‘What are you doing here?’ he asked a group of about six boys, none of them more than twelve years old. ‘Where are your parents?’

They did not answer him immediately, but solemnly crossed themselves. ‘My Father is in heaven,’ one of them said.

‘Well, God bless you,’ Freize said, assuming that they were a party of begging orphans, travelling together for safety. He crossed the yard and went into the inn through the kitchen door, where the landlady was lifting half a dozen good-sized loaves of rough rye bread from the oven.

‘Smells good,’ Freize said appreciatively.

‘Get out of the way,’ she returned. ‘There is nothing for you until breakfast.’

He laughed and went on to the small stone hall at the entrance of the inn and found Luca and Brother Peter talking with the innkeeper.

Luca turned as he heard Freize’s step. ‘Oh, there you are. Are there many people outside?’ he asked.

‘It’s getting crowded,’ Freize replied. ‘Is it a fair or something?’

‘It’s a crusade,’ the innkeeper explained. ‘And we’re going to have to feed them somehow and get them on their way.’

‘Is that what it is? Your wife said yesterday that she was expecting some pilgrims,’ Freize volunteered.

‘Pilgrims!’ the man exclaimed. ‘Aye, for that was all that someone told us. But now they are starting to come into town and they say there are hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. It’s no ordinary pilgrimage, for they travel all together as an army will march. It’s a crusade.’

‘Where are they going?’ Brother Peter asked.

The innkeeper shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Their leader walks with them. He must have some idea. I have to go and fetch the priest; he will have to see that they are housed and fed. I’ll have to tell the lord of the manor; he’ll want to see them moved on. They can’t come here, and besides, half of them have no money at all; they’re begging their way along the road.’

‘If they are in the service of God then He will guide them,’ Brother Peter said devoutly. ‘I’ll come with you to the priest and make sure that he understands that he must offer them hospitality.’

Luca said to Freize, ‘Let’s take a look outside. I heard they are going to Jerusalem.’

The two young men stepped out of the front door of the inn and found the quayside now crowded with boys and girls, some of them barefoot, some of them dressed in little more than rags, all of them travel-stained and weary. Most were seated, exhausted, on the cobblestones; some of them stood looking out to sea. None were older than sixteen, some as young as six or seven, and more of them were coming in through the town gate all the time, as the gatekeeper watched in bewilderment, racking his brains for an excuse to close the gate and shut them out.

‘God save us!’ Freize exclaimed. ‘What’s going on here? They’re all children.’