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

by C. D. Baker

  When the applauding was done, Frieda asked, “So what of your name?”

  Katharina turned toward her new husband. “Are you still Heinrich of Weyer?”

  The baker looked surprised. “No, I … I suppose not.” It was hard for him to say the words. Weyer had been his only true home; it was where he had always belonged. “Well, it seems I have become a baker without a bakery and a man without a home. Now I am not sure who I am!” He laughed awkwardly.

  Katharina took his hand as the group told more of the prior night’s discussions. The woman finally asked, “Then tell me, husband, what do you love?”

  “You.”

  The company clapped.

  “Thankyou, sir,” Katharina said as she curtsied. “Besides me, what do you love?”

  “My children.”

  “And?”

  “My freedom.”

  “And?”

  Heinrich thought for a long moment. “God?”

  Alwin interrupted. “You love truth, my friend. It is truth that has pursued you and set you free. It is truth that now guides those you love. It even hangs on your hip!”

  Heinrich looked at his sword thoughtfully. “Aye. ‘Tis so. It is truth that has shaped me.”

  “Then call yourself ‘Heinrich Truthman,’” blurted Frieda.

  “Nay, just Heinrich Godson Baker is good enough. A baker is what he is,” chimed Helmut.

  “No, a baker is what he does,” answered Wil.

  Pieter joined the conversation. “I remember when you were called simply ‘Friend.’”

  Heinrich nodded. “Aye, Pieter. It was a dark time for me.” He fell quiet and turned his thoughts to Emma and the sunshine that lit her gardens. He tilted his head toward the pink light of the sky and the sun now rising over the mountains. He remembered how she pointed him always upward, beyond himself, and to the “eye of God.”

  “Truth is beyond me, and I have too oft failed it to claim it as my own, Frieda. And Wil, I’ve no bread to bake nor ovens to heat. Nay, lads, I fear these names won’t do.” He thought a moment longer, remembering Emma’s words exactly. The sun and the moon are like the eyes of truth; sunshine is hope, and moonlight is mercy. The man looked at Katharina and then took her hand. “I would like to be called Heinrich Godson Lieberlicht… Heinrich, Lover of light.”

  Katharina smiled broadly. She took his hand. “Tis wonderful, husband. And I, of course, do gladly take your name.”

  It was agreed, and the man repeated his new name over and over. He looked once more at the sun now in full orb above the horizon. He drew a deep breath into his lungs and looked at the white clouds floating in the blue sky overhead. “It is good to be free,” he murmured. “So very good indeed.”

  The matter settled, all finished their meal, packed their bags, and waited quietly for the return of their comrades. Wil took his wife for a walk along the riverbank, where the pair paused to study a pool of water filled with slippery-looking black creatures. “Leeches!” exclaimed Frieda.

  Wil stooped at the water’s edge and stared into the curling mass of wiggling worms. He shuddered. “I’d not want to stumble into this at night!”

  Alwin joined them. “The town makes a business of them. I heard in the market yesterday that they have leech pools all along the banks. They sell them all over the empire and beyond.”

  Wil tossed a pebble into the pool and watched the creatures writhe about. “They’d suck a man dry in an hour!”

  “Indeed,” added Pieter as he approached. “Or less. As a student, I once left a fevered patient lying in her bed with a full dozen attached to each arm. I went for a stout beer and forgot the poor wretch. Ach, mein Gott, when I came back, she was white as snow and barely breathing!”

  “And?”

  “Well, her fever was gone, and after a few days rest, she bought a fine silver brooch for my hat!”

  The four cut their laughter short when they heard the cries. They whirled about to see Otto, Tomas, and Friederich dashing toward them. “We’ve trouble,” muttered Alwin.

  The boys charged into camp, panting. They shared their chilling news between great gulps of air. “Templars!” wheezed Otto. “Templars.”

  Friederich cried over Otto’s voice, “Six knights on six mounts bearing six flags! They’re searching for us!”

  “How many Templars?” roared Alwin.

  “Two, sir.”

  “The others?”

