Now ready, the entire company—including Solomon—made a quick descent to the village of Münster and delivered Paulus to its helpful priest for safekeeping. They then hurried along a circuitous route that took them crosscountry to the far side of Oberbrechen and through the dangerous holdings of the Templars bordering Villmar’s manorlands. It was full light as they turned onto the road that led them north through sleepy Niederbrechen and beyond. Finally, at the bells of terce, the anxious company of eleven joined others now crossing the drawbridge into Runkel’s brownstone castle.
The pilgrims funneled across the plank bridge, then emerged on the other side to find their positions according to plan. Wilda, bearing the valued parchment, withdrew to the shadows of a shed, where she climbed atop a cart to keep a sharp eye on the bailey. From here she would direct the movement of her friends as needed.
Katharina had already spotted the prior’s monstrous guard. He was a burly young man with long, straight, red hair. He was dressed in chain mail and a sleeveless gray robe. The man regularly looked in the direction of several soldiers standing nearby. The woman did not fail to notice. She swallowed and closed her eyes, then bravely walked forward to present herself as the man’s hostage.
Otto and Tomas took their places at the witness stall. Tucked deeply within their hoods, they waited here for the bailiffs announcement of Wil’s name. They were understandably anxious. Both were about to perjure themselves in a capital offense. More than that, if they were spotted by Weyer’s reeve—who was sure to come—they could be arrested as fugitives from the manor to which they were bound.
Sweating profusely, Benedetto was strolling about to serve as a potential distraction. He seemed always able to turn heads in his direction with a clever rhyme or a bawdy song. The poor little fellow was so nervous, however, that he could barely speak, let alone sing. He was bounced to and fro among the milling folk like a child’s toy!
Helmut was hidden in the shadows of a smith’s shed. As instructed, he had brought Emmanuel with him. He was not the archer Wil was, but the lad had practiced from time to time on the journey north. In the last two days, he had done little else. He now reckoned his range to the judge’s bench and then to the gallows. He licked his lips nervously and looked for Alwin.
Near the entrance to the dungeon, Frieda adjusted Maria’s little gown and fixed the flowers in her hair with trembling fingers. She then smoothed the wrinkles from her own gown and wiped the dust from her shoes. She picked up her basket and hung it on her elbow, then nodded to Pieter. The old man drew a deep breath, summoned his waning pluck, and led the two females directly to the jailer. “Good sir,” began Pieter, “I am the priest of these two damsels. One is the wife of an accused and the other his sister. Might I beg thy Christian charity and humbly ask their permission to see him one last time on this earth?”
The guard laughed. “I’ve no time for this. Begone!”
Frieda smiled flirtatiously. She moved closer and lifted the towel from her basket. Underneath was a loaf of bread with a gold coin sticking into it. “A strong man like you must be hungry?”
The jailer gawked at the coin, then looked about. He turned a hard eye on the three standing before him. “Who’s yer husband?”
“Wilhelm of Weyer—”
“The yellow-haired devil? He’s a hot-tempered, arrogant son of Hades! He bit one of m’guards. He’ll swing and so shall his father.”
Frieda’s jaw clenched. Maria, however, smiled innocently. “Sir,” she chirped, “could we see them both?”
The soldier stared at the imp beneath him. He was a giant of a man, dressed in heavy chain mail and holding a lance. The little girl seemed like a tender flower, too delicate to harm—even for a hardened warrior as himself. He chuckled at her sleeves hanging below her unseen hands, and he thought of his own daughter in a village not far away. “Well, I’m not to do this.” He took Frieda’s bread and searched her basket. He then reached out to search her body for weapons and she recoiled sharply. “Fair enough, wench. Then you stay out. I’ll take this little one to them for a quick hug and a good-bye. You two stay here.”
Maria smiled and waved to Frieda and Pieter as she disappeared into the dank bowels of Runkel’s dungeon. The soldier carried a torch high overhead and cursed at the prisoners now pleading for mercy. The pair turned a corner, and the man handed a guard his torch as he reached for his key. Unlocking the cell door, he nudged Maria inside. “Now, be quick about it.”
Heinrich and Wil cried out from the shadows as they recognized little Maria’s face in the flickering torchlight. Maria ran to Wil first and wrapped her arm around him. The young man wept for joy as he bent to kiss his sister on the cheek. “Do not be afraid, Wil,” Maria whispered into his ear. “We’ve cause to hope. You must be ready. I love you.”