the infidels. How shall children win it back?”
Pious laughed. “Ah, yes, yes. It is innocence and purity which God is calling us to tender in this Holy Crusade. As in the days of Abraham and Moses, we offer our spotless lambs in His good service. Nay, He calls us not to bear arms, but to proffer purity.
“Nicholas has seen a vision in which an army of the Innocents of Christendom ford the mighty ocean on dry land … as did Moses at the Red Sea. When the infidels see such a miracle and witness the devotion and the faith of our children, they shall not only yield Palestine to its rightful people, but they shall also bend their own hearts to the Holy Church and to the one true Savior.”
Karl could barely contain his excitement. “How do we go? How do we join? What shall we do? When may we leave?”
“Calm yourself, lad,” chortled the bouncing priest. “Nicholas and his host departed from Cologne and have entered Mainz a few days back to gather and put order to the march. But the abbey has learned of other manors to our east, some as distant as Eberbach and Bamberg, yielding their flocks toward the Rhine as we speak. We are certain that God shall show Nicholas the need to tarry for the others. Keep faith, boy. This manor shall not be denied its rightful place in such a pilgrimage as this.”
Karl’s imagination carried him to Jerusalem, the Holy City, as it was depicted on the tapestries of the abbey and the colored glass windows at the fore of its church. He could easily see its high, white walls and rounded towers; he could see himself marching, shoulder-to-shoulder, midst a huge column of Christian pilgrims bearing their crosses through the arched gates. Thinking only of adventure, the boy’s legs lifted into a haphazard trot. He was sharply returned to matters-at-hand, however, by a stern reprimand of the priest who could no longer abide the bounce of the donkey the boy was dragging.
In short order, Karl spotted the roofs of Weyer, and he could hardly endure the eased pace. He wanted to race to his village and spread the news. But his heart suddenly seized when he remembered that his mother lay dying and that his brother’s efforts were now shadowed in doubt.
Chapter 3
A BARGAIN STRUCK AND THE MANOR GATHERS
W il was relieved to yield the charge of his mother to Frau Anka and he walked willingly, though somewhat apprehensively, toward the Laubusbach to draw water for his chickens. Still edgy from the night’s affair, he was wary of conversation. He kept his eyes on the hay fields in the meadows by the stream.
Surely, ’tis an uncommon season , he reflected. The boy was well aware that the early drought had stolen the tender green of spring. The dry stubble of scythed hay was browning, and the rye fields were stunted and stiff. The leafed trees stood listless and stale alongside the taller spruce whose dark needles were slightly browned and hard. He arrived to the bank of the stream and dipped his large pail into the sluggish water. He recalled pleasant memories of his father’s friend, Emma, who had once lived at the village edge with her butterflies and gardens of flowers. “The Butterfly Frau!” He laughed aloud. He could still remember sitting on her ample lap. A voice distracted him. “Ho there, Wil, have you heard the news?”
Wil turned to see the broad face of the weaver bursting with excitement.
“’Ave you not heard?”
“Um… nay.”
Frau Gerta, the carpenter’s wife, forced her way between the two, one elbow bent to secure a basket of eggs and the other wrapped securely around the wings of a fat, orange-billed goose. “Ja, ja,” she offered proudly. “I knows what’s happened, I do.” The hawk-nosed woman set down her reed basket and stifled her honking goose with a tight squeeze round the neck. “I tell you that a blessed monk was found dead in his bed and a guard is dead of a head bashin’.”
Wil’s chest tightened and an icy chill shivered through his limbs.
Pious laughed. “Ah, yes, yes. It is innocence and purity which God is calling us to tender in this Holy Crusade. As in the days of Abraham and Moses, we offer our spotless lambs in His good service. Nay, He calls us not to bear arms, but to proffer purity.
“Nicholas has seen a vision in which an army of the Innocents of Christendom ford the mighty ocean on dry land … as did Moses at the Red Sea. When the infidels see such a miracle and witness the devotion and the faith of our children, they shall not only yield Palestine to its rightful people, but they shall also bend their own hearts to the Holy Church and to the one true Savior.”
Karl could barely contain his excitement. “How do we go? How do we join? What shall we do? When may we leave?”
“Calm yourself, lad,” chortled the bouncing priest. “Nicholas and his host departed from Cologne and have entered Mainz a few days back to gather and put order to the march. But the abbey has learned of other manors to our east, some as distant as Eberbach and Bamberg, yielding their flocks toward the Rhine as we speak. We are certain that God shall show Nicholas the need to tarry for the others. Keep faith, boy. This manor shall not be denied its rightful place in such a pilgrimage as this.”
Karl’s imagination carried him to Jerusalem, the Holy City, as it was depicted on the tapestries of the abbey and the colored glass windows at the fore of its church. He could easily see its high, white walls and rounded towers; he could see himself marching, shoulder-to-shoulder, midst a huge column of Christian pilgrims bearing their crosses through the arched gates. Thinking only of adventure, the boy’s legs lifted into a haphazard trot. He was sharply returned to matters-at-hand, however, by a stern reprimand of the priest who could no longer abide the bounce of the donkey the boy was dragging.
In short order, Karl spotted the roofs of Weyer, and he could hardly endure the eased pace. He wanted to race to his village and spread the news. But his heart suddenly seized when he remembered that his mother lay dying and that his brother’s efforts were now shadowed in doubt.
Chapter 3
A BARGAIN STRUCK AND THE MANOR GATHERS
W il was relieved to yield the charge of his mother to Frau Anka and he walked willingly, though somewhat apprehensively, toward the Laubusbach to draw water for his chickens. Still edgy from the night’s affair, he was wary of conversation. He kept his eyes on the hay fields in the meadows by the stream.
Surely, ’tis an uncommon season , he reflected. The boy was well aware that the early drought had stolen the tender green of spring. The dry stubble of scythed hay was browning, and the rye fields were stunted and stiff. The leafed trees stood listless and stale alongside the taller spruce whose dark needles were slightly browned and hard. He arrived to the bank of the stream and dipped his large pail into the sluggish water. He recalled pleasant memories of his father’s friend, Emma, who had once lived at the village edge with her butterflies and gardens of flowers. “The Butterfly Frau!” He laughed aloud. He could still remember sitting on her ample lap. A voice distracted him. “Ho there, Wil, have you heard the news?”
Wil turned to see the broad face of the weaver bursting with excitement.
“’Ave you not heard?”
“Um… nay.”
Frau Gerta, the carpenter’s wife, forced her way between the two, one elbow bent to secure a basket of eggs and the other wrapped securely around the wings of a fat, orange-billed goose. “Ja, ja,” she offered proudly. “I knows what’s happened, I do.” The hawk-nosed woman set down her reed basket and stifled her honking goose with a tight squeeze round the neck. “I tell you that a blessed monk was found dead in his bed and a guard is dead of a head bashin’.”
Wil’s chest tightened and an icy chill shivered through his limbs.
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