Pilgrims of Promise(13)
Turned away by an impatient clerk, the discouraged crusaders finally made their way to the shade of a squat tree. A wealthy woman strutted past and tossed a penny with her nose lifted high. Pieter caught the coin and called after her, “Danke!” The word prompted a loud “humph.”
“Papa Pieter, why won’t any help us?” asked Ava.
Pieter shrugged. “I feared it would be so. Look at us. Our skin is pink, our tongue is different. Look at our clothes…. We are poor and dirty. We come here uninvited, unwelcome. We do not belong.”
Chapter Three
THE SEARCH FOR EDEN’S GATE
How is he?” asked Heinrich as he crouched by Frieda’s side.
“Somewhat better. He was awake until moments ago. I told him of all that has happened.”
Heinrich nodded and lightly touched Wil’s face. “Seems the fever’s broken.”
“Ja, but we must allow the wounds to dry.”
The man studied Wil’s bandages and lifted a few to check his stitched wounds. “The red worries me some.”
Frieda nodded. “The deep cut along his belly is the worst. It gives pus and the redness has spread.”
Heinrich gently lifted the bandage off the lad’s left cheek. “He’ll have a scar from nearly eye bone to chin.”
“There is no better scar in all Christendom, m’lord. ‘Twas earned in saving others, and I’ll see it always as his mark of honor.”
“Ah, my dear. Well said. The boy has the heart of a knight.”
At that moment Otto appeared with a couple of younger boys. They were the first of Pieter’s column to return from the city, and they dumped a pitiful collection of crusts, garlics, cracked eggs, and onions on the ground. “They deserve to be robbed,” he grumbled.
As the rest of the crusaders returned to camp, the bells of the city pealed loudly, announcing the prayers of nones. The children had been given little, though the monasteries had provided what they could. Soon the day’s collections were combined, and after a few words of thanksgiving, Pieter, Paul, and Heinrich summoned eager hands to begin the distribution.
By compline, what had been gathered was eaten, a few pennies counted, and feet were wrapped in the city’s rags. Pieter made one final attempt to dissuade Paul from either his plot to rob the city that night or to take his crusade to Rome. Failing once more, he returned to Heinrich, and the two men surveyed their new company.
Forty children had chosen to follow Pieter and Heinrich. Most of the children were younger, as the majority of older ones had chosen to follow Paul. They were small and bony, and though a fortunate few wore shoes, none carried a blanket. About a third of the group were girls of varying ages, most being under twelve. Their ankle-length gowns were torn and tattered, their hair tied with weedy vines or loosely braided.
Heinrich looked about his group. “You, lad, your name again?”
A broad-faced boy of nearly fifteen stepped forward. “I am Rudolf of parts by Liestal.”
Heinrich nodded. The fellow seemed pleasant enough, respectful and proud. “It was your parents who gave help to Wil’s company in the mountains of the north?”
“Ja.”
The two chatted for a few moments before Heinrich said, “You’ll be a captain.” The man called another forward. “And your name, lad?”
“I am Helmut from parts near Bremen.” The narrow-faced boy was about the same age as Rudolf.
“Bremen?” The familiar name caused Heinrich’s face to tighten. “You live far to the east to join the crusade in Cologne.”
“Ja, sir. My father is a free merchant in the lands of Lord Ohrsbach. He took me to the fair in Cologne when Nicholas was preaching of crusade.”
The baker nodded. “I see. Very well then. You’re to be the other captain.”
Heinrich raised his hand over the quieting assembly. “Hear me, all of you. We shall divide you into two groups of twenty. Each group will report to one captain. Over the captains is Otto, whom we shall call ‘Master,’ and over Otto is Wil, Father Pieter, and m’self. When Wil is healed, he shall be your leader, while Father Pieter and me will be his counselors. Is that understood?”
The children whispered amongst themselves. Most thought it a reasonable order of things. What Pieter lacked in menace, Heinrich had; what Heinrich lacked in wit, Pieter had. Wil, of course, was one of them and, as such, their true leader.
“Master Otto!” called Heinrich. “See that the groups are arranged. Keep the girls and little ones divided evenly.”
The thirteen-year-old puffed his chest. Master! he said to himself. I like the sound of that!
Pieter drew Heinrich aside. “Tis time we were leaving. Paul will not be dissuaded, and his group will enter the city about an hour past compline. If my memory holds, the monastery I spoke of is about six leagues south. With this bunch I fear it is a three-day march.”