Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (30 page)

Pieter had fallen behind a bit and he labored to catch up to Wil. After wheezing his way past the others, he found himself matching the boy step for step as they crested another ridge. “I am convinced,” he panted, “that struggling through these hills is much like struggling through life.”

Wil rolled his eyes.

“Would you agree, my boy?”

Wil bit his tongue, weary of Pieter’s ceaseless commentary on the nature of life, of God, and the condition of the world.

Pieter nodded, agreeing with himself. “Yes, we think only of rushing out of the valley to find the glory of the next peak. Yet, when we think only of the summits we miss what can be learned in the valleys. The beauty of the valley, even its shadows, is lost to us. And this, too: On each peak we see only another, one higher and more beautiful. Nay, I prefer to think we are called to find our peace in the journey itself. Some of us shall find our end in shadows to be sure; others, perhaps near the heavens. But methinks it to matter not one whit. What matters is that we delight in whatever journey we are granted.”

“By the Virgin! Save your sermons, old man,” grumbled Wil. “I intend to be a mighty warrior in m’youth and a nobleman as an elder. I’ll ne’er be left in a lowly place—not ever—I swear it. I am like neither you nor this company. I shall make this life what I will. You may find your end in some pitiful valley, but I shall stay to the summits; I’ll spend m’life atop the hills, like the rich men of Basel!”

Wil’s arrogance quieted Pieter. His heart sank. He had hoped to plant seeds of wisdom in soft soil but it was not to be.

The sun was settling toward the western sky as the quiet soldiers pressed faithfully southward. Wil kept a steady pace until finally offering a brief respite by a shimmering stream in the midst of a broad valley. Karl and Georg collapsed on the bank by Pieter and watched some distant sheep nibble the green grass on the breast of the next slope. Karl tapped the tired priest on the shoulder. “Pieter, if you were yet a boy and were free, what labor would you choose?”

Pieter pulled at his beard and quietly considered the question for some time. He ambled to the water’s edge and cupped some cold water to his parched lips and returned. Still pondering, he scratched Solomon’s ears. A ring of curious crusaders gathered around and waited impatiently for his counsel. “Aye,” he finally answered. “’Tis a matter of some interest to me and its answer is not certain. Methinks perhaps a mason: to set strong fingers against the rough of a good rock; to take such simple splendor from the bosom of the earth and set it to the wall of a good man’s home would be a good thing.

“But, so would be the joy of healing the sick or training the minds of youth. But, by truth, hmm … of all the labors under the sun … I should prefer to be a farmer.”

The company stared open-mouthed and speechless. The disappointment of his selection removed all shyness from Jost. “What? My papa is a farmer and he hates each day!”

“Mine too!” cried Friederich. “The whole world is filled with such and I’ve ne’er thought a single one to like it.”

“Well, yes,” answered Pieter. “We make of life as we will, but consider this: The farmer wanders over a fallow field and says, ‘I have hope.’ When he plunges his plough into the earth he is saying, ‘I believe.’ He spreads his seed and says, ‘I trust.’ When the warm sun and the gentle rain nudge tender blades through the hard ground, he smiles and he says, ‘I knew.’ And when the harvest is yielded and his storehouse is full, he knows he’s been blessed.”

“Well, my father is a miller and says farmers to be dolts!” cried a voice.

Pieter closed his eyes.

“Eh? I’ll pound yer face.”

“My papa says millers to ‘ave heavy thumbs!”

And, as the old man expected, soon Wil was pulling apart a tangle of wrestling boys and tossing them into the stream.

“Now, children,” continued Pieter, “as I was about to say, farmers may be simple, but they are hardly dolts. Most simply lack enough words to think with.” He paused. “You are aware, I do hope, that we’ve need of words to think.”

The children looked confused.

“Ah, another matter. For now ’tis enough to know that farmers may not understand, but they are wise enough to rest in the mysteries of the Good Gardner above; something schoolmen are apt to forget.”

The band thought for a moment. Some shook their heads in stubborn disagreement while Pieter smiled to himself. He thought it a rather fine presentation. But before the old man became too contented with himself, Karl blurted, “Ah, Pieter, you could ne’er have been a farmer!”

