Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (The Journey of Souls Series)

by C. D. Baker

  As Pieter finished his instruction, nausea squeezed about his belly, for he remembered Dunkeldorf and felt uncomfortably qualified as a common thief. He sighed. Soon the eleven slipped through some loose stakes of the wall and crept from the night shadows of the slumbering village. The group skulked noiselessly through the hamlet, darting between the smoky columns of the past day’s fires and crawling deftly by dark doorways. Friederich’s nimble fingers snatched an assortment of foods and sundries from windows left unshuttered in the still, summer night, while Karl stole in and out the thatched huts harvesting a bundle of breads and honeycomb. All through the village tiny silhouettes slid along fences, under windows, and between the tiny hovels of the unsuspecting folk. Only the sounds of snoring peasants and the occasional low growl of a suspicious, sleepy dog broke the silence.

  Before long, the anxious group reassembled beyond the village fence and collapsed in the safety of the wood. After a few heavy sighs and nervous titters each offered their loot for the approval of the rest. One lad proudly held a pair of mutton-fat candles to the moonlight; another, some hemp rope and a clutch of pennies; still another, a clay jug of cider and a basket of early apples. Friederich offered a handful of smoked pork strips and entrails and Wil displayed a large cheese, a fine lead buckle, and a small pail of honey.

  “Well done, lads,” Pieter congratulated as he studied the plunder. “Well done indeed.” He himself had pilfered a sloshing barrel of ale that he rolled toward the astonished boys. “And see what else’s been found. This ale shall be our weapon,” he chuckled. “Watch how it hits its mark!”

  The band returned to their impatient captors and emerged into the firelight to present their spoils. Leopold and Alfred laughed loudly when they saw the ample bounty of varied items. “Well, by God,” laughed Alfred, “not so much of treasures but ample necessaries. Methinks we’ve a good partnership, after all! Pity you forgot a homespun for the little hog, though. Ach. No matter—you’ve brought us ale.”

  Ignoring the children, the two soldiers plunged their thick hands into their packs and jerked out two large wooden tankards which fell immediately to duty under the tapped keg. Pieter winked at Wil, for he knew what fruit the froth would soon yield! And, true to form, the intruders were soon laughing and lurching about the darkness, singing one moment, then threatening each other with their swords the next.

  Pieter slowly moved the children to the edges of the campsite where they watched the two fools swig tankard after tankard. When some hours had passed, Leopold staggered toward Pieter with malice in his glazed eyes. “If you think, priest, to beat us with ale, you … you … uh … Me mind fails me….”

  “I assure thee, my good friend, I have no such intent.”

  “Indeed,” mumbled the soldier as he returned to his brew.

  The two men drank until the eastern sky showed its first signs of light and Pieter was now concerned that the village people would soon be about and notice their loss. Aye, he thought, they’ll be on us and’ll not be believing our story. He looked at his red-eyed captors who were still conscious despite the herbal concoction he had secretly added to their ale. Ach, too little henbane, he grumbled to himself. Oh, if only I had kept the belladonna! But this was not the time for regrets and Pieter knew he must devise a new plan—and quickly. He stared at Solomon for a moment, then carefully whispered an idea to Wil.

  Wil smiled and motioned for Friederich to come close. He confided Pieter’s plan in Friederich’s ear and the three cautiously moved toward the groggy men.

  Pieter cleared his throat and stared squarely at Leopold. “And a fine morning to thee, my son. I am waiting to learn of our day’s duty.”

  Leopold rubbed his grimy cheeks and mumbled, “Ja, ja, old man, by God …” He yawned. “By God, well do this again. We s—” Leopold’s heavy eyes drooped, but Pieter leaned close to him and presented a low, numbing discourse on the purpose of man, the complexities of God, of philosophy and rhetoric, astronomy and the like, all of which assured sleep of the deepest kind!

  Meanwhile, Alfred had lowered himself against the trunk of a sturdy spruce and was fading into a deep sleep. Wil squatted in front of him to test the man’s wit, and, alas, the ruffian was only able to rally one final grouse. “Move off… brat or you’ll… pay a dear pri… ce.” His head fell forward. Wil motioned for Friederich to hurry and in an instant the nimble fingers of the little tyke raced to untangle the man’s pouch strings and seize some coins from deep inside. The lad grasped a handful of pennies and set them softly on his lap. He reached inside for yet another and then deftly retied the cords. He winked at Wil, then scampered between the trees to Pieter’s side.

