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

by C. D. Baker

  Karl had shuffled close by to listen. “But Pieter …” he began to whine. “We …”

  “Enough!” barked Wil. “There is no other way.”

  Wil shouted the plan over the wind to the incredulous pilgrims. But they stood motionless as if waiting for a better plan. “Did y’not hear me? Do as I say. B-begin digging here.” He pointed to a deep drift on the leeward side of a jagged outcropping and threw Otto toward it. “Dig…. All of you … dig and dig quickly.”

  The children reluctantly began to scoop a hollow in the snow with nothing other than the cups of their numbed, bare hands. Fresh snow drove hard against their faces as Wil kicked and fisted his comrades deeper into the icy drift. But it was the fearful roar of the wind that served to be the better whip, and the desperate crusaders, at long last, carved themselves an adequate nook and piled safely inside.

  As they awkwardly shifted and settled in their dark cavern, Pieter calmed them. “Ah, my little flock. Be still and quiet. Alles klar.” His voice was soothing to the crusaders. Even in the utter blackness of their frozen cave, his soothing voice was reassuring and comforting. “We are all little hearths, you know,” Pieter continued. “Truth be told, we are little hearths with large hearts.” He chuckled, but the children were not amused. “Ah, no matter. Each of us is like a wineskin filled with hot water. If all snuggle close, I think we’ll find the miracle that some are hoping for.”

  The seventeen children and the old man nestled together like a large, woolen yarn and before very long Pieter’s words proved true. The pilgrims became as warm as if they were home in their own beds, covered by their mothers’ quilted blankets, safe and secure. Reassured by such warmth and so sheltered from the howling world without, each fell to sleep until dawn’s touch filtered through the walls of their worthy nest.

  The early sun glistened across the rippled mounds of snow, shimmering red and pink. The mountain peaks looked down on the buried trail and waited silently for the crusaders to emerge from their snowy cocoon. The children had slept peacefully but were beginning to stir in their unfamiliar surroundings. Maria was in the very center of the pile and awakened first. “I’m hot,” she complained. “I’m hot and cannot breathe!”

  Anna was pressed hard against her and woke with a start. “Let me out of here. Hurry, let me out!”

  The others woke in some confusion. They could see a little, but very little, and the entrance had been sealed overnight. “I cannot breathe!” hollered Maria again.

  “Me neither!” screamed Otto, who began to wrench and writhe in the tangle of crusaders around him.

  “Nor I!” cried another.

  Soon the woolen ball began to twist and turn in panic as the children pushed wildly against their frozen tomb. Pieter’s face was smashed against an icy wall and he was unable to speak. Wil frantically kicked and thrashed with the other anxious crusaders until he broke through a wall with one foot. Finally, the children burst out of their cave and into the deep snow covering their path.

  Pieter came out last, dragging himself on his stomach with shaking arms. He lay still for a moment, then struggled to his feet like a fresh chick from its egg. He stood in the bright sun and squinted at the blue sky. A smile broadened and stretched the icicles hanging from his scraggly beard, bringing squeals of laughter from his relieved fellow travelers.

  Wil brushed the snow off his blanket and scraped at the ice hanging on his leggings. “My God, that was something I care not to do again.”

  Karl laughed. His red curls, weighed down by clinging ice balls, hung heavy by his flushed face. “I hope not, as well, brother, but what a legend we’ll become!”

  The sun rose high and the frigid air began to yield to its warmth as the children dropped through several short descents, jaunted over a modest ridge, and entered the barren Grimsel Pass. “Now children,” announced Pieter as they crested an overlook, “let me show you something. There, a quarter off the horizon.”

  Maria squinted. “I see only white … a white river of sorts?”

  “That, my precious one, might be called a river by some, but ’tis a river of ice and snow. It is the Rhône Gletscher.”

  “And what might be a gletscher?” posed Jon.

  “Were we to be a bit closer, we’d see it to be a magnificent moving wall of ice and snow that creeps its way through the valleys like a giant slug. It moves but a little and as it melts it fills the river below with good water. It is a splendid sight indeed, is it not?”

