Pilgrims of Promise (50 page)

Alwin paled.
Someone must have seen me close.

Alarmed, the pilgrims stared at one another blankly. Where would they go? None spoke. Those of Weyer had not yet fully grasped the fact that they no longer had a home, and they had certainly not even begun to consider where they now belonged. This was not the way to set a new course. Yet a new course needed to be taken, and quickly.

Wil took his wife’s hand and looked at the others. “Well, where shall we go?”

Alwin rose and answered. “We should not run about the country like ships without rudders. I say we start at once for England. ‘Tis a place where a man can be free. Things are afoot there that seem good to me. We could travel west, across France and to the ports in Normandy, we—”

Pieter shook his head wearily. “Alwin, I fear it is too much to ask of any. They’d need to learn another language, and they know nothing of the laws. It is simply too much, my friend, too much.”

“Too much for you or for them?” snapped Alwin.

“No, we do not wish to go to England,” answered Wil. “Not now. There must be another place amongst those who speak our tongue?”

“We could go south,” blurted Otto. “South to the Emmental. It felt good there.”

His idea was greeted with some nods. The Emmental was a pleasant place, to be sure. It had deep green valleys and good folk. “But we’d still be fugitives in a land of lords,” grumbled Tomas.

The group murmured anxiously. A few ideas drifted round the circle but none that seemed reasonable. Wil retreated deep into his thoughts as he aimlessly sharpened a stick with his dagger. Lost in pictures of places he had been, his eyes fell suddenly upon the inscription on his blade, and he turned to his father. Both men stared at the words for a moment until the baker muttered, “‘Freedom always.’”

Heinrich took the dagger from Wil’s hand and held it up almost reverently. He turned to his fellows. “You, Wil, Maria, Frieda, Tomas … all of you, listen to me. We are free now, even though we are driven from our homes and chased like animals across the land. We are free, and we’ll not spend our days hiding from those who would deny us God’s gift.”

Heinrich laid hold of Karl’s cross, which he now carried in his belt once again. He looked squarely at Alwin. “Good friend, we are all fugitives now. You are welcome with us, but go to England if you must. Yet by your own words you say that their king is a tyrant. I’ve had a belly full of tyranny.” The baker looked deeply into Katharina’s eyes. “I know a place where the sky is large and the fields are covered with flowers. There the sun shines brightly over freemen who stand firm for what is theirs, who fight shoulder to shoulder against tyrants. It is a place where we can be what we have become. Let us make our way to a new home, to a new beginning, to a new life. Let us make our way to Stedingerland.”

The baker’s words stirred each heart encircling the fire, and the friends stared at one another for a long moment as the idea washed over them. Then, one by one, the pilgrims rose and clasped hands. “To Stedingerland then!” proclaimed Wil. “To Stedingerland!”

It was a moment that brought cheers and nods—and a few doubts as well, for only Heinrich and Alwin had ever seen the place. So before long, the two were barraged with questions until Heinrich finally raised his arm. “Enough!” he laughed. “You’ll need to trust us. We’ll tell you all that we know, but now we must hurry.”

“Ja!” pleaded Münster’s priest. “You must be away long before dawn.”

“Which way, then?” quizzed Pieter. The old man was enlivened by his flock’s decision, but he barely had the strength to stand.

“Along the Lahn to Marburg. I’ve a friend there, a wealthy merchant who’ll give us shelter,” said Alwin. “Then we should go overland to Kassei, where we can follow the Fulda River toward the Weser. Then we can follow the Weser north.”

“Aye!” exclaimed Helmut. “My home is just east of Bremen.”

Heinrich nodded. “Good, perhaps we’ll take a rest there. But, lad, once we’re in the bishop’s realm, well need to have acare.”

With the matter forthrightly settled, the fugitives prepared to flee. Wil helped Benedetto load Paulus and then called for Pieter. “Your throne, my lord!”

Pieter did not complain. The adventure in Runkel had taken a terrible toll on him, and the past two days of rest had restored only a portion of his strength. “Too much excitement for these old bones,” he chuckled.

Wil surveyed his gathering company. “We have everything? Our satchels, our gold, our weapons? Is everything in order?”

The group nodded. Wil took hold of Emmanuel and his quiver. He felt his satchel and secured the dagger in his belt. “Frieda?”

The young woman nodded. She still had her quills and parchments. The priest had even sent her a fresh jar of ink.

