THE DAVINCI ECHO

2. Stranded!

 

Dolf Wega stood at the side of a hollow road. On either side he saw high banks, overgrown with trees, shrubs, grass, and flowers. To his left, the road sloped towards a bend. To his right, the road turned, and there was a bend there too, so he could see very little of his surroundings. He looked down at his feet and discovered he was standing on a flat rock. How convenient! Suddenly he dared to think again, though he barely dared to move. Because he could hardly believe it was true.

 

Still. He'd been transported, at least. Whether he was now also in another era, was still to discover. He glanced at his watch. It read two minutes past one. Was it going on time? 

 

He looked back at his feet, standing side by side on the stone. How perfectly they had aimed! Of all the possibilities, the best had emerged: a good landmark, easy to mark. He remembered the crayons, took them from his pocket, and bent down. Carefully, he drew a narrow circle around his feet, first with the yellow, then with the black. Then, satisfied, he put the crayons away and stepped off the stone. Now i have to pay close attention to where I’m going, he thought. I have to be able to find that stone in time. That large birch tree across from me is also a good landmark.

 

It was very warm, and though he was puffing in his lined jacket, he didn't dare take it off, even though he wore a thick gray sweater underneath. He also wore jeans, socks, and sturdy winter boots. It was simply ridiculous, considering it was the height of summer here. The sun beat down on his head. The unpaved road, covered in rocks and dust, blazed in the bright light.

 

'I seem to be on some kind of hillside,' he thought. 'Let's see where this road leads.'

 

He walked a short distance down the slope, the dust rising beneath his feet. He turned around the bend and suddenly he looked out over a valley with in the distance a city.

 

'That must be Montgivray,' he cheered. 'It's perfect! It's absolutely perfect!' 

For though the city was almost hidden by the heat haze, even at that distance he could see that it wasn't a modern town. He vaguely recognized towers and ramparts. Far below him, a kind of covered wagon was moving along the road toward the city gate. On the fields in the valley there were people working.

 

I'm in the Middle Ages, I'm standing in the middle of thirteenth-century France, he told himself, but it was almost unbelievable. He was just about to begin the further descent when he heard something. Behind him, far away. The clatter of hooves, shouts, a commotion. He looked around anxiously, but saw nothing. The bend hid the higher stretch of road from his view.

 

More shouting and clashing weapons- it sounded unsettling. 

Had two hostile knights met some distance up the hill on their way to the grand tournament and clashed?

 

'I have to see that,' Dolf muttered. 'As long as I make sure they don't see me.'

 

He ran back, ready to dive into the bushes at any moment. Just past the stone with the mark, he shot around the bend, and what he saw then, amid the billowing dust, made him forget all about hiding.

 

There was fighting, and it was fierce too! Two mounted men had ambushed a third man, who had apparently been riding a donkey. The donkey was braying in the bushes. The man, now on foot, brandished a huge club, yelling and roaring. The two mounted men wore brown overgarments, leather vests, and leather helmets. They were certainly not knights; their clumsy horses wore no saddlecloths and looked shabby and neglected. With swords that were clearly too blunt, they slashed at the man, who fiercely defended himself with his club. Just as Dolf spotted them, the donkey-guy managed to land such a powerful blow on the arm of one of his attackers that the sword flew from his hand and landed meters away in the dust. Still, it was an unequal fight, no matter how bravely the man fought. Dolf's blood began to boil.

'Highwaymen,' he muttered.

 

He lost all sense of caution, seeing the donkey-man was about to lose. Furious, he ripped the knife from his belt and charged forward. Right in front of him, he saw a leg spurring the horse. He stabbed, blinded with rage. A sharp cry above his head told him the knife had pierced the overjacket and ripped open the robber's thigh. Immediately, Dolf retracted the knife and stabbed upward wildly. The sword whipped toward him; he dodged to the side but still received a blow to the shoulder from its side.

 

However, the force of the blow was taken by the knife Dolf had raised, and the sword didn't penetrate his thick jacket, though he felt his shoulder and arm tingling. He stabbed at the leg again.

 

At that moment, the other robber was flung from his horse, screaming. Donkey-guy had pulled him off. Dolf's opponent, with his heavily bleeding leg, had turned his horse and tried to run him over, but Dolf had already jumped aside. The robber didn't rein in his horse to attack him again but continued riding, followed by the now riderless horse. A moment later, they were out of sight. The second robber still lay on the road, moaning. Then another crash, and all fell silent.

 

The fight was over.

