Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (61 page)

Chapter 27

FREEDOM FOUND

A
s the bright stars of dawn faded in a bluing sky, Wil jumped to his feet and hastily roused his comrades. “Come, soldiers, awake! This is the day we sail. Wake! Wake!”

The lad’s words had barely left his lips when his excited companions left their backs and rushed to form their familiar column. They giggled and wiggled, chattering and chortling of adventures past and the glory of their coming conquest. With the larger group of newcomers now crowding around them, the crusaders then raised their crosses and marched confidently to the docks.

As the band reached the
San Marco’s
pier it was met by a few grumbling hands grousing about their duties. The sailors were not enthused to board a “litter of whelps,” and they were quick to show their disapproval with a chorus of foul oaths and blasphemies. But the sight of Frieda, supple and curved, blonde and fair, stayed their tongues and they set aside their chores to leer. Wil bristled but could do little but glare from this one to that and pray the captain would soon appear.

At long last, Gaetano emerged from his cabin. He and his mate, Otavio, stepped to the top of the plank and welcomed all on board.
“Si, si, bambini!
Board my
San Marco.
She is ready.”

The time had come; the moment all had dreamt of, struggled for, died for … and the crusaders were suddenly confused. The thought of leaving Pieter gripped them and they turned to face him with tear-filled eyes.

Pieter stood as bravely as his trembling legs would allow, for he was determined to offer a countenance of confidence and strength. But, as each one embraced him, his will gave way to the grief dammed behind his eyes and swelling his throat. He set down his trusted staff and hugged each tightly, leaving his tears on all.

Brave and stout-hearted Conrad clasped his hand securely into Pieter’s and fought the river of tears surging behind his own eyes. And, alas, he too lost the fight and collapsed into his old friend’s embrace weeping like the child he still was.

Ever sturdy, dirty-faced Otto rubbed his hands through his matted, sandy hair and hugged the old man briefly, then raced away from his grief, charging up the plank with wet-eyed Heinz scampering close behind.

At last most of the group had boarded and all waited patiently on deck as their few remaining comrades bade their farewells. Frieda hugged Pieter tightly as if to never let him go and sobbed like a toddler in his arms. He stroked her golden hair and whispered to her softly, “Please, young woman, take good care of your family,” he said. Frieda nodded and turned toward her sister.

Sobbing, Gertrude stared at Frieda from swollen brown eyes. The two embraced, vowing to meet again.

Finally, it was the moment that Pieter had dreaded from so very long ago. His mind took him back to the day on the road by Mainz. His heart tugged as he envisioned Wil with Karl and Maria and Tomas. He smiled as he remembered how determined they were, how very resolute; such courage!

Pieter now faced young Wil.
Not a boy any longer,
he thought.
Nay …no longer. He’s learned much. Ah, so very brave, noble and strong; a fine young man… broad-shouldered and handsome. Ha! Look at that flowing hair and the set in those steely blue eyes; confident, but now humble; youthful, but wise for his years.
He reached a shaking hand toward his young friend and, when their palms met, Wil plunged into the old man’s arms. “I love you, Pieter,” he choked. “I’ll miss you.”

“I … I …” Pieter stammered, “I am without words. You are like a son to me. The son I never had. I bid you grace and peace for all years to come.” Pieter’s eyes so filled with tears the boy became but a golden blur as he turned away. He wiped them on his worn sleeve and watched helplessly as the ship’s plank was removed. He then aimed his failing sight on all of his beloved and faded into his own thoughts, paying no heed to the shouts and orders of the seamen scrambling through the rigging and lowering the sweeps. But, when the thick hemp ropes were jerked off their squeaking pilings, his mind returned with a start. His heart sank and he swallowed hard. The creaking ship then eased subtly from its rest and began sliding toward the sea and away from the reach of Pieter’s outstretched arms.

The gallant crusaders started waving from the galley’s rail and calling his name. The old man bit his lower lip to stop its quivering and closed his eyes. Gertrude stepped beside the priest and laid her head against him. She wrapped her arm around his waist and gently hugged him as she wiped tears from her own eyes.

Pieter patted the girl on her shoulder and turned a loving eye toward the congregation of strange new faces staring hopefully at him. He smiled. As the ship now slipped quickly away he raised his hand limply and whispered, “Farewell, my beloved.”

Pieter watched the rising sun cast its beautiful golden light across the tips of the
San Marco’s
tall masts. Her sails were dropped into place, snapping and fluttering and filling with fresh morning air. She lurched forward awkwardly, heaving into the blue water with a splash and leaning toward the far edge of the curved harbor.

Seagulls called and shrieked overhead and the sounds of a new day began to fill the wharf behind him, but Pieter thought only of his children, his beloved lambs, disappearing before his eyes. He felt so very much alone.

Suddenly a loud voice interrupted his thoughts. “You can see them again, Pater.”

Pieter was startled. “Eh? What was that?”

“I say, you can see them again.” The voice came from the throng of newcomers gathered behind him. Pieter turned and saw a pleasant-looking, earnest boy, fourteen perhaps, and smiling politely.

“Ah,
ja
, my young friend, I’ll see them with the angels someday.”

