‘You are certain that you told your priest of the end of days before the pedlar came?’
The boy nodded, not troubling to repeat himself.
‘And how do you plan to get to Jerusalem, from here?’ Luca asked.
‘God has told me that the sea will dry up before us,’ the boy said simply. ‘As it did before the children of Israel. We will walk to the southernmost point of Italy and then I know that the waves will part and we will walk to the Holy Land.’
Luca and Brother Peter exchanged a wondering look at his confidence. ‘It’s a long, long way,’ Luca suggested gently. ‘Do you know the way? Do you know how far?’
‘It doesn’t matter to me what the road is called, nor how far it is,’ the boy said confidently. ‘God guides me, not signposts or worldly maps. I walk in faith, I am not the toy of men who draw maps and try to measure the world. I don’t follow their vision but that of God.’
‘And what will you do, when you get there?’ Brother Peter asked.
‘This is not a crusade of weapons,’ the boy replied. ‘It is a children’s crusade. When we get there the children of Israel will come to us. The Turk children will come to us. Ottoman children will come. Arab children will come to us and we will all serve the one God. If there are any Christian children left alive in those tragic lands, then they will come to us too. They will all explain to their fathers and their mothers and there will be peace. The children of all the enemies will bring peace to the world. It is a children’s crusade and every child will answer the call. Then Jesus will come to Jerusalem and the world will end.’
‘You have seen all this in a vision?’ Brother Peter confirmed. ‘You are certain?’
His face shining with conviction, the boy nodded. ‘It is a certainty,’ he said. ‘How else would all these children have joined me already? They come from the villages and from the little farms. They come from dirty workshops and the backstreets of evil cities. They come with their brothers and sisters. They come with their friends. They come from different countries, they come even if they cannot understand my language, for God speaks to them. The Arab children, the Jewish children will come too.’ He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, like the simple peasant boy he was. ‘I see you are amazed, my masters, but this is how it is. It is a children’s crusade and it is going to change the world.
‘And now I must pray with my brothers and sisters,’ he said. ‘You may join us if you want.’ He rose up, picked up his crook, and went to the doorway.
‘How will the waters part?’ Luca asked him curiously.
Johann made a gesture with his hands, pushing the air away before him. ‘As it did before,’ he said. ‘For Moses. However that was. The waves will part on one side and the other. We will see the sea bed beneath our feet. We will see the wrecks of ships that lie on the bed of the sea and we can pick up their treasure as we walk. We can gather pearls as if they were flowers. We will go dry-shod all the way to Palestine.’ He paused. ‘Angels will sing,’ he said, pleased. He went from the room, leaving Luca and Brother Peter alone.
‘What an extraordinary boy!’ Luca exclaimed, pushing back his chair from the table. ‘He has a gift, it can’t be denied.’ He brushed his forearm and ran his hand up the nape of his neck. ‘My hairs are standing on end. I believe him. I am truly persuaded. I wish I could follow him. If I had heard him when I was a child I would have left a plough in the field and gone after him.’
‘A charismatic leader,’ Brother Peter decided. ‘But whether he is a dreamer or whether he is a prophet, or even a false prophet, I can’t tell. We must hear him preach and perhaps question him some more. I’ll have to get news of this to Milord at once. This is urgent.’
‘He will want to know of such a boy?’
‘Of such a boy, and of such a crusade. This could be another sign of the end of days. He will want to know everything. Why, if they get to Palestine and do half of what they promise, then the Ottoman Empire will struggle to deal with them. For them it will be their worst nightmare knocking at their front door. With such a large band of children they’ll either have to guard them, or arrest them, attack them, or let them enter into the holiest places. Either way these children could upset everything. This may turn out to be the greatest weapon we could have devised against our enemies. We would never have thought of such a device but they could be far more powerful than any Christian army of grown men. If Johann can appeal to Ottoman children and Turk children and if they join him in a Christian crusade, then the world would be turned upside down.’
‘Do you really think they can get all that way to Jerusalem?’
‘Who would have thought they could have got here? And yet they have, in their thousands.’
