There Will Be Wolves (10 page)

Not quite knowing what she intended to do, Ursula made her way toward the encampment of the Hermit and the nobles. As she drew near, a woman hurried out of one of the tents, carrying an armload of pots and kettles. Ursula hesitated, unwilling to speak and risk yet more scorn, but the woman was a stranger and fear for the fate of David and the rest of his family finally gave her the courage to approach.

“Good evening,” she said, bracing for a rebuff, but the woman looked at her without interest or recognition, obviously more anxious to get on with her chores than to talk.

“I’ve been hearing stories,” Ursula began. “Rumors that there has been fighting and killing in the cities. Have you heard anything?”

The woman stopped and looked at Ursula more closely. “The Jews,” she said, nodding. “They have been killing the Jews again. It’s an odd way to do Christ’s work, it seems to me.”

“What happened?” Ursula asked, her voice shaking.

The woman nodded toward the walls of Mainz where the smoke still rose thick and black. “They tried to hide in their temple, and the Crusaders set fire to it.”

“How many …?” Ursula began, but the woman dropped her eyes.

“It’s not for me to be talking of such things. The good Peter will tell us what we need to know.” She averted her head, clutched her pots to her, and scurried away.

“Nearly every one,” a voice said behind Ursula. “Out of eight hundred Jews in Mainz, they say there are only a handful left.”

Ursula whirled around with a gasp. Standing in front of her, disheveled and exhausted, stood Bruno.

T
he shock of seeing Bruno was so great that for a moment Ursula couldn’t find her voice. Finally, she managed to speak.

“Bruno! What are you doing here? How—?”

“It seems I couldn’t let you go off on your own after all,” he answered. He rubbed at his forehead slowly. “I stood and watched you from the city gate on the morning you left and I almost ran after you then, but I couldn’t go without speaking to my master at the church. I tried very hard all that day to convince myself that my place was in Cologne, not on this Crusade. I tried the next day as well, but somehow or other, when I went to work that morning, I found myself asking if I could be excused. The work on the church is nearly done and my master thinks the Crusade is a worthwhile and godly venture, so he let me go. I’ve marched without stopping for more than a few hours to sleep—and here I am.”

The weight that had bowed Ursula down disappeared. She felt suddenly light-headed—almost giddy. “I am so glad to see you!” she cried. Then his first words sank in. “But the Jews? What did you say about the Jews of Mainz? Surely you were mistaken.”

“I wish with all my heart that I were,” Bruno answered. “But I have the information from one who witnessed it all. There are eight to ten Jews left in Mainz at the most.”

“David?” Ursula whispered. “What about David?”

Bruno shrugged hopelessly. “There’s no way of knowing. Those who escaped are being well hidden. No one will speak of them.”

Samson trotted over at that moment. Bruno reached down to pat him, the look of pain on his face deepening. At the sight of the dog, Ursula’s eyes filled with tears. She knelt quickly and buried her face in his scraggly fur, the weight and the worry returning, but the touch of Bruno’s hand on her shoulder brought a measure of comfort.

Thank God that he has come, she thought. With Bruno here now, perhaps this can be borne.

  *  *  *  

Finally, the Crusaders reached the point where they had to cross the Rhine and leave the
Rhine Valley. From here they would make their way up the River Neckar until they reached the waters of the almost legendary River Danube. The Danube would lead them the gentlest way around the mountains that stood between them and the Byzantine Empire—mountains so high, it was said, that snow stayed on them all summer long.

At the crossing point, they camped on a wide plain; the people filled it as far as Ursula could see. A fleet of small wooden boats bobbed in the river current just offshore. She looked at them dubiously.

“Surely we are not meant to make such a dangerous crossing in those tiny craft,” she said.

“They say they will bring larger ferries for the wagons and horses,” Bruno answered, but he, too, looked worried.

