Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (28 page)

Outside the prison, Friend paced through the dark streets, pausing only to offer Solomon a distracted scratch on the head. The man was keenly aware of what ravages would surely be unleashed against the crusaders and he swore an oath to rescue them. He would never again abandon children to peril, he thought. Never.

Solomon suddenly darted to the other side of the street and retrieved Pieter’s staff which had fallen on the cobblestone walkway. He presented it to Friend, who held it to his breast hopefully. “I’ve need of a plan, Solomon, a sound and worthy scheme.
Ach,
m’head must needs stretch itself.” Friend thrashed about the moonlight until, at last, a confident smile wrinkled his weathered face. He charged toward the dungeon’s gate.

“You there, guard,” he yelled. “You there. Answer me at once!”

“Who speaks?” grumbled the guard as he pulled his torch from the wall. “Who speaks?”

“I speak.”

Unimpressed, the guard groused, “
Ja, ja
. And what’s this about?”

“’Tis said you’ve dragged a band of children through these very streets and they’d be bound inside.”

“Aye. And what business is it of yours? Had I a say, they’d all be drowned in the river.”

“What’s m’business? Ha! Y’d be a dolt if ever one lived. I tell you what m’business is!” said Friend. “My business is your business … you’ve brought plague through these streets and you’ve set it just behind you. We’ve both business here and, aye, the mortuary shall soon have business as well!”

The soldier stiffened. “Y’ve no proof of such a thing.”

“Nay? I’ve seen the yellow sweat on ‘em up close and I’ve seen the marks on their faces. Y’think me to have nought else to do but bother with a pack of little brats as they? By God, man, use that dung-filled head of yours.”

“None else has spoke of it and—”

“Listen, fool! I can swear to what I’ve seen. Call your magistrate … wake him from his bed and have him stand close to look with his own eyes. Aye, and you’ll be needing a new magistrate in a fortnight!”

The guard hesitated, then shook his head. “If your words be true, then the worst of it is for that bunch inside … no loss to me.”

“Walls can’t contain plague, y’dolt!” boomed Friend. “Plague is plague—have y’forgotten Bern during the Whit-sun Feast just two years prior? Any brushed by a single breath of the sick were cold and stiff in a winter’s hour.”

The uneasy guard was familiar with the stories of Bern, and imagining Basel filled with smoking biers was enough for him to beckon his sergeant and whisper a few hushed words. The sergeant abruptly ordered him to summon the captain of the jail who emerged from his quarters in an impatient rage.

“What say you?” the captain barked at Friend.

Friend narrowed his eye and growled, “Your dimwitted deputy paraded plague through these streets but a few hours past. Have y’ne’er seen plague? I have. And I’m here to warn y’that y’ve brought death and misery upon us all. Y’ve time to expel them yet… while the streets are empty … and I swear by the Virgin Mother and the Holy Church, if you simpletons don’t, I’ll stand in the square on the morrow and tell all of your murderous deed this night!”

The captain began to perspire. Friend leaned closer. “Have you ever seen plague?”

The captain shook his head.

“Well, I have and I’ve seen what it does. It seizes a stout and sturdy man like your very self and rots you from the innards out. From your toes to your scalp, your skin shall blacken and bleed and you’ll soon cry out in pain as you suck for breath. You’ll be set in a row by others who share your plight until your miserable soul is snatched to the Pit and your putrefied body piled in a wagon and hauled to the fires. And, were that not enough, your pathetic name shall be stricken from the memories of all but Lucifer, who shall bind you in his furnace forever!” Friend was surprised at his own eloquence, but yielded no hint of charade. He bored his eyes into the captain’s.

“And … and which prisoners bear this … plague?” queried the captain, suddenly anxious.

“Aye, the children … I saw the marks on most and ’tis certain y’ve heard how they’ve carried such a curse over all the Empire.”

The captain stared blankly at the prison gate.”
Ja
,” he answered slowly. “Perhaps I ought inform the magistrate.”

“Ach.
I knew y’to have more wit than the louts following you about. ’Tis a good man who spares his
volk
such an end. If y’fail to exile those whelps, your city will be filled with the litter of a thousand black corpses by Assumption … and y’dare not hang ‘em, nor put them to the torch and risk the wrath of the Church…. But why call the magistrate? I’d wager he’d put a foot to your arse for trussing him to such a blunder!”

The captain’s lips twitched and he wiped his sweating hands on his leggings. “I’ve the authority to arrest and dismiss at my will and … methinks it best to rid this city of any risk of plague. You, sergeant, drag them beyond the walls and be quiet about it. Let ‘em die in the mountains.” He turned a sly eye to Friend.

“And I suppose we are in your debt, stranger? You ought be rewarded for such a warning and for your … er … discretion …
ja?
Take this silver and begone.”