  “One flag is from Runkel,” said Tomas. “I know it well. The others I’m not so sure of.”

  “They’ve found us!” exclaimed Helmut. “And we’re trapped here!”

  “Everyone, listen to me,” commanded Wil. “Gather everything. Tomas, where were they?”

  “We saw them entering the south gate. They had dismounted and were talking to the guards.”

  “They’ll be questioning the constable or his deputies,” muttered Alwin. “That means we’ve a little time. No one would remember a one-armed man … not with Heinrich’s added sleeve…”

  The baker quickly unfurled the false sleeve.

  “We’ll need cross the Werra at the bridge, just over there,” said Wil. “It’s our only way. But we can’t get to it without being spotted by guards on the wall.”

  “We’re on the town’s north side. The soldiers on these walls haven’t learned of us yet,” blurted Alwin.

  “Then load Paulus and let’s be off at once!” barked Wil. He pointed to this bag and that, and quickly studied the campsite for any satchels or provisions left behind. He secured his dagger, bow, and quiver, adjusted his side bag, and checked his wife. The young man then sent his company forward in six pairs at intervals behind Pieter, who led alone with Paulus and Solomon.

  Pieter pulled his hood over his head, placed his staff confidently into the ground, and walked as upright as he could. Behind, the twelve waited, and when Pieter set his foot upon the wooden bridge, they began to make their way as well.

  Alwin and Wilda followed next. Perspiring under his hood, the knight held Wilda’s hand, and they passed casually beneath the tall, parapeted walls of Münden. They prayed fervently with each step, expecting at any moment to hear the dreaded shout of a sentry. “Do not run, Alwin,” urged Wilda anxiously. She could feel the tightness in the man’s grip, the tension in his legs. She licked her dry lips.

  The knight did not answer. He squeezed the woman’s hand all the more. Closer and closer the pair drew until their eyes fell upon the toll-taker standing by a gate on the far side of the bridge. “Oh, God above,” moaned Alwin, “I don’t want to stop for any man at all.”

  The pair arrived at the tollgate and waited for the guard to collect coins from those ahead. Alwin reached into his satchel and retrieved two pennies. “It should be enough,” he whispered.

  When the guard came to the couple, he paused. He ordered Alwin to throw back his hood. “Why d’ye wear it on a hot day as this?”

  Alwin’s mouth was parched, and he faltered. It was Wilda who spoke. “He’s a pilgrim under vow. He’s not to let the sun light his hair for three months, sir.”

  The guard grunted. “Humph. Two coins, then, and be on yer way.”

  Alwin dropped the silver into the man’s hand and avoided the fellow’s suspicious eyes. He turned his face toward the roadway ahead and hurried along, greatly relieved.

  The others followed in turn and without incident. Soon they gathered together a half league north of Münden and made their way into a thicket off the side of the road. Friederich and Tomas were immediately sent back to spy the highway and the bridge as Wil ordered the rest of the company to sink deep into the heavy forest.

  It was after the bells of sext when the spies returned. “We saw only one rider,” panted Tomas. “No Templars were on the road, and none were by the bridge.”

  “One rider?”

  “Aye. He dashed over the bridge and down the highway. In about an hour he came back.”

  “I thought as much,” said Alwin. “I tell you, Wil, we must hurry away. I�
��ve said it before; they’ve an unearthly sense about them. I know… I was one of them!”

  As though on cue, the whole of the company suddenly looked up at the sound of seabirds ciying overhead. “They’re telling us to hurry,” said Maria calmly. “Listen to them.”

  Indeed, the birds’ shrieks were crisp and demanding. Wil was in no mood for either mystics or doubters. “Birds or not, we need to hurry away.” With that, the thirteen scrambled to the roadway and rushed northward. Above, three seagulls swooped and soared ahead of the hurrying column, ciying loudly. The day was hot and steamy. The Weser, flowing to the travelers’ left, ran hard, but the trees to their right stood limp like exhausted giants parched by sun. Their leaves were curled and silvery, their branches drooping like weary arms. For once, the forest did not look inviting.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  THE BEES OF RENWICK

  Are we wise to keep on the highway, Wil?” quizzed Pieter from his perch atop Paulus. The lad considered the question. “We have a lead on them. We can make better time on the road than in that brush.”

