Pilgrims of Promise(5)

“Aye!” cried another. Fists were raised into the air, and a weak hurrah was sounded.

Paul, a quiet lad from Cologne who had taken Gertrude’s place on the San Marco, stepped forward with a number of boys at either side. “Sirs, a word?”

The two men stood and greeted the young man. He seemed to be about Wil’s age, calm and resolute. “I’ve traveled with my comrades from Cologne. We followed Nicholas’s column along the west bank of the Rhine from Mainz, but we fell behind in the great mountains somewhere in France. Now we’ve word that Nicholas did not board a ship at all but is marching to Rome with many of our fellows.”

Pieter grumbled.

“I’ve met with m’own company, and many wish to follow. The Holy Father shall set all this to right.”

In a single voice, Pieter and Heinrich objected loudly.

The lad was undaunted. “No, sirs. We shall press on.”

Pieter sighed. It would mean fewer mouths to feed and care for, yet his heart ached for them. “How many would you take?”

“We took a counting. About half say they’ll join us, including some of yours.”

Pieter was alarmed. “Some of mine?”

“Aye, Father.” Paul pointed to a small knot of children standing proud and erect, determined to continue their quest. The priest’s throat swelled. “Ah, Leo and Oswald, little Pepin and Edel…” He sighed and turned to Paul. “Good lad, you are needed here with us. We need your help.”

Paul smiled, aware of the ploy. He answered firmly. “Thanks be to you, Father Pieter. Your heart is good, but we’ve our duty and you’ll not dissuade us. We leave for Rome on the morrow, and in the meanwhile we shall find food enough for all and what medicines you need.”

Heinrich had said nothing. He looked about the haggard young crusaders with a mixture of admiration and dread. Looking upon each face, he wondered about the broken hearts of countless mothers in villages all across Christendom.

Too weary to contrive any clever schemes of dissuasion, Pieter yielded. “Then I’ve need of the following: bayberry bark … ground or whole, leaves of sage, willow bark in any form, chickweed, and comfrey root in a heavy quantity. Now might I ask how you propose to acquire these things?”

Paul shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “Sir, this city’s done naught but harm us. We think it ought offer what we’ve need of.”

“So you’re going to steal it.” Pieter’s face darkened ominously.

“Aye, Father.”

The priest and Heinrich looked at each other for a long moment, then at the growing host of hungry faces. Heinrich was about to reach for the gold of Anoush still riding in his satchel when Pieter answered. “God’s will be done.”

Heinrich was surprised, and even Paul raised his brows in surprise. “But…”

“Hold your tongues; I’m too weary to argue about it.” He whispered to Heinrich, “No amount of money in any of our purses could buy enough of what is needed.”

Pieter turned back to Paul. “A man has a right to keep what is his, that is true enough, so long as none in his view is starving. Look about you. These innocents have been beaten and worse, cast out like so much rubbish by Liguria’s most wealthy families. I need say no more.”

Paul agreed knowingly. “My spies tell me that for now the city’s glad we’ve moved beyond. We’ve spread the word that we’re off to Rome.”

Pieter nodded and then faced the sky and drew warm air through his nose. “We must speak with those who will not follow you, Paul. ‘Tis too late for them to cross the Alps, and we cannot travel far with Wil. Yet we also must not stay here much longer.

“Can y’not delay one more day? We must allow Wil a little longer to heal and give ourselves time for a plan.”

Paul wrinkled his nose. “Aye, perhaps. But we must be off soon.”

“Thank you,” answered Pieter. He beckoned Heinrich follow him away from the others, where they spent the next hour discussing their plight. They considered their numbers, the risks and advantages, as well as the season.

“Now, Friend, ‘tis plain to me it is far too late to begin a march home,” said Pieter.

The baker nodded. “And Wil cannot travel for some time.”

Pieter sat thoughtfully. “Well, he cannot travel very far, but we must leave this place. The salt water is good for his wounds, but I fear for him if we stay here. With good herbs and some nourishment the lad may have a chance.”

“So we need to find shelter for these many children, no doubt until Holy Week or beyond.”

“Aye. And we’ve the little matter of feeding them … nearly a hundred souls. The olive harvest is yet weeks away, and I’ve little faith in either the folk or the churchmen here in Genoa.”