Quest of Hope: A Novel (61 page)

He hadn’t taken more than a few steps, however, when his eye was drawn from the hard-running, muddy river to the amusing sight of what appeared to be a mad churchman yanking on a crook that was wedged in the planks of the dock. The white-haired cleric was shouting a plethora of oaths that turned more than a few heads. His black robes were threadbare and, as Heinrich approached the wiry old scamp, he thought him likely to be some outcast priest. “Good day, old fellow. It would seem as if you’ve a small problem.”

The man wrinkled his brow. Heinrich thought him to be as old a priest as he had ever seen. He had a narrow, white-bearded face, a head full of wispy, white hair, deep-set, fiery blue eyes, and bowed, spindly legs. Yet it was the single yellow tooth suspended in the front of the man’s mouth that made Heinrich want to laugh out loud.

“Aye. And it seems that you’ve a good eye for what’s plain to see,” answered the priest.

Heinrich jerked the man’s crook free and extended it to him.

The priest sighed in appreciation, “Well… bless you, my son. I suppose I am in your debt.”

Heinrich smiled and nodded and set his hand on the man’s bony shoulder. “It would seem so. And I might add, sire, that by your looky’ be—or at least once were—a priest?”

The old man blushed.

“Aye. And so I knew. Now, forgive my boldness, buty’d be the better for your cause if y’d be a bit more mindful of your tongue.”

The priest’s eyes sparkled and he laughed heartily. “I am undone by such a gentle rebuke, stranger, and am in your debt again. I should like very much to repay both your kindnesses with a tall tankard of ale.”

“Ah, father, thank you, but it seems we be traveling in opposing directions.”

But the priest insisted. “Of little import, good man. Your simple kindness must needs be honored. I beg you to join me over bread and a quick ale.”

Heinrich hesitated; he wanted to continue on his journey but there was something special about the gangly fellow and the twinkle in his eyes. “I ought press on; perhaps some other time in some other place?”

“Should you take a moment to study me, you’d be sure to see I’ve but a few more times and places left to my account,” noted the priest. His twinkling eyes snagged their prey.

“Ach … so! Very well, old man. I yield to your magic!” He followed the priest’s amusing gait through the winding streets of Basel, where the two talked of easy things. They made their way up a steep narrow street to a welcoming inn and sat at a long table atop a warped bench.

“So, stranger,” the old man looked at Heinrich with a twinkle in his eyes, “by God, in all my many years I have n’er drank with someone whose name I did not know.”

Heinrich felt suddenly uncomfortable. It was as though he could hear the snickers in Rome, “Worm … Worm of Santa Maria’s!” What shame he felt, what sudden reservation. He balked at claiming his past, yet he did not know what he had become.

The old man broke through Heinrich’s reverie. “Your pardon, sir. Did y’speak your name?”

“You ought be content to call me ‘Stranger.’”

The priest wrinkled his nose. “Nay, ‘Stranger’ is no name … ah, but you’ve yet to learn of mine own! I am known as Pieter … and y’may be content to call me Pieter.” He grinned.

Heinrich smiled. “I’d rather forget m’name,” he said quietly. “And I’ve fair cause.”

Pieter was a wise man. Spirited, clever, and quick-witted as he was, he had been blessed with uncommon charity as well. He looked into Heinrich’s face gently. “Might I at the very least call you ‘Friend’?”

The word was comforting to Heinrich. He nodded.

“There you have it then,” said Pieter cheerfully. “I am Pieter and you are Friend, and I am most content with that.” He turned to an ale-maid rushing past and blustered, “You there! Ale-maid! A tankard for Friend and Pieter!” He chortled like a schoolboy until he faced the buxom wench standing over him, palm open for payment. Perspiring and suddenly red-faced, he fumbled for words. The bag at his shoulder was empty.

Heinrich laughed and tossed a penny of his own atop the table, and soon the baker was reaching for more as he and his new friend toasted each other, glad-hearted and merry. But after preaching from the tabletop and wheezing in fits of laughter, Pieter pressed the ale-maid just a bit too far and was soon staring up at the hook-nosed woman.

