There Will Be Wolves (13 page)

Elizabeth watched, then melted silently into the shadows.

  *  *  *  

The next morning Ursula was awakened from a light doze by the touch of sunlight on her face and the sound of birds singing. She had made a bed for herself and Verity the night before in the wagon, so as not to disturb her father. She looked quickly down at the child beside her. Although Verity had been restless for most of the night, she seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. Ursula had sung to her and talked to her, and Verity, at first fearful, had gradually succumbed. She slept now with one thumb in her mouth and the other hand wrapped tightly around a fold of Ursula’s cloak. Bruno was already up and gone off somewhere, Ursula noticed. Probably to see to their horse.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A voice, guttural and harsh, jolted Ursula into complete awareness. She sat up abruptly, waking Verity as she did so. The child took one look at the man standing beside the wagon, let out a cry, and then burrowed closer to Ursula.

“Give me that child!”

Behind Lemmet, Ursula could see Elizabeth standing, twisting her hands together helplessly. Ursula was filled with fury.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she answered. “The child has been hurt. She’ll stay with me.”

Lemmet took a menacing step toward them. At that moment Bruno reappeared. He stepped between the man and the wagon.

“I think you’d best let them be,” he said quietly.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Lemmet answered. His voice rose to a shout, and he raised his fists threateningly.

Bruno stood his ground, hands at his sides. “The child has been badly hurt. The girl who tends her is a healer; she tends Count Emil himself. Perhaps we should take this matter to him?”

Lemmet, in the act of moving toward Bruno, stopped. Count Emil had an evil reputation among the Crusaders. He had had one of his own servants flogged almost to the point of death for spilling a horn of ale on him.

“The child belongs to me,” he blustered.

“She does
not
!” Ursula broke in hotly.

“The child is ill,” Bruno said quickly. “She cannot walk. If you take her from us you will have to carry her. If you leave her here we can care for her and let her ride in our wagon. When she is recovered, we can speak again about what should be done with her.”

“When she is recovered she will return to me!”

“When she is recovered she …” Ursula began.

Bruno silenced her with a warning look.

Behind Lemmet, Elizabeth still hovered nervously. Ursula sent her a withering glance. Then she turned her attention back to Lemmet.

“I need that girl,” he said. “She performs a useful service for me. Folk give more freely to a child.”

“She won’t perform if she dies,” Ursula countered.

“She’s not hurt that badly.”

“She is. And if you take her from me, that will surely happen.” Ursula saw Elizabeth gasp and turn pale. She looked away from her scornfully. Ursula was exaggerating, of course, but she felt no need to let Elizabeth know that. She had let this monster get his hands on her daughter—let her suffer the consequences of it.

Lemmet made up his mind. “Keep her, then. But just until she is well enough to get back to work. I don’t tolerate useless people around me.” He whirled on Elizabeth. “What are you doing here?” he roared. “Get back and see to our breakfast!”

With a last despairing look at her daugher, Elizabeth turned and left.

Ursula turned to Bruno. “Thank you—” she began.

“You were very hard on that poor woman,” Bruno said, cutting her off. “Have you no feeling for how she suffers?”

Ursula’s back was up again immediately. “I feel for how her child suffers—and it is her fault!” She
clutched Verity to her as Bruno began to gather wood for their morning fire.

How can this be, Ursula thought, watching him. We were such good friends in Cologne, but now … now it would seem that all we can do is argue.

Ursula kept Verity close to her and made her stay in the wagon, even after she was well enough to walk. She was afraid that if Lemmet saw her up and around he would come for her. The child still wept for her mother, but was beginning to trust Ursula, and doted on Samson, who returned the affection.

The next time Ursula saw Elizabeth was one evening a few days later when the minstrels were singing again around their campfire. Elizabeth caught sight of Ursula standing in the half-darkness, listening to them. Her voice broke in mid-song, then she recovered herself. She glanced quickly at Lemmet to see if he had noticed. Ursula backed into the shadows, not wanting him to see her. When the minstrels had finished and Elizabeth was collecting coins in her sack, she made her way cautiously over to the bushes where Ursula stood.

