Pilgrims of Promise(41)
“Si?” answered Stefano.
The woman nodded, then pointed to the Germans. “C’ é un ragazzo nel prigione, ragazzo come quelli.”
Brother Stefano thanked the woman and turned to Heinrich. “She says a youth like these is in the prison.”
“Probably a crusader,” blurted Frieda.
“I fear for any held in Dragonara’s dungeon,” murmured Stefano. All heads turned toward the grim castle perched on the sea cliffs to their left. The fortress was dark and foreboding, even on a sunny spring day such as this. Heavy shadows filled hollow chambers, and it faced the sea as though it were daring the deep waters to rise against it. Workmen could be seen crawling from scaffold to plank with heavy ropes and mortar. Heaps of quarried stone lay piled at the fortress’s feet, waiting to be added like so many new scales on the ribs of this Castle of the Dragonslayer.
Frieda shuddered and whispered to Helmut, “No good thing is in that place.”
“What do we do about it?” asked Helmut.
“We cannot leave him,” said Rudolf.
Heinrich had been thinking. He whispered to Wil and the two nodded. “Brother Stefano, could you stay here with the others? Wil and I have a plan.”
Frieda stepped forward. “If you two are going to the castle, you’d best take us all.”
“Nay!” snapped Wil. “One look at you and you’ll be kept as their toy till the end of time. Helmut and Rudolf needs stay by you until we come back.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then hurry on your way.”
The words stung and the girl winced. His answer suggested no more interest in her welfare than for that of some stray cat. “Hurry on my way?” she retorted. “That’s all? Just hurry along and have a life?”
Heinrich’s lips twitched upward just a bit. My son, he thought, has received little training in the curious ways of a woman! “He only meant you ought to ‘hurry’ on your way,” the baker quickly said. “He fears for your safety.”
Wil stared blankly at the two. He could not imagine why the girl’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were flashing fire.
Helmut had paid little attention to the exchange. “What advantage is two of you?” he asked.
“What?” Wil’s mind had been elsewhere.
“Why the two of you? It seems we ought to put only one at risk. Wil’s going gains us nothing.”
Heinrich quickly agreed. “Well said. Wil, I’ll go m’self. I’ve some experience in these things.” He removed his satchel and hung a small pouch on his belt.
Wil opened his mouth to protest, but the steely gaze of Frieda held his tongue. He nodded.
Stefano interrupted. “Surely, Heinrich, I should come. The robes of a monk oft have more power than a sword.”
Heinrich hesitated, then Wil nodded, and in moments Heinrich and Brother Stefano were crossing the bridge leading to the half-built castle. The monk took a deep breath. “So, baker, fortes fortuna adiuvat!”
“What?”
“Fortune favors the brave.”
Heinrich nodded. He surely hoped so.
Chapter Seven
A SON REMEMBERED, A SISTER FOUND
The baker and the monk approached the castle gate.
“Ho there,” said Heinrich firmly.
“Si?”
The one-eyed man reached into the pouch and retrieved five silver pennies. “Bambino,” he said. “The boy in the prison.”
The guard stared at the coins. “Bambino?”
“Si,” answered the baker. “Bambino, prigione.”
The guard nodded, now very much awake. He looked at Heinrich, then the pennies and then at the bulging coin pouch on the man’s belt. He turned a sheepish face toward the silent monk and grunted. He ran down a corridor only to return with two others, one apparently the castellan.
The officer addressed Heinrich stiffly. When he finished, the baker simply held out his hand and said once more, “Bambino, prigione.”
The castellan sneered at the pittance being offered.
That, Heinrich understood. He nodded and reached slowly into the pouch to pinch a few more pennies. He held out seven.
The officer shook his head, and his comrade drew a dagger. Heinrich spat and quickly drew his sword, dropping the silver to the stone floor. To everyone’s surprise, the monk then pulled a short-sword from within his robe. With unnerving confidence, the baker snarled, “Bambino!”
The castellan was fairly certain his men could dispatch the foreign barbarian, but at what cost? The man looked like a veteran of many battles. His patched eye and stump were no doubt losses for which others had paid dearly. But what would they do with the meddling monk? Perhaps the pouch for the prisoner was the easier way. He pointed at Heinrich’s belt with the point of his sword. “Bambino.”