Pilgrims of Promise(180)
Chapter Twenty-eight
CROWNS ALONG THE SHORES OF PROMISE
Morning came, and the travelers were once again aboard their sturdy craft. The air was damp and made the river smell all the more as rivers do: a hint of fish and standing mud. The Weser was more sluggish in this place and somewhat narrow. The captain grumbled about the dark silt banks that rose unseen from the riverbed and caused crafts such as his to ground. With a sharp eye, he tested the depths with a large pole.
Seabirds now abounded above, and many villages dotted the countryside beyond the Weser’s grassy banks. Rain showers began around noontime and continued for all that day. Despite their woolens, the pilgrims were soon soaked, and Pieter was badly chilled.
The night was spent before an ample hearth in a riverside inn, but by morning it was clear to all that Pieter was failing rapidly. The poor man awoke gray and ashen. He trembled and staggered from the inn in the sure hands of Alwin and Wil and was carried to the boat, where he was laid limply atop his bale and covered with a heavy blanket.
“He is in a grave way,” whispered Frieda. “His eyes betray him; he shall leave us soon … very soon.” Tears formed in her eyes. She looked at the man and at Maria, who was now lying close to him. “She is desperate for him,” Frieda added. “She loves him so.”
Wil could not speak. A large lump swelled within his throat, and he looked away.
The walls of Bremen finally loomed large and menacing over the riverboat’s bow. “There,” announced the captain. “The Rome of the northland!”
Indeed, Bremen was a powerful, wealthy diocesan city, endowed with its privileges from Charlemagne himself nearly four hundred years prior. From here the archbishop ruled his vast see, which encompassed the northern reaches of the German empire, the Baltic region, and Scandinavia.
Wil studied the scene alongside Helmut. “No bridge to join the two banks?”
Helmut shook his head. “My father says they’ve been planning one for years.”
The pair stared forward at the busy docks of the Weser’s east bank.
“Do they sail to the sea from here?” asked Wil.
“Not easily,” the captain answered. “The bishop is demanding better ways to get by the silt beds. Some flat-bottomed barges get through at high tide and trade with the ports at seaside.
“Now, get your people ready. We’ll dock soon,” barked the captain.
In about an hour, the riverboat’s oarsmen skillfully navigated their craft alongside a badly warped fishing boat and tossed their ropes to the dock men. With a few heaves and a gentle bump, the vessel came to rest in Bremen on Wednesday, the twenty-first day of August.
The pilgrims immediately disembarked into the city’s streets now beginning to glow in lantern light. Bremen’s wealth had attracted the best and the worst elements of the German empire as well as all manner of men from beyond. Like all cities, its air reeked of manure and human waste and was choked with the smoke of thousands of hearths burning within its cramped neighborhoods.
Alwin was glad to hide under the cover of eventide. He lifted his hood over his head and watched a small troop of the archbishop’s army march past. The men were armed with long halberds and swords. One carried a crossbow—an instrument supposedly illegal for use against Christians. They wore heavily padded leather vests and pot helmets over chain mail hoods.
“Ready for combat,” Alwin whispered to Heinrich. “The place feels tense.”
It was quickly agreed that the company would not spend the night in Bremen but rather in the relative safety of the countryside. They gathered themselves close together and positioned Pieter carefully atop Paulus. The man said nothing as they lashed his legs securely to the beast’s back, but he managed to chuckle at the antics of a bumbling beggar nearby. Heinrich took a position to one side, Tomas to the other, and the two steadied the failing man. Maria was placed with Frieda and the other women in front of Paulus and behind Wil and Helmut. Otto, Friederich, and Alwin took their places in the rear. With all in order, Wil led them quickly through the city’s streets and out its eastern gate.
Once beyond the walls, Helmut directed Wil northeastward along a flat, quiet roadway for about three leagues. Then, under an endless canopy of dazzling stars, the company made camp. The wayfarers were comfortable but were troubled on several counts. Foremost to all was Pieter. The man had been lain atop a soft bed of grass, and his head was now lying across Maria’s little lap. The girl stroked his hair and hummed lightly. They had given him more of the remedy of Renwick’s herbalist, and it had seemed to calm him. He had slept well for most of the river journey, and the past few days had been spent quietly, almost dreamily.