Pilgrims of Promise(49)

In this regard, the pope did one more thing of which Wil’s company had not yet learned. Considering all crusaders as having taken holy vows by either word or implication, he decided not to release the young survivors of the Children’s Crusade from theirs. They would need to either honor their sacred duty again—perhaps at a more mature age—or pay their debt in alms.

The pope had also directed his attentions to another sort of crusade. Granting his warriors absolution if killed in combat, he commanded a gruesome campaign against the French heretics called the Cathars. Not yet concluded, it had become a horrid affair that gave many pause. Blood flowed freely through the streets and footpaths of French towns and villages as men, women, and children suffered the unmerciful steel of a wrathful Roman Church.

These distant circumstances had little present effect on the pilgrims resting in the Rocca di Arona. In time, the machinations of ruthless men would doubtless fall upon their heads as sure as soot falls from a chimney. However, it was fortunate for them that Signora Cosetta’s late husband, Signore Salito, had negotiated peace with the emerging Visconti family of Milan the year before his death. Had he not, the tangle of the larger world might have been raining arrows and bolts upon them once more.

As it was, Signora Cosetta was content to enjoy her own final years with as little disturbance as possible. She ignored the appeals for alliances with either the Rusconi family or the Sforza. A cousin in the Dé Capitanei family had managed a small concession, but it was peace the widow craved and little more. To that end she had yielded quickly to the insistent pleas of Pieter and Wil during the May Day feast. She had agreed to release Maria to their custody on the provision that the girl would not be returned to a state of bondage in “that cold village you call Weyer.”

“And,” she had added, “you may not risk the passes just yet. You shall remain here as my guests until the feast of the Ascension!”

Wil presented the news to his cheering comrades gathered on the bailey. A few more weeks to linger under the Italian sun was good cause to be happy! Heinrich, however, was not as pleased. He was anxious about returning to the uncertainties of Weyer, yet he felt compelled to return. No matter the risk, he needed to learn of his bakery and of his wife, and further delays were frustrating. In addition, the man had spent many a sleepless night pondering his legal status as either bound or free. Walking across the bailey, he approached Pieter and Wil. “Pieter, the signora insists that we swear Maria’s freedom. Yet how can Maria be free if we return to Weyer?”

“I am no lawyer, my friend, but it seems to me she is free already.”

“How so?”

“No lord has claimed her for a year and a day.”

Heinrich nodded. But it was his understanding that a man needed to be in an imperial city for that time, and he posed the point to Pieter.

The priest shook his head. “We can make the case otherwise. As I understand it, a man is free de facto, when not captured in due time.”

The baker disagreed. “Without a passport no lord will honor such a claim. I fear for her … I fear for us all.” He looked at Maria. “But even if your point is true for Wil and m’self, perhaps even Tomas, the girl is still subject to the bound status of her mother.”

Pieter grunted, then put his finger on his chin. “Hmm. Perhaps we’ve a problem.” He looked carefully at Heinrich. “And you still swear you are not Maria’s father?”

“Aye.”

Wil growled. “My father and I will demand our freedom, and the daughter of a freeman is free.” He turned a hard eye at the baker.

“Your father swears she is not his.”

Wil stiffened. “He lies.”

Heinrich took a deep breath. “No, son, I speak truly. Maria is not mine, so she is subject to the bound status of her mother.”

Wil spat. “Let God be your judge!” He turned to Pieter. “Mother is surely dead. Pious saw to that.”

“What do you mean?” blurted Heinrich.

Pieter answered for him. “It seems the priest gave Wil instructions to administer an herb to your wife … that is poisonous.”

Heinrich recoiled. “Cursed boar! Prowling devil! He had a coveting eye on our bakery and our land for years. May he suffer hellfire!” Heinrich was furious. Until that moment, he had imagined returning to his wife repentant and hopeful. To learn of her likely death was a shock, but to learn of Father Pious’s scheme was infuriating. “May God forgive me, but I will carve that pig’s throat and grind his head in the mill.”





For the young pilgrims, the next three weeks passed in a most agreeable way. May had delivered a host of flowers and fresh vegetables that graced both garden and table. Heinrich, however, had become sullen and withdrawn. His rage had settled into a quiet, seething determination for vengeance.