Read Quest of Hope: A Novel for Free Online Page B

“Ha!” boomed one as he grabbed the horse’s bridle. “You’d be comin’ with us, son of Jost!”
    Cursing, Arnold stood on his wagon and snapped his whip at the man. “Off with you! Get off, now!” He swung his whip over and over again, drawing blood and oaths. More hands grasped at the panicked beast and at Arnold and his shrieking sister.
    Arnold quickly reached under his seat and yanked out a stout stick with a rock lashed to one end. He roared and flung his weapon in all directions, pounding at the heads and shoulders of the gang of men now clambering into his cart. It wasn’t long, however, before Arnold was knocked to the ground where four of the rogues kicked him and beat him furiously until he went limp in the dust.
    Meanwhile, a fifth man held Sieghild by her hair as his fellows rummaged through the cart. Like ignorant apes at the fairs of Champagne, they poked and sniffed a satchel of spices destined for Lord Hugo’s kitchen and some herbs intended for his physician. One squeezed warm cider from a wineskin into Arnold’s face. “Look at me, son of Jost! You and your kin needs pay for yer sins.”
    “Aye, you’d all be in needs of a lesson, methinks,” snarled another.
    Arnold struggled to open his blood-matted eyes. He peered through a red haze at the filth before him. Toothless, and smelling worse than most peasants before their spring baths, they reeked of garlic and field scallions; their leggings were threadbare and crusted by years of neglect.
    “Rot in hell,” muttered Arnold.
    With that, poor Sieghild was thrown to the ground. Arnold struggled to his feet, only to be hammered in the belly. He collapsed, gasping and cursing. The writhing girl’s gown and under-gown were yanked from her shins and bunched above her hips. Sieghild’s face was pummelled mercilessly by heavy fists while her wrists and ankles were pinned tightly to the ground.
    It was not long before her screams and pleadings faded into wounded whimpers as one by one each attacker took a turn. At long last the five stood shoulder to shoulder spitting upon both Arnold and poor Sieghild. They laughed and mocked the girl, adding vulgarities to their blasphemy, then crowded into Arnold’s cart. With a slap of the whip they disappeared into the darkening wood.
    Arnold groaned and covered his trembling sister. Stunned and ashamed, Sieghild stared vacantly from behind haunted eyes, then turned her face away.

     
    The next day, little Heinrich awakened just before dawn. He cried for his mother and, while Berta attended his needs, Kurt stood in his doorway, anxious and suddenly filled with dread. Sieghild had not yet returned from her journey, and the man sensed something was wrong. He stepped lightly past his trestle table and raised the hardwood latch of his door. The village was dark and smoky, the air heavy and clinging. He hurried to Baldric’s hoping for news, but, having none, he could do little else but report to his duties with the carpenters working in the nearby village of Oberbrechen.
    By the bells of nones, Kurt returned to Weyer and inquired again, only to learn nothing. Gravely concerned, he reluctantly marched to his fields that lay just north of the village. He arrived and stared mutely at the large stones that marked his strips. With a deep breath Kurt forced his attention to the fertile ground and calculated his hopes for the growing season ahead. Of his half-hide, half were in fallow and the rest would yield barely enough for a profit. He needed to keep about one third of the harvest for the next planting’s seed, another third for taxes, and only the last third would be his own. That final third needed to feed his family and leave enough to be sold for profit.
    Herwin, Kurt’s tenant, was clever and insisted that more manure would increase the yield. Unfortunately, Kurt owned no sheep or cows and would have to purchase it. Kurt preferred to argue, “the best fertilizer is the farmer’s foot.” He knew his