There Will Be Wolves (4 page)

“I need a draft of wine to wash the taste of this out of my mouth.”

Bruno’s voice startled her. She looked at him quickly. On his face was the same expression he had worn when he had seen the thief about to lose his hand. Then he turned to them, and his face changed as he saw Master William’s distress.

“Your father needs a place to sit and rest himself. My hut is close by. Will you come?”

Ursula felt a great need to sit down herself. She nodded wordlessly.

The old Roman wall still protected Cologne, and Bruno’s hut, made of wattle and thatch, was built up against it on the southern side of the city, near one of the gates. There was no window and the only light came from the door, which he left open. Ursula squinted into the gloom as she entered. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she saw a straw pallet in one corner of the room. A coffer sitting against the far wall and a
small trestle table were the only other pieces of furniture. The floor was hard-packed earth with a few fresh rushes strewn over it. The remains of a fire nestled up to the ancient stones of the wall. An opening cut into the roof above let in practically no light but would, it was to be hoped, let out the smoke when the fire was lit.

Bruno led Master William over to the coffer. Exhausted, the older man sank down onto it. Ursula sat beside him.

“Will you have wine, Master?” Bruno offered. He picked up a flask and poured from it into a horn. Ursula’s father accepted it gratefully.

“Are you hungry?” A bit of stale cheese and the remains of a loaf of black bread sat on the trestle. Bruno brushed a swarm of flies off them. “Would you like something to eat?”

Master William shook his head. “Thank you, no. I will just rest a moment—that’s all I need.”

Bruno looked to Ursula.

“No!” Ursula blurted out. “Thank you,” she added hastily. She would have to be starving indeed before she ate leftover food such as that!

Bruno flushed. “My hut is rather poor,” he said stiffly, “but at least it is the hut of a
free
man.”

Ursula was startled. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be otherwise.

“My parents are country people,” he explained. “Serfs belonging to Count Emil. Half their yearly harvest, poor as it is, must go to him. There was
not enough to feed all the hungry mouths at home, so I left and came to the city By God’s grace it was found that I had a talent with stonework. Now, by having lived in the city for a year, I am granted my freedom and so am no longer Count Emil’s man but my own.”

Ursula nodded, for a moment at a loss as to what to say, but then she returned to the subject that was uppermost in her mind. The figure of Peter the Hermit was still before her and his words still echoed. “What thought you of the preacher?” she asked.

“A strange man,” Bruno answered. “And strangely compelling. Dangerously compelling.”

“Why say you that?” Master William broke in.

“I liked not what he had to say,” Bruno answered. “He stirs people up for this Crusade, saying it is a holy venture, and yet he speaks of killing. True Christians cannot kill. It is a sin.”

“But it is in God’s name,” Master William protested. “To further God’s will. To liberate our brethren in the East!”

“ ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Is that not one of the Commandments?” Bruno answered. “Our Lord Jesus never took arms against any man, and yet he wrought more change in our world than anyone else before him.”

“But the pope himself has called for this. Are you condemning the pope?” Master William staggered to his feet, wine spilling from the horn in
his hand. “This Peter is a holy man. He may be a saint! Are you saying he is not preaching God’s word?” The hand holding the horn of wine began to shake, so Bruno had to grab for it. Master William’s face flushed and his watery blue eyes shone suddenly as if with tears.

“Father! Calm yourself!” Ursula sprang up and reached to steady him.

“I am saying I cannot believe that a true Christian should ever kill,” Bruno answered, his face anxious but his voice stubborn. “It goes against all that we are taught.”

“This Crusade is a holy thing. A holy thing …” Master William insisted, but his voice was thready and weak. His whole body began to shake.

“You are upsetting him,” Ursula snapped. “Can you not see what you are doing?”

“And do you agree with what the monk preached?” Bruno challenged her. “He is preaching violence, not brotherly love. Violence breeds violence, and it is hard to contain once lit.”

“I know not what I agree with. I know only that my father is in distress. Thank you for your wine. We will go home now.”

But as she led her father through the alleys to their shop, she could not rid herself of the memory of the old Jewish couple being pushed into the gutter.

