Pilgrims of Promise (48 page)

Maria smiled and waved to Frieda and Pieter as she disappeared into the dank bowels of Runkel’s dungeon. The soldier carried a torch high overhead and cursed at the prisoners now pleading for mercy. The pair turned a corner, and the man handed a guard his torch as he reached for his key. Unlocking the cell door, he nudged Maria inside. “Now, be quick about it.”

Heinrich and Wil cried out from the shadows as they recognized little Maria’s face in the flickering torchlight. Maria ran to Wil first and wrapped her arm around him. The young man wept for joy as he bent to kiss his sister on the cheek. “Do not be afraid, Wil,” Maria whispered into his ear. “We’ve cause to hope. You must be ready. I love you.”

Maria slyly lifted her deformed arm upward. It had been covered with an extra sleeve sewn by Wilda the day before. Inside was Wil’s dagger tied by a thin cord to the girl’s shortened arm. “Hurry,” whispered Maria. “We’ve a plan, but if it fails, you are to have the blade.”

Wil’s fingers flew over the easy knot, and the dagger was released to his grip. With Maria drawn close, he quickly hid it within his tunic. “For hope, then,” he whispered.

The girl kissed Wil on the cheek and turned to Heinrich, who was kneeling alongside. “Oh, little daughter,” he cried softly as he embraced her, “God bless you always.”

“Enough now!” commanded the jailer. “Time’s up!”

With a whimper, Maria bade her brother and her father a sad farewell. They would now need to wait for whatever mystery unfolded, and they’d need to wait in ignorance, very much alone.

Once outside, Maria followed Pieter to the feet of the imposing gallows, where the two stood quietly holding hands. Solomon sat by his master and whined. Pieter, too, hoped their assignment would never be called upon.

In the meanwhile, Frieda had placed Friederich near the end of the judge’s bench, where Lord Heribert’s personal clerk would soon be seated. From here, the scamp might hear something of import. If he did, it was he who could scurry between legs the fastest. Frieda, now under hood, then positioned herself in the general vicinity of the bridge, where she’d eventually need to make contact with the secretary.

Alwin was in the greatest peril of all. Numbers of his former Templar brethren were milling about the castle grounds. They were easy to spot in their cross-emblemed white robes. He hoped that his long beard would help disguise him, and he lifted his hood over his head as he sank into the crowd. His purpose was plain. If other plans failed, he was to command a violent consequence. At his signal, Helmut would be ordered to shoot the judge and then the hangman, while Alwin attacked the guard holding Katharina. Others would rush the judge’s bench and seek to cause enough confusion for Wil or Heinrich to escape. It would be an unlikely victory.

The bailey was rapidly filling with a heavy-footed parade of peasants plodding about in hopes of taking pleasure in the delights of the floggings and the hangings sure to come. At the bells of terce, the judge and his court finally emerged from their chambers.

“It is to begin,” murmured Pieter. “God save us.”

Keeping deep within his hood, Alwin studied the bench and the witness stalls.
Where the devil is Pious?
he wondered. He turned his face toward Wilda. The sight of her perched atop the distant cart made his heart beat faster. Tall and willowy, she stood like a triumphant herald angel bravely poised for duty. “Oh, Wilda,” he muttered. “If we live the day…”

An inebriated castle priest belched a loud prayer, and the day’s business began. With little delay, Steward Hagan—now acting as Judge Hagan—immediately pronounced several of the accused guilty from prior trials by ordeal. Under the supervision of the court’s bailiff, three days before, hot irons had been laid across the opened hands of those charged, and their unhealed blisters were proof enough of guilt. “Twenty-four stripes,” he shouted. “One for each tribe of Israel and one for each apostle.”

From his post, Tomas thought Hagan looked agitated and distracted. He knew the man would offer little mercy on this day. The young man watched as a long line of others accused passed by the bench with oathhelpers at their sides. They suffered quick judgments on matters of theft, slander, assault, and sundry complaints regarding things such as sawdust in baker’s dough and damage by loose swine. A merchant’s wife testified against her butcher. “I bought the whole cow, but I caught him eating m’tenderloin!” she cried.

A grumbling line of others followed—some petitioning relief from taxes, others claiming unpaid debts. Hagan stood and pointed a long finger at one poor fellow. “Pay him in a fortnight, else lose thy thumbs!”

Lords and their squint-eyed attorneys presented sundry complaints regarding boundaries and violations of contracts. With a yawn and a few nods, Hagan settled these matters by favoring the highest bidder. For Hagan, discerning justice was a rather profitable business.

“There!” cried Maria. “Father Pious has arrived.” The girl pointed to the round priest rolling off a swaybacked donkey.

