The menacing baker had a firm confidence about his way, one seasoned by hard times. Horst hesitated, then quickly reckoned that the court would be delighted to have the murdering Wil walk directly into its grasp. The yeoman relaxed. He lowered his sword. “Take yer lies to the abbot then, but if you come to m’door again, we will cross steel!”
With a grunt, the baker slowly lowered his sword and bade Wil to sheath his dagger. Father and son slowly backed out the door as Wil snorted a thick phlegm into his mouth and spat it on to the floor at the yeoman’s feet. “I leave that until we return.”
Cursing in frustration, Heinrich walked away from his own threshold and stumbled into the village. “That devil Pious! He’s stolen what’s mine.” The man stopped. He closed his eye in shame. “Your mother … is dead, you are accused of murder, and I think of nothing else but my property.”
The pair said nothing more and walked toward the Laubusbach slowly. They passed the village well when Wil paused. “We should find Herwin. He can tell us what more we need to know.”
Wil led his father through the footpaths of the village now fast returning to sleep. He found his way easily to Herwin’s door, and when he knocked, a blurry-eyed Wulf answered. “Eh?”
“Wulf, ‘tis me—Wil!”
Herwin’s son of thirty years squinted and studied the two men who were lit only by starlight and a setting moon. “Wil?”
“Ja!”
“Wil? We thought you were surely dead!”
“No, I’ve come home!”
An old woman in the neighboring hut poked her head out of her door. “Wil? The baker’s son?”
Before Heinrich could hush him, Wil snapped, “Aye. What of it, hag?”
The woman’s head disappeared.
Wulf bade the two to come inside. His wife hurried to light a candle as he called to his sleeping father. Herwin climbed to his feet slowly, then stared incredulously at his old friends. “Can it be true?” he asked.
The one-armed man and the aging thatcher embraced. Herwin had been a part of Heinrich’s life since the baker was a boy. He had once been a faithful tenant of Heinrich’s father, then suffered under the rule of Baldric until Heinrich owned the hovel. Now in his early fifties, Herwin was gray and frail. His teeth were missing and he limped. “A fall, Heinrich. Actually, two falls and now I’m lame. I still do some thatch on the low sheds. But, now, oh, I’ve much to ask you! First, what of Karl and Maria?”
Heinrich lowered his face. “Karl is dead. He died on crusade near Genoa. Maria is safe.”
“Ah, poor friend.” Herwin laid a trembling hand on Heinrich’s shoulder. “And where have you been all these years?”
“I’ve a long tale,” answered Heinrich. “I shall tell you more when I can, but now we must know of some things. We are told that Marta is dead and our house is sold to another … to a yeoman.”
The thatcher hung his head. “I did what I could to challenge the matter, but within days of your leaving, your wife swore all her earthly possessions to the parish. She was near death when Pious had her words witnessed quite properly by himself, Reeve Edwin, Father Albert, and a clerk of the prior. You had already been declared dead on account of your being missing, so your property was rightfully your wife’s to give away. She could do with it as she pleased, my friend.”
Heinrich cursed.
Herwin sighed. “Pious quickly sold the house to the yeoman, but he kept your land and the bakery for the parish. He’s raised the prices over the objections of the abbot. He sends quite a profit to the diocese, and he’s been rewarded handsomely by the archbishop’s secretary.
“But I fear I’ve other news.” Herwin turned his face toward Wil. “Frau Anka has given testimony against you, lad … at the urging of Pious, no doubt. She told the bailiff that you told her to give your mother an infusion of an herb. Pious proved it was poison….”
“I did! But I didn’t know it was poison! Pious told me to give it her. It was he who knew what it was!”
Herwin gasped. “Pious? Pious did this? We thought you were simply mistaken about the herb!”
“Aye, it was Pious!” exclaimed Heinrich.
Herwin was dumfounded. “Wil, he … he wanted you arrested on sight if you ever returned, and he’ll have Anka swear against you in court. And there’s more. Pious has argued that you murdered Lukas and an abbey guard.”
“Miserable, fat bast—”
“Enough, lad!” cried Heinrich. “Pious is a liar! Lukas died in his bed, and the lad had nothing to do with the guard.”