Pilgrims of Promise (44 page)

Otto looked upward at the alarm bell standing quietly in its place, and he recalled Wil’s story of the year before. The lad began to sweat profusely. The company had agreed they’d enter as pilgrims, not beggars, and they’d greet the guard with a coin, not a stout stick! At Alwin’s command, all of them lifted their hoods over their heads and hobbled forward.

Alwin stepped boldly toward the soldier who took his place each night at the bells of compline. It had become the abbot’s uncomfortable concession to the world of war. “Your pardon, good sir.”

The guard was young and alert. “Who goes there?” He leveled his lance.

“Five pilgrims from Egypt bound for Cologne.” Alwin tossed back his hood and took a posture of friendliness.

“Egypt?”

“
Ja
, my brother. And we have visited ourselves to holy relics throughout our journey. I have touched the hem of the Holy Virgin’s veil and prayed over the bones of St. Amphibalis. We have all worshiped at the blood of St. George, and this fine lad has climbed the
Scala Santa
in Rome. Ah, good soldier, we are well blessed and happy, but we are sleepy and hungry, too! Here, my friend, a coin touched to the tooth of St. Stephen.”

The guard reached toward a silver penny lying dull and tarnished in Alwin’s opened palm. He picked it up reverently and kissed it, then dropped it in a pouch at his belt. “With thanks, pilgrim. Please, knock for the porter.”

Alwin rapped loudly on the wooden gate as Tomas sank deeper into his hood. After waiting patiently, he knocked again, and a sleepy porter pulled the heavy door open. “Thanks be to God,” he mumbled.

“Your humble brethren beg entrance, brother monk,” answered Alwin with a bow.

The porter stepped aside and gave the visitors entrance. Closing the door, he raised a torch to see the faces of his guests and recited sleepily, “He who is hungry is welcome; he who is weary may find rest with us.”

Alwin bowed. “We are pilgrims, brother. We come from Egypt and are traveling to our homes in Cologne. We have silver to buy a bit of bread and perhaps some wine.”

The porter yawned. “
Ja,
my friend. We’ve an alms box by the guesthouse, and the poor of this manor are grateful. Our guestmaster is asleep, as is the prior. The abbot is entertaining other guests, so you must forgive us if I tend to you myself.”

“We are but humble pilgrims, brother. We need not bother any other.”

The porter quietly led the group across the abbey grounds. The moon was up but shrouded in a clouded sky that seemed to grow more oppressive as the night passed. A few smoky torches hung on some walls, but they cast only a poor yellow light into the heavy shadows. The pilgrims walked by the bakery and brewery … both known by their smells, then passed a barn of some sort and the granary now beginning to fill with oats. Far to their left, in the center of the abbey, stood the dark lines of the main cloister and the towers of its church.

“Your abbey seems large and prosperous, at least by night!” chuckled Alwin.

“It is. And it is growing. Rumors are that we’ve more lands in Saxony to add to our holdings. Lands there and now some near Toulouse, in France.”

“Ah, Toulouse, yes. I’ve spent some time in that region as a knight. I drew the sword against the Cathari for the glory of the Church.”

The porter stopped and turned. “You are a crusader, then?”

Alwin bowed.

“We are given lands taken from those heretics. It must be God’s pleasure to have you come to us. Your sword has blessed this place! Now, my lord, I shall serve you a feast!”

Alwin had hoped to ingratiate himself to the young porter, but he had not wanted to draw undue attention. “No, good brother, please, I beg thee. I… I need not feed my pride with such kindness. I do, however, have a special place in my heart for a good wine. Might you lead us to your cellar? Perhaps allow me to choose the wine you would serve?”

“Indeed, my brother! Indeed! Follow me!”

The porter turned left sharply and hurried toward the imposing silhouette of the main cluster of buildings. The pilgrims’ hearts pounded as they drew nearer their goal.

“Brother, it is dark, but methinks fine masons built this place,” said Alwin. “In Limoges I once took refuge in an abbey that had grown so that it built a separate chamber for the abbot’s secretary and the prior’s office.”

The porter stopped and pointed to a large new addition that reached into the courtyard. “Well, we’ve kept as much as possible together, so we all are as one. But the abbot’s office and the prior’s are now there.”

“Oh,” said Helmut. “And I suppose your abbot has himself a fine window above to keep an eye on the novices!”

The porter smiled. “
Ja
, ‘tis true enough. Abbot Udo is a humble man, but I know he loves the high window. I believe he repents of it secretly, however. At chapter he once said he would have gladly given the better view to the prior, but since the prior’s knees are bad, he says he thought it better if he’d suffer the steps instead.”

