Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (34 page)

“And to you, Godspeed,” answered the village reeve. “But here, afore your leave you needs receive our gifts.”

Giggling women scurried about the wide-eyed travelers and loaded their arms with new blankets bound full of pork strips and apples, venison, cabbage, and the like. “’Tis though we’d be helping our own little ones,” smiled one
hausfrau.
“God and His blessed angels be with you.”

After a flurry of hugs and farewells, Wil set the column and with little delay they were off, stubbornly continuing their pilgrimage toward the higher mountains. A few of the brave soldiers cast a longing glance toward the waving villagers, but before long the
rundling
was out of sight and the children were crusaders once again.

The trail Wil followed took his company southward through ever-narrowing valleys. The sun felt pleasant in the cooler air of the high valleys and the fragrance of the towering spruce was refreshing. “It shan’t be but a few days, children,” announced Pieter, “and we’ll be climbing through more passes, the Brunigpass being very difficult but the snow-heavy Grimselpass yet worse. And after that we’ll be in highlands for some time.” Pieter looked at Wil. “And you, sir, shall need to slow the pace yet further.”

“Humph. We’ve lost much time and I reckon us to be on a different route than any of the others.”

“So be it; Jerusalem shall yet be standing where it is.”

The band pressed on and wound its way along a valley floor until the trail began a steep ascent and Wil reluctantly agreed to stop for a much-needed midday meal. As all went about their various duties, Pieter took Georg aside. “Dear boy, I beg your forgiveness. I only now realized that I never thanked you properly for this fine, stout staff.” He held out his new companion and admired it. Georg smiled. Such affirmation was better than a good suck of honeycomb.

“You are most welcome, Father Pieter.”

“This shall serve me well for many years, and it shall be as if you are walking by m’side.”

“Together we shall set it on the streets of the Holy City!”

Pieter thought for a moment and answered slowly. “Ah, my son, we’ve needs to consider that matter. I think my journey to end at the water—like Moses at the Jordan. Methinks it fitting for you younger soldiers to secure the Promised Land as your own.”

“We’ll see about that indeed,” exclaimed Georg. “There ne’er was more fit a man to boldly march through the gates of Jerusalem than you! Ha! It shall be a great day when I stand in Palestine with m’three best friends: you, Wil, and Karl. And I … I …” Georg suddenly faltered. “Pieter, I must confess to you something. I believe I hurt Karl with m’words. Perhaps I was hasty….”

Pieter studied the boy and pulled on his beard before answering. “Fair Georg, I surely had an ear for the exchange … was not likely to avoid it. Aye, your words stung Karl, but they were neither made in haste nor off the mark. Indeed, there is a season to prick a friend and only wisdom can determine the proper time and dose. But I offer this comfort: I do truly believe Karl shall, in due time, be grateful for such a rebuke. Your hard words were a treasure yet to be enjoyed.” Pieter rubbed his hand atop the boy’s broad head and smiled. “Think of it as casting gems upon a frozen pond.”

Georg could not resist the old man’s infectious grin and began to giggle at Pieter’s lonesome, yellow tooth. “I do beg your pardon, Father, but sometimes you just make me laugh.”

Karl approached the two.

“And, my dear Karl,” said Pieter, “I trust you have healed from your hurts.”

Karl shrugged but flashed a hint of resentment in his answer. “Yes, I suppose, Pieter … most of them.”

“Well, ’tis good. And I suppose you are thinking clearly and in the ready for the riddle?”

Karl’s mood was not nearly as healed as Pieter had guessed. “M’head’s always clear and since you’ve a mind to talk with me, you needs hear m’thoughts of the flood. I have given that matter some time and am now certain of God’s purpose in it. Methinks you to be well served to hear my ‘prick.’”

Pieter raised his brows. “Ah, well, then by all means … do so.”

Frieda and several others had been listening to the exchange and they drew near.

“Pieter,” began Karl. “I heard from Wil of your rather
bold
negotiations with the lord of Olten.”

“
Ja
,” answered Pieter slowly. “I believed that our situation required some measure of firmness. Go on.”

Karl’s voice rose. “’Tis plain, Pieter, you cheated this man and God punished all of us for it. And I, for one, am tired of you angering God and putting us all in peril. You and all your questions and your strange ways. You burn Dunkeldorf, then pray with the Holy Scriptures so piously. The word ‘hypocrite’ comes to m’mind. It wonders me that you’ve not brought death to all of us by now! Methinks sometimes you ought be cast off like Jonah.”

Pieter was stunned. He could not answer for a moment; words would not come to his trembling lips.
Is it so?
he wondered.
My hypocrisy does seem oft boundless … but does such error bring judgment to these? …Or could the lad be striking out to guard his own path? After all, if the lad loses his way, he shall indeed lose his way.

At last he looked at Karl with clear and gentle eyes. “My son,” he answered gently, “it may be that I am a Jonah, for I am indeed self-willed and oft disobedient. It does take hard lessons for me to learn, for I am stiff-necked and surely I am a hypocrite. I do thank you, my young friend, for having the courage to remind me of these things.

“As far as the other business goes, it may be that I bargained for too high a payment and perhaps God punished us for my greed. Or it may be that I asked too little and He punished us for that. Or it may be that I asked for a just amount and it simply rained a lot that dreadful night. Perhaps God ought be praised for His mercy on those He spared.”