  Wil stared for a moment, unimpressed but curious nonetheless. “It is but a long white valley to me, Pieter. Odd, perhaps, but of no consequence to us.”

  “Nay, lad, nay. You’d be about to enjoy its fruit!”

  “How so?” asked Frieda. “What sort of strange fruit might snow bear?”

  “Water!”

  “Then I’ve seen enough fruit for a lifetime, Pieter,” countered Wil.

  “Aye.” Pieter’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “But this water is the sort that moves quickly and might carry some weary crusaders for a good stretch.”

  “You mean we can float on it?” exclaimed Otto. His green eyes widened.

  “Indeed.”

  “But does it not move north, like the Rhine?” challenged Karl.

  “Would seem y’to not trust me, lad,” said Pieter. The crusaders shrugged, uncertain of such a plan, but as they marched on through the difficult pass the thought of it began to cheer them. They soon descended past the scrub pines and watched the snow disappear from beneath their feet. “At last!” rejoiced Frieda. “No more footprints.” Before long they arrived at the forest village of Oberwald, whose residents offered hospitality as chilly as the Rhône River rushing near their timber walls.

  A party of children entered the village in pairs, hoping to find a willing population. But these woodland folk were wary. Wil and Conrad were greeted with oaths and threats, and Anna was thrashed by the stout broom of an angry hausfrau. But Maria, Frieda, and Gertrude found one worthy household who filled a blanket with smoked mutton, three large loaves of fresh bread, and a cheese.

  While others were begging, Karl and a few fellows had set camp and flinted a promising fire. They waited expectantly, hoping for charity, and chattering of the proposed ride on the narrow river. Through the towering spruce they could hear the sounds of the water surging over its rocky bed and they squirmed with excitement.

  The sun was nearly set and all but Pieter had returned. The crusaders, disappointed but thankful nonetheless for what was received, waited patiently. And, to the relief of all, their priest’s voice was soon heard crowing through the dark forest as he made his way toward them. Pieter entered the firelight with a huge smile on his face. “Wil, my lad,” he said, “a few good folk do walk this earth; y’needs take the time to seek them out. I happened upon four timbermen who have agreed to lash two rafts together for us.”

  Wil looked at the old man suspiciously. “I fear to ask how y’found them so agreeable.”

  Pieter chuckled and squatted by the fire to warm his hands.

  The next morning the children walked tentatively toward the enticing sound of the nearby river, quite uncertain as to what adventures this particular day might bring and especially wary of Pieter’s grand scheme. But before reaching the rocky bank they came upon a small fern-draped clearing set neatly in the needled wood. It was a wondrous place; a magical place, cool and fresh, dappled with tints of brown and soft green. Here shafts of sunlight reached between the timbers with ease as if stretching to touch the earth tenderly and warm it with kindness.

  Each widening eye stared into the glade with eager hopes of seeing the flight of a fairy or the dash of a sprite. And some were quite certain to have heard the rustle of a gnome. Such an enchantment none had e’er before encountered, save in the happiest of their dreams. Maria’s blue eyes stretched with delight as she stepped softly atop a thick carpet of moss. Then, with a smile that could have lighted all Christendom, she glided into nature’s sanctuary. Her golden hair shi
mmered under the sunbeams’ yellow rays and her milky skin pinked and glowed with the joy of all heaven. Pieter watched her in awe, quite certain he had been whisked away to behold an angel strolling through the cool of Eden. She seemed to float atop the supple ferns as she laughed and danced, twirled and spun—carefree and happy at long last.

  Prancing to the edge of a glistening, spring-fed pool and bending to cup a tiny handful of its crystal water, Maria was abruptly startled by the perfect reflection suddenly opposing her. For a moment she believed that she had equally surprised a pixie lying beneath the water; after all, the poor creature was staring as open-mouthed and wide-eyed as she! But in the next moment she realized that she was gazing upon her own likeness, one no looking glass could ever have equaled. “Oh, my,” she said softly.

