Quest of Hope(113)

“I’m off m’lord’s lands.”

“Aye, but you’d be doing the Lord’s work.”

Under full light of day, the two trotted quickly through an open field, ever vigilant for what other eyes might be watching. They hid against the trunk of a huge beech where Lukas abruptly warbled like a thrush. Heinrich’s mouth dropped in astonishment.

Lukas warbled again. This time it was answered. The monk laughed with delight and hiked his black robes above his ankles. He led Heinrich carefully along a deer path and downward into the heavy shade of the hollow. The two walked slowly through cold, damp air until a low whistle was heard off to their right. Lukas froze and cocked his ears. He answered the whistle, and it echoed back to him. “There.” He pointed.

Heinrich peered carefully between the trees and saw nothing until he followed Lukas a little farther and saw the figure of a man slumped against a fallen log. Lukas raced ahead. “Blasius!” he called in a hushed tone.

“’Tis I,” the man answered.

Lukas embraced the young soldier and checked his wounds. Blasius was badly cut across his left arm and his face was bloodied. He held his belly and mumbled he had been “de-horsed by a hammer.”

Heinrich looked into the man’s eyes. “Brother, all shall be well. We’ve brought bread from the best baker in all the Empire!”

Blasius chuckled, then groaned. “Aye, for certain. No rye, please!”

Heinrich laughed.

“Lukas, three of us came upon a company. Then … then others came and … it was just… just to the west a few hundred paces. When I awoke, my comrades were dead and I crawled here.”

Lukas nodded. It was midmorning and he was certain that a grand hunt was already on by both sides. It was dangerous to move, especially with a wounded man, but all the more dangerous to stay. “Can you walk?”

“Aye, m’legs are well, but m’lungs cut me and I cough blood some. But, Lukas, my brothers shall surely come. Templars leave none behind; ‘tis our oath.”

“I understand, but Conrad’s men are searching as well and I think it more likely for them to find you here than your fellows.” Lukas studied the man, then glanced at the sun above. He bent on his knees and lifted a prayer to the Almighty, recited the Doxologia Minor and smiled. “Now we go.”

With that, the three began a tortuous climb out of the hollow and onto the wide, sun-swept ridge above. They crawled in the cover of tall grass to the protective edge of the forest where Heinrich propped Blasius against a tree and wiped the blood oozing from his lips with a cloth he had wetted in the spring. Lukas surveyed the field behind them and suddenly pointed to their hollow. “Look,” he whispered. “Conrad’s men riding in. God be praised, we would have surely been found! We needs move off, and fast.”

Blasius groaned and gasped as he stood to his feet. Lukas was troubled and he looked squarely into the young Templar’s face. “Blasius, you needs take off the armor. Heinrich shall carry you.”

The soldier hesitated. Chain mail was costly—very costly. A baker would need to work for a year to pay for one man’s chain-mail coat. “Your life has value, as well,” snapped Lukas. “Now off with it! I’ll stuff it under these rocks.”

With a few grumbles and groans, the man was stripped of his heavy armor and hoisted upon Heinrich’s broad back. Their load now lightened considerably, the three tripped their way through the heavy wood to the safety of Weyer.





Marta had worried and pleaded with Heinrich for months. “I hear rumors everywhere that you crossed the boundary to save a Templar. Yet you told Father Pious you did not! A mortal sin. If you lied to the priest you shall surely earn us all a penalty on this earth and beyond!”

The woman’s shrill voice turned the man’s stomach. He shook his head and walked away. “Just leave it be, woman, just leave it be!” Indeed, the priest had confronted him three times with the story. Since leaving the manor was a very serious offense, Heinrich had reasoned he’d rather add to his secret sins than risk forfeiting his bakery. After all, he could always counter with another penance.

It was mid-June and Heinrich thought the unusual heat was a mild discomfort compared to the unyielding badgering he continued to endure from his nagging wife. She was now convinced that every bad bake, each leak of the roof, the near fire that Karl started in the hovel—all were warnings of greater woes to come. Marta spent hours with the priest, begging him to squeeze the truth from her husband.

Father Pious found the woman’s fears to be opportune. He coveted the bakery for reasons of both ambition and of personal pride. He had cleverly negotiated the transfer of the brewery in Oberbrechen to the archbishop in Mainz and had received a letter of commendation. Weyer’s bakery would be another prize—one formerly denied—and he was now more certain than ever that he could plot its capture. He also found the woman desirable. He was happy to spend as much time near her as he could. “Dear sister, how might I serve thee?” asked Pious one warm afternoon.