Pilgrims of Promise(40)

Without a moment’s hesitation, Frieda stepped forward. She moved through her companions gracefully, touching and kissing many until she emerged to walk boldly to Wil’s side. The girl was dressed in a hooded black gown that fell to her feet. She walked in comfortable shoes not unlike Wil’s. She had also been given a new satchel filled for the journey, and across her back was tied a blanket. In her belt she had placed a bouquet of springtime flowers, and her braids were tied with thin green vines.

Next came fifteen-year-old Helmut, the lad from the region of Bremen in the far north of the German empire. His hair had been trimmed, and his narrow face had filled a little. He had followed Wil for many miles and would follow him again. Rudolf of Liestal was the next to step forward. Broad shouldered and kindly, hardworking like his parents in the mountains so far away, he was ready to make his way home.

Thirty-four other pairs of feet began to rock. Eyes darted about and a dull murmur spread. Wil was surprised. He thought at least four or five others were coming. “Do any others wish to join us?”

The group fell silent, many now looking downward.

“Do not be ashamed!” said Wil. “If you have chosen to stay, you have chosen wisely. I wish you the peace of God.” He cast a quick look at Ava, the feisty little redhead. He thought she would surely have joined them.

The girl smiled and winked. “I like the sunshine,” she quipped.

Wil laughed—they all laughed. Then, with no more ceremony but many tears, those few who were leaving embraced those many who had chosen to remain. Heartfelt thanks were offered to the good monks of San Fruttuoso, and their journey was begun.





Brother Stefano helped row the boat carrying the five pilgrims away from their refuge. It was a quiet journey under a clearing sky that turned the waters of the bay deep blue. Light morning breezes nudged the curling mists away, and Wil’s small company stared silently at the green mountains now emerging into full view. The heat of the sun, the rhythmic glide of the boat, and the melodic cries of seabirds left most drifting toward sleep. Wil imagined Pieter with Maria. He’d have been there with her all this winter past, he mused. Soon she’ll pick him springtime flowers by the bushel He took a deep breath, then groaned inwardly as the unbidden thought came. Unless the monks buried her.

As the craft moved from the bay and into the open sea, however, all began to stir. The breezes that had chased the mists had also nudged the water into easy swells. The small boat now dipped and rose lightly, occasionally plowing through a disappearing furrow that splashed the crew with a refreshing spray.

It was all too soon for Heinrich when the oarsmen pulled their final stroke and slid the craft against the pebbly shoreline of Camogli’s cove. Most of the village’s fishermen were far into the sea, having left a few old men behind to mend nets and pitch some leaky hulls. The baker noticed pairs of village women ambling along the brick streets. Each had one elbow wrapped round a friend’s while the other cradled a basket filled with bread or cheese. He smiled and waved politely at an old woman who returned his gesture with a toothless grin.

“From here you know your way?” asked Stefano.

“Ja,” answered Heinrich. “The lad and I reviewed the route with Pieter before he left, and you agreed it to be a good one.”

The monk nodded. “At least as far as Arona. From there, you need pray to God.” He smiled.

Wil joined the pair. “After Arona we’ll find no monasteries until the far side of the mountains.”

“They are there for those who seek them,” answered Stefano.

“Well, methinks I should have sought them on our journey south when I’d so many little souls to tend. Pieter suggested it at camp a few times, but he said he knew of very few close to our route, especially on our mountain trails. And I refused to stray from the quickest route … we all thought we were too far behind the others.”

“Perhaps you need to heed the words of the old man more. We brothers are here to serve others as a place of refuge in a dangerous world.”

“Well, I’d reasons to not trust most monks in those times.” He cast a quick glance at his father. “So I gave the idea little thought.”

“Some brothers you should not trust. When I was a novice, I caught a monk in a grievous act. I could not understand. His piety and devotion were an inspiration to all of us. My dean told me this: he said, ‘Where the light is brightest, the shadows are darkest.’ Remember that, lad.”

A weathered old woman suddenly appeared at Stefano’s side and pointed to the castle. “C’ é un ragazzo nel prigione!”