Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade Read online

  The legate drew a deep breath and bellowed, “For the Lord says, ‘The land I have given to Abraham and Isaac, I also give you, my children. They shall neither hunger nor thirst. Nor shall the desert heat or sun beat upon them. You shall be led beside springs of water.’

  “Dear children, please come and I’ll turn my mountains into roads and my highways shall be raised up. You shall come from afar … from the north.”

  Paulus softened his tone and turned a kindly, gentle eye out the windows and onto the children scattered throughout the silent courtyard. He motioned them to the bishop’s guards. “Bring them to me. Suffer the children to come unto me.” He waited patiently, like an indulgent grandfather on a summer Sabbath. The footmen hurried throughout the courtyard and beckoned the wide-eyed children to hurry to the nave where they slowly, almost fearfully, forced themselves between the hips of the astonished adults pressed in around them.

  “Komme, meine Kinder,” cried the legate. “Come, all my children, and gather before my feet. Sons of shepherds and daughters of ploughmen … come, come you all… all my dear children come.”

  Karl was as stunned as the others but quickly snatched Maria by her hand and squeezed his way into the sanctuary. Flushed with excitement and nearly trembling with anticipation, the boy and his sister joined their peers near the front of the church.

  The legate called twice more for the children to come and, at last, nearly a third of the church was filled with their awestruck faces. The displaced nobility crowded to the margins and viewed the spectacle with notable annoyance, but Paulus smiled kindly. “My precious lambs,” he said softly, “thank you, every one, for hearing the Word of thy Lord … for a great task lies before you. It may be that some already know of those Christian youth who have begun a march to carry the good news of our Savior to the heathen occupiers of Palestine.”

  The children stirred, few having heard any such report.

  “’Tis true. An army of children is gathering in the Empire and in France to rescue Jerusalem. They are marching now and need you, each and every one. Perhaps this sad manor might be rid of its evil presence should such piety be found midst you as well? By faith, I do believe bounteous blessings await this manor should it join its lambs to the flock preparing for Palestine.

  “Indeed. God has granted visions of you crossing into Palestine on dry land. Ja, as did the Hebrews cross the Red Sea. Oh, dear ones, offer thyselves to the will of thy loving Father in heaven. You depart not with bow or spear or dagger, but rather with gentleness and meekness and simple faith … weapons against which stands no defense.”

  The cleric was contented by the immediate enthusiasm evident on the faces of the innocents, but he became alarmed at an uneasiness spreading among their parents now crowding every portal. Sensing reluctance, the man turned his attention to the murmuring elders. He set his face squarely on those eyes narrowing toward him and stretched his open hands over the heads of the little ones at his feet. “He tends His flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart.”

  The man paused to stand his hooked staff against the pulpit. He clutched his heart and cried to the congregants, “I am convinced that neither life nor death, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation is able to separate these little ones from the love of God that is in Christ, our Lord.”

  He lifted his chin high and shouted, “I trust not in my bow, my sword does not bring us victory, but thou shalt grant us victory over our enemies, thou shalt surely put our adversaries to shame.”

  He bent toward the children near his feet and placed his hands on his knees. “You little ones were once in darkness, but now you are in the light. Live as children of the light so that you may be found blameless and pure, children without fault in a crooked and depraved generation. Shine like stars in the universe so that you may boast on the Day of Christ that you did not march in vain.”

  Karl was speechless. It was as if his heart had been lifted to the heavenly realm. He was convinced that God was speaking to him through this holy man.

  Paulus continued as he returned to his pulpit. “Dear children, this is the last hour, a new age is dawning. Now is a time for the innocents of Christendom to claim dominion. Our own emperor, Friederich II, is but himself a child, and the visions have been granted to mere boys of ten and twelve. The words of our Lord ring true to me: ‘I praise thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hidden these things from the wise and revealed them to … little children.’”

  Paulus paused, then raised his eyes again to the elders. “Thy children shall be mighty in the land, ’tis true, and the generation of the upright shall be blessed. Wealth and riches shall come to you and thy righteousness shall endure forever. Good shall come to you who are generous and lend of thy loved ones freely.

