Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (39 page)

Each widening eye stared into the glade with eager hopes of seeing the flight of a fairy or the dash of a sprite. And some were quite certain to have heard the rustle of a gnome. Such an enchantment none had e’er before encountered, save in the happiest of their dreams. Maria’s blue eyes stretched with delight as she stepped softly atop a thick carpet of moss. Then, with a smile that could have lighted all Christendom, she glided into nature’s sanctuary. Her golden hair shimmered under the sunbeams’ yellow rays and her milky skin pinked and glowed with the joy of all heaven. Pieter watched her in awe, quite certain he had been whisked away to behold an angel strolling through the cool of Eden. She seemed to float atop the supple ferns as she laughed and danced, twirled and spun—carefree and happy at long last.

Prancing to the edge of a glistening, spring-fed pool and bending to cup a tiny handful of its crystal water, Maria was abruptly startled by the perfect reflection suddenly opposing her. For a moment she believed that she had equally surprised a pixie lying beneath the water; after all, the poor creature was staring as open-mouthed and wide-eyed as she! But in the next moment she realized that she was gazing upon her own likeness, one no looking glass could ever have equaled. “Oh, my,” she said softly.

Maria’s fellows noticed her fixation and soon joined her by the water’s edge. They formed a ring around the small pool and, for a time, none spoke. Instead, each looked carefully at the exact double lying at his or her feet. For some, it was the first time they had seen themselves in such a way. This shimmering pool was not like the tarnished alms tins at their churches or the muddy fish ponds of home.

Frieda stared curiously at herself. She fussed with her yellow hair, twirling it around her fingers and laying it across the base of her throat. She slowly shaped her waist and hips with her hands and bent nearly in half to look carefully into her own dark brown eyes. She touched a finger to the delicate dimple in the center of her chin and smiled. She saw the blossom of a beautiful woman and was humbly pleased.

Gertrude, Frieda’s sister of five years less, looked with some disappointment at the comparison. She thought her nose a bit too large, her brown eyes too common, and worst of all, she was certain it to be only her long hair which kept her from being mistaken for a boy!

Otto stared rather casually at his badly-cropped sandy hair. He hardly noticed his smudged face or tattered clothes. Instead he was having fun pushing his nose flat, spreading his nostrils, and rolling his lips backward. “Hey, Conrad, look at me.” Otto pulled his cheeks out and extended his tongue as far as he could. The two boys laughed.

Wil gazed proudly at the tall, blonde squire staring back at him from the water.
Indeed
, he thought,
that is a fine looking soldier. Look at his shining hair, fierce eyes, and strong nose! I think him to look much like a worthy knight.
He held his palms toward the water and clenched his fists tightly.
Strong hands and forearms, too.
He plucked the dagger from his belt and reflected a sunbeam onto the water. He smiled a most contented smile.

Karl gawked rather sheepishly at his dirty face and the tangle of curls perched atop his broad head.
M’face is too round and my arms too short and I look a bit worn … but …I do think me sturdy enough to cross into Jerusalem
, he mused. He pulled apart his lips and looked carefully at his teeth as if he were studying the worth of a good horse.
M’teeth seem big. Especially my fronts… and perhaps too square … but at least most are still fastened tight.
He wrinkled his nose and pulled his lips back further when Anna started giggling.

“What are you doing, Karl?”

Karl’s face turned red as a ripe tomato and he sped away from the pool midst the jeers and taunts of his friends. Maria, meanwhile, was still staring at her reflection and finally fixed her eyes on her withered arm. Tears puddled her eyes as she touched the arm with her good hand. She stepped away sadly.

Some of the children simply stood quietly, lost in thought, but others teased and tormented their comrades with every imperfection they could expose. “See, Conrad, I told you your lips were too skinny,” laughed one.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll fatten your lips some, you—”

“What’s the matter, Conrad? Y’like not what you see?” mocked another.

“Uh … what about that egg head of yours? It… it looks like a double yoker!”

