Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (49 page)

The day passed slowly into night with no sign of Benedetto and the help he had hoped to find. The night then passed under the anxious eyes of a vigilant circle, and a new dawn brought little hope, except for Anna who was showing some signs of improvement. By late in the afternoon of this new day, the first of the fevered six died, and by nightfall two more slipped into their eternal rest. Jon and Maria had survived another day but both seemed doomed to join their hapless fellows now being washed under moonlight and readied for burial.

At dawn, Pieter gazed blankly about the campsite. A cloudless sky welcomed a rising sun that cast a glorious morning light across the shimmering lake. A warm, southerly breeze rustled through the trees and tiny waves lapped lightly along the beach. Pieter called for his flock to gather close and, as he was all too accustomed to doing, he prayed over the dead. As before, the children solemnly laid each of their friends in shallow graves and marked them with their little wooden crosses. Afterward, Wil ordered Otto and Conrad to the village to find either Benedetto or some other help.

Unable to imagine more losses, Pieter fell on his face in front of the two suffering children at terce, then sext, nones, vespers, and then by compline. The bells of nearby Arona marked the passing hours and at each ringing the old man groaned the same petition to the heavens:
“Tu es adjutor in tribulationsibus
, You are our help in trouble;
tu es vita et virtus
, You are life and goodness. Dear God of mercy, I beg of You spare these two.”

As darkness fell once again on the shores of Lake Maggiore, Pieter was yet praying … muttering and moaning, wailing and sobbing until he had barely the strength to draw breath. Finally, he collapsed alongside his beloved Maria and fell into a troubled sleep.

Frieda faithfully attended both her restless patients through the terror hours of the night. She had watched the moon arc slowly to the horizon and went, once more, to Jon’s side to bathe his brow. She loved the boy as a brother and gave of herself in his service without complaint. She reached toward his face to wipe away his hair when her fingers brushed along cold skin. A chill ran along her spine and she felt suddenly nauseous. Biting her lip she hurried to Pieter and shook him. “Pieter, Pieter!” she whispered frantically. “Methinks Jon to be … dead.”

Pieter went straightaway to the lad and laid his ear to the boy’s still chest. He groaned, then fell across the dear crusader and wept loudly.

The priest’s sobs woke others and soon another circle ringed another stricken comrade. Too weak to help, Pieter watched as Wil and Karl rolled Jon’s body into his blanket and carried him to the water’s edge. Here, beneath the starry night’s sky the young soldiers washed the lad’s body. Numbed by their sorrow they found refuge in the memories of their fallen comrade.

Pieter raised his hands. “
Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censuris et peccatis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

Wil ordered all hands to scoop another grave, knowing he could not put off what needed to be done any longer. Returning to Maria’s side, he grasped her hand in his. He had rarely lifted a thought, let alone a word, to his Father above, but the lad now implored his Maker for mercy and pleaded for a healing touch. His prayers would, no doubt, have been mocked as awkward, unseemly mutterings to those trained in such matters, but they gushed sincerely from a heart softened by failure and loosened by love.

Maria had been well tended by Frieda and Karl, but Pieter now wisely gave Wil her charge and ordered all to sleep. With anxious glances and a few weary sighs the caregivers passed the fever rags once more to Wil and settled, however reluctantly, into their own blankets.

Again and again Wil tenderly bathed his sister’s brow. His eyes did not grow heavy nor did the heat of the camp-fire tempt, for a single moment, the slightest drift toward sleep. While the others slept soundly, the lad sat by Maria’s side alert and piqued like a devoted sentry keeping guard of the queen’s bed.

At the first light of dawn, Benedetto came charging along the shore with a knot of black-robed monks and Otto and Conrad bearing litters. “Ho!” he cried. “Ho, Pieter!”

The camp roused immediately and stood amazed as the group arrived panting and gasping for breath. Pieter’s weary face darkened and he scolded the minstrel. “Where have you been, y’sluggard!”

Benedetto shook his head. “Your pardon! I beg all for pardon! I was imprisoned in Arona. I snatched a honeycomb for our sick ones and was spotted by the provost.”

A Benedictine stepped forward and bowed. “Father Pieter, I am Brother Chiovo of the cloister by Arona.”

Pieter bowed and the two clasped hands. Something about the short monk’s cheerful, round face and large belly put the old priest at ease. Under different conditions he imagined the man might be of the jolly sort.

“And these are Brothers Figlio, Palla, and Gaddo. I am the cloister’s infirmer. Your little friend speaks truly. He was arrested the very afternoon he arrived and he has been crowing like a desperate cockbird since. Our monastery is not far from the town prison and we heard his pitiful cries night and day! Seems these two other fellows found your minstrel and managed to get the ear of our prior. Finally, the prior sent our priest to find out what was the cause and Benedetto pleaded his case. With a few assurances and the gift of a ballad, the
capo
released him to our care and here we are!”