“Pious!” Pieter closed his eyes.
Six things does the Lord hate, yea, seven are an abomination: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood. A heart that devises wicked imaginations, feet that are swift to mischief a false witness that speaks lies, and he that sows discord among brothers.

The others of the company had seen Pious as well, and everyone was immediately on guard. Tomas and Otto shrank deeper into their hoods as the sweating oaf lumbered toward them. He was grumbling and looking about wildly.

“He’s searching for Anka,” whispered Tomas.

“Aye,” Otto answered. The lad studied the priest and then looked through the crowd at his beloved Father Pieter waiting forlornly at the gallows. Seeing both men clothed in the robes of the Church gave him pause. He knew of things a peasant boy might know: the hand of violence and the hand of mercy. But before him was more. Coming toward him was a priest of Babylon, overstuffed and haughty, boasting wealth and driven by ambition; he was the bearer of false teaching, an abuser of the law, and void of mercy.

By the gallows, however, stooped a priest of Zion, lean and battered, poor and in the service of others, ready to offer grace in the moment of death—not yet resting in his coming reward as a servant of the Light.

Father Pious grabbed a wooden tankard from some hapless wench in the crowd and slaked his thirst. Still searching for Anka, he stood pompously, his hands gripping the folds of his most expensive garment—a slate-gray linen robe embroidered with silver and gold thread. This would be his finest hour, he imagined.
At last, at long last I shall be free of these cursed fools! Ah, the law, the wonders of the law!

The next to be tried was neither Wil nor Heinrich, but a young knight of Lord Heribert who had changed loyalties in battle and was captured. The questions were brief. Two accusers bore witness against the sullen fellow, and in less than a quarter hour the man was lurching at the end of the hangman’s rope above the bowed heads of Pieter and Maria. Pieter prayed for the flailing man as others cheered and laughed. The man would dance in the air for a bit longer before his soul would finally fly free.

A burly, mean-faced fellow was then charged with extorting silver from two merchants—friends of the judge. Hagan did not bother to hear testimony—matters such as these were not confined by strict rules of evidence such as were required in England. Instead, with a bark he ordered the accused to repay all monies taken plus half again as much. “And do it by St. Michael’s, or lose your right hand!”

The wool-clad peasants cramming the courtyard were drunk and demanding another hanging. Bloodlust was running high, heated, no doubt, by the scalding July sun above. They, like the judge and his court, were chafing and surly. For Wil and the others waiting their turn, such a mood was not a good thing.

During the proceedings, Alwin had slowly moved closer to Katharina. With his eyes fixed on Hann, the knight ran his fingers along the handles of the two swords hanging on his hips.
If he moves to harm her, he’ll feel my steel!

Three more disputes were judged before the name “Wilhelm of Weyer” was finally called. Scattered about the castle, his anxious comrades stiffened. Helmut nervously lifted an arrow from his quiver and turned a hard eye on the judge. But it was Pious on whom he took aim.

Pieter closed his eyes and prayed until tears flowed into his beard. Maria took his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly. With a calm voice she said, “You said that God is good. I believe you.”

The old man smiled and willed himself to accept whatever the hand of Providence might present in the next few moments. Should Wil be found guilty and if no plan might save the lad, it would be he and Maria who would serve next. It would fall to them to stand close to the young man, close enough for him to see them, close enough for him to know that he would not die abandoned by those who loved him.

Chapter Twenty-three

THE ORDEAL

I
n the matter of Wilhelm of Weyer,” cried the court’s bailiff, “where are his accusers?”

Father Pious stepped forward. He bowed and turned toward Wil. It was as though the great boar had spotted a store of gold. His lips shined wet, and his face flushed with satisfaction. He slobbered his words, drooling with anticipation. “I do so accuse him, my lord.”

“You are?”

“I am Father Pious, priest of Oberbrechen and Weyer in the lands held by the Abbey of Villmar.”

Many in the crowd hissed.

“And who else accuses this man?”

The pilgrims held their breath once more. Their eyes flew about in terror. Would Anka step forward? Would another surprise them?

“I say once more and for the final time, who else accuses this man?”

Silence.

Pious was flustered. He had assumed Anka was milling about, and he called for her. It did not impress the court. Hagan glared at the man with utter contempt. For years, Hagan had heard the complaints leveled against the priest and his ambitious ways. “No other witnesses?”

Angry, Pious shook his head. “It would appear she has not come.”

“But you as a priest do so swear to this man’s guilt?”

“I do so swear. As God is my judge, I do so swear. The death of his mother by poison can be witnessed by myself and one
Frau
Anka of Weyer.”

Hagan looked at Wil. “And you, what say you?”

Wil clenched his jaw and puffed his chest. “I swear under God that I am innocent of these charges.”

“Humph,” groused the judge. “Does anyone else accuse this man?”

