brought gifts of food.
“Good even, mistress,” a voice said hesitantly from the darkness at the edge of the firelight.
Ursula looked up to see a young boy staring at her shyly. For a moment he reminded her of David. She caught her breath. Then she saw he was holding out a handful of small, wizened turnips.
“We have not much, mistress, but what we have we would share with you who are on such a holy Crusade,” he said.
An automatic refusal came to her lips, but died as she looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching out for the offering. “We thank you very much.”
The boy beamed. “Go with God,” he said, and turned to scamper away.
Ursula looked up to see Bruno smiling for the first time in a long while. “The true spirit of God does show itself in unexpected places, doesn’t it?” he said.
Unsure of what he meant, Ursula turned quickly away to add the turnips to their stores.
That evening, just as they were finishing their meal, the sound of music drifted over to them from a circle of people gathered around a large fire in the middle of the camp. Ursula was immediately interested, Bruno as well. They had not heard music since they had left Cologne.
“Shall we go over and see what is happening?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, let us,” Ursula answered, surprised at the lightening and excitement in her heart. “Will you come, too, Father?”
“No, child,” the old man answered. “I will rest and listen from here.”
Ursula looked at him, worried for a moment. He seemed very tired and frail, but Bruno reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet.
As they reached the fire, they saw four people standing near it. There were three men and a woman. The men were dressed in brightly colored tunics and hoods; the woman wore a soft woolen shift of deep blue. In the flickering firelight, it set off her pale golden hair perfectly. Each was playing an instrument. One man, who seemed to be the leader of the group, was playing a long, narrow lute. Another blew into an ocarina. The third man had a strange instrument that Ursula had never seen before. It consisted of a skin pouch, which he tucked under his arm, attached to a pipe into which he blew. The music thus produced was wild and haunting, almost overpowering all the rest. The woman was beating time on a little drum hanging from her neck and decorated with many colored ribbons. She was singing, and her clear voice carried easily to where Ursula and Bruno stood. As they watched and listened, Ursula became aware that thewoman was not as old as she had supposed. In fact, she looked to be only a few years older than Ursula herself—no more than a girl yet. Suddenly, Ursula was surprised to see a small face peek out from behind her skirts. The men joined in the singing. Ursula did not understand the words—they were in a dialect she had never heard before, but the tunes were at once lively and haunting and the voices exceptionally good. The woman’s voice, in particular, was pure and true.
They sang and played for around an hour. Ursula sat beside Bruno on the grass, eyes closed, carried away from herself with the sweet music. She could almost believe she was back in Cologne, listening to a group of strolling minstrels in their own marketplace. When they finally stopped, she opened her eyes with a sigh of regret. Back to reality, and to a field that was getting cold and damp.
The minstrels bowed low. Then the woman reached behind her and pulled forth a tiny girl. The child’s fine hair hung down far below her narrow shoulders, paler even than the woman’s—nearly white in the firelight. The woman whispered something in her ear and pushed her forward. Reluctantly, the child moved. She came hesitantly toward the group of people, holding out a tattered velvet pouch. Some people laughed and tousled her hair as they dropped acoin into her bag. She came toward Ursula.
“I have nothing for her,” Ursula whispered.
“I have a small coin,”
“Good even, mistress,” a voice said hesitantly from the darkness at the edge of the firelight.
Ursula looked up to see a young boy staring at her shyly. For a moment he reminded her of David. She caught her breath. Then she saw he was holding out a handful of small, wizened turnips.
“We have not much, mistress, but what we have we would share with you who are on such a holy Crusade,” he said.
An automatic refusal came to her lips, but died as she looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching out for the offering. “We thank you very much.”
The boy beamed. “Go with God,” he said, and turned to scamper away.
Ursula looked up to see Bruno smiling for the first time in a long while. “The true spirit of God does show itself in unexpected places, doesn’t it?” he said.
Unsure of what he meant, Ursula turned quickly away to add the turnips to their stores.
That evening, just as they were finishing their meal, the sound of music drifted over to them from a circle of people gathered around a large fire in the middle of the camp. Ursula was immediately interested, Bruno as well. They had not heard music since they had left Cologne.
“Shall we go over and see what is happening?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, let us,” Ursula answered, surprised at the lightening and excitement in her heart. “Will you come, too, Father?”
“No, child,” the old man answered. “I will rest and listen from here.”
Ursula looked at him, worried for a moment. He seemed very tired and frail, but Bruno reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet.
As they reached the fire, they saw four people standing near it. There were three men and a woman. The men were dressed in brightly colored tunics and hoods; the woman wore a soft woolen shift of deep blue. In the flickering firelight, it set off her pale golden hair perfectly. Each was playing an instrument. One man, who seemed to be the leader of the group, was playing a long, narrow lute. Another blew into an ocarina. The third man had a strange instrument that Ursula had never seen before. It consisted of a skin pouch, which he tucked under his arm, attached to a pipe into which he blew. The music thus produced was wild and haunting, almost overpowering all the rest. The woman was beating time on a little drum hanging from her neck and decorated with many colored ribbons. She was singing, and her clear voice carried easily to where Ursula and Bruno stood. As they watched and listened, Ursula became aware that thewoman was not as old as she had supposed. In fact, she looked to be only a few years older than Ursula herself—no more than a girl yet. Suddenly, Ursula was surprised to see a small face peek out from behind her skirts. The men joined in the singing. Ursula did not understand the words—they were in a dialect she had never heard before, but the tunes were at once lively and haunting and the voices exceptionally good. The woman’s voice, in particular, was pure and true.
They sang and played for around an hour. Ursula sat beside Bruno on the grass, eyes closed, carried away from herself with the sweet music. She could almost believe she was back in Cologne, listening to a group of strolling minstrels in their own marketplace. When they finally stopped, she opened her eyes with a sigh of regret. Back to reality, and to a field that was getting cold and damp.
The minstrels bowed low. Then the woman reached behind her and pulled forth a tiny girl. The child’s fine hair hung down far below her narrow shoulders, paler even than the woman’s—nearly white in the firelight. The woman whispered something in her ear and pushed her forward. Reluctantly, the child moved. She came hesitantly toward the group of people, holding out a tattered velvet pouch. Some people laughed and tousled her hair as they dropped acoin into her bag. She came toward Ursula.
“I have nothing for her,” Ursula whispered.
“I have a small coin,”
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