The Scarlet Cross by Karleen Bradford Read Free Book Online Page A

shaking. He had to speak. Hereached into the pouch to feel the reassurance of the letter, then drew it out.
    “This…” he began. To his horror, the word came out as a squeak. Someone in the congregation staring up at him laughed. Stephen cleared his throat again. What to say? How to say it?
    Please, God, he prayed silently. Please, God. Most merciful Father. I want to do as you commanded me, but I know not how. Help me! Give me the words!
    “This…” he began again. “This is not a missive given to me by human hands.” His voice was still so weak that he was certain no one could hear him. He drew a deep breath and began yet again.
    “This letter was given to me by the Christ himself!”
    And with those words, came the belief, the certainty that this was true. All fear, all hesitation, vanished. He felt power thrilling into him—as though God were speaking through him. He straightened up to his full height and lifted his chin high. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He tossed it back with a shake of his head and looked straight into the forest of eyes staring up at him.
    “I come to speak to you, my brethren,” he cried. “You who are young, like me. I come to call you to follow me. I am commanded to lead a new crusade to the Holy Land. Another crusade to restore our sacred city of Jerusalem to Christianity, but not, this time, a crusade of men armed with swords. Those men failed. This time it will be a crusade of young people such as you and I—armed only with our faith. And we will not fail. Our faith will be so strong that the heathen will surrender before it!”
    Stephen looked out over the throng and saw that he had them in thrall. There was no more laughter. The young people in his audience fixed their gazes upon him without wavering. Their faces began to flush with enthusiasm as he spoke. He could see it happening!
    “It is we who will accomplish what those men failed to do,” he cried to them. “Follow me! Follow me and we will rescue Christendom itself! God wills it!”
    Stephen knew not how much longer he spoke, but when he finished he was weak and empty, drenched in sweat. He would have fallen then, if the two priests had not taken him by the arms and led him out of the church into Father Ber-trand’s own sleeping quarters. There, they sat him down and gave him a cup of wine, and he drank it. It was the first wine Stephen had ever tasted, and the warmth of it sent strength coursing back through his body. Then he heard a hum of noise swelling rapidly.
    “I have to go back,” he said and struggled to his feet.
    As soon as he reentered the church he was surrounded by the youths of the town. They clutched at his arms; they bar-raged him with questions. He could barely make himself heard above their voices. If some of the elders, the parents, were staring at him with stony, closed faces, he chose not to see them.
    “Follow me,” was all he could say. “Follow me and we will be the ones to return Jerusalem to the true faith. We will succeed where men have failed. I promise you.”
    And follow him some of them did. When he and Father Martin left town after a hasty midday meal, a small handful of boys came with them. Only a few. And only those without parents to hold them back. But it was a beginning.

CHAPTER SIX
    They did not journey far that day. Father Martin had broken bread with Father Bertrand before they left, but Stephen had not been able to eat or even to think of food. By early afternoon, however, his appetite had returned and he was ravenous. Three of the boys who accompanied them were very young, certainly under ten years. They dogged his heels like adoring puppies and chattered non-stop. The fourth was a boy whom Stephen judged to be about his own age. This boy hung back, as if uncertain about the decision he had made, and walked silently with a scowl on his face.
    “We will make camp for the night here,” Father Martin said when they reached the banks of a small stream. Clear