Pilgrims of Promise: A Novel (The Journey of Souls Series)

by C. D. Baker

  “But we’re told that the deaths of Lukas and the guard are mere suspicions.”

  “Aye, but the priest speaks of dreams and visions. Herwin told you right, Tomas. Such words from a priest are not easily challenged. We’d need at least one witness, maybe two to say the contrary. And how, my friends, do we prove the man had no such dreams?”

  Pieter was quiet. At last he struck his fist on Arnold’s table. “I don’t know! I cannot think so quickly anymore!”

  Frieda took Arnold’s arm. “Sir, when we stir the pot, the rabbit rolls first. Then the turnips rise, then peas, then onions, and then yet more. I say we turn our rabbit and see what fortune it brings.”

  Arnold nodded thoughtfully. “Well said, fair lady. Well said.” He turned to Friederich, then to Pieter. “It is agreed then. Firstly, let us think on the plan for Heinrich. Methinks—”

  A rap sounded on the door, and the collaborators froze. Arnold furrowed his brows and stared at his guests. Pieter shook his head. “None of ours,” he whispered.

  Arnold grabbed a stout stick and approached the door slowly. He then flung it open and stared angrily at the slight form of Katharina standing before him. “You!”

  The woman bowed. Arnold stared at her for a moment, then looked about to see if others were watching. “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you, sir … about Heinrich.”

  Arnold’s eyes nearly popped. “Yet another!” he growled. “Go away. He killed your husband, and he’ll pay the price.” He slammed the door and spun around. “The widow! The widow of the man Heinrich killed.”

  Another knock sounded on the door. This time Arnold flung it open with a loud curse. “I told you … now go away!” he cried.

  Katharina ground her shoes into the dust. “No, Herr Arnold. Heinrich did not murder my husband. He killed him in self-defense.”

  Arnold peered into the woman’s beautiful, fiery green eyes. “What is this about?”

  “My husband was a beast. I submitted to him, but, as God is my witness, I oft wanted him dead. Now he is, and I want to help Heinrich.”

  Arnold stared at the woman for another moment, then grabbed her by the arm and quickly yanked her through the doorway. As he slammed his door, he shoved her toward the others. The group was wary and unsure of the woman’s true intentions.

  “You must believe me!” Katharina pleaded desperately. “I… I loved him.” She began to weep. “May God forgive me, but I loved him.”

  Frieda’s heart was moved, and she touched the woman lightly on the arm.

  “I knew it was a sin,” cried Katharina. “But I could not rule my heart. I was true to my husband, but I did love Heinrich so.”

  The group whispered amongst themselves, then Pieter said, “My dear sister, we do not know you. Heinrich once spoke of a woman for whom he had shaming memories, but he mentioned no name. We cannot trust you now, and you cannot help us. It is best that you bury your husband.”

  Katharina stood, erect and defiant. “Yes. I understand. You do not trust me. So let me tell you this, and you judge whether I earned his trust. Heinrich’s greatest love was his children, his second was his Butterfly Frau, then his bakery, and then the magical place he called the Magi. His baker’s mark honors both Frau Emma and his faith. He has a heart for the poor, yet he oft hates himself. He follows duty and no longer even faces the sun. I know this man. Only one who cares would know these things.”

  Her words moved Pieter, for they rang true of a love long cherished. The old man thought carefully. He looked kindly at the woman, then at Arnold. “Frau Katharina, bury your husband. Then, if you truly wish to help, take a walk near the Matins Stone.”

  “The Matins Stone?”

  “Yes. Do you know it?”

  “Aye. It is beyond the boundary toward Münster. I’ve been there twice.”

  Pieter leaned forward. “Then when your duty is done, take a third walk—alone. Perhaps you may help us after all.”

  Later that evening, after remaining for some time with Arnold, Pieter’s group made its way back to camp under cover of darkness. Katharina had already arrived by the time they returned and had endured a blistering interrogation by Alwin, Wilda, Otto, and Helmut. But it was Otto who assured them of her trustworthiness. The young lad had been witness to the woman’s frequent beatings. One particular spring day he had followed her into the ferns by the Magi, where he had heard her sob the name of Heinrich over and over.

