Pilgrims of Promise(91)

As Wil saw the oncoming rider, his fingers fumbled. He notched his arrow hastily and drew his string too tight. The arrow spun away from the bow and fell harmlessly to the ground. Fortunately, Heinrich and Alwin had not left the lad. With a shout, Heinrich drew his sword and led Alwin on a mad rush to intercept the charging knight.

Quaking with fear, Wil set his arrow and drew his bow taut once more. This time the string at his ear danced, and he released his shot to fly impotently away from the looming knight. The lad had no time to draw again; the knight was mere rods away. He snapped the dagger from his belt and crouched.

Then, to his left came the roaring sound of a charging bear. Heinrich lunged from the crowd and swung his sword hard across the fore shoulder of the man’s steed, tumbling horse and rider upon the hard earth with a crash. Wil, no longer the frightened boy of Domodossola, raced forward with his dagger, and father and son fell upon their victim together. Roland was dispatched to his eternal end with the sharp edges of freemen’s steel.

Realizing that Wil and Heinrich had the situation under control, Alwin quickly turned about in search of more trouble. Sucking air hard into his lungs, he slew an onrushing footman, then cast a wild eye at the terror all about. “There!” he shouted. “Benedetto!”

Joining Alwin, Heinrich and Wil fought their way toward the minstrel. Wil clutched the man’s sleeve. “Come!” he shouted. As Wil had hoped, the army was suddenly confused, but the men knew that they must escape now—in that brief moment of uncertainty.

Pieter watched the four men struggle toward him within the crushing mob. “Hurry!” he cried over the din. “Hurry!” He waved his staff and urged them on, and when he thought them close enough, he ventured into the flood tide to join them.

Fearing for the old fellow’s safety, Wil wrapped his arms around Pieter’s waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Hang on, Pieter!” he cried. “Hang on!”

“Keep moving, son!” shouted Heinrich. “Hurry!” The band struggled forward, hard pressed on all sides by the crushing torrent of screaming folk. They finally burst through the narrow, choked gate and sprinted awkwardly forward within the widening stampede into the free air beyond. It was then that the baker looked over his shoulder. “Oh, dear God above!” he exclaimed. “Archers!”

The group ran frantically as a volley of arrows flew toward it. To either side tumbled men, women, and children writhing in pain. Another volley then flew and yet another. Pieter, bouncing along over Wil’s shoulder, lifted his head and groaned. He could see the terror in the faces behind and the agony and pain of those struck. “Have mercy on us, Lord. Have mercy on us!”

The comrades ran on, beyond the reach of the arrows, and did not stop until they were unable to take another step. Gasping for air, they collapsed in a shadowed wood a safe distance from the burning town.

All eyes scanned the carnage and the death strewn about Olten. Thankful to be alive, the five retreated deeper into the wood, where they rested before moving on to join their fellows.

“By God, what happened to me?” Alwin finally croaked. “Methinks my skull is broken!”

“Thy life was spared,” answered Pieter sarcastically.

“You! ‘Twas you who struck me on the head!”

“Aye, and what of it?” The old priest was in no mood for a lecture.

Alwin rubbed his head and grumbled, “Thank you.”

Pieter nodded and grinned.

“Seems a second town now burns in your wake, Pieter!” Alwin said with a painful chuckle.

“Nay.” Wil sighed. “This makes three.”





By midafternoon, the weary pilgrims were reunited by the spring-fed pool Pieter had described. Wil took an immediate accounting of his tired, dirty, and still trembling band and was relieved to confirm that all had survived. A few of their provisions had fallen from Paulus’s back, but all their coins were still safe.

All were accounted for, but all were not well. Pieter collapsed into Otto’s sure hands, and the old fellow was laid gently down upon the green grass. “Pieter?” asked the lad.

“Ja, boy. I am weary beyond words.” His voice trailed away and he fainted.

Maria ran to the old man’s side and wiped his face with a rag dipped in the cool water of the pool. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered. Frieda joined her, and soon Pieter stirred, only to smile and drift into a peaceful sleep.

With their beloved shepherd resting, the other travelers circled the pool and quietly rinsed their soot-blackened skin with clean water. Saying little, they each watched the grime swirl slowly away, and they stared into their reflections with wonder. Some had done a similar thing so many months before in a different place and at a time when they had no knowledge of things that were to come. The innocence of their former likeness was now clouded with the residue of a world beset by sorrows. Yet for most, the visions of themselves were not fouled by the stains falling from their bodies, but rather bettered. For the curling shadows drifting by their rippled faces were certain evidence of wisdom gained.