‘Certainly hundreds,’ Luca said cautiously.
‘There are hundreds of children following that boy already. How many more can he recruit as he marches south?’
‘You can’t think that the sea will part before them?’ Luca asked. ‘How could such a thing happen?’
‘Do you believe that the Red Sea parted for the children of Israel?’ the older man put to him.
‘I have to believe it. The Bible is clear that it did. To question it would be heresy.’
‘Then why should such a miracle not happen again?’
Luca shook his head. ‘I suppose it could. I just—’ He broke off. ‘I just can’t understand how such a thing could be. How it could happen. Don’t question my faith, I believe the Bible as I am bound to do. I am not denying one word of it. But this sea rushing back from the sea bed? And these children walking dry-shod to Palestine? Can such a thing be possible?’
‘We have to see if it can be done. But if the sea does not part for them it may be that Milord will get them ships.’
‘Why would he take the trouble?’ Luca hesitated, noticing the excitement in the older man’s face. ‘Is our inquiry about the end of days, or is the Order more interested in defeating the Ottomans? Are we seeking the truth or forging a weapon?’
‘Both, of course, both,’ Brother Peter replied roundly. ‘Both, always. It is one and the same thing. The world will end when the Ottomans enter the gates of Rome, and at that moment the dead will rise from their graves for judgment. You and I have to travel throughout Christendom to watch for the signs of the dead rising, of Satan emerging, and the Ottoman armies coming ever closer. The infidels in Jerusalem and Jesus descending from heaven is one and the same thing, both signs of the end. What we have to know is when it takes place. These children may be a sign, I really believe that they are a sign. We must write to Milord, and we have to know more.’
Luca tapped on the door of Isolde’s room and she opened it wide when she saw him. ‘I can’t stay,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to warn Ishraq.’
The dark girl appeared behind Isolde. ‘Me?’
‘Yes. You’ve seen the children, coming into town. They’re a crusade, hundreds of children, perhaps more. They’re heading south, on their way to Jerusalem to defeat the Ottomans.’
‘We’ve seen them from the window. They look exhausted.’
‘Yes, but they are very sure that they are on their way to Palestine, a mighty crusade and a sign of the end of days. They know of the sack of Constantinople by the Ottomans. If you go down into the streets at all, you must not wear your Arab dress. They might turn on you. I don’t know what they would think.’
‘I should not wear Arab dress? I am not to wear my own clothes? I am to deny my heritage?’
‘Not while the Children’s Crusade is here. Wear what Lady Isolde wears for now.’
Ishraq gave him a steady look from her dark eyes. ‘And what shall I do about my Arab skin?’
Luca flushed. ‘You are a beautiful colour, God knows there are few women to match your looks, the colour of heather honey and eyes as dark as midnight,’ he said fervently. ‘But you cannot wear your pantaloons and your robe and veil until the crusade leaves the town, or until we get the ship out of here. You must dress like Isolde, like a Christian woman,
for your own safety.’
‘She will,’ Isolde ruled, cutting short the argument. ‘It makes no difference to you, Ishraq, you wear my gowns just as often as you wear your pantaloons. You prove nothing by wearing your Arab clothes.’ She turned to Luca. ‘Will we still sail at noon?’
‘No. We have to speak more with these children and we have to send a report to Rome. Brother Peter believes they are inspired by God, but certainly if they can get to Jerusalem with or without His guidance, they will pose a huge challenge to the Ottomans.’
‘Are they walking onwards?’
‘I expect they’ll go on this afternoon. People are giving them food and money to send them on their way. The church here is feeding them. And they are determined to go on. It’s a remarkable pilgrimage; I am glad to have seen it. When you talk with the boy, Johann, it’s inspiring. You know, I would go too if I were free.’
‘D’you think they can possibly get to Jerusalem?’ Ishraq wondered.