  Pieter’s drone had served its purpose as Leopold was now slumped in near unconsciousness. The old man warily watched the snoring dimwit as Friederich then carefully added Alfred’s coins to Leopold’s pouch.

  Alfred suddenly lurched in his half-sleep, startling Wil backward off his haunches and so startling Gertrude that she chirped a panicked shriek and bolted into the dawn-grayed forest. Her rash fleet loosed the constrained fear in others, and the whole campsite was immediately filled with the cries of stampeding children.

  The commotion drew the soldiers from their sleep and they clambered to their feet. Leopold swirled and thrashed about, barking at Alfred and grabbing at the fleeing children. He chased Maria into the wood and snatched her by the hair. She squealed as he yanked his sword from its scabbard. “Halt, I say, or by the spirits I’ll lift off her head.”

  “Aye, and if he don’t, I surely shall. Now hold fast, each one of you,” bellowed Alfred.

  Most of the children stopped in their steps, and those too frightened to hold soon yielded to the imploring cries of their comrades.

  “Good Leopold.” Pieter’s voice seemed strangely calm and soothing. “None sought escape, oh dear Lord no, I so swear it. These frightened children simply thought it wiser to be out of harm’s way when Alfred learned of thy … theft.”

  The befuddled soldier cast a perplexed glance at Alfred. Alfred, quick to heed such a comment, tore open his pouch and dug for his coins. Leopold twisted Maria’s hair nervously. “What… what sort of seeds are y’sowing, old—”

  “Well, methinks silence the wiser path. Yes, yes, I am certain I—”

  “Answer me, priest, or the girl’s tongue’s out!” boomed Leopold.

  “Ah, ’tis certainly no need of that,” said Pieter. He looked impatiently at Alfred awkwardly counting his coins. What a dolt! What a laboring brain! he mused. “My lord, my only wish is to be a peacemaker,” he offered with a smile.

  Finally Alfred’s face began twisting and bulging. “Where’d be m’other coins?” he demanded.

  Leopold shrugged and stared speechlessly at his raging companion. He turned hastily to Pieter. “Y’ve made some mischief, priest…”

  “Beggin’ thy leave, sire, I am under vow to speak only truth and—”

  “Speak man! Tell me where my money is!” Alfred bellowed.

  Pieter bowed. “I must confess, Alfred, that I saw Leopold take thy pfennigs as you slept and secure them in his own purse.”

  “A lie, old man! A lie!” shouted Leopold. He ripped his pouch off his belt and bounced it in his hand. But his eyes suddenly widened for he felt the added weight in his bulging bag and he began to stammer. But before a discernible word could fall from his lips, Alfred unsheathed his sword and rushed him.

  The trap sprung, Pieter instantly ordered his smallest children to run toward the safety of the forest. “Run! Run! Quickly, lambs! Wil, Karl… Georg, you, Jon … you, Frieda, grab what y’can carry … quick. Quickly!” The older children ducked and dashed between the combatants and gathered all the blankets and stores they could carry before vanishing into the morning mist behind the others.

  Leaving behind the sounds of clanging steel and the grunts and oaths of the fighting soldiers, the band raced through the wood, tumbling over logs, rolling down one side of deep ravines and clambering wildly up the o
ther. Poor Pieter was quite the spectacle as he hobbled and lurched on his spindly legs through the early light and looked quite like an old wagon on bent axles, tilting first this way and then that! At long last, the group came to a fern patch where the panting crusaders collapsed into the cool, soft plants. But Pieter was not content to allow much rest and urged his flock to press on. “Your pardon, children,” he wheezed, “but we must flee farther and we must make haste!”

  After many more minutes, Pieter finally felt secure and he allowed the exhausted children a brief respite. The company fell onto the thick, needled floor of the forest and groaned. Wil wiped the sweat off his face and seized the moment to remind the gasping priest of his authority.

  “Yes, yes, good heavens, lad,” panted Pieter. “You are our commander.” He coughed and sucked huge gulps of air and shook his head.

