Quest of Hope(154)

Heinrich ran with them deep into the Bohemian woodland. He followed them to a clearing where a large male took charge of his kind and gathered a circle of panting faces. Heinrich’s eye swept the dim glade until it fell upon the woman he remembered. He stared at her for a moment until a voice turned his head.

“Dekuji, dekuji,” repeated the leader. Heinrich bowed. He received the man’s thanks graciously and smiled at each of the dirty faces inclined respectfully toward his own. The German bade farewell and watched the band of pagans disappear into the forest. They would need to travel a great distance to reach whatever villages they had been taken from. Heinrich hoped God would watch over them, yet he wondered if such a thing were possible.

Heinrich wisely slipped back into the village. He was sure he had not been seen by anyone, and if he had gone missing the angry magistrate might hunt him all the way to Salzburg. He quietly returned to the latrine where he watched the townsmen scrambling to douse the fire. Despite the rain and cold, the man was glad-hearted and joyful. He pictured the band of Slavs vanishing into the wood and he grinned.

The pleasure of his secret kindness was short-lived however, for Heinrich had no sooner finished his inglorious labors when a furious magistrate turned a penetrating eye on him. Heinrich paled and bowed to the officer and the priest at his side. “You there!” growled the officer. “What do you know of this morning’s bad business?”

“I’ve seen the smoke, sire, and heard ‘bout the fire and some words of escaped slaves.”

“Aye? You’ve heard things already?”

Heinrich gulped. “Aye, sire. I’ve spent the morning at the latrine … lots of noise there, sire.”

Some soldiers laughed.

“Silence!” barked the officer. “Where are the slaves? Has anyone spoke of them?”

Heinrich’s mouth was dry. “Uh, nay, sire. None said anything of them … except they’ve gone missing.”

The man stared hard. He was blustery and red-eyed. The town’s mayor had guaranteed the slave-master the safekeeping of his cargo and the magistrate would be held accountable for their disappearance. The man pressed his face close to Heinrich’s. “Swear to me before this priest that you’ve no knowledge of the slaves.”

Heinrich groaned within. He glanced at the priest standing stern and impatient by the bailiffs side. He hesitated, then remembered the happy faces in the glade. “I do so swear.”





Chapter 22



SALT AND LIGHT





It was a bright and sunny day, the first of November, Annos Dominus 1209 when Heinrich of Weyer stood in wonder before the city of Salzburg. He crossed a timbered bridge, pausing for a few moments to marvel at the icy, blue-green of the curving Salzach River running swiftly beneath the man’s feet. He gazed into the crystal waters and imagined he was staring into a heavensent liquid poured out of angels’ golden pitchers. “Oh, my blessed Laubusbach! Pitiful copy of this!”

He lifted his face to the dark stone-and-timber walls of the city, then above them to the imposing fortress perched atop a steep cliff. His eye lingered on the castle’s heavy walls and battlements until it was drawn across the southern landscape. There the mountains stood watch as the first rank of the realm’s most glorious sentries. For many days Heinrich had marveled at their distant silhouette and had often stopped to stare in awe. They rise from the land like great, jagged teeth from the bottom jaw of a sleeping Colossus! he thought. He felt a chill of wonder run along his spine. Another thought then gripped him. The mountains rose higher than the spire of any church in view—he had broken his vow!

Cursing himself, Heinrich crossed the bridge and marched through the crowded south gate struggling and confused. Mercifully, the city’s sights quickly stole his attention. He passed rows of tidy homes and shops, wagons filled with winter stores and well-dressed folk busy at task. He paused before an open fire to warm his hand and answered a few greetings. He looked about and suddenly felt better; he liked Salzburg.

Salzburg was named for the salt, or “Salz” that had blessed the entire region with uncommon wealth for centuries. Ancient Celts had once mined the mountains to the south and built a large settlement where the city now stood. The city endured much hardship in its earliest days. Converted to Christianity in the fourth century after Christ, it later was ruined by the onslaught of pagan barbarians from all sides. By the eighth century, Salzburg had been restored to Christendom and St. Peter’s Cathedral was erected to serve its archbishop. A monastery was built and filled with Irish monks. Soon the lucrative business of mining salt had assured all the city’s citizens the most agreeable of temporal comforts.