‘Who would have thought they could come this far? Children led by a youth who doesn’t even know where Jerusalem is? Brother Peter thinks they are part of the signs that we have been sent out to observe. I’m not sure, but I have to see that it is a sort of miracle. He is an ignorant country lad from Switzerland, and here he is in Italy, on his way to Jerusalem. I have to think it is almost a miracle.’
‘But you’re not sure,’ Ishraq observed.
He shrugged. ‘He says the waters will part for them – I can’t imagine how. It would be a miracle in this place and time and I can’t see how it would happen. But perhaps they will be able to walk to Messina and someone will give them ships. There are many ways that they could get to Jerusalem dry-shod. There are other miracles as great as parting the waters.’
‘You believe that this boy can find his way to Messina?’ Ishraq asked him sceptically.
Luca frowned. ‘It’s not your faith,’ he said defensively. ‘I see that you would not believe these pilgrims. You would think them fools, led by a charlatan. But this boy Johann has great power. He knows things that he could only have learned by revelation. He claims that God speaks to him and I have to believe that He does. And he has already come so far!’
‘Can we come and listen to him?’ Isolde asked.
Luca nodded. ‘He is preaching this afternoon. If you cover your heads and wear your capes, you can join us. I should think half the village will be there to listen to him.’
Isolde and Ishraq, wearing their grey gowns with their brown cloaks came out of the front door of the inn and walked along the stone quayside. Most of the fishing ships were moored in the harbour, bobbing on the quiet waves, the men ashore mending their nets or coiling ropes and patching worn sails. The two girls ignored the whistles and catcalls as the men noted the slim, caped figures and guessed that there were pretty faces under the concealing hoods. Isolde blushed and smiled at a shouted compliment but Ishraq turned her head in disdain.
‘You need not be so proud, it’s not an insult,’ Isolde remarked to her.
‘It is to me,’ Ishraq said. ‘Why should they think they can comment on me?’
They turned up one of the narrow alleyways which led up the hill to the market square and walked below crisscross lines of washing strung from one overhanging balcony to another. A few old ladies sat on their doorsteps, their hands busy with mending or lace-making, and nodded at the girls as they went by, but most of the people were already in the market square to hear Johann preach.
Isolde and Ishraq passed the bakery, with the baker coming out and closing up shop for the day, his face and hair dusted white with flour. The cobbler next door sat cross-legged in his window, a half-made shoe on his anvil, looking out at the gathering crowds. The next shop was a ships’ chandlers, the dark interior a jumble of goods from fishing nets to cork floats, fish knives and rowlocks, screws by the handful, nails in jars, blocks of salt and barrels. Next door to him was a hatter and milliner, doing poor trade in a poor town; next to him a saddler.
The girls went past the shops with barely a glance into the shadowy interiors, their eyes drawn to the steps of the church and to the shining fair head of the boy who waited, cheek against his simple crook, as if he were listening for something.
Before him, the crowd gathered, murmuring quietly, attentively. Behind him, in the darkened doorway of the church, stood Brother Peter, Luca and Freize beside the village priest. Many of the fishermen and almost all the women and children of the village had come to hear Johann the Good preach, but Isolde noticed that some of the older children were absent. She guessed they had been sent to sea with their fathers, or ordered to stay at home – not every family wanted to risk its children hearing Johann preach. Many mothers regarded him as a sort of dangerous piper who might dance their children out of town, never to be seen again. Some of them called him a child-stealer who should be feared, especially by mothers who had only one child.
The children of the crusade had been fed on a mean breakfast of bread and fish. The priest had collected food from his parishioners and the people of the market had handed out the leftovers. The monks in the abbey had sent down baskets of fresh-baked bread and honey scones. Clearly some of the children were still hungry, and many of them would have been hungry for days. But they still showed the same bright faces as when they had first walked into the village of Piccolo.
Ishraq, always sensitive to the mood of a crowd, could almost feel the passionate conviction of the young crusaders: the children wanted to believe that Johann had been called by God, and had convinced themselves that he was leading them to Jerusalem.
‘This is not faith,’ she whispered to Isolde. ‘This is longing: a very different thing.’
