Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (33 page)

Karl and Georg made a small fire within and the group huddled close by. Maria climbed onto Pieter’s lap and nestled into his breast. “All shall be well, Papa Pieter. You shall see … and we’ll find Solomon.”

Pieter’s beard was matted with dried blood, and mud flattened his fine, white hair against his bony skull. He could say nothing, but tears ran freely down his face and he hugged his little lamb.

By midday, Wil assembled his crusaders and inspected what provisions were reclaimed. Content to have recovered a small supply of blankets, satchels, and sundry foodstuffs, he prepared his soldiers to march on. “Listen well. We’ll press our calling.” Turning a sad eye on Frieda, he said, “Please have your tears, Frieda, but we needs go on. Friederich, your wrist is broken and Jon II … you’ve a broken leg. You needs both return to Olten.”

“Nay, Wil!” protested Friederich. “I’ve come this far and I shan’t go back—and what might happen to us in Olten?”

Wil hesitated for a moment as he considered what risk Pieter’s dubious dentistry might have created, but he masked his fears and answered sternly, “Dorothea shall see to it you’ve a good home.”

“But…”

“Enough. I order it.”

The eight-year-old stared helplessly at his comrades, his eyes begging for a reprieve.

“Friederich,” said Georg kindly, “Wil is right. You must go back. Jon II needs a good fellow to help him, and a broken wrist won’t do in the mountains ahead. Methinks ’tis God’s will.”

Friederich nodded reluctantly and bawled a tearful farewell to his friends. He feared he would never see them again.

Chapter 15

NO GREATER LOVE

B
y nightfall the band had marched southwest into the wide valley separating them from the awaiting Alps. Wil ordered his faithful to make camp in the cold, open air, and soon all were huddled close to a small, snapping fire. Thoughts of friends so recently lost bred a deep melancholy, leaving many a cheek tear-wet and tight. Pieter reached into his robe and, to his relief, found that his wallet was still there. He opened it and and began to unfold the three pieces of parchment. He set his page of Aristotle carefully on his lap and held the Scriptures in his trembling hands. In the firelight he began to read quietly to himself but as he lost himself in the words his voice grew louder. “These all look to you to give them their food at the proper time. When you give it to them they gather it up; when you open your hand….’”

A sudden blast of wind rushed through the campsite, bending the campfire and whisking Pieter’s cherished Aristotle off his lap and into the air like a dry leaf in autumn. It flew high above the startled man and began to flutter downward when another wind carried it a bit farther. Pieter frantically sprang to his feet. “Boys, boys, help me!” he cried. The old man leapt in the air to snag the fluttering parchment but the wind twisted and turned it farther and farther away. The priest stumbled and lurched through the darkness. At last he stopped and stood pitiful in the moonlight, stunned and silent.

“Pieter,” offered Karl as he came to his side, “’tis but a parchment, only—”

“Silence, boy, you’ve no thought to your tongue! That was one of the dearest things I had … that parchment and … poor Solomon.”

Karl looked sadly at the frail man now shivering under the moon and left him to bear his disappointment alone.

In the first light of the new day Georg rose before his exhausted comrades to search for Pieter’s lost parchment. His pursuit was in vain, but the goodhearted lad was not inclined to return without some comfort for his friend. He entered the waking campsite with a happy smile, a new staff for Pieter, and new crosses for many of the pilgrims.

“Ah, thanks to you, Georg,” praised Karl.

“Aye, aye,” muttered Pieter.

“And I’ve a cross for you as well, Wil.”

Wil was in no mood for such a gift. “A cross? A cross? I carry no cross! You’d be as mad as Karl. We’ve just laid five more under mounds of rocks and we’ve lost nearly all the stuffs we had.”

Georg had no heart for combat and had only wished to offer a simple kindness. He smiled timidly and walked away with Karl close behind. But Wil pursued them. “What? You’ve no answer? Aye. You’ve nought to say of this good God. And you, brother, look to your sister. I’ve given some thought to the sort of God that would attach a withered arm to such a fair
Mädel
Have y’uncovered the sin that earned such a penalty?”

Karl fumbled and fidgeted, wishing to fill his mouth with the morning’s gruel instead of answers to such things. But Wil was angry and he seized his brother hard by the tunic. “Tell me, Karl… I’ve need to learn more of a God who allows such things!”