The stranger was but a peasant, a commoner and a foot soldier of sorts, but he was keen to a fair bargain. He promptly placed the coins in his pouch and slipped into the darkness.

Four angry soldiers jerked open the cell door and stormed through the murky shadows toward the huddled children. The startled crusaders cowered as the huge men then flailed them out of their cell and into the dingy corridor. With vile oaths and curses, the guards chased them from the belly of the dungeon toward its opened gate and, to the children’s amazement, rushed them through the silent streets and beyond the city walls. After lashing them with a severe warning and a few licks of a strap, the guards turned their backs and left the pilgrims to stare at each other in the cool, quiet night air.

Pieter was too dumbfounded to utter a single sound. And the children seemed equally dazed, fearing to embrace their good fortune lest it be snatched away as suddenly as it had been granted. Then, before any spoke, Solomon charged them from the darkness and jumped into Pieter’s arms. As the happy dog licked the salt from his laughing master’s face, a hearty voice called toward them from the darkness. “Ha! You’re free!” exclaimed an emerging figure. “Pieter, have you all the children … each and every one?”

“Oh, dear God in heaven!” cried Pieter. “Good Friend.
Ja, ja.
We’ve need to count … children, form your column.”

Wil ordered his excited company to their positions and Pieter counted twenty-six. “So? It seems we’ve grown.”

A few nervous children stepped forward. “Father, we were put in that place some days ago,” a timid boy offered. “We are crusaders, as are you, and would be grateful to join you.”

Pieter embraced the lad. “My name is Pieter and your new commander stands before you … his name is Wil. On the morrow we’ll have a look at you in sunlight, but for now, be at peace. God has spared you.”

Friend paced along the line of children and studied them anxiously through the night’s dim, silvery light. “Were any left behind … any at all?”

“I think not, stranger,” Wil answered.

“Aye … is the redheaded one here?”

“Ja,
I am here,” said Karl.

The man was silent for a moment. “Ah, ’tis good. I … I wish you all God’s mercy. I must be on m’way.”

He emptied the sack full of the children’s effects and handed Pieter his staff. The tearful old man embraced Friend warmly and thanked him. “I have no idea why or how our Lord has delivered us, but I believe Him to have used you somehow. My beloved Friend, He has revealed His loving care this very night, and I shall never forget such mercy, nor shall I ever forget His faithful instrument.”

Pieter and the children pleaded with the stranger to join them in their journey but the man stubbornly refused. At last, Friend reached his arm toward the old man and they embraced one more time. Then he stretched his hand slowly toward Wil’s tall frame, stopping just short of touching him. “I … I wish you all Godspeed,” he choked. “’Tis past time for me to take your leave.” And with that the stranger turned and disappeared in the darkness.

Some of the crusaders called to him, others stared sadly after him, and Pieter quietly whispered a blessing on the man before turning to his children. “Well now,” Pieter sighed. “Wil, you are in command and we await your orders.”

Wil cleared his throat, surveying his young soldiers with a slightly upturned nose. He began to smile. “I believe us all to stink!” He pointed his laughing friends to the dark bank of the Rhine. “My orders are … that we wash.”

The shrieking children raced toward the cold water of the mighty river. With shouts of joy they splashed and frolicked under the stars; and all the while, smiling angels circled all around.

Chapter 13

BENEVOLENCE

T
he children finished washing in the cold river and raced through the moonlight around the walls of Basel, south toward the safety of the mountains rising silently before them. They were determined to set a wide gap between themselves and the torch-blushed sky above the city, and their rush into refuge provoked no complaint.

The stars twinkled kindly far above the straining column but they could not ease the horrid memories which drove them through the night and far into the next day. It was afternoon, some past nones, before Wil ordered his anxious soldiers to halt in the hollow of a sharp ravine. “Enough,” he panted. “We’ve made a good distance and ’tis a good place to rest. I think there to be water near. Conrad … take … Friederich and find us a good stream. You others, open your sacks and make ready a fire.”

The children gleaned what provisions were secured by the quick-witted stranger while Pieter raised yet again a tearful prayer of gratitude for the salvation of his precious children.

“Ho, Wil!” called Conrad as he and Friederich emerged from the wood. “We’ve a good bucket of cold water.”

“Then stew it is!”

The children were famished but so savored their freedom that the meager soup of mixed grains, broken crusts, and half-rotted leeks seemed to them a royal feast and their ragged ravine a banquet hall fit for kings. Two of the newcomers, Albert and Jost, crouched apart from the others and stared at their fellow travelers from eyes rolling nervously deep within darkened sockets. But hunger proved a worthy prompter and, setting aside all reserve, they abruptly lunged toward the pot and cupped a handful of lukewarm stew before retreating to the safety of a large, gray boulder. A weary Pieter hobbled stiffly toward the two and leaned against their warm rock.

