Pilgrims of Promise (33 page)

“Why not give him your sword?” challenged Otto.

Wil stepped forward. “What money we’ll spend is mostly m’father’s! His sword is his to use, and he uses it well. We’ll buy Alwin what we can.”

The matter settled, Frieda asked for one more thing. “If you could find a bowl of ink, sir, it would make me glad.”

“Ink?”

“
Ja
.”

“What are you writing, anyway?”

Frieda flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I’ll show you another time.”

The group was intrigued by the secret. “Eh?” quizzed Tomas. “Why another time?”

“I’m not yet finished.”

“Finished with what?” challenged Friederich.

Frieda turned to Wil with imploring eyes. He came to her defense. “Enough. She’ll reveal it when she’s ready.”

The matter settled for the time being, Heinrich shrugged. “Aye, girl. Ink it is.”

The four made their way toward the city on a roadway filled with travelers. Every manner of cart and wagon groaned between men-at-arms, pious pilgrims, merchants with heavy-laden horses, and clerics bearing crosses. It was a noisy, uncomfortable press of people dressed in woolens on a hot summer day.

“Everyone stinks,” groused Tomas.

As they neared the city gate, Heinrich handed each shopper some coins and assigned a list of wares to purchase. When they entered the marketplace, the four divided with a plan to meet by the gate again at the bells of nones.

Bidding the other two good fortune, Heinrich and Wil walked together into the market and scanned the tables of produce that were brought into the city each day from the farms dotting the countryside. Cheese was abundant, along with various assortments of green vegetables. Fish was plentiful, particularly codfish from the Rhine. Game was scarce, of course, considering that the local lords refused to allow hunting by anyone other than their own huntsmen. But joints of pork and heavy slabs of ox-meat were plentiful and hung on iron hooks alongside droop-legged fowl and mutton.

Heinrich was pleased to walk alone with his son, and the two spoke earnestly of things past and things to come. Heinrich was informed—in rather great detail—of the events in Weyer since his leaving, and Heinrich, in turn, told more of his own story. Sitting under a linden and sharing a jar of beer, the two nearly lost track of time. For each, the other’s accounting was a fascinating glimpse into the soul. It quickly became a time of mutual repentance and the beginning of healing. A loud voice interrupted their conversation.

“Do you like m’monkey?”

“What?”

A strange old man with a monkey on his shoulder leaned forward. He was fat and bald, and the reek of his foul breath was overpowering. Father and son winced. “I say, do you like m’monkey?”

Heinrich looked at the wide-eyed creature. “I suppose I do.”

“Good, then have him.” The man set the four-legged little beast on Heinrich’s shoulder.

Objecting loudly, Heinrich stood, and the monkey bit him on the ear. “Ahhh!” cried the baker. He swatted the dodging animal as it scooted back and forth across the man’s broad shoulders.

Wil roared with laughter—as did the gathering crowd—while the old rogue watched through squinting eyes. At last, however, the trickster began to shout. “Thief! Thief! He stole my monkey! Call the guard!”

“What!” roared Wil. His father was too busy to respond. He was dancing about the marketplace trying to shed himself of the mean-spirited creature. “He’s no thief!” the young man cried furiously.

A troop of soldiers came trotting around the corner. “Thief!” cried the old man, pointing at Heinrich. “Thief!” The commander immediately rushed toward the hapless baker and knocked him to the ground. The chattering monkey dashed away, running wildly in a wide circle around the laughing crowd until bounding upon his master’s shoulder and kissing the old man on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, officer,” cried the man, bowing. “This fellow tried to steal my little friend here. You were a witness. Arrest him at once.”

Wil bounded to the soldiers. “The man’s a liar! Arrest him.”

By now, Heinrich had gathered his wits and climbed to his feet under the points of two lances.

“Hold fast, stranger. He says you tried to steal his monkey.”

“He’s a liar.”

The soldier looked about the crowd. “Have we any witnesses?”

“Oui,” came a voice. It belonged to a lovely young damsel dressed in a flowing silk gown. She peered from beneath a gauze wimple that covered her hair piled neatly atop her head. She pointed to Heinrich. “He is a thief.”

It was enough. The guards grabbed both father and son and began to drag them away when the old man cried out again, “Hold, sirs. Hold a moment.”

“What?”

“Well, truth be told, this fellow caused me no harm. Perhaps he might just pay me for m’trouble, and we can let the matter rest.”

“He’ll pay nothing!” shouted Wil. A soldier slapped him.

The officer nodded to the old man. “And how much would be fair?”

“Well, he gave m’little friend quite a scare and me as well. And he ought be taught a lesson for the sake of other helpless folk such as m’self. I should say… hmm … methinks a shilling should do.”

“Burn in hell, old man,” cried Wil. A fist knocked him to the ground.

“Two shillings, now,” grumbled the guard. “Else we’ll invite you to our little feast in the dungeon.”

The very word sent chills through both father and son. Heinrich clenched his teeth. “Sirs, methinks a shilling and a beg of pardon from my son should do. I’ve no more than a shilling on m’person anyway. ‘Tis all I’ve left after a long journey.”

Wil was impressed. His father had learned a few things since his days in Weyer!

