Pilgrims of Promise(69)

“We must run!” cried Heinrich. “They’ll be upon us!”

The company panicked and began a desperate flight into the depths of the forest. Pieter stumbled and fell, only to be picked up by Otto and Helmut. Maria was snatched up into the arms of Heinrich again, but the two tumbled over a fallen log. Paulus reared, and his halter tangled in some brush as Benedetto scampered away in terror.

In mere moments, the fugitive’s horse crashed into the wood behind them, and Wil cried for all to hold and hide. Like rabbits in the eyes of wolves, the pilgrims froze in place behind whatever cover was close by.

Heinrich held Maria close and peered through a green screen of weeds to watch. The fleeing soldier was spurring his horse through the brush directly toward the baker with a face set firm but not panicked. Suddenly, his white-foamed stallion turned a leg and toppled, dumping the hapless man forward with a crash. He groaned and hurried to his feet, only to trip backward as he drew his sword. Flinging his head from one side to the other, his eyes met the baker’s. “Heinrich!” cried the knight.

“Blasius!”

It was all that could be said. The six Templars burst into the wood and, before Blasius could move, reined their mounts in a circle around him. Heinrich crouched low and held Maria tightly. The man’s heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. What to do … what to do? Blasius was the baker’s friend. He had last seen him trotting away from Stedingerland those many years before. O God above, what to do?

Heinrich laid a trembling hand on his sword. His looked about the circle of six Templars, and he set his jaw. But before the baker could foolishly spring from his cover, Blasius was disarmed and bound. “They’re not going to kill him?” The baker released his breath and watched intently as his old friend was thrown over his saddle and tied upon his own horse.

“You’ll pay for your betrayal, Brother Blasius,” grumbled a Templar.

“‘Tis the Grand Master and the pope who’ve betrayed us!”

Fists pounded Blasius’s face. “Blasphemer! Damn you to hell!”

With no more words, the soldiers mounted their steeds and charged out of the wood with their prisoner in tow. The pilgrims remained silent until, one by one, they popped out from their hiding places. Wil looked at his father now ghost-white and trembling. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Are you frightened?”

Heinrich wiped his brow. “Ah, lad. Do you remember our friend Blasius?”

“Of course. I’ll ne’er forget him.”

“That was he.”

“Who?”

“The one taken and bound.”

“Ach, mein Gott! Are you sure, Father?”

Heinrich nodded. Wil turned to his fellows and briefly recounted the history of Blasius. “And more than all that, he was devout to the true faith and a soldier of charity. He was all that I might ever wish to be. Father, he came twice to Weyer in search of you after you had gone. He was very worried.”

The baker did not answer.

“I’ll never forget when he tried to save the little boy from the hangman.”

“Aye, lad. Now we needs save him.”

Pieter asked gravely, “What’s to be done?”

Wil looked about. “First, is everyone accounted for?” His eyes flew about the company. “Good. And I see Paulus and Solomon stood fast and quiet!”

“Methinks we need to first see where they take him,” said Heinrich as he moved toward the margins of the wood.

“Aye,” answered Wil. He led the others behind his father, and they watched helplessly as the Templar army finished its gruesome business. The soldiers moved midst their fallen foes, indifferently dispatching the wounded. No quarter had been given, and not a single conscience was pricked for it. Lord Otto, it was reasoned, had violated the sacred order of things, and the pope had ordained their swords as instruments of God’s judgment. On that account, mercy had little role to play.

Blasius could be seen atop his horse, head drooping to one side. A circle of white-robed knights was gathered close by and seemed to be discussing the matter.

“We must know their plan,” muttered Pieter. “I confess, I am grieved at what I see here. I have always admired the Templars. They are warrior-monks who have honored the cause of Christ in their piety and charity and have been the guardians of the innocent. But here, they seem no better than common rogues.”

“Blasius is all that is good in a Christian warrior, Pieter. Trust me in this.” Heinrich’s attention was fixed on the captive.

“They’re assembling to leave,” added Frieda. “I see them pointing south.”