  Wil grunted and shrugged and ordered the others to prepare a quick meal. When all had finished, he gathered his band around himself. “Well done. We’ve escaped with a fair portion of our stores and, look, I took my dagger off Leopold’s belt!” The boy laughed and slid his thumb lightly over the sharp blade.

  “And here, Wil,” boasted Karl. “I took m’necklace from Alfred’s bedroll!” A devilish smirk crossed his red face.

  Pieter called for Solomon and slowly walked away from his flock toward a large rock rising between two huge pines. He knelt and raised his hands to the heavens. “‘Oh Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your name in all the earth. From the lips of children and infants You have ordained praise because of Your enemies. I will praise You, oh Lord, with all my heart. I will tell of all Your wonders. My enemies turn back, they stumble and perish before You.’” The old man wept for joy.

  The crusaders marched as quickly as they could to add distance between themselves, their former captors, and the village of Kandern, and were soon walking on the river road once again. By mid-morning they rounded a bend and could see the timber-and-stone walls of Basel edging the far banks of the bending Rhine River. It was a marvelous sight for the peasant children and they hurried toward the city until held by Wil. “Halt. All of you, move off the road and rest there.” He pointed to a low-fenced sheep meadow where the children obediently settled in lush, green grass overlooking a haphazard collection of poorly kept hovels on the north side of the Rhine.

  Pieter leaned on his staff and scratched Solomon’s head as he surveyed the small fleet of flat-bottomed river cogs ferrying loads of nervous passengers across the hard-flowing river. The boats listed with the weight of horses, pack-mules, men-at-arms and peasants, merchants and priests, all crowded uncomfortably together. Most were crying every foul oath and sacrilege the priest had ever heard. Pieter shook his head in sorrow.

  After a short rest, Wil and Pieter walked apart from the others. “I say it holds good fortune for us,” insisted Wil.

  Pieter answered gently. “I am yours to command, of course, but as your … advisor, I must heartily implore your allowing my singular reconnoiter. The city is most unfamiliar to you, and I have been here before. She nearly burned to the ground just twenty-some years ago so I doubt she’ll be in any mood for mischief. I tell you, this city is more like a woman than any other I’ve tarried; she may be warm and welcoming at first glance, then mean-spirited and moody the second.”

  “Methinks me able to manage a woman,” retorted Wil.

  Pieter stroked his beard and sucked hard on his lips to bridle the smile straining to escape. Uncertain how to respond, he simply answered, “Ah, ja. Your faculty in issues of the heart may be something I have yet to appreciate, but I surely heed your skill in the command of this column. I should think it plain to you to see the merit in my scouting this fair city…. But wait. By faith, I fear I have stepped ahead of your own command again! Of course you would have so ordered … I am certain of it. Ah, a thousand pardons.”

  Wil thought for a moment, then stiffened his back and pronounced loudly, “I’ll stay with the others and I order you to spy the city… and report to me the conditions of it.”

  Pieter bowed in acquiescence; then, putting Solomon under Maria’s care, he bade the children farewell. “I’ll return some past compline and you may pray for my safety.” He smiled and waved and pulled Wil to his side. He pointed toward the muddy river. “Notice, lad, the high waters of the Rhine. The summer’s uncommon heat has melted more snow than is usual in the high mountains, and I warn you now that this means danger in the passes ahead. Listen, if I fail to return, do not enter the city. And if you must continue, when you enter the great mountains, take special care in the passes.”

  Wil nodded.

  The crusaders watched their friend amble toward the ferries and, as he disappeared into a throng of travelers, they settled around a small campfire to do an accounting of their provisions. “Ach, brother,” whispered Karl to Wil. “It would have been charitable for you to have grabbed Georg’s clothing instead of your dagger!”

  Wil looked over at poor Georg who sat wrapped in his scratchy, woolen blanket rubbing his bleeding, bare feet. “Aye, and it would have been charitable for you as well. Y’took that cursed necklace instead.”

  “Ja. But I’d not be the leader here. You’d be the one to care for the others,” snapped Karl.

  “Georg,” hollered Wil, “you ought have rescued your breeches.” Some of the children giggled but the blushing Georg could only stare back helplessly and offer a feeble smile.

