Pilgrims of Promise(167)

“Why won’t you believe what you see?” scolded Frieda. “Listen to them! Watch them! We must follow.”

Wil was hesitant.

Pieter finally commented from his seat atop Paulus, “Lad, could it hurt to move into the wood for a bit? We could use a rest, methinks.”

Wil spat, then stopped. Alwin and Heinrich both nodded, and the young man yielded. “We’ll go a short distance, then rest a bit. We’ll soon see what’s about.”

The pilgrims turned away from the road and struggled up a steep slope into a forest of old trees. On they climbed as though drawn ever deeper into the shaded woodland. They finally spotted a clearing not far ahead. “There.” Wil pointed. “Up there.”

When they arrived, they found a pleasant glade of short grass and wildflowers atop the ridge. A little farther to the east lay a narrow creek bed that paralleled the highway. It was lined with such ancient trees as to block almost all the light from the forest floor. “See there, Wil?” Heinrich pointed. “It is clear of brush, and quiet. We’ve even fresh water in the stream. Why not follow it instead of the highway?”

Wil nodded. It seemed reasonable enough. The others agreed and took their rest marveling at the world surrounding them. The forest here was not like those near their villages. The woodsman’s axe had never rung in this place … not ever. Beautiful giant oaks stood proudly and boasted wide-spreading, muscular limbs. Like the skin of wise old men, their bark was etched with deep crevices. Maria spotted one with a large hole in its trunk. With a squeal she dashed away and climbed into the woody fortress. She peeked her face out from inside. “Beware!” she cried with a laugh. “I am the tree queen!”

To another side was a grove of white birch. Their bark was blotchy and shaggy, and their leaves cascaded from limbs weeping toward the earth. Nearby, huge beech trees rose to the heavens, their gray bark smooth and cool to the touch. To one side was a stand of spruce. To another, an endless host of pillared trunks stood like the straight-backed sentries of the realm of fairies.

The earth of the creek bed was soft and spongy, so when the march began again, it was easy on tired legs. For the next hours the wayfarers walked cheerfully along the easy path, enjoying the splendid sights of the woodland. Their ears were filled with the lively song of countless birds; the place was dreamlike and enchanting. It had become a very good day indeed.

The first night in the heavy forest was spent comfortably, though in the light mist of the next morning, Friederich swore that he heard spirits whispering nearby. The lad pressed the point with such passion that even Pieter began to wonder.

“We need to make our way to the highway again,” said Heinrich. “We might soon find a boat sailing northward. We’ve coins enough for passage.”

“According to the monks,” Alwin said, “the Corvey cloister near Höxter ships its goods to Bremen. It’s about a three-day journey. I say we go there and then find a vessel.”

It was a plan that was quickly approved by all, and after a quick breakfast the company began their journey again. By late morning the air turned cooler, and breezes suddenly rustled the leaves. Friederich stopped.

“Wait!” he cried. “Listen.”

The group paused and listened to the wind rattle the stale leaves of mid-August. “They’re telling us of something, but I don’t know what.” The boy was anxious.

“Move on,” groused Wil sarcastically. “They’re telling us that rain is coming!”

For the next few hours, the column snaked its way between virgin stands of timber that towered overhead and kept the darkening sky from view. By midafternoon, however, thunder clapped above the pilgrims’ green shelter.

“Come on!” shouted Wil over the din. “You’ve all heard that before.”

The earth trembled, and flashes of lightning sent bright bursts of light between the branches above. Oddly, it did not rain, and the unusual event gave everyone cause to wonder. The sky raged in such a way that it seemed the world might be coming to its end. But in the waning hours of the day, the strange storm passed, and the forest quickly brightened with slanted sunbeams that pierced the canopy like great golden lances.

Maria was walking beside Pieter and Paulus, stopping from time to time to play with Solomon. Singing to herself, she pranced toward small patches of tiny woodland flowers. She gathered a familiar bouquet and presented it to Tomas, whom she thought seemed melancholy. The lad thanked her and she danced away, gathering others as the day wore into evening.

The forest was growing dim, lit in dull streaks by the setting sun. The birds were settling in their branches, and the squirrels had stopped scampering about. Wil searched for a flat spot to spend the night but stopped when he heard Maria call to him.