The strain of the day past had worn on Karl and his brother’s wrath drove him to tears. “I know not!” he cried as he pushed Wil away. “I’ve no answer, but … but methinks if we do the good things, He’ll love us—as did Mother. We … we must be in error, we must—”

“Fool. Dolt. ’Tis no error in our ways!” Wil grabbed Karl by the throat. “You are blind to the world and y’ve a fool’s sense to put the blame to us. The world about you is an evil place, not made easy by good deeds.”

Karl gasped for air and pulled hard away from his brother’s grip. “Nay, the world is not evil; it is filled with God’s bounty for good people.”

“Aye? I’ve seen nought but a wicked world, double-minded people, and a treacherous God.”

Karl was confused and his secret doubts grew loud in his own head. He pushed Wil away. “
I
am good, Wil!” he shouted. “Can y’not see? I’ve a mind fixed on charity. I cared for Mother when you fought with her. I did all that she ordered. I do what is right and good, and God shall give me proper care. He must! I … I deserve His love; I have earned it. Perhaps ’tis your black heart that brings us trouble!”

Wil said nothing but smirked, choosing to let the boy slander and slay himself with his own tongue.

“You, Wil, you are proud. You are filled with boast. Y’think to be all-wise but you’ve an empty head. You never loved Mother and she ne’er loved you. But I served her well and she did love me. ’Tis little wonder you see evil all about, for you are evil, brother; your proud heart is black!”

Wil’s silence had proven a worthy tactic and the smile crossing his face evidenced the pleasure won in such utter victory. Karl had been unmasked and stood naked and exposed.

Georg stepped between the two brothers. “Please, we’ve trouble enough. There is no cause to quarrel.” He turned to Karl. “You ought not accuse your brother so.”

Karl stiffened.

Georg’s face flushed with fear, but a boldness born out of genuine affection loosed his tongue. “Your boast, Karl, is every bit as big as your brother’s, only yours is different. You … hide your pride in things with the look of goodness. You are agreeable and virtuous to be sure. You seek the good in all and for all. You act faithful and pious, but … but … I fear you to do so to feel all the better of yourself—and to win the affections of others. I do wonder if these be the marks of a true, good heart.”

Karl, indeed, had paid little heed to the beams in his own eyes, and such penetrating observations by his friend both flustered and angered him. His blood rose like fire in his ruddy cheeks and he retorted with fury. “By God, fat boy! You dare call
me
prideful? Trickster. Betrayer. I am the one who’s protected you from the others. It’d be me who’s watched over you like a good friend ought. I … I … found you clothing, I shorn that swollen head of yours … and you turn against me with such words? I’ve no need for such a friend. Keep away!”

Such rancor was infectious and the long day that followed was quarrelsome and broody. The wide plain was easy marching but the weight of heavy hearts made it more a struggle than the mountains left behind. There was no more talk of feast, no more riddles, no laughter or singing; only the steady step of tired feet on rain-soaked earth. Karl held fast to the rear of the column, dark-eyed and moody, refusing the slightest of gestures from Pieter and resenting every command of Wil. His sister, sensing his hurt, walked quietly at his side.

Another day wore on as the crusaders marched toward the rising mountains in the south, oblivious to the beautiful landscape changing before them. Then, as if their weary spirits hadn’t burdened them enough, a heavy sky brought more rain to soak them and cold winds to chill them. Their pace slowed but they finally arrived at the walled city of Burgdorf, wet, tired, and days early for the feast.

They entered the city gate in hopes of gathering a few scraps from the bounty within, but were summarily escorted out by a troop of surly men-at-arms. The crusaders soon stared at one another outside the gate, blank-faced and defeated, far too weary to plead their case. They acquiesced without a murmur and yielded all resolve to wrangle access to the storehouse of plenty that lay but a few paces behind the looming walls.

Provisions nearly gone, clothing tattered and ragged, and with few blankets to share, the company marched another day until they at last entered the pleasing valley of the Emmental. Here their weary eyes warmed to the sun-dappled yellow-green of sheep-dotted mountainsides and the lush of mixed-leaf forests that funneled toward the valley floor. They stopped to absorb such evidence of the Creator’s ultimate benevolence and the sight both comforted them and urged them forward toward their trail’s narrowing valley and the craggy peaks rimming the distant horizon.