“My dear lads,” he said, “forgive me for not greeting you with a proper welcome.”

The boys knelt to kiss his hand.

“’Tis no need,” chuckled Pieter kindly. “Stand up … rise … allow me to embrace you and welcome you to our family.”

Albert was about nine years with curly brown hair and large, round brown eyes. He eagerly received Pieter’s comforting arms, but Jost, perhaps a bit older, fixed his hazel eyes warily on the old man. By their sallow complexions and bony frames it was obvious to Pieter that neither had eaten in a very long time.

In the daylight Wil now numbered his band and, upon completing his regular administrative task and eaten his portion of stew, found a soft bed of grass to stretch in. He laid his head back and closed his eyes to the sounds of Solomon playfully pawing and frolicking with his relieved comrades. The comfort of laughter and the warmth of sunshine soon drew the lad to a well-deserved sleep.

Karl and Georg, however, preferred dreams to sleep and chattered wildly about the Feast of the Assumption they hoped to enjoy in Burgdorf. Such infectious enthusiasm was a healing balm for the circle of excited faces gathered roundabout, and soon all revelled in visions of troubadours and plenty until the silver moon slipped over the craggy edges of the mountains. Then, at last, the most spirited of imaginations could not hinder the weight of heavy eyes and all settled in for a good night’s sleep.

Morning came quickly with its predictable specter of hunger, but now, for the first time in their Holy Crusade, the children were no longer near the faithful Rhine. No eels would be trapped, no fish netted. Instead, the pilgrims scanned the rugged countryside in search of a manor-house or smoky village where a gracious lord or peasant might be baking bread or stirring a good stew. Sadly, these mountain valleys offered no such mercy and the children had no option but to eat the last of their salt pork and crusts. They spared only what little grain was found in a few small satchels and reluctantly marched forward in hopes of finding help over the next ridge—or the next.

Though still many days’ journey away from the heart of the mighty Alps, the path up this range grew more difficult. The thin-soled shoes and badly worn wraps of those fortunate to be shod ripped and tore on the sharp rocks and knotty roots of the sheep trail Pieter had chosen. The old man leaned hard on his staff and set his bleeding feet carefully against the tentative earth beneath, slipping and falling against the gravel path and working hard at binding his tongue.

Wil and Karl led the column up the hard grade, a sense of expectancy pulling them to the crest. And they were not disappointed, for the panorama that awaited their arrival filled their eyes with sights unfamiliar to these youth of a more gentle terrain. The joy of discovery lured the company toward each next ascent like discoverers in a new land, and they were thrilled again and again by each such landscape that sprawled before them.

“Look all, come see,” urged Karl as he crested one such summit. The boy’s round face beamed with enthusiasm and his wide, blue eyes strained to absorb the splendor that lay hushed and still below him. Stretching as far as he could see were wide valleys lush and green, dappled with pockets of dark shadows and patches of yellowing spelt. Clumps of hornbeam and oak spotted portions of valley and hillside alike, and many-colored wildflowers fluttered gaily in the gentle breezes. Flocks of sheep dotted the green carpet like sprinkles of pure-white salt, and here and there ribbons of smoke curled from the roofs of the
Mittertennhäuser,
the timber farmsteads of the mountain peasants.

Pieter was last to reach the top of the ridge, and his mouth opened wide to draw deeply of the clean air. He set one hand on Solomon’s shaggy head and the other on gentle Maria’s. He gave no thought to either hunger or fatigue, but instead turned his moist eyes toward the brilliant blue sky above. “Shout for joy, oh heavens, for the Lord has done it! Break forth into a shout of joy, you mountains. Oh forest and every tree in it, for the Lord has redeemed us.” He swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. “’O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth. When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars which You have set in place, what is man that You are mindful of him?’”

The children were moved by Pieter’s passionate prayer which revealed yet more of the deep love the old man had for his Creator. Pieter turned to them. “Oh, my children, ’tis a beautiful sight that touches m’heart, but what a marvel yet awaits you. Beyond these splendid valleys stand the grandest of all wonders … the great mountains called the Alps. God has molded them as the white-haired elders of His creation, the silent overlords of His imperial workmanship!”

“Pieter,” interrupted an impatient Wil, “we needs move on.”

The shadows were long when the crusaders finally reached the valley floor and the exhausted children hesitated at the foot of the next ascent. Georg suddenly pointed to some smoke from a farmhouse partially obscured by heavy pines.

“Look, Wil… there, food, perhaps a bit of food?”

Wil called for Pieter and they huddled for a few moments to discuss a plan. Wil thought it best that his cheerful brother accompany the persuasive priest to present their needs to the peasants. “You must win the Frau with your smile and red curls, Karl, while Pieter wiles a bit of charity from the husband. You others … make a camp for the night and know this: With or without food, we march by lauds.”

