For his part, Jan was drawn to the little redhead’s feisty spirit and twinkling eyes. He loved her banter and her barbs and saw the tender heart of mercy beneath the bluster. In fact, so great was his affection that he had reached far into his strong box to pay the manumission for her freedom. Prior Mattias had charged a heavy fee. “We need healthy women to bear us more good men for Weyer and we needs be paid well.” He hoped to discourage others from snatching young wives from his village, though he was wondering if the villages were not beginning to become overcrowded.
Jan added a generous dowry to secure the woman’s future. “Two pounds and a mark,” he said, “are on deposit in the Templar’s preceptory in nearby Lauken. Should I die, Effi may return here to claim it. Otherwise I shall surely provide for her as a Christian man ought.”
Effi, weeping with joy, embraced the man as Heinrich offered his blessing on the two. To avoid much talk, the prior insisted the wedding be in Frankfurt. None of Effi’s household would be permitted to attend—the risk of peasants leaving the manor was too great and the abbot thought it better to “spare them the sight of things they are not ordained to have.”
The harvest season brought other news as well. Though the time for war and conquest most commonly occurred in spring, some lords had begun to realize that the time just after harvest was of some advantage; the knights would have their own fields scythed and their grains in storehouses, yet the weather would be suitable for travel. A quick conquest of nearby land could be accomplished before the Advent and winter would prevent a counterassault.
With this in mind, the abbot of Villmar was suddenly nervous about the plans of his southern neighbor, Lord Tomas. The ambitious lord was rumored to have an increasing appetite for an alliance with the abbey. By challenging and defeating Lord Klothar, the abbot’s present protector, Tomas would be in a position to demand a contract of defense for himself.
In response to these rumors, Lord Klothar had presented his picnic on the border. But rather than dissuade Tomas, it was learned that the event had been seen as a provocation. Riders were now often spotted along the far banks of the Laubusbach. In fact, on one particular day a yeoman swore on the relics of his church that he had witnessed a company of armed men cross the stream at night and disappear into the forests toward Villmar. It was this testimony that prompted the prior to order Werner to begin leading scouting parties of his own.
The protection alliance between Villmar and Lord Klothar of Runkel required the lord to furnish “whatever arms deemed right and necessary to provide order and safety to the lands, buildings, chattel, roadways, beasts, stores, and subjects of the manors of the Abbey of Villmar.” Klothar, however, had problems of his own. Another alliance had drawn his soldiers into Saxony in support of imperial forces under assault. So Klothar was forced to do what he had hoped to avoid—hire the Templars to protect his contract with the abbot.
With certainty and precision, the Knights Templar had slowly developed their own lands into prosperous manors. Based to the west of Villmar’s abbey, in Lauken, their borders extended from the Lahn at Limburg in nearly a straight line southeastward until it joined the Emsbach. From there it continued to a point just south of the village of Selters. Their entire manor was nearly twice the size of Villmar’s lands and contained six villages. The Templars, however, had an appetite for more, including a contested wedge of land between themselves and the abbey’s manor.
Lord Klothar feared the Templars. Many of these warrior-monks had been seasoned on the bloodied sands of Palestine and were nearly invincible in battle. Because of their vast network scattered across most of Christendom, they could summon companies of knights or sergeants in support from nearly every quarter. One could not offend a single knight-brother without risking the wrath of the others. Furthermore, they had become the single largest benefactor of dying lords whose last wish was to secure an eternal reward by granting large tracts of land and treasure to these devout warriors of the Cross. With such assets they had become the bankers of the Christian world and had the means to buy whatever supplies, mercenaries, or other advantages any situation might require.
It was early in October when Heinrich saw a group of four Templars and a squire enter Weyer on horseback. Three of the men were lesser brethren and wore their brown robes over chain mail. They each wore steel caps and carried long-swords and shields. With them was one of the knights, easily identified by his white, sleeveless gown draped over his mail. His left breast boasted an embroidered crimson cross, and atop his head was a steel helm. Heinrich stood in awe, for as the knight turned the baker saw a second red cross stitched on the knight’s back—a sign he had served God in the great Crusades.