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

guards nearby. They seemed preoccupied with something else.
    Then it was as if some unseen presence urged him from task to task. His eyes raced about, suddenly steadying on a small cabinet standing open in the corner, and he quickly held the candle to it. Inside he found dozens and dozens of Brother Lukas’s treatments on rows of narrow shelves, and on a peg hung the leather satchel the man had used for so many years to gather wild herbs. The boy hastily collected what cruets, ampoules, tins, and wallets he could grab and stuffed the satchel full. He tied the bag to his rope belt, wisely snuffed the candle, and bade Brother Lukas a sad farewell.
    Wil eased open the narrow door and peeked warily into the corridor. The sentries were still rummaging about the main dormitory. The lad tarried in Lukas’s shadowed doorway for just a moment, then slipped into the darkness. He ran along the corridor, ducked down a short flight of damp-slickened stone stairs, and stooped into an oft-forgotten tunnel leading to an abandoned root cellar. He crept across the dark, dirt floor, then ran his fingers over the cobwebbed ceiling overhead, feeling for the trap door which led to the courtyard above. There … yes, I’ve found it.
    The hatch gave way stubbornly, its edges bound by the creep of sod from years of neglect. With a good, hearty heave, however, it gave way and the lad pushed his head into the starlight. He peered cautiously into the courtyard and, seeing no one near, slithered up and out the hole, placing himself flat in the wet grass. He quietly lowered the trap door and crawled on his stomach toward a small pile of neatly stacked beer barrels stored against the eastern wall.
    Wil was perspiring and his mouth was dry, but he felt a strange calm as he arrived at the barrels. He glanced about, eyes sharp, ears cocked, and, seeing no one, ascended the barrels with ease. After scaling the final barrel, he reached his hands to the top of the wall and pulled himself upward. His arms strained and he stifled his grunts as he hauled himself to his forearms, then to his armpits and finally to his waist. He swung his lanky legs onto the top and, with a final heave, rolled himself onto the wide brim.
    The panting lad crouched in the shadows, pausing briefly to recover his breath. He looked to the sky, where a bank of new clouds drifted slowly toward the setting full moon. Wanting every advantage, he squatted under his hood and waited for the clouds to obscure the waning silver light. At last the moon was darkened and Wil abruptly swung his body over the outside of the wall. He hung on his fingertips, then closed his eyes and released himself into the arms of the angels he hoped would carry him lightly to the earth below.
    As misfortune would have it, however, his body plummeted like an acorn from a high branch and the helpless boy landed with a heavy thud on the sun-baked clay at the base of the wall. Wil rolled on the ground, whimpering and grimacing in pain, but quickly composed himself and dashed through the village to the cover of the nearby wood. He rubbed his ankles and feet and made a hasty note of his surroundings. Content that he was safe enough for the moment, Wil took time to consider his predicament and to listen to the sounds now ebbing within the abbey. While certain he had escaped the first net, he knew the ways of the abbey’s lay bailiff. Surely he’s sent riders along the roads in every direction. The lad knew he would need to move warily and circuitously home, but he also thought it best to wait just a while longer.
    After an hour Wil reckoned his hunters to be spread thinly through the manors. So, with a deep breath he began. Taking no chances, he maneuvered from tree to tree, careful to check over his shoulder from time to time. Leaving the wood he chose a wide route home by way of fallow fields. After struggling through hard furrows for an hour, Wil finally took a brief rest by an enormous beech tree near the road