“I didn’t kill him,” Tomas sputtered. “He fell off his horse.” The lad’s tone belied a hint of guilt that few missed.
“Enough!” ordered Wil. “Otto, Tomas did not kill him. We all could have told Heinz to stay. And we all know he wouldn’t have. Now listen. We must find Benedetto, and we need to put distance between us and this place as fast as we can!”
With no more to say, the pilgrims gathered themselves together. Helping hands steadied Pieter and Alwin, while Wil laid Heinz’s body on the ground. “We’ll bury him at first light,” he murmured sadly.
Maria answered, “He should not be buried alone. You said we’ll soon come to the graves of our friends who died in the flood. We should take him there.”
“Perhaps we can,” answered Pieter. “At daybreak we’ll speak of it.”
Otto knelt down alongside his friend’s body and stared blankly into the boy’s starlit face. Pieter leaned on his staff sadly. “‘O Lord, how long?’ How long must we endure this world of sorrows? How can we bear the mysteries of Your ways?” A weary anger rose in the man’s belly and he could say no more. Looking about his band, his mind recalled countless memories of the boy. He could see Heinz’s squinty eyes pinched shut in a good laugh, and he could hear him cheer his comrades when hope seemed lost. The man sighed. “I never knew where he joined us on crusade, Otto. He was as harmless a lad as ever was born into this miserable world.”
“He was happy,” offered Otto. “I’ve known none so happy as he and Karl.”
“Not so happy now,” murmured Tomas.
“Now happier than ever,” answered Maria kindly.
The clouds fell off the moon, and wide shafts of silver light filtered softly through the leafy black canopy of silhouetted treetops. “Moonlight is mercy,” whispered Heinrich.
Pieter gazed about the shadowed wood as the company gathered close. His beloved ones fully encircled him, and the old monk-priest touched them one by one. His hand was cold to the pilgrims, but reassuring. “Are you feeling ashamed?”
The group was silent.
The old man stood quietly in the middle of the group. He turned his eyes from face to face. “Do you weep for the innocents lost in Burgdorf?”
All heads nodded.
“As do I,” answered Pieter.
Otto blurted, “We were fools. We ne’er gave a proper thought to the fire.”
“Aye,” came another voice.
The old man laid a finger on his chin. “Probably so, lads. But hear me. Confess to God your guilt, leave shame at the foot of the cross, and lift your chins. We are imperfect vessels in a broken world. Sadness is good to bear, but never shame.”
“But people died for my foolish plan!” groaned Tomas.
Pieter reached a hand toward Tomas’s hard shoulder. “Tomas, in this world I fear all things have a cost. Best to trust God for the price. Your plan saved Alwin.”
The black-haired boy could not answer. Overcome by the kind words, he stared at his feet.
Heinrich stepped from his place. “I speak for all when I say we are grateful for your help. None of us had a better way. Well done, lad. You belong with us.” He offered his hand to the lad.
Tomas lifted his face. “I … I …” The young man faltered for words.
Wil hesitated, then stepped forward warily. “Tomas, we were once friends. I … I forgive you for the past and hope you will forgive me as well. I’d like to call you ‘friend’ again.”
The offer of reconciliation was sudden and unexpected. The hatred Tomas had once relished now felt oddly impotent, and an urge to weep came over him.
Pieter’s heart soared. He was filled with hope. He knew that repentance follows forgiveness—it is the very essence of redemption—and he imagined the beginning of a new life for the lad. Sensing Tomas’s discomfort, however, the wise old priest diverted the group’s attention. He bent slowly to his knees and laid a hand on Heinz’s head. “How easy to forget the good promises of God.” He lifted his face in prayer. “O Giver of life and Companion in death, let the angels delight in the company of our little brother Heinz. Let him dance gladly in Thy presence; prepare his table for the feast we shall all share. And until that glorious day, forget not us, Thy suffering children.”
That same night, Frieda and Maria washed Heinz’s body with rags dipped in water poured from the pilgrims’ flasks. The others were gathered close together, grieving Heinz, fearing for the absent Benedetto, and still quietly preoccupied with their guilt over the fire. Pieter gave them comfort over Heinz, more counsel for their guilt, and finally confidence in the minstrel’s sure return. Then, as if on cue, Solomon’s ears suddenly cocked and he dashed ahead. For a long while no sound was heard as the pilgrims stared into the silvered woodland. Finally, the dog and a small shadow could be seen, and the group rose, hopeful. In moments, the soot-covered, shaken minstrel stumbled from darkness and fell into their arms. “Laude a Dio! Praises to God!” cried Benedetto.