Pieter waited.

A smirk broadened Karl’s face. “A farmer trusts without understanding!” The boy laughed.

Pieter had no answer. He nodded his white head and smiled faintly. He knew Karl had exposed that abiding haunt, the thorn in his soul that kept him from delighting in the simplicity of faith that he had just so eloquently honored. Oh, if only he could believe, simply accept the mysteries of God with the plain and untangled trust of the littlest of these children! How insistent was his need to comprehend the incomprehensible. Indeed, it was a relentless predator that stalked his mind and emotions, ever menacing what joy that set upon his troubled heart.

Chapter 14

HEALING HANDS AND THE STORM

T
he company roused before dawn and by prime arrived at the small, timber-walled town of Olten. Pieter suggested they enter in search of provisions, but the crusaders protested. An angry Jon I barked, “Nay! We must needs press to Burgdorf. There’ll be more food at the feast than ever here in this stinking town. I say we pass by.”

The gathered band applauded and cheered until the priest quieted them. “All shall do better if stronger. See there, Maria is nearly spent; she collapses against me every night and shivers in the cold. And there, look to Albert, and over there, even Jon II and Frieda stand pale and tired. We’ve need of more food, Wil; more blankets. Please, let us spend a brief time here to test for charity … and then we’ll all press on.”

Wil stood stiffly and pondered his dilemma as the disquieted company waited for his orders. At last he set his fists on his hips and announced, “Heed my words. We’ll hold here and get what we may but shall advance by terce. Now bite your tongues and follow me.”

Wil led the grumbling children to the opened gates of Olten where the gatekeeper bade them a gruff welcome. But they had barely stepped through the gate when the town’s magistrate suddenly charged toward them with a small troop of guards. “Begone, you fever-laden whelps,” he commanded. “We’ve no need of you or the sickness you bring.”

Pieter was too tired to be either angered or intimidated by the brash order and lumbered toward the man with Solomon close by his side. “None here is sick,” he sighed. “And I do expect thee to offer Christian benevolence to each of these helpless lambs.”

“Christian benevolence?” scoffed one of the guards. “You’ll ‘ave the points o’these lances if you fail to turn away… now!”

Ignoring the remark, Pieter looked beyond the blustering magistrate at the quiet town within. To his wise eye something seemed amiss, for it was far too still, certainly far too hushed for prime. Only a few folk were about and they seemed to move awkwardly as if laboring to avoid making the slightest sound. Pieter thought them to be like frightened mice tiptoeing by a sleeping cat. “Is there some trouble? Sickness perhaps?” asked Pieter.

“Nothing you need bother with,” advised the magistrate. “Now begone.” His tone was harsh, but restrained.

“I am skilled in medicine,” persisted Pieter. “I have been trained at the university in Salerno and would be most pleased to exchange my services for some food and perhaps some cloaks for these poor children of mine.”

The magistrate’s temples tightened. “We’ve no need of yer services. Now for the last time, be off.”

“Ah, my good friend,” he began rather loudly, “I fear that you’ve missed my words. I say, again, that I am here as thy willing servant and seek only modest provision for these children.” Pieter hoped his raised voice might reach a ready ear inside and indeed his hopes were satisfied. A young lady approached the magistrate and, with a slight brush of her milk-white hand, dismissed the officer and his men. By her dress and demeanor it was clear to Pieter that she was of some noble standing, and he thought her to be among the most beautiful ladies in all Christendom.

She stood quietly, studying Pieter and his flock with a wary, though kindly eye. She wore a long, blue, silk dress draped with a beautiful red cape tied securely to her neck. Her blonde hair hung in long braids at the sides of her creamy face and her head was adorned with a rose wreath. “My name is Dorothea and I am the daughter of Bernard, the burgher of this town and lord of the manor lands at large.”

Pieter bowed. “My lady, I am in thy service.”

“My father lies inside these walls suffering from the agony of a fouled tooth that has defied all his physicians and his apothecary, and, ah, the witch as well. The slightest sound adds to his misery, and so he has ordered silence in the marketplace. I suggest you hush your tone or you shall surely bear his wrath.

