The Scarlet Cross (14 page)

“How…? How then, will we be able to walk across it?” Angeline asked.

“Do you doubt that the sea parted for Moses and the children of Israel, and that they walked across it?” Stephen asked.

“No…” Angeline answered, but she sounded uncertain. “That is what we have been taught…” The words trailed off.

“God has promised me that even as He made the waters part for Moses, He will part them for me,” Stephen said. “It will be
glorious
, Angeline. Just wait. It will be glorious.”

He had to think that. He could not let himself think anything else.

The next afternoon they climbed one more hill and there at last lay the sea—a shimmering expanse of blue-green water that stretched to the horizon. Under a clear blue sky dotted with white clouds, the waters spread out before them in tranquil waves. Strange, fan-leafed trees lined the shore and swayed in the soft breeze. At the foot of the cliffs upon which they stood sprawled a busy, bustling town. Marseilles!

They had done it.

Beside him, Stephen heard a sharp intake of breath and he turned to see Father Martin. The priest’s eyes were bright with tears.

“Give thanks to the Lord, Stephen,” the priest said.

“I do,” Stephen replied. His heart was so full he could say no more.

They knelt to pray. Angeline and Renard knelt with them, but at the sight of the sea, Stephen’s followers could not be restrained. Young and old, they began to run down the paths toward it. Robert and Geoffrey and the other young
knights galloped past them. Stephen grimaced as he saw one young boy knocked aside by a horse in the rush. He ran to him and picked him up, but the boy was unhurt. In just as much of a rush to get to the sea as all the others, he was off without so much as a word of thanks. No one had told the children that the waters of this sea were salt, however. Father Martin ran after them, calling to them.

“Drink not the water!” he shouted.

Too late. Children spat and shook their heads, unable to believe that such a great expanse of water was not available to them to slake their thirst. Help was at hand, however. The news of their arrival had gone ahead of them, for the bells of all the churches of Marseilles began to peal. First one, then another, then another joined in until the very heavens seemed to echo with their ringing. By the time Stephen reached the rocky beach, the townspeople were flooding out to meet them, carrying all manner of food and drink. Bread, cheese, cold fowl, and fruits Stephen had never seen before. The children swarmed the people, and were greeted with smiles and laughter.

Stephen left Angeline to try to bring order to the melée on the beach and strode toward the city gate, Father Martin close beside him. As they reached the gate a boy ran out to greet them, panting.

“Are you the one they call Stephen?” he panted. “The one sent by God?”

“I am,” Stephen replied and with the words he was overcome with a joy such as he had never known. The sun blazing down upon them was brighter than he had ever seen it. The air crystal clear and pure. His every sense tingled with the glory of the moment.

The boy seemed suddenly struck dumb.

“The bishop,” he finally managed to get out, while bobbing his head and tripping himself up, trying to bow at the
same time. “The bishop will speak with you.” He stopped and drew a deep breath. “He wishes me to lead you to him. Follow me. Please,” he added.

Father Martin reached out to give Stephen’s shoulder a squeeze. The smile on his face was as broad as the smile on Stephen’s own.

They followed the boy to the rectory adjoining the basilica. There the bishop waited in the company of another stern-looking man who, the boy whispered, was the count of Provence himself, the ruler of the county of Provence in which Marseilles was situated. Bursting with triumph, Stephen was not in the least daunted by their presence. He made his obeisance, then stood proudly, awaiting their words. Words of praise they would be, he was certain of it. After all, had he not succeeded in leading his crusade all the way across France?

The bishop’s first words did, indeed, bear out Stephen’s confidence.

“We have heard much of your crusade, Stephen,” the bishop said. “The very fact that you have led such an enormous number of people to the shores of our sea is most impressive.”

Stephen basked in the words. The bishop went on.

“We will supply you and your followers with all that you need tonight,” he continued. “Even though such a great number of people will strain our resources, your followers will be fed. As many as possible will be allowed to sleep in our cathedral, in the abbey, and here in the Basilique St. Victor. Even so, I fear that we will not be able to accommodate so great a number of souls, but I am certain that the townspeople, too, will welcome the children and give them shelter.”

Stephen began to thank him, but the bishop continued.

“However…” he said.

Stephen stopped short, the words of gratitude dying in his mouth.

“However,” the bishop repeated, “we can only offer this assistance for one night. There are simply too many of you to welcome within this city for any longer.”

“There will be no need,” Stephen replied quickly. “If you have heard of this crusade, you will also have heard of the promise our Lord gave to me. On the morrow, just shortly after the sun has risen, I will stand on the shore of the sea and the waters will part for us. You will watch as we walk through them, untouched.” He could not help the pride that crept into his voice. He saw the bishop’s face close.

“Do you really believe this will happen?” the bishop asked.

“Of course,” Stephen replied indignantly. “Do you not believe the promises of the Lord, whom you serve?”