  For the others, however, it was the return of Heinrich’s sword that bid her welcome. She had concealed it beneath her summer cloak, and when she presented it to Alwin, the man embraced her.

  Pieter shared the events of the day with all those present, and more time was spent carefully reviewing and discussing their ideas. As they prepared to implement the first part of their dubious plan to save Heinrich, the old priest joined a circle of bent knees to pray for the protection of the Almighty in “such a mad scheme as this!”

  It had been decided that the night’s mission needed to be clean and swift. What would be needed were two lookouts, a warrior, a guide, and a set of nimble fingers. The plan did not call for an old man, a minstrel, a widow, or a witch. So it was Otto, Helmut, Alwin, Tomas, and Friederich who received the special blessings of Pieter, who then begged the heavens to shower mercy upon Heinrich and Wil, who were no doubt suffering the terrors of Runkel’s dungeon.

  In tears the old priest pleaded and wept, then finished his prayer with a final petition on the behalf of all: “Attend to my cry: for I have been brought low indeed. Deliver me from my persecutors; for they are stronger than I. Lead my soul out of prison, that I may praise Thy name, O Lord.”

  So with a prayer and an unlikely plan, the brave volunteers bade their comrades farewell and disappeared into the darkness. Except for Friederich and Helmut, the others knew the abbey well, Tomas best of all. Though Alwin had been raised within its walls, it had been many years since he had spent more than a passing moment there. Tomas had been an oblate as well and had lived inside the abbey until just a few years prior. The abbey had changed over the years; it had grown with the addition of new dormitories and workshops, a new complex of buildings for the abbot and his prior, as well as expanded gardens and new orchards.

  The five hurried through the forest and crossed the Laubusbach at a ford that would lead them around Weyer. They ran cross-country over the stiff stubble of freshly harvested fields until they came to the Villmar road, which they took downhill to the dimly lit village and its abbey. The night was warm, and the air was scented with the pleasant odor of fresh-cut grain. A brief shower fell, dampening the sound of their padding feet as they hurried through the shadows of sleepy Villmar and to the southern gate of the abbey.

  Otto looked upward at the alarm bell standing quietly in its place, and he recalled Wil’s story of the year before. The lad began to sweat profusely. The company had agreed they’d enter as pilgrims, not beggars, and they’d greet the guard with a coin, not a stout stick! At Alwin’s command, all of them lifted their hoods over their heads and hobbled forward.

  Alwin stepped boldly toward the soldier who took his place each night at the bells of compline. It had become the abbot’s uncomfortable concession to the world of war. “Your pardon, good sir.”

  The guard was young and alert. “Who goes there?” He leveled his lance.

  “Five pilgrims from Egypt bound for Cologne.” Alwin tossed back his hood and took a posture of friendliness.

  “Egypt?”

  “Ja, my brother. And we have visited ourselves to holy relics throughout our journey. I have touched the hem of the Holy Virgin’s veil and prayed over the bones of St. Amphibalis. We have all worshiped at the blood of St. George, and this fine lad has climbed the Scala Santa in Rome. Ah, good soldier, we are well blessed and happy, but we are sleepy and hungry, too! Here, my friend, a coin touched to the tooth of St. Stephen.”

  The guard reached toward a silver penny lying dull and tarnished in Alwin’s opened palm.
He picked it up reverently and kissed it, then dropped it in a pouch at his belt. “With thanks, pilgrim. Please, knock for the porter.”

  Alwin rapped loudly on the wooden gate as Tomas sank deeper into his hood. After waiting patiently, he knocked again, and a sleepy porter pulled the heavy door open. “Thanks be to God,” he mumbled.

  “Your humble brethren beg entrance, brother monk,” answered Alwin with a bow.

  The porter stepped aside and gave the visitors entrance. Closing the door, he raised a torch to see the faces of his guests and recited sleepily, “He who is hungry is welcome; he who is weary may find rest with us.”

  Alwin bowed. “We are pilgrims, brother. We come from Egypt and are traveling to our homes in Cologne. We have silver to buy a bit of bread and perhaps some wine.”

  The porter yawned. “Ja, my friend. We’ve an alms box by the guesthouse, and the poor of this manor are grateful. Our guestmaster is asleep, as is the prior. The abbot is entertaining other guests, so you must forgive us if I tend to you myself.”