“The hoofs of all beasts are ordered bound with heavy cloth and it seems that even the birds do sit quiet and fearful on our rooftops. Now I should think,
Pater
, if you could work some sorcery and end his agony, you would find him a most grateful and generous benefactor for your little band.” She smiled.

Pieter’s eyes twinkled and he bowed more deeply. “Indeed, I am so skilled, my fair lady.”

Solomon knew his cue and promptly raised a friendly paw. Dorothea smiled briefly at the shaggy dog and beckoned Pieter to follow her. “We shall see. But I ought warn you, it might not go well with you should you fail.”

Pieter smiled politely, then hastily ordered Wil to grab the satchel of remaining herbs and join him. “Aye,” whispered the boy. “And y’others wait beyond the wall and keep your tongues tied.”

The walls protecting Olten were constructed of a combination of tall, unstripped timbers, sawed planks, and sections of mortared stone. The streets were somewhat rutted and surprisingly soiled with unshoveled manure. Apparently none thought it wise to engage in labors other than those most necessary. Pieter and Wil quietly followed Dorothea past long rows of narrow, two-story homes with steep, thatched roofs where nervous residents watched the three from partly shuttered windows. Wil strode through the town boldly, his long, golden hair flowing proudly over his hood, but Pieter was stumbling along, desperately working to remember the treatment for toothache. His distraction cost him the pleasures of the beautiful flowers that adorned many of the street’s windows and the bounty of the town garden surrounding the fishpond.

The trio turned a final corner and approached a shuttered, three-storied timber-and-mortar home. A tall linden amply shaded nearly all of one side and the other was bordered by a delightful garden of flowers and sundry vegetables. Several soldiers fidgeted at the front door. Suddenly the howls and the angry shouts of a man in pain pierced the silence. Dorothea proceeded, unflustered by the outburst, though her companions paused briefly at the doorway. Upon entering the parlor, Pieter and Wil dodged several attendants scurrying past them with trays laden with roots and herbs, steaming compresses, and a menacing assortment of dental instruments.

As the priest and his young friend entered Bernard’s room, an exasperated physician and apothecary were arguing with the angry lord. “Sire,” the physician pleaded, “this misery can be ended with a simple extraction.” He clicked his crude pliers near the face of the raging Lord Bernard whose brown, baggy eyes widened in terror at the very thought of such a remedy. The lord snagged the physician’s ear with one grasping hand and with his other clutched the poor man’s throat.

“You shall relieve this pain and I’ll surely keep my tooth!” he bellowed. “Or, by God, I’ll have your brainless, Lombardian head in a basket.” The physician jerked himself out of Bernard’s grasp and fell away.

“There is nought else for cure,
mein Herr.
I fear you must needs heed my colleague,” offered the apothecary timidly.

Bernard slammed a fist onto the table by his side and roared, “I’ll not allow some Italian dimwit to grab about my mouth with that contraption.”

“But sire, begging your leave, ’tis no con—”

Dorothea’s gentle voice interrupted the physician.
“Vati,”
she said, “I have found a more delicate healer who comes to us from the lands of the north and swears an oath to help you.”

Bernard’s physician and apothecary stood aghast, quite offended at such a contemptible incursion as the likes of Pieter! “Nay,” blurted the apothecary. “Na—”

“Silence, fool!” thundered Bernard. “I’d be the one to say ‘nay’ or ‘aye.’” He studied the newcomers, curling his lips as if to bark again. A pain twisted his hardened face into a schoolboy’s grimace. “By the saints,” he moaned, “’tis a fine predicament I’d be in. I’ve a choice of being butchered by a lunatic from Lombardy or a Teuton with only one tooth of his own.”

He turned to Pieter. “Your empty gums are a tribute to your skill.”

Pieter grinned sheepishly.

“And you, whelp,” Bernard blustered at Wil. “What brings you here?”

Wil was not the least bit ruffled by the raging nobleman and answered calmly, “I’d be here to help this good priest mend your foul mouth.”

