There Will Be Wolves (9 page)

Whips cracked, curses split the air, and the Crusade was on the move.

Peter and his guard of nobles led the way, followed by the other knights and their men. Foot
soldiers fell in behind them, carrying long-handled halberds, their tips—half axe, half spear—reflecting bright splinters of light. Behind them came crossbowmen and archers armed with longbows. While all this was going on, the rest of the vast mass began to push and rush for their own positions. The Hermit and his guard swung off down the path that followed the river southward and soon disappeared from view, leaving chaos in their wake.

“Father, let us wait a few moments.” It was with difficulty that Ursula restrained Master William from adding the crack of his whip to the others and plunging into the melee. “There is such confusion there, surely it would be wise to tarry until it sorts itself out before we try to join it. Besides,” she added, “we have not had a morsel to eat this morning. Here, take this.” She handed him some bread and cheese from a packet she had placed on the seat beside her.

Master William allowed himself to be persuaded, but it was with obvious impatience that he nibbled at the food—hardly tasting it in his excitement. Ursula watched his flushed face with concern. Such agitation could not be good for him.

Even Samson was restless. He whined with eagerness to be let loose to investigate all the new smells that were filling the air around him. Ursula tossed him a piece of bread to quieten him. As she
was doing so, a loud crash startled her. She looked up to see that two wagons had collided. The wheel of one spun off, and the wagon collapsed onto the ground. The owner leaped to accost the owner of the offending wagon, and in the next second they had come to blows. Other wagons hurried to maneuver around them and take their places.

Finally, after the greater number of the wagons had managed to set off, Ursula could restrain her father no longer and they managed to ease their way in. At the end of the procession straggled those who must make the journey on foot: hundreds of men, women, and children, some of them driving a thin cow or scrawny donkey, all laden down with bundles and provisions. Behind them, all the bells of Cologne pealed joyously.

  *  *  *  

They followed the river, keeping on the western side where the land was flatter. On the opposite side, the heavily forested hills rose straight up from the river banks, becoming steeper and steeper as they progressed. Ursula had lived beside this river all her life and had taken it for granted, but now at every bend it surprised her anew. The floods of spring were in full flow, and the river widened unexpectedly in places to such an extent that it looked more like an inland sea.
But not a calm sea. The current ripped toward them with an almost unbelievable speed and power, carrying branches, even whole trees in its grip. Any person or animal who fell into that fury would be swept away instantly.

They forged steadily on during the day, but even with all their enthusiasm, the people on foot dropped farther and farther behind. Finally, in the late afternoon, they rounded yet another curve in the path and saw stretched before them an immense plain. The leaders had stopped here, and already tents were mushrooming up almost as far as the eye could see. The tents of the nobility were easy to pick out. Gathered at the farthest end of the plain, they were brilliantly colored with streamers and pennants flying bravely from their poles. The red cross of the Crusade was very much in evidence. The tents of the rest of the folk were drab and plain in comparison—in some cases no more than a cloth stretched between two poles—but on them, too, the flaming cross had been defiantly stitched or painted. Fires were springing up all over the encampment, the smells of cooking food were beginning to waft out, and the people were coming to life after a long day of unaccustomed journeying.

Ursula helped her father unload their tent. Samson, delighted to be on the ground again, trotted stiffly around them in circles for a while and then was off to explore the new surroundings.
Together, and not without much difficulty, Ursula and Master William managed to erect their tent. They had straw to strew over the ground inside and rugs to throw over that. When they were finished, it looked snug and comfortable. Ursula began to feel a little easier. The small, familiar chores of beginning the evening meal, even though being done in such strange surroundings, comforted her somewhat.

“I must go to Count Emil and see what his wishes are,” Master William said then.

“Can you not rest first, Father?” Ursula objected. “It has been a tiring day for you.”

“No, child. I must do my duty to the count before all else. I’ll return as soon as possible.”

Ursula watched as he walked toward the count’s encampment. In spite of his weariness, there was a spring to her father’s step that she had not seen in a long time. A small hope stirred within her.

