Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (58 page)

“And the answer is: the heart of God.”

Pieter stood silently for a moment and clutched his staff to his breast. Tears filled his eyes. He looked at the bright-eyed boy proudly. “And … and why do you believe it so?”

“Your riddle was about a place. A place where everything goes to and where everything comes from. It is a place that holds all things together and heals and maintains all things that are.”

Pieter nodded his old, white head and laid a hand on Karl’s red curls. “God has blessed you, my son, with a tender heart for Him. May you delight in Him for all your days.
Ja,
ja
!” he cried. “It
is
the heart of God!” Pieter embraced Karl. “I am so very proud,” he whispered, “so very proud.” Pieter wrapped his spindly arm around the beaming boy and turned to his children. “This child of a baker has grasped more than that learned sorcerer who now hides in the darkness of the forest. The heart of God, children, is our Haven. It is that which holds all things in its loving keep … our joys and our sufferings, our victories, our failings, our dreams, and our disappointments. It is that sure place that holds us fast.”

Pieter bent over and plucked a white wildflower from the ground and he asked for Frieda’s applewood cross from her belt. “The flower, my children, is our symbol of the presence of God, and these crosses we carry a symbol of His love. By them, my precious lambs, know these two things: that God is there and that He cares. Know these and you needs know little else.”

Chapter 26

THE GARDEN OF WILDFLOWERS

T
hat night the children circled their campfire at peace with themselves and each other and excited to be near the sea. They laughed and sang and shared memories of their journey—some joyful, some heart-wrenching, some yet terrifying. Pieter leaned against the broad trunk of an old tree and looked wistfully at the snapping flames. His solemn face revealed a pain in his heart. Frieda and Gertrude tugged on his sleeve and looked into his sad eyes.

“You are thinking of Solomon, are you not, Pieter?” asked Frieda softly.

“Yes. I do truly miss m’old friend. I miss him so very much. And I miss my other friends as well. ‘Tis the way of life.”

Frieda smiled. “I remember watching Solomon spin with you in Dunkeldorf.”

“The signal that called you to trust me?”

“
Ja
,” recalled Wil from across the way. “I remember watching you turn on that old barrel. I’d wager y’d fallen ten times.”

Karl laughed. “Can y’not see him flopping in the dust only to get up and spin some more, with Solomon chasing his tail by his side? Methinks the marketplace thought him to be a madman.”

“
Ja
, surely it was so,” said Frieda. “But it was a good signal and it rescued us from danger.”

“I was so very proud that day,” said Pieter. “You believed me. You obeyed because you trusted my care for you. I think I never thanked you all.” He put his whiskered chin on his chest and let his thoughts drift. He wandered to the mountain passes and the snowdrift, the Waldensians, the flood, the field of dead, the bier of children, Domodossola, the baths of Pavia, the death of Georg, Maria and her wildflowers, and so much more. He grunted and sniffled, leaned over onto his bough bed, and soon fell fast asleep.

At dawn Wil reminded his company that, at the very latest, on the morrow next they ought enter Genoa. The crusaders were so excited by the very thought of it that they could barely assemble in proper order. But, after a few stern commands and a good scolding for Heinz, Wil gained control and the band continued their march toward the elusive city.

By midday they had come upon a roadway which wound its way down the sloping shoulders of the mountains bordering the port. The dusty road was easy to walk and the descent was gentle, though rolling since the ridges were aligned in parallel to the sea. At each rise the eager crusaders strained to claim the first view of the water, and from time to time this pilgrim or that would cry out in joy. But the fanciful hopes of young minds do tricks on the impatient.

So the stubborn band pressed on, each eye peering over every change in the horizon until, at long last, a voice cried out, “There.
Ja
. ’Tis so. The sea, the sea!”

And it was so. A sparkling light from the waters of the sea shimmered through a tiny space framed by two distant slopes and the crusaders wept for joy. Pieter fell to his knees and raised his hands to his triumphant Maker and sang songs of gladness as his children danced.

Jubilance finally gave way to quiet awe and a voice chirped, “Shall the sea truly part for us, Pieter?”

“Eh? Well, by truth I do confess that am not expecting this to happen, but…”

“But the vision said it surely would,” insisted another.

“Aye, but the sea does not obey visions.”

“Nay, but it obeys Jesus!” boomed Karl.

“Well said, lad, of course. But it may be that Nicholas’s vision has been misunderstood or perhaps it was but a symbol; after all, what about the poor fish?”

“What about poor us?”

Pieter’s eyes twinkled. “Hmm. It seems to me it would be more merciful for God to provide you a worthy vessel instead of demanding you march for weeks over a sea bed … dry or not.”

The children looked at their battered feet and yielded to Pieter’s wisdom.

As the company moved closer to Genoa, the roadway became more and more crowded with peddlers, pilgrims, men-at-arms, and travelers of every imaginable sort. Heavy-laden carts groaned and creaked behind horses and donkeys straining against their yokes. Wagons heaped high with fresh-picked pears and apples lumbered and lurched their way along—those heading north working the whip and those pointed south leaning hard on creaking brakes.

The sun was bright and the air was warm. The smell of salt air grew stronger and the joyful crusaders nearly ran down each descent. Then, at last… at long last… they rounded a curve and beheld the full majesty of the sea. So stunning was the sight that the children could do nothing else than stop and gasp and stare in disbelief.

Heinz broke the silence. “’Tis truly there?”

The others laughed.

Otto’s green eyes sparkled. “Aye, Heinz, ‘tis truly there.”

Wil and Karl stood shoulder to shoulder. “To think we’ve come so very far!” said Wil. “And look, ‘tis as if the sky and water join somewhere out there.”

“I cannot see the end,” noted Karl. “I cannot see the end at all. Is that the edge of the world?”

