“You’ve Wil and Maria,” blurted Frieda. “They’d be kin of yours and mine.”
Arnold looked thoughtfully at the young woman. With a nod he answered. “You’ve a kind heart, fair damsel. Have a care with it.” He took another drink. “Wil’s a good lad. He’s spirit like my Richard had.”
No one answered.
“No matter. This life is naught but dark shadows and wicked things. Mine is ending far from what I had expected. There was a time m’brother Baldric and me ruled Weyer! He as woodward of all the abbey lands, and me as forester of the manor. Ha! I learned to fill bags of silver with the secrets of others—secrets they paid to keep hidden. I’ve coins from monks, prelates, peasants, housewives, and even a gold coin from old Pious himself. The Templars keep my money safe, but… but I fear it is not enough to keep me from burning for my sins in the ages to come.” The man shuddered. “I met a demon once, outside the hut of a witch. He made me pay alms to save m’soul then. I suppose I’ll need do the same again.”
Pieter shook his head. “I hear the voice of a man humbled into honesty. As you know, my friend, ‘multi timor, conscientiam pauci verentur … many fear their reputation, but few their conscience.’ Some take their pride to their grave with a sneer at things to come. It seems your heart is touched by grace.”
Arnold grunted and swallowed another draught.
“Yet, my friend, the conscience can be a tyrant as well. It is not always a wise or proper master.”
Arnold looked at him blank faced. “What kind of priest are you?”
“Oft a bad one, I fear. But one who’s been given small bits of truth along the way. Your nephew is one who has taught me much from his own amazing journey. You ought to spend time with him.”
Arnold grinned a wide, toothless grin. “You are a clever one!”
Pieter laughed. “I love your nephew and his son, so please forgive my feeble attempts to sway you to our cause.” The old priest looked deeply into Arnold’s eyes, and his tone became earnest, even pleading. He leaned forward. “Listen to me, sir. I do not ask your help so that you might purge your soul … forgiveness is not to be earned. I do beg your help simply because it is right.
“You, Herr Arnold, have seen men and women at their worst. You know their secrets—secrets of betrayal and lust, wicked, horrid deeds and hypocrisy. You’ve made it your trade. But methinks you have discovered the truth of life’s rotted underbelly. It is an ugly serpent that crawls about us all. Can you not help us spare two of your kin from the stench of such evil?”
Arnold stared evenly into the old man’s face. None spoke as they waited breathlessly for the man to answer. At last, Arnold turned his eyes to Tomas, Friederich, then Benedetto, and, at last, to the imploring face of Frieda. He nodded. “Aye. That I can.”
Elsewhere in Weyer, Herwin and Wulf were desperate to find a way to help the baker and his son. “They’ve no chance, Father,” moaned Wulf. The large man was nursing a deep cut in his scalp from the reeve’s flail.
“We must help them!” cried Herwin. He looked at his table and picked up the dagger that had been knocked from Wil’s hand in the melee. He had found it at sunrise. “This must have a story. It has an inscription.”
“You’d best hide it,” answered Wulf.
“Aye, lad,” Herwin sighed. “I confess that I’ve no idea how to help. Perhaps I’ll just beg mercy from the court.”
“I fear we’ve already been given what mercy is to be had,” grumbled Wulf. “The reeve was good to not arrest us.”
A woman’s voice sounded at the door. “Herwin? Might I speak with you?”
“Frau Katharina! Aye, come in, come in.”
The graceful woman slipped into the cool shade of Herwin’s hut. She sat down sadly on a stool and shuddered. Herwin went to her side and rested his arm kindly over her shoulders.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” Herwin began.
The woman nodded. “He’s to be buried this evening. I’ve washed the body, and others helped me shroud it. Father Albert will pray over him.”
“Oh, my dear, with no husband and no children to care for you, what shall you do?”
“Dear Herwin, I did not come for your sympathy. I shall be well. I am now the free widow of a yeoman with chattels enough. I’ve a dowry with the Templars and two hides of land that I now own.” She stiffened her back and fumbled awkwardly for words. “Old friend, I am told it was Heinrich of Weyer who killed my husband. Is it so?”