Pilgrims of Promise(105)
Now beyond the protection of the caravan, the travelers made their way warily along the left bank of the Rhine, pausing briefly in the city of Strasbourg for provisions. Their purchases made, the group then returned to the highway and moved toward Mainz, which lay some forty leagues beyond. Paulus slowed them slightly, but traveling the flat highway under a blue sky afforded the company a pace of some five leagues per day.
During the eight days since leaving the caravan, the group had been accosted only twice. A pair of drunken rogues had emerged from some rocky cover and made a bumbling effort to drag Frieda away while she was drawing water from a well. It was Helmut who heard the girl’s cries, but it was Wil who hastily launched two arrows from his bow, each missing its distant target but landing close enough to frighten the brigands away. Suffering only a torn gown and a bruised cheek, Frieda found herself sobbing in her husband’s arms once more.
The following day, two ruffians armed with weighted staffs accosted the weary band. They believed it was God’s will that they should punish any returning child crusaders. But judging the quality of their clothing and the unbroken spirit in their lifted chins, the men determined them to be pilgrims and “not that unfaithful rabble daring to return home.” Fortunately, Wil and his company managed to restrain their tongues and avoid a bruising brawl.
Finally, on the evening of Friday, the nineteenth of July, the weary travelers arrived in the busy city of Mainz, where they sought lodging at an inn near the scaffolded cathedral. Mainz was an ancient city lying directly on the river of myth and legend. Its narrow streets were crowded with all manner of peddlers, clerics, and fools. It reeked of manure and human waste, of garbage and standing water. It was filled with sundry buildings made of plankboards, clay, or wattle. Thatch covered most of the pitiful hovels that crowded the poor neighborhoods, as well as the countless assortments of sheds, barns, and workhouses set haphazardly about. It was place where a single torch might destroy everything in sight within moments.
Everything in sight, that is, except for the cathedral climbing high above the lesser sights scattered at its feet. From here the Archbishop Siegfried ruled his expansive diocese. His miter commanded souls as far south as the Italian Alps and nearly to the city of Bremen in the north—from the vineyards of the Rhine’s west banks to the markets of Augsburg in the east. His diocese was rich and prospering. His feudal territories had grown to such proportions as might corrupt even the most honorable men, and so Alwin reminded his companions that “the wearer of the pallium and buskins in Mainz is another cleric to fear.”
“Siegfried is an arse. I don’t like him,” Pieter crowed from his perch atop Paulus. “I’ve crisscrossed his little church-dom most of my life. I’ve found little true piety. The dolt is a count of the empire, like that fool Conrad before him. His tastes are high. Look, the alms boxes are emptied on this cathedral, while the poor under his very nose suffer! Maybe God shall burn this one down like he did the old one.”
Wil hurried his company through the city, past the wharves where wool was piled high in great bales and countless ells of linen were rolled and stacked. The marketplace was nearly empty except for a few Jews in rich robes and pointed hats chattering by their booth. “Money-lending Jews do well here,” said Alwin. “They do in England as well. The Christians in London are quick to borrow from them, but few have paid them back! ‘Tis little wonder they charge such outrageous fees.”
The group looked confused.
“Like us, Jews do not permit themselves to loan money to one another at interest,” Alwin added. “But a Christian may charge usury to a Jew and a Jew to a Christian!”
“Aye,” said Helmut. “My father says the bishop makes good business from that somehow. I don’t understand it, though.”
The children stared blankly at the Jews until Pieter added, “Some of the lords make them wear special clothing. I’ve seen some required to wear the Star of David on their breasts so that Christians know to keep a guard.”
Alwin nodded. “The pope’s talked of requiring all Christendom to do the same … to make them dress in special ways and to make them live in their own neighborhoods of the cities.”
“Some call them ‘Christ-killers.’ Does he want them killed for their crime?” asked Tomas.
“Nay. The pope granted them a constitution of sorts a few years ago. He ordered that no Christian may cause them harm since they are the sons and daughters of Abraham. But they may not dwell with us nor keep Christian servants and the like.”