Pilgrims of Promise: A Novel (The Journey of Souls Series) Page 21

  “And I saw Heinz on the horse when we first began to gallop,” added Otto. “I said to him, ‘Hold on, Elfman!’ He never answered and I lost him in the charge.”

  “We all fell off, save Wil,” said Helmut.

  “I fell at the end.”

  Heinrich turned his face back to the darkness. “He must be out there, then. I fear the worst for him.”

  Maria began to whimper.

  Frieda comforted the girl with an embrace as Wil stood. “Then he’d be between here and the hill.”

  The others stood, ready to begin a search for their comrade. “Rudolf,” ordered Wil, “stay with Maria, Pieter, and Alwin. The rest follow me.”

  “And what of Benedetto?” asked Heinrich.

  “He is either making his way toward us, else he is still in the town. For now, we need to find Heinz.”

  Solomon suddenly emerged from the darkness, whining. He ran over to Pieter and lay down alongside him. “Ah, good boy,” sighed Pieter weakly. “Good old fellow. Help them find Heinz.”

  The dog’s ears cocked.

  “Ja, boy. Help them find Heinz.”

  Solomon twisted his head, then closed his jaw. Then, as though he truly understood, he spun about and trotted past the pilgrims and into the night.

  For the next hour, Wil, Frieda, Tomas, and the others carefully picked their way across the open land between themselves and the hanging tree. To their great relief, the town’s provost and his men had begun their slow walk back to town. The pilgrims would be safe until daybreak.

  The bells of a church began to ring matins prayers when Solomon barked three times.

  “Over there!” urged Frieda.

  The searchers stumbled toward Solomon’s whines. In what light the moon pushed through the night’s fleeting clouds, the group soon found itself bending over the panting dog and the still body of Heinz. Frieda laid her head on the young lad’s chest. The circle fell quiet. The young woman pressed her ear close and listened. All waited breathlessly. Finally, she moaned, “I… I fear he’s dead.”

  Wil quickly laid his open hand on Heinz’s neck. He felt no pulse, but he did feel sticky blood. “Oh, Heinz,” he muttered. “Good, brave Heinz.” He lifted the boy’s limp body into his arms. “We must go back,” he choked.

  Maria had waited obediently by Pieter’s side until she heard muffled voices approaching. She sprinted toward the others. “Did you find him?” she cried.

  “Aye,” grumbled Tomas. “We found him.”

  The girl spotted Wil. “You … you are carrying him.” Her voice trailed at the end. She knew.

  “We’ve lost him,” said Wil sadly.

  Hearing that, both Pieter and Alwin groaned loudly. The old priest hauled himself to his feet and staggered toward the group as it entered the camp. Without a fire, the man could barely see. He groped forward until his hands found the little chap lying in Wil’s arms. Pieter whimpered at the touch. “By the Virgin,” he wept, “I loved this little fellow.”

  “He must have fallen from his horse,” moaned Otto. He turned to Tomas. “You! You put him back on three times afore we even left! How did you think he’d be able to hang on? You killed him!” Otto flew at Tomas, and the two crashed to the ground. Fists flew and curses filled the air until Wil and Helmut pulled them apart.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Tomas sputtered. “He fell off his horse.” The lad’s tone belied a hint of guilt that few missed.

  “Enough!” ordered Wil. “Otto, Tomas did not kill him. We all could have told Heinz to stay. And we all know he wouldn’t have. Now listen. We must find Benedetto, and we need to put distance between us and this place as fast as we can!”

  With no more to say, the pilgrims gathered themselves together. Helping hands steadied Pieter and Alwin, while Wil laid Heinz’s body on the ground. “We’ll bury him at first light,” he murmured sadly.

  Maria answered, “He should not be buried alone. You said we’ll soon come to the graves of our friends who died in the flood. We should take him there.”

  “Perhaps we can,” answered Pieter. “At daybreak we’ll speak of it.”

  Otto knelt down alongside his friend’s body and stared blankly into the boy’s starlit face. Pieter leaned on his staff sadly. “‘O Lord, how long?’ How long must we endure this world of sorrows? How can we bear the mysteries of Your ways?” A weary anger rose in the man’s belly and he could say no more. Looking about his band, his mind recalled countless memories of the boy. He could see Heinz’s squinty eyes pinched shut in a good laugh, and he could hear him cheer his comrades when hope seemed lost. The man sighed. “I never knew where he joined us on crusade, Otto. He was as harmless a lad as ever was born into this miserable world.”

