by C. D. Baker
Maria’s eyes twinkled. She whispered to Pieter and Heinrich, and when she was done, what little color had remained in their cheeks was drained away. The men took deep breaths and faced the crowd. Pieter raised his staff with feigned confidence. “Hear me, men of Meiringen. First, we’ve need of your priest as witness and guarantor. Second, we need your magistrate to pledge our fair treatment and safe escort away.”
“What’s the wager?” demanded several voices.
Heinrich looked anxiously at the little girl, then turned to the sea of encircling faces. “See the stack of cheeses? She is to be blindfolded whilst you make three new stacks of any size. She will then be allowed to touch only the bottom rows of each, and before the priest can say three ‘Aves,’ she will tell you exactly how many cheeses are in each stack.”
The crowd roared. “Not possible!” chortled one.
“How much to wager?” chimed another.
Pieter quickly took control. “Tell us, Herr Hartman, tell us the price of cheese enough to feed eleven for a fortnight. Add the price of six fresh loaves of spelt bread, a hogshead of dried pork, three gallons of beer, a quarter of vegetables, and a ring of ground grain. Oh, and four gills of honey.”
Otto shifted uneasily as the man calculated his price. “A penny for the beer, three for the honey, hmm, then the bread … the vegetables, grain … and a shilling for the pork … comes to two shillings, ten.”
Pieter looked astonished. “Do not cheat us, man! I am a priest, and thou shalt have suffering aplenty!”
At that moment the village priest emerged from the crowd. “I am Father Mattias, and I say it is a fair price.”
Pieter looked at the black-robed cleric and grunted. “You ask too much.”
“Enough of this!” boomed Hartman. “Take my price or leave it be.”
Pieter looked at Maria. “Are you sure, my dear?”
“Papa Pieter! What do you think?”
The old man grunted in wry amusement. He bent over and kissed the girl on the cheek. He turned to the priest. “Then we offer this: we wager seventeen pennies against the food.”
A loud chorus of objections rang out.
“What? You ought wager twice my price, not half!” The merchant was ranting.
Pieter lifted his nose high in the air. “You fear this girl so?”
“Is she a witch?” cried a voice.
Pieter chilled. He hadn’t counted on that. He suddenly realized they might have trapped themselves. If she fails, we lose the wager; if she reckons rightly, she’ll be taken as a witchling. Masking his fear, he laughed loudly. “No, good sir. She is no witch. On that you’ve my word as a priest of the Holy Church.
“But now I fear you’ll hide behind such a foolish accusation when you lose. So without a guarantee, we’ll not wager a penny.”
The village priest stepped forward and stared at Maria. The little girl was suddenly frightened. “Recite the ‘Ave.’”
Maria swallowed and began. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu…”
When she finished, Father Mattias nodded. “Now, the Lord’s Prayer.”
The little girl cleared her throat and spoke with confidence. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctifïcetur nomen tuum…”
The priest laid his hands on her head and closed his eyes. Satisfied, he pronounced her clean of both demons and witchcraft, “though beset by the shame of unbelief and a disgrace to the name of Christ as are all these pitiful child crusaders.”
Pieter snorted and spat. “You have offended us with your charge. We’ll have no part in this.”
The crowd protested loudly.
“Nay!” shouted Pieter. “I’ll not let this precious child suffer the vile thoughts of wags like you.”
“Two to one, then!” shouted a voice. “Take his offer, Hartman, two to one!”
“Eh?” Pieter looked at Heinrich with a mischievous smirk. He stroked his beard slowly. “Hmm. I think not. But perhaps three to one for Hartman’s goods, and we’ll take wagers for silver with the rest of you.”
The men of Meiringen fell quiet for a few moments. They whispered among themselves until a number of “ayes” could be heard among the crowd. Soon, a long line of penny-bearing palms was passing by the magistrate and the priest who kept record of each wager. Within the half hour, the guarantor was holding a basket filled with ninety silver pennies—the equivalent of nearly four months’ labor by a commoner. Heinrich handed the man one gold coin and six silver pennies. He then handed him eleven pennies against the foodstuffs wagered by Hartman. “A lot to lose,” mumbled Heinrich to Pieter.