The crusaders were spellbound and looked at the sheepish minstrel in astonishment. Pieter shook his head and immediately pointed to Maria. “Brother Chiovo, the little one is near death. We are desperate to save her.”

The Benedictines lifted their black robes and scurried to the girl’s side. Chiovo bent over and listened to Maria’s shallow breathing. With a grave look he laid his hand on her forehead. He lifted her eyelids open with a thick, but gentle finger and probed beneath her jaw lightly. With kindly, but knowing eyes, he said, “Father Pieter, I cannot lie. I fear the little one is past hope.”

The words stung Karl’s cocked ears and he wept loudly. Wil paled and stepped backwards, only to join Karl by their sister’s side. Awakened, Maria lifted herself up on her one good elbow. She wheezed and coughed, then struggled to lay her head against the breast of her oldest brother. Wil pulled her to himself and nestled her softly. He patted her and kissed her beaded brow. She managed a weak smiled. The lad’s heart warmed and he stroked her golden hair while they joined eyes and hearts for a few precious moments. Then Maria trembled and fell limp.

“Oh, God above!” cried Wil. “Brother Chiovo … Pieter! Come quickly!”

The churchmen fell to the girl’s side, each bending low to listen. “She’s yet breath! ” exclaimed Pieter.

“
Si
! And her heart still beats. We needs get her to the infirmary now!” Chiovo ordered two of his brethren to bring one of the litters. “Lift her gently!”

Wil and Karl pushed past the monks and raised Maria from her bed like they were bearing the most fragile treasure of all the earth. They then set her gingerly on the canvas litter and covered her with two blankets. They reached their hands for the handles.

“Nay, boys. My brothers shall carry her. Pieter, are your crusaders to follow?”

The priest stared at Wil, hope filling his imploring eyes.

Wil’s face was fixed on Maria’s failing form. He licked his dry lips and nodded.

The crusaders raced behind the sprinting monks as Maria was borne up the sloped street leading to the monastery. Both the cloister and the town had grown over the years and both had prospered. The monastery had become a wealthy abbey, complete with manors scattered across the Piedmont. The abbot was currently in residence elsewhere and his absence proved to be of good fortune, for he had grown impatient with increasing numbers of oblates and dependents crowding his cloister. The more charitable prior, however, was pleased to offer what resources he could.

As the column entered the portal, Benedetto informed all that Maria would be served in the healing presence of relics. “The bones of Felinus and Gratian were brought here centuries ago.”

The German children shrugged.

“They were Christian soldiers in the caesar’s army and were martyred for their faith.”

Pieter nodded hopefully. He turned to Karl who was now beaming with hope. “Perhaps, lad, perhaps.”

Maria was taken to the baked-brick infirmary where she was given a comfortable straw bed alongside a number of coughing, wheezing monks. Chiovo immediately summoned the herbalist, and the two conferred with Pieter for nearly an hour while the children were fed a generous meal in the refectory.

At last, Pieter emerged, stone-faced and grim, and called for Wil and Karl. “My boys,” he said slowly, “your sister lies near death. The brothers fear it shall be so, though none can know for certain. I believe them to be skilled, but the dear is so very weak and frail. ‘Tis a miracle what’s needed.”

Abandoning all his demands, Karl’s face sagged and he leaned into his brother, sobbing. Wil, too, could not hold the tears and he held Karl with arms limp from grief. Unable to bear another moment, Pieter embraced the two broken boys and the three wept together.

Morning came and Maria’s condition had worsened yet more. Wil and Karl had sat by her bed all the night with Pieter standing near. Brother Chiovo brought the girl a mild infusion and lifted her head gently from her pillow. “Drink, my dear. Just a little?”

Maria’s eyes fluttered open, glancing about the ring of anxious faces. She obediently laid her lips on the thin rim of Chiovo’s cup and sipped slowly. “The sea, you must… go,” she whispered faintly.

“Eh?” Wil leaned his ear close to her lips.

“To the sea, y’must go to the sea.”

Wil repeated the girl’s message to Karl and Pieter, then kissed Maria’s brow. “We needs stay by you ‘til you can join us.”

Maria, nearly asleep again, wakened with a start. With a pleading voice she said again, “You
must
go, you must go to the sea.” Her eyes rolled slightly and she settled. The others looked quietly at one another but before one spoke, the girl’s eyes opened once more. “Karl, see the angels in the garden? ”

Open-mouthed, the lad stared blankly as his sister went limp. Chiovo quickly laid an ear to her heart and sighed. Relieved, he turned to Pieter. “The little maiden sleeps now. I vow to serve her until God’s will is made plain.”

Pieter’s eyes were swollen and he nodded faintly. “Our thanks, brother.” He walked over to his precious lamb and knelt by her side. He stroked her hair and mumbled a groaning prayer, then peered into her sleeping face. The old man trembled with sorrow and he kissed the little girl’s cheek.