  Alwin wasn’t so sure. “Wil, once they think we’ve left Münden, they’ll charge down this road again. They’ll know we eluded them, but they also know we’re on foot and easy to catch.”

  “How long for them to search the town?” asked Otto. The boy was red faced and sweating profusely. He was thirsty like the others.

  “It can’t be known,” answered Alwin. “If the toll-taker is questioned, he may speak of an old priest or a man with a patch. Perhaps they know of the donkey.”

  “Wil,” called Tomas from the rear of the column, “if we go to the wood, they might pass us by. We’d see them and know they’re ahead.”

  Frieda agreed. She looked at Wil without saying a word. The young man looked up to see the seabirds suddenly swing wildly to the east. He pressed his column forward against the protests of those now pointing to the birds. “Ill not be obeying three gulls!” he cried.

  Alwin stopped. He fell to the ground and placed his ear to the road. “They’re coming!” he shouted as he leapt to his feet. “We’ve only moments!”

  With a shout, Wil sent his panicked company scrambling across the shoulder of the road and into the forest. They crashed through brush and over fallen logs, dragging the braying Paulus behind. Pieter dismounted and stumbled with the others until they were about a bowshot away from the road. They had barely settled when thundering hooves raced past.

  Alwin closed his eyes and listened. His well-trained ears could count the horses. “Six,” he said quietly. “Six horses … four heavy chargers, two Arabians. It is the search.”

  “How did they find us?” whimpered Benedetto. “From Marburg to here!”

  “They haven’t caught us,” blurted Otto.

  “Not yet,” grumbled Tomas.

  “Not ever,” snapped Wil. “If they chase us to Stedingerland, they’ll still not have us.”

  “If they bring their swords into that place,” said Heinrich ominously, “they’ll not be going home.”

  The sounds of the horsemen faded quickly, and the company began moving again. They now needed to make their way through difficult underbrush and thickets of saplings. It was a difficult journey, made easier only by the occasional discovery of a welcome spring. It was agreed that they would consider buying passage on a boat sailing for Bremen. No one knew where one might be found, but it was a reasonable idea, one that brought the weary Pieter much hope.

  They journeyed for the next day under a heavy gray sky that released a few brief showers that did little more than dampen the ground. The rain did bring a cool breeze, however, a harbinger of the coming autumn. Finally, they found themselves at the edge of a planted field and staring ahead at a small Benedictine monastery.

  “What say you?” asked Wil.

  Heinrich looked about. The road was quiet in the late evening. They had not seen the Templars for two days. “Do you think it is safe?”

  Alwin nodded. “Pieter could use some good food and a good night’s sleep.”

  The group stared ahead at the cloister about a furlong away. It was neat and inviting. They could see vegetable gardens and orchards, a swine yard and a flower garden by a small bake house. Their thoughts quickly turned to fresh bread and stew.

  “Oh please, Wil,” begged Frieda.

  It was enough. The young man agreed reluctantly, and soon the column was marching across the field. They arrived at the low wall surrounding the cloister and were greeted by a monk dressed in his black robe and scapular. His sandals were dusty and his tonsured head uncovered. The brother bowed. “Thanks be to God,” he said.

  Pieter returned the same. “Brother, my fellows are in need of rest and some food. We’ve silver for your alms box.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “We are thirteen.”

  The monk nodded.

  “Have you welcomed any Templars?” asked Alwin.

  “No, my son. Not lately.”

  The monk beckoned the wayfarers onto the cloister grounds, where several of the brethren scurried about for food. Before long, the pilgrims were sitting alone in the refectory and enjoying a plentiful feast. The monastery was a fledgling community under the priorship of a larger monastery in Höxter to the north. Run by a deacon, it was a settlement of twenty devoted to their scriptorium.

