Pilgrims of Promise(15)

Puzzled but grateful, Paul received the coin and closed his fingers around it tightly. He looked into Heinrich’s face with sincere gratitude and nodded.

Each camp reviewed its particular plan one final time. For Paul, the strategy of the night’s robbery was complicated and perilous. He had decided to send seven groups of five through the gates along the northern arc of the city wall, the rest in trios through the carefully guarded southern gates. He had assigned most to the neighborhoods of the wealthy, though his group was intending to pilfer the Commenda—the hospice for travelers en route to Palestine. After the raid, they’d make their way quickly southward in hopes of eventually gaining an audience with the pope in his Lateran Palace.

Meanwhile, Pieter’s captains checked their commands carefully to be sure all were accounted for and what few possessions they had were not forgotten. Frieda changed Wil’s bandages before others tied the young man securely to his litter. Pieter prayed for his new flock, then for Paul’s, pleading in grave tones for the safety of both and a happy end to their suffering.

Then, as the bells of compline prayers began to echo over the rooftops of Genoa, the two bands of crusaders bade their reluctant farewell. With tears, both companies embraced and wished one another Godspeed. They now suffered that painful moment when friendships lose their breath to become mere memories, when the sharing of life ends and reminiscing begins. For these veterans of hardship, purposes were no longer held in common, and new paths would lead them to different places. So while one was yet called “crusader,” the other would now be called “pilgrim.” And with that simple change in title, that subtle shift in name, destinies would be forever divided. They would never meet again.





Night fell quickly as Wil’s company hurried away from Genoa. As fearsome as the darkness was, however, it did not quench the relief felt by leaving the unfriendly city behind.

The road was narrow but remarkably free from ruts. It had been cut through the mountains by the Roman legions centuries before and followed the arching Ligurian coastline from Genoa to all parts south. The forty pilgrims could not see it, but just two rods beyond the road’s shoulder were steep slopes and stark cliffs dropping to the rock-edged sea. It was enough that they could hear the menacing rumbling far below.

Pieter had not yet disclosed his destination to any but Heinrich. He had been nagged by a sense of watching eyes since he had spotted the hooded figures in the shadows the night prior. He had felt them while begging in Genoa and said nothing; he had felt them upon his return. He had felt them again as the camps divided and felt them even now, deep in the darkness and more than a league from the city. Consequently, he had been reluctant to share his plan out loud or to even pass it secretly among the many wagging tongues of his flock. Spies? Highwaymen? Spirits? I know not, but I sense they are very real! he said to himself.

At long last, however, it was necessary to rest, if only briefly. Heinrich, Otto, Rudolf, and Helmut had been carrying Wil’s litter since they had left camp, and their arms ached. Wil had remained awake through most of the journey, doing his best not to reveal the pain each stumbling foot brought to his wounded body. The smallest children were exhausted, though not a single one complained.

The left shoulder of the roadway was narrow and etched tightly into the steep, pine-covered mountains rising sharply alongside it. Pieter was now anxious, for being bordered on one side by the mountain and the other by sea-cliffs made his company vulnerable to any pursuit by Genoese men-at-arms. Fearing that the wrath of the podesta might have already been kindled by Paul’s ill-timed raid, he counseled Heinrich to hurry the travelers along. “We must find rest away from the road. Pray we find a break in this eternal wall of mountains!”

“How far have we come?”

Pieter answered in a whisper. “From camp I reckoned us to be about five or six leagues away. With Wil and the condition of the children, I fear we’ll do little more than two leagues a day. We need to find refuge off the road and travel only by night.”

Heinrich nodded and returned to Wil’s litter. He put a firm hand on its handle. “Up, lads,” he said. “We’ve a bit farther to go.”

The company stumbled along in the darkness as a cool mist added yet more misery. Unseen clouds then released gentle showers of rain. It was another hour before Pieter finally found a wide clearing to his left. Hoping to have found a pathway of sorts, he fumbled through wet pine boughs and tripped along rocks as he followed a ravine away from the road. “Come, children!” he urged.

Stumbling and falling, they pressed their way deeper into a dripping blackness that finally blinded them. “Enough!” cried Heinrich from the middle of the column. “Pieter, enough. We’ve nearly dropped Wil a dozen times, and none can see.”