  “He was happy,” offered Otto. “I’ve known none so happy as he and Karl.”

  “Not so happy now,” murmured Tomas.

  “Now happier than ever,” answered Maria kindly.

  The clouds fell off the moon, and wide shafts of silver light filtered softly through the leafy black canopy of silhouetted treetops. “Moonlight is mercy,” whispered Heinrich.

  Pieter gazed about the shadowed wood as the company gathered close. His beloved ones fully encircled him, and the old monk-priest touched them one by one. His hand was cold to the pilgrims, but reassuring. “Are you feeling ashamed?”

  The group was silent.

  The old man stood quietly in the middle of the group. He turned his eyes from face to face. “Do you weep for the innocents lost in Burgdorf?”

  All heads nodded.

  “As do I,” answered Pieter.

  Otto blurted, “We were fools. We ne’er gave a proper thought to the fire.”

  “Aye,” came another voice.

  The old man laid a finger on his chin. “Probably so, lads. But hear me. Confess to God your guilt, leave shame at the foot of the cross, and lift your chins. We are imperfect vessels in a broken world. Sadness is good to bear, but never shame.”

  “But people died for my foolish plan!” groaned Tomas.

  Pieter reached a hand toward Tomas’s hard shoulder. “Tomas, in this world I fear all things have a cost. Best to trust God for the price. Your plan saved Alwin.”

  The black-haired boy could not answer. Overcome by the kind words, he stared at his feet.

  Heinrich stepped from his place. “I speak for all when I say we are grateful for your help. None of us had a better way. Well done, lad. You belong with us.” He offered his hand to the lad.

  Tomas lifted his face. “I … I …” The young man faltered for words.

  Wil hesitated, then stepped forward warily. “Tomas, we were once friends. I … I forgive you for the past and hope you will forgive me as well. I’d like to call you ‘friend’ again.”

  The offer of reconciliation was sudden and unexpected. The hatred Tomas had once relished now felt oddly impotent, and an urge to weep came over him.

  Pieter’s heart soared. He was filled with hope. He knew that repentance follows forgiveness—it is the very essence of redemption—and he imagined the beginning of a new life for the lad. Sensing Tomas’s discomfort, however, the wise old priest diverted the group’s attention. He bent slowly to his knees and laid a hand on Heinz’s head. “How easy to forget the good promises of God.” He lifted his face in prayer. “O Giver of life and Companion in death, let the angels delight in the company of our little brother Heinz. Let him dance gladly in Thy presence; prepare his table for the feast we shall all share. And until that glorious day, forget not us, Thy suffering children.”

  That same night, Frieda and Maria washed Heinz’s body with rags dipped in water poured from the pilgrims’ flasks. The others were gathered close together, grieving Heinz, fearing for the absent Benedetto, and still quietly preoccupied with their guilt over the fire. Pieter gave them comfort over Heinz, more counsel for their guilt, and finally confidence in the minstrel’s sure return. Then, as if on cue, Solomon’s ears suddenly cocked and he dashed ahead. For a long while no sound w
as heard as the pilgrims stared into the silvered woodland. Finally, the dog and a small shadow could be seen, and the group rose, hopeful. In moments, the soot-covered, shaken minstrel stumbled from darkness and fell into their arms. “Laude a Dio! Praises to God!” cried Benedetto.

  Maria sprinted toward the little man with outstretched arms. “Oh, you are safe! You are safe!”

  “Si, little maiden. Oh, I am very safe now.” The happy man drank heartily from a flask of wine and recounted his adventure. But with the news of Heinz, the poor fellow choked and turned away.

  With all now accounted for, Wil prepared his company to leave. Heinz was wrapped tightly in blankets and tied carefully atop Paulus’s back. “In the morning the roadways will be searched carefully. Alwin is in great danger, as are we all. We must leave at once,” instructed Wil.

  The quiet company hurried away. They traveled through the night quietly, most lamenting the loss of life and property they had inflicted on Burgdorf. The air was cool and the highway was empty, save two patrols that the pilgrims avoided by dodging for cover along the shoulder.