They began early the next morning, but it was obvious that it would take days to ferry them all across. The current had abated a bit, but the crossings each took almost an hour and looked to be filled with danger. Just how dangerous they actually were was suddenly brought home to those watching on the shore. For some reason the oarsmen on one ferry faltered when they reached the middle—in the fastest and most treacherous part of the current. A shout went up from the boatman, but it was too late. In the instant that the oarsmen faltered, the current
caught the boat and swung it broadside. Within seconds it was broached, swamped, and overturned. Before Ursula’s horrified eyes, men, horses, and the boat itself were all carried out of sight around a bend.

“Go in one of the small boats with your father,” Bruno urged when it was their turn. “They’re safer. I’ll go with the horse and wagon in the ferry.”

“No,” Ursula answered stubbornly. Afraid though she was, she would not leave it up to Bruno to care for their belongings. “I’ll stay with the wagon.”

Master William would not be separated from them either, so together they braced themselves against the lurching seat of the wagon as Bruno guided it onto the ferry. Ursula fought down panic. She had never been off the land before, and the river that had seemed wide, even from the safety of the shore, was now unbelievably frightening. What she hadn’t expected was the noise. The current hissed and sucked and slapped at the boat like a living thing. The oarsmen sweated with the strain of fighting their way across while the ferry rocked and lurched insanely. Water spewed over the low sides in a drenching spray. It seemed an eternity before they were safely on the other side.

As the horse and wagon lumbered off the ferry, Ursula leaped down onto the ground. Never
before had she appreciated just how good it was to have firm earth beneath her feet. Samson seemed to feel the same way. He, too, jumped off at the first possible moment. Then pointing his nose to the sky, he gave a couple of happy barks at nothing at all—just for the sheer joy of being a dog back on land again.

  *  *  *  

The hills along the Neckar sloped more gradually, and the forests were less deep. The land opened out a bit on either side of the river; the going was less rough. Ursula’s father’s spirits brightened perceptibly as they traveled on. The count had recovered from his indisposition, and Master William had been able to get his rest at night.

“Look at what marvelous distances we are marching each day, Daughter,” he declared. “We are getting closer and closer to Jerusalem all the time!”

But Ursula could not share his enthusiasm. Each day, the people on foot dragged farther and farther behind. She could not get the memory out of her mind of what they looked like, straggling into the camp hours after the wagons had arrived. The night before, she had been stirring their evening stew when a woman carrying a baby and leading another child by the hand shambled past
their campsite. There seemed to be no man with them. The woman had stared at their well-provisioned wagon and their fire burning brightly against the night airs, and a look almost of hate had crossed her face. Ursula had been stricken. At first all she had been able to do was stare back. By the time she had collected herself enough to think of offering to share their food, the woman and her children had disappeared into the darkness. Ursula couldn’t get David out of her mind, either. They had not been able to get any further news about him or his family, and now they were far past Mainz. It seemed likely that she would never know.

One night, just after they had made camp and Bruno had gone to collect firewood, he returned, breathless.

“Peter is to speak. Hurry—we should go to hear him.”

Ursula jumped up and helped her father to struggle to his feet beside her. Peter had not spoken to them at all since they had left. They hurried to the nobles’ end of the campsite along with most of the others, hanging on tightly to each other so as not to get separated in the crush.

The Hermit’s eyes burned with fervor. His voice rang out over the crowd, echoing Ursula’s father’s words as he rejoiced with them over the distance they had already traveled. He was even thinner
than before—his emaciated frame looked as if it were being consumed from within by the same fire that flamed from his eyes.

“We
will
triumph!” he cried. “Our holy Crusade
will
set Jerusalem free for all time. The infidels will fall before our might like moths before a flame. God wills it!”

The nobles and the soldiers who flanked him drew their swords. For a moment the sound of iron being drawn drowned out everything else. Then they raised their weapons high in the torchlight and their voices roared to join with the Hermit’s.

“God wills it!” they cried. “God wills it!”

Ursula stole a sideways glance at Bruno. His face was as grim as it had been the very first morning he had heard the Hermit preach. She felt a shiver of apprehension crawl down her spine. The mob that day had been frightening but, for the most part, unarmed. And murder had still been done. The spectacle that presented itself in the flickering glow of flames this night was much more frightening. She remembered how Bruno had argued against this Crusade then. And now, here he was. Because of her.