Heinrich had counted the company’s coins and now gave each traveler seven pennies of his or her own before distributing the balance equally among Wil, Alwin, and himself. As he placed his coins into his satchel, he brushed along his Laubusbach stone, which he promptly lifted to his eye. He stared at it wistfully. Instead of a symbol of his return, it had suddenly become a relic of his past. Dropping it back into his bag, he secured his sword and nodded. “I am ready.”

Solomon took his place alongside Paulus and his master as Pieter smiled at Maria. “You must promise me that you’ll find some pretty flowers for your hair along the way!”

Maria giggled. “Of course … and for yours, too!”

Heinrich walked to Katharina’s side. He took her hand in his and looked deeply into her green eyes. The baker’s heart melted. Keeping his own hopes at bay, he said gently, “Woman, you have lost everything. Your husband is dead, your land will be taken by the abbot, and your chattels sold.”

Katharina nodded. She gazed upward into Heinrich’s kindly face. “Like you, I am saddened to leave the graves of our children behind, but more than that I do not mourn. The land was a curse to me; my chattels were fetters on my soul. I’ve an ample dowry safe enough with the Templar banks.” She squeezed Heinrich’s hand softly. “No, dear man, I have not lost everything.”

The baker could hardly ask the next question. “Shall … you seek your family elsewhere … or travel with us to Stedingerland?” He waited breathlessly.

Katharina turned her eyes downward.
Dare I be so bold?
she wondered. Her heart fluttered. “If… you permit me, sir, I should be honored to join your company.”

The baker’s heart leapt with joy. He wrapped his arm tenderly around the woman. “Permit you? Permit you? Oh, Katharina, come with me, I beg you!” For the man it was as if the world had been made right and good in that one brief moment.

Katharina smiled broadly. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed warm and happy. “Then to Stedingerland—together.”

In the meanwhile, Alwin sought out Wilda as Wil assembled the others. “And you, Wilda?”

“Are you going to England?” she asked.

The knight shook his head. “No. I belong with these, my brothers and sisters. They need my sword now more than ever.”

“As do I.”

Alwin released his breath and nodded. “That is good. That is good, indeed.” He looked about the heavy shadows now filling the wood and then abruptly tilted his head at the cries of three seabirds sweeping overhead.

“Come, everyone!” shouted Frieda happily as she pointed. “Follow them! Believe me and you’ll see.”

Chapter Twenty-four

WAYFARERS ONCE MORE

T
he wayfarers soon found themselves racing beneath the starlit summer sky. Wisely, they had kept off the roads, and they hurried overland according to the cries of the birds above.
It is a strange night,
Pieter thought. A
blessed night, one touched by heaven’s magic.
The birds seemed to be leading them northwest over rolling hills and past the dim torchlights of Lord Rolfhard’s hamlets that were scattered about the darkness like little golden coins. By daybreak the column passed Weilburg and came to the Lahn highway, where it paused to rest behind a screen of silvery willows.

“The highway’s not safe, Wil,” said Heinrich.

The young man nodded. “I agree.”

Frieda pointed to the gulls sitting in the treetops above. “Should we ask them?”

Wil shrugged. “They are seabirds, no doubt flying to the sea. We are traveling toward the sea as well. That does not mean they are angels guiding us!”

Helmut and Tomas giggled, but Maria stepped forward. “You weren’t with us when we were lost by the Rhine!” she quipped. “I believe they are sent to help us.”

A conversation ensued that bantered about all matters of the inexplicable. Friederich spoke of whispering trees and Otto of a fog that healed the sick. Wilda remained silent, though her mind was filled with memories of her life as a witch. She shuddered as she considered the dark side of such things. Others spoke of enchanted waters and devils’ springs. Some mocked; most believed.

Pieter took a long draught of beer and listened carefully. He scratched Solomon’s ears and smiled. Finally, all faces turned toward him. “What say you, Pieter?” asked Heinrich.

The old priest shrugged and thought for a long moment. “Well, I’ve had a long journey, my children, one often limited to the measurements of my senses. I have tasted fine food and touched the rough faces of mountains. I have smelled the fragrance of the rose and listened to the songbirds. I have seen the wonders of what God has made. I have grown in knowledge, and my mind has considered the great doctrines of Holy Scripture.

“But I fear that I have oft been confined to that which my senses bring to me. My knowledge of things seen has held me captive. I have failed to go beyond what seems reasonable to my mind. So I say this: what we measure by our sight is truth in part, but we do, indeed, see through the glass darkly. Truth also dwells in the great Unknown.

