Wil listened. He looked to his father for an opinion, and the baker reluctantly nodded his approval. “Right. No plan without knowledge.”
“Then we have it. Tomas and Helmut will scout the town first, and when they return with news, well make a plan.”
Pieter grumbled a bit and cast a glance at Wil. “And a prayer, lad?”
Wil shrugged. “Ja, Father Pieter, please do.” Despite the lessons of their journey, the lad could still be stiff necked and self-reliant—traits apt to yield slowly.
The old man nodded and raised a quiet prayer to heaven for Dorothea’s safekeeping and for the protection of their two scouts. When he was finished, Tomas and Helmut scampered away.
The two did not return to camp by matins as was planned but did arrive sometime past noon of the day following. The night before, they had found themselves close enough to Olten’s gate to hear the drunken slurs of some soldiers draped over a few hitching rails. They had learned that Dorothea was being held in the town’s jail, that Lord Bernard’s house was pillaged and burned, and that his servants had been slaughtered. Dorothea, it seemed, was destined to be tried for harboring “murderous heretics and fugitives of the Church,” namely the Cathari, who had, themselves, been killed by either sword or stake.
The pair had positioned themselves dangerously close to the wall, and when a fresh company of sentries took a position nearby, they feared to move. At dawn, however, all heads had turned toward the sounds of thunder rolling toward the town from the west. To the dismay of the occupiers, Lord Bernard’s soldiers, along with a host of hastily hired mercenaries, stormed the town. The lads seized the opportunity to dash from their cover and watched from a safe distance as Bernard and his men reclaimed their town. Dorothea was surely safe.
Hearing the story, Frieda and Maria both pointed to Pieter. “His prayer!” they cried together.
“God be praised,” said Pieter. He turned to Wil with a look of reprimand. “Pride still shadows you.”
Wil ignored the man’s comment and turned to the others. “We should return to offer our thanks to the lady and to her father.”
The company murmured among themselves until Alwin answered. “Wil, I fear the risk of ill will from either Bernard or his men. I have seen the sort of things that happen when even good men are heated with bloodletting. I think it not safe. Perhaps at a later time we might send a message?”
The others voiced their assent, including Heinrich and Pieter. “My son, we ought not to go back. Some may blame us.”
Wil looked about the nodding group, then agreed. “A message someday then.” The matter was settled.
The pilgrims quietly gathered in a circle around their midday fire and let their thoughts return to Olten. They spoke of those who had helped them: the innkeeper; Lord Bernard’s servants; Dorothea, of course; and even the old Cathar with eggs in his leggings.
“I hope someone killed the priest,” grumbled Friederich.
Heinrich glanced at Wil, then stared at the young boy with a heavy heart. What turns a happy child to such a thought?
Finally, Wil spoke to his company. “On the morrow we begin the journey to take Rudolf home.” A small cheer rose up, and many hands patted the blushing Rudolf on his back. The gentle lad was buoyant and grinning as thoughts of his parents’ mountain home rushed through his mind. What a joy it would be to see his mother’s round face again. Rudolf laughed out loud. “Oh, Mutti! I’m almost home!”
The next morning the pilgrims rose to a pleasant summer’s day. The sky was clear and streaked with color as the sun peeked over the horizon in the east. A fresh morning breeze felt clean and cool, and soon the happy band was washing once more in the refreshing pool.
Alwin was well rested and laughing. The bruises across his throat were still red, but his voice was no longer hoarse. “Can y’not keep that crusty old priest out of the water until we fill our flasks!”
Heinrich laughed and came to the knight’s side. “Good friend, we really do need you with us. Will you vow to stay with us to Weyer?”
“To Weyer?”
“Aye.”
Alwin hesitated. Heinrich entreated him earnestly until the man finally agreed. “I pray this is not foolishness. I am still a target; I can feel it.”
“Let God shield us all then,” answered Heinrich.
The knight nodded, then clasped the baker’s hand. “To Weyer then.”
Revitalized, the group gathered and cheered Heinrich’s good news. Clean and ready to press on, they had assembled in their column when Wil whispered to his father. Smiling, Heinrich nodded in agreement.