Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the mysterious cause of their night’s confusion. Wil quickly drew his brown hood over his golden hair and pressed himself hard against the black shadow of the wall as the anxious party snaked past him. Releasing a quivering sigh, the lad moved swiftly toward the open, unguarded gate and slipped, unnoticed, onto the abbey grounds.
    I hope him fast asleep…oh God, let it be so! Wil thought as he flitted deftly through the monks’ graveyard and over the short wall by the infirmary. He crouched his way along the refectory and through the shadows of the novices’ cloister, scampered quickly by the latrine, and stepped gingerly into a dark corner to allow a group of nervous guards to trot by before slipping quietly into the hollow corridor of the musty dormitory.
    By now the garrison was fully engaged and order was taking hold. Mounted soldiers loped across the courtyard in proper form, and the steadier commands of sergeant and churchman alike began to restore calm. Wil listened nervously, fully aware that no matter how merciful Brother Lukas might be, he could expect nothing less than a terrible flogging if he fell into the harsh hands of the monks’ lay bailiff.
    The determined lad crept carefully through the long dormitory corridor toward the sleep cell Lukas had been exiled to years before. His superiors had mistakenly decided that such nightly banishment from the community might shame the free-thinking brother’s rebellious spirit into submission. Wil could hear his heart pounding and felt a cold sweat spread over his body. Good Brother Lukas, he thought, I hope you drank your sleep potion tonight. A hopeful smile twitched the corners of the lad’s mouth as he thought of the monk—his father’s friend and once the faithful companion of the beloved old woman by the stream.
    In another moment his hand was resting squarely on the iron latch of the narrow door and Wil lifted it. The door gave way with an unsettling creak and the boy stepped lightly inside. He peered anxiously into the darkness at the monk’s cot and, to his relief, found Lukas rolled securely in his blanket. The boy carefully picked up the tongs and raised a coal from the small, iron hearth. He touched it to the wick of the candle on the tiny table alongside the monk’s rope bed.
    “Wake, Brother Lukas,” whispered Wil to the monk’s back. “Please.” The silent monk failed to stir. Wil took a gentle hold of the man’s shoulder and shook it lightly. “Wake, please. Wake, please, I need you.” The boy, now growing impatient, whispered in more urgent tone. “Brother Lukas, this is Wil of Weyer.”
    But the man lay motionless. Wil, aware of footsteps in the dormitory, now shook Lukas more violently. “Wake, I say. Wake.”
    Desperate and nearly frantic, Wil pulled the man on his back and raised the candle just over the monk’s face. Straightaway, all speech left the lad and he stood stupefied and numb, too stunned to react. His eyes stretched in horror and he let out his air slowly. He stepped a quick-pace backward. He had seen those eyes before—the dry, vacant eyes of the dead.
    The boy’s heart fluttered and his legs felt weak. Nausea filled his innards and he collapsed to the straw-covered floor. His mind raced. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, clenching his jaw and tightening his fists. What to do … what to do?
    He jumped to his feet and rummaged savagely through the monk’s tiny cell. On the floor by the far side of the bed Wil spotted three uncorked bottles of herbs, two opened root jars, and a spilled wooden bowl. He grabbed the bowl and quickly sniffed the residue clinging to the inside. “ Ach , what a foul stink. By heaven, Lukas, we told you to stop trying things on yourself.”
    A group of men could be heard rummaging about the dormitory just beyond Lukas’s cell. Now I’m in quite the fix—no help for Mother and none for me. Wil’s legs went weak. I’ll surely be accused of Lukas’s murder. He listened to the