“No doubt,” chuckled Alwin. He gave Helmut a covert glance of approval.

As they approached the cloister, the porter said more. “There it is. See, the abbot’s office is directly on the corner, so he has two windows. His prior is directly beneath, and sometimes they call to one another through their windows. They both have the southern wall, so they get most of the day’s sun.

“Now, my friends, if you will, follow me quietly through these corridors and down the steps ahead.”

In a few moments the porter was standing over the sleeping keeper of keys, Brother Perpetua. Otto nudged Tomas, and the two grinned beneath their hoods. It was as they had hoped. Friederich fixed his eyes on the man’s keys.

The porter prodded the sleeping monk. “Brother, wake up!”

The fat fellow snorted and opened one eye. “Eh?”

“We’ve guests.”

“Eh?” Perpetua climbed off his stool and rubbed his eyes. “I … I was only praying, brother. Now, how can I serve thee?”

“Unlock the door. We need to select a wine for our special guest.”

The keeper smiled at the five and reached for a torch. He then fumbled through his keys. Friederich guessed there to be about three dozen. Perpetua chose one and inserted it into a rusted keyhole. With a loud snap, the cellar lock opened. “Aye, it never used to be locked, but the devils prowl about some nights. I see them in the mist. The abbot says we’ve lost too much to them over time. I’d say he is right about that. The alms box went empty one night near Martinmas some years ago. Once a lord’s entourage sacked our cellars and our treasury. Wicked souls, may they be damned to hellfire!”

Alwin feigned interest in the wine, then turned to the porter. “Brother, it occurs to me that you’ve been away from your post! We are content to make a choice and let this good monk show us our lodging.”

Disappointed, the youth agreed. He clasped hands with Alwin and bowed to the others, then disappeared into the night.

“So, brother…”

“Perpetua.”

“Yes. Brother Perpetua, methinks it shall soon be the bells of matins. You‘ll need leave us for your prayers.”

The man grunted. I’ve prayed all the night as it is.” He looked covetously at the wine barrels set in a long, neat row. “So you are truly a special guest?”

“I am a crusader, sir, on my way home.”

It was enough. Perpetua smiled and hurried the others inside the cellar and then closed the door behind them as the bells of midnight prayers rang solemnly over the cloister. He set his torch into a wall-holder, shuffled on heavy legs to a shelf, and reached for several wooden tankards. Chortling like a schoolboy, he beckoned his guests to come closer. “Here, lads. God owes crusaders a special kindness. From where in Christendom would you like to taste wine?” He laughed gleefully.

The pilgrims looked blankly at the round-faced monk and the long row of barrels.

“Well? We’ve a fine selection of hearty reds from Burgundy. We’ve a fruity barrel from Alsace and a pale red from the March of Verona. Perhaps you’d prefer something light from Liguria or a heavy port from the Duoro Valley in Portugal?” The man was grinning from ear to ear. “Ah, and the abbot just received a barrel of something very aromatic from the kingdom of Castille.”

Alwin smiled broadly. “You’ve had them all?”

“Indeed!” He squatted on his haunches and leaned over to Friederich. “Boy, I guard the door with my life, and while I’m guarding it, I make sure the taps all work! Ha!” He stood and roared. “I love my calling!”

Chapter Twenty-one

TENSION IN VILLMAR

T
he pilgrims laughed with the jolly monk and soon followed him up and down the row of barrels. Wisely, Alwin and his companions were carefully pouring most of their “tastes” quietly onto the dirt floor of the cellar, else they would have been staggering like the bleary-eyed Perpetua. Slurring his words and tripping about the cellar, the well-oiled monk was finally coaxed to a bench by the guiding hands of Alwin. “We’ll guard the door for you, old friend,” said the knight softly.

The monk smiled, then dropped to the floor in a stupor. “We didn’t need nimble fingers for this!” snickered Friederich.

Alwin was suddenly serious. “Now, lads, listen. Friederich, take the keys from his belt. Tomas, put out the torch. Well lock the old fellow in, then get to the prior’s office. We’ve about four hours yet.”

In moments, Friederich found the right key and locked Perpetua inside the cellar. The group then hurried up the stone steps and into the arcade, which they followed to the end. Then, turning left, they slunk through the corridor leading them to the abbey’s offices, where the porter had said the prior’s office now was. Fortunately, a rain was falling, so what few torches were burning in the courtyards were fast being extinguished. The abbey was quiet, save for the patter of summer rain on the earth and on the tile roofs above.

