Read Online Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade by C. D. Baker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C. D. Baker
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a crucial moment. “I tell you this, Pious.” Wil measured carefully. “We both have much to lose. But I care not one whit if I am flogged and hanged, or deported to the marshes. I would be content to suffer all knowing that, at the very least, you shall spend the rest of your pitiful days under a cloud of doubt.”
The priest was wise to the game but unnerved, nonetheless, by what kernel of truth might lie within the desperate boy’s words. Indeed , he thought, what does this brat have to lose? His miserable life is worth little. And, though his charge would doubtless be dismissed, he is right to say the abbey would always have doubt… as would the whole of Mainz. It would be my final undoing.
“Well said, young fellow,” Pious answered in a calculated tone. “Well said, indeed.” He sighed dramatically. “Ah, but I do grow weary of this place, and the guilt of my sin weighs heavy. Perhaps this revelation would forever release me from both.”
He eyed the boy, then continued slowly. “However, there may be a better way.” Pious beckoned Wil to come close. “The Holy Church is sending thousands of her finest sons and daughters to settle new lands in the east, lands in the diocese of Magdeburg. You, Karl, and Maria would do well in such an enterprise. The lords are paying good wages and land is abundant, and—”
“We’ll not be spending our lives clearing marshes to make another wealthy. Nay, this is no remedy.”
“Ah, I see.” Pious set a finger on his chin and narrowed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Then consider this: Spiritus Sanctus is stirring a new Crusade in the hearts of the blessed children of our Empire and in France. Perhaps you might consider enlisting in such a noble and righteous enterprise. What better way to do penance for your sins and for those your mother might be suffering? The passing of time shall, most assuredly, blur the unfortunate affair in the abbey. You would be filling thy heavenly coffers with gold. And, perhaps this pilgrimage might yield the time I need to do a just penance for my own sins.”
“Or perhaps we’ll never return,” interrupted Wil. “And what of little Maria?”
“’Tis true enough.” Pious nodded sympathetically. “The journey would be difficult and dangerous. I would be happy to look after Maria until thy return.”
“Never,” snapped Wil.
A long, silent pause followed, each eyeing the other warily. But no more words were needed; the terms had been decided.
Sabbath dawn bore a brilliant sunrise of red hues and puffed clouds. By late morning the air was summer sweet and fresh and a light breeze fluttered through the trees. Wil chose to remain with his mother while Karl and Maria joined the company of curious neighbors departing for the gathering in Villmar. As the sun climbed higher overhead, groups of Christian faithful began to pass by Weyer’s church up the sharp incline leading to the ridge. Rumors of the past week’s mysteries and of strangers on the manor traveled with the peasants, flourishing with the addition of new pilgrims from Oberbrechen and Selters. This fair day had a wonderful sense of promise about it, an inkling of surprise. The birds seemed to sense an occasion, and Karl was sure their chirping was louder than usual. He was quite convinced that even the rabbits bursting from bushes and darting through furrows had some extra spring in their quick feet.
As the clusters of folk began their long descent into the Lahn valley and the abbey at its center, Karl and Maria locked arms with the other village children to recite ancient rhymes and sing songs of the woodland. Their mood was contagious and parents and grandparents were soon enlisted in the merry choir. The happy melodies floated gently across the resting fields and drifted behind them to succeeding bands of pilgrims.
As the villagers drew nearer the abbey, they converged with the folk of more distant villages such as Emmerich, Lindenholz, and Niederbrechen,
The priest was wise to the game but unnerved, nonetheless, by what kernel of truth might lie within the desperate boy’s words. Indeed , he thought, what does this brat have to lose? His miserable life is worth little. And, though his charge would doubtless be dismissed, he is right to say the abbey would always have doubt… as would the whole of Mainz. It would be my final undoing.
“Well said, young fellow,” Pious answered in a calculated tone. “Well said, indeed.” He sighed dramatically. “Ah, but I do grow weary of this place, and the guilt of my sin weighs heavy. Perhaps this revelation would forever release me from both.”
He eyed the boy, then continued slowly. “However, there may be a better way.” Pious beckoned Wil to come close. “The Holy Church is sending thousands of her finest sons and daughters to settle new lands in the east, lands in the diocese of Magdeburg. You, Karl, and Maria would do well in such an enterprise. The lords are paying good wages and land is abundant, and—”
“We’ll not be spending our lives clearing marshes to make another wealthy. Nay, this is no remedy.”
“Ah, I see.” Pious set a finger on his chin and narrowed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Then consider this: Spiritus Sanctus is stirring a new Crusade in the hearts of the blessed children of our Empire and in France. Perhaps you might consider enlisting in such a noble and righteous enterprise. What better way to do penance for your sins and for those your mother might be suffering? The passing of time shall, most assuredly, blur the unfortunate affair in the abbey. You would be filling thy heavenly coffers with gold. And, perhaps this pilgrimage might yield the time I need to do a just penance for my own sins.”
“Or perhaps we’ll never return,” interrupted Wil. “And what of little Maria?”
“’Tis true enough.” Pious nodded sympathetically. “The journey would be difficult and dangerous. I would be happy to look after Maria until thy return.”
“Never,” snapped Wil.
A long, silent pause followed, each eyeing the other warily. But no more words were needed; the terms had been decided.
Sabbath dawn bore a brilliant sunrise of red hues and puffed clouds. By late morning the air was summer sweet and fresh and a light breeze fluttered through the trees. Wil chose to remain with his mother while Karl and Maria joined the company of curious neighbors departing for the gathering in Villmar. As the sun climbed higher overhead, groups of Christian faithful began to pass by Weyer’s church up the sharp incline leading to the ridge. Rumors of the past week’s mysteries and of strangers on the manor traveled with the peasants, flourishing with the addition of new pilgrims from Oberbrechen and Selters. This fair day had a wonderful sense of promise about it, an inkling of surprise. The birds seemed to sense an occasion, and Karl was sure their chirping was louder than usual. He was quite convinced that even the rabbits bursting from bushes and darting through furrows had some extra spring in their quick feet.
As the clusters of folk began their long descent into the Lahn valley and the abbey at its center, Karl and Maria locked arms with the other village children to recite ancient rhymes and sing songs of the woodland. Their mood was contagious and parents and grandparents were soon enlisted in the merry choir. The happy melodies floated gently across the resting fields and drifted behind them to succeeding bands of pilgrims.
As the villagers drew nearer the abbey, they converged with the folk of more distant villages such as Emmerich, Lindenholz, and Niederbrechen,
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