“Look there,” said Frieda. “Look there!” She pointed to four tiny white dots.

“Ah, you see the sails of ships traveling south,” Pieter instructed. “And look over there; you’ll see more.”

Wil could have spent the whole day just gazing at the wonder before him. Though he had not yet set foot in Palestine, reaching the sea was, itself, a feat that swelled his heart. Ever mindful of his duties, however, he turned his eyes away and ordered a midday meal at the very spot where all could enjoy the beautiful sight. He ordered his soldiers to build their fire on the shoulder of the road. After all, perhaps passersby might offer a bit of charity from the plenty of their wagons.

Before long the crusaders were chewing on strips of salted pork and a few crusts of bread. Otto and Heinz had found some apples that had fallen from a passing cart, and a kindly stranger tossed Frieda a cheese and a small slab of bacon. To these pilgrims it was a meal that surpassed Gostanzo’s feast. They basked in the Italian sunshine and laughed and drew their nostrils tight on the intoxicating smell of the salt air.

Karl was radiant. His blue eyes sparkled like the waves shimmering in the distance and his ruddy face flushed with excitement. His curly red hair was dancing in the sea breezes rising from below. He finished his meal and studied the long, sloping mountains dropping gently toward the spires of the city. His eyes lingered on the castles perched atop ridges on his left and his right.
At last,
he thought,
and then to Palestine
. He looked into the faces of his many companions and felt warm and good as he thought of each of them.

When he spotted a patch of flowers on the opposite side of the roadway, he pictured Maria and sighed. He stood and secured her cross in his belt.
She would have wanted all the girls to enter the city with flowers in their hair!
he mused.

Dashing across the busy road, he found himself shin-deep in a wonderful bouquet. There were yellows and reds, purples and blues, delicate blooms and bold. He reached down and gently plucked a long-stemmed, white flower with a beautiful golden center and held it to his nose; he reached for broad-petaled, orange flowers and red-laced blue ones, soft pinks and bright lavenders. He hummed and whistled, certain that the angels themselves had planted this majestic garden for just this very day.

Pieter, Wil, and the others were resting peacefully in the grass. The sun felt so good to them and there was such comfort in being finally near the sea. But the quiet of the moment was suddenly broken with the sound of hooves thundering down the mountain. With no thought to the helpless travelers at their feet, a troop of light-armored cavalry were crashing their way through the crowded roadway. Behind them charged a team of thick-chested horses hauling a huge wagon loaded with footmen and barrels of supplies. Midst shouts and screams the company rammed their way through the scattering throng, dumping carts and trampling any in their way.

Wil’s quick eye fell on Karl, distracted and lost in thought, and picking flowers dangerously near the edge of the bend. His eye flew back to the soldiers whose reckless path now seemed aimed directly at Karl. He jumped to his feet and called frantically, but the roar of the tumult suffocated his cries. He raced toward his brother waving his hands desperately. “Karl, Karl, move! Move!” he screamed. “Move!”

The deafening sounds of hooves roared closer and closer to Karl until, at last, the startled boy jerked upright. Without a thought, he instinctively dashed onto the roadway in a desperate flight toward the far side. He sprinted a few strides with all the speed his panicked legs could gather, but it was not enough; his red head vanished in a blur of horseflesh, wagon wheels, and clouds of dust.

Wil cried out as one horse stumbled, but when he saw the huge wagon bounce, his heart seized. He knew that Karl was lost.

The crusaders dashed onto the roadway as the soldiers disappeared around the bend. Wil led the frantic charge and reached Karl first. He collapsed by his brother’s side and cradled the lad’s crumpled body in his arms. “Oh God, oh God!” he wailed. “Not you, Karl. Oh God, not you!”

The others fell about the boy weeping and wailing in utter shock. Fingers spread toward the broken body, lightly touching it as if to impart some spark of life. Desperately, Pieter pushed his way through the circle of his crusaders until his body folded in the dust beside his beloved Karl. The old man shook violently where he lay, weeping and groaning and beating the earth with angry fists.

Suddenly Karl stirred. Wil’s eyes widened and all grew still. “Qu-quickly … quickly … help me, Otto!” he cried. “We needs lift him off the road.”

With the help of many anxious hands, the two boys gently moved Karl to the grass where not long ago all had lounged in the warm sun. They laid his body on the soft earth and his head on Wil’s lap. Pieter tenderly held one of his crushed hands in his own, and Frieda stroked the boy’s red curls.

Karl’s chest heaved as he gasped for air. His eyes fluttered for a moment, then opened bright and blue. He smiled faintly and wheezed another breath. Blood frothed from his mouth and now began to ooze from his ears, dripping slowly onto Wil’s sleeves. The beloved lad looked at Wil and then at Pieter. His eyes offered kindness.

“Dear, Karl,” whimpered Wil. “I … I …” Wil stroked Karl’s cheek as his tears fell onto his dying brother’s brow.

Karl tried to speak but failed. His generous heart, however, urged a quivering smile.

Pieter leaned close to the boy and set a soft hand on his arm. “This day your soul shall find its rest, my dear lad. You shall set your feet in the Holy Land, indeed.” He laid his trembling hands on the boy’s head and prayed, “
Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censurius et peccatis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

Wil bent close to Karl’s ear and whispered, “Forgive me, Karl, for the ways that I have sinned against you. Know that I have always loved you.

“And … and tell Maria,” Wil continued, “I … I do love her so.” His voice faltered.

Karl shook his head and labored desperately to speak. “Her … cross,” he whispered hoarsely. “Give … Maria her cross …”

Pieter and Wil stared at each other, astonished at the boy’s unfaltering faith. Wil bent to his ear and answered. “I will believe, Karl. I will see that her cross is returned to her own hand.”