“My daughter,” she asked breathlessly, looking over her shoulder to make certain that Lemmet was not observing her. “How does she?”

“She is well,” Ursula replied. She would have turned away, but the remembrance of Bruno’s
words stayed her. “Really, she is well,” she said more kindly. “We are taking good care of her.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you,” Elizabeth said. “I can never repay you for your help. But when she is well enough, she must come back. You must bring her back to me. Lemmet insists.”

Ursula stared at her unbelievingly. “You would take her back to be beaten again?” she asked. She could see a new bruise on Elizabeth’s arm.

“If we’re careful … if we do as he says and don’t make him angry …” Elizabeth stuttered. “He’s a good man—really. He just can’t help himself if we make him angry….”

Ursula made a sound of utter disgust and turned her back on the woman.

“What would you have me do?” she heard Elizabeth wail behind her. “Who else would take care of us? Who else would provide for us?”

  *  *  *  

They reached Hungary hard on the heels of Walter Sans-Avoir’s men. The city walls came in sight and on them, displayed for all to see, were the arms and what was left of the clothing of the sixteen men who had robbed the bazaar. The gates of the city were firmly closed against them. No one came out to greet them.

That night, as Ursula entered Count Emil’s tent, she was surprised to hear voices. Usually at
this time he was alone. She was even more astounded to realize that the other man there was Peter the Hermit. The holy man of Amiens was standing at the back of the tent, facing the count. His eyes were blazing.

“They must supply us!” he shouted as she hesitated in the doorway. “They
must
give us whatever we need! We are God’s holy army. We are on the most holy of all pilgrimages—on the pope’s own Crusade!” In the more than two months that had passed since he had first entered Cologne, he had learned enough of their dialect to speak it without an interpreter, but his words were so wild and incoherent that it was almost impossible to understand him.

Ursula backed out hastily. She waited until she saw him leave before she approached the tent again. When she entered this time, the count had thrown himself down on the velvet-covered straw pallet that served as his bed.

“Give me my medicine and leave,” he snarled at her savagely.

Ursula complied and left as quickly as possible. At their campsite she found Bruno sitting with his back against the wagon where Verity slept. Forgetting the uneasiness that had been between them lately, Ursula hurried to tell him what she had overheard.

“I’m afraid, Bruno,” she finished. “The Hermit looked insane with fury, and the count—I have
never seen him in so foul a mood. Something terrible is going to happen—I’m certain of it.”

“There are mutterings in the camp as well,” Bruno answered. “People are hungry and angered that the townsfolk will not aid them.”

Ursula climbed into the wagon, curled up beside Verity, and clasped the child to her tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest. From the tent, she could hear her father coughing incessantly. Bruno stirred restlessly by the fire.

The next morning, on her way to the riverbank to wash out their breakfast pot, Ursula pushed through some bushes, only to stumble upon two men. One was a soldier, the red cross crudely stitched onto the shoulder of his uniform. The other was obviously a villager. The villager was holding a pair of old leather shoes—worn and ripped out at the toe.

“That’s robbery!” the soldier cried.

“Take it or leave it,” the villager answered. “You’ll not do any better. Not around here. We don’t want the likes of you rabble here and the sooner you clear out the better!”

“But you promised me new shoes. For the price I paid I should have good sound shoes—these are trash! I want back the payment I gave you!”

The villager laughed and threw the shoes into the dust at the soldier’s feet. “Then you’ll have to come and get it,” he said mockingly. He turned on his heel and headed back to the village.

Within moments a crowd gathered around the soldier. Resentful mutterings soon gave way to curses, and those in turn gave way to shouts. Before Ursula could realize what was happening, the number of soldiers had swelled alarmingly and more were pouring in. Soon it seemed as if the whole camp was on the move.

“Justice!” she heard one cry.

“Revenge!” cried another.

“We’ll teach them to cheat soldiers of God!”

Then, before her horrified eyes, what seemed like the whole army of soldiers that accompanied them took to horse and galloped in a furious storm toward the city. She ran back to their campsite.

“Bruno!” she gasped, as she saw him watering the horse. “The soldiers have gone mad and they’re storming the city!”

