“In nomine Paris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” the priest began. “Our God deliver us. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee.”
Bailiff Werner stepped forward and handed a parchment to a knight of Heribert. The man raised a hand and read: “Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Hear me, subjects of Abbot Udo, the most high Pope Innocent III, and Emperor Otto of our Holy Empire. All order is from the Most High God. His name shall not be blasphemed nor His ways offended. By right of Word and by command of the rightful Protector of this land, Lord Heribert of Runkel, it is so ordered that Albert of Niederbrechen, third living son of Hinrik the cotter also of Niederbrechen is accused and found guilty of stealing bread and cheese from the Templars’ refectory in the abbey at Villmar.”
A rumble rustled through the crowd. The knight lifted his face and scowled. Werner raised his hands and shouted, “Silence! Silence!”
After a brief pause, the knight read on: “As this is his third offense and no penance nor penalty has proven remedy for his unholy ways, it is the sad but just duty of the court of Runkel, under the authority granted by the abbot, to impose sentence worthy of his sins and crimes. Let God have mercy on his soul. Amen.”
Wil and the crowd of his fellows fell silent. The hanging of a peasant boy was rare, though not unheard of, and most thought cruel. As little Albert was dragged from his cage a few voices cried out in protest and a rumble was heard on the far side of the square. A figure suddenly emerged from the dark mass, pointing his fist and shouting. “By all that is right and good, release this poor wretch!” the man cried.
Werner scowled. Elbowing his way to the fore was a Templar. The soldier climbed the steps of the platform and fell to his knees. “Free him! I beseech you, good bailiff, release this boy. Look at him! He is but bones; he is starving in these times! My God, have mercy on him.” It was Blasius.
One of Heribert’s knights pushed the young Templar with his boot, knocking him on his side. Blasius climbed bravely to his feet and faced the man squarely. “Have you no charity?”
“Do not interfere, Templar! ‘Tis no business of yours.”
“I say it is my business! A helpless child is to be hanged and you say it is not my business! Are you mad?”
Other soldiers quickly filled the platform and a scuffle began. A group of Templars stood by Blasius and railed against the soldiers of Runkel. To Runkel’s aid came more of their knights and an angry company of footmen. Soon the stage was overflowing with brawling men, some falling to the ground, others drawing swords.
Then from below bellowed a voice like none had ever heard. “Monfréres, suffisament!”The Templars turned and faced their master, Brother Phillipe de Blanqfort. He stared at them firmly, then grabbed a torch and climbed the steps. The men parted before him like the sea before Moses. The veteran of Palestine shouldered his way toward Blasius, and the two faced each other for a long moment. The whole of the square held its breath.
“Never,” began Phillipe, “never lose your heart of mercy.”
Blasius bowed.
“But, my brother, it is not for you to tread where God does not call you. So, according to your vow…”
“No!” protested Blasius. “No, I shall not…”
“You shall obey me!” roared Phillipe.
Blasius shuddered and bowed his head.
Phillipe peered at the young knight’s earnest face. Blasius’s eyes were red and tearing as he turned toward the poor lad staring wide-eyed and frightened.
“Brother Blasius, leave this place. Let justice be served.”
Blasius closed his eyes and yielded. Weeping, the warrior-monk descended the steps and walked stiffly away.
Wil was troubled and angry. He had not heard Blasius’s pleas, though he could see Albert being led to the rope. But while the poor wretch received his final prayer, Wil’s ears cocked to reports of the Templar’s protest. The news raced through the woollen horde in a rising rush that suddenly surged like a stormy tide at full moon. The gathered peasants began to shout, “Mercy, mercy!” Wil jumped to his feet and joined his little voice to all the others. “Mercy… mercy!” he shrieked.
But, despite the cries of the angry folk, the sentence was quickly executed. Little Albert was hoisted four feet off the ground where he flailed on the end of the rope for nearly a quarter of an hour. Little by little the throng of peasants fell silent and stood stupefied until, at long last, the boy hung limp and lifeless.
As Albert’s body was lowered into a waiting cart, the disgusted crowd began to grumble, then to shout. They shook their fists impotently against the dark sky and cursed the order before them. Indeed, something good had happened in that awful place: mercy had been awakened in the hearts of the simple folk. And more, they had learned how much greater mercy was than justice—if only they would remember.