 

Panting, Dolf sank into the dry grass beside the road, brushed the hair from his wet forehead, and stared in bewilderment at his hand holding the bloody knife.

 

'I cut him badly, I injured a human being,' the thought flashed through his mind.

 

Donkey-guy stood before him. He too was panting and wiping sweat from his face. He said something, but Dolf didn't understand. He didn't even bother to try, he was too distraught. Now that the fight was over, the clarity came. He was so ashamed; he could have cried. His left shoulder burned like fire.

 

Donkey-guy seemed to catch his breath. He ran off to catch his donkey. Then he tied the animal to a tree and walked over to the motionless figure of the robber, still lying across the road. He kicked the body fiercely.

 

Dolf froze when he saw it. The robber was dead. Beaten to death by that awesome club of donkey-guy’s. The boy shuddered.

 

When the man beckoned him, he stood up stiffly. He clutched his left arm, fearing something was broken, but it didn't seem so bad.

 

Donkey-guy grabbed the dead robber by the head and motioned for Dolf to grab his legs. Together they dragged him to the side of the road.

 

Then they looked at each other for a moment, and the donkey-guy smiled. Dolf realized he didn't have to be afraid of him. He had saved the man's life, after all! Besides, the medieval man wasn't being hostile towards him at all. He spoke again, and for a moment Dolf thought he heard a word that sounded like 'thanks.'

 

The man untied the donkey and beckoned Dolf to follow him. He was only too happy to do so, because in this place, walking alone seemed to be extremely dangerous. Imagine if that escaped robber had gone to get help or something!

 

Instead of heading into town, the man turned off onto a side path a few hundred meters further, leading to a grassy spot on the hillside. From there, they had a panoramic view of the valley and the town in the distance. Around them, birds sang with all their might. Hawks circled high above their heads. The air was warm, fragrant, and pure. Dolf suddenly felt as if he were on vacation. Donkey-guy took some bread and dried meat from his travel bag and offered Dolf some as well. They sat down in the grass and began picknicking.

 

The bread tasted incredibly good. The meat made Dolf look up in surprise at the first mouthful. He couldn't tell if it was sheep or pork, but it tasted... it tasted wild! He couldn't think of another word for it. Donkey guy said nothing more; he was eating too. With strong white teeth, he bit into the bread and tore off chunks of meat. He took occasional sips from a leather flask, and handed it to Dolf. Dolf drank from it. The flask seemed to contain diluted wine; the liquid tasted slightly sour and tingly, and immediately quenched his thirst.

 

His shoulder still ached, but it was already easing. He began to feel so good that he finally dared to take off his jacket. He saw the man looking at his sweater and jeans in amazement. Only now did Dolf realize that the other was still a young man. He had long, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, and tanned skin. He was dressed in a green robe with a leather belt around his waist, from which hung a scabbard with a short dagger. He also wore brown boots, and beside him lay a hat, or something more like a tall, green cap. Dolf thought he looked very hip, like a somewhat strangely dressed student from the University of Amsterdam. 

 

They had finished eating. Donkey guy looked straight at Dolf, then pointed to his own chest.

 

'Leonardo,' he introduced himself. 'Leonardo Fibonacci da Pisa.'

 

'Pisa?' Dolf stammered in surprise. He was afraid he hadn't heard it correctly. But the other nodded. Dolf felt that now he was also expected to introduce himself. Apparently, your birthplace was immediately included. So he said, pointing to himself: 'Rudolf Wega of Amstelveen.'

 

At the same time, he realized he would have difficulties with the language. He didn't know any French, let alone Frankish! And he wasn't exactly fluent in Latin either...

 

Leonardo now began to speak rather rapidly, and Dolf's ears started to ring. 

He immediately understood that this wasn't Old French, nor Italian. It sounded a bit like Dutch and German, and yet it was very different.

 

'Slow,' he exclaimed. 'I don't understand it that way.'

 

The other understood and began the same story again, now very slowly and emphatically, accompanied by many gestures. Dolf listened intently. Each time, he recognized a few words... It was Diets!

 

'That's like medieval Dutch,' a thought flashed through his mind. 'And it's not even that hard to follow when the guy speaks slowly.'

 

Indeed, he managed to understand Leonardo's words somewhat. He learned that the young man was a student, and that he had been studying for two years. He had apparently studied in Paris, and was now on his way to Bologna to complete his studies. He had been on the road for weeks and had encountered few difficulties until, less than an hour ago, he was suddenly attacked by two highwaymen who thought the lone traveler would be easy prey, but had not reckoned with Leonardo's formidable club, his agility, and the stranger's help, which arrived just in time, which was about all Dolf could glean from the story, with great difficulty.

