Pilgrims of Promise (52 page)

“We need beer or mead, Heinrich,” offered Katharina. The woman had kept a careful count of their shrinking provisions. It seemed they had left some items in Marburg after all. “And we’re low on meat. We’ve salt enough and a few wheels of cheese. But the bread is gone, and I’ve only a little grain for
Mus.”

“I say we ferry across in separate groups,” said Tomas. “Heinrich, methinks you are a risk, what with your one arm and patch. Can we not add a sleeve to your tunic like we did with Maria? If any is searching at all, it’d be for a one-armed man.”

The idea was met with approval.

“Ja,” answered Katharina. “Indeed I can. Well tear cloth from a sack.”

“Good!” said Alwin. “Good indeed. We’ll cross in three groups and meet back here by the bells of nones. Like in Basel, each group should buy a set thing.”

It was agreed. Over the next two hours, three groups crossed the Fulda at intervals and warily entered the town of Münden through its south gate. The inscription above them was troubling. It was worn and in a difficult script. Pieter squinted. “I believe it says, They faded away, but their ghost lives on, an everlasting reminder of our duty.’ Dialect perhaps?”

Maria shuddered as she passed beneath the strange words. She pulled hard on Paulus’s lead and looked anxiously at Pieter.

The town was fairly large, though not nearly so large as Marburg. It was protected by massive stone walls and many high towers that overlooked the three rivers that converged just beyond its northern gate. Coming from the southwest flowed the Fulda and from the southeast, the Werra. Together, these two rivers joined to flow north as the River Weser.

Inside, the town was much like every other town of its time: crowded by narrow, crooked streets and filled with a varied collection of houses, workshops, sheds, barns, coops, and churches. The streets were clogged with groaning two-wheeled carts, oxen, and swaybacked palfreys. The air was filled with the stench of urine and manure, made all the more pungent in the summer heat.

Pieter’s group included Maria, Katharina, and Otto, as well as the two animals. The four were assigned the task of buying salted pork and cheese. It was at the butcher’s shop that Maria became frightened once more.

“Strangers, eh?” asked the butcher. He was a large, menacing character wearing a skullcap and leather apron.

“Pilgrims, my son,” answered Pieter.

The mole-faced man bent low and stared into Maria’s face. He was toothless and his breath was horrid. The girl recoiled. “Ha! Ha! My deary. Best be on yer best whilst here! Are you one of them crusaders come home?”

“I said we are pilgrims,” snapped Pieter. “Now sell us some pork!”

The man picked his nose and smiled wickedly. “Hmm.” He stared at Maria a bit longer. “See there, little girl?” he pointed to a tower under construction at the town’s edge.

Maria nodded shyly.

“Well, if you look up about six rods or so … near the top of the scaffold, you’ll see the face of a child in the stone.”

Maria was puzzled and all eyes strained.

“No, y’fools. You’ll not see it from here! You needs get close.”

“Why is it there?” asked Otto.

The butcher looked the lad over. “You, boy. You’ve the look of one of them crusaders.”

Otto spat. “Can y’not answer m’question?”

The butcher grinned. “A child was put in the wall just months past. A little blond one, like her … only it was a boy, a real screamer.”

Pieter stiffened.

The butcher carved a ham from a hanging swine. “Ja, I can still hear him. The priest said it’d keep the ghosts away.”

“What?” barked Pieter. Solomon bared his teeth.

“The lord of the town captured four lads who was lost. He says they was in the crusade, but they said not. I don’t think it mattered much. They were strangers here. He locked three up in the jail over there.” He pointed to a squat stone building. “Aye, we’ve had some bad time with spirits coming from the river mists more than ever. Two priests died at Easter; a midwife was slain by a dragon born from a strumpet. Aye, we’ve had a bad time of it. So the lord says we ought quiet the spirits. He locked the three away and let ‘em starve. They never said much. Just went quietly. We buried them where they lay in the jail, though some say they hear them groaning at night.

“But the boy in the wall was different. He cursed the priest with a blasphemy and spat upon the altar. So he was mortared into the wall—alive. Now we see his face in the wall, and the lord’s lady claims his ghost prowls the great hall.”