  “Oh, dear fathers and good mothers,” wailed the churchman, “thy sons and daughters are a heritage from the Lord. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in thine youth. Blessed are those whose quiver is full for they shall not be put to shame.” The legate’s words did not miss their mark. Indeed, apprehensions began lifting like fog past prime.

  Paulus turned his face toward the slack-jawed children beneath him and adroitly closed the net. “Children, obey thy parents in all things for this pleases God. Listen carefully to my words: If you be children, then you be heirs of God. Indeed you share in His sufferings in order that you might also share in His glory.

  “I send you not to an easy place, but to a hard place, and you shall shoulder the Holy Cross as did our dear Lord. You, my dear, dear children, are sent from God to overcome, for the One who goes with you is greater than the Evil One that is in this world.”

  The man’s constricting eyes swept the congregation. “If the Lord is pleased with you, He shall surely lead you into that land … a land flowing with milk and honey. Go up and take possession of it! Be not afraid and do not be discouraged.”

  He stared heavenward, now nearly weeping. “And the little ones, dear God, Thy children who know not yet good from evil, they shall enter Thy land. Thou shalt bestow it upon them, and they shall surely take hold of it. Then all mankind shall truly know that Thou art Jehovah, the Redeemer, the Lion of Judah. With windstorm and tempest and flames of a devouring fire, go before this flock of Thy most precious lambs. May Thine many enemies become like fine dust; the ruthless hordes like blown chaff.

  “For the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together … and the little child shall lead them. The infant shall play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put its hand into the viper’s nest. They shall neither harm nor destroy any on Thine holy mountain.”

  He relaxed a little and secured both hands on the lapels of his robes. “Brave children, the Lord is bringing you into a good land; a land with streams, and pools of water with springs flowing in the valleys and hills. A land with wheat and barley, vines and fig trees, pomegranates, olive oil, and honey. The land you shall take possession of is a land of mountains and valleys that drink rain from heaven.”

  Paulus closed his eyes. “On a day soon, a song shall be sung in the land of Judah. Open the gates, O Jerusalem, that the righteous children may enter in. Keep perfect peace, O my God, for those whose minds are steadfast. Help them trust in Thee forever, O Lord, our Lord, the Rock eternal!”

  He opened his eyes and stood quietly for a long moment. Then, with a pleading, inspiring voice he cried, “Children of Christendom … will you join in Holy Crusade? Will you join with the others and deliver Palestine from her oppressor? Will you serve the Almighty and His Holy Church and enter, victorious, the gates of Jerusalem?”

  Unable to restrain himself a moment longer, a young lad jumped in the air and cried, “I’ll go, blessed Father! I’ll go!”

  Then, as if a gust of wind suddenly rushed through the
abbey, voices from every corner echoed the boy’s cry. “Yes! Yes! We go … we go!” Children shouted and cheered, stamped their feet and danced. A wild scramble of child crusaders then poured out the church’s doors and spilled into the courtyard. “We go! We go to God!” Many parents, now caught in the moment, laughed and sang, for they would now be heirs, heirs of blessing in a Holy Crusade—a Children’s Crusade!

  Smiling, the legate backed away from the pulpit. Abbot Udo seemed anxious and he stared forward slack-jawed and speechless. The archbishop stood and nodded to the legate politely, though another’s sharp eye might have noticed a hint of restrained objection. His Grace reordered his vestments and slowly quieted his congregation with his raised crosier. After waiting patiently, he finally commanded the bell tower to peal. Then, having gained some measure of control he spoke solemnly. “Know this: that you are sent out like lambs among wolves. Go with God in faith; go with our prayers that He will deliver thee from thine enemies.”

  The archbishop raised his arms in farewell, grasping his staff with his right hand and extending it over the heads at his feet. He closed his eyes and, with a rising voice, pronounced, “Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Delight thyselves in the Lord and He shall bestow upon you the desires of thy heart. Commit thy way to the Lord, trust in Him and He shall do this. He shall make thy righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of thy cause like the noonday sun.”

