Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

The bridge to Edessa, 1220 AD

Elberhard strode into the officer’s mess and clapped Kurt Altman on the shoulder:

“So, you old @#$%^&!!!, you’re finally going to get a chance to rip those @#$%^&!!!s at Edessa a new @#$%^&!!!, eh?!?”

Kurt looked round at the young prince with the pained expression of Ernest, Henry’s guard dog, being tormented by an irritatingly energetic young puppy.

“Master Elberhard,” Kurt touched his forehead in deference. “Your father has not confided his plans in me, you’d best be talking to him yourself.”

Elberhard turned round a chair and sat astride it, grabbing a leg of mutton from the table.

“Oh, @#$%^&!!! The old @#$%^&!!!’s not going all quiet and mysterious again is he?” Elberhard groaned, in an exaggerated world weary drawl.

Kurt gritted his teeth. “I am not sure as I rightly know to what you are referring to, young Master.”

Elberhard guffawed, spraying half digested mutton over the table. “Don’t @#$%^&!!! me, Kurt! You know what they say: you can’t @#$%^&!!! a @#$%^&!!!er! That @#$%^&!!! Kolar, that’s what I’m @#$%^&!!!ing referring to, as if you did not know."

Kurt stolidly munched on his food in silence, not giving anything away. Elberhard eyed him up carefully and continued:

"Man, he was one sly, smart son of a @#$%^&!!! Plans within plans, schemes and cons played out over decades. And yet, you know what the strange thing is? All he ever did, he did for the Reich. You may question his methods, but the old @#$%^&!!!er was our @#$%^&!!!er.”

Then, lightly, like a puppy tiring of a reluctant adult playmate, Elberhard sprang up and looked about, as if ready to leave:

“Got any women, here, Kurt?”

“What?” blurted out Kurt in shock, then quickly, “I am sorry, Sir, what did you say?”

“Oh, I forgot, you all think you are still on a @#$%^&!!!ing crusade to save Christendom, don’t you?” Elberhard laughed. “Pity you had to send Dirk away - he was the only one of you @#$%^&!!!ers who was any fun!”

With that, Elberhard threw the half-eaten leg of mutton on the table and strode off in search of his father.

Kurt looked gave a wry smile to the earnest Teuton sitting next to him: “Thank God they elected the other son.”

*****

Henry was finishing the last part of his letter to King Otto:

Quote:

---

…I am far from convinced we should press the attack on Edessa in the face of the approach of the Mongols. The city is formidably garrisoned and will require a full army to garrison due to religious differences.

Everything seems to hinge on Damascus. While the Egyptian fortress at Gaza might seem to threaten Acre, Jerusalem may act as a protective buffer. During my term in office, small Egyptian forces crossed Jerusalem province en route for Damascus. More importantly, the Mongols are heading there. If unchecked, I believe they will then move on to Jerusalem.

For this reason, I do not believe we will have the option of fighting them from the safety of our walls. Rather I think we should use the short time we both have on this earth, and our ability as night fighters, to thin the Mongol horde down so that when the crusade arrives at Damascus, the odds will be in their favour.

…

---

Elberhard walked into the Kaiser’s tent and coughed awkwardly. Henry looked up at his second son, carefully scrutinising his every feature and mannerism: such unpromising material, so unlike his brother. Where Hans was quiet and contemplative, Elberhard was loud and thoughtless. Where Hans planned and acted, Elberhard partied and postured. Still, the young man had some redeeming qualities - bravery, a sense of justice, a promising strategist… perhaps something would come of him one day?

Henry stood up awkwardly and Elberhard rushed forward to embrace his reserved father.

“So” said Elberhard “Time for round two with that Egyptian - what was the @#$..., I mean, what was the chap called again?”

“Medhat Kafur, I believe his name was.” supplied Henry diffidently. “But no, that fellow will be your responsibility, I fear.”

“What? Never thought you’d walk away from a good fight, father!” joshed Elberhard.

Henry smiled: “My glory-hunting days are over. Duke Otto warned me I would have only a few years to run wild. They are over now. I have but one or two battles left in me. I do, however, intend them to count.”

Elberhard looked puzzled.

Henry continued: “You have no doubt read Athalwolf’s reports from Baghdad?”

“Athalwolf? Why, err… well, you know, I haven’t quite got around to …”

“They are coming, you know. Not here, at least Athalwolf thinks not, but to Damascus or perhaps even directly to Jerusalem. I cannot leave King Otto alone to try to fend them off.”

For once, Elberhard was still and quiet.

“I intend to strike them first, before they even set eyes on the Holy City. I have no expectation that I will prevail. But I will strike them such a blow, it will give them pause. I am contacting Duke Otto. I expect he will also make a stand - perhaps on the bridge to Jerusalem. When we two are done with them, my brother’s crusade will only have to pick up the pieces. And Christendom will be saved.”

Elberhard looked at his father, resignedly signing his letter to King Otto and putting it to one side. In a rare moment of insight, it seemed to Elberhard as if his father was signing off on all his earthly attachments. Elberhard’s stomach felt empty as he realised this was probably the last time he would ever see his father again. @#$%^&!!! this for a game of soldiers, thought Elberhard sadly: My father’s become a religious fanatic. I preferred it when Kolar was in charge.

1220, Stockholm

It was a dull night,broken only by howls of wind, the streets empty,beggers asleep amongst junk. A faint clippty clop broke the air occasionly, and a thud as wheels hit potholes.

In one of the houses of Stockholm,near the Prince's Lodgings, there was several Danish Rebels,all sitting around a table waiting for someone.

The door into the room opened silently, and in walked, no snuck, a man.

"We've been waiting for you Hugo" said one of the Rebels, the man,called Hugo, sat down opposite the only man sitting,the rest were standing.
"I was very quick, I nearly got caught!" exclaimed Hugo.
"I do not care,we're here to discuss...how to get you near the Prince" said the man, Hugo hissed.
"Do not say such things,in such company..." Hugo motioned to the men standing around them,all quite large. They flexed their muscles.
"There my bodyguards"
"Why do you need bodyguards? You are such a powerful man, good with weapons, you are ever so smart..." drawled Hugo, the man considered Dieter,
"Leave bodyguards, he is right" said the man. Dieter smiled inwardly,they never picked up on the flattering. Once the guards were gone, Hugo spoke,

"I am on a mission...from a unknown person, my master is currently residing North of Frankfurt" said Hugo, the Danish Rebel asked him to go on,
"I want to see the Prince, so we can prove he is alive"
"Is this possibly a mission from the German Emperor? Or perhaps your Imperial Diet?" asked the Danish Rebel, Hugo laughed,
"They think so, I was already moving here in 1214, no, I have not been taking orders from the Germans, but from another source..." said Hugo sneakily, the rebel eyed him suspicously,
"Who then..." wondered the rebel,
"Von Darm-!" Hugo was cut off as a bodyguard barged through the door,
"Sir! We've been tipped off from a source, some Danish Soldiers are coming to kill us!" said the bodyguard, outside there was panic as people ran like crazy, The Danish Rebel Leader looked at Hugo suspicously, but was convinced at Hugo's panicked look on his face,
"RuN! get as far away as you can!" said the Danish Rebel,
"You, Hugo, at 1 tomorrow the Prince has a afternoon nap, you can see he is alive then, now run!" yelled the Danish Rebel leader, and Hugo jumped through the window, and snuck off into a alley. It was all goign excellent...


North of Frankfurt, 1220 , the Site of the previous battle between Prince Jobst and the Danes

The pine trees waved in the midday sun, as gravel was crunched beneath feet. Birds chirped, as if to add tot he atmosphere. Pine cones littered the ground,some occasioly falling, as the sun blared from the sky.

But the day was not all peaceful, because amongst those peaceful trees layed hundreds of bodies, and a foul stench ruined the forests as crows feasted on dead flesh.

No living thing could sustain that stench, but standing amongst the hundreds of dead Danish and German bodies, was a man. Beside him stood a man.
"Fromt he looks we can't tell anything here..." said the man, he looked at the other man standing beside him,
"Can you...uh,sense anything Luka?" teased the man,
"Why Dieter, do you underestimate the powers of the Pagan Gods?" said the Pagan Magician Luka. The man called Dieter replied snappishly,
"Because I am no pagan Luka's, now where was I..." he drawled,
"Hugo better be done, he knows we are on a tight schedule, if we can find the Danish Prince at Stockholm, we can prove this was a fizzle" said Dieter. Luka stood straighter and observed the ground,
"Just there, one of Prinz Jobst's bodyguards, hm..." Luka's let out a gasp,
"And there is the Danish Family Member, but he is no prinz! Plus it looks as if he was slain by a Teutonic Knight!" said Luka, Dieter stood up and looked around, he spotted something at the edge of the forest. He pointed there,
"Why is there bodies there Luka...?" asked Dieter, the two men rushed over to the clearing and found,
"The two scouts, they were slain by the danes!" exclaimed Dieter,
"Which means..."
"That the Danish started this whole battle!"
Finally the mystery was solved, but not the problem...

Otuside Staufen,1220

Jobst was sitting in his command tent, going over the last few years events.
All the drama in the Diet, at least he still could command the EIA...

Luka's, his pagan magician came marching into the command tent, followed closely by a shorter person.
"Prinz Jobst, we just returned from the scene of battle,the battle which happened north of Frankfurt in 1218..."
"Yes Luka's,that one" said Jobst wearily,
"Along with me I brought the investigator... the German Offical Dieter Von Darmstadt" said Luka's, Dieter bowed,
"Mein prinz, I bring joyful news to you, we have confirmed your story, that your scouts were attacked first" said Dieter, Jobst grinned,
"Thankyou Dieter, you have my good will on your side." said Jobst,
"mein prinz,may I also discuss with you things my counterpart found in Stockholm, Hugo von Heidelbery has found...?" asked Dieter,
"Of course, Luka,leave us,tell Fritz too be ready, we leave for the Diet after I finished talking to Dieter" said Jobst,
"Yes,si-!" luka was cut off,
"May I accompy you mein prinz to the Diet?" asked Dieter, Jobst nodded.
Luka's scowled and left, and he found Fritz waiting by the door,
"He's coming soon, be ready to leave for Rome. And that spy Dieter is coming as well" said Luka, and he strode off.

