Pilgrims of Promise(82)

“As for me, I lowered my sword in tears and could not swing it at any of the poor wretches. Instead, when I saw a brother Templar dismount and run toward a fleeing old farmer, I filled with rage and charged at him on my stallion. I can still see the astonishment on his face as I cried out and trampled him to death. I then turned and slew a French knight, then a German. Confused, others reined their horses and stared at me. My preceptor stood in his stirrups in utter disbelief. It was in that moment that I tore my robe away and cast it down.

“‘Brother Blasius!’ he cried. I said nothing but wheeled my mount hard around and fled. With no money and nothing to eat, I begged my way slowly east over the weeks that followed. Finally, I came upon a band of knights in Sion who were recently hired by a lord in the service of Otto. With no other choices, I fought with them until the day you found me.”

Alwin’s eyes were swollen, and he looked away from his companions in shame. He walked over to the provisions to draw a long drink of ale. Heinrich stood and followed him, then laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. “My friend, we are never too far gone for grace to find us, nor too close for us to need it. Do not be so proud as to carry shame. There is another way.”

Alwin turned. “Then you must teach me, old friend, for I am lost.”





Chapter Thirteen

TROUBLE IN OLTEN





Frieda and Wil descended from their room before the bells of prime rang over Olten. Smiling, the pair leaned into one another as lovers do, and despite the catcalls of their teasing fellows, they kissed one last time before the day’s beginning.

“We’re to meet with Lady Dorothea!” exclaimed Maria. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “She was so pretty.”

“And I am sure she’ll remember you,” said Frieda.

“Hurry, then,” called Heinrich from the door. “We’re to be there before the bells.”

The company walked briskly through Olten’s waking streets. They were narrow and cramped by tight rows of one-and two-story shops and dwellings. Shutters were opened over window boxes of early summer flowers. The dirt streets were heavier with manure than what was common, but the ruts that Pieter remembered had been filled.

The eleven pilgrims followed the winding streets according to instructions offered by the innkeeper. They turned at the cutler’s guild and hurried on, passing the town fishpond and the lush common gardens surrounding it. Finally, they rounded one last corner and approached the three-storied timber-and-mortar home of Lord Bernard.

Two guards gave them entrance, and they were quickly ushered by a servant to the lord’s firelit hall, where Dorothea rose to meet them. “Ah, wunderbar! It is so wonderful to see you again!” The graceful fair-haired woman brushed past her attendant and took each by the hand in turn. “Maria! Yes, I remember you. Your friend Friederich talks of you all the time … he talks of all of you!”

Pieter stepped forward with a wide one-tooth grin.

“And Father Pieter! You rascal! The priest says you are a sorcerer, you know. He says no mere man could fix a tooth as you did.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Embarrassed, Pieter blushed like a schoolboy, then introduced Alwin as a landless knight and old friend of Heinrich.

The woman looked at him and admired his handsome form. Her eyes fell to his vacant hip. “A knight with no sword?”

Alwin’s hand flew to his side. “Well… I left it in the stable, m’lady. I … I thought it not proper to bring it to your house.”

Dorothea smiled. “I see. Well, now, all of you, welcome. Please, be seated at my table. The ushers shall take you to your seats. I am sorry for the early rising, but I’m to begin a journey to St. Gall before terce.”

Pieter and Wil stepped past several hounds and were positioned on either side of the lady, who sat at the end of her trestle table. From there, the pilgrims were placed in order of acquaintance, leaving Alwin and the minstrel on opposite sides at the far end. With all things proper, Pieter was asked to say a blessing and Benedetto to sing a song. Then, at long last, the lord’s baker delivered a silver tray heavy with wheat loaves and pretzels. To this, the cook added two trays of cheese and a clay bowl of cherry preserves. A wooden goblet was set by each guest and filled with red wine.

Summer air wafted through the damp hall, and the first hint of the day’s light peeked through the shutters. “My regards to your baker, my lady,” offered Heinrich. “The bake is nearly perfect.”

“Nearly?” quizzed Dorothea.

“Well…”

“A poor choice of words from a simple man!” quipped Wil with a laugh. “I think the whole table is quite perfect indeed!”