Quest of Hope: A Novel (48 page)

“Our friends tell us the count and the archbishop have heard of a one-armed, one-eyed peasant who may have betrayed them. There’s talk of a search to begin.”

Cornelis turned to the women. “And there is more. It seems the soldiers whom we defeated claim they were passing through peaceably on their way to worship in Bremen. Ha! They say they went north to the ferries at Berne and we ambushed them without cause, so now the archbishop is considering another attack to punish us. The chiefs meet in a fortnight.”

Heinrich rose. “There’ll be no single death on my account! None. I’ll surrender myself in the morning!”

“Listen, friend, you do not understand. The archbishop and the counts seek every possible excuse to war with us. Your capture would only prove their rumors to be true and add strength to their claim. This much is certain: you are in grave danger here and you cannot travel to the south—it’s where you’d be expected. You’d stand no chance in Saxony or Thurungia, none at all.”

“What is he to do, son?” asked Anna.

“I’ve another plan.” Cornelis faced Heinrich squarely. “A group of us have struck a deal. We’re to trade our rye and oats for skins with Kjell the Swede from West Gothland. Our own captain, Groot, has agreed to our fee and is sailing in a fortnight from Elsfleth. Kjell is an old friend of m’father’s—hell hide you for the winter.”

“The winter?” Heinrich stared blankly.

Cornelis understood but wanted to be very sure the man did as he was told. “Listen, friend, and listen well. You saved my life and I shall ne’er forget it. But hear me plain: if you are captured, this village and m’family shall be slaughtered in God’s name. You cannot travel south—not now. I cannot allow it.” He leaned close to Heinrich and narrowed his eyes. With a resolved whisper he repeated, “I
will
not allow it.”

The baker turned away and stared at the wide horizon.
Another winter away from home!
He struggled with his predicament and concluded that his host was right. Stories of Cornelis’s offered sanctuary would be confirmed, and he had seen what sort of justice the lords served. He looked at little Anki, at Bolko the toddler, the patient eyes of Anna, and the kind face of gentle Edda. He could do nothing to bring more risk to any of these.

Another thought had been haunting him for some days. He thought of his missing eye and touched his right hand to his stump.
I’ve sinned greatly and am forever crippled for my shame,
he moaned within himself.
Dear God, have I added more to my debt? I’ve needs pay a great penance to keep m’sons safe. This winter might begin the season of sufferings that may finally cleanse me.
He nodded sadly and answered, “Forgive me, Cornelis. Surely, I shall do as you say.”

The next two weeks were filled with restless anticipation. Heinrich was anxious to be on his way, but was forbidden to leave Cornelis’s farmhouse for fear a passing spy would confirm the rumors in Oldenburg and Bremen. Cornelis was busy with his fellows finishing the harvest in the higher ground to the west. There, the grain crops had done well that year and the eager landowners worked tirelessly in a cooperative effort that benefited everyone. Heinrich only wished he could take part and aid his gracious host.

It was late on Friday, the fourteenth day of September when a messenger hurried into Cornelis’s door. The fellow whispered an urgent message to the nodding farmer before disappearing into the heavy river mist blanketing the village. Cornelis touched a coal to a torch and called his wife and Heinrich. “We have news. The count sent the bailiff and a company of men-at-arms from the castle at noon yesterday and they’ve searched Altenesche and Hude. Our spy says they will be searching the villages along the Hunte next.”

Edda gasped. “Husband, they shall surely slaughter us!”

Cornelis gathered his wife in his arms and held her tightly. Mother Anna joined the two and laid a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Cornelis answered, “Nay, Edda. No doubt the militia’s being called as we speak. The count has been given no permission for this search … he’ll be turned away. But,” the man turned to Heinrich, “now ‘tis time, good friend. You must board Groot’s ship. He would have sailed by midweek anyway—he’s almost loaded. A few days in the bottom of his stout vessel is a small price for your life … and ours.”

