Heinrich paled and gripped his seat. Huge streams of sweat ran into his beard and he gulped. “What, father? What did you say?”
“Ah, my son. It seems you have barely listened to me all this voyage! I said that your friend Groot told me you are a pious man and are on a pilgrimage to Rome to do a great penance. He said that in your humility you wanted others not to know, hence I have been shy to embarrass you with my knowledge of it. Forgive me for mentioning it, but I do wish to be your encourager in this.”
Heinrich stared at him blankly. Rome? he thought. A penance to the Holy City?
“My son? Are you listening? Have you heard what I said?”
Heinrich’s mind whirled; the news was a shock but suddenly became something of an epiphany. Rome? Of course Rome! he thought. Indeed! Other than Jerusalem, ‘tis no better place. There I might truly free our souls… Rome could forgive me, cleanse me, free m’family from judgment, and put me truly on the proper way again.
“But ‘tis so very far … how would I get there? How long a journey?” Heinrich was mumbling. “Aye? Did you say something, my son?”
“Nay father, I was talking under m’breath.”
“Ah. So, again… forgive me but I should like very much to pray for you and am happy beyond words that a freeman like yourself would walk away from temporal things to serve God.”
Heinrich was barely listening. He fumbled for words. “F-freeman?’
“Aye!” laughed Baltasar. “Of course, a Stedinger man! Groot also says you are a fine baker … and that your arm and eye were lost when your family perished in a great slaughter by rogue knights in your youth.”
“He said that?”
“Ja. Is it so?”
Heinrich licked his lips. “Groot has a way of … of spinning a tale. He … he makes a big sail of small threads.”
“Ha! Like a good sailor ought!”
Heinrich nodded. His tangled mind was churning and he faced the horizon with tight lips and a tense face. The man ached for his sons and a twinge of doubt suddenly brushed against the idea of Rome’s remedy.
“So tell me about your hopes for Rome.”
The baker’s mouth was dry and he closed his eye. What to do? he wondered. I am caught in a snare. If I speak against Groot’s word, then suspicion is aroused and more questions. Ach … and there … the crew is listening! They’ll take word of suspicion far and wide.
The captain leaned forward. “Father, did I hear y’say this man’s on pilgrimage to Rome?”
“Ja, my son.”
The old, weathered Norseman looked at Heinrich with piercing blue eyes that chilled the baker. Heinrich was sure the man suspected something. The captain stared for a long moment, then slowly reached into his shirt and pulled a necklace over his head. It was a valuable silver chain bearing a long, curved tooth. “My grandfather’s grandfather took this tooth from a water-dragon in the shoals off Iceland. The silver comes from a Scot pirate who m’grandfather’s father killed near the Shetlands. ‘Tis the only thing of value left to me, besides this leaky ship. My own three sons ‘ave been lost to the sea and I’ve none to pass it to.
“You, stranger, needs take this to the Holy Stairs in Rome; m’mother told me of them from a bishop who once climbed them. Lay it there and have a priest say a prayer for me and for m’lads. I must do something for our souls’ sake. … Judgment is fast coming. Surely the Virgin would look kindly on us for such a gift. Take it, man, and I shall return the monks’ silver for their passage.” He leaned close to Heinrich’s ear, then whispered, “And I’ll say nothing of the runaway rumored ’bout the ports.”
Heinrich groaned. The man knew.
Father Baltasar laid his hands on Heinrich’s shoulders. “My son, serve this man as you have been served; charity for charity. Take his treasure to Rome with you.”
Heinrich turned his eye away from the smiling monks, only to lay it on the beaming face of the hopeful priest. The Norseman bowed and laid his necklace into Heinrich’s opened palm. “Swear to me, stranger, by the Holy Virgin and to her servants on this deck that you shall surely do this and you shall do it directly. I’ve not many years left in me.”
Heinrich knew once he vowed this service to the captain he must surely go. After all, the Virgin and the saints were listening.
He closed his hand around the necklace. He wanted nothing more than to return to his beloved sons and once again smell bread baking in his own ovens. He longed to walk along the Laubusbach and sit beneath the Magi on a summer’s Sabbath day. He sorely missed the comforting counsel of Brother Lukas. Yet he would neither endanger the Stedingers nor return to Weyer with the souls of his family in even greater peril. The sad-eyed peasant had little choice. Like a weary dog entreated to oblige his master, the poor man yielded to his chosen destiny. He moaned within himself, then answered, “I so swear.”