Inside its thick walls, Münster bustled with activity. The crowd pushed up against the cart, jostling it as they made their way through the main gate onto a broad thoroughfare, and Johan had to quiet Al-Buraq. Everywhere Johan looked, people were on the move. On every corner, merchants hawked bread and meat. Cattle, pigs, goats and chickens filled pens and cages and customers stopped to haggle prices with the vendors. Soldiers marched through the streets, their gold, red, and blue-striped banners snapping in the breeze.
Isabella sat next to Johan, her face alight as she took in the surrounding activity. Frederich and Magda walked with them, and as they drove along, a great stream of people moving like a river encircled them and drew them toward the center of the town. People were talking and laughing and all around them was motion, color and laughter. Johan stopped a man who was hurrying by their cart.
“Sir, do you know where can we find a house to live in?” He pointed to Isabella. “We are new in the city and I need a place for my wife. She’s expecting our first child.”
The man shook his head. “So many come to Münster.”
“Can you help us?”
He pointed to a large building a short distance away. A sign advertising gold and jewelry hung above the door. “Go see the man in that shop. He owns property all over the city. Now I must go.”
Frederich reached out and grabbed the man by the sleeve. “Where do you go in such a hurry, friend?”
“To hear Rothmann preach. He preaches every day in the square, against the Catholic Church, and the words are sweet to my ears.” Shaking loose from Frederich’s grasp he hurried on his way.
Isabella tugged on Johan’s sleeve. “Can we go hear him?”
Johan jumped down from the cart. “First, I must arrange for a place to stay and then we will go.” Johan walked across the street and into the shop. In about ten minutes he returned. He was smiling as he held up a key. “We are lucky. It seems they ran some Catholics out of town this morning and their house is now empty.”
The stream of people heading toward the square had grown in size, and the little group joined them. Johan took the lead rope and guided Al-Buraq through the crowd, speaking to him to keep him quiet. Soon they came to the great central square of the city. A towering cathedral dominated the skyline and a large platform stood on the paved area in front of the massive doors. A large crowd of laughing, shouting people pressed up against the platform. Johan stopped the cart at the edge of the crowd.
Soon a small man dressed in simple black garb with a trimmed beard stepped up on the platform and stood without speaking. From the whispers of the surrounding people, the travelers knew it was Rothmann. He held aloft a leather-bound book and the whispering and murmuring from the crowd trailed off.
Rothmann surveyed the crowd for a long moment and then he spoke. “This is the Bible, the inerrant Word of God. As the apostle Paul wrote, these Holy Scriptures alone are enough for reproof, correction and instruction in righteousness. Almighty God has given them to help true believers live without error, equipped for every good work. Since the apostasy first began through human writing and teaching, apostates have corrupted the divine Scriptures. Now the Almighty has declared we should destroy non-biblical writings, both new and old and cling only to the Holy Scriptures.”
A babble of voices arose and a woman in the back of the crowd shouted, “Amen.”
Rothmann raised his hands to quiet them and then continued. “Jesus was born of the Holy Spirit, yet the sinful nature Mary received from Adam did not taint the holy flesh that formed in her womb. Thus, Jesus was born sinless and lived sinless in thought, word and deed. That is why he could take the punishment for our sins on the cross, forgive us and make us children of God.”
Rothmann spoke with great power and his words fell on Johan like hammer strokes. He glanced over at Isabella. She was staring at the preacher but Johan could not tell what she was thinking.
A hum began in the crowd as people around them responded to the words.
“He’s right!”
“I never heard this before.”
“Amen, brother, amen!”
Rothmann raised his Bible again. “This book explains what I am trying in my humble way to make clear to you. Bear with me, brothers and sisters, while I try to open this heavenly Word to your eager hearts.”
A smattering of applause followed.
Rothmann opened the book and then lifted his hand and the applause ceased. He read. “For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body.” He looked up at the crowd. “This Bible says Christ’s church is a congregation of baptized believers—adults who choose immersion in full knowledge of their decision to follow Christ. The church is not a congregation of infants sprinkled with a few drops from a pagan fountain, the purpose being to add them to the tax rolls, but a group of believers baptized into one church by the Holy Spirit.”