 

Now, of course, the student expected the boy to tell something about himself. Dolf began to sweat. But he tried his best. Trying to pronounce the words as he had heard Leonardo, he explained that he was on his way to the great tournament of Duke Jean de Dampierre at Montgivray. He pointed to the town in the distance.

 

'Dampierre? Montgivray?' Leonardo asked, surprised. Dolf nodded and repeated the address. Again he pointed to the city sweltering in the heat.

 

'There. Montgivray.'

 

Leonardo shook his head.

 

'That's not Montgivray,' he seemed to say. 'That's Spier.'

 

Spier? Worried, Dolf pointed north.

 

'There then? Montgivray?'

 

Leonardo again shook his head decisively. He also pointed north. 

 

'There lies Worms'

 

Dolf's jaw dropped. That couldn't be right. Worms was a city in Germany. On the Rhine. And that Spier down there, was that also...?

Startled, he shaded his eyes and peered at the city. It lay in a haze of heat and was only vaguely discernible. But gradually, Dolf began to believe he saw a church towering above everything else. He even thought he recognized its shape. Three years earlier, he had been in Speyer with his parents, on their way to Switzerland. He remembered a bustling city, with plenty of industry, a magnificent bridge over the Rhine, wide access roads, and above all, the magnificent cathedral, part of which dated back to the twelfth century. Was that the same church? Were Speyer and Spier the same city? But then he wasn't in France, then he would be in Germany! No, that was impossible. Behind the city he saw something glistening that looked like a wide, silver ribbon. A river.

 

He pointed to it.

 

'Is that the Rhine?'

 

Leonardo nodded. 'Oh dear,' Dolf thought, 'I've come to the wrong place.' He turned abruptly to the student.

 

What year is it?

 

'1212.'

 

So that was okay.

 

'The date?'

 

י?י

 

'What day of the month?'

 

Finally Leonardo understood him.

 

'Saint John’s.'

 

Dolf still didn't know anything, but he didn't dare ask further. He could already see Leonardo's curiosity beginning to turn into distrust.

 

'Saint John,' muttered the student. 'Magic Night...'

 

Dolf didn't understand it. He tried again.

 

'What day of the month is it then?'

 

'The twenty-fourth,' Leonardo said, surprised that Dolf didn't know. The boy was silent. He thought. Ten days difference! Had the computer made a mistake? Or was there a difference in chronological order between his century and this one? He decided to find out exactly what happened once he was back in his own time. Suddenly, he heard the student ask:

 

'Where do you come from?'

 

The boy understood that.

 

'From Amstelveen.'

 

Leonardo shrugged.

 

'That's in Holland,' Dolf explained.

 

'Aha... You're from Holland?'

 

'Yes.'

 

'Why can't you understand me then? In Holland they also speak Dutch? Or do you only know dialect?

 

Gosh, it's all so difficult, Dolf thought uneasily. Much more difficult than I'd expected. He sighed and tried to remember what he knew about the Middle Ages. Everyone was Catholic. A struggle for power between Germanian emperors and the Pope. The construction of mighty cathedrals, like the one down there: the Cathedral of Speyer. Unsafe roads, difficult connections, crusades, tournaments, feuds between princes and knights. Science was still in its infancy, and therefore a lot of superstition. People carried devil-deterrents, made the sign of the cross for every little thing, and if something went wrong, they blamed it on the devil. Despite the dangers there was much travel on the roads and seas. 

 

He looked up and saw two brown rabbits on their hind legs watching him. He heard Leonardo laugh, saw him throw a fistful of dirt at them.

 

And behind him, in the trees and bushes, birds chirped. How beautiful the land around him was! Pristine, radiating beauty in the summer sun. Along the slopes and in the wide valley, dissected by the river, lay fields and orchards where people were working. No hum of cars, no screeching of airplanes. No stench of exhaust fumes or factories. Dolf suddenly felt tears in his eyes. Where had this beautiful world gone in the twentieth century?

 

Slowly he said to Leonardo:

 

'Don't distrust me, my friend. I'm just a regular guy who’s lost. I'm a student too.'

 

'So you know Latin then?'

 

'Not very well.'

 

'What do you know then? Mathematics?'

 

'Yes,' Dolf said, relieved. He wasn't particularly fond of math, but he suspected he wouldn't be outdone by a medieval person.

