Richard jumped from his cover with a loud shriek and heaved his rock with all his might. He struck the startled man in the center of his belly, driving the wind from his lungs. The boy then charged with a yell and pounded the fugitive squarely on the head with his stick. The man stood stunned and glassy-eyed before Richard struck him again and again. He then fell backward in the ferns, bloodied and unconscious. The breathless boy cried loudly for the others, and in a matter of moments Richard and his prize were encircled by the cheering men of Weyer.
Chapter 8
TRIALS, DREAMS, AND FEAR
The cycle of seasons turned again until once more the land was warmed by the kind sun of springtime. But by the days of Pentecost in 1188, troubling news had found its way through the gentle valleys of Villmar’s manors. Jerusalem had fallen to the armies of Saladin; some said on a night the witch was heard cackling in the wood. It was a terrible blow to all.
Heinrich, now fourteen, had become broad-shouldered and strong. His skin was dry from the flour dust of the bakery, but his eyes were clear and his mind was keen. He had kept his vow and had faced neither the sun nor the stars since that awful day nearly six years before. Instead, the lad had learned to draw a curious comfort from keeping the cursed pledge. But, as with all who suffer self-deception, to embrace the darkness the boy needed to deny the light, and to Emma’s great despair Heinrich had grown ever more introverted and melancholy. She could only hope that seeds planted early in the boy’s tender heart might someday turn the lad toward better things.
November brought news of tragedy for Lord Tomas of Mensfelden, the ruler of the manors bordering Weyer to the south and east. The lord’s son was named Silvester and was known to spend his days in the deep wood with his falcons or his bow. He was considered an odd youth, however, given to solitary, midnight bonfires and moonlight rituals. Most thought him to be drawn to the witch’s daughter. It was rumored that the young girl was a rare beauty—tall and willowy, white-haired and fair. Yet, given her owl-like screeches and spine-tingling howls, she had become known as “Wilda the Wild.”
Early on Martinmas, it was poor Ingelbert who found Silvester’s body. The simple lad had spent a quiet dawn at the Magi when he thought he heard a whisper beckoning him toward the deeper wood. The young man followed trancelike until he was knee-deep in wilted ferns, giving no heed to the boundary pole he passed. He sang and danced in the early light of the gray day, but as he skipped his way through the forest, he suddenly came upon the base of a short cliff. He stopped for a moment, sensing something amiss. He raised his eyes to the top of the rock wall, then let them drift slowly down the sharp contours of the cliffs face until they reached the bottom. The young man gasped. For there lay the broken, battered body of Silvester.
The bountiful feast of Christ’s Mass was now of little interest to Heinrich and of less to poor Emma. Her beloved son had been shackled to the cold walls of Lord Tomas’s castle dungeon for more than a month, accused of illegal trespass and of Silvester’s murder. She was forbidden to leave Weyer to see him, and no oath-helpers were permitted to testify on the lad’s behalf. In truth, only Heinrich and Richard had even offered to speak, and much of the village would have been happy to witness against the poor boy. Lukas—who was not allowed to leave the cloister due to his latest infraction—sent messages of encouragement to Emma via Heinrich and spent hours begging God’s mercy for the boy.
Ingelbert was slow of mind but not numb to pain. Bound to the damp, plastered walls of the dark dungeon, Ingly wept inconsolably for his mother and longed for the warmth and solace of her hearth. He could not understand the charges against him but was familiar with the jeers and taunts of the jailers who mocked his odd and disquieting form. Ingly’s trial was set for the thirtieth day of December, and Lord Tomas planned to personally judge his case. The narrow-faced, bitter lord was determined on vengeance.
As having assisted in the hue and cry, Reeve Lenard, Arnold, Dietrich, and Baldric were granted permission to represent Weyer at the captured man’s trial at Mensfelden’s castle. The night before, the four men were delighted to find themselves sitting at the edges of Lord Tomas’s great hall, gulping great draughts of beer and reaching for scraps of meat and cheese. They toasted and laughed, bellowed and belched late into the night, feasting on salted pork and venison, boiled rabbit, and roasted duck. Joining them were a dozen or so sergeants-at-arms and two bored knights, as well as a few ladies of Limburg who seemed to have more than a passing familiarity with their hosts. Finally, the overstuffed, indulged visitors collapsed against the castle’s cool walls and slept until nudged awake by the morning bells of Mensfelden.