  Wil offered a friendly laugh. “Well, I’m about to send Karl and Lukas to find you something fit to wear. Has someone anything to barter with … or any coins?”

  Friederich perked up and bounded toward Wil with a wide grin spread over the whole of his bony face. He reached his fingers into his satchel and giggled. “Well, sir, I kept me a fair portion of pennies.”

  “Ha! Friederich, well done!” cheered Wil.

  The boy proudly dropped his coins into Karl’s open palm. “Find Georg a good homespun.”

  Basel was home to the legions of Rome nearly eight centuries before Pieter’s arrival, and the old man marveled at the impressive sight spread before him from the bow of his squat vessel. As he rested his eyes on the twin spires of the cathedral just beyond the dock gate, he began recollecting his memories of the city and the plan of its streets. Would be good to stretch the mind and shorten the walk, he thought. He could picture the long rows of thatched roofs running up narrow streets to the hilltops of the wealthy. He remembered the wretches who lived at the bottom and how their homes were so apt to flood.

  Basel’s streets were cramped but inviting nonetheless. Pieter recalled the peddlers and minstrels, jugglers and fortune hunters; the multitude of inns offering tables of breads, wines, cheese, and ales from much of the world. This was a gateway of the Alps and here converged the dark-eyed traders from the eastern duchies of Moravia and Carinthia, the colorful dancers of Burgundy, and the elaborate emissaries of the pope. The city’s comforts were a welcome sight for those exhausted northbound travelers who had transversed treacherous mountain passes and rugged terrain in their journey toward the Teutonic north. And it was a restful hospice and ample storehouse for those about to negotiate those same trails southward.

  A stiff, warm breeze coaxed Pieter’s single-masted ferry forward and, with a few mighty heaves of the oarsmen, the weathered boat banged harmlessly into a warped dock. After gently reprimanding several impatient fellow passengers, the old man climbed safely atop the stretch of planks leading to the bank. But nearly to the shoreline, his faithful staff suddenly wedged firmly in a gap in a badly split plank. The loud oaths which promptly flew from his curling lips were conspicuously inconsistent for a man of the cloth and caught the curious attention of a dusty traveler.

  “Good day, old fellow. It would seem as if you’ve a small problem.”

  Pieter wrinkled his brow, visibly annoyed. “Aye. And it seems that you’ve a good eye for what’s plain to see.”

  The stranger grasped the staff with his one arm, jerked the old crook loos
e, and handed it to the frustrated priest.

  Pieter sighed. “Well … bless you, my son. I suppose I am in your debt.”

  The stranger smiled and nodded and set his hand on Pieter’s bony shoulder. “It would seem so. And I might add, sire, that by your look y’be, or at least once were, a priest?”

  Pieter blushed.

  “Aye. And so I knew. Now, forgive my boldness, but y’d be the better for your cause if y’d be a bit more mindful of your tongue.”

  The old man’s eyes sparkled and he laughed heartily. “I am undone by such a gentle rebuke, stranger, and am in your debt again. I should like very much to repay both your kindnesses with a tall tankard of ale.”

  “Ah, Father, thank you, but it seems we be traveling in opposing directions.”

  Pieter grasped him by the shoulder. “Of little import, good man. Your simple kindness must needs be honored. I beg you to join me over bread and a quick ale.”

  The traveler hesitated. “I ought press on; perhaps some other time in some other place?”

  “Should you take a moment to study me, you’d be sure to see I’ve but a few more times and places left to my account,” noted Pieter. His twinkling eyes snagged their prey.

  “Ach … so. Very well, old man,” sighed the stranger. “I yield to your magic.”

  The stranger was of moderate height. His curly hair hued red-brown under the full sun and was long and rather unkempt. A close-cropped beard edged his broad and kindly face and his right eye was covered by a black leather patch tied behind his head by a thin cord of wound hemp. He wore a rough-spun, long, brown tunic over a well-worn pair of leather leggings, each covered by the dust of many months or even years of traveling. His feet were bound by shin-high leather boots and at his left side hung a short, stout blade on a wide belt. His left arm was missing and his sleeve was tied neatly under his stump. He bore the countenance of a sad though gentle man whose humility of spirit one might easily measure in the tone of his speech and the ease of his carriage.