Pilgrims of Promise (43 page)

Katharina nodded and pulled away. She sat at the table and dried her eyes. “I must deal with my shame and bury my husband. But tell me this: did Heinrich murder him as I am told?”

“Nay, child! He only sought to defend his son. None could know what the reeve and his deputies were about. I believe Heinrich thought they were going to kill them both. My son, here, was knocked to the ground and young Wil wrestled down. See here. The lad lost his dagger in the fray.

“But Heinrich fought against shadows, not faces. He thrust his sword only when he thought his son’s life was in peril. Your husband tried to kill him, but Heinrich struck hard and fast. No, sister, he did not know, and methinks he still does not know whom he slayed.”

Relieved, Katharina closed her eyes. “Thanks to you, Herwin. Oh, dear God, I prayed that if it were truly Heinrich, he did not know whose life he was taking.” She looked at the man again. “It … it was he who beat my husband to near death just before he went away.”

Herwin and Wulf both smiled. “Good for him!”

Katharina smiled timidly. She remembered her secret joy the day Ludwig was found bloodied, bruised, and unconscious in the village latrine. “And where is Heinrich now?”

“He was taken to Villmar, but I fear they’ll be bound over to the guard at Runkel today. I would expect a quick trial—”

“And a hanging,” Katharina added firmly. “Were they alone?”

Herwin thought carefully. “Well, they came to my home alone, but soon after they were taken, two companions came here.”

“Who were they?” asked Katharina.

“The lad Tomas returned from crusade and also Brother Blasius … now called Alwin, the Templar who is hunted for treason. Do you remember him?”

“Aye,” replied Katharina. “He and Heinrich were always close.”

Wulf’s wife had been quietly spinning in the corner. “There are other companions as well.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite. Wil mentioned his wife.”

“Then we’ve allies somewhere!” exclaimed Katharina hopefully.

“Allies?”

“Ja.
Others who’ll dare help them. If you were they, what would you do?”

Wulf’s wife answered, “I’d come to the village to see where they are!”

“Indeed!” cried Katharina. “Have you seen strangers?”

“Nay, we’ve not been about at all. We’ve been grieving the moment.”

“Well then, Herwin, we needs move through the village—and quickly.”

“You need to bury your husband.”

For Katharina, that obligation seemed suddenly like an annoying interference. Ludwig had, indeed, been a monster to her for all their married life. Nevertheless, she had spent a sleepless night feeling shame for the unspeakable relief that followed his death. The man had beaten her, humiliated her, and had once kicked her so hard that she lost a daughter in childbirth. It had been her first and only babe. The woman nodded in resignation. “Yes, I know.”

With hugs to Herwin and his household, Katharina hurried away from his hut and toward the church, where she hoped to find Father Albert. Her path took her along the Oberbrechen highway and past the sheepfold. She walked briskly, a woman on a mission, but as she passed Arnold’s hovel, she paused.
If any would know of the manor’s business, it would be Arnold,
she thought. She looked at his closed door and took a deep, steadying breath.

“I said I’d help, but your plan is mad,” grumbled Arnold. “Humph! I paid that old Jew two pounds of silver for his story. Now it wonders me if I’ve wasted m’money.”

“Heinrich must have known that you could use the information.”

“Ja, ja
. If I had the document in m’hands, I could work a miracle to be sure. But it is in the prior’s chamber, and the man always locks his door!”

Pieter was insistent. “Now hear me again. Our little Friederich has fingers as nimble as a young seamstress. I’ve seen him pluck coins from a pouch under the nose of a brute, and he does it with a smile!”

Friederich grinned mischievously.

“You said you were told exactly where it was put,” blurted Tomas.

Arnold furrowed his brow. “Aye, but perhaps the old Jew lied. He wanted a full mark for
that
bit of added information, but we settled on a shilling.”

Pieter shrugged. “Have you been swindled often?”

“Nay. I usually have a nose for it.”

“So, why are you worried now?”

“A Jew bettered me once before.”

Pieter thought for a moment. “Well, we’ve really no other way. A bluff won’t do. We need the thing in hand. Methinks we’ll have to trust him.”

Arnold grumbled. “Aye, but even if this madness works, it will only help Heinrich. The charge against Wil is too far spread. The village wants vengeance for Marta, the monks for Lukas and their guard. No one would dare make a deal for it.”

“But we’re told that the deaths of Lukas and the guard are mere suspicions.”

“Aye, but the priest speaks of dreams and visions. Herwin told you right, Tomas. Such words from a priest are not easily challenged. We’d need at least one witness, maybe two to say the contrary. And how, my friends, do we prove the man had no such dreams?”

Pieter was quiet. At last he struck his fist on Arnold’s table. “I don’t know! I cannot think so quickly anymore!”

Frieda took Arnold’s arm. “Sir, when we stir the pot, the rabbit rolls first. Then the turnips rise, then peas, then onions, and then yet more. I say we turn our rabbit and see what fortune it brings.”

Arnold nodded thoughtfully. “Well said, fair lady. Well said.” He turned to Friederich, then to Pieter. “It is agreed then. Firstly, let us think on the plan for Heinrich. Methinks—”

A rap sounded on the door, and the collaborators froze. Arnold furrowed his brows and stared at his guests. Pieter shook his head. “None of ours,” he whispered.

