Beloved Pilgrim (14 page)

The grudging nods came from an assortment of
men of seemingly disparate origins. One was dark of skin, hair and
eye and wore a thick beard and a hat with a long pheasant feather
in it. The next was clearly a Northman, with pale unkempt hair that
was adorned with gold and ivory beads. His ice-blue eyes glared at
Elisabeth. He had a drooping moustache but no beard. A scar across
his face only cemented in the permanent scowl she guessed he wore.
The final man was drawn in on himself and looked away as soon as
their eyes met. He was clean-shaven and had long lank brown hair.
His squint did not permit anyone to see the color of his eyes. He
was not in armor and his developed chest, shoulders and arms
suggested an archer.

"They are delighted to have you join us," the
first man said humorously. "Sit and make our acquaintance that we
may make yours."

As Elisabeth slipped onto the bench next to
the friendly man, she looked up and saw the man with the feathered
cap glaring at her. He growled.

"Now is that any way to treat our new
brothers, Ruggiero?" the cheerful man asked.

Elisabeth grinned. "The blackguard doesn't
frighten me, my good man." She jumped at the blow in her ribs from
Albrecht's elbow.

The dark man growled again and started to
rise, his hands on the table before him, his elbows bent and his
foul breath making her wince as he leaned menacingly across the
space between them.

Albrecht put a strong hand on her shoulder.
"Please, my good fellow, forgive the rash words of my master. He is
beyond reason with fatigue."

Ruggiero continued to glare at Elisabeth, but
slowly subsided back to sit on his bench. The Northman next to him
smirked at the Italian.

"My name is Ranulf. I am the leader of this
illustrious band of former mercenaries. You have incurred the wrath
of Ruggiero Orso Marrone. That nasty son of a whore there is Ragnar
Haraldssen from Daneland, and that taciturn fellow is Thomas the
Silent."

Elisabeth nodded to each man. "I am Elias von
Winterkirche and this is my squire, Albrecht."

The grizzled men exchanged looks. Ranulf
raised his eyebrows but chose not to comment on the young knight's
introduction not only of himself but of his squire as well.

Albrecht waved to a serving wench for
wine.

Elisabeth turned to the smiling leader of the
troop. "You have no nickname, my lord?" she asked, earning a snort
of derisive laughter from Ruggiero and the Dane.

The latter explained in a gravelly voice, "He
is called the Peacemaker."

Ranulf the Peacemaker scowled at the man with
his pale hair and eyes. "It is a jest, I assure you," he said
menacingly. Turning to Elisabeth he asked, "So I see by the red
cross sewn to your tunic that you are a crusader. As young as you
are you must be newly pledged to that endeavor."

The wench arrived with the wine for her and
her squire. Elisabeth started to reach for her purse, but Albrecht
grabbed her wrist under the table. He withdrew a coin from his own
purse and put it into the woman's hand. Elisabeth appraised the
woman's considerable cleavage and made a smacking sound with her
lips. The wench shook her head and walked away. Elisabeth caught
Albrecht's rolling eyes as he looked away. She decided she should
tone down the crude man act.

"A fine lusty young fellow, you are, my
friend!" Ranulf clapped her hard on the shoulder. She silently
thanked Albrecht for his insistence she wear padding to make her
shoulders look broader and more masculine. "I would be careful with
Greta, though. If you piss her off you are likely to find a dead
mouse in your potage. As it happens," he went on, changing the
subject, "we are bound for the crusade as well."

"All of you?" she asked, taking a swallow of
her wine.

It was the Italian who supplied, "Si,
tutti."

"We have plenty to wish absolution for,"
added the Dane. The beads and rings in his hair clattered as he
shook his head. "Not Thomas there. As far as we know. He's not
saying."

The silent man lowered his head even more as
Ruggiero and Ranulf laughed.

"He may be as white as the fairest virgin's
character or the very Beast himself, for all anyone knows," the
leader observed, fingering one waxed moustache tip.

Lifting her cup in a toast, Elisabeth
proclaimed, "Well, here's to all of us on our holy quest. May the
Paynim piss themselves with fear when they hear we are coming."

