The court’s priest turned to Judge Hagan. “It is supposed to be cold water, my lord,” he said quietly.
The judge grunted. “Tis cooler than the air. Go on.”
The priest nodded and lifted his hands over each of the accused and cried, “May our omniscient God who did consecrate water for the remission of sins through baptism decree a rightful judgment by His mercy. If thou art guilty of the charge against thee, may the water that received thee in baptism reject thee now. If thou art not guilty, may the waters of thy baptism welcome thee into their depths.”
When he finished, the bailiff cried, “Now!” With a shove, each man was pushed off the bridge and fell about the height of two men into the water below. The scum blew away in the great splash, and a rolling swirl of brown water filled the punctures.
The crowd cheered and waited, and the priest prayed over the water, “I beg thee, water, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, to refuse the guilty and send him to thy surface. May nothing be employed against the discernment of truth. May no magic, no charms, nor devils’ ways conceal the holy will of our Lord Creator.”
None needed to wait very long for the water to pass judgment. Like a giant bubble rising from an abyss, Pious burst from the depths with a loud gasp. He bobbed on the surface for a moment, like a lonely cork, and then desperately tried to sink himself into the water that had rejected him. He choked and sputtered, unable to burrow his body beneath the surface for more than a brief moment. At last, Hagan signaled the guard, and the man was hauled ashore.
Wil, however, hit the water with the vision of his bride in his mind’s eye. He calmly blew the air from his lungs and let his body drift peacefully to the bottom. There, in those murky waters, it was still and quiet. He thought of Frieda’s gentle touch, of their happy days in San Fruttuoso. He felt dreamy and warm, and it seemed as if time had taken pause until his arms were suddenly hoisted behind him. He was pulled to the surface, and when his face broke into the sunshine, he opened his mouth with a loud gasp.
From atop the walls and the bridge, from either bank of the moat, the simple folk roared their approval. They clapped and applauded, and when Wil was set free, a great cheer filled all Runkel!
Still bound and dripping with the stench of the moat, the young man was led before the court now reassembling by the bench. Hagan spoke with his clerks in low tones, then to his bailiff. The bailiff ordered the pleading Pious be taken away and then pointed to Wil. “Release that man!”
Wil watched with an odd twinge of pity as the priest disappeared into the jail. What shall come of him? he wondered. His cords were then severed, and he disappeared into the crowd in search of his wife.
The day’s business was not yet finished, however. When Wil had nearly reached Frieda’s side, she hastened to meet him and led him into the shadows. “You must wait here,” she said insistently. The young woman then took her place near the bridge and searched for the steward’s secretary. There, I see him! she thought. Indeed, her eyes met the clerk’s. He glared at her from under his skullcap and gathered up his black robes and moved closer.
The courtyard was restored to order, and Judge Hagan prepared for his next case. Pieter and Maria returned to their place at the gallows, while their fellows watched anxiously from places all about the castle grounds. Finally, the name “Heinrich of Weyer” was called by the bailiff. The rumpled man stepped from the shadows with his shoulders straight and his chin up.
The crowd hissed and jeered, but the baker lifted his eye to the bright blue sky above and smiled. His son was spared, and that was all that mattered to him now. He allowed his spirit to soar far beyond the stench of Runkel Castle and the blasphemies rising from its folk.
The faithful band of Heinrich’s company once again made ready. With Wil nearby, Frieda cast a quick eye at Friederich positioned near the court’s bench. She turned her head subtly to see Wilda slip through the crowd toward her.
Wil moved carefully closer to his wife. He did not trust the secretary nor the few soldiers standing nearby. He slowly removed his dagger from within his tunic. In the shadows of his screen, Helmut fitted his arrow once again. His fingers trembled as he prepared to take aim at the judge.
Katharina stared at Heinrich blankly; she had not seen the baker for years. She looked at the patch covering his eye and fixed her gaze upon the vacant space that had once been filled with a strong arm. Her throat swelled. So broken, she thought. Oh, dear Heinrich, if I could only comfort you.
“Who accuses this man?” Judge Hagan roared. He tapped his fingers briefly when Yeoman Horst abruptly appeared from nowhere. “I do!” he cried.