  “As I recall,” said a weary Pieter at daybreak, “Olten is about six leagues northeast of Burgdorf. Methinks we’ve traveled about two leagues by now.”

  Tired, Wil ordered everyone to the cover of a ridge just beyond the road. “We need to rest.”

  The fugitives collapsed in a grassy field and nibbled wearily on salted pork and cheese. They filled their flasks from a nearby spring but set no fire. Forlorn, they murmured among themselves until Otto finally asked, “And what of Heinz?”

  Wil looked about at the wide green valley surrounding them. Maria stood. “No, Wil,” she stated firmly. “The others are by the river. We must take him there.”

  “The day may get hot,” grumbled Helmut.

  Pieter took a long draught of beer. He looked to the sky and shook his head. “Clouds coming from the east. We’ll have some rain for sure.” He turned to Wil. “He would have wanted to be buried with the others. I am certain of it. We’ve about three leagues to go … at this rate, perhaps a day’s journey. Shall we try?”

  Wil looked at the imploring eyes of his sister and at Pieter, then up at the clouding sky. “I’d rather you be riding Paulus than he, and we needs walk off the road. It’ll slow us.”

  “First, I’d rather put the boy to proper rest than ride. Next, I know these parts. We can parallel the highway with ease.” The priest was firm.

  “Fine, as you wish. But we needs hurry. If we don’t find the graves by nightfall, we’ll bury him where we must.”

  It was a gray twilight when the pilgrims finally came upon the quiet shoreline of the Aare River. Maria quickly spotted the mill near the broken dam and the large rock that marked the place where the crusaders had been buried the summer past. The company hurried to the spot and found the earth still mounded beneath the river stones used to cover the shallow graves. Their wooden crosses had disappeared, and weeds had overgrown the site, but to these former crusaders, the place was yet hallowed.

  Large tears fell from Frieda’s eyes as she stood at the head of her brother’s grave. “Oh, dear Manfred,” she sighed, “I’ve missed you so.” She pulled the weeds from the stones and cleaned away the bramble. “In the morning I shall bring you fresh flowers,” she whispered. Humming lightly, she sat down alongside the mound. “You know, Manfred, I’m married now. I married Wil! I think you would have liked that.” A large lump filled her throat, and she could say no more. She closed her eyes and groaned midst visions of the horrid flood that had taken so many.

  In the meanwhile, the graves of the others were cleaned, including those of Albert, Jost, and Otto’s old friend, Lukas. The broad-faced lad let the tears fall as he remembered the fateful storm. “I’ll not ever forget the sound of the water,” he muttered.

  Tomas and Wil worked with Rudolf to dig Heinz’s grave as Helmut gathered large smooth river stones. When the hole was ready, Wil summoned the others.

  “I shall miss you, Elfman,” choked Otto.

  “We shall all miss you,” added Pieter. “You tried to save a man you never knew. Would the earth be filled with the likes of you in times to come.” The priest then prayed a quiet prayer and blessed the company. He held the weeping Maria in his arms and kissed her lightly on the cheek as Wil and Otto lowered the shrouded body into the ground.

  “Papa Pieter, will you leave us, too?” asked Maria.

  The old man looked deeply into the little girl’s frightened face. “Ah, my dear. Ja, I shall someday leave this earth, perhaps one day soon. But I’ll ne’er leave you alone. Fear for naught, my angel, for you are loved by many.”

  Each traveler set about the task of covering Heinz’s remains, first with soft earth and then with stones. Once finished, the company stared quietly at the rock-mounded grave as Maria and Frieda fixed a neatly fashioned wooden cross at its head. Then, each one bade the brave little fellow farewell in his or her own way and drifted off to sleep under a starless sky.

  Considering the next day’s rain and the need to stay hidden from the dangers of highway patrols, it was a wonder that the forlorn pilgrims arrived at Olten as quickly as they did. But it was that evening just outside the gates that Alwin bade the brave pilgrims farewell.

  “No, Father Pieter. I am a danger to you all. You have saved me and I am fast healed. The Templars will never stop hunting me, and as long as I am with you, you will be hunted as well.”