“Violence breeds violence.” Bruno’s words
echoed in her mind. “And it is hard to contain once lit.”

“Would that I could go on such a Crusade,” Master William said wistfully as they entered their home. “Would it not be wonderful, Ursula, to see Jerusalem and to be one of the number that set it free for all Christians again?”

Ursula looked at David, sitting silently by the fire patting Samson, and did not reply.

  *  *  *  

The next day, Easter Sunday, was a day usually spent in prayer and celebration. Ursula and her father joined with their neighbors in the procession that wound through the city to the Bishop’s Church, but it worried her that the rough crowds of strangers bearing their red crosses still thronged the streets, drinking and carousing.

By Monday morning things at first seemed to be back to normal. Then, just as Ursula was beginning to prepare the noon meal, Bruno burst through the door. David, who was sitting by the fire, leaped to his feet, startled. Samson let out a low growl before he realized who it was.

“There are riots!” Bruno announced. “The Crusaders have been working themselves up all weekend and now they are searching out all the Jews they can find and crying that the killers of Christ must be punished before the Crusade can
begin. People are hiding them and the archbishop has given sanctuary to as many as he could in the Bishop’s Church, but the mobs are out of control.”

“I must get back to my uncle’s house!” David cried. He started for the door.

“It is too late. The streets are full—you would be struck down at once,” Bruno answered.

“Stay here, David,” Ursula said, stopping him. “Your mother and your uncle will be with the archbishop, I’m sure. You’ll be safe here.”

“I’m not even certain of that,” Bruno answered. “This is a rabble and it has gone wild. They are forcing their way into private houses to seek out any hidden Jews and dragging them into the streets.”

“I
must
go!” David cried again.

“You will never make it. The crowd was following behind me as I came.” As if to prove Bruno’s words, distant shouting could be heard coming rapidly closer.

“We must hide him,” Ursula said desperately. “Quickly, up the stairs into the loft!”

“No—there is a better place.” Master William spoke for the first time. The others looked at him, surprised. “David, quickly now, follow me down into the cellar.”

Ursula stared at her father, startled by the unaccustomed note of sharp authority in his voice. David turned to obey him.

“The cellar! Father, there is no hiding place
there!” Her father didn’t answer, but hustled David toward the trap door set into the floor in the far corner of the room.

Before Ursula could recover from her astonishment, they disappeared down it together and her father pulled the wooden planking closed behind them. Almost at the same time a wave of rioting, shouting men broke into their narrow alley. Ursula and Bruno ran to the doorway and watched, aghast, as the mob surged toward them. Five broke off from the rest and pushed past into the house. Bruno tried to stop them, but was knocked to the floor. Samson growled, in earnest this time, and sank his teeth into the leg nearest to him. A kick sent him sprawling, yipping with fresh pain. Ursula felt herself grabbed and thrust against the wall.

“It is said that you harbor a Jew here—where is he?” the leader demanded. His heavy, bearded face was only inches away from her own, and the stench of rotting teeth sickened her. She wondered briefly how they had found out about David, then knew. Mistress Ingrid, no doubt, had been quick to provide the information.

Bruno made an effort to rise and was knocked down again. His head hit the stones of the fireplace and he lay suddenly still.

“A Jew boy! He comes every day. Where is he?”

“He … he came not today,” Ursula managed to get out.

“You’re lying! You’re hiding him!” The man shook Ursula against the wall so violently she felt her head swim.

“No,” she gasped. “He came not today,” she repeated.

“We’ll soon see about that!” With a wave of his hand he sent two men toward the stairs. He held Ursula and she watched as they disappeared from sight. There were curses and sounds of stools and coffers being thrown around. Then they came back down.

“No one there.”

“I know he’s here somewhere.” The leader loosed Ursula and looked around thoughtfully. “There must be a cellar. There!” He pointed triumphantly to the trap door and sprang toward it.

Ursula let out an involuntary cry.

“Aha! No Jew, eh?” He threw back the door and disappeared down the steps.

