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

by C. D. Baker

  The old man chuckled. “Ah, my son, there surely is a sea and I count us perhaps a week away. We needs pass over the edges of Piedmont into the mountains of Liguria and then you shall smell the sea in the air.”

  “Can’t we linger for one day of feast somewhere?” pleaded Frieda.

  A chorus of others agreed. “Just one day?” begged one. “Aye, Wil, we can surely spare a single day!”

  Wil hesitated. “I think we needs press on. I’d not be pleased to miss Nicholas and the others for one day of feasting. But this day is already by nones and the town seems friendly enough. We can stay here until the morrow.”

  Happy for any rest, the children followed him into the market square where they were immediately struck by the town’s bright hues. Gardens of flowers, fine tapestries, and snapping pennants adorned the otherwise drab, gray-stone buildings. The sky above was a brilliant blue and the sun sparkled overhead. Feast or not, it was a good day.

  “The free towns in these parts are wealthy,” instructed Pieter. “Here the clever and the shrewd find much opportunity to prosper, and a person willing to work hard might build a good life.”

  As they rounded a corner Pieter’s eyes widened. He grinned mischievously and pointed to a large bathhouse. “Ha! Look in there, kinder. You shall see tiled pools of water where, for a few pennies, one can soak in the comfort of a warm bath until he wrinkles like a shriveled grape.”

  Frieda’s cheeks pinked.

  “Oh, don’t blush, my dear,” said Pieter. “The gentlemen bathe separate from the ladies, of course.”

  The pilgrims tittered and whispered among themselves. Otto winked at Heinz and approached Pieter with a sly grin. “You’ve some shillings in your pouch. Some here think we ought spare a few pennies to bathe with the rich.”

  Pieter hesitated for a moment. He took a long look at his dirty-faced flock. “Hmm … you did already bathe in the Ticino … but… you’d still be a filthy litter. Your skin, Conrad, is almost as dark as your hair. And you, Karl, and you, Wil, and Heinz … Ach. You do Christendom some shame. Mein Gott, Otto, your freckles are hidden ‘neath the filth!”

  The children laughed. Gertrude held out her smudged arms and compared them to her sister’s. “Wouldn’t Mutti like to see this, Frieda? She’d take the bristles to us for sure.”

  The company began to plead for a swim in the baths. “Wil, we needs smell some better or the beggin’s in peril,” pleaded Heinz. “And what of the other crusaders ahead? What’ll they think of us?”

  Wil seemed unsure. “I… I … there may be better uses for our money and …”

  The crusaders would not yield and they raised a chorus loud enough to waken the Roman spirits that once dipped in these same baths! Wil finally conceded. “Ach. Go then. Frieda, take the girls where y’must, and the rest follow me.”

  The delighted pilgrims cheered and patted Wil on his back as giddy Pieter danced in the dusty roadway. At last, a bit of frolic for the weary band; a proper remedy dispensed in proper time!

  The excited children raced toward the bathhouse, cheering and screaming like playmates racing toward the Maypole. Wil counted out the payment to a reluctant keeper and led his boys to a slippery, tile-floored chamber where they ripped away their soiled tunics and leggings. Then, to the utter dismay of the lords and noblemen relaxing in their docile waters, the grimy, wiggling, raucous crowd of little Germans crashed into the quiet water, splashing like schools of famished carp in a spring rain!

  The frustrated lords growled and barked at the howling boys. “Fermatevi… Andate via! ” But suddenly they fell silent, dumbstruck as if gazing upon some horrid, ancient ghost just risen from a moldy tomb. If the pesky boys were not penalty enough for the indignant bathers, Pieter surely was; a frightful vision not soon to be forgotten in the baths of Tortona!

  As naked as the day of his long-ago birth, the old man defied the most artful words of the most learned scribe. He stood at the poolside, blind to his own appearance, though, judging by the grimaces of all who dared gaze his way, he ventured a guess that he must look worse than he imagined. Nevertheless, his vanities were placed elsewhere and he stood there content and grinning, his lone tooth hanging ever proudly from his smooth gums. His blue eyes twinkled, his wispy beard fluttered and frolicked in a light draft; but, oh, the bleached, white skin draped on such old bones. And the ribs, oh, the ribs!

