Quest of Hope(184)
The children scampered toward the docks, toward the marketplace, and to the far reaches of Genoa’s shoreline as Heinrich and Solomon charged to the ships. The sun was now a bright disc climbing boldly over the mountains in the east. The sky was clear and glorious but Heinrich gave it no heed. He ran hard, but by the time he reached the water’s edge several ships had already cast off and their sails were filling with a fresh breeze. The man ran from ship to ship, then bellowed across the rippling harbor. “Children! Have y’children on board?” He stared hard at each ship, first one, then the next. “There!” he shouted to himself. “There!” Heinrich’s eye had caught the glimmer of yellow hair in the morning sun. He stared hard, straining to see more.
“San Marco,” muttered a man with a hoarse voice.
“What?” answered Heinrich.
“San Marco.” The dockman was peeling an apple and pointed his knife at the slow-moving ship in Heinrich’s view.
Heinrich’s heart stopped. “Good man, can y’tell me if children are on board … children—bambini and a padre?’
The man swallowed his apple and held out his palm.
Heinrich grit his teeth and jammed his trembling fingers into his satchel. He retrieved a silver penny and pushed it at the fellow. “Well?”
“Bambini, si, padre, no.”
Heinrich was confused. “No priest?” His mind whirled and he paced the dock. “What to do?” A squeaky voice from a small, panting little girl interrupted him. “What, child?”
“I says the old priest is yonder.” She pointed toward the far edge of the harbor where a jetty of black rock projected into the sea.
Heinrich stood on trembling legs. “There?”
“Ja.”
“Ah!” The man kissed the maiden hastily on the cheek. “Little one, I shall return for you!”
Heinrich bellowed for Solomon and sped across the harbor’s wharves. Anxious, he raced past rows of houses and shops, the shipwright’s building and the caulkers’ guild, the sailmaker and the open door of a loud inn where he suddenly heard laughter and the mention of bambini. Heinrich paused and hesitated. He peered toward the distant jetty then ducked into the tavern.
“Who speaks of children?” Heinrich roared. “A flagon of wine for words of the crusading children!”
The sailors grumbled, then ignored him. Panting, Heinrich grabbed a wine jar from the cupboard and slammed it atop their table. He pressed his hand hard to the cork. His grief had turned to fury. “Now, you, yellow-beard, tell me what y’know!”
The sailor stared at Heinrich and then at the wine. “Aye. Two ships of northland whelps sank a week ago. All hands lost.”
“You’ve got more to say! Tell me of the San Marcol” bellowed Heinrich. He grabbed the surprised man by the beard and slammed his own broad head against the stunned sailor’s. The man collapsed to the floor as Heinrich snatched the Stedinger dagger from his belt. He laid its sharp edge against the throat of another. “Say more, or, by God, I shall slit you now!”
The sailor stammered. “Aye … by the saints I shall tell you!” The man’s face was tight with fear. “The San Marco is captained by Gaetano … the most wicked captain in all of Genoa. He … he is in league with a Frenchman to sell the children to the slave markets in Bougie … maybe Kairunan … I hear he’s found a fresh cargo of ‘em.”
Heinrich’s stomach cramped and his face drained of all color. His chest tightened as he charged out the tavern door. What to do? What to do? His mind raced. He first turned toward the city, then toward Solomon. “’Tis too far to be caught… is there no way to warn them?” He stared at the San Marco now lurching forward in a fresh breeze. “Perhaps when they near the point!”
Heinrich sprinted toward the jetty. His legs burned and he gasped for breath. At last he stopped and bent in two, wheezing. He lifted his head, and to his great delight, he saw Pieter seated on a large boulder by the sea. A host of children were gathered around the old man like goslings by a gander. Hopeful, the man strained to find his lads. None had the lean look of Wil nor the red curls of Karl. He closed his eye and clenched his jaw as if to hope his wishes true. Then, with a loud cry he shouted for Pieter and rushed forward.
The breezed carried Heinrich’s cry to the ears of the old priest who now turned. Spotting the oncoming stranger he rose with a firm hold on his staff. Then, like a spindly spider, Pieter climbed across the black rocks to the path’s end where he planted himself in defense of his beloved children.