Perhaps, she thought, perhaps good will come of this pilgrimage for us after all.

She gathered sticks for a fire. Then she walked to the river to a spot where the banks formed a kind of sheltered inlet and dipped a kettle in for water. Several other women were there before her. She would have greeted them, but as soon as she appeared, one whom she recognized began whispering excitedly to another. Ursula could not hear what was being said, but the finger pointing
at her, and the shocked expression of the women, told her all she needed to know. It seemed that her reputation was following her along here too. Cheeks flaming, she tossed her hair away from her face and strode angrily out of the clearing.

Samson greeted her as she returned to their campsite, almost frisking in spite of his injured leg. To her surprise, a large, red-faced man was standing beside their tent. He carried a shovel held out in front of him, and in it were smoking coals. Ursula stopped, hesitant.

“There are those of us with good wagons who are charged with carrying coals and seeing that they do not go out. I have brought you some,” he said.

Reassured, Ursula smiled gratefully. Starting a fire was always difficult, and she was not handy with flints and tinder.

“I thank you,” she said.

The man tossed his smoldering coals into the middle of the small pile of sticks that Ursula had gathered. They caught immediately and flared up in a satisfying blaze.

“That is very kind of you—” Ursula began, but the man cut her short.

“And now, if you please, mistress, you will give me two copper coins.”

“What?” Ursula’s mouth dropped open. “I have no coins! I thought the fire was a gift, neighborly help.”

The man laughed coarsely. “And pigs fly themselves right into the dinner pot! Pay up, my girl. You get nothing in this life for free.”

“But I have no coins. Really! My father might have a few, but he is not here.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

“Oh, alone are you? And no coins? Perhaps we should barter then. Now let’s see … What might you have that you could exchange for the gift I’ve given you?” The man leered and thrust his face close to hers.

Ursula jumped back, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him.

“Let me go!” she commanded. “Take your hands off me at once!” She tried to break away, but he held her fast.

“Gratitude, my girl. When a man gives a wench a gift, he can expect a little satisfaction.”

Ursula’s mind raced. She and her father, seeking privacy, had deliberately made their camp away from the rest—there was no one immediately near. A few others, who were possibly within earshot, seemed to be deliberately ignoring the whole situation. Ursula let herself go limp for a moment. Then when the man’s grip on her arm relaxed, she tore herself free. She scooped up the shovel, which he had dropped, swung it, and caught him below the knees. He howled with pain and crumpled to the ground. In the next instant he leaped back
up and advanced on her with murderous hate in his eyes.

“So,” he hissed. “That’s how you would like to play, is it?”

Ursula held the shovel in front of her. He was much bigger and stronger than she, but she was no weakling, and with a heavy shovel for a weapon she could make a good defense for herself. At that moment Samson decided to join the fray. He put himself in between Ursula and the man and growled. The man stepped quickly back out of reach of shovel and dog.

“Pah!” he spat. “I have no time for the likes of you. If you really have no coins, then you’ll have to give me something else.” He strode over to the wagon and seized the box containing the chickens. “This should just about do it. Now I’ll have my shovel as well, if it pleases you, wench.”

“You can’t have those! Your miserable coals aren’t worth half of one of them!” Ursula raised the shovel once more, prepared to do battle all over again. Samson took two stiff-legged steps forward, but his attention was now distracted by the box of frantically clucking chickens. Taking advantage of the moment, the man snaked out his free hand and grabbed the shovel. Ursula was caught off guard and lost her balance. Before she knew what had happened, she was sprawled full length on the dusty ground and the man was striding away. She
stared after him with fury and brushed away Samson’s inquiring nose. If she
had
been a witch, the man would have been one of his own burning cinders before he could have taken another step.

She was sitting by the fire that had been purchased at such a high price, tending a stew that was bubbling away over it, when her father returned.

“Splendid fire, Ursula,” he remarked cheerfully. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get it going. Well done, Daughter.”