Pieter was dumbstruck. He looked at his companions in astonishment and then turned a hard eye on the butcher. “Keep thy meat, y’wicked devil. I pray the God of Abraham will release the demons of the Pit to raise the rivers high enough to swallow you and this evil place!” He shook his staff with whitened knuckles. “A curse on thee! A curse on thee and thine!”

Otto spat at the butcher and kicked over his table. A gathering crowd murmured as the butcher shouted for the guard. Solomon barked wildly and kept the man at bay, while a cursing Pieter led Maria in a hasty retreat across the market square.

“Run, Papa Pieter,” the girl squealed. “I don’t want to be put in that jail!” She leaned forward with all her might to drag Paulus through the streets.

The four did their best to vanish in the alleys, but Otto looked back and saw a deputy being pointed in their direction. “Quick, we needs get out of the town!”

“Where? We can’t go back through the main gate!”

Otto thought hard. Pieter answered. “Over there. We can get through the far gate and hide. The guards won’t be looking for us yet.”

With that, the four hurried through winding alleyways until they came to the town’s north gate. All was calm and quiet. “Perhaps they’ll just let it be,” grumbled Pieter.

“Perhaps,” answered Katharina. “But we should get out of this place.”

The group composed themselves and walked slowly through the gate, past two sleeping guards and toward a stand of massive trees near the water’s edge. Poor Pieter’s legs were wobbling again. The surge of anger had sapped another week’s worth of strength, to be sure. Solomon leaned lightly against him, instinctively serving as something of a prop for his master.

In the meanwhile, Wil’s group—including Frieda, Benedetto, and Helmut—had watched the whole event from a measured distance. Moments after the deputy arrived at the butcher’s stall, Wil made a dash to intercept him. “Sir, it seems m’grandpapa has made some trouble again.”

“Grandpapa? He dresses like a priest.”

“Aye, you understand then.”

The guard and the butcher looked at one another. “Oh,” answered the soldier. “He’s mad. Well, this man’s suffered some loss.”

“How much?”

The butcher looked over his table. “The sausages are covered with dirt.”

“So?”

“Humph. Well, I was slapped and lost some buyers in the shouting.”

Wil nodded. “Here. Take three pennies. It ought to be enough. Did he buy his meat?”

The butcher shook his head.

“Then I’ll buy what we need. Just send the guard away.”

The butcher agreed, and soon Wil’s group was searching for the old man and his companions. “They would not have gone back through the main gate,” muttered Helmut. “They’re either hiding or out another side.”

Wil agreed and looked about the town. “Helmut, go find the others and send them out the north gate. They’re probably seeking cover along the riverbanks. Tell them to look for us there.”

Chapter Twenty-five

CHANGES BY THE KISS

T
his place tempts me to return to my old ways like nothing else has yet done!” cried Wilda as Pieter told the butcher’s story. It was past vespers, and the group had found one another in a stand of trees beyond the town’s walls. They now sat quietly by a small fire in the welcome coolness of evening.

The sky was still blue, though darkening a little with the passing of the day. No one had come to bother them, and it seemed all was in order.

“We still have need of a few things before we leave on the morrow,” said Wil. He looked pointedly at Pieter. “We were interrupted at the market.” The group laughed softly.

“But for tonight we rest here. We’ve food enough and drink. Methinks the town has no interest in us now.”

With enough daylight remaining to enjoy a brief walk, the wayfarers broke into small groups and scattered along the riverbanks to talk or sleep or cast the net for small fish. Katharina grew melancholy as she walked alone along the bank and watched the walls of the wicked town. Recalling the butcher’s tale, she moaned, “Oh, dear children, what did they do to you?”

Seeing her roaming about the tall grass, Heinrich joined her and took her hand. “Are you well?”

Katharina leaned into him. “This world is so cruel, Heinrich. Oh, I wish it could all be as Emma’s garden once was.”

The baker nodded sadly. He spotted a cluster of red poppies and walked away briefly to pick them. “Here, my Katharina. They are nearly as lovely as you.”

My Katharina!
she thought.
He said “my “Katharina.
The woman blushed and lifted the flowers to her nose.

“They’re not so fragrant as a rose,” Heinrich said.

