Pilgrims of Promise (26 page)

Jerking on their short rope reins, the would-be knights circled and reared in every direction. Were it not so grievous a moment, it would have been a comical thing to watch! Young Heinz, looking no bigger than a large fly on the back of a black giant, fell three times.

“Saddles would’ve helped!” cried Otto.

Somehow, Wil and Tomas calmed their cavalry and turned to the girls. “We’ve need of the torches now.” Wil adjusted his bow and quiver, nervously felt for his dagger, and then reached for his torch.

Frieda handed it to her husband, then helped Maria lift more to the others. Finally, all stood ready for the signal. “I hope this plan works better than the last!” sniped Helmut.

On Galgenberg, Pieter and Heinrich crouched low. Considering the confusion in Burgdorf, they were astonished to see the column of Templars marching toward them. “Why tonight? Why the devil are they so fixed on hanging him tonight?” grumbled Pieter.

“Do you think the boys are ready?” whispered Heinrich.

“Oh, by the saints above, I surely hope it. I tell you, baker, my old heart is pounding hard. This plan is far-fetched to my way of thinking.”

The Templars soon were close enough for Pieter and Heinrich to see the torch-lit outline of their faces. And as they came closer yet, the pair could hear their conversation plainly. The knights spoke mostly of their fury with the stable master. “On the morrow, I’ll have his head on a pike. I swear it. All the horses gone! Armor and robes ruined, two brothers burned badly, and the mercenaries killing each other in the looting. By the Virgin, someone shall pay!”

Blasius was praying quietly. As Blasius was dragged beneath the limb of his gallows, Pieter could hear him muttering the Lord’s Prayer and quoting from the psalms. The priest and the baker prepared to act.

“Prisoner,” began the master, “thou art charged with desertion in battle, with defending heretics against the crusade of the Holy Church, with blasphemy, and with treason against the empire. Thou hast been tried this very day by the brethren and declared to be an anathema in the name of the Holy Father. Thou hast disgraced thy order and despoiled thy name. Hence, thou shalt not enter hell as ‘Blasius,’ but rather as a nameless, corrupted soul, stricken from the Lamb’s Book of Life. Thy once-good name is thus stripped from thee as are all benefits and merits of thy former brotherhood with the Order of Knights Templar.

“So, in accordance with the Rule of our Grand Master, Odo de St. Amand, and under the authority of Pope Innocent, I sentence thee to hang by this tree until dead. May thy spirit languish in the Pit for days and nights without end, amen.”

Blasius lifted his head proudly. “Hang me if you must, but I gladly go to God with the name of my baptism, Alwin of Gunnar.” He said no more.

With that, the Templars tied a thick rope around his neck and threw the other end over the limb. It was the signal for Pieter. “Hold fast, fools!” cried the old man as he emerged from his cover.

Turning with a start, the Templars wheeled about. “What devil is this?”

“Release him!” shouted Pieter. He raised his staff in the air, hoping the others could see his signal in the firelight.

At the lifting of the staff, Wil and his fellows braced themselves.

“Who are you?” roared the Templar.

“I am a priest in the service of Almighty God. I say release this innocent man or bear the sting of the heavenly host upon thee, each and every one!”

“Hoist him up!” bellowed the master. Three sets of strong hands immediately pulled on the rope and lifted the flailing Alwin off the ground. They wound the rope around the gallows’ tie.

Pieter raised his staff again, crying, “No! Come, legions of heaven, come!”

Instead of Gabriel, it was Heinrich who burst from cover with a drawn sword and filled with fury. And, two bowshots away, the second raising of the staff signaled Wil’s little cavalry to charge, screaming like flame-bearing hellions atop thundering mounts.

Startled and confused, the Templars whirled about, and Heinrich caught the master completely by surprise. He plunged his sword into the man’s unarmored belly with a bellow as the others drew their blades. The baker rushed toward Alwin’s rope and swung wildly at it. The edge of his sword nicked the rope, but it was not enough. The Templars charged the man and would have slain him on the spot had not Pieter leapt between them. “You’d not dare slay a priest!”

“Move off!” one cried.

The air was suddenly filled with the sound of hooves and shrieking voices. The knights spun about to see torches surging toward them out of the darkness. “You two, charge them!” cried one. “Ill take these.” As his fellows rushed past, the soldier turned his fiery eyes at Pieter. “Move, I say!”

“Burn in hell!” answered Pieter.

At that moment three riderless chargers burst by the tree, distracting the Templar for just an instant. It was time enough, however, for Heinrich to lunge forward and drive his sword into the man’s neck.

