The group whispered amongst themselves, then Pieter said, “My dear sister, we do not know you. Heinrich once spoke of a woman for whom he had shaming memories, but he mentioned no name. We cannot trust you now, and you cannot help us. It is best that you bury your husband.”
Katharina stood, erect and defiant. “Yes. I understand. You do not trust me. So let me tell you this, and you judge whether I earned his trust. Heinrich’s greatest love was his children, his second was his Butterfly Frau, then his bakery, and then the magical place he called the Magi. His baker’s mark honors both Frau Emma and his faith. He has a heart for the poor, yet he oft hates himself. He follows duty and no longer even faces the sun. I know this man. Only one who cares would know these things.”
Her words moved Pieter, for they rang true of a love long cherished. The old man thought carefully. He looked kindly at the woman, then at Arnold. “Frau Katharina, bury your husband. Then, if you truly wish to help, take a walk near the Matins Stone.”
“The Matins Stone?”
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“Aye. It is beyond the boundary toward Münster. I’ve been there twice.”
Pieter leaned forward. “Then when your duty is done, take a third walk—alone. Perhaps you may help us after all.”
Later that evening, after remaining for some time with Arnold, Pieter’s group made its way back to camp under cover of darkness. Katharina had already arrived by the time they returned and had endured a blistering interrogation by Alwin, Wilda, Otto, and Helmut. But it was Otto who assured them of her trustworthiness. The young lad had been witness to the woman’s frequent beatings. One particular spring day he had followed her into the ferns by the Magi, where he had heard her sob the name of Heinrich over and over.
For the others, however, it was the return of Heinrich’s sword that bid her welcome. She had concealed it beneath her summer cloak, and when she presented it to Alwin, the man embraced her.
Pieter shared the events of the day with all those present, and more time was spent carefully reviewing and discussing their ideas. As they prepared to implement the first part of their dubious plan to save Heinrich, the old priest joined a circle of bent knees to pray for the protection of the Almighty in “such a mad scheme as this!”
It had been decided that the night’s mission needed to be clean and swift. What would be needed were two lookouts, a warrior, a guide, and a set of nimble fingers. The plan did not call for an old man, a minstrel, a widow, or a witch. So it was Otto, Helmut, Alwin, Tomas, and Friederich who received the special blessings of Pieter, who then begged the heavens to shower mercy upon Heinrich and Wil, who were no doubt suffering the terrors of Runkel’s dungeon.
In tears the old priest pleaded and wept, then finished his prayer with a final petition on the behalf of all: “Attend to my cry: for I have been brought low indeed. Deliver me from my persecutors; for they are stronger than I. Lead my soul out of prison, that I may praise Thy name, O Lord.”
So with a prayer and an unlikely plan, the brave volunteers bade their comrades farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Except for Friederich and Helmut, the others knew the abbey well, Tomas best of all. Though Alwin had been raised within its walls, it had been many years since he had spent more than a passing moment there. Tomas had been an oblate as well and had lived inside the abbey until just a few years prior. The abbey had changed over the years; it had grown with the addition of new dormitories and workshops, a new complex of buildings for the abbot and his prior, as well as expanded gardens and new orchards.
The five hurried through the forest and crossed the Laubusbach at a ford that would lead them around Weyer. They ran cross-country over the stiff stubble of freshly harvested fields until they came to the Villmar road, which they took downhill to the dimly lit village and its abbey. The night was warm, and the air was scented with the pleasant odor of fresh-cut grain. A brief shower fell, dampening the sound of their padding feet as they hurried through the shadows of sleepy Villmar and to the southern gate of the abbey.
Otto looked upward at the alarm bell standing quietly in its place, and he recalled Wil’s story of the year before. The lad began to sweat profusely. The company had agreed they’d enter as pilgrims, not beggars, and they’d greet the guard with a coin, not a stout stick! At Alwin’s command, all of them lifted their hoods over their heads and hobbled forward.
Alwin stepped boldly toward the soldier who took his place each night at the bells of compline. It had become the abbot’s uncomfortable concession to the world of war. “Your pardon, good sir.”