  Then he held his place as if numbed by his own words and stood in absolute silence. His audience hushed. He stared at the heights of the ceiling with a look of sudden anguish, arched his back, and stretched his arms wide as if to embrace all heaven and earth. Then he prayed silently, and turned away.

  Wil had spent this unusual Sabbath nagged by curiosity and he listened with piqued interest to the bells that tolled without good order. He had wrestled with a gnawing guilt over Ansel’s death, but now dismissed it as an accidental act of self-defense. To escape his nagging conscience, he minded his ailing mother and passed time studying Lukas’s medicinal herbs and roots that he had strewn about his table. He pinched a bit of this and that and held the ground herbs to his nose. Some smelled sweet, others musty, but he recognized few. Several labels had been fortuitously scratched on the pottery vials and the tops of the tins. He shook a handful of dried plants from a wallet and was able to identify thyme and buckthorn. Ah, there. The boy brightened. Yes, thistle and sage, rue and hyssop. These I do know well. And here, sweet mint and camomile. Thanks be to Emma. I should have listened better.

  He recalled Father Pious’s suggesting he find atropa belladonna for his mother’s fever, and though void of affection for the priest, Wil thought the medicinal advice worthy of consideration. Upon close examination of an etching on a narrow tin, he deciphered the faint inscription, “X Atropa Bel.” The rest was too worn to read. Content to have found the herb of choice, he proceeded to brew an infusion for his mother.

  Marta had shown some surprising improvement during the day and her fever seemed somewhat lessened. “Drink this,” Wil offered. He secretly hoped she would notice he had delivered the brew in her favorite clay dish.

  Marta cupped the bowl with trembling hands and lifted the hot brew to her lips. She sipped gingerly, then pursed her lips and frowned. “Too hot! And what is it… some witch’s steep, little man?” she scolded.

  “No, mother,” sighed Wil. “’Tis a potion proposed by the priest… a remedy for the fever and you’d be well to take it down.”

  “Father Albert, I hope,” snapped Marta hoarsely.

  “Nay, Father Pious,” answered Wil curtly.

  “Pious! I should like nothing more that man has to offer.” She set the bowl on her lap and looked away.

  Wil nodded. “Aye, but an herb is an herb.”

  Marta stared at the drink before lifting it again to her lips. “This hardly fills the belly. Get me soup.”

  Wil dutifully went to the common room and gathered a handful of dried peas, some millet, and a scallion from the row of crocks shelved near the door. He stepped outside to the barrel and ladled some water into his iron kettle when he heard the first sounds of returning villagers. He squinted his eyes in the fading light of mid-evening and strained his ears to the distant groans and creaks of old wagons. More food ought be thrown in the kettle, he thought, and as the shuffling feet of beast and peasant filled the hamlet, a thin gruel began to steam over hot coals.

  An oxcart paused to unload Karl and Maria and the two charged through the door of the house. “Oh, Wil!” exclaimed the excited boy. “This day is unlike any other. The manor’s children are preparing to go to God on the great Crusade Father Pious told us about. The village children are making ready to leave at dawn to march to the great city of Zion with ‘neither bow nor sword nor dagger’ to reclaim all of Palestine for God!”

  Wil answered bluntly, “Good for them, but we’ve a sick mother to attend. Have Maria feed her, and you eat.” He turned and walked out the door.

  “But Wil,” persisted Karl as he chased after him, “Father Pious says our mother can only be healed by penance. He told me whatever sins our family suffers can be redeemed through our going.”

  Wil held his tongue for a moment, looking first at Maria and then Karl. He walked slowly back to the hearth and squatted. “What about her?” he asked, pointing to their sister. “Would you force Maria to Palestine for a churchman’s lie? Why not just make her swim to Cathay and save all the world!”