Ursula remained grimly silent. There would be time enough later to tell him about the chickens.

Darkness fell soon after they had eaten. Torches were lit; their flames quickly dotted the plain around them and all up and down the river bank. Across the river, the silhouette of a solitary, wall-encircled keep, high atop a steep cliff, showed black against the last faint vestiges of the day’s light. Torches sprang up within and around it, too. Ursula stared at it and wondered what manner of people moved about within. A voice spoke at her shoulder.

“There be dragons over there, so they say.”

Ursula started and looked around quickly. It was an old woman, on her way back from the river to her own camping spot. At that moment a long, eerie, ululating howl throbbed across the water. It was repeated, then picked up and
echoed once, then again, and then yet again.

Dragons there might or might not be, Ursula thought with a shudder, but wolves there certainly were.

  *  *  *  

When Ursula crawled out of their tent the next morning, she was enveloped in a world of white. Thick fog hung over the ground they were camped on. The river itself was invisible. All the normal morning sounds of the awakening camp were muffled and far away; she and her father could have been totally alone. She groped her way down to the bank to fetch water. The cold smell of the blanketed river hung heavy and dank in the air.

The fire had gone out. Ursula managed to get it going again after a great deal of trouble. She then boiled the water and made a thick porridge. The warm food was welcome, and she drew her cloak tightly around her against the early morning dampness.

By the time they had finished eating, the mist had started to clear along the riverbank, although the river itself was still enshrouded. They joined the others for the morning mass and then struck camp and took their place at the end of the train of wagons.

They rode in silence. Ursula felt as if the fog
weighing down on the river and the hills opposite was weighing down on her just as heavily. Her emotions felt blanketed as well—almost numb. Not one person had bade them a good morning, and she fancied that conversations stopped when they approached. It might have been her imagination, but she thought not. It seemed that God might be willing to pardon her, but her companions on this Crusade were not. She sat straighter in her seat, chin held high, and set herself to ignoring them. If that was the way they wanted it, so be it. She had no need of
them.

After a time the mist on the river began to lift. Gradually, Ursula could begin to see the outlines of the hills on the other side. The forests emerged as if coming to life after an evil spell. A shaft of sun broke through from behind one steep slope, and then fingers of light seemed to play with the gauzy haze. Shreds of vapor tore, parted, and tried to join together again in vain. The sun, at first dull and indistinct, finally emerged in a triumphant blaze. Within minutes, it seemed, the rest of the mist disappeared. A few minutes more and it was warm enough to loosen her heavy cloak. The sun and the warmth did nothing, however, to lighten her spirits.

For three days they followed the river while the hills on the other side grew higher, and the river itself narrowed until all of its might was channeled into a rock-strewn, swift-running gorge.
The first goal of this journey was the city of Mainz, but as they drew nearer to it, disturbing rumours began to fly back and forth. A large party of Crusaders had preceded them along the river—there were tales of disaster and more killings of Jews.

“Every Jew in Trier was slaughtered,” one man told Master William, and insisted on it in the face of the old man’s horrified objections. “Its God’s truth. There’s not one of them left.”

Finally, the walls of Mainz loomed in the distance. An ominous pall of smoke hung over it. They set up camp earlier than usual beside the river. Ursula had become more adept at fire-lighting by now, and to her relief the man who had threatened her on their first night out had not reappeared. It was still light when they finished their evening meal; she hurried to tidy up.

“Why such haste, Daughter?” her father asked querulously. Master William’s initial excitement had given way by now, and the rigors of such constant travel were beginning to show. He looked tired and ill. Added to that, the count had been indisposed on the last two nights and had sent for him several times. Ursula didn’t think that her father had managed more than a few hours’ sleep either night.

“I’m going to see what the talk in the camp is, Father,” Ursula replied. “There have been so many stories—now that we’re on the outskirts of Mainz,
perhaps someone will be able to tell me what the truth of the matter is. You should try to sleep now,” she added. “You said the count was better last night—we can hope he won’t call you tonight.”