Karl pressed insistently. “When we do good, we get good, Pieter, and when we do evil, we get evil! On this journey we have gotten good and we have gotten evil and we have done good and we have done evil and that, my good sir, is what I see.”

By now Wil had moved closer. “It would seem m’brother’s got a good hold of God’s ways. Well done, Karl, methinks such a task a hard one.” He laughed. “You do good, you get good. You do bad, you get bad. Simple, eh?”

“Aye,” snapped Karl. “’Tis how I see it.”

“And since you’ve mostly gotten good, you think yourself to be mostly good?”

Karl hesitated but answered with a defiant, “Aye.”

“And what evil has ever befallen you, my very good brother, Karl?”

“So my point. I’ve not suffered evil. I am strong, I am healthy, I’ve a good mind and a kind heart. All would so say me to be gentle to others, obedient…”

Wil sneered, “And humble as well.”

A number of the children laughed and Karl’s face reddened. Before he could speak Pieter added, “Lad, have you not seen evil happen to good men and good things happen to evil men? And have you so soon forgotten the words of the yeoman?”

Karl licked his dried lips. Jon taunted with an angry tone in his voice. “Eh, Karl? We’d be waiting. I should like you to tell me of m’brother’s evil for his broken leg.”

“
Ja
, Karl,” quipped Frieda. “Can y’tell me m’brother Manfred was evil ‘cause he wasn’t spared, as you?”

“And what about that swine, Father Pious?” barked Wil. “He’s a nice house and a fair portion of shillings, I’d wager. Do you think he to be a good man?”

“He is a man of the Lord,” muttered Karl.

“A man of the Lord, you say? Is that what y—”

Pieter interrupted. “Now lads and ladies, I think we all have a fair question here, but no need to be bitter. Perhaps we should think of this as a mighty riddle: Why do good things happen to evil men and evil things to good ones? I am certain it is a riddle, one for which I have no answer—at least not yet. But dear Karl, what I say ’tis true nonetheless; good does not always follow good; nor evil, evil. Or better yet: Who is truly good anyway?”

“Enough of this!” shouted Wil. “I am sickened by your silly ideas, Karl. ’Tis fool’s talk and not more. And Pieter, I’m weary of working at sorting through all of life with you. I am content to know that I need none other than m’self and I leave the rest be. I’ve this fair token of my might,” he boasted as he plucked his dagger from his belt. “And I’ve my mind and two strong arms and that’s all I need for this world to be mine. Go, Karl, waste your life at earning favors, and you, Pieter, go live and die with your empty quest. But I’ll cross these mountains and plant my feet in Palestine whether good or not. And as for you, Georg, heed this: You’ll not see
me
slandering those I call ‘friend.’ Now, on we march.”

Georg slowly gathered his blanket. He was cut deeply by Wil’s remark and he walked quietly toward the gathering column. He looked cautiously at Karl. “I… I meant no harm. I only spoke what I did for hopes of your seeing yourself some better. My father says change begins in the looking glass …”

“I’ve not the privilege of a glass and I’ve no need of change,” growled Karl.

Pieter sighed as if all the world were now sitting on his own feeble shoulders. He stepped between the boys and leaned hard on his staff. “Good lads, enough. I think it time to walk and let silence be a healing balm.”

The sun had peaked and began to move toward the horizon. Wil was impatient with his company’s slow progress and demanded his fellows shorten the route by venturing off the path. “There,” he barked, “we needs climb straight up yon sheep trail. That shall gain us back the time we wasted winding this valley path.”

Pieter protested gently. “Good Master,” he offered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “methinks it a harsh course and one of some peril.”

“Nay, old man. You’ve always the right to take your leave, but
we
climb.”

With little more than a few grumbles, the faithful obediently followed their leader up the stony path, clutching and grasping at rocks and roots, pulling themselves higher and higher until they emerged from the pines. Having reached the sparse rock-face of the high ridge, they paused for rest before pressing to the summit. Finally, by mid-evening, they gathered around a modest fire and fell to sleep in the cold mountain air.

The next morning the weary company woke to strong gusts and a hard-driving rain. Wil stared carefully at a treacherous sheep trail descending from the camp and the thin mist snaking through the tight valley waiting below. “Pieter,” he shouted over the wind, “methinks it best we follow that valley toward the south and … there … to the base of that shrouded peak.”

Pieter looked nervously at the rain-soaked, perilous trail dropping dangerously toward the deep valley. He said nothing but raised his eyes to the heavy sky and begged the angels to bear them gently down.

The rain fell in stinging sheets and the howling wind blasted over the razor-edged ridge as the column began their descent toward the valley floor. Each little foot was placed warily on the unforgiving mountain’s breast, for every step bore the risk of a punishing slide against sharp stones and jagged rocks. The crusaders picked their way slowly down to the dubious cover of scrubby pines until they finally gathered beneath a dripping, low-hung canopy for a brief first-meal of dried apples and crusts.

It was a hurried respite and the shivering crusaders continued their descent, pitching and lurching from tree to tree, until they emerged onto a rocky cleft where they paused to survey the view. Far below was the cramped valley, green and lush and dotted with heavy-timbered huts clustered in tiny hamlets. In the distance stood a brown, stone castle perched precipitously along the rim of an opposing mountain. Despite its rugged edges, the children thought the valley inviting and strangely comforting; perhaps it was the softness of the mists swirled gently on the treetops or the strength of the angular, gray-white rock-face guarding all sides. For whatever reason, it seemed a fiefdom worthy of a life’s stay.