April 16th, 1521 Finally, nine days after leaving

airport the small two-wheeled oxcar rounds a bend and visible just ahead is the

city of Verse. Armstorf Elbow's his drowsy friend in the ribs and Luther

sits all-top right. Together they watch the city moving slowly into view. The

Roman fortifications, the twin circular towers of St. Peter's Cathedral, the

Rhine River glittering on the morning sun. Verms is an imperial free city

unfettered by the interference of local rulers and accountable only to the

holy Roman Emperor himself. Sturm, the imperial herald just ahead of them

signals to them both. A troop of Saxon knights are sent out by Luther's protector

Frederick the Wise to escort them into the city far more men at arms than

greeted them at airport. They enter the city gates at 10 a.m. This is unlike

anything they've seen on their 14-day journey from Vittenburg.

Thousands of people line the streets. Some are selling Luther's books, some run

alongside the wagon, some wave woodcuts of Luther others reach out to try and

touch up. Feeling self-conscious, Luther raises an awkward hand in

acknowledgement. God bless you, God bless you. But then a different sound begins

to emerge from the crowd echoing back and forth between the Stonewall

houses. Some in the crowd are chanting Bunchu, the name of the wooden clock

worn by the farmers. Over time the word has taken on a more ominous meaning. It

had become a rallying cry of the German peasantry, a cry of revolt.

Luther grips the edge of the cart. He wishes they would stop. The Emperor and

the Cardinals would be watching and listening. This stomach churns as the

...