Pilgrims of Promise(159)

“Perhaps,” answered Katharina. “But we should get out of this place.”

The group composed themselves and walked slowly through the gate, past two sleeping guards and toward a stand of massive trees near the water’s edge. Poor Pieter’s legs were wobbling again. The surge of anger had sapped another week’s worth of strength, to be sure. Solomon leaned lightly against him, instinctively serving as something of a prop for his master.

In the meanwhile, Wil’s group—including Frieda, Benedetto, and Helmut—had watched the whole event from a measured distance. Moments after the deputy arrived at the butcher’s stall, Wil made a dash to intercept him. “Sir, it seems m’grandpapa has made some trouble again.”

“Grandpapa? He dresses like a priest.”

“Aye, you understand then.”

The guard and the butcher looked at one another. “Oh,” answered the soldier. “He’s mad. Well, this man’s suffered some loss.”

“How much?”

The butcher looked over his table. “The sausages are covered with dirt.”

“So?”

“Humph. Well, I was slapped and lost some buyers in the shouting.”

Wil nodded. “Here. Take three pennies. It ought to be enough. Did he buy his meat?”

The butcher shook his head.

“Then I’ll buy what we need. Just send the guard away.”

The butcher agreed, and soon Wil’s group was searching for the old man and his companions. “They would not have gone back through the main gate,” muttered Helmut. “They’re either hiding or out another side.”

Wil agreed and looked about the town. “Helmut, go find the others and send them out the north gate. They’re probably seeking cover along the riverbanks. Tell them to look for us there.”





Chapter Twenty-five

CHANGES BY THE KISS





This place tempts me to return to my old ways like nothing else has yet done!” cried Wilda as Pieter told the butcher’s story. It was past vespers, and the group had found one another in a stand of trees beyond the town’s walls. They now sat quietly by a small fire in the welcome coolness of evening.

The sky was still blue, though darkening a little with the passing of the day. No one had come to bother them, and it seemed all was in order.

“We still have need of a few things before we leave on the morrow,” said Wil. He looked pointedly at Pieter. “We were interrupted at the market.” The group laughed softly.

“But for tonight we rest here. We’ve food enough and drink. Methinks the town has no interest in us now.”

With enough daylight remaining to enjoy a brief walk, the wayfarers broke into small groups and scattered along the riverbanks to talk or sleep or cast the net for small fish. Katharina grew melancholy as she walked alone along the bank and watched the walls of the wicked town. Recalling the butcher’s tale, she moaned, “Oh, dear children, what did they do to you?”

Seeing her roaming about the tall grass, Heinrich joined her and took her hand. “Are you well?”

Katharina leaned into him. “This world is so cruel, Heinrich. Oh, I wish it could all be as Emma’s garden once was.”

The baker nodded sadly. He spotted a cluster of red poppies and walked away briefly to pick them. “Here, my Katharina. They are nearly as lovely as you.”

My Katharina! she thought. He said “my “Katharina. The woman blushed and lifted the flowers to her nose.

“They’re not so fragrant as a rose,” Heinrich said.

She lowered her eyes shyly. “I’ve not held so wondrous a flower in all my days, “ she answered.

Benedetto’s voice was heard chirping from the camp, and the pair turned to see him standing at the fork of the rivers’ junction. He was waving for others to join him.

“Shall we see?” asked Heinrich.

Katharina nodded, and they walked briskly toward the group now encircling the minstrel and some object lying on the ground. “Look, see!” Benedetto was pointing to a flat stone bearing a weathered inscription. Tomas brushed some mud away and spat on it to make the etched words easier for Pieter to read. As the old man squinted, Frieda and Wil read it in unison.

Wo Werra und Fulda küssen, Sie Ihren Namen hüssen mussen.

Und hier erstehd durch diessen Küss—der Weser Flüss.

Where the Werra and the Fulda kiss, their names they must renounce.

And here, through this kiss, arises the River Weser.

The group stared at the old inscription and then looked at the scene around them. Indeed, here two rivers lost themselves into another. Heinrich stared at the Fulda to his left. He remembered it as sluggish and weary, running quietly through softwood meadows. But here, at his feet, it became excited; here it now churned and rolled as it lost itself in the first currents of the Weser. He turned to his right and watched the Werra flowing to its own end. It had traveled a great distance as well, only to leave itself behind in this place and become something entirely new.