She lowered her eyes shyly. “I’ve not held so wondrous a flower in all my days, “ she answered.

Benedetto’s voice was heard chirping from the camp, and the pair turned to see him standing at the fork of the rivers’ junction. He was waving for others to join him.

“Shall we see?” asked Heinrich.

Katharina nodded, and they walked briskly toward the group now encircling the minstrel and some object lying on the ground. “Look, see!” Benedetto was pointing to a flat stone bearing a weathered inscription. Tomas brushed some mud away and spat on it to make the etched words easier for Pieter to read. As the old man squinted, Frieda and Wil read it in unison.

  
Wo Werra und Fulda küssen, Sie Ihren Namen hüssen mussen.

  
Und hier erstehd durch diessen Küss—der Weser Flüss.

  Where the Werra and the Fulda kiss, their names they must renounce.

  And here, through this kiss, arises the River Weser.

The group stared at the old inscription and then looked at the scene around them. Indeed, here two rivers lost themselves into another. Heinrich stared at the Fulda to his left. He remembered it as sluggish and weary, running quietly through softwood meadows. But here, at his feet, it became excited; here it now churned and rolled as it lost itself in the first currents of the Weser. He turned to his right and watched the Werra flowing to its own end. It had traveled a great distance as well, only to leave itself behind in this place and become something entirely new.

The baker walked away from the others, staring at the Weser running quickly northward. He reflected on his life and turned his eye toward the sky of early evening. Katharina joined him, and together they spoke of things past and things to come, of the converging of journeys, and of their quest for freedom. Heinrich took Katharina’s hand in his. It felt warm and tender, soft yet strong. He faltered for words, but she smiled. In the quiet calm of her smile the man felt peace. As he faced her, the unfulfilled longings of so many wasted years overwhelmed him with a bittersweet sorrow.

“Katharina, I… I should like you to be my wife.”

Utterly surprised, the woman trembled and blushed. Her world had been one of beatings and neglect, of sadness and mute suffering. She had not dared hope for better except during those times when she had wandered by the Laubusbach, so very alone. Still stunned by the man’s words, she answered slowly and happily. “My dear Heinrich, it would be my honor to serve you as your wife.” The woman began to cry, and the baker pulled her to his chest.

“Here in this place?” he asked.

Katharina nodded.

Heinrich stretched a grateful hand to heaven with a shout of joy. At the sound, his fellows looked his way. “Come! Come all!” he cried. “Pieter, come quickly!”

The curious group hurried to join the beaming couple, and as they drew near, Heinrich reached out to Wil. “Lad, I am to marry, now, in this place.”

Wil was startled. He nodded bravely, but he wasn’t so sure. He felt an odd sense of anger rise within, an anger he had not felt for these many weeks past. He turned as Frieda and Maria rejoiced, congratulating the happy pair. In moments, the couple was swarmed by their excited band of fellows, and Pieter tried a little dance.

“Pieter, will you bless us in this?” asked Heinrich.

“Indeed. It is lawful and right. It is my honor.”

The baker noticed Wil’s reluctance, and he took the lad aside. “Son, is something weighing on you?”

The young man looked at his feet. It was a hard moment for him. He had not forgiven his father fully; he did not know if he would ever be able to do that. But he loved him and had come to respect him. Remembering his father charging across the field to defend him had exposed the heart of the man to him as no mere words could convey. Hearing his confessions had moved him yet more.

Wil took a deep breath as Frieda came to his side. “I wish you happiness, Father, but… but…”

“Say it, Wil,” urged Frieda.

The young man set his jaw. “It seems wrong that you left Mother alone for all those years, and now she lies in her grave, while you are here, alive and happy. It does not feel right to me … so this is not easy.”

Heinrich nodded. He looked at Katharina, then at the others. He stared into the green trees across the waters before answering. “ Ja, I… I feel the weight of that as well.”

“What would you have him do, Wil?” asked Frieda.

A long silence followed as others gathered close. Wil struggled with himself until he answered in a resolute yet kind tone. He looked squarely into his father’s face. “I would have him live life free from any pride of his own goodness … yet also free from the shame of all sins confessed.” He looked to Pieter, and the old priest smiled approvingly. The young man had learned much on his journey, and his teacher’s heart was warmed. Wil turned to his father again. “It is what I would have for myself as well.”