Crash!!!

Arnold's longsword slammed into the Temple Knight's shield. His prodigious strength yet again took his opponent by surprise, the Knight was momentarily knocked back and stunned by the ferocity of Arnold's attack.

Taking immediate advantage, Arnold stepped inside his opponents sword arm and delivered a terrific blow with his shield knocking the Knight to the ground. As his opponent's breath exploded from his lungs at the fall, Arnold leaped after the Temple Knight, raising his sword for a massive overhand blow.

“ENOUGH!!”

The booming voice of the Temple Knight Commander rang across the courtyard of Ragusa Fortress.

“You've both been told not to use your real weapons when training!!”

Silence was the only response as the two combatants froze...the Temple Knight started crawling backwards away from the figure of Arnold towering above him. Arnold himself let his sword fall to his side, his face a conflict of chaos and control.

“Are you two in fact training!!??”

Again there was only silence. The Knight got to his feet, while Arnold's demeanor took on a more composed look.

“Tristan, go to the barracks and report to the Knight Lieutenant, explain what was going on, he will issue you with punishment!”

As the young Temple Knight left the courtyard the Commander strode into the courtyard to face the young Arnold.

“You should join...rather than taking your frustrations out on my younger knights Arnold!"

“I can not and you know why Commander. I'm waiting here until Jonas brings the Austrian House Army back from the east. Until I am knighted I can do nothing.” Arnold sheathed his sword in a fluid and practiced motion.

“I can knight you, as long as you pass our test” said the Commander. “You have mastered all aspects of military training...in theory of course”. The Commander grinned at Arnold's frustrated snort of agreement.

“A word of warning though. This is the last time you send another one of my novice knights to the infirmary. If you want to test your skill pick one of the veterans from the east. They will certainly give you a tougher test.”

They held each others gaze for a moment. The Commander broke his first. There was something unnerving about the young man. His father was a legend and was feared and respected beyond nearly all in Europe. As the Commander watched Arnold walk towards the the Great Hall, he recounted the times he had meet Duke Leopold. He concluded that Arnold certainly had the characteristics to follow in his fathers footsteps as the iron ruler of Austria.

As Arnold walked towards his quarters, Karl Brunner, the former Count of Venice and now adviser appeared in the doorway of the great hall.

“I see you are still conducting diplomatic relations with the Temple Knight detachment?” the grin on Karl's face clearly showed his amusement at the spectacle that just took place.

“God's knows where you acquired your speed and strength young Arnold...I'm positive my sword master Anton has taught you far too much of that Russian sword fighting technique. There's no skill at all, it's just brute strength.”

“Well it works merchant, and that's all I care about. Plus, I don't like that prat Tristan, I would have shoved my shield down his throat if the Commander had not stepped in.”

They continued inside the Fortress together, making there way to the large table dominating the centre of the great hall.

“So what are your thoughts regarding the Austrian House Army once you are knighted?” Karl glanced at Arnold while pouring them both a goblet of wine.

“I'm not sure;” replied Arnold taking a sip. While holding his cup to cover most of his face he gazed at the two von Mahren girls across the other side of the hall. They were both pretty, but it would certainly be bad form to relieve his frustrations with either of them, especially as the family had just joined the House. Plus he didn't feel like fighting with either of the brother's. He cast the thought away and focused back on Karl, who was observing him with a raised eyebrow.

“You know it looks very obvious Arnold, you should stick with the pretty serving girls until your father selects a bride or god forbid you fall in love. Nobility and their daughters are never simple affairs.”

“Your right Karl, plus I don't want to upset my father. He has worked long and hard to integrate the von Mahren's into the House. If I was to destroy all that in one night, I'm sure he would come back and tear me apart and everyone else for that matter.” Arnold stood and started up stairs.

“I'm going to have a bath. IF, anything happens, and I'm sure there wont, then I'll be in my quarters until supper.”

Making his way through the Fortress he wondered when his life would really begin. Years of training, books, languages, military history, trade...he had learnt it all, and for what? To rule Austria, to become Chancellor perhaps?

Once inside his chambers, the servants stripped off his armour and weapons. After some time he was left alone and sat at his desk. He began re-read his most recent correspondence.

Yes he realised, things had changed, he had a purpose now, recent events had crystallized everything. He now had direction and all the uncertainty was flowing away with every passing day.

All he knew right now was the burning desire to go into battle, meet the enemy face to face, and utterly crush his opponent. With that step complete he could begin his march towards fate and destiny.

Frankfurt,1222
Part I
The sun was shining like a newly cracked egg, the sky like a drying painting. Life below could not be described like that though.

It was midday in Frankfurt, the market crowds were out,noise and cahos the surpreme rulers on market days. Pigs oinked,roosters crowed and people babbled.

On the third floor of a large house, standing at the window, was a German Spy,Hugo Heidelberg. He was waiting for someone to join him, for an important matter.

He let out a sigh of recognition, then sneaking through the larges crowds was his counter part, and the organiser of the whole thing. Hugo sat down on the window still, waiting for the person to come in.

The door banged open,
"mein master, you are finnaly here" said Hugo, the man,supposedly Hugo's master,let out a spulttering cough,
"It took longer to get away from them then I thought, had to escape some of those dogs..." wondered the man aloud,
"Now to matters mein master, he..." Hugo was cut off.
"Shut up! Don't you dare speak aloud,windows open" He slammed the window shut "Curtains open!" he ripped the curtains shut "And doors unlocked and empty!" He slammed the door shut and locked it, the room was now very dark, and no noise could be heard except the two men's breathing.
"At least a candle?" asked Hugo,
"Nothing!" snarled the man. Hugo accepted it and sat down at a table.

"So did the bribe work mein lord?" asked Hugo, the man nodded, his face in the dark.
"Those Danes couldn't get over it, I raised that money at the city, and gave it, they agreed to send a massive one..." drawled the man.
"Excellent mein lord..."
"Now we have to clear up this mess, at least it all worked, they didn't see anything,Luka reported it all, the bodies misplaced, the armies supposedly meeting, ha!" laughed the man.
"And today, the loose ends meet, and it all starts!" exclaimed Hugo, the man nodded and leaned forward.
"He shall be suspicous, but order it all anyway, now go, tell them to head off and wait! Let him be the ambushed!" claimed the man, and Hugo got up,unlocked the door and ran off.
"Today, it begins"
OOC:
Part II cooming up soon.

A strong breeze tugged at the tentflaps and made them flail, the two guards standing beside the entrance tried to huddle deeper into their coats. Inside a single brazier gave little illumination and not close to enough warmth for the three men occupying it.

One, a large bald man with broad shoulders was pacing slowly through the room. A second, younger man, wiry and thin was sitting on a stool perching over a piece of pergament, while the third man, a grizzled old veteran, stood silently to attention.

"This will be a glorious chapter, mein Herr! The Holy Crusade, I can't wait until you enter the city of Damascus gloriously. I have already prepared several versions of it in advance. It will be my masterpiece. Do you want to hear this third version of mine, I like it best so far..."

"Hush you fool!" The old veteran spoke, but the pacing man held up a hand. "Leave him be, Rainer. Let him write his stories."

"As you wish, my Duke!" replied the veteran stiffly.

Leopold was pacing through his tent, mainly to help him think, but also to get some movement in his stiff joints. He could feel himself becoming older. Who could have foreseen that the nights in this country could be so cold. By day the sun nearly melted your brain and by night it was hard not to shiver.
Finally he turned on the scribe, who jolted upright at the sudden attention.

"I wouldn't be so sure about me entering Damascus. If you write in advance, maybe you should prepare for some different endings as well. You have heard the news. The Mongols are besieging Damascus and have brought a force that far outnumbers us."

"I am sure you will be able to defeat them, my Lord! You always do. Nobody stands a chance against our armies. The Austrian Household Army has never lost."

Leopold gave a snort of contempt and began pacing again. The man was right though. He had never lost a battle, now had he? But then his enemies had been Rebels, Hungarians, Venetians, and he had been head of the Austrian Household Army. Now he was commanding a band of Crusaders. Men that followed him, because they believed in some pious mission. He knew what he would have done with the Austrian Army at his back. Wait for the Mongols to deplete their forces against the Egyptian defenders and then move in for the kill. Maybe deplete their ranks through nightly raids.
But this was different. The men would not sit idly by, while some barbarians took their prized objective. They had come to conquer Damascus, and conquer it they would. No backing down, no strategical maneuvering. You went towards the enemy and fought it out, square and fair.

He couldn't believe his own thoughts! Now he sounded just like Sigismund. Maybe this Crusade had changed him though. There must be a reason why his brother Henry was now hailed as Henry the Chivalrous, although he had never shown much inclination before he left. Maybe as a Crusader you had to do things differently. You presented Christendom after all. And while you may well be a sneaky bastard you couldn't act like one, that just wouldn't sit well with the Pope, or Emperor Henry and the Diet for that matter.

And for his enemies, these were no minor European powers. This were savage barbarians from the Steppe to the East. Horse Lords, they were called. Many a foe had fallen against them and it was murmured that they're Empire stretched expanses that no European mind could imagine. The had sent their best generals to conquer all of Christendom before them, and they would not be stopped easily.

Once again Leopold stopped in his steps. He knew what he had to do. He had known it all along. He was not getting any younger, and he had always wanted die in battle. He had known that the Mongols would await him and now he had his chance before him. To prove whether those Raiders from the East really were such formidable foes as everybody made them out to be. And also to find out whether he had really earned his reputation of being the greatest general of the Reich, he added wryly.

