Pilgrims of Promise(183)

Wil smiled and nodded.

“Eh?”

“Ja, Pieter, so we shall.”

Relieved, Pieter nodded and turned his eyes toward the wide horizon. In the purpled morning sky, the last stair of the night could be seen failing in the west. “Good,” he said in a whisper. “Now, look there.” He pointed to the star. “We shall follow it, my son. See how it sinks into the horizon? Ja, lad, it is filling your new home with its light.”

Wil smiled and looked at his friend sitting slump shouldered and frail beside him. He wrapped an arm around the feeble fellow. Fighting the lump filling his throat, he said tenderly, “I love you, Pieter. Thank you for all you’ve done for us. May … may heaven give you rest.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I… I do have one more thing to ask of you.”

“Aye, lad?” Pieter brightened a little.

Wil stood and fought for the words. His chin quivered as he said, “Please … please tell Karl I love him … I miss him so—”

Pieter moaned faintly, pulled himself to his feet, only to fall forward into Wil’s heaving chest. “Oh, my son. Aye, aye … a thousand times aye.”

The two faced one another, neither speaking, neither moving. And in that brief envelopment of master and student, that embrace of comrades, that enfolding of Christian brothers, they shared the warm juncture of past and future, if only for a fleeting time.

At last, Pieter reached for his staff and held it in his two hands. “Do you remember, Wil?”

“I do.”

Pieter smiled and sat down once more. “Ah, good Georg. He found this for me along the way. He chose it for me, and with it I did shepherd my little flock as best I could. I pray God forgives my failings, for they were many.” He sighed and then looked evenly at Wil. He kissed his staff, prayed silently over it, and then presented it to his young friend. “Serve them well, my son. For the task now falls to you. To whom much is given, much is expected.’ Lead them by serving them. It is the way of wisdom.”

The priest released his staff into Wil’s strong grip slowly, even reluctantly. He fixed his eyes on the trusted crook, and when he abandoned his touch, he sighed. “Your sufferings have set you free, lad. But hear this, too: to live freely, learn to live for something greater than yourself.”

He struggled to stand and laid both of his hands on Wil’s shoulders. “Draw from the past, my son; it is a deep well of wisdom. Keep an eye on the future, for there lies hope. But do not fail to live for today, for it is what binds wisdom and hope together.”





After the morning’s meal, Horst called Wil and the other men to his office, where he delivered a series of instructions. “You’ve a journey of two and a half days. Follow the roadway northwest from here for about a full day. You’ll come to an intersection of roads by a large brick millhouse, and there you will bear straight westward.

“That road will take you almost to the Weser. At a pilgrims’ chappelle, it turns directly south toward Bremen and to the ferries to Stedingerland.”

Alwin shook his head. “We wish to cross at a ford. The city is dangerous for us.”

“Well, I warn you, you need have a care if you do. I am not sure which is more perilous, the provost of Bremen or the shifting silt of the Weser.”

“We will ford at low tide,” answered Wil.

The merchant furrowed his brow but yielded. “I am told the place to cross is directly west of the road’s bend. It is a place called Blumenthal, the valley of flowers.”

A chill ran up Heinrich’s spine. Blumenthal! Oh, Emma, he thought.

“Now, this,” continued Horst. He handed Wil a bag heavy with gold. “You’ll not say no. Share it as need requires. It is enough to buy a good start for you all.”

Astonished, the pilgrims stared at the leather pouch. “But—”

“But nothing. I’ll replace it with higher rates for the bishop!” The man laughed. “It is not a matter of discussion. And here. I’ve this as well.” Horst handed each of the men, including Tomas, a square letter with a wax seal affixed to it. “It was good that the storm threatened yesterday, for my lawyer had a thought… for once! We hired Lord Ohrsbach’s secretary to make passports for each of you. They declare you as freemen, by name. If any should challenge you, it will serve in court.”

The pilgrims could not speak. They stared at the letters in disbelief. Horst looked at Friederich and continued. “Little fellow, I took the liberty to name you as the son of Alwin.”

The boy grinned at the surprised knight. Horst then laid a hand on Otto’s shoulder. “And you, stoutheart. You’d be of age soon enough, but I’ve given you to Alwin as well.”