“We shall help you as we can,” said Herwin. “But Alwin, have a care. The Templars search the lands for you often. They want you hanged, sir. They say you turned your sword against your own.”
The knight nodded. “I know what they say. Herwin, you’ve known me many years. I tell you this: I turned my sword against evil. That, my friend, is my duty under God.”
Saying no more, the two turned toward the door and slipped away. They hurried through the night to the Magi, where they told all of the night’s worsening events. The pilgrims groaned with the news. Otto’s story had been tragedy enough, but this was far worse. “Wil’s charges are grievous, and I fear Heinrich’s fate is sealed,” moaned Alwin. “Our baker struck a man dead in full view of many.”
Frieda started to sob loudly. “This cannot be! I knew we should not have come here!” She stood and paced about the campfire. “Oh, what do we do? What do we do?”
Maria sniffled as she leaned into Pieter’s side. The old man patted her head and stared into the low flames. His mind was spinning, and he sat with his gaze fixed on the fire for an hour or so. No one disturbed him; no one spoke. With Maria at his one side, Frieda had come to his other. Across his legs sprawled Solomon. Around the fire the other troubled pilgrims sat silently.
Pieter did not speak. It was as if he were in a trance, as if his spirit had left his body and were floating somewhere far beyond sight. Finally, his mouth moved and he whispered, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” He took a deep breath and turned his face solemnly toward his fellows. “Yes?”
The group looked at one another. Maria looked at him. “Papa Pieter, what shall we do?”
“I’ve no idea.”
The circle murmured. Friederich wrinkled his nose. “Then what were you thinking about?”
“I wasn’t.”
Alwin tossed a stone into the fire and groused under his breath, “We need a plan, Pieter. And we need to be quick about it.”
The old man rose and leaned heavily on his staff. “The dog’s been uneasy since we’ve come here. I don’t know why. And I have as well.” He stared into the small red-coal fire. Frieda thought he looked suddenly beaten. His face is so thin, she thought, and the light has left his eyes. Dark shadows etched his cheeks, and he looked almost ghostly. The girl shuddered.
“The day soon comes, my beloved, when you’ll not have me to guide you. I am weary, and my mind is beginning to fail. So I was not thinking, but praying.” He smiled a little. “It is good to be free of my mind sometimes. We are not called to know all things, but to trust in the One who does.” Pieter’s voice became gentle, and he looked into each distressed face. “When I am gone, you still have Him. You’d best learn now to run there first. I will not talk of things to do until each of you has begged heaven for counsel on this grievous matter. I cannot do this alone; we need each other.” With that, he walked away.
Alwin, the former monk, nodded. He hung his head in shame, for he knew that when he had abandoned his vow, he had nearly abandoned his faith. The Church had failed him, yet God had not. The troubled but devout Christian knight fell to his knees and began a prayer of such heart-wrenching despair that the others soon knelt close by his side. Then each in turn—some in whispers, some unheard—lifted his or her supplications to the One who held all things in His grasp, to the One who might grant these harmless lambs minds as clever as serpents.
From deep in the wood, Pieter watched with joy as his beloved prayed. And when their heads were lifted, he walked boldly toward them, refreshed anew by hope, inspired by this remnant that would surely pass truth to generations not yet born. “Now, to work,” he said. “First, we needs move our camp to the Matins Stone I’ve heard of. We are not safe here. Douse the flames now, bury the embers, and scatter brush about.”
The company’s spirits were lifted by Pieter’s newfound vigor, and they hurried to task obediently. Tomas led them eastward for about an hour through the heavy wood until they arrived at an odd-shaped boulder known in legend as the Matins Stone. According to local lore, the stone would rotate at the ringing of matins bells, as long as no eyes were upon it. It was also said to be a favored haven for the witches of the region.
Pieter ordered Paulus to be unloaded and tethered to a tree. He wanted their provisions hidden about the forest, and he insisted that Heinrich’s and Wil’s satchels be buried under brush for safekeeping. “Just someone remember where all this is, for I shall surely forget!”