Bernard mumbled and held his jaw for a few moments. He stared at Pieter again. “Priest indeed.
Ach
. Well, by faith, I should rather put myself in the care of someone of your many years than these other idiots…. So, be about your trade. On with it.”

Pieter turned to Dorothea. “Ah, my dear lady, I’ll need a few things. I have need of vinegar, oil, and … sulphur. I should also like a candle of mutton fat. And …” He dug into his satchel, praying to recall what else his remedy required. “I have seed of sea holly, but I should like a tub of water.” He suddenly brightened. “Oh, yes, I’ll also need a mixing bowl and a piece of linen.”

Bernard groaned loudly and begged Pieter to hurry. Pieter had him lie on the bed and peered into the man’s opened mouth. “Ah, good fellow. You needs say when I’ve found the culprit.” Pieter winked at Wil before bouncing his wooden poker atop a red-gummed molar.

“Aaah!” roared Bernard as he leapt to his feet. “Y’dung-brained dolts! I’ll flog the skin off both yer cursed backs, I’ll p—”

“Ah, ’tis good, m’lord, aye, we’ve the proper tooth. You would’ve been displeased had I served the wrong one, eh?”

“What? Aye, you’ve the proper tooth, ’tis sure, y’son-of-satan. Now you had better heal it, or I swear on m’dear Margot’s grave y’shall hang from a rope by next prime.”

Pieter folded his arms. “You’ll not be threatening me or the lad, and I’ve no intention of helping until we’ve settled our terms. After all, I’m a steward of a company of young crusaders and must needs provide their care.”

Bernard clutched his jaw. “And what terms, y’sly fox?”

“Your lovely daughter, Dorothea, entreated our services with an assurance of a fine price.”

“You dare bargain with me when I suffer so?” growled Bernard.

Pieter restrained a smile. “Truth be told, I am confounded to know a better time.”

Bernard leaned forward and pressed his nose against Pieter’s. “You are a shrewd one,” he grimaced. “I hope you are as good in medicine as you are in commerce. Name your price.”

“As a man of the cloth,” Pieter said slowly, “I have no desire to take profit from thy most unfortunate circumstance, so my humble request shall be modest.” He motioned to Bernard’s secretary who had been huddled at his corner desk, far from harm’s way. “Good sir, please note my simple needs on thy parchment.”

The secretary pulled his hood tightly over his narrow head, nervously dipped his feather into the ink, and waited.

Pieter raised a brow at Wil and continued. “I should like five pecks of oats, five pecks of millet, ten of rye, fifteen pounds of salted pork, fifteen pounds of salted fish, twenty pounds of sausage—properly spiced. I should like five baskets of fresh apples, several hands of cherries, a half of salted or smoked venison, some tripe, several heads of cabbage, a basket of leeks, one of turnips, and some sweet honey in wax. I should also like …” Pieter put his bony finger on his bearded chin and thought for a moment.

Wil took the pause to glance at the eye-popping lord whose face was contorting in a most unbecoming manner. Pieter cleared his throat. “I should also like twenty-three woolen capes for the children; twenty-three heavy, woolen blankets; and three good long bows with hunting arrows—or a French crossbow with straight bolts.”

The perspiring secretary gawked at the bold priest and cast a tense peek at his dumbfounded master.

“But, while you consider the matter,” added Pieter, “allow me to examine this vexing tooth—oh, I do wish Dorothea would hurry so that we can relieve this awful pain.” Pieter pried his spindly fingers into the befuddled lord’s mouth and pressed onto the molar.

Bernard reared his head back, howling. “You devil of the north! You black-hooded, dung-breathed … you … you one-toothed son of a demon! Keep your thieving fingers out of m’mouth. What kind of cursed priest would pilfer a man in pain! Impostor! I’ll never grant your terms! I’d rather have that mad Italian shove his iron claw down my throat than be plundered so.”

“Ah, yes, well, my son,” answered Pieter calmly, “the ransom of a man’s life is his riches, but the poor hears no rebuke.”

“Eh? You give me riddles when I need help?”