Father Martin hissed in distress and grabbed at his arm, but Stephen shook him off. The bishop frowned. The count, beside him, made a move almost as if to strike Stephen for his insolence, but Stephen stood his ground. He it was who had followed God’s command and led his army here. He was not afraid of these men.

“God knows I hope and pray that you are not misled, my son,” the bishop said. He made the sign of the cross in blessing, then waved at Stephen to depart. “I will be there tomorrow,” he said, “to witness your miracle.” His voice made it very apparent how unlikely he thought that would be.

Stephen seethed at the insult.

Just wait,
he vowed silently, teeth clenched.
Just wait until the morn. Then you will see that I speak the truth. The whole city will see!

Stephen returned to the beach. He climbed up onto a rock and raised his arms high. Slowly, the crowd began to assemble around him. He waited until they had all gathered. He waited until the throng fell silent. He felt a rush of love flood through him as he looked down upon them, young and old alike. He had fulfilled his promise to them! Finally, he drew breath and let his words come forth with a rush of power.

“You will all be given food and a place to sleep tonight,” he cried. “Rest and refresh yourselves. Tomorrow at dawn, come back. God’s promise will be fulfilled. The waters will part for us and we will walk through them to Jerusalem! The end of our journey is at hand, and you will be well rewarded.
God wills it!
”

This time his cry was triumphant. The townsfolk’s cries joined his, louder and louder until the cliffs rang with the sound. The very birds of the air that wheeled and swooped around them seemed to Stephen to be exulting with him. He watched as the crowd began to disperse and make their way into the city. Father Martin and Renard stood beside him. Robert and Geoffrey had long since left to find proper quarters in the town. He saw a stout, motherly woman approach Angeline and Alys. The woman was obviously offering shelter to the two girls.

For a moment Stephen felt a pang. He did not want Angeline to leave. He had thought that she would stay with him this last night. Then, with relief, he saw that she was not going with Alys and the woman. She gave Alys a hug and turned back toward him. He greeted her with an outstretched hand.

He could not eat that night, however, although Renard had procured ample food. There was even, much to Father Martin’s delight, a skin of wine. Angeline boiled a chicken in a pot over the fire. She had seen all of her charges off
with various kindly women, and for once, she was able to rest and eat. Nothing she said could tempt Stephen, however. It was enough for him that she was here with him, but his mind, his spirit were full of the glory of the miracle that he would cause to happen in the morning. He had no need of food.

After the priests had said Mass, as the sun rose the next morning, Stephen stood on the pebbly sand of the shore. Behind and all around crowded the thousands upon thousands of his followers. The townspeople of Marseilles were there as well, shops and stalls were closed for the event. He saw the bishop and the count under one of the palm trees, watching intently. He swallowed and tried to quell the nausea that tightened his belly. Now, finally, it was time. He took a step forward until he stood ankle deep in the sea. He wanted to feel it as it withdrew. The hum of voices ceased. The multitude surrounding him fell silent. The sound of the sea filled his ears; the wind teased his lips with the taste of it. Father Martin stood behind him. This was the moment that would make all the suffering worthwhile, that would give meaning to the deaths of so many.

Stephen opened his arms wide and threw his head back.

“Lord!” he cried. “Behold Your servant, Stephen. I have done as You commanded. I have brought a crusade of children to this place. Now I await Your blessing and the fulfillment of Your promise. Part this sea, O Lord, as You did for the Israelites, that we may walk through in triumph to Your Holy Land.”

He opened his eyes, knowing he was about to be part of a miracle such as no one standing there could ever imagine.

Nothing happened.

A wave lapped softly on the shore.

“Lord!” Stephen cried. “Hear me!”

The waters sparkled in the now-risen sun as if mocking him.

The hum of voices resumed, then grew louder. Near him he heard a scornful laugh.

“A messenger of God, indeed,” a voice sneered.

“A fool, more like,” echoed another.

“You lied!” Robert clutched the pommel of his sword. His brother, Geoffrey, stood by him. Their faces were contorted with fury. Other boys crowded in behind them.

“You brought us all this way…We left our homes…our families…all for naught?”

“No!” Stephen protested. His head swam; the nausea in his belly threatened to overwhelm him. “It will happen! It will!”

He turned back to the sea. Again, he cried out to God.

No answer but the raucous squawking of the sea birds that circled endlessly above them.

“A curse on you!” Robert cried. Without another word, the brothers turned and ran for their horses.

Stephen could only watch.

The townspeople, laughing and jeering, began to make their way home. A sea of children’s faces turned up to Stephen. Their eyes pinned him to the spot—accusing, unbelieving. Some were sobbing. Others cried out in anger. For an instant Stephen cringed, afraid they were going to attack. Then they, too, turned their backs and began to leave. In small groups, in large groups, turning only to hurl accusations at him, they abandoned him. He was left standing alone.