“We didn’t ask if it was guarded,” whispered Helmut.

Tomas thought for a moment. “It may be. The Templars are under contract as is the lord of Runkel.”

Alwin thought carefully. “Tomas, go ahead of us and see. Do you know which door?”

“It’d be down a small corridor that turns to the right, just ahead of us. Then it would be the last door on the left.” With that, the lad crept forward.

The other four waited nervously. They feared Perpetua might awaken and begin calling for help. If he did, they’d be found out. “Might he?” whispered Friederich.

“I don’t think so, lad,” answered Alwin. He hoped he was right.

It seemed a lifetime before Tomas came padding back in the darkness. In a low voice he said, “We’ve one guard fast asleep. But he’s a few doors down from the prior’s.”

Alwin thought quickly. He pulled his sword quietly from its sheath. “If he stirs, I’ll need to finish him. I pray God keeps him in his dreams. Now, Friederich, when you get to the door, you’ll need to go through many keys quietly. When you find the right one, open the door, and Helmut will follow you in. Arnold says the Jew vowed he saw the parchment put in a wooden box atop his desk.”

Helmut was perspiring and his mouth was dry. “We’ve no certainty that the key to the office is even on our ring.”

The group was quiet. It was logical that it would be there, but it was also possible that the prior would have his own key. No one had given that little detail a thought!

Alwin muttered under his breath, “I should have plied the key keeper!”

“Well, you didn’t,” said Tomas. “But here we are. I say let’s go with what we have.”

Helmut was trembling. “But why wouldn’t he have locked it in the strongbox?”

Alwin shook his head. “I doubt the prior has his own.”

The five squatted quietly, and then Friederich whispered, “Well, we’re here. Let’s be on with it.”

They clasped hands. “For Wil and Heinrich, then,” whispered Alwin. “Let us go with God.”

Otto was placed as a watchman where the group had paused. His duty was to keep an eye on that side of the cloister. Tomas was sent forward, beyond the turn and deeper along the corridor serving the offices. Alwin followed Helmut and Friederich to the corner, where they turned right. He would fix his eye on the sleeping guard whom the two lads sneaked past.

The rain began to fall harder, suddenly in great sheets. Alwin prayed that no thunder would follow. “Keep sleeping, my friend. Keep sleeping.”

Friederich was only seven, but he knew what grave consequences both he and his comrades would face if they were discovered. With steely determination, the little lad ran his fingers over the shape of his ring of keys. Some were long, some fat; some had a wide end, some narrow. He ran his forefinger over the keyhole of the prior’s door and closed his eyes, imagining its shape. Then, swiftly sorting through the keys once more, he picked one. The lad took a deep breath and lifted it to the hole. He slid it in ever so silently and gave it a twist.

Nothing moved.

Undaunted, the boy tried again, and then again. Suddenly near tears, he closed his eyes and let his fingers run over the whole of the ring once more.

“Hurry!” whispered Helmut. “Please!”

Friederich’s eyes stayed closed. He drew a slow breath through his nostrils and felt for the one key that might save them all, the single iron tool that would open the doors of hope. His fingers held fast on one. He could not move them past it. With a smile, he knew. The lad took the squat, short-shafted key and lifted it to the door. He slid it quietly, but confidently, forward. He turned it in its hole.

Click, snap, creak. The door opened!

“Oh, thank You, Jesus!” squeaked Helmut. The two shuffled quickly into the room. It was black as pitch, and the boys strained to see. “The desk should be by the window, Helmut,” whispered Friederich.

The trembling boy inched his way forward with arms outstretched. His knee bumped an unseen stool, which scraped loudly across the stone floor. The boys froze.

In the corridor, Alwin nearly cried out at the sound. It was muffled by the rain, but to his peaked senses, it sounded like the crash of a cymbal! The guard shifted slightly on his seat, and Alwin prepared to pounce. His hands gripped his sword tightly, and he gritted his teeth.

“Go around,” urged Friederich quietly.

Helmut moved to one side, then inched forward again. His hands guided him along a table, then past the high back of a chair. Nothing.

“Move farther down the room,” urged Friederich.

Helmut crept forward. He felt his heart pounding within his chest, and his breath was short and rapid. A flash of distant lightning lit the room suddenly, and the lad saw the desk just before him. He reached forward. His fingers ran along the well-worn wood of the top, past an inkwell and its quill, past a few dry leafs of parchment and an unseen Book of Hours. They lingered for a moment on the lead seal of a large letter. Had he known, he would have been surprised to be touching a document sealed by the pope.