“My beloved, study to show thyselves approved. Use your minds well and do not be deceived by fools and their fantasies. But also, be still and know that He is God. It is good to increase in knowledge and to test things by reason, but I believe we must listen to the silence so much more; it is the way of faith.”

Above, the birds suddenly cried out, and all eyes turned upward to watch them lift from their perches. The pilgrims said nothing as their three winged companions swooped into a great arc around them and flapped their way eastward.

Alwin rose. “We should move. We cannot stay by this road much longer, for it is already beginning to fill. I say we keep to this side of the Lahn until we reach Marburg. It should take us about three days.”

It was quickly agreed, and the company began on their way. They first traveled eastward, walking overland within sight of the sluggish Lahn and the highway paralleling its green waters. They looked longingly at the wagons rolling so easily along the road and wished for all the world that they might have the liberty to do the same. But at the sight of every company of knights roaring past, they were content to trudge behind the cover of the softwoods lining the narrow meadows of the river. Behind them the long, low ridges of lower Thurungia were gradually sinking lower. Ahead waited the lumpy mountains of the duchy’s heartland.

It was on the feast of Lammas, Thursday, the first day of August, when Wil led his brave band across the bridge at Marburg and through the growing town’s gates. The column of thirteen souls and two kindly beasts made their way quickly through a throng of revelers toward the home of Alwin’s friend. The town was built on a conical mountain atop which was perched a menacing redstone castle. Brick-paved streets wound their way upward to the fortress like narrow serpents coiled around a stump. Lining the narrow streets were well-built houses and heavy-timbered shops that leaned over the passersby like curious onlookers.

“Seems like a wealthy town,” said Benedetto.

“Aye,” answered Alwin. “Its lord is clever and ruthless, but the folk are hardworking and honest, as I recall. My friend is a salt merchant and has made a small fortune with a contract from Ulm. He does a good business with the Templars as well. I escorted him and his silver to Paris some years past, and I once guarded a wagon of his salt from Ulm to Strasbourg.”

Heinrich grumbled. He knew more about salt than he cared to remember. “How much farther?”

“Soon.”

The wayfarers struggling up the town’s steep hills were soon hot and perspiring. The summer sun beat upon them, and the buildings rising close by every side blocked any breeze. Paulus was heavily frothed with sweat and had slipped twice, dumping Pieter to the ground. The townsfolk howled as the spindly fellow bounced on the bricks with a wheeze and an oath.

“Ach,
stupid beast!” grumbled the priest as he fell a third time. He pulled himself up on his staff and shook his head. Aching, he bowed to the laughing crowd. “Ha! Fit as a young stag!” he cried as he beat his chest facetiously. He turned to his smiling companions and wiped his face. “God be praised! I could Ve shattered both m’Trips!”

At last, as the column turned a corner, Alwin pointed to a three-storied house at the end of the street. “There!” he cried happily. “The one of brick and stone.”

The knight ran to the door and rapped on it loudly. In a few moments, an usher answered, received Alwin’s introduction, and then disappeared within. Shortly after, a well-dressed man appeared and greeted the knight with a large smile. “Old friend! Brother Blasius!” he cried. “I would not have known you. Come! Come in, all of you! Hans!” he shouted to a servant. “Have the groomsman take the donkey to the stable. Jon, bring pitchers of beer, and hurry!”

Within the half hour, the happy company was properly introduced and resting comfortably within the confínes of the merchant’s home. “You’ve come on the right day!” The merchant laughed. “I’ve guests in the hall making ready for their Lammas feast, but we’ve room for more.”

“Ah, good Godfrey!” answered Alwin. “Any day in your company is a good day indeed.”

Godfrey chuckled and then changed his tone. He leaned forward slowly. “Tell me, old friend, tell me the stories of you are lies.”

Alwin paled. He should have known that the news of his desertion would have traveled from France to Marburg by now. In hushed tones he proceeded to tell the man the truth of his recent past.

The others sat quietly, listening a little but mostly marveling at Godfrey’s clothing. The man wore an ankle-length, sleeveless, blue silk robe atop a white silk shirt. Atop his head sat a fancy red hat, complete with a large plume. A scarlet sash was wrapped around his waist and fastened by a large silver clasp. Each of his fingers bore a golden ring, and around his neck hung a golden chain.

