Quest of Hope(176)

A dozen men-at-arms burst upon the group. “More brats for the rats!” one cried. The deputy immediately ordered his men to bind the startled children, and he abruptly charged them with theft.

“Thou hast no just grounds!” roared Pieter. “None at—”

“Silence, old fool!”

Pieter was endowed with a large range of mood. He could be a comfortable friend, or he could be a raging warrior, consuming the wicked with tongues of fire! At that moment the priest’s blood began to boil within his pulsing veins. He laid his long nose against the deputy’s and loosed a blistering vituperation of expletives that could have toasted the ears of a seasoned knight.

Seeing that the guards were distracted by Pieter and his barking dog, Heinrich quickly begged Wil to order the children to put what treasures they had into his opened satchel. The children complied and several trusting little hands dropped a pitiful assortment of bread crusts, rotted turnips, half-eaten strips of salted pork, and sundry trinkets. Then Heinrich watched Karl drop a steel-chain necklace into the bag—Marta’s necklace!

At long last the soldiers silenced Pieter and bound the terrified score of children with a heavy rope. With loud oaths they then drove them through Basel’s winding streets by the sharp points of their long lances.

Heinrich followed at a safe distance. He had wanted, of course, to do nothing other than draw his blade and strike the villains dead. Perhaps were he a younger man he might have followed such an imprudent course. Instead, he took Pieter’s dog, Solomon, by the collar and faded into the growing shadows of the city where he plotted his course.

The child crusaders and their faithful priest were rushed to the city’s horrid dungeon set deep in the city’s center. They quickly vanished within a cavernous gate guarding its dark chambers. Heinrich peered from a nearby alley and listened to the satisfied comments of city folk who were glad for it. “I hear they carry plague,” grumbled one.

“Aye, they’ve scrumped and murdered their way to our good city. I say hang ‘em all!”

Heinrich said nothing, but secretly vowed that the innocents would not stay the night in the belly of that place. He paced the streets, struggling to concoct a plan. The dog bounded away, only to return dragging Pieter’s crook. Heinrich praised the dog and held the staff to his breast. “I’ve need of a plan, Solomon, a sound scheme.”

Before long a confident smile stretched across the man’s weathered face. “You there, guard!” he shouted as he ran toward the dungeon. “You there. Answer me at once!”

“Who speaks?” grumbled the guard as he pulled his torch from the wall. “Who speaks?”

“I speak.”

Unimpressed, the guard groused, “Ja, ja. And what’s this about?”

“’Tis said you’ve dragged a band of children through these very streets and they’d be bound inside.”

“Aye. And what business is it of yours? Had I a say, they’d all be drowned in the river.”

“What’s m’business? Ha! Y’d be a dolt if ever one lived. I tell you what nonbusiness is!” said Heinrich. “My business is your business. You’ve brought plague through these streets and you’ve set it just behind you. We’ve both business here and, aye, the mortuary shall soon have business as well!”

The soldier stiffened. “Y’ve no proof of such a thing.”

“Nay? I’ve seen the yellow sweat on ‘em up close, and I’ve seen the marks on their faces. Y’think me to have nought else to do but bother with a pack of little brats as they? By God, man, use that dung-filled head of yours.”

“None else has spoke of it and—”

“Listen, fool! I can swear to what I’ve seen. Call your magistrate. Wake him from his bed and have him stand close to look with his own eyes. Aye, and you’ll be needing a new magistrate in a fortnight!”

The guard hesitated, then shook his head. “If your words be true, then the worst of it is for that bunch inside … no loss to me.”

“Walls can’t contain plague, y’dolt!” boomed Heinrich. “Plague is plague—have y’forgotten Bern during the Whit-sun Feast just two years prior? Any brushed by a single breath of the sick were cold and stiff in a winter’s hour.”

The uneasy guard was familiar with the stories of Bern, and imagining Basel filled with smoking biers was enough for him to beckon his sergeant and whisper a few hushed words. The sergeant abruptly ordered him to summon the captain of the jail who emerged from his quarters in an impatient rage.

“What say you?” the captain barked.