The days of October became days of vigilance and fear. The men and women of Weyer regularly soaked their roofs with buckets of water and filled the church with what stores their scanty harvest had yielded. At night they lay awake in their beds, imagining what horrors might await them by the following day.
Six-year-old Heinrich lay upon his straw mound wide-eyed and restless. He stared at the dark thatch glowing ominously in the failing light of the hearth and could not sleep. The village was nervous but quiet, until Reeve Lenard began to ease his nerves by beating his hapless dog. Heinrich squeezed his fists and pleaded with God to strike Lenard dead if the soldiers came.
“You, boy!” Baldric stormed from his bedchamber. “You are not to speak at night! Now stand where you be!”
Heinrich climbed to his feet. He knew what was coming and he gritted his teeth. Effi began to sob.
“And you, little brat! If I hear one sound, I’ll strap you too!”
Herwin rose to intervene, only to be knocked to the ground atop Axel. Baldric snatched Heinrich by the elbow and slammed him against the wall. He bent over and hissed in the boy’s ear. “You worthless scrap of dung. You’ve no value to me, so cause me more trouble and you’ll not live to see the morrow. Now take this strap like a man. If you cry out, I’ll hit you all the more!”
The man whipped the boy three times, then four, five, and six. By seven lashes, Baldric’s brave wife ran from her room and fell to her knees between her husband and the stone-faced boy. “Please, I beg you to stop. I—”
Her compassion earned her a stripe of her own, then another. She whimpered and stretched her arms toward Heinrich. The boy mouthed a polite “thank-you” and stood ready for more.
When it was over, Heinrich lay awake all night. He remembered the voice of Emma on the hilltop that wondrous summer day and wished to feel the sunshine warm his face again. He longed to press his bare feet against a soft carpet of tender grass and lift a butterfly to flight. If only he could fly away from Baldric.
To the relief of all, the pillaging knights did not come, and the days passed with the gentle rhythm of the season. The village men labored behind their oxen in the fields, while the women gathered reeds and willow wands, chopped cabbage for the brine, and picked apples and pears from the abbey’s orchards by the stream. Given the poor yield of flax, many of the women were busy wandering the forests in search of nettles for thread making.
Emma rose with Ingelbert early one misty morning and they walked together to the common well before the others would be about. The pair shuffled through the smoky village footpaths, crunching lightly on the leaves now lying thick beneath their feet. Emma was content, as was her usual state, though saddened as she surveyed the poverty all about her. Even in the blue haze of dawn her eyes could see the pall that hung atop the damp huts scattered about her. The loud crow of a cockbird startled her and Ingly giggled.
No sooner had the woman snuggled the little six-year-old to her side when Lenard’s dog began to bark loudly. Emma groaned. “Ah, Ingly, it seems we’ve wakened the poor beast.” In a moment, the reeve could be heard shouting and cursing at the howling dog. No amount of beating would silence the animal. But then Emma heard what the dog had heard. She stood perfectly still and closed her eyes. “Dear God!” She grabbed her son by the arm and raced for Heinrich’s hut, shouting the alarm. “Riders, riders!” she cried.
Baldric leapt to his feet and flung open his door only to see Emma and her son racing toward him.
“Run! Riders are coming!”
At that moment Reeve Lenard began blowing his ox-horn, warning the village of imminent danger. Herwin bolted from his bed and joined Baldric in the doorway while Hedda gathered the frightened children to her side.
Suddenly four riders rounded the bend of the Münster road and pounded up the road. The peasants emerging from their huts panicked and scattered. Emma urged Hedda to escape across the Laubusbach. “Come, Hedda! Run!”
Baldric pushed her aside. “Go, woman! Take your freak and begone! I’ll tend m’own household!”
The soldiers reined in their mounts and stopped to laugh at the chaos in the terrified village. Clad in leather vests and armed with long swords and bows, none wore helmets but each wore a mail hood. Small, triangular shields hung on their forearms, and each fist was set securely in a plate-armored glove. None knew if these were knights, sergeants, squires, or highwaymen, and none cared, for bloodlust was in their eyes.
Again Emma pleaded with Hedda and reached for Heinrich. Baldric’s heavy hand fell hard across Emma’s face and sent her sprawling into the crush of frantic peasants.