Pilgrims of Promise(97)

“It’ll be red,” grumbled Heinrich. “Is that all?”

Alwin stepped forward hesitantly. “It would cost much, very much, but what of a sword for me? I fear we might need one.”

The group hesitated. Swords were very expensive. Heinrich thought it a wise purchase however. “How much is one of our lives worth? We need Alwin’s arm.”

“Why not give him your sword?” challenged Otto.

Wil stepped forward. “What money we’ll spend is mostly m’father’s! His sword is his to use, and he uses it well. We’ll buy Alwin what we can.”

The matter settled, Frieda asked for one more thing. “If you could find a bowl of ink, sir, it would make me glad.”

“Ink?”

“Ja.”

“What are you writing, anyway?”

Frieda flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, I’ll show you another time.”

The group was intrigued by the secret. “Eh?” quizzed Tomas. “Why another time?”

“I’m not yet finished.”

“Finished with what?” challenged Friederich.

Frieda turned to Wil with imploring eyes. He came to her defense. “Enough. She’ll reveal it when she’s ready.”

The matter settled for the time being, Heinrich shrugged. “Aye, girl. Ink it is.”

The four made their way toward the city on a roadway filled with travelers. Every manner of cart and wagon groaned between men-at-arms, pious pilgrims, merchants with heavy-laden horses, and clerics bearing crosses. It was a noisy, uncomfortable press of people dressed in woolens on a hot summer day.

“Everyone stinks,” groused Tomas.

As they neared the city gate, Heinrich handed each shopper some coins and assigned a list of wares to purchase. When they entered the marketplace, the four divided with a plan to meet by the gate again at the bells of nones.

Bidding the other two good fortune, Heinrich and Wil walked together into the market and scanned the tables of produce that were brought into the city each day from the farms dotting the countryside. Cheese was abundant, along with various assortments of green vegetables. Fish was plentiful, particularly codfish from the Rhine. Game was scarce, of course, considering that the local lords refused to allow hunting by anyone other than their own huntsmen. But joints of pork and heavy slabs of ox-meat were plentiful and hung on iron hooks alongside droop-legged fowl and mutton.

Heinrich was pleased to walk alone with his son, and the two spoke earnestly of things past and things to come. Heinrich was informed—in rather great detail—of the events in Weyer since his leaving, and Heinrich, in turn, told more of his own story. Sitting under a linden and sharing a jar of beer, the two nearly lost track of time. For each, the other’s accounting was a fascinating glimpse into the soul. It quickly became a time of mutual repentance and the beginning of healing. A loud voice interrupted their conversation.

“Do you like m’monkey?”

“What?”

A strange old man with a monkey on his shoulder leaned forward. He was fat and bald, and the reek of his foul breath was overpowering. Father and son winced. “I say, do you like m’monkey?”

Heinrich looked at the wide-eyed creature. “I suppose I do.”

“Good, then have him.” The man set the four-legged little beast on Heinrich’s shoulder.

Objecting loudly, Heinrich stood, and the monkey bit him on the ear. “Ahhh!” cried the baker. He swatted the dodging animal as it scooted back and forth across the man’s broad shoulders.

Wil roared with laughter—as did the gathering crowd—while the old rogue watched through squinting eyes. At last, however, the trickster began to shout. “Thief! Thief! He stole my monkey! Call the guard!”

“What!” roared Wil. His father was too busy to respond. He was dancing about the marketplace trying to shed himself of the mean-spirited creature. “He’s no thief!” the young man cried furiously.

A troop of soldiers came trotting around the corner. “Thief!” cried the old man, pointing at Heinrich. “Thief!” The commander immediately rushed toward the hapless baker and knocked him to the ground. The chattering monkey dashed away, running wildly in a wide circle around the laughing crowd until bounding upon his master’s shoulder and kissing the old man on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, officer,” cried the man, bowing. “This fellow tried to steal my little friend here. You were a witness. Arrest him at once.”

Wil bounded to the soldiers. “The man’s a liar! Arrest him.”

By now, Heinrich had gathered his wits and climbed to his feet under the points of two lances.

“Hold fast, stranger. He says you tried to steal his monkey.”