Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (13 page)

Maria the Younger and Conrad gently removed the wooden crosses from the belts of the dead and secured them at the head of each mounded grave. Karl, disquieted by the moment, fumbled a small, though poignant prayer to the angels and the Virgin Mother.

Wil stood solemn and erect, staring thoughtfully at the group assembling silently before him. “How far is the village you scrumped?” he said slowly.

“’Bout a half-day,” answered Jon II.

Wil paused and pursed his lips as if sucking a bitter herb. He dreaded hearing his own words and measured them carefully. “Those who wish to resume may march with me. Otherwise you’ll needs take leave to the village and plead mercy of the reeve.”

Tomas laughed. “The same reeve that just stretched these five?”

That thought had not escaped Wil’s own fair logic and he responded in swift order. “If he had wished more hanged he’d have done so.”

Despite the reasonableness of his answer, the blank faces staring at Wil betrayed reluctance. The lad continued, almost harshly: “The sick shall be delivered to the village for certain. Have faith that pity shall be shown. Some good fellow’s wife shall nurse them to health in time for harvest.” Wil turned away to hide his own doubts, wondering if he had sentenced any to certain misery, or worse.

The uneasy children murmured in hushed tones, frightened of both this young master and the villagers. After a few moments of stifled whines and yielding grunts, the group broke into clusters. Some resolved at once to press on, willing to adventure the perils waiting for them. Most, however, chose to risk themselves to the dubious mercy of the village.

Jon I circled the groups and approached Wil. He pointed a steady finger at his two brothers, Maria the Younger, Anna, Conrad, Otto, Friederich, and Lothar. “These here wish to go on. The others choose to stay.”

Wil swallowed hard. He had hoped they would have all chosen the village. “So it is then,” he clipped. “At dawn we’ll go our separate ways.”

The rising sun lit upon a sad huddle of children embracing one another on the dewy riverbank. Too sick or too fearful to continue the journey, the largest portion bade their farewells to the lesser and formed a reluctant column. Notwithstanding Wil’s logic, they nestled close, one tightly pressed upon the next, and shuffled ever so timidly toward the dreaded village. They cast a final glance over their shoulders at their fellows, forever preserved from the knowledge of the ill-fortune awaiting them.

As his new line assembled on the dry roadway Wil surveyed each new recruit, and, once satisfied, ordered them forward. Karl was delighted to have more fellows by his side and chattered so incessantly that after several hours of hearing his persistent voice the group cried out in near unison, “Stop, Karl. Enough.” Karl, startled at first, soon joined in the laughter offered so generously at his expense. It had not taken long for strangers to become comrades.

Hunger quickly took the soldiers captive once again, and Wil ordered his exhausted friends to rest. But no sooner had they collapsed atop shriveled weeds when four new voices were heard at the edge of the camp.
“Gut’tag.
… Hello…. We, too, are crusaders and beg leave to join your company.”

Wil bounded to his feet, startled by the intrusion and in no mood for more responsibility. “Nay. Nay. Find your own way. I have no means to feed you.” He growled and cursed and flailed his arms at the gaunt faces staring at him.

The disillusioned newcomers stood respectfully still. They were pale and drawn, tattered and fragile. Judging them as well as the waning light would allow, Wil thought them to be unable to fend for themselves for many more days. Compassion, so oft kept at bay by the boy, crept over Wil and his heart groaned.

“Not such the grand master after all? Not so able, are we?” taunted Tomas.

His words landed on Wil like a stick on an angry dog. He gave Tomas a furious eye and started toward him. His better sense took hold, however, and he abruptly turned toward the four hopefuls and forced a kind word. “
Ja
…
ja.
You are granted my leave into our company … and we … welcome you.”

Wil turned another savage look at Tomas and with one eye on his foil and the other on the newcomers, continued. “The more hands, the lighter the load.” He paused for a moment and looked thoughtfully at his silent company. “Listen, all of you.” He folded his arms. “On the morrow and each day thereafter you shall go by twos and threes to beg at each village we pass by.” He switched his gaze and fixed his eyes hard on Karl. “We’ll soon learn if this God brother Karl is so certain of shall help us or not.”

The next morning was heavy-dewed and misty, and Karl woke to wipe the wet from his eyes. He stretched and yawned and was startled to find something quite strange at his feet. “Wake, everyone!” Karl jumped up, nearly bursting with joy. “Quickly! Look … look … a fish!”

Indeed, a large, big-eyed cod, still shiny and wet, was flat on a rock in the middle of the campsite. Wil squinted his sleepy eyes and shrugged in surrender to the mystery. He reached for kindling and soon an early-morning fire was snapping amid the baffled band. In short order, the fish was impaled on a stout, green stick and held by impatient hands over the flames, only to be ravenously reduced to bones before the sun reached half orb over the horizon.

By early afternoon the company descended a slight decline into a leafy glen where the road was lined on either side by a thick wood. The dark shadows which edged the path were a welcome refuge from the day’s heat but formed an eerie corridor leading toward a narrowing view of the roadway. Wil cast a quick glance over his shoulder at his tired, shuffling band, secretly hoping for some assurance. Instead, he shook his head.
How did I come to master such a brood of weaklings and misfits as this?

The steadfast company followed their leader into the shadows without a whimper and greeted the unknown with hearty courage. A few more children dressed in tattered, red-crossed homespun seeped into the column from the woodland shadows. Each arrival weighted Wil, for the column now numbered more than twenty, and each new pilgrim was yet another mouth to feed and another soul to shepherd.
If but I could worry only of m’self
Wil’s heart felt as heavy as his weary feet and he imagined slipping away into the night’s shadows, abandoning his burden. His thoughts drifted to his days inside the cool walls of the abbey—drinking a cup of cold water from the monks’ deep well, splashing in the root cellar’s icy spring with the novices. Suddenly, three large, filthy men bounded from the dark wood not three paces from the startled boy.