Bruno reacted at once. “If that’s so, there’ll be fighting. Quickly, we must strike the tent and pack everything up. If the fighting reaches here, we must be ready to move at once.”

Verity began to cry. Ursula scooped her up and lifted her onto the wagon into her nest of rugs. She collared Samson and dumped him in beside her.

“Don’t cry,” she said, using every effort of will she possessed to make her voice calm. The child couldn’t understand the words, but she could understand a frightened tone of voice only too
well. Ursula patted her for a moment, then made signs to her that she was to hold Samson. The tears stopped. Thumb in mouth, Verity clutched the dog and huddled into the blankets. Ursula looked at Bruno.

“Elizabeth?” she asked. “Where could she be? Should we look for her?”

“There might not be time. We must not get separated. God willing, she will come to us before anything starts. If not …” His words trailed off.

Master William had heard and was already out of the tent and starting to carry things to the wagon.

“Master,” Bruno said. “Please sit and rest. Ursula and I can do all that’s necessary.”

But the old man seemed not to hear him. He stopped, and gave Bruno a confused look. “Fighting?” he asked. “There ought not to be fighting.” Then he doubled over with a paroxysm of coughing. Ursula looked despairingly at Bruno, as she reached for her father’s arm.

“Father,” she said gently, “please do as Bruno says. We’ll load the wagon, but you must save your strength.”

Her father looked back at her. “What is happening, child?” His voice wavered. “This is not the way it was supposed to be.”

  *  *  *  

At noon they were still waiting. Elizabeth had not appeared. Others in the camp had also taken fright and were hastening to pack up their belongings. No one seemed to know what was going on. Once, Ursula saw Count Emil come out of his tent and confer briefly with the Hermit. They turned worried glances toward the city and then went back into Peter’s tent and did not come out again. The majority of the soldiers had been in the mob that stormed the city, and many of the ordinary men, inflamed by the riot, had run after them, brandishing cudgels and any other weapon they could get their hands on. As a result, the camp had a strangely deserted, expectant air.

It was early afternoon when a shout was finally raised from the road leading to Semlin. Almost immediately, the thunder of horses’ hooves was heard and a cloud of dust billowed into the air. The soldiers charged back into sight. Many were bloody and bore the marks of a furious battle. Some swayed in their saddles alarmingly, but every one of them was cheering. They rode into the center of the camp and began throwing sacks onto the ground.

“Grain!” they shouted. “And turnips! Meat! Clothing! Supplies for all!”

“No one can stand before us—now they know what happens to those who will not give to us freely!”

Peter the Hermit came out of his tent, closely followed by Count Emil. The Hermit held up his hands in an effort to bring quiet and order. The gesture was useless. With a roar, the people surged forward. Sacks were ripped open, grain spilled on the ground. Men and women fought and clawed to get as much of the foodstuffs and clothing for themselves as they possibly could. Cloaks were torn, bread trampled into the dust. Fights broke out all over. A man grabbed a sack of something—he probably had no idea what—and began to run with it toward Ursula and Bruno. Another tripped him up and grabbed for the bag. As Ursula watched, paralyzed with shock, the first drew out a dagger and plunged it up to the hilt in the second man’s back. A soldier, still hot and inflamed with battle lust, rode by and saw him do it. Drawing his already bloodstained sword, he lunged and cut the assailant down. Then he rode off, howling his battle cry.

Ursula stared at the sack on the ground in front of them. Blood from both men was slowly seeping into it. She turned away and vomited. Bruno was at her side in an instant. He held her while she tried to pull herself together. From somewhere he produced a scrap of cloth and gave it to her. She wiped her mouth with it and spat out the last bitter taste of bile.

“There will be retaliation,” he said to her then. “We must get back to the wagon.”

The camp was now in utter confusion. The Hermit and the rest of the noblemen were still vainly trying to call for order, but it wasn’t until the last of the booty had either been snatched up or trampled into uselessness that the general insanity subsided. Then the word was passed quickly: “Four thousand Hungarians have been killed! They are massing for revenge. Move out! Move out!”