Suddenly, his eyes toward the door. “
Mein Gott!”
he exclaimed. “My children! Friend, come with me, quickly. I needs find my children.”

Heinrich was confused.
What could this old man have in the way of children? he
wondered.

The two hurried through the crowded streets and finally to the ferry docks where a chorus of singing voices could be heard above the din. “Ha!” Pieter grabbed Heinrich by his tunic and dragged him forward. “Ho, ho, my children!” Pieter bellowed as he stumbled toward them. “‘Tis so very, very good to see you. I humbly beg your pardon for my delay.”

Heinrich stared at a group of fresh faces scolding Pieter and a gray dog licking the old man’s hand. His heart stopped as his eye lingered on a tall blond boy with piercing blue eyes.
Does my sight betray me?
he wondered. Chills ran up his spine and he nearly burst into tears.
Wil? Could that be my Wil?
He scanned the others, ranging in age from five to perhaps fifteen. Most were dressed in tattered tunics, some bearing red crosses stitched over their hearts. Many were shoeless and nearly all carried simple wooden crosses in their hands or belts. His gaze fell upon a ruddy, round-faced lad of about thirteen. He had a tumble of red curls atop his head. Heinrich gasped quietly.
Can it be?

Several children plied Heinrich with questions, but the man had hardly time to think before Pieter turned and dragged him back into the city, where he found himself suddenly surrounded by the children and a scruffy dog the priest referred to as Solomon. One child explained to Heinrich that they were on crusade to save the Holy City.

The baker nodded, but was barely able to comprehend. He only wanted to study the two boys. It had been six years since he had left his village. He knew he must look very different from when he left, but surely, would they not know him?
They would have grown into young men … those two
must
be mine!
His mouth was dry and he faltered.
If it is them, what do I say? I left them so long ago … they’ll not understand… surely they must hate me!
His heart pounded and he felt suddenly very weak and timid.

A dozen men-at-arms burst upon the group. “More brats for the rats!” one cried. The deputy immediately ordered his men to bind the startled children, and he abruptly charged them with theft.

“Thou hast no just grounds!” roared Pieter. “None at—”

“Silence, old fool!”

Pieter was endowed with a large range of mood. He could be a comfortable friend, or he could be a raging warrior, consuming the wicked with tongues of fire! At that moment the priest’s blood began to boil within his pulsing veins. He laid his long nose against the deputy’s and loosed a blistering vituperation of expletives that could have toasted the ears of a seasoned knight.

Seeing that the guards were distracted by Pieter and his barking dog, Heinrich quickly begged Wil to order the children to put what treasures they had into his opened satchel. The children complied and several trusting little hands dropped a pitiful assortment of bread crusts, rotted turnips, half-eaten strips of salted pork, and sundry trinkets. Then Heinrich watched Karl drop a steel-chain necklace into the bag—Marta’s necklace!

At long last the soldiers silenced Pieter and bound the terrified score of children with a heavy rope. With loud oaths they then drove them through Basel’s winding streets by the sharp points of their long lances.

Heinrich followed at a safe distance. He had wanted, of course, to do nothing other than draw his blade and strike the villains dead. Perhaps were he a younger man he might have followed such an imprudent course. Instead, he took Pieter’s dog, Solomon, by the collar and faded into the growing shadows of the city where he plotted his course.

The child crusaders and their faithful priest were rushed to the city’s horrid dungeon set deep in the city’s center. They quickly vanished within a cavernous gate guarding its dark chambers. Heinrich peered from a nearby alley and listened to the satisfied comments of city folk who were glad for it. “I hear they carry plague,” grumbled one.

“Aye, they’ve scrumped and murdered their way to our good city. I say hang ‘em all!”

Heinrich said nothing, but secretly vowed that the innocents would not stay the night in the belly of that place. He paced the streets, struggling to concoct a plan. The dog bounded away, only to return dragging Pieter’s crook. Heinrich praised the dog and held the staff to his breast. “I’ve need of a plan, Solomon, a sound scheme.”

Before long a confident smile stretched across the man’s weathered face. “You there, guard!” he shouted as he ran toward the dungeon. “You there. Answer me at once!”