  Maria’s fellows noticed her fixation and soon joined her by the water’s edge. They formed a ring around the small pool and, for a time, none spoke. Instead, each looked carefully at the exact double lying at his or her feet. For some, it was the first time they had seen themselves in such a way. This shimmering pool was not like the tarnished alms tins at their churches or the muddy fish ponds of home.

  Frieda stared curiously at herself. She fussed with her yellow hair, twirling it around her fingers and laying it across the base of her throat. She slowly shaped her waist and hips with her hands and bent nearly in half to look carefully into her own dark brown eyes. She touched a finger to the delicate dimple in the center of her chin and smiled. She saw the blossom of a beautiful woman and was humbly pleased.

  Gertrude, Frieda’s sister of five years less, looked with some disappointment at the comparison. She thought her nose a bit too large, her brown eyes too common, and worst of all, she was certain it to be only her long hair which kept her from being mistaken for a boy!

  Otto stared rather casually at his badly-cropped sandy hair. He hardly noticed his smudged face or tattered clothes. Instead he was having fun pushing his nose flat, spreading his nostrils, and rolling his lips backward. “Hey, Conrad, look at me.” Otto pulled his cheeks out and extended his tongue as far as he could. The two boys laughed.

  Wil gazed proudly at the tall, blonde squire staring back at him from the water. Indeed, he thought, that is a fine looking soldier. Look at his shining hair, fierce eyes, and strong nose! I think him to look much like a worthy knight. He held his palms toward the water and clenched his fists tightly. Strong hands and forearms, too. He plucked the dagger from his belt and reflected a sunbeam onto the water. He smiled a most contented smile.

  Karl gawked rather sheepishly at his dirty face and the tangle of curls perched atop his broad head. M’face is too round and my arms too short and I look a bit worn … but …I do think me sturdy enough to cross into Jerusalem, he mused. He pulled apart his lips and looked carefully at his teeth as if he were studying the worth of a good horse. M’teeth seem big. Especially my fronts… and perhaps too square … but at least most are still fastened tight. He wrinkled his nose and pulled his lips back further when Anna started giggling.

  “What are you doing, Karl?”

  Karl’s face turned red as a ripe tomato and he sped away from the pool midst the jeers and taunts of his friends. Maria, meanwhile, was still staring at her reflection and finally fixed her eyes on her withered arm. Tears puddled her eyes as she touched the arm with her good hand. She stepped away sadly.

  Some of the children simply stood quietly, lost in thought, but others teased and tormented their comrades with every imperfection they could expose. “See, Conrad, I told you your lips were too skinny,” laughed one.

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll fatten your lips some, you—”

  “What’s the matter, Conrad? Y’like not what you see?” mocked another.

  “Uh … what about that egg head of yours? It… it looks like a double yoker!”

  But Pieter, oblivious to the commotion, inspected himself slowly from head to toe, pausing to smile a little at the famous snaggle-tooth everyone took such delight in. Indeed, ’tis quite a sight, he mused.

  But then a dark mood crept over him. He did not see the sparkle in his blue eyes that others saw. Instead he felt as if he were peering into the windows of a crumbling temple to see the failing light of a weary and ragged spirit within. He watched the breeze have its way with his snow-white hair; where others saw such as evidence of time’s wisdom, he saw only an aging head capped and edged by thinning white patches. His nose seemed far too long and bony and his shoulders so very thin and narrow. He looked at his pointy knees protruding from within his threadbare robe and he remembered the days when they carried a muscular, handsome soldier through the storm of battle. He released a quivering sigh and dropped large tears into the pool below.

  Maria was watching him carefully. “Why are you crying, Papa Pieter? Please don’t cry.”

  Pieter put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Ah, my dear Mädel, I am crying for someone,” he said, “someone I miss very much.” He ventured a weak smile.

  Maria looked at him tenderly. “And who is he? Was he a friend of yours? Or was she a lady?”

  “Oh, my little dear, he was a friend of mine, someone who knew my every thought, who shared my dreams and felt my pain.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Aye—and nay, sweet Maria. He lives in my mind and is strangely part of me even now.”

