Pieter looked at the sky. “We needs be on our way. Heinrich and Wil are in grave peril, to be sure. We must learn still more, and we need a plan quickly. Would you come with us, Wilda?”
The woman shook her head. “The monks in Villmar have been kindly. They’ve learned of my baptism and rejoice in it. But I am not welcome amongst the parish priests in their manor. They still believe me to be a witch, and they all fear me. If I am seen with you, you will be cast aside as well.
“If you seek help in Weyer, though, I should tell you this. Heinrich’s uncle Arnold lives alone in a comfortable cottage by the sheepfold. You’d know his because it has good thatch and straight walls. He has an old green barrel by his door where he keeps his walking sticks.
“As these children can tell you, Arnold’s been known all his days as one to fear. Since his son went away with Heinrich, he’s been sullen and broody. But I hear of late he’s in fear of his soul, and he even vouched for Wilhelm. He may be the friend you need.”
Tomas agreed. “There’s none more shrewd in all these parts than Arnold. If he could be a friend to us, we’d have a friend indeed.”
Pieter nodded and took a deep breath. He fixed his hand tightly around his staff and called his group together. “Good, we shall see about this Arnold. But first, we must learn more.”
With that, the company divided, and Pieter’s group hurried downslope toward the Laubusbach. They crossed the stream and entered Weyer while the sun edged over the horizon to their right. They had decided they would simply march through the village and directly to the road leading to the abbey, where they’d beg for food as pilgrims oft did. Once inside the abbey walls, Pieter believed he might wrest some information from the monks. It was a skill he had not lost. He wanted first to learn of the prisoners’ whereabouts, and then of the time and place of their trial.
It was Monday, and a parade of peasants was already winding its way through Weyer like it had on every other summer workday for four centuries. Two-wheeled oxcarts lurched along rutted byways, heavy-laden with manure or filled with men being delivered to the fields of winter oats nearly ready for harvesting. Chickens and geese cackled and honked as Pieter planted his staff firmly along Weyer’s footpaths. With his face set hard toward his destination, he ignored the curious housewives pausing to gawk at the strangers passing through.
At Pieter’s urging, Tomas had lifted his hood over his head. It would serve no purpose to be recognized, but his eyes were needed to guide the others. The group marched past the village well, past the widespread linden tree standing in the center of the commons, and they were soon past the smoke and thatch and hurrying around the base of the knoll upon which the browns tone church was perched. All eyes lingered on the squat building above. “Karl the Great built it,” said Pieter. “‘Charlemagne’ as the French call him. Heinrich told me so. He had hoped to visit the graves of his family. He said he’d a daughter and two sons resting there, as well as his parents and the like.”
The company pressed up the steep slope leading north from the village. Gasping for breath, Pieter paused for a brief respite, then dragged himself behind his comrades a little farther up the hill. Panting, he once more begged the others’ pardon as he collapsed along the shoulder. Eventually, the pilgrims reached the crest of the ridge and stopped again. They were all breathing hard, so they were glad to rest and marvel at the wide landscape before them. It was as Heinrich and Wil had always described: gentle, rolling fields as far as one could see, and in the center of the view was a dark ribbon of deep green marking the banks of the distant Lahn River.
Tomas pointed. “There, straight north of us along the river lies the village of Villmar and the abbey. If you follow the river to the left, you might see the towers of Runkel Castle. That’s where they’ll be taken for trial.”
Frieda strained to see. “There, I think I see a square tower.”
The others nodded.
“Ja,” added Friederich. “I see it too. It gives me a fright deep inside.”
Benedetto trembled. “We’ll not be going there, will we?”
Ignoring the little man, Tomas continued. “The castle is about two leagues from the abbey and about four leagues from Weyer. It would take less than two hours to get to the dungeon by cart.”
“Not much time to free them by force,” stated Friederich.
“By force?” cried Benedetto. “By force? Are you mad?”
“No, minstrel,” interrupted Pieter. “Have no fear. We’ll not be taking them by force.” He took a deep breath and continued glumly, “Actually, I’ve no idea how we’ll help them or if we’ll be able to do anything more than offer them comfort as they’re hanged. I tell you, friends, they are in terrible danger.”