At this, there was another burst of applause and then a swelling mix of “Amen” and “Hallelujah!” from the crowd.
Johan leaned over and whispered to Isabella, “He teaches the Anabaptist creed. He is not afraid.”
Rothmann put the Bible down and lifted both arms. “Anabaptism is strong in Holland and we who are Dutch know baptism means to immerse or dunk in water,” he shouted. “The Catholics ignore this directive from God and sprinkle babies rather than immerse adults, thus saving themselves the risk of soiling their costly robes.” The crowd roared with laughter, caught up now in the force of Rothmann’s preaching.
“Anabaptists choose of their own free will to follow Christ with their whole heart. They are the believing children of God. The Scriptures testify that faith comes through hearing and hearing from the Word of God. Jesus said that those who hear and receive the Word as if their soul is fertile soil would bear spiritual fruit as much as one-hundredfold. These are they who will build the true church.” The crowd was with Rothmann and shouts and yells of approval filled the square. Rothmann raised his voice again, and it cut through the hubbub like a knife.
“But you cannot build Christ’s church unless you preach the holy gospel. And what is this gospel?”
The crowd fell silent in expectation. Someone shouted from the back, “Tell us again!”
“Say these words after me,” Rothmann demanded. “Christ died for my sins according to the Scripture.”
“Christ died for my sins,” Johan whispered, “according to the Scripture.”
People all around them were responding. Beside him, Isabella also repeated the words.
Rothmann waited until everyone had spoken. “Christ was in the grave three days and three nights, according to the Scripture.”
The crowd answered. “Christ was in the grave three days and three nights, according to the Scripture.” A significant pause followed as though all heaven was holding its breath.
“Christ rose from the dead according to the Scripture, and the disciples and five-hundred others testified of the event. He is risen!”
People shouted and jumped up and down. “He is risen, He is risen, He is risen!”
Johan and Isabella shouted along with the crowd, “He is risen, He is risen!”
At last, Rothmann spoke again, and the crowd quieted. “My brothers and sisters, I have much more to say. In the days to come, I will tell you of many wondrous things of God. But now, his Spirit impresses upon my heart to ask those who receive and believe my words, are you baptized into the true church? Do you want to join today with those who are earthly citizens of heaven?”
All around Johan, people shouted, “Yes, we do! Yes, we do!”
“Then come, my people.” He motioned to them. “The elders of the city are waiting in St. Lambert’s Church with tanks of water. They will immerse you. Come, come I say, and join the heavenly throng around our gracious God’s throne.”
One by one, and then in small groups, onlookers left the crowd and walked the steps into the church.
Isabella leaned over and tugged Johan’s sleeve. “Johan, I want baptism, for they only sprinkled me as an infant. Please.”
Magda nodded. “I, too, wish baptism.”
He nodded and helped her down from the cart. He tied Al-Buraq to a nearby hitching post and, grasping the elbows of the two women, he let the flow of the crowd propel them toward the steps leading up to the cathedral’s open doors. At the bottom of the steps, Johan glanced around, looking for Frederich.
At first, he didn’t see him, but then, as the crowd parted, Johan saw him standing by the cart. Leaning on his sword, Frederich watched as the frenzy of the moment carried the bulk of the crowd toward the doors of the cathedral.
“Frederich,” Johan called, “come, come let them baptize you!”
Frederich smiled and shook his head. He pointed to the cart and mouthed the words, “I will stay and watch the horse.”
And then the people closed around Johan and the women, and the eager throng swept them up the steps and through the doors into the dark coolness of the ancient cathedral.
Later that evening, Johan and Frederich sat by the fireplace in a small house the shopkeeper had rented to them on Bridge Street, near where the River Aa flowed under the wall. Bella and Magda had gone to bed, and the two men sat in silence. Johan sipped beer from the stein he'd picked up at the market and Frederich smoked his pipe. Finally, Frederich grinned.
“So the former were Catholics, eh.” He looked around the room. “They left in such a hurry they could not take their furniture or their firewood, or even their food. It seems we arrived just in time.”