The old man’s eyes twinkled. He loved the excitement of it all. “A lot to win! Have no fear, baker. No fear!”
“All is in order,” announced the magistrate. “Blindfold the girl.”
Maria’s eyes were bound beneath a wide strip of black cloth, and she was led by the official to a long table where three stacks of varied numbers of cheeses had been piled. The crowd fell silent as she reached forward to the first stack. Her fingers were guided to the bottom row and she moved them slowly along the table, counting each out loud. “I count twelve,” she announced. The crowd hushed as the little girl stood quietly. The priest began reciting his first “Ave.” He had barely finished when the girl blurted, “Seventy-eight!”
The merchant paled. The tyke was correct.
Maria was taken to the next pile, which had seventeen cheeses on the bottom row. The priest began reciting his “Ave,” this time more hastily. He finished the second recitation. Hushed and anxious, the crowd pressed forward. Father Mattias was standing with clenched fists, slurring the words as he began the final recitation of the race. “Ave Maria gratia plena. Dominustecum…”
Maria was struggling. “Um …”
“Benedictatuinmulieribusetbenedictus…”
The pilgrims held their breath. Pieter gripped his staff with a white fist, and Otto stared open mouthed. The villagers ground their teeth.
“One hundred thirty-six!” shouted the girl.
Mattias groaned with the crowd, then finished. “… mortis nostrae, Amen.”
Panicked hands now crawled over the stack to confirm the count. “Ach!” shouted Hartman. “One hundred thirty-six!” The blindfolded maid was led to the final pile. She took a deep breath, then counted nine on the bottom as Father Mattias began again.
This time, the poor priest had barely said his first Amen before the girl chirped, “Forty-five!”
Astonished, Heinrich removed the girl’s blindfold as the villagers began to jeer and curse. The count was confirmed, and Hartman, Father Mattias, and Pieter quickly huddled with the magistrate, who then announced, “Hear me! Silence! The girl’s right with her count … on each. The wager is declared in favor of these … these pilgrims.”
Furious, the crowd grew louder and more surly. Heinrich hastily dumped all the coins into his satchel and ordered Otto and Maria to load Paulus with the food they had won as quickly as possible. Standing between two armed guards, Pieter climbed atop a barrel and pronounced a sarcastic blessing on the hapless men of Meiringen; then he smiled. With his yellow snaggletooth exposed by a cavernous grin as wide as the Aare Valley, the old fellow pointed to his dear little one and proclaimed, “Ave Maria!”
Chapter Ten
LOVE IN THE BRÜNIG PASS
Wil and his company rolled with laughter when they heard the story of the cheese told by Pieter that evening around a snapping campfire. “But how, Maria? How did you do it?”
The little girl was embarrassed by the attention but explained how Signora Cosetta had spent many hours teaching her mathematics. “Then a very old Persian man came to see the signor, and he taught me the secret of the triangle. I practiced a lot… but never told Pieter!”
Heinrich finished his meal and stared at the torches of Meningen. A feeling of uneasiness crept over him. “Methinks we need to leave at once. We should keep the fire ablaze to make them think we’re here, but we ought to move on n
ow. We left them angry and poor.”
Wil agreed. So, well fed and in high spirits, the pilgrims hurried away from Meiringen under the silvery light of a half-moon. They traveled across the flat valley throughout the night and paused at daybreak for a brief rest at the first ascent into the Brünig Pass. Refreshed, they prepared to march again as the early morning sun cast brilliant color and shadow across the rock cliffs before them. The group marveled at the sight.
“It looks different coming this way,” said Otto. “I don’t remember those cliffs.”
“The world always looks different when your vantage point changes,” mused Pieter.
“I think it’s the most beautiful sight yet,” sighed Frieda. She cast a sidelong glance at Wil and smiled.
Pieter nudged Heinrich with a knowing look. “Something seems afoot with those two,” he whispered.
The baker chuckled. “Methinks you’re right. ‘Tis plain they have feelings for each other. I only wonder whether Wil sees what an uncommon lass Frieda is. Surely his head will soon follow where his heart is leading. He has long been a boy of good sense, though stubborn at times.”
“Aye,” agreed Pieter, laughing.
“Papa Pieter,” interrupted Maria, “ahead is where Georg died for Karl? Otto said so.”
