Free Quest of Hope: A Novel by C. D. Baker

wonder,” blurted Dietrich.
    “Aye,” answered Baldric. “I’ll simply tell her the last I knew he’d been visiting the strumpets in Limburg.”

     
    As the dawn of Lammas broke bright over Weyer, Baldric and Arnold bore the body of Kurt to his wife and three children. Berta collapsed onto the dirt floor of her hovel and wept inconsolably. Heinrich stood bravely at his father’s side and stared into the lifeless face. The lad’s lower lip quivered and tears rolled down his face. He had already been taught to hide such weakness, and he quickly wiped his tears away. He walked bravely toward his mother and offered her the comfort of a tender hug.
    “Leave me be!” shrieked Berta. “Are you stupid, boy? Can y’not see I needs be alone?”
    Shamefaced, the four-year-old ran from the hovel.
    Baldric related the night’s events to Berta and recited the story she must offer to Father Gregor.
    “I… I dare not lie to a priest! Are you mad, Baldric? I’ll not put my soul in peril or that of little Axel here, or Effi! No, I’ll not be telling your lies!”
    “Then Arnold and I shall swing on Runkel’s gallows and Kurt’s land shall be taken in payment for the dead.”
    Arnold whispered to Baldric. “If she’ll betray us, then she’s to join him.”
    Baldric nodded. “Woman, listen and listen well. I am the elder of this household now. I’ll speak to Gregor, you say nothing!”
    Resigned, Berta nodded obediently. “Then hurry for him, Kurt’s soul has need of the prayers!”
    “Not before he’s washed and shrouded!” barked Arnold.
    Herwin, the tenant, was sitting in the corner, frightened and silent. Baldric turned to him. “You … come here y’mouse. One word and you’re dead. We’ve need of your rents else you’d already have your throat cut. Be off now to the well with a bucket. Arnold, get some linens from your wife. We shan’t spend for deerskin and we’ve no time for a box.”
    Immediately the family was busy. Berta sewed her husband’s wounds so no blood would stain the wraps while Herwin washed the body. Within the half hour they quickly shrouded the corpse.
    Father Gregor had a fine Lammas day planned, one filled with good food and drink, village dances and games. He had fields of grain to bless and was not pleased to be bothered with Kurt’s death. “He died of what cause?” he asked Baldric.
    “Fever from a prick on the hand some weeks past.”
    “Ah, yes, I did notice it swelling. You have already prepared the body?”
    “Aye, father, we thought with the feast day it would be good to hurry about it. The widow wants words for his soul, though, and quick.”
    Father Gregor sighed. “Aye, ‘tis an hour yet to terce and I’ve much to do. By the saints, the gravediggers shan’t be happy about this! Methinks he needs wait for burial till the morrow.”
    Arnold was standing next to Baldric and nudged him. Neither wanted any delay. The Gunnars would be discovered soon and Kurt needed to be in the ground. None would dare dig him out to check his body.
    “The widow wants this done now. The diggers always have graves-in-waiting, put him in one of them.” Baldric’s eyes narrowed.
    Gregor felt suddenly uneasy. “And what is the hurry, my sons?” Suspicion laced his tone.
    Baldric answered straightaway. “No hurry, father, but Berta believes a feast day to be a more blessed day to bury.”
    Gregor shook his head. “Where such notions are born!”
    Father Gregor greeted the family at the churchyard and prayed for the little cluster of kin gathered around. Throughout the brief burial service small Heinrich stood stone-faced and tearless. His mother had commanded him to be the son his father expected. But as soon as the priest finished, the young boy turned in hopes of flying to a safe place to shed his tears. Father Gregor snagged him by the arm. “Heinrich, now ‘tis time for you to be a man. Knowyour place and forget it not. Learn the ways and serve well.”
    The young lad nodded