The majority of the people took the speech as a signal to celebrate. Barrels of ale were broached, wineskins were passed around freely. By midnight most of the soldiers and a goodly part of the common people were drunk. Ursula sat at the
open flap of their tent, holding herself away from the commotion. The count had sent for Master William after the carousing had begun to die down, and he had gone with his bags of herbs and medicines. Bruno had disappeared without a word.

What if he doesn’t come back? The thought worried and teased at her. What if he has realized that he wants no part of this after all and he’s returned to Cologne? One part of her mind knew he would not go without telling her, the other part imagined the worst. When he finally did return and started to make up his bed under the wagon, she could not resist a sharp comment.

“I thought perhaps you had left us,” she said.

Bruno looked up at her over the dying fire, surprised.

“You know I would do no such thing,” he answered.

“You didn’t want to come. The way the Crusaders are behaving tonight …”

“I like it not, that is true. I’m afraid of what is to come.”

“I did not
ask
you to join us. It was your own decision,” Ursula burst out. She listened to her own words with horror, but she was powerless to stop them. “It’s not
my
fault that you are here!”

“Of course not. I have never said so.” Bruno
straightened up. “What ails you, Ursula?”

“Nothing,” she answered shortly and retreated into the tent, pulling the flap shut behind her. It’s not
my
fault, she repeated to herself. Nevertheless, she felt guilty. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  *  *  *  

“Father, our supplies are dwindling,” Ursula announced as Master William emerged from the tent early the next morning. In the cold light of dawn, his face looked pale and tired, the previous day’s enthusiasm evaporated away. The count had kept him very late the night before.

“Child, we are well provided for,” her father answered distractedly. “The wagon bursts at its seams.”

“True,” Ursula agreed. “But we are using things up more quickly than I had expected. Without the chickens we have no eggs, and there are weevils in the flour. Have you spoken to the count again about the bag of silver he promised us? I would feel easier if we had it.”

“The count has promised to take care of us,” her father said. His manner was evasive. “He will see to our wants.”

“But, Father—he has promised! We should hold him to his word. He is so devious—I trust him not.”

“This is not your concern, Daughter,” her father answered shortly. “The count and I have come to our arrangements. There is no need for you to worry.”

“But …” Ursula’s words were cut off as he turned irritably away from her.

“I have a few coins,” Bruno said from behind her as Master William walked away. “My master paid me before I left.”

“You had better save those for yourself, seeing as you are so worried about how things are going to turn out,” Ursula replied. Again, she regretted her harsh words the instant they were out of her mouth, but she had never accepted alms from anyone in her life and she had no intention of beginning now.

Bruno turned away without answering.

They got off to a slow start that day. More than half the company appeared to be suffering greatly from the effects of the night before. Pale, sweating men cursed wagons and beasts, accidents were more numerous than ever, and fights broke out in every quarter. It was almost noon before their wagon could move.

They passed through numerous villages on their way up the Neckar. Word of their coming had obviously gone ahead of them, and in every little town the people flocked out to see them, to wish them well, and even to press food and provisions on them.

“God speed you,” one woman called out to Ursula as their wagon passed by To Ursula’s amazement, she was holding out a live chicken in offering.

For a moment Ursula was tempted, then her pride reasserted itself. “Thank you, Mistress, but we have no need of that.”

“Weren’t you worrying about supplies?” her father observed. “That chicken would have come in very handy.”

“We have no need of charity, Father,” Ursula answered stiffly. “There are those who are in far greater want.”

Her father sighed and watched regretfully as the woman in the wagon behind them accepted the chicken greedily.

The valley began to narrow and steepen. The Neckar was not nearly as big a river as the Rhine, and the hills on either side were nowhere near as high, but the land now rose sharply on both sides of the river. The Crusaders found themselves strung out in a long, narrow file. It was difficult in these circumstances to find a place large and wide enough for them to camp. At one village, however, the land flattened out to some extent into fields that the villagers had cultivated. The Hermit stopped there.