alwin, knight or no, would be badly outnumbered. All of us would soon be bound, gagged, and hauled away.” He set his finger by his nose and thought carefully. “We needs have a care. Weyer was once home to some of you, but it may no longer be. Can y’not check on your wife and bakery without the whole place knowing?”

Heinrich thought carefully. “This is Sunday, and most are either drunk or sleeping….”

“We can wait until dark and find Herwin,” blurted Tomas.

“Herwin!” cried Heinrich. “Is he still alive?”

“Aye!”

“He must be old by now.” Heinrich was smiling. “He’s as good a man as ever walked the earth. He loves the soil
almost
as much as he loves his wife.”

“Loved
his wife, Father. Varina died on Martinmas Eve the year you left.”

Heinrich groaned. Varina was a good woman, and she had brought great joy to Herwin. “And what of their children?”

“Wulf lives with Herwin along with a wife and one son. Irma died in childbirth about two years ago. The other girls married men from Oberbrechen and Selters.”

“Enough reminiscing, Heinrich. What’s our plan?” Alwin said with an impatient bite. “I see a group assembling for a Sabbath forest walk over there, and more are starting to mill about. I’d not want us seen until we’re ready.”

Heinrich nodded and stared across the stream into the village. “My bakery is just beyond those sheds. Since we’re here, let me have a quick look.”

Pieter frowned. “If you must, but hurry and, by heaven, don’t be seen!”

Stooping low behind the cover of brush, the baker and his son left the others and made their way across the ford toward the bakery standing just beyond a shed. They crept slowly and cautiously forward, then stretched their heads to have a look.

“There.” Heinrich choked. “My bakery.” His thoughts ran to the day he baked his first loaf of bread in the building built by Katharina’s father. Then he remembered that glorious day when it was sold to him by the abbot.
A good day, indeed!
he thought. The man looked at the sturdy building and remembered so many days within its walls. He closed his eye and imagined he could smell the bake. He wondered who was stoking the ovens and kneading the dough. Then he wondered how he could ever come back. He turned to his son. “What would a baker be without a bakery?”

“A baker still,” answered Wil quietly. “And a good one. He’d still be a father, a husband, and a friend as well. But it is still yours by right of law.”

The man took a hopeful breath but shook his head. “I’m not so certain.” He turned his face toward the village. From a distance, the place had felt warm and inviting. Up close, however, it seemed oddly unfamiliar. It was as if he had become a stranger. He said nothing to Wil, but he was suddenly anxious, like prey precariously positioned at the edge of a snare. He motioned for his son to follow him back to the others waiting nervously across the stream.

“Now what?” asked Otto as the pair returned. “I’d like to see m’papa.”

Heinrich looked at Wil, then at the sandy-haired lad.

“And what about
Mutti
?” asked Maria.

Wil nodded and set a kindly hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Otto, well get you home soon enough. We need to think a bit more on this.”

Friederich, Benedetto, and Helmut said nothing. They had all been anxious about the others’ homecoming. In the first place, they feared being arrested as fugitives along with the others. They also were terrified of being charged as accomplices of Alwin. But they also wondered about their own fate if their fellows were able to make Weyer their home again. Friederich finally spoke. “You ought to go in at night. We all feel danger here.”

Wil looked at his friend. He thought the eight-year-old’s face seemed tight and haggard. Friederich’s hands were trembling, and Frieda put her arm around him. As if she knew what troubled the little boy’s heart, she kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll be safe with us, and whatever happens, you’ve a home with us.”

“He’s right, Wil,” said Helmut. “It’d be safer at night.”

The pilgrims murmured amongst themselves and finally agreed. “Just past compline bells then,” said Wil.

The company retreated to the fern-softened environs of the Magi, which stood within a brief walk of the boundary pole of Villmar’s manorlands. Here, in this place of fond memories and cool air, the pilgrims lounged, albeit warily. Pieter patiently listened to Heinrich and Wil chatter about Brother Lukas and the Butterfly
Frau
, of Richard and Ingly, of things magical and things tragic. But when talk finally turned toward things more imminent, the priest became ever more insistent that those from Weyer give heed to the likelihood of their abandoning home for a new life of freedom elsewhere. To this, angry objections were offered. Wil paced about the wood, confused and struggling to answer the challenges his old friend posed. Heinrich was equally distressed. He was no longer living in his dreams but rather standing at the very edge of his former master’s manor. A gnawing realization crawled over him.
Perhaps the old man is right Maybe I cannot be home and be free.

The group finally settled quietly midst the lengthening shadows as summer sunbeams slanted their way between great timbers, splashing golden patches throughout the brushy woodland floor. Soon, twilight would fall, and the long-awaited bells of compline would echo from the stout tower of Weyer’s brownstone church. Frieda and Maria had built a small fire upon which they had boiled water for a stew of vegetables, mushrooms, and pork. Heinrich stared into the steaming pot and thought wistfully of Katharina once more. He sighed.

The company whispered amongst themselves, and the light began to fade. A flask of ale was passed around the circle, and soon Benedetto strummed softly on his lute. He smiled at Maria with dark eyes now twinkling in the firelight.