  “We are but humble pilgrims, brother. We need not bother any other.”

  The porter quietly led the group across the abbey grounds. The moon was up but shrouded in a clouded sky that seemed to grow more oppressive as the night passed. A few smoky torches hung on some walls, but they cast only a poor yellow light into the heavy shadows. The pilgrims walked by the bakery and brewery … both known by their smells, then passed a barn of some sort and the granary now beginning to fill with oats. Far to their left, in the center of the abbey, stood the dark lines of the main cloister and the towers of its church.

  “Your abbey seems large and prosperous, at least by night!” chuckled Alwin.

  “It is. And it is growing. Rumors are that we’ve more lands in Saxony to add to our holdings. Lands there and now some near Toulouse, in France.”

  “Ah, Toulouse, yes. I’ve spent some time in that region as a knight. I drew the sword against the Cathari for the glory of the Church.”

  The porter stopped and turned. “You are a crusader, then?”

  Alwin bowed.

  “We are given lands taken from those heretics. It must be God’s pleasure to have you come to us. Your sword has blessed this place! Now, my lord, I shall serve you a feast!”

  Alwin had hoped to ingratiate himself to the young porter, but he had not wanted to draw undue attention. “No, good brother, please, I beg thee. I… I need not feed my pride with such kindness. I do, however, have a special place in my heart for a good wine. Might you lead us to your cellar? Perhaps allow me to choose the wine you would serve?”

  “Indeed, my brother! Indeed! Follow me!”

  The porter turned left sharply and hurried toward the imposing silhouette of the main cluster of buildings. The pilgrims’ hearts pounded as they drew nearer their goal.

  “Brother, it is dark, but methinks fine masons built this place,” said Alwin. “In Limoges I once took refuge in an abbey that had grown so that it built a separate chamber for the abbot’s secretary and the prior’s office.”

  The porter stopped and pointed to a large new addition that reached into the courtyard. “Well, we’ve kept as much as possible together, so we all are as one. But the abbot’s office and the prior’s are now there.”

  “Oh,” said Helmut. “And I suppose your abbot has himself a fine window above to keep an eye on the novices!”

  The porter smiled. “Ja, ‘tis true enough. Abbot Udo is a humble man, but I know he loves the high window. I believe he repents of it secretly, however. At chapter he once said he would have gladly given the better view to the prior, but since the prior’s knees are bad, he says he thought it better if he’d suffer the steps instead.”

  “No doubt,” chuckled Alwin. He gave Helmut a covert glance of approval.

  As they approached the cloister, the porter said more. “There it is. See, the abbot’s office is directly on the corner, so he has two windows. His prior is directly beneath, and sometimes they call to one another through their windows. They both have the southern wall, so they get most of the day’s sun.

  “Now, my friends, if you will, follow me quietly through these corridors and down the steps ahead.”

  In a few moments the porter was standing over the sleeping keeper of keys, Brother Perpetua. Otto nudged Tomas, and the two grinned beneath their hoods. It was as they had hoped. Friederich fixed his eyes on the man’s keys.

  The porter prodded the sleeping monk. “Brother, wake up!”

  The fat fellow snorted and opened one eye. “Eh?”

  “We’ve guests.”

  “Eh?” Perpetua climbed off his stool and rubbed his eyes. “I … I was only praying, brother. Now, how can I serve thee?”

  “Unlock the door. We need to select a wine for our special guest.”

  The keeper smiled at the five and reached for a torch. He then fumbled through his keys. Friederich guessed there to be about three dozen. Perpetua chose one and inserted it into a rusted keyhole. With a loud snap, the cellar lock opened. “Aye, it never used to be locked, but the devils prowl about some nights. I see them in the mist. The abbot says we’ve lost too much to them over time. I’d say he is right about that. The alms box went empty one night near Martinmas some years ago. Once a lord’s entourage sacked our cellars and our treasury. Wicked souls, may they be damned to hellfire!”

  Alwin feigned interest in the wine, then turned to the porter. “Brother, it occurs to me that you’ve been away from your post! We are content to make a choice and let this good monk show us our lodging.”