  Heinrich stepped forward. “You must not travel alone. You’ll have no hope at all. And you’re not yet well. I’ve seen your steps fail a few times.”

  Alwin set his jaw firmly. “I’ll not have your deaths on my conscience.”

  Pieter spat. “So, monk, ‘tis all for you, then.”

  The knight looked surprised.

  “Aye, you heard me. You’d deny us the defense of your sword and the skill of your eye so that your conscience might not be pricked! Go then! The self-serving have no place with us.”

  Astonished, Alwin gaped at the old man and then at the pilgrims gathered about. “I… I…”

  “We hoped you’d protect us, Herr Alwin,” said Maria gently.

  “But… but, my dear sister, I bring you danger, and—”

  “You bring us no more danger than what we’ve been hardened to,” barked Pieter. “Look at these faces. They have been guided through hardships that would make your own heart tremble. Then God sends them a seasoned knight who now wants to run off to protect his own conscience. I, sir knight, am fairly disappointed.”

  Alwin looked at Heinrich. The baker nodded. “We need you, friend.” He walked to Paulus and retrieved the Templar sword he had taken. He handed it to Alwin. “We need your honor.”

  The knight took the sword and cast his eyes about the circle of faces imploring him to stay. He took a deep breath. “Well, for now, then.”

  The pilgrims cheered, and Pieter winked at the smiling Maria. Their knight would stay!

  The group made its way through the darkness to the gates of Olten, where Wil hesitated. He cocked his head toward Pieter and shrugged. “What do you think?” The young man was nervous about the reception they might receive at the hand of Lord Bernard. After all, Pieter’s earlier efforts at dentistry may or may not have provided the promised cure!

  Pieter climbed down from his seat with determination. “Methinks we’ve a duty to Friederich and Jon. We left them behind in hopes of seeing them again. Knock and let us take what’s coming.”

  Wil rapped loudly on the gate.

  “Tis past curfew. Begone!” grumbled a guard through the oak.

  “Open the cursed door, y’fool!” answered Pieter.

  The door flew open, and a long-nosed soldier stormed toward the company with his lance leveled and his torch raised. “Who dares call me fool’?”

  Pieter ground his staff into the ground. “I do.”

  The soldier wheeled about. “You!” He tilted his smoky torch close to Pieter’s face. “You, the old priest from the n
orth! Ha! I remember you.” He cast an eye at Heinrich, then stepped closer, raising his lance. “And I’ve seen you here before as well.”

  “Ja. Some months past. I was looking for the child crusaders.”

  “Seems y’ve enough light to know us by. Now let us in,” growled Pieter. “We’ve business with Lord Bernard.”

  Wil shifted uneasily. He leaned toward Frieda. “Pray the lord’s tooth is fixed.”

  “What business ‘ave you?” quizzed the soldier. “Lord Bernard is in Bern.”

  Wil released his breath, relieved. “And how’s his tooth?”

  “The old man here took the pain away. ‘Tis how I know his face. Our priest thinks it was witchcraft.”

  Pieter was in no mood for this. “Witchcraft! By the saints, I ought—”

  “And what of the two we left here? They belong with us,” interrupted Wil.

  “The little crusaders? They came back hurt after you left. We helped them.”

  “Aye!” answered Wil impatiently. “And?”

  The man’s face hardened. “We had plague in October past. I lost m’wife and my two kinder. Most say you crusaders brought it. One of yer boys perished in it. The other is doing penance.”

  “Which?” Wil blurted.

  “Which what?”

  “Which of them died!”

  “The older one. He had a broken leg.”

  “Jon!” groaned Frieda.

  Heinrich was bristling. “And what of the lad doing penance?”

  “What of him?”

  “Why the penance?”

  “The priest says the waifs to purge the sins of you all. Lord Bernard and his daughter objected, but they dared not oppose the Holy Church in this.” The soldier shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Some say you disgraced good Christians, what with yer losing faith and thieving. Some say y’cast spells and ate infants. You went to crusade in Christ’s name but defiled our Lord and the Holy Virgin Mother with yer weak ways. Now we all suffer for it.”

  Despite his rising anger, Pieter had been oddly quiet. He stepped forward with his staff gripped by fingers whitening with rage. Barely controlling himself, he said, “I see. And what say you?”