Heinrich agreed.

Cornelis clasped hands with the baker and beckoned his wife to quickly gather an ample stock of provisions to send with their guest. Within minutes, Edda and her mother-in-law handed Heinrich his satchel, stuffed with smoked fish, cheese, salted beef, and dried apples. He hung the bulging leather bag across the shoulder of his new brown tunic and draped his sealskin cloak over his back. The man looked rugged, almost fierce. His graying auburn curls hung over his ears and brushed the base of his neck. He had grown a beard, like the free men who had hosted him these four months, and the weight he had regained padded his broad shoulders and thick chest. The patch over his right eye and the stump hanging at his left side added a quality of mystery and adventure. Anna thought him to have the look of the pirates who pillaged the nearby sea.

Cornelis handed the man a final gift, a long dagger with a gleaming, polished blade. “This gift is from the chieftains as a token of their thanks. Your warning saved many and your bravery in battle is worthy of honor.”

Heinrich was stunned. He received the gift with a trembling hand and stared at it almost fearfully. An unbidden voice hissed within him and reminded him that a servile man was forbidden to own such a weapon. He grunted to himself and lifted the blade to his lips for a kiss of acceptance and a humble bow.

Cornelis smiled. “The blade is Saxon steel. Its edge is hard and sharp enough to split a hair. The handle is fashioned from the bone of an elk taken from the great forests of Norway. Old Wit van Ness was commissioned to make it for you. And see there, an inscription of our battle cry,
“Vrijheid altijd,”
which means “Freedom always!”

Heinrich answered quietly, “I am not worthy of such honor, Cornelis. You have returned my simple act tenfold. I told you before, I did not choose to fight with you. It was as if I was carried along by an unseen hand. I confess I do still wonder if my soul is in greater peril now, or in less.” His voice trailed away and he sighed.

Cornelis smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “And as I’ve told you, you think too much! Now, ‘tis time we get you to the dock. Wife, he’s well supplied?”

Edda nodded as Anna took Heinrich’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “Thanks be to God for you; you saved the life of m’son.” The man smiled and turned to touch each sleeping child lightly on their heads. “May God’s blessings be upon these little ones … and you all.” He faced his hosts. “You have shown me more kindness in these few months than I have seen in many years. I’ve no words to thank you but I pledge I shall ne’er forget you. When I am home I shall ask a special friend of mine—Brother Lukas is his name—to pray for you each day, and when I meet another—Brother Blasius, the Templar—he, too, shall pray for your safekeeping.” Heinrich followed Cornelis to the door and turned one last time. “
Veel danken … Vrijheid altijd.”

Groot was a leathery seaman of Frisian roots, born at the mouth of the Weser River some thirty-five years prior. Being Heinrich’s elder by only two years, the man treated his passenger with more respect than he did the four young oarsmen who served him. Gruff and coarse by the standards of more genteel folk, the sailor was courageous, intelligent, and ambitious in the finest sense of the word.

He stood aft on the sturdy vessel he had purchased from a Danish shipwright ten years before. It was wide and squat, blending the features of a traditional Nordic design with the features of the popular Celtic cog. Skillfully crafted of planks hewn from ancient Swedish oak, the ship was worthy of the wright’s skill. It lay some thirty-eight feet long and sixteen feet wide and maintained a generous freeboard even when weighed heavy with cargo. It had a flat bottom, like the cogs, and a straight sternpost. The vessel was powered by a large square sail and four long oars, and like the Viking ships of years past, it was steered by a large rudder attached to the side of the stern. Its tall, upward-curved bow ploughed the waves with the self-respect and unpretentious determination of its master.