Relying on the good hearts of a few villagers and shepherds along the way, they found food enough to finally climb above the trees and through a rugged, Alpine pass. Their progress had slowed terribly, some days traveling a mere league, others less, some more. But they soon descended to the blue-green waters of a glorious mountain lake and its splendid, shimmering beauty gave all pause to hope.

After a good day’s rest by the clear mountain lake they climbed deep into the spruce-timbered forests of the higher mountains, traveling due south toward the rock-faced peaks rising ahead. Pieter had been silent for days. The ascending trails were exhausting and he plodded up them with a gloomy spirit. He had stopped praying at night and ignored his morning lauds. Some claimed to hear him whisper the names of Lukas or Albert or Solomon in his sleep. He did not engage the children in his usual banter, nor did he bore them with his rambling pontifications. Unsettled by his melancholy, his flock now dearly wished for both.

One morning, near terce, the crusaders descended a steep slope and came upon a small village assembled neatly in a spacious clearing. It was a typical
rundling—
a cluster of timbered hovels circling a common center in which there were gardens of sweet flowers, herbs, and vegetables as well as buzzing apiaries. The weary children stumbled into the village with little heart and few words, and approached a housewife busy churning milk. Before Wil could speak, the woman stopped her piston and smiled. The cheerful reception confused the crusaders.

“Ho, ho there, children, welcome. My name is Frau Muller and you are all welcome.” She blew a wisp of graying hair away from her twinkling black eyes, wiped her callused hands on her homespun apron, and placed them securely on her broad hips. “Our children have gone before you on this brave Crusade, but you’d be the first we’ve seen.”

Wil eyed the woman carefully. “Aye, and greetings to you. Have you any food to spare, good woman? Or any blankets or cloaks?”

Frau Muller threw back her head and laughed. “For you and yours, good lad, we’ve plenty enough!”

By now a curious circle of village women had abandoned their dough-boards and baskets and ringed the crusaders. With grins stretching their round faces the gracious women led the dirty column to the center of the common and were soon fussing over them like mother cats with a fresh litter. They brushed the girls’ hair and washed their faces. The boys, too, had a good scrubbing. Their filthy clothes were scoured in barrels of heated water and mended with good stitching.

The children were wrapped in woolen blankets and promptly set before a long table cluttered with stewed apples and honey and breads and cheese. The delighted crusaders smiled again and before long there was laughter and singing and light hearts all about the smoky mountain hamlet. When all had eaten, sheep’s milk was brought for the children and a pitcher of mead for Pieter.

The old man studied each face of his beloved flock, especially happy to see the little ones resting so peacefully on the soft laps of the nurturing women.
Ah, and dear Maria… so like a tender bloom
, he thought.
And so oft weak and feverish.

Wil interrupted Pieter’s thoughts and pointed to the contented children. “Would seem that a mother on earth has more value than some mother in heaven.”

Pieter shrugged. He hadn’t missed the boy’s sarcasm. “Aye, lad. There’d be some truth in what you say. These little ones do need a mother who can touch them—indeed, we all need more than a touch from the clouds.”

A few burly woodsmen suddenly burst out of the forest bearing huge broadaxes on their wide shoulders. They stared warily at the strange children but quickly yielded to the stern commands of their wives. “Mind, Hans, these be welcome and you’ve no cause to frighten them.” Behind them two huntsmen returned with their allotted quarry and, with a few quick strokes of their sharp knives, five rabbits and two wild boar were gutted and stripped.

Evening settled over the mountain and the smells of bubbling stew and roasted pork now wafted through the merry village. A crackling campfire and full bellies warmed the grateful children as the cold night air began to fall. Soon they were presented their clean, dry, and mended clothing and were escorted to the humble hovels of the happy peasants. Each was given a straw bed and comforted with a heavy wool quilt and a kindly kiss. Sleep came easily and dreams were good.

The next morning the rested crusaders gathered on the common by the large garden and offered their heartfelt thanks to their hosts for such unusual hospitality. “God’s riches on you all,” sighed Pieter peacefully. Tasting of kindness had quenched a parching thirst and the relief of it so relaxed the priest that he yearned to simply lie in the grass and sleep.