Otto and Tomas stepped from their stall and threw back their hoods. “Sire!”

Annoyed, Hagan growled, “What’s this, bailiff?”

Tomas strode forward with Otto on his heels. “Sire, begging pardon. We are witnesses to this
priest’s
murder of Wilhelm’s mother.” Tomas pointed at Pious. “It was
he
who poisoned her, and we so accuse him!”

The crowd and the court gasped. Completely undone, the priest stared speechlessly at the two. “Tomas? Otto? But—”

Hagan pounced. “Do you lads swear under God that it be so?”

“We do so swear.”

“But they’re only boys!” cried Pious.

The judge narrowed his eyes at the pair. “How old are you?”

Otto swallowed hard. “Sixteen, sir.”

“
Ja
? Humph. And you?”

“Eighteen.”

“They’re lying to you, Hagan. They’re—”

“‘Hagan’? You dare call me Hagan?” The judge slammed his fists on the table. “I have two witnesses against the priest, and the priest is witness against this other. I—”

“But … but I accuse him of two more murders as well!” pleaded Pious. “Hear me! You must hear me!”

The crowd began to laugh and jeer. “Hang the priest!” cried one. “Put him on a spit!” cried another.

The bailiff shouted for order, while Hagan consulted his clerks. With his eyes then slanted toward Pious, he raised his hands over the surly crowd. “We have two accused of the same crime. The first has only one accuser, albeit a priest. The other has two accusers. Both of the accused have sworn innocence under God. So we shall let God sort it out. Bailiff, trial by water ordeal at the moat.”

The crowd roared its approval. Wil paled, but Pious collapsed, trembling and in terror. It would not do for the robes of a priest to be disgraced, so the man was immediately stripped by the grasping hands of the court’s guard. To the mocking laughter of the delighted crowd, his rotund body quivered and shook within the dubious confines of his underlinens as the wretch wept like a babe. A soldier finally kicked him to the ground, and callused hands hauled him across the dusty courtyard.

Wil was roughly handled as well. He was dragged through the mob and placed alongside a now-wailing Pious near the bridge. Both men’s wrists were bound behind their backs, and a priest drew near. Wil took a deep breath and searched the crowd for any sign of his companions. He spotted Tomas and Otto being held nearby, for if their charge proved untrue, the court would need to deal with them. He looked past them, desperate to find his wife. At last, his happy eyes fell upon Frieda. “Oh, dear God!” he murmured. The young woman had tossed back her hood and stood under the summer sun, still and calm. Her hair shimmered and her face was steady. She smiled, and at that moment he did not care what waited in the depths of the moat.

Pieter had flailed his way through the annoyed mob by swinging his staff like a man gone mad. Finally, panting, perspiring, and utterly exhausted, the man stumbled close to Wil. “Release your air,” he whispered.

Wil turned.

“Release your air … you must sink or be hanged.”

Wil understood. In trial by water ordeal, the water would be prayed over and God’s will sought by a priest. Then the accused would be thrown into it while tethered to a long rope. The sanctified water would reject sinners by expelling them to the surface. Hence, guilty parties would float, and the innocent would sink. If the judge ruled quickly enough, the innocent man might be rescued before he drowned. It was all in God’s hands.

The accused were taken to the bridge, and they looked down into the green scum that painted the waters below. The stagnant moat stank with floating excrement and the carcasses of prior days’ meals. All manner of refuse had found its way into this dredge of filth. Oily swirls looped between garbage and rotting fish, and a cloud of stinging flies hovered above. Into this black horror both of the accused would be tossed.

A soldier grabbed each man and led them to the bridge above the water. Wil lifted his shoulders and breathed deeply. He was lean from a long season of suffering. His heart was strong and his soul prepared for whatever his Maker would demand. Beside him wept a bulging, gluttonous man bent in terror. Soft and self-indulged, Pious was a tragic spectacle suffering the mocking taunts of those whose favor he had coveted.

The court’s priest turned to Judge Hagan. “It is supposed to be cold water, my lord,” he said quietly.

The judge grunted. “Tis cooler than the air. Go on.”

The priest nodded and lifted his hands over each of the accused and cried, “May our omniscient God who did consecrate water for the remission of sins through baptism decree a rightful judgment by His mercy. If thou art guilty of the charge against thee, may the water that received thee in baptism reject thee now. If thou art not guilty, may the waters of thy baptism welcome thee into their depths.”

When he finished, the bailiff cried, “Now!” With a shove, each man was pushed off the bridge and fell about the height of two men into the water below. The scum blew away in the great splash, and a rolling swirl of brown water filled the punctures.

The crowd cheered and waited, and the priest prayed over the water, “I beg thee, water,
in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,
to refuse the guilty and send him to thy surface. May nothing be employed against the discernment of truth. May no magic, no charms, nor devils’ ways conceal the holy will of our Lord Creator.”

