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

by C. D. Baker

  Judge Hagan had kept a distracted eye on his secretary. Now fearing some mischief, he rose and stared, unaware of Friederich’s theft. He called quietly for some Templars. His suspicious movements caught Wilda’s attention, and she looked nervously about. It is time to go! the woman thought. She raised her arm to signal her fellows.

  Pieter had already led Maria close to the bridge, where he had kept a close eye on the events. Seeing Wilda’s hand raised, he squeezed his staff. “Hurry, child! We need make for the bridge and quickly.” The old man was tired. His legs bowed limply beneath him. The day had been far too much for him, and he now begged God to just let the two of them fly with angels over the walls of the stinking castle and into the safety of the clean forests by Münster.

  With Solomon threatening all in their path, Maria took the old man’s hand and helped him hurry forward. She tightened her grip and pulled the perspiring, wobbling priest onto the bridge midst the milling assortment of coughing, lice-ridden peasants. The old man held the girl’s hand firmly and followed her into the safety of Runkel’s winding streets.

  In the meanwhile, Heinrich was still pushing his way through the courtyard in a mad press to rescue Katharina. At last he saw her. She looked so brave to him, so beautiful. Her hair had grayed some, but it still shined under the summer sun. She was slender and graceful, he thought.

  But, suddenly, the soldier began to drag her away. It was never intended that she be released. In fact, both she and Frieda were to have been seized.

  “No!” cried Heinrich. He bolted forward, but it was Alwin who would strike first. Standing only feet from Hann, the knight had anticipated the betrayal. He had already drawn his sword, so when Hann made his move, Alwin lunged forward and fixed one hand hard on Hann’s elbow as he placed the point of his sword at the base of the man’s skull.

  “Release her or die,” Alwin hissed.

  Hann froze and cursed. He hesitated, and in that brief pause Heinrich arrived to tear the man’s hand from Katharina’s arm. “Let her go!” the baker growled. The soldier yielded and stood stiffly as Heinrich abruptly led Katharina on a mad dash for the bridge.

  Alwin waited with his sword on Hann’s skull until the baker and the woman were lost in the crowd. With a push, he quickly spun about and began a retreat of his own. Hann roared and drew his sword. He took a few steps toward the retreating knight when an arrow landed between his feet. The soldier froze and stared into the ramparts, then into the shadows. Fearing to talee another step, the man backed away.

  Alwin was nervous. He saw soldiers of the castle guard begin to prowl suspiciously. Time to get out of here! He shoved his way through the mob and toward the bridge to which others were now moving. In the slowing press of shuffling folk, he spotted Heinrich and Katharina ahead. The knight pushed harder and finally caught up to the pair. “Heinrich, raise your hood!”

  The baker obeyed.

  “Now, hurry!” The trio pressed anxiously toward the drawbridge in a growing crush of reeking, unwashed folk. In the courtyard behind them, four Templars on horseback were now barking at the peasants, shouting as they plowed their mounts forward.

  At last the three set foot on the wooden planks and took their next desperate steps. Alwin looked anxiously about for the others, and his eyes fell upon Otto’s head to one side and Tomas near him. They’ve all been signaled. The trio had nearly reached the far side when the Templars arrived on the bridge behind them. Alwin sank deeply into his hood and cried to Heinrich, “They’re going to block it! Hurry! We must hurry!”

  Indeed, the man had no sooner said the words when he felt the hot breath of a horse on his neck.

  “Move off!” cried a Templar. “Move off or die!”

  The shoulder of another’s horse bumped Katharina forward, causing her to stumble. Alwin exploited the moment. He, too, feigned tripping and wrapped a securing arm around the woman. Together, they lurched forward, off the bridge, and tumbled onto the shoulder of the far side.

  Ignoring them as some bumbling peasants, the Templars spurred their way forward a few more steps, then turned their mounts to face the oncoming crowd. Heinrich lowered his head and rolled between the flanks of their horses, barely breaking through the line before a row of lances was leveled to hold the rest at bay. Moments later he found Alwin and Katharina, and the trio hurried into the lengthening shadows of the village of Runkel, where they stopped. “God be praised!” Alwin cried. “God be praised.”

