On the wall, Dorothea waited for the enemy. She ordered her guards to drop all weapons as footmen scrambled up the stairways to the wall walk. At last, with her face lifted proudly, she yielded to the grasping hands of two large knights, who dragged her down to the courtyard. Thrown to the ground at Cyrill’s feet, she fought back tears of outrage. She climbed to her feet and brushed the dirt off her silk gown. Her chin now trembled slightly, and her fair face had lost its prior flush of anger. Nevertheless, she stood erect and proud. “Whom do you seek?” she asked flatly.
The Templar stroked his short beard and shook his head. He muttered a few words to the other white-robed knight at his side, who galloped away. Then he shook his head at the disgusting display around him. Laughing footmen were carrying screaming women into vacant sheds, and knights were filling sacks with silver goblets and sundry treasures. The inns were crowded with men happy to slake their thirsts with fresh ale and red wine.
At last, he turned to Dorothea. “Brave woman, look about you. I am ashamed of the wanton vice and excess I see. These are Roland’s men. Unlike mine, they are under no vows. Do you see there, those horsemen in brown robes behind their commander in white? They are our lesser brethren, Templars nonetheless. They’ll not touch the women nor steal for themselves. No, my lady, be thankful we are here.”
“Thankful? I think not! If you were truly in command, you’d spare this carnage.”
“I see. Well, perhaps it is carnage or perhaps it is justice. Like the locusts of Egypt, they may be the mighty hands of God’s wrath.” His mood darkened and his voice now rose. “You are harboring heretics, doubtlessly the murderers of four of my brothers—four Christian soldiers with whom I served our Lord in Palestine.”
“We harbor no one.”
The man took a deep, restraining breath. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of his sword and watched a footman slay an old man in the doorway of a shop. “Before this day ends, we shall have our justice. Either you surrender those you are hiding, or I shall order the entire town slaughtered and burned.”
Cyrill’s tone was matter-of-fact, and his ultimatum was delivered with such seeming familiarity that the woman’s spine tingled with terror. “Now, hear me well. We are told of youths dressed in black. They were seen freeing our horses in Burgdorf and setting fire to that town.”
“And?” Dorothea’s mind whirled.
The Templar set his jaw. “And we are certain that they are those who later murdered my four friends and set our captive free.”
“Children bettered the swords of four mighty Templars? Methinks not.”
The knight reddened. “Silence, wench!” He slapped Dorothea hard across her face, knocking her to the ground. “We’ve also been told of Cathari venturing to and from this town on their flight eastward. The man who was rescued is a traitorous Templar who served their cause! Does it not seem odd that he is rescued near the very place the Cathari are known to hide? By God and the Holy Mother, I can almost smell them! We shall find them and slay them under thine own eyes! Now where are they?” he roared.
Dorothea fell silent. Her heart raced, for she knew that if either Pieter’s company or the Cathari were discovered, she’d suffer death as well. Oh, Pieter, stay deep in the cellar! she thought. Before she could answer, the town’s priest came scurrying toward the two of them. “Brother Templar!” he cried.
Dorothea chilled. Aside from her innkeeper and a few servants, this meddlesome churchman was the only one to know of Wil’s company. One of her guards had spotted him prowling the gardens by the hall’s windows during breakfast. If he speaks, she thought, all is lost.
In the dim light of a single yellow candle, the travelers stared at the heavy shadows of the cellar. Each sat deep in private thought, wrestling with conflicting urges of both fear and duty. Wil leaned against his bride with one hand clutched firmly around Emmanuel. At last, the young man broke the silence. He kissed fair Frieda and stood determinedly. “Dorothea needs me on the wall!” he blurted. “This town has treated us well. I’ll not let it fall without raising my hand for it.”
“Aye, lad! I am with you!” cried Heinrich. The baker turned to the others. “Pieter, Maria, Frieda … remain here with any other who wishes to stay.”
Frieda rose. “I’ll not stay—”
Wil put his hand on his wife’s arm. “Ja! You will stay. I demand it. You must keep Maria safe.”
Frieda stiffened. She would not give in easily and pulled away. “I go where you go!”