“Who speaks?” grumbled the guard as he pulled his torch from the wall. “Who speaks?”

“I speak.”

Unimpressed, the guard groused, “Ja,
ja.
And what’s this about?”

“’Tis said you’ve dragged a band of children through these very streets and they’d be bound inside.”

“Aye. And what business is it of yours? Had I a say, they’d all be drowned in the river.”

“What’s m’business? Ha! Y’d be a dolt if ever one lived. I tell you what nonbusiness is!” said Heinrich. “My business is your business. You’ve brought plague through these streets and you’ve set it just behind you. We’ve both business here and, aye, the mortuary shall soon have business as well!”

The soldier stiffened. “Y’ve no proof of such a thing.”

“Nay? I’ve seen the yellow sweat on ‘em up close, and I’ve seen the marks on their faces. Y’think me to have nought else to do but bother with a pack of little brats as they? By God, man, use that dung-filled head of yours.”

“None else has spoke of it and—”

“Listen, fool! I can swear to what I’ve seen. Call your magistrate. Wake him from his bed and have him stand close to look with his own eyes. Aye, and you’ll be needing a new magistrate in a fortnight!”

The guard hesitated, then shook his head. “If your words be true, then the worst of it is for that bunch inside … no loss to me.”

“Walls can’t contain plague, y’dolt!” boomed Heinrich. “Plague is plague—have y’forgotten Bern during the Whit-sun Feast just two years prior? Any brushed by a single breath of the sick were cold and stiff in a winter’s hour.”

The uneasy guard was familiar with the stories of Bern, and imagining Basel filled with smoking biers was enough for him to beckon his sergeant and whisper a few hushed words. The sergeant abruptly ordered him to summon the captain of the jail who emerged from his quarters in an impatient rage.

“What say you?” the captain barked.

Heinrich narrowed his eye and growled, “Your dimwitted deputy paraded plague through these streets but a few hours past. Have y’ne’er seen plague? I have. And I’m here to warn y’that y’ve brought death and misery upon us all. Y’ve time to expel them yet… while the streets are empty… and I swear by the Virgin Mother and the Holy Church, if you simpletons don’t, I’ll stand in the square on the morrow and tell all of your murderous deed this night!”

The captain began to perspire. Heinrich leaned closer. “Have you ever seen plague?”

The captain shook his head.

“Well, I have and I’ve seen what it does. It seizes a stout and sturdy man like your very self and rots you from the innards out. From your toes to your scalp, your skin shall blacken and bleed, and you’ll soon cry out in pain as you suck for breath. You’ll be set in a row by others who share your plight until your miserable soul is snatched to the Pit and your putrefied body piled in a wagon and hauled to the fires. And, were that not enough, your pathetic name shall be stricken from the memories of all but Lucifer, who shall bind you in his furnace forever!” Heinrich was surprised at his own eloquence, but gave no clue of insincerity. He bored his eye into the captain’s.

“And … and which prisoners bear this … plague?” queried the captain, suddenly anxious.

“Aye, the children. I saw the marks on most, and ‘tis certain y’ve heard how they’ve carried such a curse over all the empire.”

The captain stared blankly at the prison gate.
“Ja,”
he answered slowly. “Perhaps I ought inform the magistrate.”

“Ach. I knew y’to have more wit than the louts following you about. ‘Tis a good man who spares his
Volk
such an end. If y’fail to exile those whelps, your city will be filled with the litter of a thousand black corpses by Assumption… and y’dare not hang ‘em, nor put them to the torch and risk the wrath of the Church. But why call the magistrate? I’d wager he’d put a foot to your arse for trussing him to such a blunder!”

The captain’s lips twitched and he wiped his sweating hands on his leggings. “I’ve the authority to arrest and dismiss at my will and … methinks it best to rid this city of any risk of plague. You, sergeant, drag them beyond the walls and be quiet about it. Let ‘em die in the mountains.” He turned a sly eye to Heinrich.

“And I suppose we are in your debt, stranger? You ought be rewarded for such a warning and for your … discretion,
ja?
Take this silver and begone.”