Even silent Thomas lifted his cup to share in
the group's "Death to all enemies of God!"

Elisabeth was relieved to catch approval in
Albrecht's look. "Where are you all from?"

Ranulf's eyebrows hitched as the other men
scowled at her. "Young lord, men like us have no country, no
family, and no past." He responded to Ragnar's noise of protest.
"Except Ragnar. He is a proud son of Harald Some-bastard's-son and
a Dane. Or so he claims."

Repressing her curiosity to know why these
men were so loath to speak of their pasts, she asked instead, "Are
you all waiting for the Constable to the Emperor to arrive?"

Ranulf signaled for more wine. "Just so," he
affirmed. "We hope to attach ourselves to the imperial
faction."

The wench brought a pitcher of wine and
refilled all six cups. As she passed by Thomas she attempted to
veer away but he caught her by the waist and put his nose down into
the cleft of her breasts and made a slobbering sound. Greta punched
him in the side of his head and swore like a sailor. Thomas pulled
his head away and grinned evilly at her. The woman complained,
"Disgusting!" as she swabbed out her bodice with the rag she
carried.

Ranulf turned back to see the young knight's
puzzled expression. "Thomas likes mice in his potage," he
explained. Lifting his cup to his lips he commented, "You cannot be
staying at this tavern. There is no room."

Elisabeth shook her head. "No, we are bedded
down in the castle."

Ragnar and Ruggiero made mock approving
noises as they glanced at each other. Ranulf looked sincerely
impressed. "My lord, you are indeed a nobleman then." He cast a
questioning eye at his companions. "I trust you will be willing
then to cover the cost of our wine?" He made a signal to his men
with his head.

"But of course!" Elisabeth proclaimed. "But
you are going?" Ranulf and the other three men had downed their
wine and were standing.

"We have urgent business to attend to. My
deepest gratitude to you, my young lord. May we meet again."

Ragnar chuckled. "Deus lo volt."

Elisabeth looked after the band as they
jostled their way roughly through the packed tavern to the
door.

Greta hurried over. "Who is going to pay for
their wine?" she demanded.

"How much is it, my saucy lass?" Elisabeth
asked. She paled as the woman answered and held out her hand. She
nodded to Albrecht. "Pay her," she grumbled.

Albrecht sighed and pulled out his purse. He
counted several coins into the woman's dirty palm.

"That was almost all we had left," the squire
revealed when the woman had sidled her way back through the
press.

"I have a lot to learn," Elisabeth
observed.

"You said it, not me," Albrecht responded,
adding a rueful "my lord."

Elisabeth and Albrecht did not see the band
of former mercenaries again as they waited for the Constable and
the ensuing departure of the Imperial and Austrian contingent to
the crusade. Albrecht somehow managed to come up with a few more
coins, but if they stuck to the castle they had all the food and
drink they wanted.

Elisabeth was watchful of all the new
arrivals in Mölk. As each band rode in or boatload alighted, she
began to think that perhaps she and Albrecht had gotten clean away.
She was still uneasy, wondering how she would manage to maintain
her ruse for the foreseeable future. She had Albrecht shave her
every morning, a treatment she did not enjoy, but she was oddly
pleased at the result. Her chin became rougher and some bristly
hairs began to grow out, though not remotely like a beard. Being
that they were in a castle, bedding down in the hall at night, and
that no one undressed to sleep, she had few worries about her
disguise being seen through. There were garderobes about where she
could relieve herself. No one bathed. She was happy just to be one
of the stinking company.

Albrecht lectured her soundly after the near
disaster of the tavern. "The squire always pays. You do not serve
yourself. You do not acknowledge me to others. In fact, I should
not have even sat down with you."

"Tell me one thing," she begged as she
acknowledged his correction. "Why did I get in trouble when I used
crude language with that Italian fellow?"

Albrecht winced. "You only talk like that
with men you know and have been accepted by. You insulted the man.
He would have been in his rights to call you out to defend your
assertion that he was a 'blackguard.'" He shrugged. "Just go slow.
Watch men and how they interact. That's the best way to learn."