Not entirely alone. Father Martin, deathly pale, stood behind him. Renard slumped upon the stones, tears streaming down his face. Angeline stood, stricken, by his side.

The villagers did not come back. The children who sought shelter in the town were cast out. By nightfall they had
returned to gather helplessly around Stephen. They waited for him to tell them what to do next, but he did not know.

Father Martin knelt in prayer at the water’s edge, but Stephen could not pray with him. He felt abandoned. Betrayed. Angeline tried to talk to him, but he could not make sense of her words, could not answer. That night he sat without moving, heedless of the cold wind that swept in off the sea, heedless of the hardness of the stones upon which he sat. The murmur of the waves was a taunting reminder of his failure. By dawn he was weak with fatigue and despair.

“Try again,” Renard urged as the sun rose. “Try again!”

But he would not.

With the rising of the sun, Angeline came to Stephen. She sounded as if she were barely holding back panic. In his despair he had forgotten that she was even there.

“You must make a decision, Stephen,” she said. “We cannot stay here, and the townspeople will not have us back. What are we to do?”

Stephen did not answer. He stared at the shining sea—his enemy now. He looked at the children crowding the beach. They were not talking, just waiting, staring at him. Except for a few priests and monks, most of the older men and women had left them to their fate. The minstrels were long gone. He turned away, sick to his heart. He could not meet their eyes, but he knew Angeline was right. He had to do something, but what? His mind still spun with the impossibility of what had happened. He couldn’t think. Could not accept that God had deserted him. How had he failed? What had he done wrong? He rubbed at the scars on his left hand so hard
that the skin tore and began to bleed. He did not notice that, either.

Then, in the distance, he saw the figures of two men approaching. He could do nothing but stand and wait for them, but he braced himself. He knew they would be emissaries of the count and the bishop, come to tell them to leave. He had promised to stay no more than one night and they had already stayed two. Father Martin saw them at the same instant. He rose from his knees where he had been praying and came to stand beside Stephen. When the men reached the stretch of pebbles on which he stood, however, Stephen was puzzled. These were not priests nor servants of the count. They were obviously merchants, well dressed and portly. One of them puffed, out of breath, as they came up to him.

“You are the boy, Stephen?” the other asked.

“I am,” Stephen answered, tensing himself for what might be about to come. There was no pride left in his voice now.

“We have heard of your plight,” the man continued. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Hugo Ferrus and this is my friend and partner, William Porquierres. I believe we might be able to assist you.”

“How?” Stephen spat the word out, certain that the men wished only to gloat over him. “How could you possibly help us?”

Father Martin grasped his arm. “Hear what they have to say, Stephen,” he said.

“The sea did not part for you…” the man called Porquierres began, still panting.

“You know well it did not,” Stephen snapped. “Have you come to torment me as well?”

“Then what you need are ships,” Porquierres continued.

“And how are we to acquire ships?” Stephen asked, his voice bitter. “God did not answer my prayer to part the sea, do you think He will send us
ships
?”

“No, He most probably will not,” Ferrus agreed, unruffled by Stephen’s outburst. “But we have ships and we will make them available to you and to your followers.”

“We have nothing with which to pay you,” Stephen replied, his words harsh and angry now. Why had these men come to torment him further? They would want to be paid and paid well to take thousands of children to the Holy Land, and they must know that he had no means to do so. But the man’s next words left him speechless.

“We require no payment,” Ferrus said. “This we will do for the love and mercy of God alone.”

“You would do this?” Father Martin burst out, incredulous.

Porquierres smiled at him. “We do what we can in the service of the Lord,” he said. “If we can help these innocents to reach their destination, then surely it is our Christian duty to do so.”

Stephen stared at him. The man’s voice seemed glib and oily, but slowly his promise sank in. Could it be possible? Could this be the way? He hesitated, but Renard let out a shout of joy and ran toward the assembled children, crying the news.

“Ships!” he bellowed. “We have ships to take us to the Holy Land!”

His words spread like a wave of fire.

“You will help us?” Stephen asked. The man worried him. But what did that matter? What Porquierres was offering was salvation!

The man bowed his head, but not before Stephen caught him exchanging a quick glance and a sly smile with his partner. When he looked back at Stephen the smile was gone, and his face was arranged in a show of sincerity.

“It is our duty,” he said.

Suspicion snaked into Stephen’s mind, but he blocked it out. How could he question this? These were good Christian
men. Surely they had been sent by God. Surely he had misread that smile—the tone of the man’s voice. He felt the triumph rise within him again. It was impossible to resist! He whipped around to face the children who had come running to him.

“God has answered our prayers in His own way!” he cried. “We
will
go to the Holy Land. We
will
restore Jerusalem to the true faith. God wills it!” His heart grew light and he went on, his voice becoming stronger and stronger with each word. “Those who have deserted us will hear of our triumph! They will hear of it and they will regret their faithlessness to their dying day. To
you
will go the honour and the glory!”