"Rainer, my trusted friend. We have been through a lot together and it looks like soon our fates will be decided. I have one final thing I ask from you." The old veteran only nodded.

"If I die, take my sword and bring it to my son Arnold."

"Die? What do you mean die?" exclaimed the Biographer from his stool in the corner.

"Hush you fool!" Leopold turns back to Rainer "Tell him, tell him to remember his father. And now go get me Karl Zirn. I have to talk with him and then I will have to speak to the Crusader Council."

"Jawohl mein Herr!" Rainer bows and leaves the tent immediately. With a thin smile on his lips Leopold turns to the scrawny man sitting in the corner.

"Well, go ahead already. Write your stories, write a lot of them. If I should die, I want nothing less than the best version you got, understand?"

Outside of Damascus, 1228

The Second Holy Crusade had arrived in Outremer to much cheering and jubiliation. After months of hellish walking, riding, and sailing the Imperial Crusaders had finally arrived at Damascus and salvation. However, there was a slight complication:

Three large armies of the same people that the Crusade was designed to protect the Holy Land against had arrived at Damascus first.

And so, the Crusading Army was camped outside of the city, debating and deliberating on what to do. Finally, Duke Leopold, leader of the Crusade, had gotten fed up and decided to take on all three armies in the field. There was some grumbling among the soldiers, but debate was finished. Come the next morning, they would all take the field in a battle against the Horse Lords.

Conrad Salier was not particularly enthused about fighting so soon, although he would never say it out loud to the Kaiser's brother. There were other, more personal reasons why he had joined the Crusade in the first place and did desire to see certain things completed before he died in battle. He sat beside one of the many campfires burning quietly in the night, comtemplating. While his chances of entering Heaven would certainly be improved by dying while on Crusade against an unholy enemy, he wished to stick around to complete a little bit more of God's Work before he went. It would be a sleepless night for Conrad and, most likely, many others in the camp.

Leopold interrupted Conrad's meditations by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Conrad. All officers are meeting at the Command Tent for a briefing about tomorrow." Conrad nodded and departed for the Command Tent, which was the largest tent and located a few hundred yards away. When he arrived, the tent was half-full with the high-rankers in the Army. Conrad took a seat in the front (log stumps had been set up as chairs) with the other Generals. He watched in silence as the tent began to fill up.

Finally, Leopold arrived, in conversation with a big man whom Conrad had never seen before. This man was tall, clearly German, wearing a suit of battle-armor that was incredibly scratched and dented. Clearly, this man had seen some fights.

Leopold took a seat beside Karl Zirn, a fellow Austrian. The other man continued standing in front of the crowd and waited for quiet. Since this was a military crowd, he quickly received it, and began to speak.

"Welcome to Outremer, gentlemen!" he began. Conrad thought he detected a small amount of sarcasm. "You gave up the plentiful green fields of Europe and your families up for this; this stinking heap of desert that would be completely worthless if it wasn't for the fact that several important religions started here. Aren't you glad of the choice you made?"

Silence. The man chuckled.

"Sorry, forgot who was talking to. You guys are Crusaders, you still hold the higher ideals and everything. Well, a few months out here will take care of that. Heh. You're probably wondering who I am, why I'm here. My name is Kurt Altman. Some of you older folks may recognize me as part of the Kaiser's bodyguard. I'm here to teach you how to fight who you're going to fight, and I don't mean the Egyptians either."

Ah, now it made sense. Essentially this meeting was a combat seminar. A veteran who had survived the first battle with the Horse Lords was passing on information.

"These people fight hard, gentlemen," Kurt continued. "Kaiser Henry thought that it would be prudent if I imparted some of my knowledge of their forces to you officers.

"Most of you fought, what, mainly infantry back in Europe? Italians, Poles, Hungarians, the French, that lot? I guarantee you you're going to be wishing that you're fighting those guys again after your first battle against the Horse Lords. They have no infantry. None." A brief murmur went through the crowd at this. Altman acted like he didn't notice. "Instead, they focus on foot archers, horse archers, and heavy, heavy cavalry. Cavalry where one single horseman can mow down dozens if not hundreds of crossbowmen. Do not question me on this, for I have seen it happen."

Kurt's smile was now long gone. "European tactics aren't going to work out here. Your crossbows are going to have to do a lot of work in chasing their missile cavalry down with arrows. The infantry is going to have to stand firm and take whatever's delivered to them, for that's the only way the Horse Lords are going to be stopped. And our cavalry, well... I feel your pain. You guys are going to have to be everywhere. Chances are good that if you survive, you're going to be either wounded or dying of exhaustion."

The cavalrymen in the audience, Conrad included, shuddered a bit. Meanwhile, a young sergeant in the back of the tent raised his hand.

"Sir, with all due respect, what makes these people different? Every nation we fight uses different tactics, and we've adjusted to all of them. Why should we be more scared of these people?"

Kurt's gaze now turned to stone. It was impossible to believe that he had been smiling, even sarcastically, a few minutes ago. In silence, he took out a wrinkled piece of parchment and began to read it in a monotone.

"Baghdad

They are here. They have come from the East, where the ground was flatter and lands more open. We thought the desert and our walls would stop them. They did not.

They have taken the city through strange rocket launchers and sophisticated siege equipment. We placed our best infantry on the walls, knowing they had little good foot soldiers, but it had no effect. And then the gate burst, and the soldiers in front of it were subject to a terrible thunder, simply trampled alive, the Horse Lords not even bothering to hack them down.

A more efficient taking of the city I have never seen or heard of. A more efficient sacking of the city I have never seen or heard of. Baghdad is no longer recognizable. Everything of moderate worth has been looted; half of the city's buildings are destroyed. The stench of blood and sight of corpses rendered unrecognizable are now common.

There is no hope of renewal, even for those who survive. Our city is now just a giant slum. There is no hope. The only good thing that comes out of this is that the whirlwind of destruction is quickly gone, off to ravage another target. There is no hope."

Kurt sighed. "This was taken from a Mongol soldier during Kaiser Henry's battle with them. That Mongol most likely took it from the inhabitant of Baghdad who wrote the entry. It is a miracle that I am reading it to you now, for the original, non-translated copy was so bloodstained that it was almost illegible.

"Why, you ask?" Kurt pointed to the diary entry. "This is why. The fact that Kaiser Henry got into open-field combat with these people with a numerical advantage and lost his entire army is why. Most of you came here with the purpose of salvation in mind, correct? Good. Use it. You need to use whatever you can to gain an advantage when fighting these people. Killing the Horse Lords is your new career, gentlemen, secondary to everything else. You had better get good at it."

Kurt departed, and slowly the occupants of the tent shuffled out. Conrad thought to himself: Well, if anyone was going to get any sleep this night, after that little speech, nobody is now. Tomorrow would be an interesting day, to say the least.

Home coming

After the battle of Durazzo, Jonas had quickly turned the control of Austrian army to Austrians and started travelling North with only his closest men,escorting a wagon pulled by two oxens,carrying the earthly remains of his eldest son.
An native Croatian elder man named Mirco had also joined the the escort to guide them through Austria safely to Prague,where Erhart Von Mahren was to find his final resting place.
Jonas had been very silent mostly, but not completely. Von Mahren had never spitted in the pint before and after the events of Durazzo his drinking had detoriated to the point where after nights of heavy drinking and burts of rage,the whole party had to wait untill noon sometimes before Jonas could get out from bed. Then he would ride silently or muttering to himself untill the first resting place along the way. Then everything would start again from sipping of beer and wine for the headache,then to lame jokes that drunken people tend to have and many times after the stop for the night ending into uncontrollable rage or sadness that formed by Jonas sitting near the wagon and him talking to his dead son for hours sometimes,untill the mercy for the night would come in form of passing out.
Days turned into weeks as the funeral escort rode through Austria. From the Dalmatian coast and its fresh sea air,to the the mountains of Croatia,crossing the fertile plains around Tonava. Through the Hungarian Pusta,climbing on the forested hills of Bohemia and finally they were infront of Prague.
There Jonas stopped as if he was scared to enter the city. He stubbornly found excuses not to enter inside the walls.The men reminded him that during the summer time human bodies wouldnt last long before decomposing and that Erhart should be buried so he could rest in peace. Jonas didnt listen to his men. The only one alive he talked mostly was Mirco. The old man had told that not long a go he had lost his entire family in a Hungarian raid and the two bonded in their misery,finally on the second night infront of Prague after the wife of Von Mahren had sent messenger asking what was keeping them,Mirco convinced Jonas to enter the quiet city.
The city was in mourning.All the flags were dropped in half and when the small escort entered the city,there was not usual sounds of night,but the city was like a tomb,people were home and there were no usual drunkyards travelling the streets,singing nasty songs that dunks know the best.
The messenger his wife had sent escorted Jonas to a large house in the middle of the city,while the others went towards the city church to put Erhart in the crypt to wait for his funerals to take place.
Jonas entered the room and there was only Willelda von Mahren in the room besides the unlit fire place. Only few candles were set alight to give some light on the large room.
Jonas walked to his wife and their eyes met for the first time in decades. Willelda was still beutifull,while age had left its marks on her. But her eyes were cold and the expression on her face didnt show any kind warm feelings towards the new comer.

"Wellcome Mi Lord."

Willelda sayed with cold voice. Jonas decided that it was better to stay silent.Willelda continued with now ironic voice.

"So you are back from you glorious quest to Holy land?I hear that you were mighty succesfull and people will long remember the mighty deeds of German crusaders."

Now Willelda´s voice turned deeper and her eyes fixed on Jonas.

"I hear you rendevouzed with my son near Durazzo.Its a shame that you too couldnt spend more time before you got your own son killed."

Next Willelda started screaming so furiously that Jonas took one step back.