Pieter nodded sadly. He remembered the lad’s bravery as he hurtled off the cliff in a desperate, selfless attempt to save Karl. “Yes, my dear, somewhere in the Brünig … but I doubt we’ll find just where.”
“But we’ll surely know the tree that marks his grave,” added Frieda. “We picked one we’d not easily forget.”
The old man nodded. “It would be nice to visit him.”
Wil interrupted. “We must find his grave, Pieter.”
“Well, my son, you are our leader. Lead us there if you can.”
The Brünig Pass was not as high as the Grimsel, nor as desolate as the Simplon, but was majestic and inspiring nonetheless. Sheer walls of rock marked its entrance from the south, and more cliffs abounded between tight channels of steep mountain slopes. It had its own “divine presence,” as Pieter oft repeated. “God is here, my children! Can you not feel His breath on your face, smell the fragrance of His chamber in the scent of pine?”
Indeed, the Brünig had a special quality of enchantment, a welcoming way about it that drew the pilgrims in breathless wonder of the pleasant sights that awaited them at every turn of the roadway. Mountain wildflowers of purple or blue, orange and white peeked from crevices and filled sun-brightened glades. Birds chattered happily, and from time to time a proud stag emerged from the dark woodland to bare his chest for all the world to admire.
The wayfarers had not traveled more than a half day when Wil and Frieda sprinted ahead of the column and returned beaming. “We’ve found it!” cried Frieda. “We’ve found it!”
“Georg’s grave?” cried Heinz.
“Ja!”
Surprised, Pieter leaned on his staff and patted Solomon on the head. “Oh, my shaggy friend! Have we e’er seen a truer act of love than what good Georg did on that awful day?” He turned to Heinrich. “You’ve heard the story?”
“Aye,” he answered sadly. “I have.”
The company hurried on and within a quarter hour was standing under the spreading arms of an ancient oak tree growing boldly in the center of a green glade. Beneath its wide-stretched boughs rested a mound of rocks marking the lad’s grave. A crusader’s cross was lying in the tall grass, and Maria picked it up. She then removed the cross she was carrying and fixed it at the head of Georg’s grave. “Wil, I’ve given Georg back his cross. Karl carried it for him.”
Wil’s throat tightened and he nodded mutely.
The little girl then ran to Heinrich and handed him the cross from the grave. “Herr… Herr Heinrich, this was Karl’s cross. He set it by Georg’s head that day.”
Heinrich’s eye filled with tears as he received the cross reverently. Thoughts of his son were his constant companions. He touched the rough wood to his lips. “Oh, my dear Karl!” he moaned. He held it to his heart, then secured it in his belt. “Thank you, Maria. I shall take it home, home to Weyer.”
Maria said nothing.
Heinrich wiped his nose, then looked carefully at the little girl. Her eyes were red and her cheeks stained with tears. Her braids were tangled and littered with wilted flowers. Heinrich dropped to his knees and smiled at her. “Come, Maria, let me hold you.” Gently, the man reached out to the tiny maiden and embraced her, then kissed her on the forehead. He laid his thick, callused hand on her frail shoulder and looked at her tenderly. “Maria, you may call me ‘Papa’ or ‘Vati. ‘You are to be my daughter, and I will be your father.”
The maid nearly fainted for the wonder of it. She collapsed onto the man’s breast as a weary lamb welcomed to the shepherd’s fold. There she sobbed great tears of joy. She had been accepted; she was loved and would be kept safe under the watch of a father who cared.
Maria did not rejoice alone. A short distance from the baker and the little girl stood a teary Pieter and a beaming Frieda. Wil had also witnessed the exchange, and tears streamed freely down his face.
“Well, he should claim her,” griped Tomas with a hiss. He stood behind Otto with folded arms and sneered.
Otto wheeled about. “You’d take the joy from Christmas if you could!” he growled.
Tomas snickered. “Maybe I shall yet.”
“Enough!” barked Pieter. “Tomas, you … you—”
“Pieter,” interrupted Heinrich, “leave him be.”
The group settled, and Maria led Heinrich through the glade to gather flowers for Georg’s grave. Wil and Frieda drifted to the shade of the nearby forest, while others rested. The air of the dark wood was cool and musty. A few squirrels rustled about, but the heavily needled floor muffled the sound. The needles made the earth soft beneath the pair’s feet as they left the others behind.