He fell to his knees to give thanks to the Lord and to beg forgiveness for his doubts. He did not notice that, although Father Martin joined him in prayer, Angeline did not. When he finally opened his eyes and looked up, it was to see her still standing, staring at Ferrus and Porquierres with an odd expression on her face. Her mouth was set and her eyes cold. He had no time for her puzzling behaviour now, though. He rose and looked beyond her to the remnants of his followers who had knelt to pray with him. So few now, out of the many who had followed him—probably less than a thousand. But they were the faithful. They were the ones who would reap the rewards. The scarlet crosses on their breasts and shoulders swam before his eyes like a curtain of red.

The day they set sail was bright with sunshine, late in August. Only four months since he had heard his name called on that high field, Stephen thought. It seemed so much longer. Surely it was a lifetime ago, not just four short months…

The sea sparkled and glinted, small waves slapped against the hull of the ship with a soothing, reassuring regularity. Father Martin and the other priests who had elected to sail with them said Mass before they embarked, beseeching God to lend them His blessing for the journey. As they cleared the harbour and the sailors raised great, cracking sails above their heads, Stephen stood with Angeline, braced against the rolling of the ship, staring eastward. He drank in the sounds and smells of the sea. It was no longer their enemy, but their accomplice. The ship sped through the waves. They would reach the Holy Land in little more than a week, Porquierres had assured him.

There were seven ships in all, filled with children and young people, a few older men and women who had straggled back, and several priests and monks. Each ship carried as many people as it could. Stephen could see four following close behind, two others sailed on his left, between his ship and the shoreline. One of them had dark red sails—Renard was on board that ship. Angeline and Father Martin had managed to stay close to Stephen in the mad dash of children clambering to board the ships that morning, but despite Stephen’s efforts to hold onto him, Renard had been swept away with another group. The last Stephen had seen of him was his despairing face staring back at him, his mouth open in a cry that could not be heard over the clamour. Stephen had shouted back, reassuring him that they would be reunited at the end of their voyage, but he did not think that Renard had understood. Surely they would. They would
all
be reunited.

Thinking of Renard reminded him of Angeline’s friend.

“Where is the girl, Alys?” he asked. “What will she do now that Robert and Geoffrey have deserted us?”

“She chose to stay with the woman who took care of her in Marseilles,” Angeline said. “Madame LaFontaine said
she had need of a girl to help her. She offered to take me as well,” she added.

“Why did you not stay?” Stephen asked.

“She had no need of two girls,” Angeline replied. “She was only being kind.” Then, so quietly that Stephen could almost think that he imagined the words, she added, “Besides, I did not want to leave you.”

This time it was she who reached for Stephen’s hand.

Once they were out on the open sea, a sailor ordered Stephen and Angeline below with the others. Stephen wanted to check on the children in any case, but as he climbed down the steep ladder leading to the space below decks, a fearful smell assaulted him. Already, many of the children were suffering from the rolling motion of the ship. The stink of vomit was overwhelming. He had not been feeling sick up to then, but in those close quarters his stomach began to rebel. He turned to climb back up on deck.

“I must have air,” he said to Angeline.

But the sailor who had ordered them below was still there. As Stephen started to emerge, the sailor cursed at him.

“You were ordered below,” he said, and slammed the hatch down in his face.

Stephen almost fell back down the ladder.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “I wish to go back up on deck!”

“You’ll stay down there,” the sailor yelled back.

“For how long?” Stephen cried, furious at the insolence. Did the man not know who he was? He banged on the hatch with his fist.

“You’ll stay there until the master decides otherwise,” the sailor yelled. “There are far too many of you to allow you all up on deck. Stay down there and keep out of the way.”

“I would speak with the master,” Stephen shouted again, but this time there was no response.

Furious, Stephen turned back to the others and stumbled over to where Father Martin waited for him. Angeline had made a place for herself close by the priest.

“The master shall hear of this,” he muttered, then concentrated on willing his stomach to settle.

The children were crammed together so tightly they could hardly move. Walking around was impossible, even if the ship had not been rolling so constantly. The only light came from slits high up in the hull, too far above them to see out of. It was not long until all were prostrate with sickness and the pots that had been provided to hold their bodily wastes were overflowing. Filth sloshed all around them. Angeline and Father Martin did what they could for the children, but they were as ill as all the rest. Stephen fumed, but no matter how many times he banged on the hatch and called out, no one answered.

Gradually the light faded as night took over. The darkness was impenetrable. There was no sleep for Stephen, nor for Angeline. She huddled close to him.

“I do not trust Porquierres and Ferrus,” she muttered. “I think they have but sent us from one hell to another.”

Exhausted, Stephen chose not to hear her.