Karl and the priest ambled obediently toward the unsuspecting farmhouse nestled quietly in the green forest. “I certainly hope these folk to be kindly, Pieter. I am very hungry and can hardly walk another step.”

“Humph. Y’think yourself to be hungry and tired, boy? You ought spend a few moments in this old shell!”

“You
are
old, aren’t you … I think I’ve never known another as old as you. How is it to be so old?”

Pieter stopped walking to catch his breath against the trunk of a large oak. “Well, I may not be so very, very old. Y’might ask this tree or that smooth boulder instead. By truth, boy, I’ve not seen m’self as you see me, so perhaps I think not of myself as I should! My body fails in parts, ’tis true … more aches and stiffness, you know… but the test is my bowels and they serve me well… far too well at times, methinks!” Pieter grinned. “But m’mind is richer and my heart feels more deeply. I’ve more memories than I once had and that’s mostly a good thing.”

Karl interrupted, “Aye … but you’d be closer to death than any of us.”

Pieter smiled weakly. “Oh, that … yes. It seems none think of aging but as dying. Well, as a priest I am called to not fear death—but I confess I do some—at least the dying part. The truth is, I am not so much afeard of death as I am disgraced by it. It seems to be a final act of helplessness, the final failure; it is shame itself.” Pieter closed his eyes and sighed.

“I think I am very afraid to die,” offered Karl slowly. A tone of confession mellowed his words and he looked at his feet.

Pieter looked gently at the worried boy. “Ah, good lad, even so do I. But sometimes I yearn to sleep and then I think it to be a good thing. As far as the dying, I know that our heavenly Father would no more leave us alone in that dark valley than He would in any other. We’ll be escorted into His glorious kingdom by the same angels that walked with us out the dungeon gate!”

Karl smiled, comforted in part, and the two turned their thoughts to the duties at hand. After scrambling over some rough rocks and stepping through a thick grove of spruce, they finally arrived at the timber long-house set securely against the breast of the steep hill.

Pieter and Karl paused behind a wide trunk and surveyed the house before making their approach. Though he had been told of such, Karl had never seen a building as this before and was intrigued by it. It was a long, rectangular structure, similar to the houses of the far northland described to him once by an elder of Weyer. It was built of logs, mostly hardwoods, he thought, and had an unusual rock chimney on one end. It was enclosed by a wattle fence and beyond the far end was a larger fenced farmyard in which could be seen an ox, several sheep, two milking cows, and numerous chickens, geese, and ducks. Smoke poured from the chimney and the sounds of hard work could be heard coming from the threshing floor within. The woodland behind the house was partitioned by movable fences and contained a small herd of swine busy foraging for roots, early nuts, berries, and other mast.

Karl marveled at the thought of these folk as freedmen, not bound to a manor and laboring for none but themselves. Pieter and the boy stepped from their tree and approached the farmhouse slowly. Strangers were either welcomed or slain, well-fed or beaten, but they were always a surprise.

Pieter whispered a quick prayer and called softly, “Hello? Is anyone about?”

The sounds of threshing were loud and over them boomed the occasional oaths of the yeoman. Pieter motioned for Karl to follow. They cautiously entered the corridor separating the threshing floor on their left from the living quarters on their right. Pieter again called, “
Mein Herr, meine Frau…”

Still no answer. Now somewhat annoyed, Pieter extended his hand toward the wooden latch on the threshing-room door. But before his fingers grasped the handle, the door was flung open.

“By the saints!” screamed the startled housewife. “Dieder, Dieder, come quickly.” The plump woman dropped her basket of threshed spelt and rushed away.

The grain had barely hit the floor when her broad-shouldered, bearded husband came crashing to the doorway, eyes flashing and fists clenched tightly around the hinged flail he now held as a weapon. He glared at the trembling strangers, his sweated face covered with dust and chaff. It was quite clear that his surly mood was now further fouled by his unexpected guests.

Pieter raised his cross timidly toward the farmer. B-blessings on this good house?” he stammered.

Karl dutifully offered a half-smile. But Dieder had no mind for courtesy. The day was nearly spent; he was tired, hungry, and had not finished his work. His face furrowed. “Aye? Begone afore I smash y’both.” It was an efficient command.

Pieter gulped but did not yield.
A black heart would’ve struck by now
, he reasoned. The priest displayed his tooth with a winsome smile. “Ah, yes. And I say again, blessings on this good house in the name of our Savior. May your harvest be bountiful and your health sustain all herein.”

The farmer’s wife peeked out from behind her husband’s wide back and a little white-haired child toddled behind his knees. Dieder said nothing for a moment, looking first into Pieter’s twinkling eyes, then into Karl’s.