Pilgrims of Promise(6)

Soon after the bells of terce, Paul reported to Pieter and Heinrich that he had divided the camp between those who would follow him to Rome and those who would not. “My group is over there. We’ll be returning to the city for another day’s begging.” Turning away, he hurried to the head of a line of some three score threadbare, bony urchins on bare feet. Wooden crosses were still tucked in each belt, and heads were held high.

Pieter sighed, then called for those from his original company who intended to remain with him. As the three gathered, he introduced them to Heinrich. “This little scamp is Heinz. Neither he nor I remember when he joined us, but he has been a worthy crusader. The children often call him ‘Elfman.’” Pieter looked affectionately at the impish boy of about nine. He was a winsome lad with squinty eyes and an upturned nose.

Heinrich smiled and clasped his hand. “You’ve the look of a clever elf!” he chuckled.

Pieter smiled and turned to Heinrich. “Now surely you must know Otto?”

Heinrich turned toward the stout lad and studied him carefully. The boy was about Karl’s age, thirteen. He was sandy haired, green eyed, and freckled. “Ah, you’d be from Weyer, the new miller’s son!” He laid his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it with affection. “I remember your father and, as I think of it, even you. You were quite a bit smaller in those times!”

Otto smiled. “Ja, Herr Heinrich. M’papa spoke oft of you and your bakery. He said you made the best bread in all the empire!”

Heinrich laughed. “Finally, a miller who’d be a truthful man! We needs talk of Weyer some.”

“Otto lost his brother Lothar along the way.”

The lad hung his head. “I carried his cross with me all the way to the San Marco, but I lost it in the sea.”

“Ah,” answered Heinrich sympathetically. “And what of your own cross?”

“I left it at Lothar’s grave in Dunkeldorf.”

Grumbles followed the word Dunkeldorf.

“And my cross is lost, too,” added Frieda.

All eyes turned toward the young woman of nearly seventeen. She was still grieving her sister’s death, yet bore her sadness with remarkable dignity. “I lost it in the sea as well, Otto.”

“It was made for you by Wil,” added Pieter.

“Yes. He made them for us at… at…”

“Ah, Heinrich, do you remember Frieda?” Pieter interrupted.

The man nodded. He remembered her from Basel because he had so feared for her there. “Indeed.” He bowed politely. “You were about to say where Wil made the cross for you?”

Frieda hesitated and cast a quick glance at Pieter. He shrugged slightly and nodded.

“I… I set my first cross on Karl’s grave.”

Heinrich stiffened and a lump filled his throat. “I see. And did Wil leave his there as well?”

“Nay, sir. He had never carried a cross till then.”

Heinrich thought for a moment, then looked about the little group. “So it seems you have carried one another’s crosses like good Christians ought.”

Pieter smiled kindly at his children. “Aye, Heinrich, ‘tis so. They surely have!”

“And may I ask who has Karl’s cross?”

The three stared at one another before Otto finally answered. “Karl set his first cross on Georg’s grave.”

“Who was Georg?”

“The fat fellow. Do you remember him?”

Heinrich nodded. “Ah, yes, I do. He had a kindly face. I remember him from Basel’s dock.”

Pieter bit his lip. “He saved Karl’s life along the way.”

The baker said nothing.

Otto continued. “Karl then carried Georg’s cross and left it with his sister, Maria, at the cloister. Then he took your daughter’s until he died; now Pieter has it.”

Heinrich turned to Pieter blank faced. “I have no daughter on this earth.”

The group darkened. “She is alive, sir! You needs believe it!” cried Heinz.

The poor man was completely confused. “I … I had a daughter born very many years ago. Her name was Margaretha, but she died soon after her birth.”

“But Maria is Wil and Karl’s sister!”

Heinrich sat down stiffly and shook his head. “If so, my friends, I am sorry for it. I am not her father.”

Pieter’s mind was racing. “When did you leave your village?”

“Six years ago, almost to the day.”

“Pieter,” blurted Otto awkwardly, “do you still have Maria’s cross?”

“Aye, lad,” answered the old man slowly. “Now, enough of this.” He cast a troubled glance at Heinrich. “When Paul’s company returns, we must speak with them once more. I fear Rome shall not welcome them gladly.”