The village smith stopped by Heinrich’s hovel at day’s end and gave Marta a hammer and a small anvil that Dietrich had bought to use in those late nights by the furnace. Marta burst into tears as she ran her fingers along the necklace her father had made, and thanked the man. Heinrich bade the smith farewell, then turned to catch him on the pathway. Karl and Wil came trotting behind.
“Smith!” called Heinrich.
The man stopped and looked. “Aye?”
“How much to make me a baker’s mark? A small stamp to press into my loaves.”
“Uh, that would depend on the shape. Have you a drawing?”
Heinrich turned to Wil. “Boy, can you write in the dust, can you write ‘Emma?”
Wil brightened. “Of course, it begins with an e.” The lad drew an ‘E’ in the dirt with his finger.
The four studied the letter for a few moments until Karl suddenly cried, “Look, Vati! Draw the middle line all the way through and you’ve a cross!”
The man smiled. “Good lad! There, smith—there is m’mark!”
By St. Michael’s Day the baker was proudly stamping every loaf, roll, twist, and bun with his brand. And as Lukas had imagined, the village loved it. No longer were they buying only bread, but instead were buying the handiwork of one who cared. He had also learned to season his loaves with herbs and even honey. The bakery was suddenly paying its tax and yielding a pleasing profit. But Heinrich’s heart was softer than his fresh-baked doughs and it often broke for the little ones who came and begged. So his bakery had also become a source of Christian charity for those in want. He found ways to stretch his flours just enough to feed what needy ones he could. Far from reducing the gain for others, his prosperity became a means for many to have more.
Between matins and morning lauds Heinrich rose from his straw-mound bed, kissed the heads of his sons, and walked briskly toward his bake-house and met his apprentices.
“Good day, Rolf, and to you, Reinl.” The sleepy boys nodded. Karl, now nearly six, would join his father at prime to aid in selling bread to travelers along the road. A good occupation for the little chatterbox! thought Heinrich. He learns of riddles and tricks, songs, and legends from all parts and sells lots of bread!
The baker set his goods in baskets by the door and set his coin box in its place beneath a shelf as his first patrons arrived. The first hour passed without incident, and all seemed well until Brother Lukas peeked through a shuttered window in the rear of the bakery. “Pssst! Heinrich!” he called in a hushed tone.
Heinrich turned about. “Lukas?”
“Shhh!” The monk beckoned him to come close.
Heinrich stepped to the window. “Why aren’t you in chapter?”
Lukas shrugged. “No matter. We’ve other business. Come with me.”
“But… but m’patrons, I—”
“Nay! Leave them to the boys. You come!”
Heinrich hesitated, then removed his apron and slipped out the door to follow Lukas silently through the day’s early light. The monk said nothing as they crossed the plank bridge spanning the Laubusbach and entered the wood. “Lukas, really, I’ve no time today for a talk at the Magi.”
Lukas’s voice was tight. “Keep walking, friend, and quickly. Now listen, it seems there was quite a battle yesterday on Lord Conrad’s land. We knew nothing of it until late in the night. Conrad suffered a terrible slaughter, but he escaped by dividing his army into several parts. The Templars separated to give chase but were ambushed by mercenaries held in reserve.”
Heinrich stopped. “So why is this our business?”
“Blasius is missing.”
Heinrich felt a chill. Heinrich could still see the good man weeping for young Albert at the gallows. He would give his life to help Blasius despite his being a Gunnar. The baker suddenly thought of the words Uncle Baldric had spoken long ago: “Never deny the Code or the cause!” Heinrich had honored the Code and kept it well, but on this day the cause must end.
The two ran past the Magi, then hurried past the boundary poles of the abbey. Heinrich grew nervous. He cast an anxious glance at the monk who winked confidently and pressed on. At last the monk stopped. “Just over there,” panted Lukas.
Heinrich followed the man’s finger to a dip in the ground. “Why there?”
“‘Tis something of a secret. Blasius and I oft spy this land. He for his master, me for the thrill! Knowledge, Heinrich, is power. The Templars want control of all these lands, at least that is my thought. Blasius was sent here to spy and he brought me along. In that hollow is a deep spring, heavy timber, two small caves, and a bounty of herbs and berries.”