Pilgrims of Promise(145)

The others of the company had seen Pious as well, and everyone was immediately on guard. Tomas and Otto shrank deeper into their hoods as the sweating oaf lumbered toward them. He was grumbling and looking about wildly.

“He’s searching for Anka,” whispered Tomas.

“Aye,” Otto answered. The lad studied the priest and then looked through the crowd at his beloved Father Pieter waiting forlornly at the gallows. Seeing both men clothed in the robes of the Church gave him pause. He knew of things a peasant boy might know: the hand of violence and the hand of mercy. But before him was more. Coming toward him was a priest of Babylon, overstuffed and haughty, boasting wealth and driven by ambition; he was the bearer of false teaching, an abuser of the law, and void of mercy.

By the gallows, however, stooped a priest of Zion, lean and battered, poor and in the service of others, ready to offer grace in the moment of death—not yet resting in his coming reward as a servant of the Light.

Father Pious grabbed a wooden tankard from some hapless wench in the crowd and slaked his thirst. Still searching for Anka, he stood pompously, his hands gripping the folds of his most expensive garment—a slate-gray linen robe embroidered with silver and gold thread. This would be his finest hour, he imagined. At last, at long last I shall be free of these cursed fools! Ah, the law, the wonders of the law!

The next to be tried was neither Wil nor Heinrich, but a young knight of Lord Heribert who had changed loyalties in battle and was captured. The questions were brief. Two accusers bore witness against the sullen fellow, and in less than a quarter hour the man was lurching at the end of the hangman’s rope above the bowed heads of Pieter and Maria. Pieter prayed for the flailing man as others cheered and laughed. The man would dance in the air for a bit longer before his soul would finally fly free.

A burly, mean-faced fellow was then charged with extorting silver from two merchants—friends of the judge. Hagan did not bother to hear testimony—matters such as these were not confined by strict rules of evidence such as were required in England. Instead, with a bark he ordered the accused to repay all monies taken plus half again as much. “And do it by St. Michael’s, or lose your right hand!”

The wool-clad peasants cramming the courtyard were drunk and demanding another hanging. Bloodlust was running high, heated, no doubt, by the scalding July sun above. They, like the judge and his court, were chafing and surly. For Wil and the others waiting their turn, such a mood was not a good thing.

During the proceedings, Alwin had slowly moved closer to Katharina. With his eyes fixed on Hann, the knight ran his fingers along the handles of the two swords hanging on his hips. If he moves to harm her, he’ll feel my steel!

Three more disputes were judged before the name “Wilhelm of Weyer” was finally called. Scattered about the castle, his anxious comrades stiffened. Helmut nervously lifted an arrow from his quiver and turned a hard eye on the judge. But it was Pious on whom he took aim.

Pieter closed his eyes and prayed until tears flowed into his beard. Maria took his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly. With a calm voice she said, “You said that God is good. I believe you.”

The old man smiled and willed himself to accept whatever the hand of Providence might present in the next few moments. Should Wil be found guilty and if no plan might save the lad, it would be he and Maria who would serve next. It would fall to them to stand close to the young man, close enough for him to see them, close enough for him to know that he would not die abandoned by those who loved him.





Chapter Twenty-three

THE ORDEAL





In the matter of Wilhelm of Weyer,” cried the court’s bailiff, “where are his accusers?”

Father Pious stepped forward. He bowed and turned toward Wil. It was as though the great boar had spotted a store of gold. His lips shined wet, and his face flushed with satisfaction. He slobbered his words, drooling with anticipation. “I do so accuse him, my lord.”

“You are?”

“I am Father Pious, priest of Oberbrechen and Weyer in the lands held by the Abbey of Villmar.”

Many in the crowd hissed.

“And who else accuses this man?”

The pilgrims held their breath once more. Their eyes flew about in terror. Would Anka step forward? Would another surprise them?

“I say once more and for the final time, who else accuses this man?”

Silence.

Pious was flustered. He had assumed Anka was milling about, and he called for her. It did not impress the court. Hagan glared at the man with utter contempt. For years, Hagan had heard the complaints leveled against the priest and his ambitious ways. “No other witnesses?”