The cellar was a vast room where Ursula and her father stored vegetables and their supplies of herbs and ointments. It was old, far older than the house itself, full of arched nooks and crannies. The walls were carved with grotesque heads of mythical beasts and wild animals. Dark and dank, it was even frightening, but there were no hiding places there, Ursula knew that. Not even for a small boy. Certainly not for a small boy and an old man.

U
rsula stared at the open trap door and waited for the shouts of discovery. Incredibly, there were none. Instead, the men trooped back up looking confused and angry.

“I could have sworn …” the leader began. Then he scowled at Ursula. “It seems you speak the truth. I would have lain down my life that there was someone hidden there.” He pushed past her and strode out the door, his gang of ruffians close behind him.

Ursula made a move toward the open door, but just then Bruno groaned. She went over to him quickly and knelt to help him. He sat up groggily, holding his head with both hands. Beside him, Samson whimpered and scrabbled closer.

“Are you all right?” Ursula asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “My head hurts.” He tried to stand but then sat back down. “My head certainly
does
hurt,” he repeated. Then he
seemed to come to his senses. “What happened?” he asked. “Where are those men? Did they find David?”

“They’ve gone,” Ursula answered. “Father took David and hid in the cellar. I don’t know why they didn’t find them—there is no hiding place down there—but somehow they didn’t.”

“Maybe you underestimate your father, my dear.”

Ursula looked up in surprise to see Master William emerging from the trap door, David close behind. Her father had a triumphant smile on his face.

“Father! Where …?”

“Don’t you remember the stories about this house, Daughter?” her father answered. He turned to Bruno. “When our Emperor Henry was but a small boy, the archbishop of Cologne—Bishop Anno it was then—had him brought here to Cologne and hid him away. The archbishop’s desire was to control the emperor and thereby gain power over the Holy Roman Empire itself, of course, and for a while he was successful. No one could discover where he had hidden the boy king, but rumor has it that it was in this very house. I for one am inclined to believe it, although Ursula scorns the idea. What think you now, Daughter?” Master William looked positively gleeful.

“Where were you?” Ursula demanded. “I
know
there’s no hiding place down there.”

“But obviously there is. David knows now,
don’t you lad?” The old man laughed and, to Ursula’s fury, would say no more.

David sank down beside Samson. “When do you think I can return to my uncle’s house?” he asked with a worried look at Bruno.

“Stay here for now,” Bruno answered. He tried to rise again and this time managed it, although with a grimace of pain. “I’ll go and find out what is happening, but in the meantime you must stay out of sight. I don’t imagine those men will be back, but don’t let anyone else see you. We know not who is a friend and who is an enemy in this case.”

“He’s right, David. If Mistress Elke or that busybody next door happened by and saw you, the tale would be all over town in minutes that you are still here. Run upstairs and keep out of sight. We’ll let you know when it is safe for you to go out.”

Reluctantly, David headed for the stairs. Bruno made as if to leave, but Ursula stopped him.

“Before you go, let me tend to that bump on your head. You gave it a fair crack, I think.”

Bruno started to protest, but no one argued with Ursula when she had her mind made up. Back in command of herself and the situation, she pushed him down onto a straw pallet in the corner, poured out a mug of boiling water from the pot hanging over the fire, and, after consulting her healing book, threw in a handful of herbs.

“Lavender for the pain and rue for dizziness,”
she explained as it brewed. When she judged it to be ready, she handed the mug full of concoction to Bruno. He sipped and made a face. “Drink it,” Ursula commanded, “while I make a poultice for the bump. Catmint helps bruises.”

By the time Bruno forced the drink down, Ursula had the poultice ready. A large, ugly bump was coming up on his forehead, just above the right eye. Ursula felt it gently, and then began to smooth and rub the catmint paste over it. Bruno winced but remained silent.

Suddenly the stray cat appeared. It sidled over to Ursula and began to wind itself around her ankles more and more excitedly. Ursula laughed. “You smell the catmint, do you, you rascal? Well, have some then.” She put a small amount of the paste on the tip of one finger and rubbed it on the cat’s paw. Immediately the cat went into a frenzy of rolling, licking, and pouncing at imaginary mice. Totally ignoring Samson, who was whining indignantly in the corner while being held back with some difficulty by Master William, the little cat was soon in a delirium of delight.