But Pieter, oblivious to the commotion, inspected himself slowly from head to toe, pausing to smile a little at the famous snaggle-tooth everyone took such delight in.
Indeed, ’tis quite a sight,
he mused.

But then a dark mood crept over him. He did not see the sparkle in his blue eyes that others saw. Instead he felt as if he were peering into the windows of a crumbling temple to see the failing light of a weary and ragged spirit within. He watched the breeze have its way with his snow-white hair; where others saw such as evidence of time’s wisdom, he saw only an aging head capped and edged by thinning white patches. His nose seemed far too long and bony and his shoulders so very thin and narrow. He looked at his pointy knees protruding from within his threadbare robe and he remembered the days when they carried a muscular, handsome soldier through the storm of battle. He released a quivering sigh and dropped large tears into the pool below.

Maria was watching him carefully. “Why are you crying, Papa Pieter? Please don’t cry.”

Pieter put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Ah, my dear
Mädel
, I am crying for someone,” he said, “someone I miss very much.” He ventured a weak smile.

Maria looked at him tenderly. “And who is he? Was he a friend of yours? Or was she a lady?”

“Oh, my little dear, he was a friend of mine, someone who knew my every thought, who shared my dreams and felt my pain.”

“Is he dead?”

“Aye—and nay, sweet Maria. He lives in my mind and is strangely part of me even now.”

Maria persisted. “But who is he? Who do you cry for?”

Pieter laid his hand on her head and whispered sadly, “I miss the man I used to be.”

Maria looked confused.

“He is gone, yet some of him remains. But oh, if only I might fly away in time to see that man again. Oh, to relive but one day … but one afternoon or an hour of a single day of sixty years ago. Aye, to just breathe air into young lungs … to laugh and dine with one old friend. And, ah, my sweet Anna Maria.” Pieter stammered and choked. “I believe I might yield my very soul to just brush her cheek with my hand one more time.”

Pieter looked wistfully at the child by his side. “My dear one, notice your youth. Taste what of it you can and capture it in your mind … such memories shall be your most prized treasure.”

The old man sat down slowly as sun and sky peeked between the pines. “But alas, my little cherub, here is the rub: The very thing that gives such value to our past is that which steals it away. For ’tis only when the present fades to a memory that it becomes so very precious … yet in such fading it does leave us. Oh, what a double-edged thing: this that is both friend and mortal enemy, this thing called Time. If I could but put value to things present before Time does it for me, I’d—”

“Ho, ho, old priest.” Three timbermen suddenly strode into the glade. “Might this be the group of soldiers you spoke of?” They laughed.

“Uh, aye.” Pieter wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Are our crafts ready?”

“Indeed!” the eldest boasted. “Now mind you, this water is swift and cold and uncommonly high. We thought it best to lash one large raft rather than two … it ought be a better float. Y’must needs keep the weak ones to the middle.”

Pieter nodded.

Another continued. “My Frau sent some extra food for the children.”

“Well, blessings upon your Frau!” exclaimed Pieter. “Come children. Let us follow these good men.”

As Wil assembled his column, Karl leaned close to Pieter. “Dare I ask how you arranged this?”

The old man winked. “Ah, do you see that happy, dark-haired fellow? It seems their bishop has banned weddings by the village folk and insists they are only sacred when administered by a priest. But the local priest demands a high price and the man was unable to marry. I told him I was a priest.” Pieter pulled the cross from under his robe. “And I said I should be most pleased to wed him and his woman in exchange for some rafts for us. So, his sturdy brothers saw fit to build one as his wedding gift.”

Karl grinned.

The children followed the timbermen to the water’s edge and stopped tentatively by the large, square raft they had built. It was made of twenty long, stout logs lashed with heavy rope, but against the surging mountain river it looked slight and unsubstantial. Frieda whispered nervously to Wil, “you don’t mean to have us ride on this, do you?”

“Aye. You girls shall sit at the center.”

