Despite his rising anger, Pieter had been oddly quiet. He stepped forward with his staff gripped by fingers whitening with rage. Barely controlling himself, he said, “I see. And what say you?”
The man shrugged. “I am unsure in this. I’ve a nephew who left on crusade last summer. He’s a good boy but has not yet returned. Methinks him not one to eat someone’s baby. And m’sister swears these stories are lies.”
Pieter relaxed his grip. “And what of Dorothea?”
“What of her?”
“What says she of the crusaders?”
The guard nodded. “She makes sure yer little penitent is well fed and clothed. She finds ways to lighten his penance. I’ve heard her reprimand the priest on more than one occasion.”
Relieved, Pieter released a deep breath. “I should like to speak with her.”
“Ja. Perhaps you may. She’s dining on a late supper, no doubt, or…” he leaned close to Pieter and whispered something the rest could not hear.
Pieter’s brows raised and he cast a glance at Alwin. “Ja?”
The guard nodded. “But tell no one. Now, seems all is in order here. If you’ve money, you can follow me to the lord’s inn.”
Worried that the knights at Burgdorf would be hunting the killers of the Templars, Heinrich had been anxious. It would be good for them to get off the roadway. He looked nervously at the sword riding on Alwin’s hip. Should ne’er have kept it! he thought. What a fool I am.
The pilgrims quietly walked through Olten’s dark streets and alleys until they were introduced to Lord Bernard’s innkeeper at the doorway of a comfortable two-story building. The house was dimly lit within by oil lanterns and a few thick candles. The innkeeper bade them enter as he greeted the weary pilgrims. “Good evening,” he murmured with a bow.
Wil stepped forward. “We’ve need of shelter. We served your master well some months prior, and we hoped to meet him again.”
“He’s in Bern.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We’ve a few drunken guests, but I’ve room for some of you. For the lot it would cost you four pennies, and it buys you fresh bread and beer in the morning. The beast needs go to the stable along with four others.”
Heinrich laughed and pointed to Otto. “He’s a good one for the stable!” He then whispered in the innkeeper’s ear, and the man nodded. “You, boy,” he said as he pointed to Wil. “You and your woman follow me. I’ve a room in the attic. ‘Tis a bit warm on summer nights, but it has a good straw mattress.”
Blushing, Frieda lowered her head and hurried past the others to join Wil and the innkeeper climbing a flight of curling stairs.
“Sleep well!” roared Otto. The pilgrims howled.
In a few moments, the innkeeper returned to escort some others to a small closet whose floor was covered with a thick mound of fresh hay. “We’ve no mattress but soft hay. But he who sleeps here sleeps well.”
Pieter was relieved. His bones ached from walking through the rain. He was thankful it was summer, to be sure, but he was nearly ecstatic to sleep under a good roof and atop a soft floor.
“Now, who shall sleep with the beast?” chuckled the innkeeper.
The children looked at one another warily.
“Heinrich, you must guard the provisions,” Pieter finally blurted with a wide grin.
“Ja, seems right enough,” he grumbled. He shuffled toward the door midst the guffaws of Otto.
Alwin followed. “I’m well again, well enough to sleep with a beast, a miserable baker, and a stable full of Scheisse!”
The pilgrims roared.
“Well, who joins us?” sighed Heinrich. The words had barely left his lips when the man’s eye fell on Tomas. “You’re one of us, lad. You ought to come too.”
Surprised at the dubious invitation, Tomas brightened. Being denied the inn was less important than belonging. “Ja. I’ll come.”
Heinrich smiled. “Good. Then if it’s Weyer men for the stable, Otto, you’re the other!”
Muttering under his breath, Otto followed the others to the stable that stood to one side of the inn. Unfortunately, the stable was crowded with two heavy-wheeled wagons and many horses. Grumbling, the guests clutched hands full of what clean straw they could find and piled it along one wall. “The straw is wet and packs hard! A pox on the others,” groused Otto.
A shrill voice startled the four. “Mon Dieux!’
“Eh?” Heinrich spun about.
Alwin grabbed his sword. “Qui venir!”
A trembling old man stared wide eyed at the four pilgrims now standing in a row before him. “Non, non! Je m’appelle Michel! Je…”