  Suddenly a voice boomed from the water, “Have mercy on us, nonno, and hide yourself in the water … quickly!”

  The whole pool burst into laughter. “No, no!” cried another. “If he gets in, I want out! ”

  So, midst the roars and laughs, heckles and jeers of friends and strangers alike, Pieter gingerly walked across the slippery tile and down the marble steps into the warm waters of the ancient bath.

  In the other courtyard the girls timidly stepped into their own bath, giggling at the sight of the wealthy matrone soaking their ample bodies in the healing waters. Despite the unwelcome grunts of the bath’s patrons, the girls were soon scrubbing their filthy skin with scented French soaps and tittering at the sight of themselves. The gentle bath was good medicine for their aching bodies and soothing to their heavy hearts.

  But, alas, the pleasures were as short-lived as the bath-master’s patience, and the company was soon commanded to leave. After a few complaints and a brief exchange of angry words, the crusaders found themselves clothed again in their leggings and tunics, gowns and robes and marching behind Wil toward the town’s center.

  “I overheard two remarkable things in that bath,” said a most relaxed Pieter to any who would listen. “Two remarkable things, indeed. First, I learned that the astronomers of Cathay believe that a metal needle can be made to always point north. This would mean a new way to navigate. Ach, this is beyond my ability to believe.”

  A metal needle?” quizzed Karl. “What would a metal needle know?”

  Pieter shrugged. “I am simply telling you what I heard; and those who spoke it were well traveled and seemed truthful enough. But, it seems unlikely God would be pleased with such a thing. Methinks it good to look upward for direction,” mused Pieter, winking.

  “And what is this second thing?” asked Karl.

  “Ah, yes. This amazes me as well. The mathematicians have proposed a new idea. You understand how we use shapes for numbers? Good. You needs listen: They intend to use a small circle on parchment to mean … nothing.”

  “What?” blurted Wil. “Nay. How can something mean nothing? Is this another of your riddles?”

  “Ach, nay. No riddle, boy. They’ve named it ‘zero.’”

  “We’ve no need of such a stupid thing,” grumbled Karl. “Why would we want to add a shape that adds naught?”

  “Indeed.” Pieter scratched his head. “Hmm, a symbol that means nothing. ‘Tis most peculiar.”

  Conrad overheard part of the conversation. “What means nothing?”

  “A circle means nothing.”

  “Nay, a circle means a circle, Karl. Are you mad?”

  “Nay. A circle means zero.”

  “What is zero?”

  “Nothing!” snapped Wil.

  “Ha! Methinks you all to be mad.”

  Pieter laughed. “’Tis a strange world we travel, m’lads. I only wish I might see what things shall confuse and confound you in your old age.

  “Oh, and more, children, m’old brain’s failed me again. I had forgotten to tell you of something in Pavia.”

  The children slowed their pace again. “It was the place where the great Carthaginian general, Hannibal, won a battle over the Roman general Publius Cornelius … something.”

  “And why do we needs know that?” asked Wil.

  “Ah. Because Hannibal did what we have done. He crossed the Alps with an army, though he first crossed the ocean and his company rode on animals—animals that you have never seen, called elephants.”

  “Eh?”

  “Elephants.”

  Otto’s ears cocked. “And what does an e
lephant look like?”

  “I saw but one in my youth at a fair in Paris,” said Pieter. “But I fear you already think me mad.”

  “No, Pieter, you needs tell us!”

  “Hmmm. ‘Tis is a most difficult creature to describe. But “I’ll try. Close your eyes and see a pig in your mind. Now make it as big as a plough-horse … and then make it twice again as big.”

  “What?” groused Wil. “Fool’s talk.”

  “I speak the truth and shall utter not another single word if you choose to not believe me.”

  “Please say on, Pieter,” begged Karl. “Tell us more.”

  “Ja … now take this pig, which would be as high as a timberman’s hovel, Karl, and saw its legs so that they are short and fat with round pads for feet.”

  The girls began to giggle.

  “Nay. Listen carefully. I speak truly, I swear it. Now take your pig’s snout and pull it out like warm honeycomb … until it nearly hangs on the ground.”

