Pieter leaned forward. “Ja? Go on.”
“Within a week of your coming we learned of troubles in Genoa. One of the brothers spoke with a merchant at the dock in Camogli. It seems a group of crusaders, following a youth named Paul, I believe, did quite a thing in the city. They robbed rich and poor, set fire to a stable, and are accused of killing a carter and an old woman.”
Pieter groaned. “Ach, mein Gott! I knew it!”
“The merchant’s story is confirmed by our lemon trader. He tells us that a dozen children were captured and hanged. The rest fled into the countryside and are being hunted. The roads north have been scoured, as well as those to the south. I do not know any more than this, but you, Father, must have a care.”
Pieter took a deep breath and nodded. He thought carefully, then concluded his Maria still needed him. “Thank you, brother. Can you tell me if we are safe here?”
The monks exchanged glances once more. Stefano spoke. “We have kept a guard at the path, and we have watched the waters each day. None of our brothers has spoken a word of you to any, and none of our traders has come. If a search is made, well need to hide everyone and quickly, but we’ve a plan for that as well.”
Petroclus shook his head. “Si, but I believe the search will soon be over—if it is not already. The news we bring is a fortnight past. Our brothers have been to Camogli just days ago, and all was quiet. We tell you this so you are mindful of the road.”
Pieter nodded.
“But,” Petroclus said, “we’ve something for you that might mask your past appearance.”
Stefano hurried away and returned with a fresh black robe draped over his forearms. With a respectful bow he presented Pieter with it. “You, too, Father, have survived a trying season. You should don this robe as a symbol of a new beginning.”
Pieter took the garment and held it in front of him. It was made of finely loomed wool with an ample hooded cowl, a braided leather belt, and pockets sewn within. He looked at his own tattered robe and sighed. It had served him well, and he suddenly hated to part with it.
“I know, Father,” smiled Stefano. “It has become a friend to you.”
The priest nodded. “This tattered thing has kept me warm for longer than I know. It was a gift from poor peasants.”
“My friend, I suggest you part with it before it parts with you inside it!” laughed Petroclus.
“Indeed! Then, so be it! Ha! A new robe—”
“And these,” interrupted a monk, hurrying forward. He handed Pieter a pair of heavy leather shoes made from ox hide and stitched with strong cord.
The priest was astonished. “These are worth much!”
“You are worth more,” added Petroclus. “These are our gifts to a brother who has suffered in the service of others. It is a calling that ought not to go unnoticed.”
Embarrassed but delighted, old Pieter stripped away his old garments and stood for a moment adorned only by the wooden cross hanging around his neck. The monks abruptly turned away—they were more accustomed to the beauty of their inlet than the sight of wrinkled Pieter! “Ah, your pardon!” laughed the old man. “You should not be punished for your kindness!” He quickly dressed and danced about, only to be handed a new blanket as well. But when the cobbler offered him a new satchel, he declined politely. “Brother, this old bag has carried m’most precious things for much of m’life. It is not pretty, but neither am I. It is worn thin, like me, but not through. With sincere thanks, I choose to keep m’own.”
The monks and the old priest embraced for the last time, each praying a blessing on the other. Pieter then returned to his children and summoned Otto and Heinz to his side. The two boys had been presented satchels as well as blankets and heavy shoes. They were delighted to feel so good again, and they stood by Pieter’s side filled with enthusiasm.
Heinrich counseled with the old man for a brief time, reviewing the plan and the route to be taken. Pieter whispered the news of Genoa to the man and urged him not to tell the others. When finished, the baker embraced his wiry old friend, then bent to pet Solomon. “Until Arona, then,” he said. “God go with all of you and … and may little Maria be spared.”
Pieter smiled. He knew how difficult it was for any man in Heinrich’s place to see the child and not the sin. “Take good care of these, and I pray you find peace with your son.” With that Pieter hurried to Wil’s side and knelt by his litter. The young man was clear eyed and spoke with hopeful confidence. “Give Maria her cross, and tell her I am coming soon.”
Pieter took the girl’s wooden cross in his hand and remembered all it had endured. “Ja, my son. It shall be the herald of your coming.”