  Disappointed, the youth agreed. He clasped hands with Alwin and bowed to the others, then disappeared into the night.

  “So, brother…”

  “Perpetua.”

  “Yes. Brother Perpetua, methinks it shall soon be the bells of matins. You‘ll need leave us for your prayers.”

  The man grunted. I’ve prayed all the night as it is.” He looked covetously at the wine barrels set in a long, neat row. “So you are truly a special guest?”

  “I am a crusader, sir, on my way home.”

  It was enough. Perpetua smiled and hurried the others inside the cellar and then closed the door behind them as the bells of midnight prayers rang solemnly over the cloister. He set his torch into a wall-holder, shuffled on heavy legs to a shelf, and reached for several wooden tankards. Chortling like a schoolboy, he beckoned his guests to come closer. “Here, lads. God owes crusaders a special kindness. From where in Christendom would you like to taste wine?” He laughed gleefully.

  The pilgrims looked blankly at the round-faced monk and the long row of barrels.

  “Well? We’ve a fine selection of hearty reds from Burgundy. We’ve a fruity barrel from Alsace and a pale red from the March of Verona. Perhaps you’d prefer something light from Liguria or a heavy port from the Duoro Valley in Portugal?” The man was grinning from ear to ear. “Ah, and the abbot just received a barrel of something very aromatic from the kingdom of Castille.”

  Alwin smiled broadly. “You’ve had them all?”

  “Indeed!” He squatted on his haunches and leaned over to Friederich. “Boy, I guard the door with my life, and while I’m guarding it, I make sure the taps all work! Ha!” He stood and roared. “I love my calling!”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  TENSION IN VILLMAR

  The pilgrims laughed with the jolly monk and soon followed him up and down the row of barrels. Wisely, Alwin and his companions were carefully pouring most of their “tastes” quietly onto the dirt floor of the cellar, else they would have been staggering like the bleary-eyed Perpetua. Slurring his words and tripping about the cellar, the well-oiled monk was finally coaxed to a bench by the guiding hands of Alwin. “We’ll guard the door for you, old friend,” said the knight softly.

  The monk smiled, then dropped to the floor in a stupor. “We didn’t need nimble fingers for this!” snickered Friederich.

  Alwin was suddenly serious. “Now, lads, listen. Friederich, tak
e the keys from his belt. Tomas, put out the torch. Well lock the old fellow in, then get to the prior’s office. We’ve about four hours yet.”

  In moments, Friederich found the right key and locked Perpetua inside the cellar. The group then hurried up the stone steps and into the arcade, which they followed to the end. Then, turning left, they slunk through the corridor leading them to the abbey’s offices, where the porter had said the prior’s office now was. Fortunately, a rain was falling, so what few torches were burning in the courtyards were fast being extinguished. The abbey was quiet, save for the patter of summer rain on the earth and on the tile roofs above.

  “We didn’t ask if it was guarded,” whispered Helmut.

  Tomas thought for a moment. “It may be. The Templars are under contract as is the lord of Runkel.”

  Alwin thought carefully. “Tomas, go ahead of us and see. Do you know which door?”

  “It’d be down a small corridor that turns to the right, just ahead of us. Then it would be the last door on the left.” With that, the lad crept forward.

  The other four waited nervously. They feared Perpetua might awaken and begin calling for help. If he did, they’d be found out. “Might he?” whispered Friederich.

  “I don’t think so, lad,” answered Alwin. He hoped he was right.

  It seemed a lifetime before Tomas came padding back in the darkness. In a low voice he said, “We’ve one guard fast asleep. But he’s a few doors down from the prior’s.”

  Alwin thought quickly. He pulled his sword quietly from its sheath. “If he stirs, I’ll need to finish him. I pray God keeps him in his dreams. Now, Friederich, when you get to the door, you’ll need to go through many keys quietly. When you find the right one, open the door, and Helmut will follow you in. Arnold says the Jew vowed he saw the parchment put in a wooden box atop his desk.”

  Helmut was perspiring and his mouth was dry. “We’ve no certainty that the key to the office is even on our ring.”

  The group was quiet. It was logical that it would be there, but it was also possible that the prior would have his own key. No one had given that little detail a thought!