  The baker fought for his breath, then looked at Katharina in disbelief. “I … I cannot believe you are here, standing right here!” The woman lowered her face shyly. She hesitated and then leaned quietly against him. For Heinrich, the moment was one of dreams, of fantasy once shaming. The soft frame within his strong embrace was an unexpected gift from a merciful heaven.

  For Katharina, it was as though all time had suddenly stopped. The noise of the village vanished within the sound of her heart’s pounding, and she trembled for joy.

  Alwin looked about. “We’d best be moving. We cannot stay here for long, though I only saw Otto and Tomas on the bridge.”

  Heinrich wiped his eye. “Wil, Frieda, Maria, and Pieter were ahead of us… and Wilda as well. That leaves Friederich, Helmut, and Benedetto.”

  Katharina looked at the worried knight and at Heinrich. “What happened today was not of things earthly. The angels smiled on us all I do not believe they’d leave any behind. We should believe; it is all we can do.”

  Heinrich thought for a moment. He looked at the woman, then to the dimming sky. He smiled. It was true; heaven had rained mercy upon the brave band of misfits. Indeed, if the man’s ears had been able, he would have heard the legions of the unseen singing joyously.

  For the next two days, the exhausted pilgrims—all the pilgrims—rested comfortably in the forest near Münster. They had shared their adventures over and over and now waited patiently for Wilda to return from Münster with Paulus and any news. They had served one another well—they had lived for something greater than themselves, and in that, they had once more tasted the pleasure of true joy.

  News of the day’s astonishing events had traveled quickly along the highways and footpaths of the “Golden Ground.” After the trial Wilda had returned to Münster, where her priest had informed her of what he had learned. She hurried back to camp to share the news.

  “Arnold escaped the village soon after the trial. Actually, he was in hiding during it! He said he had a sense of trouble. Anyway, he came to Münster with news, and I was there to hear him with m’own ears. He has a grave warning for us, but first, Heinrich, you needs know something.”

  She turned to the baker solemnly. “The poor of Weyer gathered on the village common the morning of the trial. They had not forgotten the kindnesses you showed them so many years before. They armed themselves with hoes and forks and swore to attack the abbey if you were not released. The reeve quickly summoned the garrison, and it seems that a small battle occurred on the Villmar road. Arnold says that four cotters were killed and one soldier.”

  “That’s why the reeve was not at court!” exclaimed Alwin.

  The pilgrims shook their heads in disbelief, but Heinrich sat stone faced and overwhelmed. He had, indeed, done his best to help the poor of Weyer, but he didn’t think any ever noticed. Katharina laid a tender hand on his.

  “But now, all, listen carefully. Arnold says that the prior and the steward are enraged. They’ve ordered a search of every village, every field, and every forest of the manor. They are desperate to capture us all.”

  The group murmured worriedly.

  Wilda continued. “Heinrich and Wil, you are officially under warrant as fugitives of the manor. Arnold says the steward intends to have you hanged as runaways. Warrants are also issued for Maria, Katharina, Otto, and Tomas. And he says I shall be sent to Mainz for trial as a witch. I fear for us all, even the minstrel and Helmut… and Pieter.”

  The group fell quiet. None spoke for a long time until Tomas stood and looked at
his fellows from Weyer. “Wil, Heinrich, Otto, Maria … Katharina … we can never return,” he declared flatly. “Weyer is no longer our home.”

  Katharina held Heinrich’s hand as the man now wrestled inwardly with both rage and sorrow. For two days the two of them had spent the hours gazing into one another’s eyes and discussing everything from the days in Emma’s gardens to the trial. Heinrich had begged her forgiveness for killing her husband, and he had confessed his shame in his past affections. They had wept and laughed, and they had groaned over shared memories and beamed with new hopes. It had been a time of healing. But with this news from Wilda, the baker could only shake his head. He had supposed it all along, but now it was certain: Weyer was no longer his home; he was no longer Heinrich of Weyer. The thought of it left him dismayed. At last he spoke. “Wilda, is it safe for you to seek out your priest again?”

