Cornelis dragged his sleeve across his lips and stared blankly. “None knew his name—from the first he seemed confused and uncertain. Yet when the horses were upon us he fought like one of us … all say so. When the bishop’s footmen waded in at the second charge, I was behind him when he was struck hard by a mace. I can still see the way his head bounced sideways … like a bladder ball with a good kick … and as his face spun toward me I saw his eye was gone. Yet he turned back and jabbed his glaive hard into the man! Next I knew, I was on the ground. … All I remember is looking up at a huge knight with an axe. He was swinging at m’fellows—this way an’ that, like a harvester cutting tall grass! Then he saw me at his feet and smiled…. Ach, dear God in heaven, I can still see that smile!”
Cornelis reached for his beer and turned his eyes toward the suffering stranger lying quietly on the nearby bed. Edda and Anna looked patiently at one another. They had heard the story countless times.
“But then he came—this stranger. He sees me down … I know this because his good eye locked on mine. I struggled to m’feet as he swiped his glaive at the knight. I tried to help but it all happened too quick. …” He closed his eyes and nodded. “Aye … aye. The axe came down hard and chopped into the poor wretch’s arm like a cleaver into ox-flesh. The good fellow fell to one side and collapsed into m’own arms. I remember the peaceful look on his face as I laid him down—I shan’t e’er forget it.”
Cornelis sighed and cut another slice of cheese before adding, “I must confess it was sweet to see that cursed knight dead on the field at day’s end. Devils! I swear, someday we shall throw them off us for good.” Angry, unshed tears welled up in the man’s eyes.
Edda stroked her husband’s hair and filled his tankard. She sent her children to their garden chores while Anna tended Heinrich.
It was Wednesday, the thirteenth day of June in the Year of Grace 1207 when Heinrich’s fever finally broke and he opened his left eye wide. He stared about the tidy farmhouse, disoriented and anxious. He was weak and trembling as he raised his right hand to his face. He gingerly pressed his forefinger into the socket where his right eye once sat and groaned as he gently probed the empty hole. He suddenly felt sick and tried to lift himself by his elbows. A terrible pain shot through his left arm and he reached his right hand over to grasp it. But, to Heinrich’s dismay, his hand found nothing but air. He looked to see and released a low groan when he found no arm at all.
Edda heard the wounded man stirring and hurried to his side. She held his head softly and soothed him with calm reassurances. She wiped his brow with the fever-rag and settled the poor man back against his pillow. “Anki, run for Papa.” Her daughter scrambled to the field.
Cornelis came running from a distant pasture and burst through the doorway panting and perspired. He ran to Heinrich’s bed and fell to his knees. “Prijzen God! Hoe maakt tu het?”
Heinrich stared blankly, then mumbled, “Wo bin ich?”
At a neighbor’s home, Anna had heard the commotion and returned quickly. She entered the room with a smile as big as the Stedinger sky. “He is German! We must speak in his tongue.” She turned to the bewildered man. “Wilkommen, we will help you.”
The man was suddenly relieved, but still confused. He offered a timid smile. “Many thanks.” Heinrich’s voice was rusty from lack of use. “It seems you have helped me already.” He looked uncomfortably at his stump.
Anna motioned for Cornelis and directed her daughter-in-law toward a kettle of early peas and fish. Like most of the Stedingers, Cornelis and his wife spoke a dialect that was a mixture of Frisian and German. Furthermore, since life near the sea made contact with people of other lands inevitable, many could speak a little Norse, some Danish, even French and English. Cornelis was primarily a farmer but had launched a prosperous trading business in nearby Elsfleth that had required he learn other tongues. He laid a strong hand on Heinrich’s shoulder and spoke this time in German. “You are in the village we call Weserfeld, not far from Berne. You were injured in the battle and we brought you here.” He then introduced himself and his family. “This is my Frau, Edda; my mother, Anna; and my children, Anki and Bolko.” He asked a few questions of Heinrich, then turned to his family. “Our friend is named ‘Heinrich,’ and he is a servile baker from the village of Weyer in the center of the empire. He is a landowner, but bound to a monastery in a place called Villmar. He has two living lads, Wilhelm and Karl, and a wife.”