  “You’ve made dolts of us all!” complained Wil. “First circles that mean nothing and now giant pigs. By truth, Pieter…”

  Gertrude eyed the old man suspiciously. “Tell us you’d not be lying to us, Pieter.”

  “Ach, my little dear.” He bent down and held her close. “I would never lie to you.”

  “Is that all of it? Would there be more to this dream?” laughed a voice.

  “By truth, y’faithless litter, you’ll be laying eyes on these in Palestine! Then you’ll wish to repent such ridicule. But aye, there’d be a bit more. You needs fix huge ears on its head, larger than shutters.”

  “And … and what about the tail?”

  “The tail is much like a pig’s curl, only longer.”

  “So you are saying,” said Karl carefully, “we needs take a pig and make its body as big as a house and make its legs short and fat, and pull its nose out so it hangs on the ground, and hang giant ears on it that are like flapping shutters—and that is an elephant?”

  “Indeed, ‘tis true. I swear it.”

  Karl shook his head. “Meaning no disrespect, Pieter, but methinks the waters of the bath to have soaked your head some!” He and his friends snickered.

  Pieter continued. “Well, my point was that General Hannibal rode his elephants across the Alps and defeated the Roman legions by Pavia.”

  Disgusted, Wil interrupted the old man with orders to beg at the marketplace. With feast day on the morrow the town was bountiful and filled with plenty, but, despite their friendly manner, the townsfolk were sparing. Gertrude returned with a handful of crust and Frieda with two onions. The boys fared worse and by vespers had no more than three apples, a half-string of garlic, and a pear.

  The journey continued and the children soon found themselves marching tight to the sandy shores of the narrow Scrivia River within view of the Apennines rising in the distance. Knowing that the mountains ahead were the last wall between them and Genoa, the crusaders trod with new energy, now emboldened by past sufferings and resolved to reach the mysterious sea.

  “What does it look like, Pieter?” asked Frieda.

  “What does what look like, child?”

  “The sea—what does the sea look like?”

  “Oh yes, none of you have ever seen it. My, my, what a sight you have waiting for you.”

  Wil ordered a brief rest and the crusaders sat around Pieter.

  “Can you picture your fishponds?”

  “Ja, of course.”

  “Ha! The sea looks nothing like them.” Pieter guffawed, though his perturbed audience stared back indignantly.

  “Ah, my apologies. The sea … so much to say about it … so many moods, so many different ways it has—like a woman.”

  Frieda and her clique scowled.

  “Begging your pardon. So, then … once again close your eyes and imagine when we looked over the wide valleys from the tops of the high mountains. Do you remember? Do you remember how green it was? Good. Now, in your mind’s eye, turn the green to blue and stretch it flat as far as you can see. Of course, when it churns and rolls in the wind ‘tis different and when the sky is gray … and at night… oh my!”

  “And you said it smells good as well?” exclaimed Karl.

  “Indeed, and the sounds of it! The waves and the sea birds … and the …”

  Wil climbed to his feet, unimpressed. “Aye, Pieter, more stories like elephants and zeroes? Methinks ‘tis time to press on.”

  Chapter 25

  THE DARK LORD AND THE

  HAVEN FOUND

  The crusaders marched across the plain toward the foothills of the Apennines, passing through the villages of Villalvernia and Stazzano. The journey was easy and spirits were high, and before long they found themselves climbing through the foothills of the Apennines and taking respite in a small Ligurian village.

  The children received a reasonable welcome from the warmhearted folk and were invited to make camp just beyond the walls. Pieter extended a hearty “grazie” on behalf of his flock, and the company encircled a good fire heating a bubbling pottage.

  The next morning the crusaders roused themselves under a gentle sun and surveyed the landscape before them. “It seems we might follow the Scrivia?” asked Wil.

  “Nay … methinks only at parts. Mountain riverbeds tend to be rough and we’d be better staying to the peddlers’ trails. I’d wager them to take us to a wider road into Genoa.”

  Wil agreed.