"Why didnt you die yourself?! Why you couldnt die in Holy land,so my son wouldnt have died becouse of you bastard?! We had everything allright here before you stupid fool arrived back in Reich. Can you see that your other children are not here to wellcome their father? It is becouse they hate you,you murderer!"

Jonas just stood there as the woman before screamed and cursed to him. He stood there with a face like stone,eyes focused on the woman before him. Willellda continued.

"I hope that you will soon leave for the stinking hell hole of Magdeburg you love so much. You are not the man i married and bared children to. You are nothing but stinking murderer and it would be better for all if you would just die and go to hell where you belong!"

This was too much for Von Mahren. His eyes enlargened and he took a quick step forward and punched Willelda straight to the face.Willelda dropped on a floor, her nose and lip bloodied. Before she could get up.Jonas leaned towards her and sayed with silent but determined voice. With the expression of a madman on his face.

"Woman.Your wish is granted. I will leave from here and never come back. You are dead to me for now on. I hope that you will restrain on visiting in Magdeburg and i will stay out of Prague. I buried Erhart already on our way here,im sure you can do the honours for his remains in here."

After saying that Jonas turned around and walked away from the room,leaving Willelda crying on the floor.As he came out from the building,others had come back from the church and Wolf the trusted Teuton of Jonas started.

"Your son is now in the crypt.."

In the middle of the sentence Jonas interrupted Wolf and sayed.

"Yes.Now we are leaving to Franconia.Ready your horses we will depart to Magdeburg immediately"

Wolf muttered.

"But sire,the funeral? We cant leave now.We have to bury Erhard."

"Shut up!"

Jonas sayed and continued.

"We buried that boy in the field of Durazzo. There is nothing for us here now. We will leave now and thats my final word.Any who doesnt want to come can stay. I will not talk about this more. And last, any man that mentions my family ever again in my presence will taste my sword. I will swear this."

Jonas quickly mounted his horse and started gallopping out from the city.The rest looked at each other with stupified expressions on their faces. After a moment Rudolf the old Veteran captain of Jonas sayed with loud voice.

"Follow the Count! We cant let him ride alone at that state!"

After Rudolf´s words,the whole escort mounted and galloped after their leader,also Mirco joined the group. Soon after, first Jonas and bit after the rest of his men galloped out from the gates of Prague disappearing in the midst of the night and leaving the shocked night guards sitting on their arses near the gate as Jonas Von Mahren and his men headed towards North.

Dust was everywhere. His eyes stung as he closed them and they stung again as he opened them. Every tiny crack of his armour seemed to be filled with sand. His right arm was sore from swinging his sword, it was aching like mad and the pain that shot up through it with every thrust was hardly bearable. Uttering another inaudible cry he slashed away at the enemy in front of him.

It seemed like minutes and hours ago that he had taken the horse from under the Mongol Heir Khanzada Batudhun. The battle had gone well. Khan Jebuk had been captured by his personal bodyguard, after the coward had fled the field. It had been a good day so far. A perfect day, to be quite honest.

The man in front of him snarled his lips as he attempted a backwardslash against Leopolds throat. He rose is sword just in time to deflect the blow, once again searing pain shot through his arm, momentarily blinding his vision. There was no helping it. He was getting old. He had never been old. He did not want to be old. Die toothless in bed, or die snarling in battle? Leopold had made his choice. A thin smile on his lips he carefully, delicately lets go of his sword. Blocking another thrust at him with his shield arm he grabs for his helmet, which is sent hurtling to the ground.

Air and sound rush in at Leopold and he takes a deep breath, two. He had never felt so alive, so aware of his surroundings, of the battle raging around him. He could feel that they were winning, that his troops were pushing forward. They were so close. His smile ever broadening he looks at the man in front of him and triumphantly spreads hir arms wide. The Mongol can hardly believe it, just minutes ago he was hard-pressed for survival and now his foe offered him such an opportunity. After a moment of hesitation he struck home.

The fool! There he was unarmed and the Mongol had only managed to drive his sword between his breast and shoulder armor, piecing deep but not deadly. He could have made it quick, but he failed. His smile still on his lips Leopold slowly sunk from his horse, his vision blurring. Before the world tilted sideways he could see the head of his opponent slashed wide open by thrust from Rainer. He had been too late and Leopold could almost feel sorry for him.

As his eyesight finally returnd to him Leopold was lying on the ground. Fate had it that he was now facing his own troops. He could see Imperial soldiers advancing towards him. Some seemed astonished, others determined. The news of his demise must have already spread. But instead of discouraging the men it seemed to drive them ever onward, forward against the Horse Lords. The battle was won!

Leopold looked down at his side where with every breath his life was spilling out of him, coating his armour blood red. Looking up again ever so slowly he sees a familiar figure dismount in front of him. Cracking a wide smile he raises his right arm as if in triumph and opens his mouth as though to shout, but only blood emerges as with a last gurgle the life fades from Leopold. Duke of Austria, Greatest General of the Reich!

Outside of Damascus, 1228

It would be nice to say that the Khan of the mighty Horse Lords was a mighty man. That he was ten feet tall, and that the ground trembled when he spoke. He was not. The only thing that separated him from the other Mongol prisoners was his highly fancy armor. It was probably worth more than his life.

It would also be nice to say that the German commander and the Khan could engage in an emotional conversation after such a battle. A heated argument, perhaps. Insults, would be thrown! However, they were separated by a series of no fewer than three translators. It's the best that could be arranged on short notice. I think the intermediate languages were Arabic and Persian. In any case, little was said, but it took a very long time to say.

"Tell the Khan that I am considering accepting the ransom offer, but am worried that he will raise another army and attack us again."

The tedious process started. It would be a few minutes before the response came. The 2nd and 3rd translators had especial difficulty in understanding each other, I don't think either of them were very fluent in Persian.

Fredericus walked out of the tent, and looked at the battlefield. The wind had kicked up a lot of sand, and it was not possible to see very far, but as far as it could be seen, the ground was covered in bodies of men and horses. The final count was not in, but this piece of desert would be the final resting place to some 400 Germans, and a countless number of Mongols. Not a long distance away, up the hill to the south, would be the location of another mass grave in the future. At the present, occasional cries of men or horses could still be heard from up there, to say nothing of the sounds coming from this battlefield.

The German soldiers who remained had by now largely rallied at the camp. Most were sitting or lying, being extremely tired from having fought two battles within the span of a few hours. Damascus was not far away, and another would be coming soon. They were still roughly grouped with their regiments, and it was obvious that none of them were even close to full strength. Still, I expect the men would be ready to march given the order. They could be considered happy to be in a regiment which was still at one third strength. Their commander and most of his bodyguard had died, and their new commander now formed a one-man regiment, after his entire bodyguard had been wiped out. Though the troops were inspired, this created some administrative difficulties for Fredericus, as he did not know anyone.

"Hey, you. What was your purpose, again?"

"I was ordered to count the troops, sir."

"Oh. Right. Well, what is the count?"

"596 so far, but there are still men out there."

"Has Leopold's body been found?"

No. No, it hadn't. Everyone had seen it happen, but no one now knew where. They all had different versions of the story too. Some say he dropped his sword in the middle of the battle, and wanted to die. Others say he dropped his sword because he was wounded in the arm, and killed three Mongols with his bare hands before being killed. Others say he killed five. At least a few claim they saw him bite the Khan's head off, although I would dispute that one on the grounds that the Khan is sitting over in the tent.

By this time, the tedious translation process was over, and the Arab translator was ready to deliver the Khan's response. In broken German, the following was roughly delivered:

"The Khan says that it would be in your best interest to accept the offer of ransom. The Khan says that this attack that he has led was merely a scouting party. The Khan says that the real army is now forming in Persia, and that it is ten times bigger than all the armies you have seen, combined. The Khan says that unless he reports that there is nothing here worth conquering, that you will be attacked by this army. The Khan also says that if he should die, nothing will save you from the wrath of his brothers. He says that he was impressed with the fighting skill and bravery of you Germans, and that he may yet be convinced to spare you. But the Khan wants to make clear that if you choose to face the full might of the Mongol army, that you will be destroyed. That is all the Khan says."

Everyone was a bit stunned at this reply. It was common knowledge that these Mongols possessed a vast empire, one that stretched well beyond the point where everyone's knowledge of geography stopped. Where the hell was Transoxania, anyway? But how big of an army could they really field? Was this man telling the truth, or was he merely trying to save his worthless life?

Some of the guards started to quietly discuss these considerations, when they were interrupted by a soldier entering the tent, on his horse. For some reason, the guards outside had not stopped him, and it soon became clear why: he had with him the body of Leopold. It was clear that he had come here for the Khan. As he jumped off his horse and grabbed Leopold's sword, he was restrained by the guards, but just barely, at least two of them being injured in the process. Though not happy by Leopold's death, the guards were worried about the Khan's threat.

After a short pause, Fredericus spoke up:

"Today, just one of our armies destroyed three large armies of our enemy in the open field. We only needed to do that because we were in a hurry, for we wanted to reach Damascus before them. When and if they come for the second time, we will be ready. We will have many armies, and with each of them being three times better than an army of the enemy, we cannot lose. I don't care how many armies they have. Let them come."

Nobody found further reason to protect the Khan.

North of Frankfurt

The three men rode along the secondary road to the battle scene. The road had not been used since the battle between Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army. It was considered unholy by the locals. The only users were scavengers of souvenirs and family recovering their dead. Apparently many bodies of man and animal had been left to rot in the open road.

The three men rode silently along the pine sided road where the fresh scent of pine and the light rainfall made it tranquil and mediating. The tallest of the three was preparing for the worst to come. He had travelled from Hamburg on “official government business” and was to report back to his superiors on his findings; his objective was to find out what really happened on this road. The two other figures were local ancient warriors who had fought long ago with Kaiser Henreich. They were brought for their expertise and for a hansom fee they were to keep their confidentiality to the Crown.

