Wil looked at his fellows and nodded. He reached for his wife and embraced her, then kissed her tenderly. “Frieda, I shall return with news. Then we’ll make a plan. Take care of Maria and the others.”
The young woman nodded. She lingered in Wil’s embrace until he lifted her arms gently from his sides. “Have no fear, wife. I shall be back.”
Pieter stepped forward. “I should like to come with you. I’ve little strength in my arms, but I’ve yet m’wits.”
Wil laid a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder. “Ah, indeed you do. Use them to help the others.” The lad leaned low and whispered into the stoop-shouldered priest’s ear. “If we do not return by dawn, come looking, but come alone.”
Pieter nodded. “Ja, me and the hosts of heaven!”
Helmut was made second in command, just below Pieter, and was told to keep those remaining safe in the woodland near the Magi. “If you must,” Wil further instructed, “take them east into the heavier forests by the Matins Stone. Maria, can you find it?”
Maria twisted her face and rolled a finger through her braids. “I was there twice,” she said. “Both times with Karl. I think I remember.”
Heinrich looked at the little girl with a furrowed brow. “That rock is off the manor! You and your brother could have been beaten … or worse! I thought you were an obedient child!”
Maria giggled. “Sometimes!”
“No matter now, Father. If they need to hide, shell take them there. Otherwise, we meet here, at the Magi by dawn. Helmut and Pieter, keep a sharp eye on our satchels, and keep the two beasts quiet! If Paulus brays, hell bring you trouble for sure.”
The young man turned to look carefully at Alwin. The knight was staring into the dark canopy of leaves above and muttering a prayer. “I still say you should wait behind.”
Alwin said nothing for a moment, then adjusted his sword. “Nay. You may need me yet. I’ll surely not be known under cover of darkness, and well be out of the village by light.”
Wil nodded. “Otto, are you ready?”
Otto was nervous and wringing his hands lightly. “Ja.”
“Then we go.”
With no more to be said, Wil led Heinrich, Alwin, Otto, and Tomas toward the small bridge that arched over the Laubusbach. Once they crossed the bridge, the path would lead them past the ruins of Emma’s cottage and into the sleepy village. It was a warm summer night, almost sultry. Few hearths were burning, though a thin, eye-burning haze hung lightly along the footpaths and alleyways.
Otto’s hovel was positioned as the farthest hut from the village center—a place believed fitting for all millers, tradesmen cursed for their thieving ways. The group arrived at its door quietly. Inside, an unattended candle burned, and through the one window, the lad could see his snoring father stretched atop a straw mattress. The young crusader swallowed hard and looked to Wil for courage. His fists were clenched and he did not speak.
“He will be glad to see you,” whispered Wil.
“Do you think so?” choked Otto.
Heinrich laid a hand on the lad’s broad shoulder. “I’d be proud of you, boy. And I’d have a feast to welcome you!”
Otto smiled. “If there’s trouble, I’ll be at the Magi by dawn.”
“There’ll be no trouble, friend,” answered Wil confidently. “You’re home.”
With that, all clasped hands, and the lad was left to rally his courage alone. The four others faded into the shadows, their silhouettes gliding silently past a half-dozen darkened buildings. They crouched and turned to watch Otto walk through his door.
It was a long pause before a voice suddenly boomed from within the boy’s hut. “Otto! By the saints, you little fool! Where’s yer brother?” Within moments Otto’s father began to curse and shout. A few sleepy villagers in nearby huts groused a bit, and then a few staggered to their doorways. “Shut yer mouth, miller!”
“Burn in hell!” the angry man answered.
“A curse on yer children!” roared a drunken man.
The miller burst from his door and dragged Otto by the hair into the path. “A curse you say? A curse? I’ve been cursed with this coward!” To the dismay of Wil’s group, he punched the poor lad in the belly and threw him to the ground. “He let his brother die on that fool’s crusade! He broke his vow to me and to the Holy Church! Come, all of you! See this worthless scrap of dung who calls himself m’son!”
Wil’s band watched in disbelief as bleary-eyed villagers emerged from their huts and gathered on the narrow street. A menacing group moved toward Otto, shouting curses. “You, boy, tell me where’s m’ Ingrid?” growled one.