  The company lingered for a few moments facing the scene before them and feeling greater anticipation as they were finally about to ascend their final obstacle. The mountains standing in wait were sharp-edged, but considerably shorter than the Alps. They rose steeply and were divided by tight valleys covered with a stale-green carpet of round- topped trees. Wil thought the trees to be mostly softwood and noticed the silvery undersides of their leaves flashing in the sunny breeze. He missed the tall spruce and heavy oak of his home.

  The company left the village camp and climbed a full day into the mountains, following, as Pieter had advised, a well-worn peddler’s trail. The following morning Wil woke with a strange odor in his nose. He drew a deep breath through his nostrils. “Ah? Awaken, everyone. What’d be the smell?”

  His fellows opened their eyes and obediently sucked in the cool morning air. Uncertain as to the odor, they stood to their feet and held their noses high. “Aye … something’s odd here,” said one.

  Pieter stretched his arms and inhaled a refreshing, pleasing breath. He smiled. “Ah, kinder. ‘Tis a blessed day … a blessed, holy day. This, my lambs … this is the air of the sea. Feel the breeze—it blows from the south. It is coming over the mountains from the sea.”

  The children cheered and danced around their campsite. “The sea, the sea, we’ve come to the sea!” The jubilant children stormed the steep trail with a lighter step. Higher and higher they marched, whistling and singing and hardly noticing the thick forest closing in around them. They strained, grunted, and stretched their way up the paths without regard for the sharp rocks and gnarly roots wearing at their thin, tattered leather shoes and bindings.

  Eventually their trail delivered them beneath the watch of two Ligurian castles perched atop opposing ridges but, to the relief of all, they passed between their wary ramparts unchallenged. But by that evening they arrived at the village of Brusalla where men-at-arms waited to seize them. It seems that some bands of children were thought to have pilfered the manor lands of late and Wil’s company of strange-looking bambini warranted suspicion. However, the ever wise and wily Father Pieter urged a judgment of divine wrath from the sky and a fortuitous cloudburst won the band’s freedom.

  On the fourth evening in the mountains, Wil ordered his relieved company to set camp in a grassy clearing dappled with wildflowers. Wood was gathered quickly and by nightfall the children were huddled ‘round a roaring fire. Pieter sat comfortably in the soft grass and caressed his trusted crook. He thought of Georg and sighed. “My children … ah … perhaps I ought say
‘my ladies and young masters.’ Methinks on the morrow or, at worst, the morrow next, we ought descend to the port of Genoa and you shall behold that which you cannot now imagine. You shall see water that goes beyond sight itself.”

  A crusader cried from the edges of the campsite, “And then to Jerusalem!” The circle hurrahed!

  Pieter sighed. “I know not how our Lord wills for you to cross into Palestine, but I needs say again, that I, like Moses, shall not follow you into the Promised Land.”

  A loud chorus of complaints arose. Gertrude stood up and pleaded, “Please, Pieter, please, you must come with us! We’ve come so far together!”

  Now all the crusaders rose and circled close to the weary old man. Many clutched at his robe and begged him to remain with them. “Nay, my precious lambs, I have said before that my body is too frail. ‘Tis a proper time to release you. I have served you as best I have known and have failed you some, but now is the season for other wings to carry you from my arms.”

  Large, salty droplets fell down Karl’s ruddy cheeks and Wil’s face was stained with tears he no longer chose to hide. Both recalled that day in Mainz, so very long ago. “Is there no word we can offer?” Wil choked, “Some vow, or pledge that might change your mind?”

  Pieter shook his head. “Nay, good friend, I must remain here and pray for the souls of our dear departed. And, methinks I might do my praying by Brother Chiovo’s side.”

  The man paused and looked over the anxious faces peering at him. He considered his next words carefully and delivered them with deliberation. “Meine kinder, I’ve need to say something to you all. It was, by truth, the hope and solemn pledge of each to set himself upon the Holy Land.”

  The children nodded.

  “Our journey has been both tragic and joyful, both terrible and wonderful—has it not? And each of us has both suffered and been blessed. Methinks such things as we’ve endured have borne good fruit.

  “It would seem our miseries were but the heavy labors of a worthy Gardener, working and kneading God’s soil into our hard, barren hearts. It would seem as if He has planted vineyards of sweet grapes within us each. Y’needs not press o’er the sea for what God has already set your feet upon.”