Slowly the road opened to a small clearing, the rain was like a mist and the small patches of fog settled in the low ground. There before them lay the disaster, turkey vultures sitting on corpses pecking away not even aware of the intruders as they busily gorged on the feast before them.

The men stopped the wagon the two old men got out and began to survey the scene, scanning very methodically over the landscape. The government official also jumped down and began to walk about the carnage. The vultures would jump of the corpse to the next closes as the men walked amongst them.

Movement! I saw an arm move the official shouted, the two men ran over. The body of the young soldier was turned over the foul odour of human decomposition filled there nostrils and movement of thousands of maggots slithered all over the body. That was the movement, the two men smiled at each other and continued on their work. The government official saw enough and immediately ran to the wagon to wait for the work to finish. The damp air no longer suppressed the foul odour it had penetrated his senses and no amount of snuff was going to remove it.

The men walked and looked at what appeared first contact. They examined the horses left to rot and saw the wounds inflicted from all sides of the animal. They went wide of the road and examined the heavy foot prints of man and animal coming to the road from within the deep forest. The broken and bend branches of the trees and shrub to show the direction of travel.

After several hours they completed their work and reported back to the official who was not looking well and was has discoloured as some of the remains they had seen. They both knew why confidentiality was so important.

Venice Italy

The government official was well rested from his mission but yet the images and smells of that day were still vivid. He was now reporting to his superiors. The meeting was held in a fashionable building of a local merchant with a very ornate study under the guise of great secrecy. The room presented not only wealth but that have power and tradition. His superiors were men of great influence and yet faceless to most nobles of the Reich. They each represented the Kaiser and the respective Houses. They were the policy behind each and made things happen that had to be done for the benefit of the Reich.

Gentleman, my report is before you and I will only elaborate on the highlights of my findings. This was indeed an ambush by the Prince on the Crusading Danish Army. The reasons I do not know but the evidence of the field suggest so. I have also taken the prerogative of cleaning the site up upon the completion of my investigation. To continue:

The road the Danish were on was a secondary road. This was a large army that we were aware of and because of their mission we let them have the right to move through. The Danes not wanting to alarm our locals utilized secondary roads as they travelled through hence their slow movement through our land.

The Prince with the European Imperial Army (EIA) was on routine patrol for rebels and French invaders of our territory. I don’t know if the Prince was aware of the exact location of the Danes? He had his army in a loose formation travelling through the woods. We found the camps location several kilometres from the scene.

To start the “contact” by the initial was small and by “contact” we feel that it was staged. The scouting party of the Danes was very lightly armed and protected. I think they felt secure travelling through and were not manoeuvring under SOP for hostile territory.
The road comes to an opening and is flanked by high ground and thick brush. The evidence does suggest that the Prince waited for the Danes to expose themselves and then he attacked with his small army. The report shows the various wounds inflicted on man and animal to support our conclusions. Though I must say the attack by the Prince was strategically brilliant unfortunately it was not a recognized enemy of the Reich.

From the reports released by the Prince the contact did not occur as reported. If it did happen and the location the actual fighting would not have occurred in the location it did.

That is my report.

Silence in the room... the chair of the group then speaks,

Councillors, our friend here has done an admirable job and has not disappointed us. I also approve the action of having the scene cleaned up.
This indeed a bit of quandary and not something we want debated by the Diet members. At this time we do not know the Prince’s mind thought for his actions and we have to be strongly remembered that he will soon be our new leader of the Reich.
Though his actions have caused a War with the Danes it is only that a minor war that was inevitable. The true concern was the loss of our faith with the Church. However, through God’s providence we were spared the humiliation of ex-communication and have relatively remained unscathed by this incident. Therefore, we will protect the future Kaiser and the interest of the Reich has it our job to do and speak of this incident no more.

Advise the scribe on the official report as follows,

Quote:

---

Frankfurt Germany 1218

The battle that was fought by Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army was a combination of unfortunate events by both parties.
For unknown reason the Danes travelled a secondary road and neither party was aware of each others location.
The EIA were on policing patrol to route out rebels identified in the area. Also an intelligence report received suggested the French had amassed a large army that was converging on Frankfurt or another significant city in the north.
The weather conditions were not a clear as documented by the biographers. There was a heavy fog and coming into the twilight hours.
The EIA had split there small force as procedure to locate a rebel camp being hidden in that area.
The scouts of the EIA heard the army coming along the road but could not identify any banners but heard French being spoken.
A small patrol of EIA came out of the road to confront the unknown army moving towards them. An exchange of identification was ordered by passwords and from their chaos ensued. Through a series of miscommunication by the contact parties and the divided EIA a melee ensued that only progressed because of the difficult external conditions present.
It was only after the Prince realized who he was fighting and what occurred did he try to rally is men to halt any further offensive action.

Then we will advise the usual apology and reconciliation towards the Danes and other rhetoric that follows such reports.

---

In conclusion, we will send this report to the Kaiser and leave it at his discretion to announce the findings to the Diet. Otherwise it will remain buried in the archives with all the other documentation. That is all for today’s business.

North of Metz, 1226 AD
Part II
It was several kilometres from Prinz Jobst's camp, the sky was pitch black, as the moon dared not show itself onto a horrible night.

From the dark road out of Metz, in a building,meant for some farmers, who lay deadon the ground. At the table was a man, he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the wooden table,waiting for someone.

As if timed the door opened, and 3 men entered, all looking fearful, one kneeled down.
"Master, we have a problem with the plan" whispered the man, the master wiped his head with a white cloth.
"What now, Hugo?" said the man.
"There was a second investigation at the battle scene!" said Hugo, the master sat up straight.
"Did they find it!? Did they notice anything!? We can not let them know... It will be obvious!" said the man, clearly agitated. Hugo got up,
"No master, the men provided a clear summary to the Diet, I thought maybe..." the mans sentence disappeared into the misty fog outside.
"Of course I wasn't Hugo, our network was down for some time..." said the master.
"The men have in fact helped us! Prince Jobst, we heard, has calmed down and ordered for a quick marched to Dijon for a visit so he can see his family" whispered Hugo, the master sat back, twiddling his thumbs,
"Excellent"
________________________________________________________________
The Road to Dijon, 1228 AD

"Quick march, forward!" roared a voice, there was banging of armor then the organisedslam oif foot on ground. Horses neighed, voices were yelling to and fro around the camp. Prince Jobst and his boyguard has gone for a scouting mission, and he had left Fritz and Luka in charge.

Jobst breathed in the fresh air, he was finnaly going to visit Dijon again, the city he controlled, his home city, where his family resided, after all the fighting against Danes and allies.

Dieter rode up next to Jobst.
"Mein prinz, are you sure we are safe? I am sure the French would be happy to see your head on a pole over the Seine River." said Dieter, Jobst laughed.
"Well you see theres the first problem, the French don't control Paris anymore, the Swabian DUke recently caught it" said Jobst, and his bodyguard cheered. Dieter smiled, the German Empire had been flourishing lately, only the arrival of the Horse Lords had stopped the flow.

There was a thunder of hooves, Jobst looked behind him, Fritz with some heavily armored knights were galloping towards Jobst's Bodyguard. Fritz stopped next to Jobst.
"mein lord, a message from a offical in Rome" said Fritz,Jobst opened it up quickly and scanned it through equally fast, he covered his mouth in shock.
"It seems, young Erhart Von Mahren was killed near Durazzo" said Jobst, the men around him bowed and shook their heads,
"And worst of all, Duke Leopold was killed by the horse lords from China!" exclaimed Jobst, Jobst continued "But not before taking their Khan's life!" roared Jobst.

A arrow flew out of the surrounding foilage and embedded itself in the Knight standing next to Fritz, he watched the knight fall to the ground, dead.
"mein prinz, AMBUSH!" roared Fritz, the whole scene erupted as men jumped from the surrounding area, and arrows flew forward. Several more knights fell.

Fritz tackled Jobst to the ground, then got up and speared an incoming man through the chest,
"Defend the Prinz!" roared Fritz, more shouting came from nearby, Luka was coming with more soldiers. Fritz slew a couple more soldiers before the backed off, he sighed as Luka came around the corner with a battalion of more men, he pointed to behind Fritz,who wheeled around.

Standing in front of jobst,who was standing bearing a longsword, was a lightly ragged man, who drawled,
"We shall kill you in the end, milord, no matter how many times we try" a arrow flew from behind Jobst and hit the man between the eyes, and fell back,instantly dead.

Dieter walked forward,
"That was the best shoot I've ever had" said Dieter, inspecting the man. Luka gasped,
"Mein Prinz, look at the clothes this man is wearing!" said Luka, Fritz and Jobst came over, and looked as well. Jobst swore quite loudly,

It was the ensigna of the Reich.

That man was a German.

Outside of Damascus, 1232

Conrad Salier and a minor scouting party consisting of several friends and retinue members were on a mission east of the city to survey the lands in case of an attack from that direction. The day was ridiculously hot out and of course, little shade was offered, so the mission would not be as long or productive as the people back in Damascus wished it would.

“I don’t even see how this is helping anybody,” Hugo Bresch grumbled. Hugo was Conrad’s veteran warrior, who had been with Salier since his campaigns against the Milanese back in Europe. The two were only really together in battle, as Hugo did not share in Conrad’s interests in religion or governing. “I mean, the Mongols are all gone and we don’t really have to worry about Egypt for a while… Who’s going to attack us out here? The Turks?”

“Careful,” Conrad chided. “There is always the possibility of a surprise attack. Did you think that Pope Gregory, God rest his soul, expected Kaiser Heinrich to violate Papal borders and take Rome? The desert is large, and we do not know what is on the other side, willing to cross it and take new territory.” Hugo simply nodded. It was easier to simply agree silently than argue and have to listen to all of that religious rhetoric crap.