Gertrude and Maria held each other’s hands and looked fearfully at the rushing Rhône. The ice melts had been heavy that summer and new rains had filled the river to an uncommon depth. The icy flow now rolled and churned against the white rocks of the bed and the noise was terrifying. Anna hid her face in the small of Jon’s back.

“Come, come Anna. We’ve beaten worse than this. ’Tis but water and it shall surely save some walking.”

“But, Jon,” she whimpered, “I cannot swim.”

The new groom took Pieter aside and cautioned him. “Now be mindful of this water, it
is
treacherous. M’brother thinks it best if you stay to the south bank. We’ve built a short rudder and it needs strong hands. Use these poles at each corner and put them in smart hands with good eyes … you needs spot the rocks
afore
you land on them. Put the weaker in the middle and tie them with this rope. You’ll take a bend in about a half-day where you ought be able to rest, but I’d press on to the village of Fiesch by dusk.”

Wil was uneasy but did well at hiding his concern. He spoke in a bold voice. “And how do we know Fiesch?”

“There’d be an alehouse with a short ferry-dock. And you’ll see a green pennant at the end of the dock. Some use the rope ferry instead of the swine-ford farther south. There’d be a low stockade ‘round a dozen poorly kept hovels, and you’ll surely hear the music of a little minstrel sitting by the water.

“You’ll also see ahead a sharper bend southward—unless you’re asleep y’cannot miss it. Fiesch might be a good place for you to stop for the night, but take care for the villagers; we hear stories of them sometimes.

“The next day you should float until about mid-evening when you’ll come to Brig and there you needs land. If you’re clever you’ll trade the raft for some provisions … good goat cheese or mutton … aye, ’tis what I’d do. From there turn south on the trails leading toward the Simplon Pass which is your final gateway to the sunny south.”

Pieter scratched his head. “I believe I’ve crossed it. It seems that we’ll then be close to the area of the Lombardians?”

A different brother answered hastily, also eager to be of service. “
Ja
, close. You’ll follow some high-walled valleys past the dark-eyed villagers of Gondo and then under the watch of the castle near Domodossola … beyond that I’ve no knowledge.”

The groom reached his large, callused hands forward and took Pieter’s shoulder with one and Wil’s with the other. “God and all good spirits go with you and your brave little soldiers.” The brothers nodded, slung their broadaxs over their wide backs, and disappeared into the forest.

Wil looked at his nervous comrades and at the log raft rocking impatiently against the shore. He disguised his fear with a good bark in his voice. “Girls, small boys: to the center. Otto, you take a pole. Karl, you take this pole. Gunter, take this one. Conrad, you’ll work the tiller with me. Jon, take that corner, and you there …”

“Heinz, Master Wil.”

“Aye … Heinz … I forget your new ones’ names … you’re a bit small but take this corner with Jon to help.”

Heinz was a quiet fellow traveler who had slipped into the column somewhere in the mountains with Gunter, his strapping cousin. No one exactly remembered when he joined and, as with others, he had simply blended with the rest, saying little and working hard. He was a determined lad, but no more than nine years. He had straight brown hair, shining, squinty brown eyes and an upturned nose between freckled cheeks that gave him the look of a woodland elf. Heinz leapt sprightly onto the wooden raft, excited to be included with the bigger boys.

“Now, Pieter,” Wil continued, “you needs stay in the center. Take this rope and wrap each of the pole men around his belt. Then tie the rest ‘round some of the others. If any falls over, we can all pull them back.”

“Or all join them in the water,” groused a voice.

The children crawled tentatively onto the raft and positioned themselves as ordered. Unfortunately, no thought was given to releasing the raft and it now weighed heavy atop the rocks beneath. The children sat staring at each other and their predicament when, all at once, they began to laugh at the ridiculous scene.

“Well done, Wil,” teased one. Even Wil roared at his oversight as he and two others rocked the craft carefully into the cold, swirling water. Then, with a few final groans and grunts, the green logs were sucked into the shoreline currents of the river. And, with a little help from the determined hands straining against their stout poles, the crusaders were suddenly swept into the powerful grasp of the swift water.