The darkening sky had clouded and was now heavy and gray. A brief shower dampened the wayfarers, and their thoughts turned to other things.
“More rain is coming, Wil,” said Heinrich. “We’re all tired and your wife is coughing. It’s time we found an inn.”
The young man nodded and looked about the busy streets. From atop his braying friend, Pieter pointed to a corner with his staff. “I remember a good roof over there,” he said. “And they have good beer.”
The group followed the old man’s directions and was soon facing a busy tavern. Curiously, three seabirds were perched on the crooked ridge of the building’s roof, crying lightly and shaking themselves loose of the rain. Frieda stared at them for a moment, then smiled to herself.
Finally, with Paulus stabled and their provisions locked away, Wil and his fellows gathered around a wide planked table within the warm confines of the inn. Here they reached hungrily for salted Rhine codfish and hearty ales. The hearth fire choked under a poor draught, but fresh rye bread and a few roasted joints of pork kept any from complaining.
That night in Mainz was like few others. Good food, uproarious tales, and an engaging mix of patrons made for hours of well-deserved pleasure. Maria spent most of the long evening half-hidden in the safety of Heinrich’s broad shadow. Frieda positioned herself strategically near her less-than-happy husband and away from the grasping hands of harmless but coarse and unseemly men. Laughing, she managed to hold her own against the leering taunts of the uncouth diners as well as the barbs of their jealous companions. Wil, however, found himself spending much of the evening trading blows with the bumbling fools who pressed his young bride beyond the rules of tavern fun.
It was late when Wil’s exhausted company found their way to their beds. They had rented one room, it being covered in a thick layer of straw upon which all fell fast asleep. Morning came quickly and the company roused slowly. Stretching and yawning, most complained loudly of Pieter’s persistent and unfortunate digestive failures. Quickly leaving the room, the group gathered for a first meal of red wine and bread. Then, well before the midmorning bells of terce, the pilgrims, their donkey, and their dog stood alongside the docks, waiting for a ferry to take them across the Rhine.
“Soon, lad,” muttered Heinrich. “Soon we’ll be home.”
Wil looked wistfully across the river. He often thought of his brother, Karl, but seeing the crossing and knowing they were a mere two days or so from Weyer filled his mind with memories. He turned to his father. “Do you think of him too?”
“Karl?”
“Ja.”
“I do. Every day. I was just remembering him now.”
“And me.”
Both men fell quiet. They stared blankly at the green treetops of the eastern shore lying beyond the busy docks. “He was a good lad.” Heinrich choked. “No bad bone in him.”
Wil nodded.
“I …” Heinrich sighed and wiped his eye. “My sorrow keeps him close to me. I pray I shall feel it always.”
Wil looked at his father sadly. “Can you not feel joy in his memory as well?”
The baker drew a deep breath. “Sadness seems easier to carry than joy. It is not what I would wish for you or any other, but it is my way, methinks. Perhaps in time, lad. Perhaps in time.”
Wil nodded. “And what of Mother?”
Thoughts of Marta filled his heart with darkness and shame. Heinrich felt suddenly sick. “I… I only ever wished her well. I could hardly bear her, lad, but I hold no hate for her. I am both sickened and saddened for her, I fear, and that makes me ashamed.”
“She is a hard woman.”
“She is your mother. She loved you.”
Wil kicked a stone from under his foot. His face tightened with a confusion of feeling few besides his father could understand. “No doubt she is dead. She was dying with fever even before I poisoned her.”
“You did not poison her. It was Pious. And if she is dead, he needs to pay for that crime.”
“We’ve no witness.”
Heinrich thought for a long moment. “What of Anka? She knew of Pious’s instructions to you.”
Wil shrugged.
“But she had a motive to keep your mother alive. You promised her land.”
“Aye, ‘tis true enough.” Wil paused. “But she’d never swear an oath against Pious, never. She fears him like Mother did.”
“Would Pious even accuse you?”
Wil shook his head. “No. I’ve given him cause to fear me some; I know of things. I think he’d rather let the matter lie.”
Heinrich wasn’t so sure. “Well, we needs first see your mother … or her grave.”