“Hill to the north,” someone pointed out. It looks pretty defensible, especially if the Turks do decide to attack.” There was some minor snickering. In silence, the party swung to the north to take a closer look. Once they had crested the hill, before they had the chance to survey the land around it, a dark shape was moving their way. Upon further inspection it was found to be a lone carriage carrying goods. The scouting party, by Conrad’s orders, blocked the driver’s way. The poor man got out and started shouting at them in Arabic.

“Translator!” Conrad called. “Kindly inform this man that the city of Damascus and its surrounding area is now under the control of the Kingdom of Outremer, and as such we are allowed to deny access to its borders. Ask him about his cargo and his destination.” After several moments, the translator replied.

“He’s carrying something called hashish, from the East,” said the translator. “It’s a certain form of some kind of plant that can be smoked. Apparently, this man says, it makes you very happy.” At the mention of “happy,” the driver grinned and started to nod furiously, saying something in garbled German: “Yes… happy… big happy… you try, yes?”

After a moment, Conrad nodded. The Bible didn’t really say anything about smoking, and if it was bad, he would ban it. Besides, one time couldn’t hurt…

The Arab driver showed Conrad how to prepare the hashish, and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke…

…and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke, the landscape gradually changed around him. What was once mostly desert was now solid rock of various shades or red, orange, brown, and black. All at once, the flat stagnant sand/rock suddenly rose in some places, depressed in others. And then the no longer flat but still stagnant sand/rock erupted into flames, so the whole land was burning except for a path that Conrad was conveniently riding on…

…Conrad looked back at his scouting party but now there was no scouting party, no Arab driver. Instead, behind him, neatly in marching line were thousands of horrible human/bat/gorilla creatures armed with swords and shields and spears of ancient times, beating their shields as instruments and chanting in unison:

“In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!
In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!”

…Horrified, Conrad urged his horse (who had mysteriously changed colors from brown to purple with yellow polka-dots) forward at a gallop, but over the next ridge was a sheer cliff, with a river of lava waiting a million feet below for whatever unlucky soul fell off.

…The purple with yellow polka-dotted horse did not stop in time and they went over the edge, with Conrad screaming, but they didn’t fall – they were just suspended in mid-air, and the horse continued to trot on absolutely nothing…

…Beside Conrad, also riding on nothing, was the Mongol lord that Otto von Kassel had just defeated, Jebe the Tyrant. He sidled up beside Conrad, looked at him, and smiled. “Hello Conrad,” Jebe said. “Hello Jebe,” Conrad replied. “Where am I?” “Why, you’re riding on thin air, a million feet above a hot river of lava. I suggest you don’t fall off.”

…a gust of wind blew Jebe’s head off (oh right, he was decapitated) and they both watched it fall a million feet below but then Jebe continued talking as if he didn’t notice, and Conrad could hear him clearly despite the fact that the headless body of Jebe had no mouth: “You know, you still have work to do,” Jebe said. “Another wave of my people is coming, and this one will be much larger and powerful than the previous wave.” “Oh really?” Conrad asked. “Why should I trust you? You’re a Horse Lord.”

…the headless body of Jebe laughed and Conrad’s horse changed colors again. This time it was plaid. “Dude” (Dude? What on earth does “dude” mean?) “Dude, I’m dead, remember? I have no personal gain either way in this matter.” “Oh yeah,” Conrad replied. That sounded reasonable. He paused, and then a thought struck him. “Hey Jebe, how come we can understand each other? I mean, I thought you couldn’t speak German, and I know I’m not speaking Mongolese…”

…Jebe laughed once again and put a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Actually my friend,” he said, “we’re both speaking English.”

English?

…all at once the body of Jebe and his horse disappeared and suddenly gravity kicked back in and Conrad and his horse started hurtling down to the river of lava a million feet below, but this was only momentary as they regained momentum and actually started to rise – his horse could fly? – and then they were racing upwards, flying in circles and dive-bombing nothing…

…all at once, a giant arm came out of the sky and grabbed the two. Conrad was facing the index finger, and at the tip, where the fingerprint would be, he instead saw the face of Maximillian Mandorf…

…the index finger began to speak, in Mandorf’s voice. “Conrad, wake up,” it said. “You need to get back to Damascus, somebody has something to say to you.” All at once, before he could reply, the hand started squeezing very hard, and Conrad screamed, he was losing air, he was going to burst under pressure…

…he was going to burst under pressure but he suddenly snapped back to life, fully aware of himself. He looked around at the scouting party who, to his horror, looked away, not wanting to face him eye-to-eye.

“How long was I out?” he asked. Finally, Hugo said something. “About two hours. Although I wouldn’t really say you were out, so much as not there… what do you want to do about this man?”

“Arrest him and burn the carriage. Hashish is an evil substance and the Lord most certainly did not put it on the Earth in this current form. We’re heading back to Damascus.”

The next sound heard was a unison sigh of relief, broken only by the Arab driver’s yelling and (presumably) cursing.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

A cooperative story between myself and GeneralHankerchief.

Acre, 1232

The King of Outremer had never fully recovered from the Battle of Galilee. The many wounds of countless battles had caught up with Otto von Kassel, and the loss of so many men had taken a toll as well. He aged quickly, wracked with pain and moving slowly. Still the past four years had been pleasant, as he had passed off the day to day affairs and battles of Outremer to others, enjoying a semi-retirement at Acre with Elsebeth.

In the spring of 1232, however, Otto fell ill. A chill that would not go away despite the warm weather. He was wise enough to know his end was coming and sent for Conrad Salier. While awaiting the arrival of the Count of Adana, he discussed his final wishes with his wife while on his deathbed.

"Have you got it all, my dear?", asked Otto weakly, "I know it is a lot ask, but the case for Outremer must be made in the Diet. I hope my words still carry weight there."

"Yes Otto," Elsebeth replied sitting next to him on the bed, tears in her eyes, but her voice clear, "I know what to say to the Diet. I am a Princess, I was raised in the Imperial Court. I did not spend my youth in the army after all."

She smiled as Otto chuckled and briefly touched her face before his arm dropped back down.

"As for the other. . .arrangements, I understand. Do not worry. . .save your strength."

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showp...&postcount=235

A servant entered and announced the arrival of the Count of Adana.

"Send him in, we must talk," said the dying King.

Conrad Salier was somewhat frightened upon his return to Damascus and his summons to Otto. He remembered with great clarity in his hashish vision the face of Maximillian Mandorf telling him that someone had something to say to him back in Damascus. He had passed the plant off as devil's work, but it had correctly predicted that King Otto was dying...

Enough. Now was not the time to debate the merits of the plant. The King of Outremer had some final words to say, and Conrad would go in and hear them.

Otto weakly waved Conrad over as the Count of Adana entered the bed chamber.

"Elsebeth would you give us a moment?"

The Princess, eyes red, glanced from her husband to the new arrival and left the room with some hesitation.

"I am sorry I cannot stand to greet you Sir. I am glad we have an opportunity to talk before the end. I wanted to thank you for answering my call for help those many years ago. It turns out we were both Pawns in the Kaiser's game, but I'm grateful you came, nonetheless."

Conrad chuckled. "I'm glad that I was a pawn in this Kaiser's plans rather than the last one's, sir. Although I came pretty late, I'm glad to be of service."

Otto's mouth quirked upward in a wry grimace. He was silent for a bit, as if lost in thought.

"Outremer is secure for now, Conrad. We put paid to the Mongols, the Egyptians have barely bothered us, and the Turks are restive, but contained by Adana. I am content. But even now the seeds of new threats are growing. My watch is done, but yours has just begun.

"Many in the Diet will point to the destruction of the Mongols and say that our work in Outremer is done. That the Crusaders should be brought home and a token force left behind. They will talk of the homeland and its needs. Our worst enemy here might be Electors of limited vision in Rome. I ask that you continue to argue our case in the Diet."

Conrad nodded. "The homeland seems to be doing well enough on its own. However, I of course shall do as you ask."

Otto continued: "Another threat, I am sad to say, lies among the men of Outremer themselves. I would like to think everyone who took the Cross did so out of true piety and patriotism, but that is not so. Hell, my own motivations for going on Crusade were less than ideal. There are those among us who would use Outremer for their own ends and ambitions, perhaps to set up their own Empire in the East. This must not happen."

"If anyone comes into Outremer with that attitude, I shall either correct their thinking or put them in a negligible position. You can be sure of that," Conrad said with a cough. Theoretically the whole point of Crusading was to give up titles for a higher purpose, but someone had to govern the Levant. He would make sure that only the worthy did.

"And, of course, there are the external threats to the Holy Land. The Turks are newly aggressive and the Egyptians might decide to put in a renewed claim to their old lands. I fear that the Mongols might return. We destroyed their forces here, but from the rumors I've heard their Empire stretches all the way to lands beyond imagination. Will they take their defeat here as a warning to go elsewhere or a challenge to meet again? I do not know."

The King of Outremer raised himself out of bed, grasping Conrad's arm for emphasis as he spoke, "But watch the East, Conrad, watch the East!"

Otto's impassioned plea had drained him, he fell back in bed, coughing and breathing heavily.

Conrad, slightly alarmed, knew to reassure the man on his deathbed. "Of course, my King. We will be safe from all threats, do not worry."

In the back of his mind, though, the hashish and the headless body of Jebe the Tyrant came through. More of us.

No. Now was not the time. Discipline. Otto wasn't quite done yet.

The King of Outremer gathered his little remaining strength and spoke again.

"Do not lose heart, Conrad, the Hordes of the East might seem limitless, but God, as my years in the Holy Land have shown me, is on our side. He guides us and sends us artifacts to aid us."

He motioned to a bureau at the side of the bed. A small chest stood atop it, "Open it."

Conrad did so and gasped. Staring at him upon first glance appeared to be an ugly bramble of long-dead sticks, but Conrad's experiences with religion told him that this was the famous Crown of Thorns that Christ Himself had worn before His crucifixion. And here it was... before him, presented to him.