  “I believe so. Arnold has spies who say the abbot has not yet gotten permission to send riders into Lord Rolfhard’s land.”

  “Then, could I ask you to do something? Could you ask your priest to tell Arnold that I’ve no words to say how thankful I am to him and to those blessed cotters? Tell him I wish I knew a way to show my heart to him and to them.”

  Friederich had kept a secret for these two days. Now, he thought, now is the right time! “Pardon, all. I’ve other news as well.”

  The circle turned toward the cheerful imp. “I’ve this!” In his hand he held a piece of folded parchment. “I snatched it from the secretary in the castle. ‘Tis the letter of debt!” he cried.

  The group was astonished, and after a moment of utter silence, they roared.

  “Well done, lad!” cried Pieter. “I think.”

  “Tis no wonder the prior is wild!” cried Tomas. “He lost Heinrich and the money!”

  Echoing one another’s comments, the group laughed and chattered loudly. At last Heinrich stood humbly. “I’ve no right to speak on this. It was you who risked all to save Wil and me. And I am confounded as to how to thank you. But… but would it not be good if Wilda could give this letter to Arnold as our thanks. He could use it to save himself and even wrest a profit from it. It would be our wish that he would then share any gain with the poor in Weyer, especially any widows from the battle.”

  The idea was met with unanimous approval. Wilda smiled. “If it is agreed, I shall take it at once!”

  But the woman would not need to deliver it, for her priest suddenly burst into the camp. “Wilda, I’ve been trying to catch you!” he cried. “No sooner had you left then I learned that Steward Hagan has sent a delegate to Lord Rolfhard with a bag of gold to ask permission for entry on his lands. This means he’ll be coming here with soldiers and soon! You must leave before the dawn!” He whirled about and fixed his eyes on Alwin. “Do not tell me, sir, but a rumor is about that you are a deserting Templar. They’ve wind of it and have issued a warrant for you as well.”

  Alwin paled. Someone must have seen me close.

  Alarmed, the pilgrims stared at one another blankly. Where would they go? None spoke. Those of Weyer had not yet fully grasped the fact that they no longer had a home, and they had certainly not even begun to consider where they now belonged. This was not the way to set a new course. Yet a new course needed to be taken, and quickly.

  Wil took his wife’s hand and looked at the others. “Well, where shall we go?”

  Alwin rose and answered. “We should not run about the country like ships without rudders. I say we start at once for England. ‘Tis a place where a man can be free. Things are afoot there that seem good to me. We could travel west, across France and to the ports in Normandy, we—”

  Pieter shook his head wearily. “Alwin, I fear it is too much to ask of any. They’d need to learn another language, and they know nothing of the laws. It is simply too much, my friend, too much.”

  “Too much for you or for them?” snapped Alwin.

  “No, we do not wish to go to England,” answered Wil. “Not now. There must be another place amongst those who speak our tongue?”

  “We could go south,” blurted Otto. “South to the Emmental. It felt good there.”

  His idea was greeted with some nods. The Emmental was a pleasant place, to be sure. It had deep green valleys and good folk. “But we’d still be fugitives in a land of lords,” grumbled Tomas.

  The group murmured anxiously. A few ideas drifted round the circle but none that seemed reasonable. Wil retreated deep into his thoughts as he aimlessly sharpened a stick with his dagger. Lost in pictures of places he had been, his eyes fell suddenly upon the inscription on his blade, and he turned to his father. Both men stared at the words for a moment until the baker muttered, “‘Freedom always.’”

  Heinrich took the dagger from Wil’s hand and held it up almost reverently. He turned to his fellows. “You, Wil, Maria, Frieda, Tomas … all of you, listen to me. We are free now, even though we are driven from our homes and chased like animals across the land. We are free, and we’ll not spend our days hiding from those who would deny us God’s gift.”

  Heinrich laid hold of Karl’s cross, which he now carried in his belt once again. He looked squarely at Alwin. “Good friend, we are all fugitives now. You are welcome with us, but go to England if you must. Yet by your own words you say that their king is a tyrant. I’ve had a belly full of tyranny.” The baker looked deeply into Katharina’s eyes. “I know a place where the sky is large and the fields are covered with flowers. There the sun shines brightly over freemen who stand firm for what is theirs, who fight shoulder to shoulder against tyrants. It is a place where we can be what we have become. Let us make our way to a new home, to a new beginning, to a new life. Let us make our way to Stedingerland.”