  Maria persisted. “But who is he? Who do you cry for?”

  Pieter laid his hand on her head and whispered sadly, “I miss the man I used to be.”

  Maria looked confused.

  “He is gone, yet some of him remains. But oh, if only I might fly away in time to see that man again. Oh, to relive but one day … but one afternoon or an hour of a single day of sixty years ago. Aye, to just breathe air into young lungs … to laugh and dine with one old friend. And, ah, my sweet Anna Maria.” Pieter stammered and choked. “I believe I might yield my very soul to just brush her cheek with my hand one more time.”

  Pieter looked wistfully at the child by his side. “My dear one, notice your youth. Taste what of it you can and capture it in your mind … such memories shall be your most prized treasure.”

  The old man sat down slowly as sun and sky peeked between the pines. “But alas, my little cherub, here is the rub: The very thing that gives such value to our past is that which steals it away. For ’tis only when the present fades to a memory that it becomes so very precious … yet in such fading it does leave us. Oh, what a double-edged thing: this that is both friend and mortal enemy, this thing called Time. If I could but put value to things present before Time does it for me, I’d—”

  “Ho, ho, old priest.” Three timbermen suddenly strode into the glade. “Might this be the group of soldiers you spoke of?” They laughed.

  “Uh, aye.” Pieter wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Are our crafts ready?”

  “Indeed!” the eldest boasted. “Now mind you, this water is swift and cold and uncommonly high. We thought it best to lash one large raft rather than two … it ought be a better float. Y’must needs keep the weak ones to the middle.”

  Pieter nodded.

  Another continued. “My Frau sent some extra food for the children.”

  “Well, blessings upon your Frau!” exclaimed Pieter. “Come children. Let us follow these good men.”

  As Wil assembled his column, Karl leaned close to Pieter. “Dare I ask how you arranged this?”

  The old man winked. “Ah, do you see that happy, dark-haired fellow? It seems their bishop has banned weddings by the village folk and insists they are only sacred when administered by a priest. But the local priest demands a high price and the man was unable to marry. I told him I was a priest.” Pieter pulled the cross from under his robe. “And I said I should be most pleased to wed him and his woman in exchange for some rafts for us. So, his sturdy brothers saw fit to build one as his wedding gift.”

  Karl grinned.

  The children followed the timbermen to the wat
er’s edge and stopped tentatively by the large, square raft they had built. It was made of twenty long, stout logs lashed with heavy rope, but against the surging mountain river it looked slight and unsubstantial. Frieda whispered nervously to Wil, “you don’t mean to have us ride on this, do you?”

  “Aye. You girls shall sit at the center.”

  Gertrude and Maria held each other’s hands and looked fearfully at the rushing Rhône. The ice melts had been heavy that summer and new rains had filled the river to an uncommon depth. The icy flow now rolled and churned against the white rocks of the bed and the noise was terrifying. Anna hid her face in the small of Jon’s back.

  “Come, come Anna. We’ve beaten worse than this. ’Tis but water and it shall surely save some walking.”

  “But, Jon,” she whimpered, “I cannot swim.”

  The new groom took Pieter aside and cautioned him. “Now be mindful of this water, it is treacherous. M’brother thinks it best if you stay to the south bank. We’ve built a short rudder and it needs strong hands. Use these poles at each corner and put them in smart hands with good eyes … you needs spot the rocks afore you land on them. Put the weaker in the middle and tie them with this rope. You’ll take a bend in about a half-day where you ought be able to rest, but I’d press on to the village of Fiesch by dusk.”

  Wil was uneasy but did well at hiding his concern. He spoke in a bold voice. “And how do we know Fiesch?”

  “There’d be an alehouse with a short ferry-dock. And you’ll see a green pennant at the end of the dock. Some use the rope ferry instead of the swine-ford farther south. There’d be a low stockade ‘round a dozen poorly kept hovels, and you’ll surely hear the music of a little minstrel sitting by the water.