At last, his hand bumped lightly against a pear-wood box. The lad held his breath and lifted the lid. “I have it!” The boy slowly released his breath.

A low, distant rumble rolled through the abbey. “Hurry, Helmut!”

“I have it!” he answered.

“How do you know it’s it?”

“It’s the only parchment in there.” The deed done, the boys hurried across the dark room, lighted once more by the approaching storm.

The thunder had done what Alwin had feared it might. The guard was now shifting and becoming restless in his sleep.
Hurry, lads!
he pleaded silently.

Wisely, Friederich had kept his fingers on the right key, and he quickly locked the door behind them. Then, like a young cat and its kitten, the pair dashed silently past the guard and rejoined their fellows now gathering around the corner.

“God be praised!” whispered Alwin. “I was thinking that we should get the keys back to the monk. It’ll keep suspicion away from us.”

All agreed, and in mere moments the cellar door was reopened and the key ring placed neatly on the sleeping monk’s belt. “Now, Tomas, lead us out the other gate!”

The five dashed around the cloister and through the abbey’s gardens. Like flying ghosts, they bolted through the rain toward the north gate, known by the monks as the lesser gate. It led to a narrow meadow and the docks along the Lahn. The gate was sometimes guarded on the outside, and, just as Tomas had promised, therefore not locked on the inside. The porter, no doubt a sleeping novice, was out of sight. Tomas pulled the door open slowly and looked about for the guard. Seeing no one, he bade his fellows follow, and the five sprinted to safety.

“You’ve done well!” exclaimed Pieter as Alwin’s company presented the fruit of their daring adventure. “You brave scoundrels!” The old man laughed, and the gathered circle cheered as Pieter studied the note by the fire. “By the saints, I believe it says exactly what the Jew said it would!”

Alwin smiled and drew a long drink from a flask of mead. Wilda had returned with a rucksack filled with provisions. She handed the knight a block of cheese.

“Thanks, woman,” said Alwin. He fixed his dark eyes on Wilda and the woman blushed.

Pieter read the document once more. “Truly, a gift from a merciful Lord,” he cried.

“What does it say?” blurted Friederich.

The old man nodded. “Aye, lad. Hear this, all of you. I hold in m’hand the debt owed to Beniamino the Jew by Lord Heribert of Runkel! Ha, clever heathen! The original sum is for five hundred pounds of silver plus a usurious interest of twenty pounds on the hundred. No doubt the prior thinks he has quite a hold on the lord, but it is we who hold it! The prior cannot collect without it!”

The pilgrims cheered. Tomas stepped forward. “And well sell it back to whom … the prior or Lord Heribert?”

Pieter grinned mischievously. “To whoever releases Heinrich.”

Frieda blurted, “And what of Wil?”

The group fell silent. “Fair sister,” answered Pieter, “we are all still working on that problem. I do not yet know exactly what well do. A charge of one murder and suspicions of two others, all foresworn by a priest and supported by a witness, is beyond purchase, even with this. All the manor knows of it. The archbishop even knows of it. Heinrich, on the other hand, could be released at the court’s will, or the will of the prior. They could more easily decide the killing was a matter of self-defense or of some nighttime confusion.”

“But could we not try to use it for Wil as well?” Frieda pleaded.

Alwin answered kindly. “No. That would overreach its value. Trust me in this. I’ve seen these kinds of things before. If you ask too much, you get nothing! Now hear me, girl. We’ve the sly Arnold and our own clever Pieter. We’ve also the courage of four good lads, the magic of a minstrel, the love of three women, and an angel. And we’ve my own sword. Add to these our prayers and the mercies of heaven, and you must take heart. We will surely find a way to save Wil as well.”

Otto scratched his head and then took a crust of bread from Maria. “So tell me how this plan for Heinrich is to work.”

Pieter looked around the ring of faces staring at him. The first light of a new dawn was brightening the sky, and the man knew that time was not their friend. “Actually, we now have the tool but not yet the way. What say you all?”

The pilgrims murmured amongst themselves until Katharina spoke. “Arnold and I can meet with Prior Mattias by terce. I am the grieving widow … he’ll see me, and he always sees Arnold, for he’s frightened of what things the man knows about his monks.” She looked at the pilgrims ringing the small fire and pleaded with them. “I spend my days spinning and weaving. Methinks I am able to weave a web for the prior. I beg you, leave this matter to Arnold and me. You need to be about the business of Wil.”