Johan looked around the room. It had taken a while to find the place after the baptism, but just at dusk they had pulled up in front. The house was old and small, crammed in between two larger, more ornate houses, but in the back there was a shed for the horse and a yard where they put the cart. Inside it was dark but comfortable and the fireplace worked. “I don’t mind inheriting their things. Serves them right. They were Catholics weren’t they?”
Aunt Elspeth’s crucifix stood on the mantle. The fire’s glow reflected from the window and gleamed off its golden surface. Johan took another sip of beer and then looked over at Frederich. “Why did you not go to the baptism, Frederich? Did you not find Rothmann’s words compelling?”
Frederich took a long pull on his pipe. “Yes, his words were compelling; too compelling.”
“What do you mean?”
Frederich drew long at the pipe again and then let the smoke out slowly. The white cloud hid his face. “Powerful men hold power over others, whether they’re great speakers, great soldiers or gifted scholars. Often they use that power to benefit only themselves. As a soldier, I have seen this many times, but Frankenhausen was the worst.” He paused, staring into the fire. “It is a sad tale.”
“Tell me the story, Frederich.”
Frederich sighed. “Ten years ago, a German named Thomas Müntzer preached that God wanted to set up a new world order, one where the aristocracy did not enslave the lower classes. This was during a time of social upheaval and widespread religious doubt, and his preaching rang true with many impoverished farmers and peasants. The nobles squelched scattered uprisings in southwestern Germany and Alsace in the past, but no major revolt occurred until Müntzer organized the peasants. His powerful preaching drew many to him.”
Johan peered at Frederich across the hearth. “Were you one of those peasants?”
Frederich shook his head. "No, I was a Landsknecht, a mercenary with a group from North Germany. Young and foolish, I thought the life of a soldier was romantic and glorious. Our masters paid us well and gave us the best weapons. No one could overcome us.
“I served in the household of George of Saxony. Spies reported that Müntzer was leading an army to the city of Frankenhausen to challenge the nobles. When he arrived, thousands of peasants joined him. They occupied the town hall and stormed the Count of Schwarzburg’s castle.
“We marched to the castle to meet them. On the night before the battle, several of us slipped into their camp disguised as peasants. Müntzer was preaching and goading the peasants to fight, great swelling words that hypnotized even me. But when I looked around, I realized that despite this man’s promises, the peasants didn’t have a chance. They had only pitchforks, farming tools and clubs, while we had swords, mounted cavalry and cannon. Their leader was sending them to their deaths.” Frederich closed his eyes.
Johan sipped his beer and waited. He dreaded what Frederich would say next, but the man was baring his soul and he knew he shouldn’t interrupt.
“In the morning, the Count of Schwarzburg demanded that the peasants leave his castle and turn over Müntzer. They refused, so we attacked—the blood and killing crazed our men. Seven thousand peasants died that day, yet throughout the battle, Müntzer stood on the parapet screaming at them, promising them victory. What they got instead was death. We had men among us who were like animals. They butchered the men, raped the women and impaled little children on pikes. One man in particular comes to mind, a man named Jügen Fromme. He earned the name ‘Butcher of Frankenhausen.’ What he did made me sick. I will never forget him.” Frederich paused and swallowed. “But it was not Fromme's doing that lead to the massacre. Müntzer sent them into a battle he knew was hopeless. Good men died, compelled only by words, and men revolted against authority, led by a rascal who used them only for self-gain.”
“What happened to Müntzer?”
“We captured him, tortured him, and then executed him. His powerful words came to nothing. Those gullible men gave their lives following his false teachings.”
Frederich stood and walked to the window. “After that, I left the mercenaries. I heard Michael Hoffman preach and decided my sword would be of better use defending him than killing helpless peasants.” He shook his head. “I am not a spiritual man, Johan—fighting is all I know. But one thing I have learned—never listen to the words of men who are using words to get you to do something for them if it will cost you but not them. Hoffmann convinced everyone to accept baptism today. What will he ask of you next? If you want to follow someone, follow Christ alone. That is why I did not go to the baptism today. I did not hear the voice of the Spirit, only the voice of a man.”