Pilgrims of Promise(14)
“You think Wil can travel safely?”
“I do. His litter is sturdy.”
“And what about food along the way?”
“I’ve no idea. We’ll pray for mercy.”
Heinrich sighed. “Forty of us and barely more than a turnip or a pea! I’ve some gold that should help and some silver pennies.”
“Ja, my son. But we must not forget we’ve a long journey north when winter’s past. We should use your gold coins sparingly. How many have you?”
The two walked out of view, where Heinrich reached into his badly worn satchel and retrieved the pouch once presented by the old tinker of Salzburg—the gift from poor Dietmar of Gratz. He lifted it and handed it to Pieter.
As the priest untied the bag, he stared inside and informed Heinrich that the coins were likely minted in Sicily. “Ducats … they’re precious and valued all over Christendom.”
“Aye.” Heinrich picked one out and set it aside. “I’ve a special use for this one,” he said. He then grabbed a handful and began dropping them one at a time into Pieter’s joined palms. As they fell, each counted coin clinked atop the others like the sound of rain on thirsty ground, and when the counting was done, the two men looked at one another in astonishment.
“Amazing!”
“Unbelievable!”
“How can it be so?”
“Forty!” exclaimed Heinrich.
Pieter grinned. “Ah, the angels are surely with us. One gold coin for each child! God be praised!”
The pair returned to their company and immediately disclosed the plan to leave within the hour and to travel by night until they were beyond the wrath of Genoa. Surprised, the children were immediately anxious. Travel by night was a fearsome thing. Evil was known to lurk in darkness—highwaymen, wicked villains, beasts, spirits, and dreaded creatures of legend. They might become lost to wander endlessly in the mountains rising steeply from the sea. Or they might stumble upon some unseen precipice, only to fall into the merciless black waters below. “Pieter,” said Otto, “surely not by night.”
The priest understood, as did Heinrich. The baker, too, had ventured out in darkness along some fearsome trails. He thought of the Bohemian swamp and shuddered. Pieter nodded. “Ja, but know this: your enemies fear as well. You’ve suffered far more than they, and your sufferings have made you stronger than them all.”
“But you’ve not yet said where we’ll be going?” Otto asked.
“We’ve spies about, Otto, so I cannot say. I ask that you trust Herr Heinrich and m’self until we’ve begun our journey.”
Still worried, the lad nonetheless agreed.
“Good. Now we must make ready. Have you organized the groups according to Heinrich’s plan?”
“Ja.”
“Have we any sort of buckets or flasks?”
“We’ve a few things among us,” answered Helmut. “A few pots, some clay jars, and the like.”
“It will have to do.” Heinrich cast a worried eye at Paul’s group now assembled and receiving instructions from their commanders. Brave lads, all… and maids as well, he thought. If they only knew what sorrows are waiting in Rome. He shook his shaggy head and walked toward them.
Paul turned to greet the man. “Godspeed to you and yours, Herr Heinrich.”
“And to you, son.” The man studied three rows of about twenty crusaders each. Most still carried wooden crosses stuffed defiantly in their belts. Their breasts still boasted embroidered red crosses—faded and tattered though they were. “Is there to be no changing your mind on this?”
“Nay, m’lord. We are fixed to do what we must to save our crusade.”
“You truly believe the pope will give you guidance?”
Paul nodded confidently. “He shall equip us to carry on our crusade.”
Heinrich sighed sadly. “Each of your followers has been offered a fair chance to join with us?”
“Aye.”
“And none of yours wishes to refuse your night’s raid on the city?”
“Aye.”
Heinrich looked at Paul’s gathering comrades quietly. Brave, but so foolish, he thought. Realizing he could not stop them, he relented. “Well then, walk with me for a moment.” He led Paul a short distance from all the others and extended his hand. In the center of his palm was a gold coin. “Take this, my son. Take it to Rome. Find the church called Santa Maria in Domnica, and there you must give it to Sister Anoush. Tell her of me; tell her I’ve sent you. Tell her ‘the worm is no more.’ She will help you in ways beyond what the mere value of this gold could ever do.”