"When I retook Jerusalem, this along with some other relics, was given into my safekeeping by the Christian residents of the City. At first, I thought it was a forgery, like so many others 'Holy Men' sell in the bazaars. Yet, I kept it, and over the years I became convinced the Crown is authentic. Just a feeling perhaps, but still. . .It was with me when I destroyed the last Mongol Army, in His name I did conquer. Much to my own amazement."

Once again Otto motioned to the chest.

"Take it, it is now yours. The Grail may have left the Holy Land, but Outremer should have its own relic. Real or no, it will serve as a rallying focus for our Crusaders, and an object of fear for our enemies. Keep it safe Conrad. But remember, it is men, men like you, who are the final arbiters of success or failure."

Conrad could only nod. After about a minute he found his voice again. "I shall not fail you, my King."

Otto now spoke in a whisper, "I almost forgot. I meant. . .do you remember when I sent you away from Rome so I could send Friedrich Scherer to deal with Pope Filippus?"

Conrad paused. Why was von Kassel bringing this up now? He was always conflicted by Otto's actions on this matter. Otto had twisted Conrad's edict, killed another Pope... but he had gotten the Reich reconciled. Conrad decided that it was best to simply nod.

"I must apologize for that. I sent you away because it was asked of me. She didn't want you to face the Pope in battle."

This was getting weirder and weirder. "She?" Conrad asked, thinking of Otto's wife. Did Elsebeth have that much influence over Otto? Power and influence did run strong in her blood though...

But then Otto said something that made Conrad wish that he was referring to Elsebeth. "Cardinal Otterbach. She didn't want you in that battle. It was her price for supporting Cardinal Aston for Pope. I assumed because of your religious upbringing. Seemed odd though."

Conrad gaped at the dying Duke. "You're trying to tell me that Cardinal Otterbach was... female?"

Otto blinked and looked up at Conrad trying to focus, "Oh. . .yes. Kaiser Heinrich once told me that Charles was actually a woman, if you could believe it. Seems the Priesthood is filled with them. Odd, but she served the Reich well, God rest her soul."

Conrad put his hands over his eyes. This wasn't happening. The Cardinal had been quite friendly with his father, Maximillian Mandorf, more than just your average priest/confessor relationship... Otterbach had always been there for Conrad, suspiciously turning up in his life at certain points, almost as if she was watching over him, as if she was his...

"Oh no. No, no no no..." Once again, Conrad seemed to sink in his own misery. Thank goodness he only had two parents.

"I am sorry Conrad. Outremer is your charge to keep now. God help you."

Otto paled and spoke in a smaller voice than before, "Goodbye Conrad. Could you please send my wife in? She would be very angry with me if I left without her."

Conrad composed himself enough to reply. "Goodbye, my King, and have a good journey. Thank you for everything." He gripped the King of Outremer's hand, turned around, and departed, carrying the chest. After nodding to Elsebeth, he realized that his father's face had been in his hashish-induced vision.

This was just too much to be coincidental.

Elsebeth returned to the room, glancing behind her at the departed Count.

"Can he be trusted? He has not always served you loyally."

Otto sighed and began to cough again. After a moment he responded.

"This isn't about me, Princess, it is about Outremer. Besides Henry, I trust him above all others to ensure the safety of the Kingdom. I will die, but Outremer must live on."

Elsebeth's facade cracked, with a moan she sunk to her knees besides the bed, seized Otto's hands and began to cry.

Otto comforted her as best he could, "Shhhh, 'Beth. Such is the fate of young woman wed to an older man. I am sorry."

Elsebeth looked up, tears running down her face, hair scattered.

"I love you. I will mourn you. . .a nunnery, I will join an order. . .take vows, I can't. . .can't, not without you."

Otto looked on his wife with compassion and sadness, "I have no doubt you would be Mother Superior within a month. But that is not your path. You must make you own way now."

He stroked her hair, "You are Elsebeth, daughter of an Emperor, Queen in her own right. A nun's habit is not for you. You have been my strength, my faith. There is much left for you to do."

Otto began to fade. His hand again fell to the bed. Pain flashed across his scarred face as he struggled to speak.

"Keep an eye for me on Bavaria. Gerhard is a good man. . .a good Duke. His sons. . .they grew up in a Reich triumphant. . .they did not know the humiliations and privation of Heinrich's early reign. . .before the reconquest. Do what you can for them, my love. Do what. . ."

Otto trailed off and drew a last ragged breath.

Elsebeth kissed him fiercely.

"Of course. It will be taken care of. All of it. Rest now, it will be done. Rest."

Otto eyes closed as the pain left him. His features relaxed as he let out his last breath. Otto was at peace, the King was dead.

Elsebeth collapsed onto his chest weeping. "My Roland," she kept saying, "My Roland."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Part 2 of story at request of Chancellor for the whereabouts of the Crusading Danish Army after the battle.

Chancellors Office Report

The Imperial Spy submitted his final report of the Frankfurt incident involving Prince Jobst.

To the Honourable Chancellor Hans,

I am advising you that I did not complete mandate of my original mission. I was ordered that there was a change in priorities I did not need to attend the battle site as originally directed. However, I am submitting what I was able to find out in my investigation.

I went to the camp of Prince Jobst but there was no information to be gathered there. The men gave inconsistent stories and the Nobles were not talking. I continued north and followed the trail of the Danish Army.
I was sometime behind them but I was able to obtain information. Most of the army broke up along the way. Some units joined local settlements for defenses. Some of the Nobles made a hasty route for the capital Arhus.

I continued on to the capital and picked up the stories along the way. The stories from the Danes were about the treachery of the Germans and death of the Prince or the Crusaders crushed the Germans on behalf of the Faith. The locals told there stories in song and tales but there was no consistent facts.
When I got to Arhus the Nobles had appeared to be associated with the Governor of Arhus Sweyn of Svanabyr. It came apparent that the state of the Danish government is dysfunctional by internal strife. This led me to further investigation of the country. It was rather difficult but information could be bought for a price.

In the battle Prince Jobst thought he was fighting the Danish Prince who was leading the Crusading Army. This was an assumption by most of the Crusading Army and some of the Danish court but it was far from the truth.
King Charles to be in better favour of the Pope joined the Crusade. He could not lead because of his need to defend Antwerp from the Scots and the English. Prince Haakon was ordered to lead this army.

However, the Prince not a young man himself had no intention of joining the Crusade. The life of nobility of wine, woman and song was just too good.
He had his first cousin Harold to take his place. The only condition that when he met a foreign dignitary he would advise that he was a representative of the Prince and not say he was the Crown. Most of the units in the Crusade thought they had the actual Prince with them with the exception of a few nobles. The Prince then traveled to Stockholm to have court and a low profile from the King.
King Charles was not aware who was really leading the Crusade. From Stockholm the Prince continued plotting to usurp the King. This has led to discord in the Danish House.

Even though this action led to war with the Danes nothing has happened. They cannot function to coordinate an offensive attack on the Reich in the most likely area Hamburg. The King is too tied up in Antwerp to deal with internal matters back home. The nobles are building up protection from each other. They are on the brink of civil war.

My final summation would be that the Danes had manipulated Prince Jobst into attacking their Crusaders. Why?, because of the turmoil in the House but how I do not know. The information Prince Jobst had was convincing enough for him to take the action he did but who was responsible from the Danish Nobility? I do not know and may never find that answer.
I had wished to source more of the information obtained but as you are aware are standing throughout Europe is low. It is very difficult to interact with other courts and diplomats in making inquiries of intelligence.

Respectfully Submitted,

Dimarus von Luxemburg

Damascus, 1234

Being King of Outremer was a very stressful job, Conrad Salier had discovered fairly on into his formal appointment to the post. As essentially the Kaiser’s viceroy and mouthpiece in the East, it fell on Conrad to make sure that borders were guarded, soldiers were inspected, and people of importance, both Imperial and foreign, were liaised with. Already the job had taken a small toll on him, and Conrad privately believed that the position made at least a small contribution to his predecessor’s death.

The always-present question of the hashish did not make matters any easier. While Conrad had banned the substance in Outremer and arrested those smuggling it in, the fact remained that the one time he had smoked it, he had seen visions in his high. Later on, the things he had seen had come to pass on multiple levels. The only thing that was still in question was whether the Mongols would return, and so far all rumors were that they would indeed return to the West. Ever since King Otto had passed on, Conrad found an internal battle raging within himself, concerned squarely with the merits of the hashish.

It is an evil substance and you should not be tempted by it.

But I saw the truth!

Some things are not intended to be seen. Did you wish to know your true relationship with Cardinal Otterbach?

But surely isn’t knowledge better than ignorance? What if God is sending these visions?

What if Satan is and he’s successfully leading you on by them?

Eventually one of the voices won out and Conrad finally decided to act. He made his way through the streets of the city accompanied by Hugo Bresch and eventually arrived at its dungeons. Room #19 was his target, as it contained two men of importance in the hashish smuggling cartel that were recently arrested.

As Hugo put the keys in the lock and prepared to open the door to Room #19, he turned and looked at Conrad.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Conrad, unable to look his veteran warrior in the eye, stared at the floor and nodded. Shrugging, Hugo opened the door.

Facing the Germans as they entered, shackled to the wall, were two Arabs. The one on the left wore a scraggly beard of modest size. He was tall and very muscular; he would have made a fine warrior had he chosen a different profession. The one on the right was less toned but still held an intimidating appearance. His thick, black mustache and hair were still very neat and slicked despite the weeks he had spent in the dungeon. His dark eyes, reminding Conrad of the bottomless pits in Hell that he had read about, regarded the two Imperial soldiers as they walked in.

