Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (52 page)

Pieter did his best to restrain his tongue but his small-handed crew found pulling the oars a difficult and frustrating task. At first he thought it wise to tie the boats together, but this caused more chaos than the separate difficulties they encountered when untethered. At last, however, by midday the children somehow managed to develop a vague rhythm to their rowing, and each craft was kept close to the other. The boat piloted by Otto had finally ceased its endless circling and its annoyed captain now sighed in relief as his crew pulled in more balanced order. Wil had stopped cursing his anxious crew and now steered a course reasonably parallel to the shores of the lake. Others began to laugh at their frequent errors, particularly when their long oars fell short and splashed all aboard! Nevertheless, the crusaders’ navy was surely advancing!

The hours passed and idle chatter dwindled. Finally Conrad grumbled, “I am not so sure that this be any easier than walking!”

Others agreed but Pieter chuckled. “Were we marching through the pines, you each would be complaining how much more pleasant it would be to float.”

“Perhaps so,” answered Otto, “but we’re not just floating. My back is hurting, and m’hands are already bad blistered. I can’t wait to sleep in Jerusalem with a handful of grapes!”

The other children began to whine. Pieter pointed to the fleecy cargo. “Rub your hands in the wool. Its oil will soften them.”

As the children plunged their hands deep into the bales Wil recalled, “Benedetto said the best medicine for aching bodies is a simple song or a good memory.”

The crusaders grew quiet and only the dip of their oars and the groaning of the lurching boats could be heard until Frieda laughed. “Remember how Friederich kept those coins? He was a sly fox, wasn’t he? ”

“And you, Karl,” came a voice across the water. “I’ll never forget as long as I live those shearings you gave us all.” This time the boats rocked as the children roared at the picture in their minds. Karl felt his face heat but he couldn’t help but laugh as well.

Frieda giggled. “And you, Pieter, I remember your spins atop the barrel in Dunkeldorf.”

Gertrude squealed. “
Ja
… and you kept falling down!”

“He looked like a top at the end of its spin or a drunken miller dancing atop a cask!”

“And I remember how you made fools of those men in Latin!” added Karl.

“Aye, Pieter,” said Wil. “Remember the ‘cabbage in the teeth’? And the—”

“Oh,
ja, ja
… never y’mind,” chortled Pieter. “I know the rest of that story.”

Then Otto blurted, “And shall any forget Georg and his new tunic?”

There was a restrained ripple of laughter, but then silence.

“Oh, poor Georg,” Gertrude sighed. “He was so very kind. If all the lords of the Empire could be as Georg, all the world would be a better place.”

Voices muttered in agreement.

Pieter, sensing the drift of mood, asked Wil to allow a rest. With a mild cheer the oars were raised and the old man stood, arms stretched wide. “Children, we’ve much to be thankful for. And those we have left behind now rest easily in the arms of our Savior. We’ve good boats under us, some provisions yet left; fish aplenty swim below. We have come out of the cold mountains and are now in the warmth of the Italian sun.”

Pieter’s words were a soothing balm and as the mists of twilight began to lie upon the water, it was a more contented band that disembarked for a night’s camp. Now well acquainted with their routines, the hand-sore pilgrims gathered firewood, rummaged through satchels, and stripped boughs for beds. A welcoming fire was soon crackling on the gravely shore and a stew was boiling in a tin pot.

“Tomorrow we ought find the river,
kinder
,” said Pieter. “We’ll pass by Sesto Calende and then we’ll be near.”

“And the currents will carry us?”

“Aye, sister. Hopefully!”

A circle of happy sighs answered and soon all were taking their turn at the ladles for a good night’s meal. Wil finished his portion but began to fidget. He had been quiet for a long while and now drew a deep breath before addressing the company. “Listen … all.” The boy was visibly nervous, even in the pale light of the small fire. “I … I’ve something I needs say.” He cleared his throat and set his jaw.

“I must beg pardon from each of you for my words in the castle. Frieda, Gertrude, Heinz … you others. I … I ask your forgiveness for my foolishness. I am ashamed and shall always be.” He sat down quickly as his shocked comrades stared, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. Pieter wisely, and for once, kept silent, though his heart swelled with joy.

Frieda stood and walked toward Wil while all watched breathlessly. The company braced itself for the tongue-lashing Wil deserved, but Frieda reached a tender hand toward the young man’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “Wil,” she said softly, “I do forgive you.” She bent over and kissed his cheek.

Wil’s lips trembled but were without speech. He gazed into Frieda’s eyes, suddenly enchanted by a beauty he had never noticed. Her face, her form, the sound of her voice now drew him in new ways and he smiled happily.

By mid-morning of the next day, all hands were weary and looking hopefully for some sign of the lake’s end. At last Pieter stood in the bow of his boat and pointed to a spire in the south. He smiled like a child eyeing honey. “There, my lambs!” he pointed ahead. “As I promised—the source of our river! ”

The relieved children spun in their seats and gawked over their shoulders. “At last, Pieter,” complained one. “M’hands are bleeding and m’back is broke.”

Before long the determined crusaders rowed their boats past Sesto Calende and entered the narrowing waters of the Ticino River. Pieter suddenly jumped to his feet. “Stop, children. Stop, I say.” The old man teetered on his skinny legs and spread his arms to balance himself. “There—can y’not feel it?”

The children were quiet and looked at each other when Conrad blurted, “Aye … aye. I do … I do! The river is pulling us a little.”