Astonished, Heinrich stared at his son and marveled. He was inspired by the lad’s unexpected wisdom and compelled by the selfless virtue of his character. The baker bowed his head and humbly thanked his son.

Over the next half hour, all hands busily prepared for the surprise wedding. Maria and Wilda raced about the riverbanks, picking flowers, and they soon adorned the bride-to-be with a wonderful ringlet for her head. Frieda braided the woman’s hair and brushed her gown clean and smooth. The three then continued to fuss over the blushing Katharina with the spirit of care uniquely granted to their gender. Soon the woman was ready.

“Oh!” Maria clapped in delight. “You are beautiful.”

Katharina lowered her face in the twilight. The first star of the night appeared in the east, and Maria pointed to it. “Luck!” she cried. “Katharina, make a wish!”

The woman looked at the star and smiled as she remembered the Christmas star of so many years before. She took Maria’s hand in one of hers, then Frieda’s in the other. Together they followed Wilda to meet Pieter, who was now standing at the three rivers.

The groom had picked the brush and twigs from his leggings and adjusted his belt. He laid his sword atop his satchel and had Otto wrap his sleeve tight to the stump of his left arm. He wiped his boots clean, then ran his fingers through his beard and hair. He adjusted his patch and chuckled. “Well, Benedetto, I’m not the handsome knight of your ballads, am I?”

The minstrel shook his head. “Non,
signore.”

Alwin and the lads all roared. “No, indeed! The poor bride is getting a man with a few missing parts!”

“Are we ready?” asked Pieter.

The company quickly formed a ring around the bride, the groom, and the priest. Pieter raised his hands over the couple and prayed. He then asked Frieda to recite 1 Corinthians 13—in German—and she did so, much to the delight of all.

Heinrich listened to the words of the Holy Scripture and smiled warmly.
Love bears all things, hopes for all things, endures all things….
He looked into Katharina’s face, one aged a little, but yet beautiful to the man. She was gentle and soft, wise and kind. She had become well seasoned by life and had remained strong and humble.
I do not deserve this good moment,
he thought. A tear formed beneath his eye, and as Frieda finished, it ran down his cheek and disappeared into his beard.

Katharina beamed. She looked at the thick-chested man before her and was filled with joy. The baker had aged as well. His rebellious, shoulder-length hair gave him the look of a lion, but she knew his heart was soft as warm butter. She was proud of his newfound defiance, drawn by his humility, and secured by his courage.

The couple exchanged simple vows—Heinrich promising love and protection; Katharina, obedience and respect. Pieter then cried happily to the heavens, “Lord, Your hand of mercy be upon them, Your goodness rain upon them, and give them peace. Amen.” He removed his beloved Irish cross from within his robe and kissed it fondly. “It is rough because our Lord suffered on His.” He then lifted it over his head and presented it to the bride. “Dear woman, I give this to you with my blessings for you both.” With that Pieter hung the necklace over Katharina’s neck and prayed over the two of them again.

Happily, Benedetto strummed his lute. “Now, dear Katharina, I am inspired by such a love as yours and Heinrich’s and must sing for you a song, which I am sure conveys his true thoughts of you.”

Come winter and summer,

Come springtime and fall.

I’ll stand by you always

And love you in all.

Come seasons of pleasure,

Come seasons of pain.

I’ll love you for always,

In sunshine or rain.

Come kiss me and hold me,

Come love me and more.

I’ll be with you always,

Be we rich or poor.

Katharina wiped her eyes as the baker colored with embarrassment. He smiled and reached a foot forward. He tread lightly—even tenderly—upon the woman’s foot to claim her as his, then reached for her. Katharina’s green eyes glistened softly in the failing light, moistened by tears of joy, and she fell into her husband’s embrace with a happy cry.

The bride and groom went their way to spend tender time with one another apart from their fellows. The camp was soon quiet, and Benedetto sang softly under the stars.

Find me a treasure that’s only for me,

That tells to the world what I want to be.

Not rubies nor emeralds nor glory nor fame,