Arnold grabbed a stout stick and approached the door slowly. He then flung it open and stared angrily at the slight form of Katharina standing before him. “You!”

The woman bowed. Arnold stared at her for a moment, then looked about to see if others were watching. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you, sir … about Heinrich.”

Arnold’s eyes nearly popped. “Yet another!” he growled. “Go away. He killed your husband, and he’ll pay the price.” He slammed the door and spun around. “The widow! The widow of the man Heinrich killed.”

Another knock sounded on the door. This time Arnold flung it open with a loud curse. “I told you … now go away!” he cried.

Katharina ground her shoes into the dust. “No,
Herr
Arnold. Heinrich did not murder my husband. He killed him in self-defense.”

Arnold peered into the woman’s beautiful, fiery green eyes. “What is this about?”

“My husband was a beast. I submitted to him, but, as God is my witness, I oft wanted him dead. Now he is, and I want to help Heinrich.”

Arnold stared at the woman for another moment, then grabbed her by the arm and quickly yanked her through the doorway. As he slammed his door, he shoved her toward the others. The group was wary and unsure of the woman’s true intentions.

“You must believe me!” Katharina pleaded desperately. “I… I loved him.” She began to weep. “May God forgive me, but I loved him.”

Frieda’s heart was moved, and she touched the woman lightly on the arm.

“I knew it was a sin,” cried Katharina. “But I could not rule my heart. I was true to my husband, but I did love Heinrich so.”

The group whispered amongst themselves, then Pieter said, “My dear sister, we do not know you. Heinrich once spoke of a woman for whom he had shaming memories, but he mentioned no name. We cannot trust you now, and you cannot help us. It is best that you bury your husband.”

Katharina stood, erect and defiant. “Yes. I understand. You do not trust me. So let me tell you this, and you judge whether I earned
his
trust. Heinrich’s greatest love was his children, his second was his Butterfly
Frau
, then his bakery, and then the magical place he called the Magi. His baker’s mark honors both
Frau
Emma and his faith. He has a heart for the poor, yet he oft hates himself. He follows duty and no longer even faces the sun. I know this man. Only one who cares would know these things.”

Her words moved Pieter, for they rang true of a love long cherished. The old man thought carefully. He looked kindly at the woman, then at Arnold.
“Frau
Katharina, bury your husband. Then, if you truly wish to help, take a walk near the Matins Stone.”

“The Matins Stone?”

“Yes. Do you know it?”

“Aye. It is beyond the boundary toward Münster. I’ve been there twice.”

Pieter leaned forward. “Then when your duty is done, take a third walk—alone. Perhaps you may help us after all.”

Later that evening, after remaining for some time with Arnold, Pieter’s group made its way back to camp under cover of darkness. Katharina had already arrived by the time they returned and had endured a blistering interrogation by Alwin, Wilda, Otto, and Helmut. But it was Otto who assured them of her trustworthiness. The young lad had been witness to the woman’s frequent beatings. One particular spring day he had followed her into the ferns by the Magi, where he had heard her sob the name of Heinrich over and over.

For the others, however, it was the return of Heinrich’s sword that bid her welcome. She had concealed it beneath her summer cloak, and when she presented it to Alwin, the man embraced her.

Pieter shared the events of the day with all those present, and more time was spent carefully reviewing and discussing their ideas. As they prepared to implement the first part of their dubious plan to save Heinrich, the old priest joined a circle of bent knees to pray for the protection of the Almighty in “such a mad scheme as this!”

It had been decided that the night’s mission needed to be clean and swift. What would be needed were two lookouts, a warrior, a guide, and a set of nimble fingers. The plan did not call for an old man, a minstrel, a widow, or a witch. So it was Otto, Helmut, Alwin, Tomas, and Friederich who received the special blessings of Pieter, who then begged the heavens to shower mercy upon Heinrich and Wil, who were no doubt suffering the terrors of Runkel’s dungeon.

In tears the old priest pleaded and wept, then finished his prayer with a final petition on the behalf of all: “Attend to my cry: for I have been brought low indeed. Deliver me from my persecutors; for they are stronger than I. Lead my soul out of prison, that I may praise Thy name, O Lord.”

So with a prayer and an unlikely plan, the brave volunteers bade their comrades farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Except for Friederich and Helmut, the others knew the abbey well, Tomas best of all. Though Alwin had been raised within its walls, it had been many years since he had spent more than a passing moment there. Tomas had been an oblate as well and had lived inside the abbey until just a few years prior. The abbey had changed over the years; it had grown with the addition of new dormitories and workshops, a new complex of buildings for the abbot and his prior, as well as expanded gardens and new orchards.

The five hurried through the forest and crossed the Laubusbach at a ford that would lead them around Weyer. They ran cross-country over the stiff stubble of freshly harvested fields until they came to the Villmar road, which they took downhill to the dimly lit village and its abbey. The night was warm, and the air was scented with the pleasant odor of fresh-cut grain. A brief shower fell, dampening the sound of their padding feet as they hurried through the shadows of sleepy Villmar and to the southern gate of the abbey.