Pilgrims of Promise(73)

“Ja.”

“Good,” interrupted Tomas.

Maria finally spoke. “Tis nearly compline. What do you think will happen?”

Tomas answered, “I’d think they’d be too busy to hang him tonight. We’ll wait a bit longer, then plan for the morrow to—”

“Look!” Frieda blurted. “Look there!”

In the darkening twilight, four torches lit the white robes of four marching Templars who were dragging their prisoner toward the Galgenberg. Tomas cursed. “Make ready, then!” he barked.

The six lads prepared themselves. In about a quarter hour they emerged from their cover on horseback. None of them had ridden much—peasants rarely owned horses. They had ridden a few plow horses or nags, but these were neither. These animals were the great chargers, the mighty warhorses of Christendom with huge shoulders and broad backs.

Jerking on their short rope reins, the would-be knights circled and reared in every direction. Were it not so grievous a moment, it would have been a comical thing to watch! Young Heinz, looking no bigger than a large fly on the back of a black giant, fell three times.

“Saddles would’ve helped!” cried Otto.

Somehow, Wil and Tomas calmed their cavalry and turned to the girls. “We’ve need of the torches now.” Wil adjusted his bow and quiver, nervously felt for his dagger, and then reached for his torch.

Frieda handed it to her husband, then helped Maria lift more to the others. Finally, all stood ready for the signal. “I hope this plan works better than the last!” sniped Helmut.

On Galgenberg, Pieter and Heinrich crouched low. Considering the confusion in Burgdorf, they were astonished to see the column of Templars marching toward them. “Why tonight? Why the devil are they so fixed on hanging him tonight?” grumbled Pieter.

“Do you think the boys are ready?” whispered Heinrich.

“Oh, by the saints above, I surely hope it. I tell you, baker, my old heart is pounding hard. This plan is far-fetched to my way of thinking.”

The Templars soon were close enough for Pieter and Heinrich to see the torch-lit outline of their faces. And as they came closer yet, the pair could hear their conversation plainly. The knights spoke mostly of their fury with the stable master. “On the morrow, I’ll have his head on a pike. I swear it. All the horses gone! Armor and robes ruined, two brothers burned badly, and the mercenaries killing each other in the looting. By the Virgin, someone shall pay!”

Blasius was praying quietly. As Blasius was dragged beneath the limb of his gallows, Pieter could hear him muttering the Lord’s Prayer and quoting from the psalms. The priest and the baker prepared to act.

“Prisoner,” began the master, “thou art charged with desertion in battle, with defending heretics against the crusade of the Holy Church, with blasphemy, and with treason against the empire. Thou hast been tried this very day by the brethren and declared to be an anathema in the name of the Holy Father. Thou hast disgraced thy order and despoiled thy name. Hence, thou shalt not enter hell as ‘Blasius,’ but rather as a nameless, corrupted soul, stricken from the Lamb’s Book of Life. Thy once-good name is thus stripped from thee as are all benefits and merits of thy former brotherhood with the Order of Knights Templar.

“So, in accordance with the Rule of our Grand Master, Odo de St. Amand, and under the authority of Pope Innocent, I sentence thee to hang by this tree until dead. May thy spirit languish in the Pit for days and nights without end, amen.”

Blasius lifted his head proudly. “Hang me if you must, but I gladly go to God with the name of my baptism, Alwin of Gunnar.” He said no more.

With that, the Templars tied a thick rope around his neck and threw the other end over the limb. It was the signal for Pieter. “Hold fast, fools!” cried the old man as he emerged from his cover.

Turning with a start, the Templars wheeled about. “What devil is this?”

“Release him!” shouted Pieter. He raised his staff in the air, hoping the others could see his signal in the firelight.

At the lifting of the staff, Wil and his fellows braced themselves.

“Who are you?” roared the Templar.

“I am a priest in the service of Almighty God. I say release this innocent man or bear the sting of the heavenly host upon thee, each and every one!”

“Hoist him up!” bellowed the master. Three sets of strong hands immediately pulled on the rope and lifted the flailing Alwin off the ground. They wound the rope around the gallows’ tie.

Pieter raised his staff again, crying, “No! Come, legions of heaven, come!”

Instead of Gabriel, it was Heinrich who burst from cover with a drawn sword and filled with fury. And, two bowshots away, the second raising of the staff signaled Wil’s little cavalry to charge, screaming like flame-bearing hellions atop thundering mounts.