  The baker’s words stirred each heart encircling the fire, and the friends stared at one another for a long moment as the idea washed over them. Then, one by one, the pilgrims rose and clasped hands. “To Stedingerland then!” proclaimed Wil. “To Stedingerland!”

  It was a moment that brought cheers and nods—and a few doubts as well, for only Heinrich and Alwin had ever seen the place. So before long, the two were barraged with questions until Heinrich finally raised his arm. “Enough!” he laughed. “You’ll need to trust us. We’ll tell you all that we know, but now we must hurry.”

  “Ja!” pleaded Münster’s priest. “You must be away long before dawn.”

  “Which way, then?” quizzed Pieter. The old man was enlivened by his flock’s decision, but he barely had the strength to stand.

  “Along the Lahn to Marburg. I’ve a friend there, a wealthy merchant who’ll give us shelter,” said Alwin. “Then we should go overland to Kassei, where we can follow the Fulda River toward the Weser. Then we can follow the Weser north.”

  “Aye!” exclaimed Helmut. “My home is just east of Bremen.”

  Heinrich nodded. “Good, perhaps we’ll take a rest there. But, lad, once we’re in the bishop’s realm, well need to have acare.”

  With the matter forthrightly settled, the fugitives prepared to flee. Wil helped Benedetto load Paulus and then called for Pieter. “Your throne, my lord!”

  Pieter did not complain. The adventure in Runkel had taken a terrible toll on him, and the past two days of rest had restored only a portion of his strength. “Too much excitement for these old bones,” he chuckled.

  Wil surveyed his gathering company. “We have everything? Our satchels, our gold, our weapons? Is everything in order?”

  The group nodded. Wil took hold of Emmanuel and his quiver. He felt his satchel and secured the dagger in his belt. “Frieda?”

  The young woman nodded. She still had her quills and parchments. The priest had even sent her a fresh jar of ink.

  Heinrich had counted the company’s coins and now gave each traveler seven pennies of his or her own before distributing the balance equally among Wil, Alwin, and himself. As he placed his coins into his satchel, he brushed along his Laubusbach stone, which he promptly lifted to his eye. He stared at it wis
tfully. Instead of a symbol of his return, it had suddenly become a relic of his past. Dropping it back into his bag, he secured his sword and nodded. “I am ready.”

  Solomon took his place alongside Paulus and his master as Pieter smiled at Maria. “You must promise me that you’ll find some pretty flowers for your hair along the way!”

  Maria giggled. “Of course … and for yours, too!”

  Heinrich walked to Katharina’s side. He took her hand in his and looked deeply into her green eyes. The baker’s heart melted. Keeping his own hopes at bay, he said gently, “Woman, you have lost everything. Your husband is dead, your land will be taken by the abbot, and your chattels sold.”

  Katharina nodded. She gazed upward into Heinrich’s kindly face. “Like you, I am saddened to leave the graves of our children behind, but more than that I do not mourn. The land was a curse to me; my chattels were fetters on my soul. I’ve an ample dowry safe enough with the Templar banks.” She squeezed Heinrich’s hand softly. “No, dear man, I have not lost everything.”

  The baker could hardly ask the next question. “Shall … you seek your family elsewhere … or travel with us to Stedingerland?” He waited breathlessly.

  Katharina turned her eyes downward. Dare I be so bold? she wondered. Her heart fluttered. “If… you permit me, sir, I should be honored to join your company.”

  The baker’s heart leapt with joy. He wrapped his arm tenderly around the woman. “Permit you? Permit you? Oh, Katharina, come with me, I beg you!” For the man it was as if the world had been made right and good in that one brief moment.

  Katharina smiled broadly. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed warm and happy. “Then to Stedingerland—together.”

  In the meanwhile, Alwin sought out Wilda as Wil assembled the others. “And you, Wilda?”

  “Are you going to England?” she asked.