Not far away, Weyer’s church bell rang. Its deep, soulful peals rolled through darkening woodlands in slow, rhythmic waves, and each pilgrim’s heart began to race. “Tis time,” said Wil as he stood. The young man secured his dagger in his belt and gripped his bow tightly.
Emmanuel,
he said to himself,
I needs leave you here.
He handed the bow to Helmut while staring at its inscription.
“‘Vincit qui patior
,’” he whispered. “‘He who suffers, conquers.’ Indeed.”

Heinrich and Alwin, Otto and Tomas joined Wil. “We’re ready,” the baker said.

Wil looked at his fellows and nodded. He reached for his wife and embraced her, then kissed her tenderly. “Frieda, I shall return with news. Then we’ll make a plan. Take care of Maria and the others.”

The young woman nodded. She lingered in Wil’s embrace until he lifted her arms gently from his sides. “Have no fear, wife. I shall be back.”

Pieter stepped forward. “I should like to come with you. I’ve little strength in my arms, but I’ve yet m’wits.”

Wil laid a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder. “Ah, indeed you do. Use them to help the others.” The lad leaned low and whispered into the stoop-shouldered priest’s ear. “If we do not return by dawn, come looking, but come alone.”

Pieter nodded. “
Ja
, me and the hosts of heaven!”

Helmut was made second in command, just below Pieter, and was told to keep those remaining safe in the woodland near the Magi. “If you must,” Wil further instructed, “take them east into the heavier forests by the Matins Stone. Maria, can you find it?”

Maria twisted her face and rolled a finger through her braids. “I was there twice,” she said. “Both times with Karl. I think I remember.”

Heinrich looked at the little girl with a furrowed brow. “That rock is off the manor! You and your brother could have been beaten … or worse! I thought you were an obedient child!”

Maria giggled. “Sometimes!”

“No matter now, Father. If they need to hide, shell take them there. Otherwise, we meet here, at the Magi by dawn. Helmut and Pieter, keep a sharp eye on our satchels, and keep the two beasts quiet! If Paulus brays, hell bring you trouble for sure.”

The young man turned to look carefully at Alwin. The knight was staring into the dark canopy of leaves above and muttering a prayer. “I still say you should wait behind.”

Alwin said nothing for a moment, then adjusted his sword. “Nay. You may need me yet. I’ll surely not be known under cover of darkness, and well be out of the village by light.”

Wil nodded. “Otto, are you ready?”

Otto was nervous and wringing his hands lightly. “
Ja
.”

“Then we go.”

With no more to be said, Wil led Heinrich, Alwin, Otto, and Tomas toward the small bridge that arched over the Laubusbach. Once they crossed the bridge, the path would lead them past the ruins of Emma’s cottage and into the sleepy village. It was a warm summer night, almost sultry. Few hearths were burning, though a thin, eye-burning haze hung lightly along the footpaths and alleyways.

Otto’s hovel was positioned as the farthest hut from the village center—a place believed fitting for all millers, tradesmen cursed for their thieving ways. The group arrived at its door quietly. Inside, an unattended candle burned, and through the one window, the lad could see his snoring father stretched atop a straw mattress. The young crusader swallowed hard and looked to Wil for courage. His fists were clenched and he did not speak.

“He will be glad to see you,” whispered Wil.

“Do you think so?” choked Otto.

Heinrich laid a hand on the lad’s broad shoulder. “I’d be proud of you, boy. And I’d have a feast to welcome you!”

Otto smiled. “If there’s trouble, I’ll be at the Magi by dawn.”

“There’ll be no trouble, friend,” answered Wil confidently. “You’re home.”

With that, all clasped hands, and the lad was left to rally his courage alone. The four others faded into the shadows, their silhouettes gliding silently past a half-dozen darkened buildings. They crouched and turned to watch Otto walk through his door.

It was a long pause before a voice suddenly boomed from within the boy’s hut. “Otto! By the saints, you little fool! Where’s yer brother?” Within moments Otto’s father began to curse and shout. A few sleepy villagers in nearby huts groused a bit, and then a few staggered to their doorways. “Shut yer mouth, miller!”

“Burn in hell!” the angry man answered.

“A curse on yer children!” roared a drunken man.

The miller burst from his door and dragged Otto by the hair into the path. “A curse you say? A curse? I’ve been cursed with this coward!” To the dismay of Wil’s group, he punched the poor lad in the belly and threw him to the ground. “He let his brother die on that fool’s crusade! He broke his vow to me and to the Holy Church! Come, all of you! See this worthless scrap of dung who calls himself m’son!”

Wil’s band watched in disbelief as bleary-eyed villagers emerged from their huts and gathered on the narrow street. A menacing group moved toward Otto, shouting curses. “You, boy, tell me where’s m’ Ingrid?” growled one.

A mother suddenly shrieked, “And where’s my little Oskar?” More names flew from angry, grief-stricken lips as more and more villagers funneled their way toward the miller and his terrified son.

“My Bruno is gone!”

“And m’Etta and m’baby Pepin!”

Names of lost children rose from the gathering mob as the forlorn folk of Weyer finally released their sorrow. Shaking their fists at their unseen God, bitter fathers shouted blasphemies at the stars. It was the mothers, however, who shook the heavens with great shrieks of sorrow as these broken women finally faced the tragic truth of their heart-wrenching loss. Seeing poor Otto stand before them alone and with no news of the others was their final proof that their own sons and daughters would not return the way they had left; they’d not be marching home together; they’d not be coming home at all.