 

He casually glanced at his watch. An hour and a half had already passed. Since he wouldn't be able to attend a tournament anyway because he'd ended up in the wrong place, it would be nice to get a closer look at that city down there.

 

But Leonardo had discovered a sandy spot and drew Dolf there.

 

With a dead twig, the man drew a few figures: a triangle, a parallelogram. Dolf chuckled, took the twig, and drew a cone, a square, a pyramid. Then they shook hands warmly. They had found each other.

 

For the first time in his life, Dolf regretted not knowing more than the rudiments of mathematics. As a joke, he wrote down the Pythagorean theorem in the sand: a² + b² = c². For a moment, this seemed to puzzle Leonardo. He pointed questioningly to the numbers. 'Oh, he's calculating with Roman numerals, of course,' Dolf thought, startled. He quickly erased everything and began writing the Roman numerals from I to X, and underneath them the Arabic numerals: 1, 2, 3, etc., up to 10. Leonardo was immediately enthusiastic.

 

'Those are Eastern signs,' he shouted.

 

Dolf nodded.

 

'Yes, we always use those. It's easier to calculate with them than with the Roman.'

 

Did the student understand? At least he understood what Dolf meant.

 

'I've heard of them, but I don't know them. Show me.'

 

They moved to yet another spot with more sand, and Dolf began. For a while, he taught the medieval wandering student basic elementary school arithmetic. Leonardo proved quick-witted, but Dolf repeatedly stumbled over the unfamiliar language. The use of zero, in particular, seemed to send the student into a frenzy.

 

Time flew by.

 

'Where did you learn that?' asked the Italian.

 

'At school, in Holland.'

 

'That's impossible,' Leonardo exclaimed. 'Holland is full of barbarians, stupid knights, and even stupider clergy, who barely know Latin. They don't even have a university.'

 

Dolf began to feel restless again. He surreptitiously glanced at his watch and was startled. Four-thirty! With all that calculating and trying to make himself understood in that strange half-Dutch, half-German dialect, he'd completely lost track of the time. Now he wouldn't have the chance to see that magnificent medieval city down there. He'd wasted his four hours of time travel chatting, doing sums, even fighting... And what did he have to give Dr. Kneveltoer as proof that he'd really been in the thirteenth century, in the hills above Speyer-by-the-Rhine? But that Leonardo was such a fascinating young man!

 

He stood up, brushed the sand from his pants, and grabbed his jacket. 'I have to go,' he said wearily.

 

Leonardo, too, had gotten to his feet.

 

'Why? Where are you going? Let's stay together,' he said.

 

Dolf shook his head dejectedly. Whenever he felt shy, he put his hands in his pockets. This time too. His fingers met the crayons. He didn't need them anymore, and Leonardo would be happy with them, he hoped.

 

'Here,' he said, offering the student both sticks. 'Take that, as a farewell gift. You can write with it.'

 

Did the young man understand? He stared at Dolf, then looked at his hand, tentatively touching the markers with one finger. Dolf looked around, picked up a stone, and gave it a swipe with the black crayon. 'See? Take them, out of friendship.'

 

Leonardo beamed. He nodded, reached for his neck, and took off the thin cord he wore as a necklace. A pendant dangled from the cord: an enameled image of the Virgin Mary. He pressed it into Dolf's hand as he accepted the crayons.

 

Dolf was so pleased with this exchange of gifts (a thirteenth-century pendant—imagine how surprised Dr. Kneveltoer would be) that he brought the pendant to his lips. Leonardo observed the gesture with satisfaction. Then they shook hands.

 

Dolf hung the rope around his neck, under his sweater, pulled on his jacket, waved goodbye, and ran off up the slope. Beyond it, that white, dusty road must have been. It was a quarter to five; he still had plenty of time to reach the finish line and wait patiently to be flashed back to the twentieth century.

 

But when he crested the hill and expected to see the sunken road below, he froze in fear. Only now did the sound he had been hearing for a while, without actually hearing it, register. Children's voices, singing perfectly. Through them, the dragging sound of thousands of children's feet, stirring the dust of the road. Stunned, he looked down from the heights at an endless number of cobblestones that hid the road from his view. A procession of children passed by, of singing, walking children—hundreds! No, thousands! Their number was endless. He saw nothing but children marching along, filling the road from one bank to the other. He looked to his right, all the way to the bend. Nothing but children walking along, singing. A procession for St. John's Day? But he needed to find the spot! Immediately! On the empty road, the landmark had been clearly visible. But he had to find the stone again. Now, under those countless children's feet and the billowing dust, he could no longer see it.