Elisabeth kept her eye out for glimpses of
the Margravina. If anything, her soulful glances and sighs helped
her disguise as a man. Many of the other knights she met teased her
about her infatuation. She blushed deeply when they did, but this
only made the other men laugh the harder. Nor was she the only
"young man" so smitten. The Margravina basked in the adulation, but
she did not actively seek or encourage it. She remained aloof.

For his part the Margrave mixed with the
soldiers in his hall. He made much of not being able to go with
them to the Holy Land, but he regretfully shared that he was needed
where he was, to ensure that all the military force would remain to
keep the borderlands free of strife. It was clear his regret was
sincere.

Elisabeth learned quickly from her
observation of the knights around her. That they accepted her as
one of them continued to astound her.

Albrecht was less surprised. "I think you are
right. They are not looking for a woman when they look at you. They
just see a very young man. And you were right. The shaving
helps."

Her observations did not extend to every
place the other men went. When she was invited to go and find a
bordello she demurred, giving the excuse that she was pledged to
her lady, the Margravina, and would not dishonor that pledge. The
other knights seemed to eat this up. It fueled the taunts they
delighted in casting on her.

There were other knights who brought
Elisabeth into their fold, knights of more rigid character, who
praised her for her steadfastness in not going off to commit sins
of the flesh. "Just because our quest will cleanse away sins does
not mean that we should commit them willfully," one older knight
counseled. "You keep yourself pure, young Elias," he said, "and God
will reward you in heaven."

Leopold appeared to have noticed as well. He
was amused but also pleased by the young knight's good behavior.
The Margrave was a saintly man himself, strictly observant of the
commandments, dedicated not only to his lovely mother but also to
his wife and young children.

Elisabeth's daydreams-and night dreams for
that matter-about the radiant Ida remained chaste. At no time did
she let her fantasies reach the truly sensual level. The most
bodily imagining she had was the feel of what she thought the
Margravina's lips would feel like on her own. Not being a musician
she could not join in with other young knights' writing and
performing of chansons to the lady, which she seemed to enjoy. All
Elisabeth could do was sit, gaze and sigh.

The Feast of All Hallows came and went with
no sign of Conrad, though he was expected to arrive any day. Some
of the knights, a motley collection of Frankish, Flemish, Germans
and Austrians, began to fret that if Conrad took much longer, they
would all be stuck in Mölk with the Alpine passes impassable in the
winter weather. Fortunately they had an outlet for their impatience
in the form of daily fighting practice, something of which
Elisabeth and Albrecht took full advantage.

Elisabeth found herself embraced by a small
cadre of knights of a half generation her senior. She came to their
attention one early morning as she and Albrecht practiced swordplay
in the castle courtyard. Neither had noticed the gathering group
who watched as they matched blow for blow as they had with her
brother not so very long before. They were startled when cheers
rose from the sidelines after a particularly hearty blow Elisabeth
landed with her sword on Albrecht's teardrop-shaped shield cracked
it in half.

A big man with a bushy black beard and
likewise bushy black eyebrows sauntered over and put one hand on
the shoulder of each combatant. "Well delivered, young Elias! And,
you, my friend, need a new shield. Without it, you are a sitting
duck for whatever the Paynim devils have in store for you!"

He introduced himself as Johannes
Schwarzes-Tier or "Black Beast." His two companions were Alain de
Bourges and Gerhardt von Regenheim. Alain offered to send his
squire for an extra shield he had. "I would not wish your lord to
be the loser for lack of your good right arm."

While Albrecht and Renard, Alain's squire ran
off to get the shield, Gerhardt, a smiling man with hair the color
of burnished gold and deep blue eyes and part of his right ear
missing, challenged Elisabeth to a bout with axes. The German
knight got the better of Elisabeth quickly as she had never learned
the technique of that particular weapon.

Gerhardt drawled in his easy-going way, "Just
remember that mighty crack you dealt to your squire's shield.
That's how you manage a war axe. With well-aimed might. I will
teach you."

Alain suggested, "Peut-être the young man has
more experience with a mace? Ah, I think he does!" he said, seeing
Elisabeth's broad grin.