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we?”
    Pieter said nothing as the girl began to gently unwind the lad’s wraps. She had braided her blonde hair to keep it from falling into her face as she bent over Wil. Her brown eyes were now clear and wide, fixed on her purpose. She handed the stained bandages to others for washing in the sea and worked with Pieter to clean and tend the wounds with comfrey poultices.
    By nightfall, Wil’s fever began to break, and the young man tossed uncomfortably on his bed of leaves. But within a few hours he became more peaceful, even serene. Then, at long last, Wilhelm of Weyer opened his eyes and smiled weakly, for there, gazing down at him with warmth and abounding affection, was the firelit face of a very glad-hearted Frieda.

     
    Heinrich wept for joy with the news of Wil’s awakening. He ran to the young man’s side and sat close by him, resting one hand lightly on the lad’s shoulder. He wiped his eye and smiled broadly. “Wil, ‘tis so very good to see you!”
    Wil stared blankly. In the firelight Heinrich looked menacing and unfamiliar. His beard was long and his hair wild. With a patch on one eye and one arm missing, the man looked like no one he had ever known. He nodded warily.
    Frieda laughed. “Wil, ‘tis Friend … the one who saved us in Basel!”
    A small light of recognition entered Wil’s expression. “ Ja ,” he whispered in a weak voice. “Now I remember.”
    Heinrich’s heart fluttered. It is time , he thought, time to reveal my identity. His mouth went dry and his tongue thickened, filling his mouth like heavy porridge. His mind raced and his heart pounded. Dare I do this? Will he forgive me? Should he forgive me? He drew a deep breath and leaned close. Barely able to form words, the shaking man spoke in a nervous rush. “Wil, dear lad. Please look at me. I am … I am your father.”
    Wil’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. He pursed his lips and looked away.
    His stricken father closed his eye and nodded, then bravely stood and stared helplessly at his son. Wil refused to speak. His face remained hard and his expression distant—fixed on some faraway view like the sightless gargoyles of unreachable heights. Heinrich drew a deep breath and stepped back in defeat. No long-sword in all Christendom could have pierced his heart more deeply, nor cloven it so completely as that bitter moment. He wanted to run.
    Frieda took his elbow. “ Herr Heinrich, he’s weak and confused,” she whispered.
    The baker shook his head. “And with every right to anger, dear girl. Every right indeed.”
    The two faced each other for a long, silent moment before Heinrich finally turned to find solace in the solitude of the night. Frieda watched him trudge away, and her own heart ached. He will forgive you , she thought. I know that he surely will
    By now Pieter had heard the good news and came hurrying to Wil’s side. “Ha! What a fright you gave us, lad!” he cried. “We thought you might be finished.”
    Wil offered a weak smile and nodded. “Me, too,” he whispered.
    Solomon licked the lad’s face lightly. The dog’s eyes flickered bright and cheery in the light of the crackling fire. Wil chuckled, though a bit painfully.
    “Now, Solomon! Leave him be.” Pieter pushed his faithful companion away playfully, then gave thanks over Wil with a prayer of praise. “My God, I love You above all things, with my whole heart and soul….” By the time he had finished, Wil had fallen fast asleep. The old man laughed quietly and lovingly wiped the young man’s forehead with a damp cloth. “God be praised, God be praised!” He then reached for the cross of Maria that he had vowed to return and laid it by the lad’s head. “May God’s mercies be upon you both.”
    A cloud-filled sky obscured the stars, and the far edges of the crusaders’ camp were shrouded in blackness. The children huddled around several small fires to keep warm. Pieter was handed a small bit of salted fish, and he worked hard to mash