“Halt where y’be, waifs,” bellowed one huge, bearded man. He set his dark eyes close to Wil’s wide ones.

“Such a look on such a pretty face.”

Wil stammered, “Out … out of our way.” The lad quickly studied the man. The intruder wore a coarse tunic slit far up the sides like a field serf’s. Wil would have taken him for a common ruffian, but the tall black boots of a nobleman rose up his leggings and the man wore a wide, leather belt which suspended a large, sheathed saber. Wil knew this to be a highwayman.

The man laughed again and elbowed his nearest companion. This one tipped his wide-brimmed, leather hat. “Well, we’ve found ourselves a tender brood.” He sneered and stuck his thick thumbs into the bright red sash which girded his round belly. He immediately seized command. “Push them together,” he barked.

The other two jumped to the task and encircled the frightened children. With the sharp points of their swords they herded the trembling crusaders into a tight cluster in the middle of the path. Wil began to protest but was slapped on the head by the bearded rogue. “Bite that tongue, my bold friend, else we might add it to our stew past vespers.”

“Now then, m’little poachers,” chuckled the fat one. “We should like you to share with us those things what you’ve scrumped during this most holy of all crusades.” He plucked a well-worn knife from his belt and scratched his dirty face while he waited for a response.

Karl first looked to Wil, then nervously answered, “But m’lords, we’ve stolen nothing. We are on a pilgrimage for God.”

“You ought sew your mouth shut, little man,” ordered the third villain. “Now, do as he says and strip your tunics and empty your satchels. Now, I say. Do it at once else we strip y’bare where y’be.”

Wil and Tomas looked at the ugly little man standing wide-legged before them, and they both defiantly folded their arms across their chests. The furious man yanked a plumed, woolen cap off his head and threw it violently at Tomas. He jerked a short-sword from its scabbard and held it against Tomas’s throat. “Do it now or I vow you shall surely die where y’stand.”

The fury in the man’s voice chilled the children. Wil, perspiring and suddenly straining for courage, opened his mouth to speak. “Good sirs …”

But before he could continue a voice bellowed from the roadway.
“Tutena? Atque cuius exercitus? Tutena? Atque cuius exercitus?”

The surprised highwaymen swung their eyes toward the strange voice. A black-hooded, badly bent man on rolling legs stormed toward them and surged past the baffled children. His eyes burned hot from within the dark shadows of his black hood. His bony hand drove his crook deeper into the dust, twisting it harder with each advancing step. Again the voice barked, “
Tutena? Atque cuius exercitus?”

Karl looked at Wil, wide-eyed. He and Wil had studied Latin in the abbey and he was almost certain of the stranger’s words. The three men, now angry and primed for a confrontation, swaggered toward the newcomer.

Karl studied the stranger and his eyes suddenly brightened. He leaned close to Wil and whispered, “Look! ’Tis Pieter … the old priest from Mainz.”

“Aye,” answered Wil quickly. “Listen … I think he said, ‘You and whose army?’” Karl agreed and shuffled cautiously toward the encounter building before them.

“Shut y’er mouth, old man,” snapped the stout one. “I can better do without such foul air in m’face. And you’d better use a tongue I understand or, by God, I’ll cut it off.”

Pieter now was standing directly in front of the three and, choosing to ignore rather than respond, began to dust his robe starting atop his shoulders and following his slight frame until he finished by patting the dust from his shins. He lifted a wooden cross from within his robe and kissed it before finally raising his eyes to meet the dumbfounded trio. The cunning old man then cleared his throat, stood as erect as his old back would permit, and held his cross close to each angry face. Standing before the round-bellied rogue he asked,
“Nonne aliquantulum pinguescis?”
But before the befuddled man could respond he turned toward the one with the plumed cap.
“Ubi possun potiri petasi similis isti?”

The confounded rogues retreated a half-step and stared at each other. Tomas moved slowly to Wil’s side. “What’s this about?”

Wil was gawking in disbelief at old Pieter and answered with a mischievous grin, “He told the first that he is fat and he asked the second one where he might find such a hat.”

Tomas nearly laughed out loud. Pieter stepped to the bearded man and, in similar fashion, placed the edge of his nose upward by the man’s chin. The man was clearly intimidated and nervously offered Pieter something of a pathetic smile. Pieter lifted his sparkling eyes to the heavens and extended the cross to his last victim.
“Caput vacans, in dentibus anticis frustum magnum brassicae habes.
” This last pronouncement was offered with such authority that the ruffian immediately bowed forward and backed two steps away.

Karl and Wil squirmed, stifling an almost irresistible urge to burst into laughter. Tomas, frustrated for his ignorance, tugged on Wil’s tunic and demanded a translation. Wil leaned close to his impatient ear and whispered, “He said, ‘Your head is full of air and you have a huge piece of cabbage in your teeth.’”

The men were bewildered and suddenly seemed to be like little children themselves, dazzled and dumbstruck. Pieter, knowing full well he held the clear advantage, walked to the three directly and shook his staff sternly at each of them. “I am a priest in the service of the Lord and I demand an immediate accounting of thy intentions toward these fair children.”

The flustered ruffians pulled nervously at their tunics and mumbled some indiscernible jumble of words and grunts.

“I say to ye foul three again,” bellowed Pieter, “kneel before me now and confess thy transgressions, otherwise I am obliged to pronounce judgment against thy cursed souls.”