 

And they didn't look up or around. They just walked downhill, toward Speyer. Where did they come from? Was Speyer already such a large city that children could be found in thousands? Had they been on a trip or a pilgrimage?

 

Countless questions and no time to search for the answer. He couldn't just stand there; he had to find the stone quickly. Nervously, he descended further. Some distance to the right, he recognized the young birch tree he'd first seen when he opened his eyes after the flash. The stone lay directly opposite. He went towards it, his heart pounding, suddenly terrified. If only those children would just move aside! If only they'd let him through...

 

But the sunken road didn't offer enough room. They tried to make way for the big boy, who was trying to elbow his way against the current with his knees and elbows, but they were also being pushed forward by the rows of children behind them, so that they were in danger of falling.

 

Small hands clung to Dolf's arms and back. Thin bodies bumped against him. He stepped on a bare foot and heard a cry of pain.

 

The stone! Where was the stone? He looked around desperately. At the top of the embankment, he saw Leonardo, also looking down in astonishment at the stream of children that continued to flow onward. The student beckoned him, but Dolf didn't respond. He continued to struggle against the wire to reach the birch tree, because the stone had to be there somewhere. And he was close.

 

A large boy pushed him. A few girls held his arms to keep from falling. Another boy, dressed in gray rags, suddenly jumped onto a platform and waved his arms wildly. He shouted something unintelligible. Dolf suddenly realized that the boy was standing on the stone. The children streaming past looked up, pointed at the boy, and laughed at him. Some shouted something cheerful back. Dolf was being tugged, pushed, and had to brace himself to avoid being dragged away.

 

'Let me through!' he yelled over the sea of ​​cobblestones. 'Hey, there, get out of here! I have to stand over there.'

 

The boy on the stone danced and grimaced. He was putting on a show. The children who flowed by cheered him on; many stood still, bracing themselves like Dolf. They stood like a wall between Dolf and the boy. Dolf, completely panicked, punched, hit, and kicked. A few children screamed and recoiled from the stone. Dolf looked up. The stone was empty, and in the place where the greasy circles had just been so clearly defined was now a faint hollow. With a leap, Dolf was on it. Motionless, with his heart threatening to burst out of his chest and his throat constricted with fear, he stood there. And desperately, he began to count again:

 

Five, six, seven, just to avoid thinking. To avoid letting the question 'Where has that boy gone?' enter his mind. He closed his eyes.

 

...twenty-three, twenty-four- he jumped down, I saw it- twenty-eight, twenty-nine- those kids were screaming because I pushed them, not because— thirty-five, thirty-six -That blow is coming soon forty-nine, that kid just jumped off and I'm back and I'm standing in Dr. Simiak's lab. Forty-eight,

 

He didn't dare look at his watch, he didn't dare move, and above all he didn't dare admit that he had seen what he had seen: how a thirteenth-century boy, who had been dancing on the stone, had suddenly been gone. He hadn't arrived too late.

 

But no matter how hard Dolf tried to erase what he'd seen before his eyes, deep in his mind, there was the absolute certainty that it had been that boy who had been flashed away. And that for him, Dolf Wega, it was too late.

 

Suddenly, Dr. Simiak's voice boomed in his ears, explaining, 'And if it fails—I mean, if you're not here at the right time—you'll spend the rest of your life wandering around in the wrong era. Then you'll be lost to us.'

 

Dolf took a deep breath, steeled himself, opened his eyes, and looked at his watch. Six minutes past five. He stood there, still hoping against hope. The minutes crept by slowly, but nothing happened. Now he knew: I'm stranded, I've missed my chance. My only chance... Slowly, the shock of fear and disappointment ebbed from his mind. He began to think regularly again. He was still standing on the rock, on the newly formed cavity, and he knew what had caused it. Dr. Kneveltoer hadn't dared to take any risks and had pushed the material transmitter to its limit. The device would now be out of service for at least several months.

 

Exhausted and utterly bewildered, Dolf sank down and, with barely perceptible eyes, watched the children still walking by. Much slower now, with large gaps in their ranks. Deathly tired, no longer able to sing, joke, laugh, or even pray, they shuffled past him. Dolf watched them, and what he saw barely registered. They kept trickling past, and most of these stragglers were girls, or very small children, with dirty, thin faces, dressed in rags. Then nothing again for a while, and then another group, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, dragging themselves along in bare feet and without even the energy to say anything. Dolf saw a child fall, about six years old. It was crying. A slightly older child picked it up and pulled it along. Then suddenly, a boy walked proudly forward. He was beautifully dressed, with soft boots on his feet and a dagger in his silver-studded belt; he was as pretty as a picture. He dragged an exhausted little one along with him in each hand, chatting cheerfully with them. Then came the ragged wretches again, limping, crying, and stumbling with exhaustion.