Pieter laughed and the crusaders cheered wildly. They slammed their oars onto the floor of their boats and plunged their bleeding, swollen, blistered hands into the warm river. Pieter called to Wil, “I think it best we drift through the night and keep away from the shores. Benedetto told me of highwaymen.”

Wil nodded and the two boats floated slowly southward in the river’s subtle current. The day passed slowly and from time to time the children needed to row through deep waters. Eventually it was decided to tie the barges together so that both would drift the same currents. It proved to be a good idea and soon Pieter was busy navigating his crews into fast-flowing shallows.

Provisions were passed to and from the crafts as the current pulled the company through the night. As they drifted serenely beneath the stars Pieter recalled his years devoted to the study of astronomy. He strained to remember what he could and then announced, “Perhaps on the morrow I’ll share of the story of the stars.”

The mists carried a few grumbles to the old man’s ears. “Nay, enough, Pieter. Can y’not bind yer tongue for once?”

“Or,” he continued, “it might be prudent to simply enjoy the sight of them.”

The children drifted all that night and into the next day before Wil ordered a brief disembarking and a midday pottage. Karl was sent with Heinz and Otto to trap some eel with a small net Otto had found and, before long, the children were enjoying a satisfying meal alongside a crackling fire.

Frieda noticed the changing landscape. “Look, all, ‘tis different.”

Indeed, the pilgrims had passed from mountains to plain and were surrounded on all sides by rich flatland and leafy forests of smaller trees. The river had become dotted with islands and its banks and bed covered with clean, white rock and gravel. Above them soared a hawk, and on the opposite bank, a fawn timidly drew a cool drink from the blue-green water. “This is a beautiful land,” Frieda said. “It feels warm and easy.”

“Aye, it does,” agreed Gertrude. “Methinks the air to smell sweet; I like it here.”

Pieter nodded. “The land is most certainly beautiful and so are many of its people, but some are not as gentle as the land they dwell upon. I recall a village some day’s journey west of here called Novara. As a youth I passed through it in my soldiering and mine eyes do still see a beautiful, young wife of an ugly, terrible old man. I believe her name was Serena, though I am not certain of it. She was a rare beauty with long, braided hair and olive skin.”

“What makes you think of her now?” asked Wil.

“Perhaps a return to these parts nudges m’mind some. But methinks it more the boats.”

“The boats?”

“
Ja
, the boats. We had come upon the town’s fish pond which had but two purposes: the holding of the lord’s fish and a place for trials. I remember seeing poor Serena bound by the hands and loaded into a small boat with a priest and the bailiff. She begged loudly for mercy as a rope was wound around her waist—twice if I recall. She was then tossed into the pond to see if she might float or drown. She drowned, eventually, and the townsfolk said it was for the best; she was no witch after all.”

The crusaders were quiet for a moment, then Heinz chimed, “M’village had no fishpond, but m’papa held
Mutti’s
head in a rain barrel for scolding him in front of a squire.”

Some snickered but Pieter shook his head sadly. “Nay, little fellow, women must needs know their proper place, but their place is a high place.”

Frieda smiled.

After pausing to nap under the Italian sun, Wil ordered all back to the boats. With few grumbles, the pilgrims clambered aboard and shoved off to the safety of the river, where they floated and lightly rowed themselves southward as the moon arched over the Ticino.

Late in the night, Pieter lifted his eyes to the heavens and smiled. The moon had nearly set and above him was a black canopy sprinkled with countless gemstones twinkling white and blue.

Karl saw him. “You once said, Pieter, that you would teach us of the stars.”

“
Ja
, and what a fine night to do so.”

“M
’Vati
taught me some of the stars,” Otto said. “Methinks that one to be the brightest of all.” He pointed a stubby finger carefully.

“Aye, lad, it seems to be. And what would be its name?”

“Uh … ah …
S
something?”

Frieda answered quickly. “Sirius. Sirius is the name!”

“Ha! Well done,” praised Pieter. “Sirius indeed. The
signore
of the stars. I studied once the works of a man named Claudius Ptolemy who lived about a hundred years or so after our Lord’s death. He lived in Egypt in the great city of Alexandria and he wrote some books called
The Twelve Books of Ptolemy
… and others. My memory fails, I fear, but methinks one of the twelve to be called …
The Almagest?”

Pieter paused and scratched his head. “Well, no matter. The point is that the man charted the stars in his books. Of course, men had studied the stars for generations before old Claudius.”

“Aye, to be sure!” remarked Karl. “I remember studying some of them at the abbey school.” He grimaced as he strained to recall something worthy of a good impression. “Ah, yes; there is a story in the stars of a bowl and a virgin and—”

“And some tell stories of the ancient gods,” added Wil knowingly. He cast a proud eye at Frieda.

“Well, yes, that would be true,” answered Pieter. “But we have a greater understanding than the poor pagans. The Hebrews, God’s people of the past, were told things by God Himself about the stars.”

Gertrude yawned. “They’re but so many shiny things to me.”

Pieter smiled. “Well, did you know that the Holy Word says that God named the stars? It tells us that He ‘calls them all by name.’”

His children grew quiet. Pieter continued, addressing both crews. “King David, the great psalmist, wrote that the ‘heavens declare the glory of God.’ Can you imagine keeping a candle burning as long as He keeps the fire in but one of those stars?”

“He must use a lot of fat,” Gertrude said with a laugh.

“Aye! More fat than I can imagine,” said Pieter. “Forgive mine eyes, they are poor and ever failing but I’ll show you what I am able to see. Ah, but first a little trick for you: ‘Tis easier to see a star if you look to its side. When I point, focus your eye next to the mark and you shall be able to see it better.