Pilgrims of Promise(72)

With smoke pouring from the barn, the town erupted in confusion. Pieter and Heinrich spotted black smoke rising from behind the town’s walls, and the priest began to pray loudly. “O Lord, tell me we are not truly mad!”

Before long, flames began to leap from the barn to another and then to another. In less than a half hour, the folk of Burgdorf were in a desperate battle to save their city. With a third of the buildings now burning, the streets quickly filled with smoke. Benedetto threw his lute over his shoulder and crawled through a confused mob. Squeezing between the crush of bodies, the tiny man was soon trapped in the midst of a crowd beginning to stampede.

Wil and Otto rejoined a nearly panicked Tomas, who had moved to the street corner near the jailhouse. The smoke had become so thick, however, that none could see anything. Choking, the lads clung to one another and squinted painfully. “M’bow’s no good to me,” cried Wil. “I can see nothing!”

“We needs get out!” shrieked Otto.

“But Blasius?”

The three peered through the eye-burning smoke at the jailhouse door. Thankfully, it was not on fire. It had been Tomas’s plan to have Wil shoot the guards during the distraction and then find a way to release the prisoner. With no horses to follow, they imagined that they might then find a way out of the town and across open fields to the safety of the wood. But it was not to be.

The smoke was suffocating. Coughing and tearing, they retreated inside a shop, where they gasped for air. “Tomas, we needs get out! We’ve no way to release him.”

“To the other plan then,” wheezed the lad. “Otto, can we find the gate?”

The stout boy was on his knees sucking air through the sleeve of his tunic. Overhead, a burst of wind dropped burning thatch alongside them. “Follow me!”

Otto and his two companions pulled their hoods over their heads and charged down a street they hoped would lead them to the walls. The town was a maze, however, and at each turn none could be sure of their whereabouts. A burning roof collapsed nearby. With hearts pounding, the three pressed on.

At long last, Wil, Otto, and Tomas ran into a chute of screaming townsfolk funneling toward a gate. Pushing and shoving their way through, the trio emerged, gasping. They fell to the ground, sucking for air. “We must hurry on,” coughed Wil. “Now!”

The lads struggled to their feet and made way for their camp. Wil turned his face back and groaned. Black smoke and flames filled the sky. O God, forgive us for what we’ve done.

Hoping they had not been seen, the fleeing raiders returned to their camp. Frieda ran to Wil and hugged him tearfully. “I saw the smoke … I was so worried.”

The young man’s face was black with soot, and his clothes smelled of burnt thatch. “We failed,” he mumbled sadly as he wrung his hands. “We could not find the jail. The fire was to draw attention, no more. Now we’ve caused many a death.”

Frieda nodded sympathetically. She looked at the other lads, whose heads were drooped in remorse. “The summer’s been dry and hot. The thatch is tinder.”

“Ja. So we should have known,” moaned Otto. He wrung his hands and stared at the sky.

Frieda looked at the lad carefully, then at the others. “Confess the error but not evil intention. All of you, please listen. Your hearts were good in this—”

“But our minds were not!” groused Tomas. “‘Twas my plan, ‘tis my blame.” The young man took a deep breath. “We’ve not time to think on it now. I have another plan if you’ll let me.”

Wil nodded. “Yes, Tomas. None shall ever blame you for the fire. We all had a part in it. Now, we’ve no time for this. We’ve need of your other plan.”

Relieved, Tomas stared at Wil for a moment, then spoke. “My master told me to never have one plan alone. He said the world would always undo your first, but it wouldn’t expect a second.”

“Your master?” quizzed Otto.

“Aye, the prince of the forest you saw.”

Otto gulped. “Aye.”

Wil whirled about. “Pieter and Father?”

“In their places,” Tomas answered. “They are part of our second plan. I’d hoped to not need them.”

“And the others?”

Frieda pointed to a clearing in the wood. “I saw them back there. They were able to catch six horses by their halters, and they’re trying to keep them quiet in the wood. They took rope off Paulus’s sacks and made some sort of reins. I’ve not seen Benedetto, though.”

Wil looked back at the town. “If they catch any of us, well hang. We must not fail again. Frieda, you’ve the torches ready?”