 

Where did all these children come from, where were they going? What did this endless procession, which kept trickling along, mean? Before his eyes, another child stumbled, uncared for, not picked up by anyone and lying motionless. Slop, slop, slop, the bare feet of the others slid past. Suddenly, Dolf couldn't bear it anymore. He didn't want to see a child lying on the road, not far from the spot where a robber had died a few hours earlier. He jumped up, rushed forward, bent over the girl, and hoisted her to her feet. When he saw her face, he was shocked. Her eyes were closed and sunken in their sockets. Her cheeks were hollowed out. She weighed almost nothing. Was she still alive?

 

He looked around in despair. Only a few children passed him, staring, shifting their feet as if automatically, completely dazed by hunger and exhaustion. What was he to do with this unconscious child in his arms?

 

Suddenly Leonardo was there again, followed by his faithful donkey.

 

'She's dying!' Dolf shouted at him, completely distraught. Leonardo grabbed the egg-thin wrist, then dropped it again.

 

'She's dead,' he said sadly.

 

Slowly, Dolf let the child’s body slide from his arms.

 

'Why?' Tears ran down his cheeks. 'What’s even going on here? Where are all these children supposed to go?'

 

Leonardo didn't answer. He dragged the dead child from the road and placed it under the bushes. He piously folded his hands over its chest, made the sign of the cross over the corpse, muttered a prayer, and began piling stones on top of the little body. Dolf knelt beside him and helped out. Behind him he heard the continuous shuffle, shuffle, shuffle of more children. 

 

Was there no end to the procession? How many children still followed, those who were actually too sick and exhausted to move? 

Leonardo stood up.

 

'It's getting late. We'd better head into town. Although I'm afraid they'll keep the gates closed tonight.'

 

Dolf was already getting used to the language and understanding it reasonably well. However, he hadn't received any answers to his questions.

 

'Who are these children?' he persisted.

 

Leonardo shook his head. He, too, was clearly impressed. 'Those children... I've heard about them. It's the Children's Crusade.'

 

'What?'

 

'They are on their way to the Holy Land, to take Jerusalem back from the godless.'

 

Dolf stared at him with his mouth open.

 

'Those... those little ones?'

 

Leonardo nodded.

 

'You mean those kids want to fight the Turks?'

 

Leonardo looked sadly at the pile of stones under which the dead girl lay.

 

'But how do they expect to do that?' Dolf yawned, momentarily forgetting his own misery. 'I've seen little ones there, no older than six or seven. What kind of crusade is that? It can't be...'

 

He didn't know if Leonardo had understood him, but at last he got something of an answer.

 

'It's a Children's Crusade. There was something similar in France, but there weren't this many. I've heard about it...'

 

'I don't understand,' Dolf stammered.

 

'No, me neither. When I first heard about it I didn't want to believe it. But now I've seen it.

 

'No,' said Dolf. 'I'm dreaming. It's a bad dream. I'll wake up soon and be glad it wasn't true. A children's crusade... that's too crazy to even think about. A crusade is men's work; it's done by knights on horseback, wearing armor. Not children.'

 

Leonardo remained silent. He grabbed his donkey by the reins and began to walk. Dolf, suddenly afraid of being alone in this incomprehensible world, followed him. They overtook a small boy, who hobbled along with difficulty on bare, bleeding feet. Leonardo said nothing, but he picked up the little boy and placed him on the donkey's back. A moment later, he plucked a sobbing girl from the roadside and placed her behind the little boy. Still, he didn't speak a word. Neither did Dolf. But his heart filled with a warm feeling, as if the hot tears he was suppressing were pooling in his chest. That strange student, who had remained so indifferent to the death of a robber, who calmly dragged a dead girl to the side of the road and buried her, that same student cared for the pitiful survivors. Dolf glanced to the side for a moment, at the other man's stern face. Then, however, he hardly dared to use his eyes again, for he thought he saw another dead child, staring with broken eyes at a merciless sky.

 

Thus they continued their way in silence to the city of Speyer, where the church bells rang as the gates closed.