  Those serving were happy to share the bounty of their harvest with Wil’s company, though they offered little conversation. And after their meal, they directed their guests to a small shed that served as a modest guesthouse. Here the pilgrims were invited to spend the night.

  In the morning, the deacon presented Pieter with a generous gift of baked bread, salted pork, and a rather poor beer brewed in their new brewery. Midst smiles and humble bows, the pilgrims and the monks parted company, and a new day of travel was begun.

  The pilgrims left the cloister and stood along the highway once again. A raven cried overhead and flapped its wings lazily as it flew in a wide circle. Frieda and Maria smiled with Pieter, and soon the column began its march. They passed only a few other travelers and were relieved to spend the morning without incident. By midafternoon, however, the seabirds had returned, agitated and loud. Crying from the branches of a river willow, they alternated flight paths leading directly away from the Weser and into the heavy forest to the east. Back and forth they flew, one after the other. Their cries became scolding, and they swooped low.

  “Why won’t you believe what you see?” scolded Frieda. “Listen to them! Watch them! We must follow.”

  Wil was hesitant.

  Pieter finally commented from his seat atop Paulus, “Lad, could it hurt to move into the wood for a bit? We could use a rest, methinks.”

  Wil spat, then stopped. Alwin and Heinrich both nodded, and the young man yielded. “We’ll go a short distance, then rest a bit. We’ll soon see what’s about.”

  The pilgrims turned away from the road and struggled up a steep slope into a forest of old trees. On they climbed as though drawn ever deeper into the shaded woodland. They finally spotted a clearing not far ahead. “There.” Wil pointed. “Up there.”

  When they arrived, they found a pleasant glade of short grass and wildflowers atop the ridge. A little farther to the east lay a narrow creek bed that paralleled the highway. It was lined with such ancient trees as to block almost all the light from the forest floor. “See there, Wil?” Heinrich pointed. “It is clear of brush, and quiet. We’ve even fresh water in the stream. Why not follow it instead of the highway?”

  Wil nodded. It seemed reasonable enough. The others agreed and took their rest marveling at the world surrounding them. The forest here was not like those near their villages. The woodsman’s axe had never rung in this place … not ever. Beautiful giant oaks stood proudly and boasted wide-spreading, muscular limbs. Like the skin of wise old men, their bark was etched with deep crevices. Maria spotted one with a large hole in its trunk. With a squeal she dashed away and climbed into the woo
dy fortress. She peeked her face out from inside. “Beware!” she cried with a laugh. “I am the tree queen!”

  To another side was a grove of white birch. Their bark was blotchy and shaggy, and their leaves cascaded from limbs weeping toward the earth. Nearby, huge beech trees rose to the heavens, their gray bark smooth and cool to the touch. To one side was a stand of spruce. To another, an endless host of pillared trunks stood like the straight-backed sentries of the realm of fairies.

  The earth of the creek bed was soft and spongy, so when the march began again, it was easy on tired legs. For the next hours the wayfarers walked cheerfully along the easy path, enjoying the splendid sights of the woodland. Their ears were filled with the lively song of countless birds; the place was dreamlike and enchanting. It had become a very good day indeed.

  The first night in the heavy forest was spent comfortably, though in the light mist of the next morning, Friederich swore that he heard spirits whispering nearby. The lad pressed the point with such passion that even Pieter began to wonder.

  “We need to make our way to the highway again,” said Heinrich. “We might soon find a boat sailing northward. We’ve coins enough for passage.”

  “According to the monks,” Alwin said, “the Corvey cloister near Höxter ships its goods to Bremen. It’s about a three-day journey. I say we go there and then find a vessel.”

  It was a plan that was quickly approved by all, and after a quick breakfast the company began their journey again. By late morning the air turned cooler, and breezes suddenly rustled the leaves. Friederich stopped.

  “Wait!” he cried. “Listen.”

  The group paused and listened to the wind rattle the stale leaves of mid-August. “They’re telling us of something, but I don’t know what.” The boy was anxious.

  “Move on,” groused Wil sarcastically. “They’re telling us that rain is coming!”