Groot stared quietly at the gray September sky. His ship’s hold was filled with baskets of grains from the Stedinger farmers as well as wheels of cheese, leather goods, and some handcrafts. He was paid a handsome fee to brave both the perils of an autumn sea and the violence of Nordic pirates, but only once had he failed to return with a profitable exchange. A stiff breeze from the west gave him pause. The Danish seas were usually calm and blessed with light winds in summer, but late September and October were often given to strong westerly storms. He looked carefully at the dark, western horizon and reasoned that the pirates would be equally wary to sail.
Do I risk high seas or evil men?
he wondered. Groot looked at his waiting crew and at the one-eyed stranger staring blankly at the gray water lapping hard against the smooth bow. “Cast off!” he cried.

The four crewmen scrambled to throw their heavy ropes onto the dock before pulling hard to set the sail. The oars were lowered and the squat ship began to lightly roll with the falling tide of the Weser.

Heinrich’s heart soared within him as he peered into the wind-drifting mist of the river. He had never been on water before and he immediately turned his ears toward birds screeching above. His nostrils were filled with the smells of fish and of river mud. He gathered his cloak around him to chase the morning chill and pulled his hood over his head.

The sun was rarely seen that day as Groot sailed northward across the widening Weser. The river’s spreading banks were flat and empty, the sky growing ever larger. Heinrich stood with legs spread wide atop the thick planks of the ship’s foredeck as it began to rock into the river’s mouth. The man breathed deeply of salt air and turned his face to either side where mud flats and reeds stretched as far as he could see. He looked forward and saw nothing but gray water that met the sky somewhere beyond his sight. The simple baker from Weyer was speechless and awestruck. The wind blew hard through his hair as sea birds cried overhead.

The increasing wind had made Groot quiet and ill-tempered. His ship was tacking due north in a stiff westerly and his large hands and forearms worked hard on the heavy rudder. Heinrich noticed the man’s obsession with the sky and he could see concern in the man’s tight, sun-etched face. Groot motioned for his passenger to come close and Heinrich lurched his way to the stern. “Go below,” Groot bellowed.

“Aye, sir. Is all well?”

“Ja.
We’ve nearly a hundred leagues to the tip of Jutland. With a heavy cargo and light winds we would’ve made about ten leagues a day. With this wind well be doubling that, but if it blows harder well begin to slow. She tacks good in strong wind, but poorly in high.”

Heinrich nodded politely. He knew nothing of the sea. He did know, however, that he could walk more than one league in an hour so he was surprised to learn the ship normally only traveled ten leagues from dawn to dawn. “I thought the ship might go faster.”

Groot shook his head. “Not these merchants. The old Vikings could travel six or seven times what we do, but their fighting ships were sleek and made for speed. Now, you needs get below; the wind’s up.”

Heinrich ducked beneath the deck and found a comfortable corner atop a few baskets of oats. There he lay the rest of that day and all of the night following, but he awakened as sick and miserable as any man could be. His belly rolled and his skin turned a clammy white. He scrambled to the deck frequently to vomit into the water, believing for all the world that he might die. By midday and all the night next he lay and wished that he had been slain in the battle. “If God has mercy, let Him take m’soul from this cursed boat!” he groaned.

On the fourth day the winds eased and Groot permitted his passenger to crawl onto the deck once more. The crew greeted the baker of Weyer with howls of laughter as the poor wretch dragged himself to the high wedge of the bow. There he let a cool wind soothe his haggard face. A kind oarsman handed Heinrich a tankard of beer and a strip of salted fish.

“Oh, dear God above,” groaned Heinrich weakly, “I cannot! Methinks I shall surely die.”

The sailor laughed and slapped him on the back. “
Goed man, je leven!”

On the sixth day, Groot navigated his ship around the point of Denmark and steered his ship east-southeast toward the Swedish town of Götheborg in the lands of West Gothland. He was relieved to have seen no pirates but was surprised to find that only a handful of merchantmen were on the sea. September was usually safe, and the first to get a harvest to dock earned the highest profits. “Heinrich, we’ve but five days to port. Can you live a bit longer?” He laughed.