Another horse ran by, and a moment later a Templar came running out of the darkness toward Heinrich. The baker stumbled backward to the ground, and Pieter jammed his staff in front of the knight’s feet. The soldier fell forward, but before Heinrich could slay him, another riderless horse thundered through the camp, knocking both Heinrich and Pieter aside.

Meanwhile, in these few brief moments, Alwin had become limp. His limbs twitched slightly, save an occasional desperate lurch. Seeing his plight, Heinrich scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward the dangling man. There were still two other Templars, however, and one had retreated to the tree, where he dodged a passing horse. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the baker rearing back to cut the rope. He flew at the man.

In the darkness, Wil hung on to the neck of his steed with two hands. He had thrown away his torch and pointed his horse toward the tree, where he could plainly see Alwin’s body in the torchlight. Closer he came, and still closer. His mind carried him to a childhood dream very much like this. He reached into his belt and drew his dagger.
Not a dream, but a vision!
With a victorious cry, he roared past the hanging man and sliced the rope in two.

Alwin dropped to the ground with a thud and lay crumpled in the dark as Wil fell from his rearing mount. The lad hit the ground hard, and with a groan of pain, he pulled himself up and ran toward the gallows as he reached for Emmanuel still hanging on his back.

Under the tree, Pieter had collapsed unconscious, and Heinrich was scrambling for his life. Out of the corner of his eye, the baker saw that Alwin was saved, but both Templars were now upon him.

Into the clearing charged four shrieking lads. None were armed; they had hoped their bluff might have chased off the knights. Startled, the two knights turned from the helpless Heinrich, and one snarled, “Ha! You’ll taste steel tonight!” The words had barely left his lips when a whiz and a thud caught all by surprise. The Templar stood as though stunned, then reached a limp hand toward the arrow now piercing his lung.

Astonished, the other knight whirled toward the darkness from which another arrow flew. The man gagged and gurgled, clutching the wooden shaft that had impaled his throat. Staring blankly, he coughed once and then collapsed.

Otto ran to Alwin and screeched for someone to cut the cord. Heinrich stumbled forward, but Wil charged from the darkness with his dagger drawn and laid its edge quickly under the thick hemp. He sawed carefully away from Alwin’s throat and severed the rope. He took the man’s face in his hands and prayed for God’s mercy. “Breathe, breathe, I say!”

Tomas flew alongside and pounded Alwin on the chest once, then twice, then a third time. “Breathe, y’dolt, breathe!”

Alwin stirred slightly, and the circle stared down at him hopefully. His eyes popped open and he arched his back, sucking air into his lungs. Then, midst the cheers of all, the man rolled weakly to his knees and wheezed great gulps of air.

“God be praised!” cried Heinrich.

“Wil!” shouted Helmut. “Come quick. It’s Pieter!”

Leaving Tomas to care for Alwin, the others ran to the old man’s side. He was barely breathing and still unconscious. “He’s alive,” said Heinrich grimly. Before he could say more, Otto screeched, “Look! More’s coming!” The boy pointed to a column of torches winding its way quickly toward them.

“Oh, by the saints!” shouted Heinrich. “The provost is sending a company this way! Hurry, we must carry Pieter to safety!”

Wil and Otto lifted Pieter by his shoulders and legs and hurried into the darkness as Heinrich rushed to Alwin’s side. “Men are coming. We must move you to cover at once.”

Tomas laid hold of one shoulder and Heinrich the other as they helped the struggling Alwin to his feet. Heinrich quickly studied the Galgenberg. He checked to make sure he had his sword and that nothing was left behind. “Steady him,” he said to Tomas. The baker then snatched another sword from one of the Templars.
“Ach,
if only I had two hands!” He looked about another moment, then stared uneasily into the darkness. “Something seems amiss.”

Chapter Twelve

FRIENDS FOUND, FRIENDS LOST

W
here’s Benedetto?” asked Maria. “And where is Heinz?”

Panting with exertion, the pilgrims cowered in the dark forest under cover of night. They had fled the Galgenberg and now stared fearfully at the group of torches gathered under the silhouetted boughs of the distant tree. “Benedetto!” whispered Wil loudly. “Are you here? Heinz? Where are you?”

All remained quiet. Squatting, Heinrich shifted his weight and peered into the inky darkness. A red glow radiated over the walls of Burgdorf, and the air smelled of smoke. Clouds hid the stars. “Wil?”

“Aye, Father.”

“How is Pieter?”

“Awake, but weary.”

The man took a deep breath. “Where are the minstrel and Heinz?”

Tomas answered, “I sent Benedetto to distract the soldiers at the tavern. It was near the jail. I heard him singing before the fire was set, but that’s the last I saw him.”

“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 was 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.