“Wil, look.”
The young man followed her finger as she pointed, and they all strained to see an oddly shaped object lit by a dusted shaft of waning light.
“Follow me,” said Wil. He turned slightly and led the column to a pole standing a mere rod away from another one. Curious, the company gathered around them each as Pieter dismounted and walked slowly forward. The poles were positioned to form a gateway of sorts. They were the first of two rows that ran parallel to each other along a narrowing path that disappeared into the forest ahead.
Each pole was carved with symbols that Pieter quickly recognized. “Look, an altar with two cherubim—the Ark of the Covenant. It means a place where God is present. And on this one, a doorpost and lintel—God’s protection in the Passover.”
Intrigued, Pieter hurried ahead and studied more carvings. “There, see. Three nails—the symbol of Christ’s suffering. And here, a human foot—the sign of humility and human servitude.”
“How so?” asked Otto.
“We walk through the dust of the earth,” answered Pieter. He led Wil’s column deeper into a darkening wood. The farther they went, the narrower the path became until the travelers began to feel cramped by the trees now rising close on either side. Pieter’s attention was fixed on the symbols. He strained to see them. “There is the ox, the sign of strength, patience, and sacrifice. There the Trinity’s trefoil, and there, ha! The beehive of St. Chrysostom! He was an eloquent preacher in the early church. It is said that when he was born, a swarm of bees flew from his mouth!”
On one pole he found the double-blade axe of St. Cyprian; on another, the swastika; on another, the stork of the annunciation; on yet another, the winged lion. He finally came to a carving of his beloved Celtic cross. “I am astonished. Who ever made these knows much about the faith.” He looked about at his fellows, who were growing more concerned about their whereabouts. They had walked into the bowels of a darkening wood where the trees now tilted over them. They felt as though they were being drawn into a haunting snare.
Solomon suddenly lifted his snout. He whined and blinked, then raised his nose yet higher.
“Someone is watching,” whispered Maria.
Friederich nodded. “I know.”
The company stood perfectly still. They peered into a forest now nearly blackened by the setting of the sun. Wil looked about anxiously. “We needs make a fire—now. Otto and Helmut, gather tinder. Friederich and Tomas, find some small logs. Alwin, find your flint.”
“Ja.” The knight fumbled through his side bag, while others reached carefully to either margin of the path, feeling for kindling and broken sticks. In a few moments, a tiny flame was growing in a small pile of dead leaves and twigs.
A deep voice sounded from behind. “Who goes there?”
The company chilled. None spoke, and none moved save Solomon, who curled his lips and snarled. The pilgrims peered into the darkness.
“I say, who goes?” The voice was low and menacing and moving closer.
Alwin and Heinrich drew their swords, Wil his dagger. Maria and the women felt their way to the center of their comrades as Pieter held his dog close.
“We are armed,” said Wil threateningly. “Show yourself.”
Another voice roared from ahead. “Armed? If you could see, you’d laugh at yourselves.”
The pilgrims strained to see into the inky curtain surrounding them. Their fire crackled a bit, casting a little yellow light at their feet.
“Now, put your swords away,” ordered the first voice. A small, barely flickering torch rose from the ground, lifted by an unseen hand. It moved through the air as though it were floating on its own. It rocked toward the terrified pilgrims in long, sweeping arcs until it rose to expose the face of a man. The trembling company could barely see more than patches of the man’s face, but judging by the height of the torch, they knew they were being confronted by a giant.
The second man now drew close with a flickering faggot of his own. He, too, appeared to be a giant. “Do as my brother says. Put your swords away.”
With one giant in front and one in the rear, the trapped travelers had nowhere to escape except into the coal-black mysteries of the forest. They sheathed their swords, and Alwin said bravely, “We have put our weapons away, sirs. Now, can you help us? We are pilgrims.”
“Ah, so it is you,” came the strange answer.
The company murmured.
“Have you been following us?” asked Wil.
“No.”
“Then how do you know us?”
“Our birds led you here. It seems castaways and pilgrims are want to follow them.”