None needed to wait very long for the water to pass judgment. Like a giant bubble rising from an abyss, Pious burst from the depths with a loud gasp. He bobbed on the surface for a moment, like a lonely cork, and then desperately tried to sink himself into the water that had rejected him. He choked and sputtered, unable to burrow his body beneath the surface for more than a brief moment. At last, Hagan signaled the guard, and the man was hauled ashore.

Wil, however, hit the water with the vision of his bride in his mind’s eye. He calmly blew the air from his lungs and let his body drift peacefully to the bottom. There, in those murky waters, it was still and quiet. He thought of Frieda’s gentle touch, of their happy days in San Fruttuoso. He felt dreamy and warm, and it seemed as if time had taken pause until his arms were suddenly hoisted behind him. He was pulled to the surface, and when his face broke into the sunshine, he opened his mouth with a loud gasp.

From atop the walls and the bridge, from either bank of the moat, the simple folk roared their approval. They clapped and applauded, and when Wil was set free, a great cheer filled all Runkel!

Still bound and dripping with the stench of the moat, the young man was led before the court now reassembling by the bench. Hagan spoke with his clerks in low tones, then to his bailiff. The bailiff ordered the pleading Pious be taken away and then pointed to Wil. “Release that man!”

Wil watched with an odd twinge of pity as the priest disappeared into the jail.
What shall come of him?
he wondered. His cords were then severed, and he disappeared into the crowd in search of his wife.

The day’s business was not yet finished, however. When Wil had nearly reached Frieda’s side, she hastened to meet him and led him into the shadows. “You must wait here,” she said insistently. The young woman then took her place near the bridge and searched for the steward’s secretary.
There, I see him!
she thought. Indeed, her eyes met the clerk’s. He glared at her from under his skullcap and gathered up his black robes and moved closer.

The courtyard was restored to order, and Judge Hagan prepared for his next case. Pieter and Maria returned to their place at the gallows, while their fellows watched anxiously from places all about the castle grounds. Finally, the name “Heinrich of Weyer” was called by the bailiff. The rumpled man stepped from the shadows with his shoulders straight and his chin up.

The crowd hissed and jeered, but the baker lifted his eye to the bright blue sky above and smiled. His son was spared, and that was all that mattered to him now. He allowed his spirit to soar far beyond the stench of Runkel Castle and the blasphemies rising from its folk.

The faithful band of Heinrich’s company once again made ready. With Wil nearby, Frieda cast a quick eye at Friederich positioned near the court’s bench. She turned her head subtly to see Wilda slip through the crowd toward her.

Wil moved carefully closer to his wife. He did not trust the secretary nor the few soldiers standing nearby. He slowly removed his dagger from within his tunic. In the shadows of his screen, Helmut fitted his arrow once again. His fingers trembled as he prepared to take aim at the judge.

Katharina stared at Heinrich blankly; she had not seen the baker for years. She looked at the patch covering his eye and fixed her gaze upon the vacant space that had once been filled with a strong arm. Her throat swelled.
So broken
, she thought.
Oh, dear Heinrich, if I could only comfort you.

“Who accuses this man?” Judge Hagan roared. He tapped his fingers briefly when Yeoman Horst abruptly appeared from nowhere. “I do!” he cried.

Hagan was startled. There was to have been no accuser! He and Prior Mattias had worked this all out.
Who is this fool?
Hagan spat and cursed.
Now, Hann, do your duty!

Surprised, Hann looked hard at Katharina and squeezed her arm. He dragged her forward, crying, “Hold! Hold fast, sir!” Hagan and the prior had wisely arranged for the unexpected. The soldier plunged through the grumbling crowd with one hand in the air. “Hold, Judge! The man … the man is innocent!”

Heinrich looked toward the voice and gasped.
Katharina!
Suddenly, nothing else mattered. His heart raced, and warm blood pulsed through his veins.
Katharina!
Countless memories flew through his mind. But when he noticed that she was being dragged along by Hann, he was filled with rage. He wanted to bound across the bailey and embrace his beloved—and he wanted to tear the soldier limb from limb.

Frieda held her breath. Wilda motioned for Helmut to lower his bow. Following orders, Hann shouted loudly. “The abbot withdraws all charges against this man. The deed was committed in self-defense.”

“Nay!” cried Horst. “Nay, I am a witness against this man. I—”

Hagan rose angrily and pointed a long, stiff finger at the complaining yeoman. “Bailiff, arrest this mad dolt for disturbing the court’s peace!” Horst was abruptly thrown to the ground and dragged away, howling loud protests. Hagan turned a red face to Heinrich. “Release this man!”