Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [91]
Dietrich thought about the gargoyles and monsters that adorned the walls of St. Catherine’s. “You may frighten these men, but they will not run. You will perish.”
“Then, likewise, we will not feel the cold.”
Dietrich was running already down Church Hill, a winter cloak drawn around his shoulders. “There may yet be another way. Tell Gschert to hold a white banner aloft and, when Max confronts you, hold out empty hands. I will meet you at the wooden bridge.”
AND SO it was that the shivering band of two score Krenken—bundled in what hodgepodge of garments they could muster and escorted by Max’s trembling, round-eyed men—approached the lord of the Hochwald. The Herr Gschert, splendid in red sash and trousers, and a yellow vest too thin for the weather, stepped forward and, at Dietrich’s coaching, dropped to one knee with his shivering hands folded before him. Manfred, after the barest hesitation, enclosed those hands in his own, announcing to all who had dared draw near, “This … man … We declare Our vassal, to hold in fief the greater woods and to produce for Us charcoal and powder for the pots de fer and to teach the arts of his foreign land to Our men. In return, We grant him and his folk food and shelter, clothing and warmth, and the protection of Our strong, right arm.” And so saying, he drew his longsword and held it before him, pommel-up, to resemble a cross. “This We swear before God and the familia of Hof Hochwald.” Then Dietrich blessed the assembly and sprinkled them with the goldenhandled aspergum. Those villagers touched by the water crossed themselves, staring wide-eyed at the monsters. Some of the Krenken, noting the gesture, repeated it—to appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Dietrich blessed God for moving the Krenken to thoughtless mimicry.
He pressed the processional crucifix into the hands of Johann von Sterne. “Lead us slowly to the church,” Dietrich told him, “at a pace, thus.” And all set forth from the bridge and through the village to Church Hill. Dietrich followed the cross and Manfred and Gschert followed him. “May the Lord help us,” Manfred whispered for Dietrich’s ear.
The human heart finds comfort in ceremony. Manfred’s impromptu words, Gschert’s humble gesture, Dietrich’s blessing, the procession and cross tempered the dread in folk’s breasts, so that, for the most part, the Krenken were met by stunned silence and gaping mouths. Men clutched sword hilt or knife handle, or fell to their knees in the snow, but none dared speak against what lord and pastor had so clearly countenanced. A few shrieks pierced the still, cold air, and some clumped awkwardly through the snow in a parody of flight. Doors slammed. Bars fell home.
More would flee were flight easier, Dietrich thought, and prayed for snow. Block the roads; choke the pathways; keep this monstrous advent contained in the Hochwald!
When the Krenken caught sight of the “wooden cathedral,” they chittered and pointed and paused to raise fotografik devices to capture images of the carvings. The procession bunched up short of the doors.
Someone shouted, “They fear to enter!” Then another cried, “Demons!” Manfred turned with his hand on his sword. “Get them inside, quickly,” he said to Dietrich.
While Dietrich chivvied the Krenken into the church, he told Hans, “When they see a red lamp, they are to genuflect before it. Do you understand? Tell them.”
The strategem worked. The villagers quieted once more when the creatures passed within and made obeisance to the True Presence. Dietrich dared relax, a little.
Hans stood beside him with the cross. “I have explained,” he said over the mikrofoneh. “When your overlord-from-the-sky comes again, we may yet be saved. Do you know when this befalls?”
“Neither the day nor the hour.”
“May he come soon,” Hans said. “May he come soon.”
Dietrich, surprised by the evident fervor, could only agree.
WHEN VILLAGER and Krenk alike had crowded within the church, Dietrich ascended the pulpit and related all that had transpired since St. Sixtus Day. He described the strangers’ plight in