Annoyed, the officer agreed, and Heinrich picked carefully through his satchel. His fingers found the silver, and he carefully counted twelve pennies. He lifted them from his bag in a closed fist and presented them to the officer.

Releasing their prisoners with a shove, the soldiers grunted. They took four pennies for themselves, then handed the old scoundrel his eight as Heinrich and Wil walked slowly away. “Old bag of gas,” grumbled Wil. The pair turned to see the man who now beckoned his apparent accomplice to his side. He handed the damsel some coins, and the two waved at the hapless pilgrims.

“I hate this place,” said Wil as he rubbed his jaw. “Let’s be off.”

The pair hurried to buy the items on their lists, then paused briefly in the square by the fish market. Their eyes scanned the brownstone buildings, the towers of the churches, and the passersby. A few men sitting nearby were talking of the dangers in the Rhine Valley, both along the east and west banks. “Outlaws and mercenaries, errant knights and rebels are everywhere. The war never ends and the innocent pay the bills. It’s best to board a riverboat or travel with a caravan if you can find one. The boats are costly, but there ought to be numbers of caravans headed toward the Champagne fairs this time of year. And the road north is flat and easy walking.”

Heinrich listened carefully. He’d had his fill of troubles and wanted no more. “These caravans—they’ll let us travel with them?”

“For a lesser fee than a boat. They hire men-at-arms to guard them, so they charge others to sleep under their watch.”

Heinrich nodded. “Seems fair enough. I’d not travel with infidels, though.”

The others agreed. “Times go bad for them … as they should. Landless crusaders fill the ranks of the highwaymen, and they want nothing but vengeance on the cursed devils.”

The following morning, the company agreed they’d forego the expense of sailing the river and would venture north along the west bank of the Rhine in hopes of finding a caravan. With Pieter riding Paulus, they followed the highway as it bent northward across a landscape that had become flat and easy to walk. They were quickly unsettled, however, when they realized they were among a very few travelers on what should have been a crowded thoroughfare. After all, it was this road that led the way to the fairs at Champagne, to Paris and Strasbourg, and even to dreary Bruges and the Low Countries.

“Keep a sharp eye about,” said Alwin. “Tis all we can do.”

The group marched north quickly but cautiously. Few words were spoken as all eyes were kept fixed on distant points. At the end of the second day, they made camp in a light wood about three bowshots beyond the red-block walls of a free, growing village called Neuf-Brisach. It was on the morning of the next day when it seemed good fortune found them.

“Look,” cried Helmut. “A caravan!” The lad pointed to the north gate of the town from which a column of wagons and horsemen was emerging. The company hurried forward to have a better look, and as they drew near, they smiled.

Led by an armored knight in gaily colored robes and accompanied by a cacophony of sounds, a long line of persons, beasts, and sundry vehicles streamed forward. Heavy-laden packhorses followed yawning servants, and strong-backed Frisians yielded to the cries of the carters as they hauled many numbers of canvas-covered wagons and two-wheeled carts

A host of walkers were intermixed, including freemen of middling means dressed in knee-length tunics and well-loomed leggings. Pilgrims in broad hats, servants under heavy packs, and knots of monks moved along as well; the shavelings were working hard to keep their eyes from lingering on the sampling of “erring sisters” strutting about. Here and there were a few jugglers, and two balladeers were singing a farewell song to the captain of Neuf-Breisach’s guard. Benedetto wrinkled his nose. “German music … always about bloodshed and honor!”

Ambling along either side of the column were two lines of disinterested and rather unseemly men-at-arms mounted on a collection of palfreys and a few chargers. These were mercenaries, mostly landless knights with swords for hire. Dressed in flowing gowns of silk or linen, numbers of ladies were traveling as well. These rode sidesaddle on elegant Spanish-Normans or on small coursers.

But Wil’s company took the greatest delight in the assortment of animals accompanying the parade. Besides carts of swine and fowl, hounds and cats scampered about as pets of the lords and ladies. Hooded falcons rode tethered to perches affixed to numerous wagons.

“And see!” exclaimed Otto. “In those cages. A black bear, and there … a strange bird …”

“Tis an ostrich,” added Pieter.

“Oh.”

“They make huge eggs.” Pieter licked his lips.

“And see there.” Tomas pointed. “Giant cats with spots.”

“Leopards from the Dark Continent,” replied Pieter. “And over there, carrying that fat lord on his litter, are men from that very same place.” The company stared at the oil-black skin of the giant men who had been brought from the mysterious land of spirits and odd tales.

It was a passing cart carrying a group of chattering monkeys, however, that seized Heinrich’s attention. The baker growled. “Wil, see that one!” He pointed to one particular little creature who was pointing back and chortling. “Tis that blasted devil from Basel!” he shouted.

Frieda laughed. “How do you know it’s the same one?”

Heinrich rubbed his bitten ear lightly and swept his eye across the scene in search of the old swindler and his young accomplice. He shrugged.

“Well, should we join them?” asked Alwin.

Wil looked about his group. His companions were nodding hopefully. After all, they had just spent two days walking in tremulous fear, and the caravan seemed safe enough. “Well?”

“Ja!”
was the unanimous response. Wil turned to Heinrich. “Help me find the master, then, and we’ll pay the fee.”