Read Online Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade by C. D. Baker - Free Book Online
Authors: C. D. Baker
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lie. You are an ungrateful… lying whelp. Son of Sa—”
“I do not lie. You call yourself priest? Servant of God?” attacked Wil. “You are a servant of yourself. You are nothing but a wild boar on the prowl. You pretended your duty as a priest, but all you ever wanted was our mother’s favor. I do wonder if it wasn’t you who beguiled m’father into leaving. I have been told things …”
“Your mother was a tired, lonely woman, hungry for a kind word and a bit of help. The abbot was considering ending your tutelage so you could better support the bakery. It was I who saved you. I. And … and your mother was grateful for my help. I deny your accusation, boy, I deny it!”
Wil would listen no more and he struck a furious blow squarely on the end of the man’s nose, dropping him to the floor with a cry. Wil’s flashing eyes were a scalded blue, his lips red with rage, and his fair skin flushed with fury. He darted to his bed and plunged his right hand deep into the straw until his fingers found the haired handle of his dagger.
With blood pouring from both nostrils, Pious desperately tried to pull himself to his feet. But before the clumsy priest could stand, Wil knocked him to the floor again with a vicious strike to the side of the head. The man’s eyes rolled slightly and he collapsed to his back. The lad sprang on his fallen adversary and placed both knees on his chest. He set his razor-sharp blade against the rolled fat under Pious’s chin and growled, “Blasphemer! Enemy of God. Liar! Admit your crime or make ready to join your fellow demons in the Pit.”
The priest lay motionless, his eyes now wide with fear. Too frightened to speak he waited helplessly as the angry boy held his life in the balance. Wil hesitated, then pressed the dagger’s edge deeper into Pious’s throat, releasing a thin thread of blood. The boy leaned close to the priest’s face and hissed. “Tell me, dead man, tell me the truth. I want to hear it in your own words.”
Pious trembled and nodded subtly, fearing to move. He whispered hoarsely, “Yes, yes. I did do this.” Tears filled the man’s eyes and he began to beg for his life.
The boy hesitated, caught between a horrid lust to carve the man’s throat and an unspoken voice urging he leave vengeance in the hands of Another. With a grunt he stood. “To your feet, you pig. I should have you kiss my hand for mercy granted.”
Pious, white-faced and shaking, stood. “Wilhelm, I assure you that such a thing shall never happen again. Now let us …”
Wil leaned forward. “Indeed. My mother lies near death behind you!”
The father squinted nervously through the dim-lit doorway and nodded. He dabbed the blood on his neck with his sleeved forearm and crumpled the folds of his robe to hold against his bleeding nose. “Your mother was always a beauty. She was lonely and I wished …”
The flash in Wil’s eyes reminded Pious how tentative his ground was, and so he changed course. He arranged his robe and gathered his wits. “My son, you are aware that should I tell the abbot of your night’s visit to the abbey he would no doubt believe me. I have served this parish for nearly twenty years, have collected tithes faithfully and with no hint of impropriety. I am known throughout these valleys as a worthy Christian priest. On the other hand, should you accuse me, I should doubt his believing you … an angry peasant boy caught in a crime.”
Wil, prudent for his years, recognized how dangerously he was positioned. Despite the genuine affection of most of the monks, each would surely confess knowledge of the boy’s disquieted and perhaps even suspicious nature. No doubt none could, or would, be able to defend his character with persuasive vigor or confidently assure the abbot of the unlikelihood of his deceit. Instead, Wil feared, each would bow to the prospect of his blame. As he considered his predicament, Wil also recognized that Pious must see no weakness at such
“I do not lie. You call yourself priest? Servant of God?” attacked Wil. “You are a servant of yourself. You are nothing but a wild boar on the prowl. You pretended your duty as a priest, but all you ever wanted was our mother’s favor. I do wonder if it wasn’t you who beguiled m’father into leaving. I have been told things …”
“Your mother was a tired, lonely woman, hungry for a kind word and a bit of help. The abbot was considering ending your tutelage so you could better support the bakery. It was I who saved you. I. And … and your mother was grateful for my help. I deny your accusation, boy, I deny it!”
Wil would listen no more and he struck a furious blow squarely on the end of the man’s nose, dropping him to the floor with a cry. Wil’s flashing eyes were a scalded blue, his lips red with rage, and his fair skin flushed with fury. He darted to his bed and plunged his right hand deep into the straw until his fingers found the haired handle of his dagger.
With blood pouring from both nostrils, Pious desperately tried to pull himself to his feet. But before the clumsy priest could stand, Wil knocked him to the floor again with a vicious strike to the side of the head. The man’s eyes rolled slightly and he collapsed to his back. The lad sprang on his fallen adversary and placed both knees on his chest. He set his razor-sharp blade against the rolled fat under Pious’s chin and growled, “Blasphemer! Enemy of God. Liar! Admit your crime or make ready to join your fellow demons in the Pit.”
The priest lay motionless, his eyes now wide with fear. Too frightened to speak he waited helplessly as the angry boy held his life in the balance. Wil hesitated, then pressed the dagger’s edge deeper into Pious’s throat, releasing a thin thread of blood. The boy leaned close to the priest’s face and hissed. “Tell me, dead man, tell me the truth. I want to hear it in your own words.”
Pious trembled and nodded subtly, fearing to move. He whispered hoarsely, “Yes, yes. I did do this.” Tears filled the man’s eyes and he began to beg for his life.
The boy hesitated, caught between a horrid lust to carve the man’s throat and an unspoken voice urging he leave vengeance in the hands of Another. With a grunt he stood. “To your feet, you pig. I should have you kiss my hand for mercy granted.”
Pious, white-faced and shaking, stood. “Wilhelm, I assure you that such a thing shall never happen again. Now let us …”
Wil leaned forward. “Indeed. My mother lies near death behind you!”
The father squinted nervously through the dim-lit doorway and nodded. He dabbed the blood on his neck with his sleeved forearm and crumpled the folds of his robe to hold against his bleeding nose. “Your mother was always a beauty. She was lonely and I wished …”
The flash in Wil’s eyes reminded Pious how tentative his ground was, and so he changed course. He arranged his robe and gathered his wits. “My son, you are aware that should I tell the abbot of your night’s visit to the abbey he would no doubt believe me. I have served this parish for nearly twenty years, have collected tithes faithfully and with no hint of impropriety. I am known throughout these valleys as a worthy Christian priest. On the other hand, should you accuse me, I should doubt his believing you … an angry peasant boy caught in a crime.”
Wil, prudent for his years, recognized how dangerously he was positioned. Despite the genuine affection of most of the monks, each would surely confess knowledge of the boy’s disquieted and perhaps even suspicious nature. No doubt none could, or would, be able to defend his character with persuasive vigor or confidently assure the abbot of the unlikelihood of his deceit. Instead, Wil feared, each would bow to the prospect of his blame. As he considered his predicament, Wil also recognized that Pious must see no weakness at such
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