A host of walkers were intermixed, including freemen of middling means dressed in knee-length tunics and well-loomed leggings. Pilgrims in broad hats, servants under heavy packs, and knots of monks moved along as well; the shavelings were working hard to keep their eyes from lingering on the sampling of “erring sisters” strutting about. Here and there were a few jugglers, and two balladeers were singing a farewell song to the captain of Neuf-Breisach’s guard. Benedetto wrinkled his nose. “German music … always about bloodshed and honor!”
Ambling along either side of the column were two lines of disinterested and rather unseemly men-at-arms mounted on a collection of palfreys and a few chargers. These were mercenaries, mostly landless knights with swords for hire. Dressed in flowing gowns of silk or linen, numbers of ladies were traveling as well. These rode sidesaddle on elegant Spanish-Normans or on small coursers.
But Wil’s company took the greatest delight in the assortment of animals accompanying the parade. Besides carts of swine and fowl, hounds and cats scampered about as pets of the lords and ladies. Hooded falcons rode tethered to perches affixed to numerous wagons.
“And see!” exclaimed Otto. “In those cages. A black bear, and there … a strange bird …”
“Tis an ostrich,” added Pieter.
“Oh.”
“They make huge eggs.” Pieter licked his lips.
“And see there.” Tomas pointed. “Giant cats with spots.”
“Leopards from the Dark Continent,” replied Pieter. “And over there, carrying that fat lord on his litter, are men from that very same place.” The company stared at the oil-black skin of the giant men who had been brought from the mysterious land of spirits and odd tales.
It was a passing cart carrying a group of chattering monkeys, however, that seized Heinrich’s attention. The baker growled. “Wil, see that one!” He pointed to one particular little creature who was pointing back and chortling. “Tis that blasted devil from Basel!” he shouted.
Frieda laughed. “How do you know it’s the same one?”
Heinrich rubbed his bitten ear lightly and swept his eye across the scene in search of the old swindler and his young accomplice. He shrugged.
“Well, should we join them?” asked Alwin.
Wil looked about his group. His companions were nodding hopefully. After all, they had just spent two days walking in tremulous fear, and the caravan seemed safe enough. “Well?”
“Ja!” was the unanimous response. Wil turned to Heinrich. “Help me find the master, then, and we’ll pay the fee.”
Wil’s company joined the caravan at the rear, behind the lord’s servants but still within the protective reach of the soldiers. They walked happily along the highway northward, past numerous villages recently liberated from the diocese and from their local lords. It seemed that concessions were being successfully wrangled from the feudal order. With cities rapidly expanding and towns emerging across the countryside, serfs had been fleeing their lords’ lands and successfully finding both refuge and employment elsewhere. Inspired by news of the Stedingers and others, peasant rebellions were strengthening in frequency and in effect. The brave village folk were slowly reclaiming some semblance of their divine birthright that had been long since suffocated: liberty.
The landscape was still flat and easy to walk, so the caravan made good time as it passed by Colmar and drew close to Strasbourg. It passed meadows of orange-red poppies and sparkling ponds of turquoise blue. “Each land has its own beauty,” said Pieter as the column was halted for a wagon repair. He looked upward and pointed to a skyscape of fluffy white clouds. “Do you see, baker?”
Heinrich lifted his eye to the sky boldly. It was a simple act for most but a demonstration of much more for him. “Aye, Pieter. I lookup often now.”
Alwin smiled and nodded. “God be praised, good fellow. A curse on those fools who bound you otherwise. They had no right.”
Pieter’s gaze drifted across the land until his eyes rested peacefully on a barley field moving softly in the breeze. He followed the wending of its green grasses as they yielded to the skipping currents of air. “The angels are playing again,” he mused.
The others watched as a stronger breeze etched the green field with dashing paths of silver made bright by the sun’s reflection on the bending blades. A couple of merchantmen walked by, completely unaware of the sky above but pausing briefly to look at the healthy field of grain. Their conversation turned to prices of springtime plantings and the likely harvests in the month to come.