Pilgrims of Promise(10)

At last a weeping Pieter turned to Heinrich and said quietly, “Guilt sprouts where shame is planted.”

He wiped his eyes and faced his children. “Oh, my blessed lambs. Fear not, you have not failed. You have walked with angels; you have trod on holy ground. Faith is not proven by things attained, but by walking in love.

“Oh, my children, my tender hearts, I see love abounding all around me! Look at you, each one. There.” He pointed. “One holds another’s hand. And there. There one wipes another’s tear. You, little ones, have borne one another’s burdens. You have been sisters and brothers, protectors and comforters to those who have shared your journey.

“Have you failed? No, most certainly not! Have you suffered? Indeed, and much. But know this: suffering is the path to faith and the doorway to compassion. Your suffering has made your faith stronger because you’ve learned to depend on love; it has softened your hearts toward one another because you’ve learned to feel pain. Sons and daughters of God, be proud of who you have become!”

The children sat spellbound, as did Heinrich. Shivers tingled his spine, and he suddenly wanted to cry out for joy. Pieter had given him hope again—hope to believe.

Lying on his pallet near the fire, Wil heard the message too. His heart was touched in deep places, and a lump filled his throat. Frieda took his hand and smiled.

Pieter leaned on his staff wearily. His face was yellowed in the firelight and etched deeply by flickering shadows. Finally he nodded. “So, my precious ones, what do we do?”

The circle remained quiet, and the old man prayed silently. It was not long before it became clear to him that he, Heinrich, and Wil had been called to redeem the journey of suffering that all had endured; it would be their sacred duty to shepherd these lost lambs to a place of safekeeping. He beckoned the baker to his side and spoke to him quietly for a few moments. Heinrich nodded and clasped Pieter’s hand. Then the pair faced the young crusaders once more.

“Listen, children, listen well,” cried Pieter. “We shall pray for God’s grace to protect you and guide you, to teach you, and to feed you in body and spirit. In the end, we may not take you home, but it is our humble prayer that we shall deliver you to the place where you belong.”

The children were silent and suddenly content. A voice cried out, “God bless you, Father!” Soon the whole of them crowded around their guardians and rejoiced. Hope was sprouting where trust had been planted.





Later the same night, Pieter wandered between the two separate camps that were assembled by the sea. While walking about, however, he caught sight of three figures standing quite still at the farthest reach of firelight. Each was wearing a hood over his head, and the figure in the center stood the height of a man; the other two were much smaller. The priest watched for several moments until the trio shuffled to the margins of another campfire, then another. He narrowed his gaze and moved beyond the reach of any light to draw closer.

The three skulked suspiciously near Wil’s litter and toward Frieda sitting nearby. Pieter followed, but the cheery voice of Ava distracted the priest for a costly moment. She had screamed loudly as some boys tickled her. Pieter turned his face back to the place where the three had been standing, only to find them gone.

The priest hurried forward and arrived at Frieda’s side. “Did you see them?”

“Who?”

“Three shadows under hood.”

Frieda looked about. “No.”

Pieter made a hasty circle of the whole field, driving his staff hard into the stony soil. “They must be here!” he grumbled. But, alas, they were not to be found. The old man sought Paul and upon finding him, drew him aside. “Listen, lad. Methinks spies have been about the camp. Have y’seen three figures under hood?”

Paul looked about carefully. “Ja. One of m’lads said he thought he saw three moving in the shadows like they didn’t belong. He followed them, but they disappeared.”

Pieter took a deep breath. “Ja, ‘tis spies. I can feel it. Now listen to me. Your plan for tomorrow night must be changed. They’ll surely report what they’ve heard to the city guard, and there will surely be an ambush.”

Paul’s face tightened. “No, Father. We’ve delayed long enough. Tomorrow we beg, tomorrow night we steal. Besides, we kept our talk in whispers.”

Pieter yielded. “Then, at prime I’ll lead my column into the city along with yours. I will try to meet with the podesta or his magistrate. If I get the ear of one of them, we might be given provisions enough. If I’m refused, I’ll preach in the squares until the stones cry out for mercy.”