Pilgrims of Promise(7)

Heinz shook his head. “They’d be a stubborn lot. I’ve talked to many, and they’ve set their minds.”

Pieter sighed. “I fear so. I admire their resolution, but without wisdom, even that is vanity. I fear they see only failure in their crusade, not the wonder of lessons learned.” He laid a kind hand on Heinz’s shoulder. “Know this, boy. Fixing your eyes on failure is like staring into a chasm; it draws you to disaster.”





Chapter Two

SUFFER THE CHILDREN





In the early evening, Paul and his crusaders returned to camp with a few baskets half-filled with a scanty selection of alms. They carefully divided stale bread, a pail of old olives, a few large fish gnawed by the cats of the fish market, a dozen citrus fruits, a few strings of garlic, some onions, and handfuls of sundry vegetables.

“Pieter, the city is completely wretched; it has only two good souls,” declared Paul angrily. “The podesta ordered the beating of three of mine by the Porta del Vacca. Two kindly nuns had pity and took them in. They gave us the herbs you asked for. Use them well, for the cost was high.” He handed Pieter a basket of corked clay jars.

“I tell you, Father, tomorrow night I shall take great joy in pilfering this place as it rightly deserves.” He set his jaw hard and squeezed his fists. “My lads spied the place today, and we know what can be taken with ease. Inside the walls are palaces aplenty!”

Indeed, the free city of Genoa boasted the marble facades of its wealth. Since the days of Rome it had been home to successful traders, but since the great Crusades, Genoa had become one of the mightiest seafaring cities on the earth. Her ships protected cargoes throughout all the Mediterranean, and her mighty armies clashed with the Saracen in far-distant places. Having earned her freedom from the emperor years before, she now crowned her streets with the splendor of her riches.

The mountains that rose steeply from the sea were dotted with castle fortresses and church spires. Gracious gardens, vineyards, and olive groves filled courtyards and grand piazzas. In a large arc around the deep blue harbor, Genoa’s villas proudly vaunted the hoarded wealth of the centuries. Within her rambling stone walls echoed the music of the money changer and the haughty laughter of great gain.

Pieter received the herbs with a cry of joy. “Well done, dear boy! Thanks be to God for those blessed nuns!” He ran toward Wil while shouting for Heinrich. He fell next to the boy’s side and began digging through the basket like a child with new toys. “Ah, ja! Bayberry bark and willow, sage … yes, yes … and chickweed, and, and … aha! Comfrey!”

Rudolf, the lad from Liestal, leaned over Pieter’s shoulder. “May I help, Father?”

“Eh?” Pieter turned about and gawked at the pleasant fourteen-year-old for a moment. “What was that?”

“May I help?”

“Ah, of course. Yes, Rudolf, indeed. Go fetch me some fresh water and three small pails.”

The boy sprinted away.

Another lad, Helmut, stepped close. He was about the same age as Rudolf, wore his sandy hair long like Wil, and turned his light blue eyes on Pieter with an earnest interest. “And me?”

Pieter smiled. “You are …”

“Helmut, Father, of parts near Bremen.”

“Helmut, yes, of course. I need a fire within two narrow rows of rocks built close enough to set m’pans on.”

“Aye, sir.”

Heinrich was kneeling by Wil’s side, bathing his wounds in salt water again. He stroked the lad’s face and wiped the sweat off his brow. “He’s no worse.”

“No worse, some better, methinks,” answered Pieter.

Heinrich scratched his head and peered into Pieter’s basket. “You’ll be making a poultice of the comfrey?”

Pieter brightened. “Ja! You’ve some knowledge?”

“Just a bit gleaned from an old monk.”

“Good. The chickweed makes a good ointment for the wounds as well. I’ll apply the poultice by day and leave the chickweed to work through the night.”

“And an infusion for the fever?”

“Aye, if he’ll swallow. The bayberry bark is best, but I’ll add the leaves of sage … here, can you smell them?” He withdrew a pinch of brown grindings from one of the jars and held them to Heinrich’s nose.

“Yes, that smell reminds me of home. I believe the willow bark can be used for the wounds as well. It has tannins.”

“Hmm. Good idea,” answered Pieter. “Ill use it to make a warm saltwater wash. The willow also goes into the infusion for fever.”

Frieda came to their side and knelt by Wil. She took a rag from Heinrich’s hand and gently dabbed Wil’s face and neck. “I should think all his bandages need changing by now, Pieter,” she said slowly.