‘You ask me why we should walk all the long, long way to the Holy Land?’ Johann started suddenly, without introduction, without telling them to listen, without a bidding prayer or calling for their attention. He did not even raise his voice, he did not raise his eyes from the ground nor his cheek which was still resting thoughtfully against his shepherd’s crook, yet the hundreds of people were immediately silent and attentive. The round-faced priest in the grey unbleached robes of the Cistercian order, who had never in all his life seen a congregation of this size, lowered his gaze to the doorstep of his little church. Brother Peter stepped slightly forwards, as if he did not want to miss a word.
‘I will tell you why we must go so far,’ Johann said quietly. ‘Because we want to. That’s all! Because we choose to do so. We want to play our part in the end of days. The infidels have taken all the holy places into their keeping, the infidels have taken the greatest church in Constantinople and the Mass is celebrated no more at the most important altar in the world. We have to go to where Jesus Christ was a child and we have to walk in His footsteps. We have to be as children who enter the kingdom of heaven. He promised that those who come to him as little children will not be forbidden. We, His children, will go to Him and He will come again, as He promised, to judge the living and the dead, the old and the young, and we will be there, in Jerusalem, we will be the children who will enter the kingdom of heaven. D’you see?’
‘Yes,’ the crowd breathed. The children responded readily, at once, but even the older people, even the villagers who had never heard this message before were persuaded by Johann’s quiet authority. ‘Yes,’ they said.
Johann tossed his head so his blond ringlets fell away from his face. He looked around at them all. Luca had a sudden disconcerting sense that Johann was looking at him with his piercing blue eyes, as if the young preacher knew something of him, had something to say especially to him. ‘You are missing your father,’ the boy said simply to the crowd. Luca, whose father had disappeared after an Ottoman raid on his village, when Luca was only fourteen, gave a sudden start and looked over the heads of the children to Isolde, whose father had died only five months ago. She was pale, looking intently at Johann.
‘I can feel your sorrow,’ he said tenderly. Again his blue gaze swept across Luca and then reste
d on Isolde. ‘He did not say goodbye to you,’ Johann observed gently. Isolde bit her lip at that deep, constant sorrow and there was a soft moan from the crowd, from the many people who had lost fathers – at sea or to illness, or in the many accidents of daily life. Ishraq, standing beside Isolde, took her hand and found that she was trembling. ‘I can see a lord laid cold and pale in his chapel and his son stealing his place,’ Johann said. Isolde’s face blanched white as he told her story to the world. ‘I can see a girl longing for her father and him crying her name on his deathbed but they kept her from him, and now, she can’t hear him.’
Luca gave a muffled exclamation and turned to Brother Peter. ‘I didn’t tell him anything about her.’
‘Nor I.’
‘Then how does he know this?’
‘I can see a bier in a chapel alone,’ Johann went on. ‘But nobody mourns for the man who has gone.’ There was a sob from a woman in the crowd who fell to her knees. Isolde stood like a statue, listening to the young man describing the loss of her father. ‘I can see a daughter driven from her home and longing to return.’
Isolde turned to Ishraq. ‘He is speaking of me.’
‘It seems so,’ Ishraq cautiously responded. ‘But this could be true of many people.’
‘I see a girl whose father died without her at his side, whose brother stole her inheritance, who longs, even now, to be back in her home, to see her father again,’ Johann said his voice low and persuasive. ‘And I have good news for you. Good news. I see this young woman, her heart broken by her loss, and I can tell you that she will return. She will return and take her place again.’
Isolde clutched at Ishraq’s steady hand. ‘He says I will return!’
‘And I see more,’ Johann went on. ‘I can see a young man, a boy. A young boy, and his father lost at sea. Oh! I can see that boy waiting and waiting on the quayside and looking for the sails of a boat that never comes home.’
A muffled sob from one youth in the huge crowd was repeated all around the people. Clearly, Johann saw truly. Many people recognised themselves in his vision. Someone cried out for the blessing of God on a fatherless family, and one woman was comforted, softly weeping for her father who would never come back from the sea.
Stormbringers Page 4