  “We are all under God’s protection. The Church swears to us that God goes with us. ‘We’ll be borne by the wings of angels,’ the priest from Cologne said, and what of the visions of Stephan and Nicholas? They have been shown the sea opening for us as it did for Moses. God will provide, Wil. Where is your faith?”

  Wil stood to his feet and spat. “Where is my faith? Ha! Where are your brains?”

  “But Wil,” said Maria softly, “see, we each have our cross to carry.” She held up three wooden crosses made of apple sticks lashed with hemp twine.

  Karl added proudly, “I cut them from the abbey orchard and they were blessed by a priest from Mainz.” He clutched one close to his heart with both hands. “I beg you, dear brother, we must Crusade, we must go for God. Frau Anka says she’ll stitch red crosses on our shirts.”

  Wil stared into the mus bubbling at his feet for several quiet moments. He struggled with the agreement he and Pious had made. His mind raced. I must needs leave this place, I want to be gone from here … I have always wanted away. But dare I abandon that old hag in there… dare I take poor Maria? What to do? The tormented lad threw the wooden ladle into the gruel and snapped, “I’ll make our decision on the morrow, but we’ll not go at dawn … and that is the end of it.”

  Karl, disappointed but submissive, filled his plate slowly while Maria scampered away to tend their mother. Wil, sullen and withdrawn, retreated to the refuge of his bed and closed his eyes.

  “But you did say you’d decide by prime?” blurted Karl.

  “Ja, ja … by terce to be sure. Now be done with your slurping and go to sleep.”

  Karl was not easily quieted. He was bursting with anticipation, his blue eyes wide and bright, his cheeks red and glowing in the firelight. Unable to sleep, he turned to Wil again. “I learned a new riddle today.”

  Maria returned and sat crossed-legged on her bed, waiting. Wil covered his ears and groaned. “Nay, Karl, not now. I thought you quit on these fools’ riddles.”

  Dawn broke early to Wil’s mind, though hardly quick enough for the excited Karl. The redhead bounded from his bed and rushed about his chores, paying no attention whatever to the pleasant breezes bending the fields of rye overlooking Weyer. The bakery apprentice, Tomas the Schwarz, stood in the doorway waiting to attend his duties.

  Poor Tomas was a foundling; rescued an infant’s death from the rear of a shearing shed where an unknown mother had abandoned him to freeze some fourteen years prior. His blazing, black eyes and black hair earned
him his surname. He was a distant, bitter boy, with sinewy muscles stretched tightly over a tall frame. The monks had cared for him in some respects, providing adequate food and shelter, but they failed in offering affection or instruction. Unable to confine the angry lad within the abbey walls, he was released to serve as apprentice to the peasant’s bakery two years ago.

  Tomas pointed a long finger at the group of children now gathering behind the wheelwright’s shed. “Be y’going by this fools’ Crusade?” he asked Wil.

  Wil shrugged. “Perhaps, though not today.”

  Tomas nodded. “’Tis a way to escape this miserable place.”

  Suddenly Frau Anka bustled from a flock of village mothers toward the two boys, waving her arms and calling to them. “Come, m’boys. Come do the will of God. Join the others. We’ve your red patches ready and … why do you stand there, Wil? Pious said y’d be leaving!”

  Wil and Tomas looked at her and said nothing. Frustrated, the husky woman snarled and grabbed Wil by the hair on the side of his head. “Come with me!”

  Wil jerked back, wincing. “Nay, Frau, I’m needed here.”

  “But y’needs do the penance! The village needs all of you to save us.”

  “Do your own penance, you old sow,” muttered Wil.

  Weyer’s children were gathering amid the well-wishes of suddenly reluctant elders. A strange uneasiness had begun to stir, a nervous rustling like anxious leaves before a storm. The sun was rising in a blue sky, and Karl and Maria looked wistfully at the growing numbers of familiar faces waiting by the village well for Father Pious’s blessing.

  At last the priest appeared on his forlorn donkey and he rolled off in his usual manner. The crusaders gathered in a half-circle as Pious approached. He ceremoniously held a large, silver crucifix before his placid face and muttered a prayer.