“Nay, ‘tis not what I meant to say. If you walk along that line you shall find a jetty. And at its end is a place where the ships pass quite close, close enough to see the sailors’ faces.”

Pieter’s heart jumped for joy and he hugged the surprised lad. “
Ja?
Well then, m’thanks!” he blurted. “May the saints protect you for your kindness.”

“And I thank you for your blessing. I—”

“Ah, ‘tis good to hear, lad—you say the jetty is by there?” He pointed east.

The boy laughed. “Aye. But you needs not hurry; the wind is failing already and it takes some time for them to row. And you’ve this good fortune as well: When they near the jetty you’ll find this captain getting as close by it as he can.”

“And why would that be?”

“I’ve heard it to be a wager among the sailors. Each ship works to claim the honor of coming closest to the point without grounding or rowing into a rock.”

“Such vanity,” said the priest. “But such vanity has such profit for us!” He turned and started toward the jetty in great haste. However, his time-taught instinct for better manners nudged him to stop and he did. He spun around and faced the boy again. “Begging your pardon, lad, I failed to ask your name.”

“Rudolf,” the boy answered. “Rudolf from the mountains near to Liestal.”

A sudden chill charged through Pieter and he stared, open-mouthed and astonished. He thought for a moment.
Nay, could never be unless …
a
miracle, perhaps?
“Would your papa be Dieder?”

“Aye.”

“And your
Mutti,
Gerta?”

“Aye,” he murmured. “Aye. Do you know them?”

Pieter cried out and embraced the lad. “
Ja
! They gave us charity in a time of need. God bless them, and I’ve a message for you! Y
’Mutti
says, ‘Tell Rudolf we love him very much and miss him.’”

Rudolf’s face twisted with bittersweet joy. “I … I can barely believe this! Oh,
Pater
, I miss them so … might… might I join you if y’return to those parts?”

“Aye. Aye, a thousand ayes, lad! But,
ach
, we must catch our ship!”

Pieter took the boy by the shoulder and led his new friends in a charge across the docks. Down the wharves they raced, Rudolf and the old man in the lead and a long line of vagabonds following close behind. Paying no attention to the scoffs and ridicule of all around, the parade of misfits pressed on until they reached the turn to the peninsula which narrowed to a rocky jetty at its end. They stopped to catch their breath and took an accounting of the
San Marco’s
location. It had stalled in mid-harbor and a relieved Pieter sighed.

The band hurried, nonetheless, and Pieter led them with his staff in hand, looking very much like a shepherd leading a ragged herd of grateful sheep! These sheep laughed, however, quite amused with their new friend’s amusing gait and they squealed with delight when he smiled at them with his faithful tooth.

The company passed by rows of houses and shops, past the shipwright’s building and the caulkers’ guild, the sailmaker and a brawling tavern. Finally, all panting, they found themselves clambering on the rocky end of the long jetty.

“By the saints, Papa Pieter,” announced a little voice behind him, “we made haste, but see how far away the ship is yet.”

Pieter froze. Papa
Pieter?
With visions of his beloved Maria filling his mind’s eye, he whirled about to see the tiny face of Ava staring at him happily. For a moment, disappointment washed over him, but he smiled and laid a hand on the dear girl’s head. “Ah, blessings on the
San Marco,”
he wheezed.

The jetty’s rocks were difficult and hazardous to climb across. They were formed in ages past as long layers of black stone turned edge upright so that each step needed great care. But no obstacle in all of creation would obstruct Pieter’s determined purpose and, with a minimum of scraped shins and hushed oaths, the old man and his throng finally arrived at the jetty’s point.

The rising sun felt warm as did the ocean’s waves splashing over the dangling feet of the laughing children. Pieter had the good fortune of finding one flat boulder upon which he was able to sit his weary rump, and from this spot he fixed his eyes on the timid sails of the
San Marco.

Certain that he had a little time to wait, the old man closed his eyes and breathed deeply of salt air. He smiled as the spray of crashing waves sprinkled his white head. The sound of the sea was calming and the gentle chatter of the children warmed his soul. He could have asked for no sweeter lullaby, other than to hear the soft voice of Maria or the pleasant chuckle of Karl. Pieter’s mind began to drift again to old memories when he heard the faint sound of a distant voice calling his name.

The old man turned and saw someone coming toward the jetty. He pulled himself up, trying to focus, but could only see the blurred image of a large, shaggy man.
Perhaps a dog as well?
he thought.

“Oh, please, dear God, no more magistrates—no dogs to chase us!” he muttered, angry and fearful that the simple joy of a last farewell would be spoiled. He cast a wistful glance at the
San Marco
and huddled his children as the stranger came closer.
He seems anxious
, thought Pieter.
Hurried and quite forceful of stride.

The more he studied the approaching man the more he imagined something strangely familiar in him. Perhaps it was his stride, or something else … he could not quite see.

Unable to contain his consternation and curiosity any longer, Pieter began crawling over the rocks toward his visitor. Pieter stood erect and confident, as if to bar all danger to his flock. But no sooner had he set his jaw than the man’s dog yelped and bolted toward him. The priest swallowed and gripped his staff with both hands, bracing himself against the charging beast. His mouth dried and his heart pounded but he remained steadfast and determined!