With a light touch of his hand, Wil took Frieda’s elbow and turned her to face him. The girl’s brown eyes were wide with anticipation, yet she quickly lowered them. Wil laid his forefinger under her chin and lifted it upward. “Frieda,” he said softly. “Oh, dear, beautiful Frieda …” The young man’s heart raced, and his limbs pulsed with vigor. He took her gently by the shoulders, and the feel of them, soft and firm in his grasp, made him want to pull her close.
At the gentle touch of Wil’s strong hands, Frieda’s body filled with warmth such as she had never known. The feeling was exhilarating, yet she wanted to melt away in his embrace. With a slight tremble she looked up into Wil’s face, and as he leaned close to hers, she closed her eyes and parted her lips.
When their lips touched, the world stopped. For a seeming eternity, Wil and Frieda were aware of nothing and none save each other.
“Frieda,” Wil finally breathed. “Frieda … you are the one true good that has come out of this cursed journey. I’ve oft wondered if Karl would still be with us if I’d chosen differently … but even so, I do not regret leaving m’hearth and home if it meant I might find you.”
Frieda was so overcome with emotion that she could not speak, but as she looked deeply into Wil’s eyes, the warmth and depth of her love were plainly written on her face.
“Ah, Frieda, say you won’t leave us when we reach Weyer.”
Frieda lowered her eyes in despair. “But, Wil, what place is there for me? I can’t wander about on my own forever. There is none left to me but my mother, and she is in Westphalia. I suppose I can return to the monastery … perhaps they would welcome me if I were to take the vows.”
“What!” Wil exploded. “You mustn’t! What would become of you? You simply cannot think of it.”
“What else can I do, Wil?”
For a long moment Wil was silent. As his thoughts tumbled violently, he could not shake the inexplicable fear coursing through him. The idea of Frieda taking vows to the Church was simply unacceptable. He had not thought of finding love when he set out on crusade—but then neither had he
anticipated suffering and death such as he and his comrades had endured on their journey.
The trials of the past year had matured Wil considerably. Young though he still was, he was no longer the same foolish lad who denied those closest to him at the castle of Domodossola. The true nature of love had become clearer to the young man, helped in part by the discoveries he was making about his father. In his newfound wisdom, Wil recognized that denying his feelings now would cost him more than any man could afford.
How can I let her go? he asked himself. There is only one way….
“You must stay and become my wife!” declared Wil triumphantly.
Stunned, Frieda’s head shot up, and joy filled her face. “You wish me to … to marry you, Wil?”
“Aye, dearest, I would have no other. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” cried Frieda. “Oh, most assuredly yes!”
The next hour passed all too quickly for the couple. Together they walked hand in hand through the forest, dreaming and planning as their two destinies became intertwined. Finally, they returned to the clearing. Seeing the others nearby, Wil cried, “All gather!”
“The boy’s fidgeting like I’ve ne’er seen,” whispered Heinrich.
“And look at Frieda. She’s red as a beet!” Heinz giggled.
Wil waited impatiently until Pieter drew near. “Pieter, you once said this place is marked by love. Frieda has agreed to become my wife, and we do not wish to wait any longer than necessary. Would you … would you marry us here, now?”
The pilgrims stood mute and dumbstruck. Heinrich’s mouth dropped open, and Maria gasped.
“Did you hear me?” laughed Wil.
Pieter was suddenly weeping again. He raised his staff to heaven. “Deo gratias! Thanks be to God! Ja, ja, of course I will marry you … here and now if you wish!” The old fellow leapt into the air and tried to click his heels. Apparently, he hadn’t done that for quite some time, and he fell atop Solomon with a loud crash! Lying on the ground, he laughed heartily as the others congratulated the happy couple.
Heinrich beamed. He had secretly hoped for this very moment. They are so good for one another, he thought. She makes him feel free … I can see it in his eyes when she is near. And he makes her feel safe and treasured. Thanks be to God indeed. He turned his face toward heaven. Karl, lad, if you can see, be happy for them. And Emma, Lukas, Ingly, and Richard… this is a good day under the sun!