The merchant took Alwin’s hand. “I knew it, man,” he said. “Fear not. You’re safe here. My guests know nothing. You shall be ‘Alwin,’ knight errant.” He turned to the others. “Now, it seems quick baths might be in order? I’d rather smell my fare than all of you!” He laughed. Godfrey clapped and summoned his fuller. “Man, pour baths for each of these and hurry. I’ve rosewater for the damsels and some good lye soap for the foul brutes they travel with! And scrub their garments.”

The travelers bathed hastily, and their clothing was washed and returned to them well wrung but still damp. They were then escorted to the lord’s hall, where a table had been set for them near the others already eating. Ushers ran forward with freshly filled platters of the season’s bounty riding precariously atop their flattened palms. Trays of cheese and fresh vegetables, as well as roasted chicken, boiled hare, stuffed peacock, numbers of sausages, and baskets of bread were quickly delivered to the table. Red wine and beer flowed generously.

Solomon was allowed to romp about the rush-strewn floor with the lord’s hounds. He eagerly gobbled the many secret offerings of the children and dashed about for bones tossed by others. It was a wonderful Lammas, the best any had remembered.

The day brought back memories of times past for Heinrich and Katharina. Sitting alongside one another, they spoke in low tones of feast days gone by. Katharina giggled and groaned when Heinrich teased her about May Days, and he grumbled loudly when she recalled his poor efforts in bladder ball. “And once you wrestled Richard by the reeve’s own table. His wife was drunk and sleeping on the ground. He yelled from across the common, but it was too late! The both of you knocked the table atop the poor woman and spilt cherry preserves all over her face!”

“And then the bees came!” Heinrich roared. The two laughed and looked fondly at one another. Their faces glowed in the warmth of their happy hearts, and beneath the table they held one another’s hands.

At the end of the meal, Benedetto stepped forward to offer his thanks with a song. To the delight of all, the minstrel stood atop a stout stool and strummed his lute happily. Singing songs of his beloved homeland, he wooed all into a dreamy mood. Then, staring wistfully at the timber beams of the ceiling above, the man took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to sing, but it was as if another whispered the words.

  I’ll know a place where all is bright, where all is good, and all is right.

  I’ll know a time when all is done, when all is ready beneath the sun.

  I’ll know a song that I will sing, that I will offer, that I will bring.

  I’ll know a reason for why I came, for why I am, and why my name.

The man stopped and let his words trail away. Surprised by the lyrics, he stared blankly at Pieter and then bowed his head.

The diners clapped and praised the fellow, pleading for more. The minstrel politely declined and quietly went to his seat. A wandering discussion soon followed. A loud contest of ideas began, which quickly drew Pieter to its center. He listened carefully as Godfrey’s other guests shouted at one another about the ideas of St. Anselm and Abelard. The discussion grew heated and soon wandered to the political legacy of Bernard of Clairvaux, the logic of Aristotle, and the works of the Scot, Richard of St. Victor.

“A dreamer!” shouted one. “A mystic of a time now past. A toast, I say. A toast to the true scholars, the children of Aristotle!”

Pieter bristled.
A time now past? Past what?
he wondered.
Past the nudgings of the Spirit, past the “peace that surpasses all understanding
?” He could keep silent no longer. “Keep your blasted Aristotle! I’ll take the Scot and his ‘reasonable mysticism’!”

A diner slammed his fist on the table. “Give me the Greek and his logic, and I’ll change the world!”

Pieter rose. He took a goblet of and wine in his hand drank slowly. Calmed, he said, “My lords, there should be no war between faith and reason. Our faith is reasonable, though it does not stand or fall upon logic. After all, it stands on grace, and that, sirs, is not logical at all.”

The diners fell quiet.

Pieter went on. “But if the two become opposed in the life of a man, it is faith that shall always rule reason—”

“Nay!” shouted a diner. “Reason shall prevail, and faith must find a home in it!”

Others agreed.

Pieter, however, shook his head. “No. Reason shall not prevail because it
cannot
prevail. I say this because of two
logical
points!” He smiled. “First, reason is a mere faculty of the intellect, while faith springs from the heart. It is the
heart of
man that ultimately rules his mind.

“Second, unlike the intellect, faith has no bounds; it is a gift of the Infinite. The intellect cannot grasp truth because truth always enlarges itself just beyond our grasp.”

A voice grumbled, “And why would that be?”

“Because truth does not wish to be fully known,” answered Heinrich from his seat. All eyes turned toward the burly man with surprise, not the least of which was Pieter!