At last, his hand bumped lightly against a pear-wood box. The lad held his breath and lifted the lid. “I have it!” The boy slowly released his breath.
A low, distant rumble rolled through the abbey. “Hurry, Helmut!”
“I have it!” he answered.
“How do you know it’s it?”
“It’s the only parchment in there.” The deed done, the boys hurried across the dark room, lighted once more by the approaching storm.
The thunder had done what Alwin had feared it might. The guard was now shifting and becoming restless in his sleep. Hurry, lads! he pleaded silently.
Wisely, Friederich had kept his fingers on the right key, and he quickly locked the door behind them. Then, like a young cat and its kitten, the pair dashed silently past the guard and rejoined their fellows now gathering around the corner.
“God be praised!” whispered Alwin. “I was thinking that we should get the keys back to the monk. It’ll keep suspicion away from us.”
All agreed, and in mere moments the cellar door was reopened and the key ring placed neatly on the sleeping monk’s belt. “Now, Tomas, lead us out the other gate!”
The five dashed around the cloister and through the abbey’s gardens. Like flying ghosts, they bolted through the rain toward the north gate, known by the monks as the lesser gate. It led to a narrow meadow and the docks along the Lahn. The gate was sometimes guarded on the outside, and, just as Tomas had promised, therefore not locked on the inside. The porter, no doubt a sleeping novice, was out of sight. Tomas pulled the door open slowly and looked about for the guard. Seeing no one, he bade his fellows follow, and the five sprinted to safety.
“You’ve done well!” exclaimed Pieter as Alwin’s company presented the fruit of their daring adventure. “You brave scoundrels!” The old man laughed, and the gathered circle cheered as Pieter studied the note by the fire. “By the saints, I believe it says exactly what the Jew said it would!”
Alwin smiled and drew a long drink from a flask of mead. Wilda had returned with a rucksack filled with provisions. She handed the knight a block of cheese.
“Thanks, woman,” said Alwin. He fixed his dark eyes on Wilda and the woman blushed.
Pieter read the document once more. “Truly, a gift from a merciful Lord,” he cried.
“What does it say?” blurted Friederich.
The old man nodded. “Aye, lad. Hear this, all of you. I hold in m’hand the debt owed to Beniamino the Jew by Lord Heribert of Runkel! Ha, clever heathen! The original sum is for five hundred pounds of silver plus a usurious interest of twenty pounds on the hundred. No doubt the prior thinks he has quite a hold on the lord, but it is we who hold it! The prior cannot collect without it!”
The pilgrims cheered. Tomas stepped forward. “And well sell it back to whom … the prior or Lord Heribert?”
Pieter grinned mischievously. “To whoever releases Heinrich.”
Frieda blurted, “And what of Wil?”
The group fell silent. “Fair sister,” answered Pieter, “we are all still working on that problem. I do not yet know exactly what well do. A charge of one murder and suspicions of two others, all foresworn by a priest and supported by a witness, is beyond purchase, even with this. All the manor knows of it. The archbishop even knows of it. Heinrich, on the other hand, could be released at the court’s will, or the will of the prior. They could more easily decide the killing was a matter of self-defense or of some nighttime confusion.”
“But could we not try to use it for Wil as well?” Frieda pleaded.
Alwin answered kindly. “No. That would overreach its value. Trust me in this. I’ve seen these kinds of things before. If you ask too much, you get nothing! Now hear me, girl. We’ve the sly Arnold and our own clever Pieter. We’ve also the courage of four good lads, the magic of a minstrel, the love of three women, and an angel. And we’ve my own sword. Add to these our prayers and the mercies of heaven, and you must take heart. We will surely find a way to save Wil as well.”
Otto scratched his head and then took a crust of bread from Maria. “So tell me how this plan for Heinrich is to work.”
Pieter looked around the ring of faces staring at him. The first light of a new dawn was brightening the sky, and the man knew that time was not their friend. “Actually, we now have the tool but not yet the way. What say you all?”
The pilgrims murmured amongst themselves until Katharina spoke. “Arnold and I can meet with Prior Mattias by terce. I am the grieving widow … he’ll see me, and he always sees Arnold, for he’s frightened of what things the man knows about his monks.” She looked at the pilgrims ringing the small fire and pleaded with them. “I spend my days spinning and weaving. Methinks I am able to weave a web for the prior. I beg you, leave this matter to Arnold and me. You need to be about the business of Wil.”