“Would that he might cross with us to Stedingerland,” Heinrich said worriedly. Stedingerland, he thought. What awaits us there? Will Cornelis welcome us, or will he fear my return? Will I put them in peril once again, or has enough time now passed?
Melancholy hung heavily over the pilgrims, as did fear. They had seen no hint of the Templars since Renwick, but the reputation of these warrior-monks was such that the company remained uneasy. It would not have surprised most of them if the six riders had fallen upon them in their sleep. They looked about the growing darkness with unease. Sensing their nagging fears, Alwin spoke. “I see dread on your faces. I know you still fear the Templars, but I have prayed hard on the matter. Can you not feel the shield of an unseen hand about us?”
A few heads nodded.
“Indeed. We ought not let fear rule us. I believe with all my heart that the riders are long since gone away. I can feel us being drawn into a strong current of another’s will. I truly doubt that six riders will be able to draw us away. It is the end of it; let it leave your minds.” The company murmured, then an ease warmed them. Soon they drifted to their beds, where they closed their eyes in peace.
Early morning songbirds awakened the wayfarers, and Helmut and Wil conversed softly over a morning fare of bread and wine. “My father is from Wümme in the lands of Lord Ohrsbach. It’s about one day’s easy journey. As you can see, the land is flat here—flat like pan-bread.”
Wil looked through the mist. The morning’s light brought a very different landscape from what any of them had expected. Wide grasslands spread before them as well as the stubble of harvested fields. The soil was sandy, and the trees were a mixture of pines and hardwoods.
“Well, it ought to make a smooth ride for Pieter,” Wil said.
The day passed without incident, and it was soon after the bells of vespers that the company rounded a bend and Helmut pointed gleefully. “There!” he cried. “My village!” Wil’s column followed the happy lad as he dashed along a neat grid of streets and byways, past the village church, its bakery, a row of shops, some stables, and a fishpond. At last, they stopped.
Panting, Helmut smiled. “I am home.” He turned to Wil and to his fellows with wet eyes. “I am home!” he cried. “God be praised! He has brought me home.”
The lad sprinted away from his comrades to the door of his father’s large redbrick house. He rapped loudly on the heavy oak, and in moments the door was opened by a servant who cried happily at the sight of the young man and quickly pulled him inside.
Wil led the company to the doorway, where they waited respectfully. They could hear Helmut’s mother weeping joyfully and the booming voice of his father. Wil smiled at Frieda, and the whole group laughed as they heard Helmut’s mother scold him for his tangled hair and unkempt garb.
Then, beaming, the happy lad burst from the doorway and cried for his fellows. Pieter was lifted from Paulus and helped into the hall, where they were all greeted with great enthusiasm. Helmut introduced his father as Horst Emilson von Billungsmarch. “I am a trader of whatever one might buy,” he laughed. He extended his hand to each of the men and then bowed to the women. “My wife, Margot, and I owe you more than what this world might offer. You have brought back to us our only true treasure … our Helmut.”
Servants were immediately ordered to carry Pieter to a soft bed. Others were sent outside to remove Paulus to the stable, and Solomon was invited to play about the house with the merchant’s hounds.
“Now,” announced Horst, “you all may remain here as long as you like. I will summon the surgeon and a priest for the old fellow.”
Wil spoke for the others as he expressed his gratitude and insisted they would not remain very long. “Our friend, Father Pieter, will soon die. It is his wish that he would see us to our final home.”
Horst lifted his finger. “Please, young sir, I should like to hear all about it at the table. You look hungry, and, I must confess, you smell bad.”
The group giggled.
“Indeed,” blurted Margot. “Look at you, Helmut!”
Horst ordered his cook to prepare a light supper, while he sent the company to the rear of the house where a bewildered washwoman had been ordered to draw water for eleven baths. After some griping and guffaws, the pilgrims faced the town’s barber, who clipped and trimmed the guests with great skill. Now gathered along Horst’s table, they gawked at one another in surprise. Heinrich and Alwin had kept their beards, but they had been shortened to look less “barbaric.” Both the men’s and the lads’ hair was trimmed neatly, though left the length that a freeman’s should be.