Wil chilled. “Do you know their fate?”
“Some were hanged … maybe most.”
Wil shook his head. “And why did you not tell us before this?”
Stefano shrugged. “We wanted you to delight in a deep rest before your next trials. We’ve kept sentries deep in the mountain trail since then and have kept a sharp eye on the bay. We’ve seen or heard nothing since, so we are fairly certain the search is long since over. Nevertheless, you should be wary. The Genoese are spiteful, vengeful people.
“Now, a few more things. We have been approached by a number of boys and girls who would like to stay. Most tell us they were cast away from their homes or had severe lives in their villages. Others seem moved by pious devotion.”
“How many?”
“Several. We’ve not taken a final count, but it seems nearly all the girls and about half the boys.”
Wil stood and began to pace, deep in thought. “Can you take proper care of them?”
Stefano smiled to himself. A true leader, he thought. “Ja, young sir. We’ve need of more hands and can give them a good life until they know God’s will for themselves. The boys would remain here; we’ve already received permission from our abbot in residence near Savona. We dispatched a messenger after Martinmas in anticipation of this question. Seems the abbot believes well soon have a prior to rule us. He’s been granted some holdings from several benefactors in Milan and has visions of San Fruttuoso blossoming into much more than it is now.”
Wil nodded. “I like it as it is. So what of the girls?”
Stefano brightened. “Ah, I have especially good news for the girls! It seems a new community is to be established near Assisi, one begun by a woman named Clare who’s been given the blessing of the bishop. She was a wealthy lord’s daughter, drawn to the message of Brother Francis—of whom we’ve heard much—and now given to the freedom of poverty. Her holiness has attracted many others who wish to shed the weight of their comforts for the liberty of service.
“We’ve learned of a group of seven ladies from Genoa who will be making their pilgrimage on the feast of the Assumption. A messenger has made secret communication with them, and they have willingly agreed to accept the girls who wish to join them.”
“You know of this Assisi?” asked Wil.
“I once traveled there, about six years ago on my pilgrimage to Rome. It is a marvelous place—a wide valley of olives and rose gardens. Marvelous. However, we are told the community would probably begin in San Damiano, where Clare is at present. I’ve ne’er been there, but I would think your friends would have a good life wherever these women go.”
Wil nodded. “I must trust you in this. Has the order a name?”
“It is no formal order yet, at least not that we’ve been told. Their desire has been approved by Brother Francis of Assisi, however, and some now call themselves the Poor Clares. I would expect the pope’s blessing to be granted in due time.”
“Did you speak to them about all this?”
Stefano shook his head. “Not without the permission of yourself and Herr Heinrich.”
Wil sighed. The vineyard was terraced into the mountain’s breast, and from that vantage one could see the cloister below. The young man turned his face toward the youthful, gangly bodies of his comrades, and he watched them frolic and play under the Sabbath sun.
“It is like paradise here,” he said. “The air smells sweet, the water is clean and warm. The sky is usually blue, and at night it is filled with stars.” He faced Stefano. “Are you at risk of pirates?”
“We’ve none for years. The Venetians swept most of them from the eastern sea and the Genoese from these parts. The times they did come, we spilled their blood ourselves.”
“You’ll teach the boys to fight?”
“Aye, but more to pray.”
Wil nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve no right to hold them. Seems a good thing for them to stay. Have you talked to my … my father?”
“I have. He agrees with you.”
Wil said nothing for a moment, then mumbled, “You think me wrong and stiff necked toward him.”
“No man can force another to forgive. Your father has admitted his failings. I’ve heard you say that he has clearly confessed to you the great loss he caused your family. You said he was particular in his confession. He can do no more.”
The young man looked away. “When I see him shuffling about, he seems old to me. Sometimes I feel pity for him, but… but…”
“He does not want your pity, my son.”
Wil stared at the sky, then at the palms. It was early April, and all the world felt fresh. Easter was fast coming, and he thought of new beginnings. “I suppose I am no better than he, brother. I know this in my mind. And Pieter reminds me that my hard heart may be the greatest sin of all. These things I know, yet I cannot say the words to him.”