“Hamid, Abdullah,” said Hugo, addressing the bearded and mustachioed prisoners, respectively, “The King of Outremer has a proposition for you.” Neither man said anything, and Abdullah’s dark eyes unnerved Conrad, causing him to stumble over his words.

“Be completely, uh, honest with me here,” Conrad began. “How much infl-influence do you have with the hashish, uh, growers and transporters?”

“You could say that we are a small part of the hierarchy,” said Hamid, the bearded one, in fluent German.

“Are you large enough to be trusted by the leaders of your outfit when it comes to negotiating with the Kingdom of Outremer and Holy Roman Empire?”

The two captives looked at each other, expressionless. After a moment Abdullah, the mustachioed one, nodded. In a voice as smooth and oily as his hair, he asked: “What sort of negotiations are you proposing, King Salier?”

Conrad was momentarily unable to speak at the mention of his title, handed to him by a dying King and friend. Hugo spoke in his stead.

“King Salier is hereby proposing the decriminalization of the hashish plant – that is, it’s still illegal per se, but no arrests will be made. You will be allowed to continue your business and sell at the same rates as before hashish was made illegal, provided…” Hugo stopped, almost ashamed to continue. “…provided that you supply King Salier and his staff with any amount that he requests for no charge.”

Once again the two captives looked at each other. Finally, there was a change in expression, as Abdullah slowly grinned. Hamid, however, continued to remain stoic. “I see one problem with this negotiation,” he said impassively. “We are currently unable to notify our people of this development, since we are in chains and cannot physically leave this very room.”

Conrad reluctantly nodded. He seemed to be immensely regretting this decision, but continued to follow through with the deal. “You will hereby be released and pardoned, under the condition that you remain in Damascus or another location under my eye. Do we have an agreement?”

After about a minute, the prisoners gave their answer. “Very well. Release us,” said Abdullah in his oily voice. With a look of utter exasperation on his face, Hugo Bresch undid the shackles of the two men. Abdullah and Hamid took several seconds to adjust and rub their wrists and ankles, and promptly headed out the door. Before doing so, Abdullah stared at Conrad from the distance of a foot. His endless black eyes seemed to hypnotize the King of Outremer.

“You can expect your first personal shipment three days from now.” With that, the two men returned to society and freedom, leaving Conrad and Hugo alone in the dark, smelly dungeon Room #19. The veteran warrior stared at his commander with an accusing look in his eye. Despite this, the look was still infinitely less frightening than anything that Abdul could give.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t trust those people at all.”

Conrad put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. But if this hashish is truly a medium that connects me closer to the Lord, then surely it will be worth doing business with these people.”

The two men walked out of the dungeon into the streets of the city, but the day looked much less bright and sunny than it did for the two Arabs who had just exited the same place a minute ago.

Innsbruck, 1134

The woman's arm lay across Matthias's bare chest, her mouth close to his ear as they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She was speaking to him, but he found it difficult to focus on anything at the moment. He was not a virgin, far from it, but this last encounter far surpassed any tussle in the hay with a serving wench. It had been, Matthias searched for the right word, sublime. As he emerged from the post-coital fog, he began to listen to her.

". . .so, my young Bavarian, you must understand the importance of Outremer. It is a fine place for a third son to find his fortune, to make his name. Of course if the Diet has it's way, that avenue might be shut off to you. You should speak out in favor of Outremer."

Matthias blinked, his mind still trying to focus, "Of course, Outremer must not be abandoned."

The only less than ideal moment in the encounter, had been when she, in ecstasy, had screamed the name of another man. "Otto!", she had cried, with a note of pain in her voice.

Elsebeth von Kassel raised herself up in the bed, gathering a sheet around her. She looked down at the young Squire with an inquisitive gaze.

"Are you paying attention Matthias? It would be wise of you to support Outremer. Your Brother attacks it, perhaps out of true feeling or as an attempt to divert the Diet from his own actions. You must defend it."

"Of course," Matthias mumbled, distracted by the curve of hip and breast.

"Listen, you young pup! You have potential, I would not have. . .mentored you otherwise. However, you lack finesse, subtlety and vision, the marks of a true leader. You need these if you are to be a force for Bavaria, Outremer and the Reich."

Matthias frowned, his fragile teenage ego bruised. He looked away, with a blush rising in his face.

Elsebeth laughed and cupped his face, turning him back to face her.

"Do not worry, I can teach you some of this, and experience will take care of the rest. Let your brother Lothar be the bludgeon, the frontal attack that tries to break through any opposition. You must be the dagger in the left hand. Unnoticed until too late and much more effective.

"A time of troubles is coming to the Reich, my sweet boy. A new Kaiser will bring changes. Alliances will shift, coalitions will fall apart and men of ambition will grasp and claw to gain advantage in the new reign. There will be many dangers, but an 'educated' young man will be able to take advantage of this, to advance his own cause and that of Bavaria. You must be ready."

Matthias swallowed hard, his world had been enlarged in more ways than one this day, it was a lot to take in. Still, best to enjoy the moment.

"If I am to be educated," Matthias said as he drew the sheet away from Elsebeth, "We should start right away, my Queen."

Antioch, 1236

Death stalked the streets of the capital of Outremer. A devastating plague, caused by an unknown substance, had made its way into the once-grand city and claimed thousands of lives. As a measure designed to prevent further spread of the outbreak, Antioch had locked down and was, in essence, completely cut off from the rest of the world, a vortex in time. Its citizens neither knew nor cared for outside events. The fact that Baghdad was being besieged by an unknown enemy, perhaps the long-foretold second wave of the Horse Lords, did not matter to them. Nor did it matter that Adana was no longer under immediate threat from the Turks, or that Kaiser Henry and his lewd son were about to complete the conquest of Edessa and thus bring Outremer to its envisioned size.

All they knew was death, death, death. Conditions inside the city were horrible. The streets were entirely deserted, aside from the rotting corpses of men and horses, unable to be properly buried for fear of the disease spreading to the gravediggers. The horrid stench reeking from these bodies didn’t help either. Nobody knew if the smell was a cause of the streets being empty or an effect of it. Perhaps it was both. Those people still healthy holed themselves up in their houses, generally in the smallest, least-accessible rooms. Thirteenth-century wisdom was that this was the best way of not getting sick, but as a result the people soon developed minor ailments if their own, generally bad coughs. Increasingly worried that what they had was the plague, they didn’t wash or bathe for fear of contamination, contributing to the city’s overall mood of dirt, death, and despair.

At least, these were the rumors that Conrad Salier had heard.

Damascus, 1236

The King of Outremer was safe from the disease, holed up in a city far to the southeast. Instead, he was slowly being claimed by another disease: the one brought on by constant use of the hashish, the one that was taking his mind. He had (so far) successfully hidden his use of the drug from the Diet, although this was in large part due to the Herculean efforts of Hugo Bresch, his veteran warrior, and Frederick Weinmuth, his Chief of Staff. The majority of the Reich lay blissfully distracted by Conrad’s partaking on the debate regarding Milan and his aggressive drive to bring more people to the East. However, in the inner circle of people that knew better, bets were being made to see how long he’d last before he finally cracked.

A knocking sound came from the door of Conrad’s study. “Enter,” he said, and four people did. Frederick Weinmuth was first. Trailing him were three Arabs, two of which Conrad was familiar with. They were Abdullah and Hamid, the pair that Conrad had released from the dungeon in order to provide him with hashish.

“Who’s the third?” Conrad asked. Abdullah, the man with the slicked mustache and dark, dark eyes, answered.

“His name is Achmed,” he said. “He’s a mute, so he’s not much good in the intelligence department. We use him for deliveries… and other work.” Achmed nodded, his expression similar to that of a statue. It was clear that he was well-suited for both purposes. He dwarfed even the large Hamid in stature, and was carrying a huge load of hashish. After being directed by Conrad to place it in a hidden compartment of the study, he resumed his place alongside Abdullah and Hamid.

A minute of silence ensued. Nobody was quite sure what to say. Conrad and Frederick looked especially befuddled. Finally, Hamid broke the silence.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “We are waiting for our best customer’s opinion on the quality of this latest shipment.” Conrad’s face flushed with red. The hashish did serve him well on many occasions, but there was still a part of him that was ashamed of what he was doing.

Hesitantly, Conrad rolled a huge batch of the plant, his biggest yet, and stuffed as much as he could into the wrapping (he was well-trained in this practice by now). He took a whiff with four sets of eyes watching him…

…he took a whiff with four sets of eyes watching him, but they disappeared quickly, the room disappeared, Conrad himself disappeared. He now consisted of an entity, some kind of something, overlooking a square surrounded by black…

…the square consisted of Outremer and the surrounding areas. Without any prompting, the view of the square changed, it was centering, focusing on Antioch. For some reason the term “zooming in” came to his mind but it meant nothing to him…

…the square changed again, it became 3D, with the buildings of the beleaguered city popping up suddenly. The view that was Conrad entered one of the buildings, he saw a young woman, her hair falling out, vomiting on her infant son, the son’s face was flushed and he was crying, he looked dangerously thin…

… Conrad departed from that particular house, entering others near it; the sights were each more gruesome than the last. Suddenly the square zoomed out again, it moved northeast, to the pass that led to either Adana or Caesarea, depending on which direction one was taking…

…in the pass, two large Turkish armies were camping, resting, preparing for a fight, probably against the Reich but who would know?… Conrad abruptly “zoomed in” on a group of soldiers, they were eating some kind of animal raw, biting it and watching its blood spill out gleefully…

…was what he saw typical? Conrad doubted it, the Turks were surely more civilized and pious than this, this was something more akin to the Horse Lords… a person in a normal state would realize that it was probably the hashish doing this, but Conrad was not in a normal state and all he saw was a large amount of bloodthirsty enemy soldiers marching on Adana, which currently had no Count…

..the view changed, the square “zoomed out” and headed east, east past Antioch, east past Kaiser Henry and Elberhard, nearing Edessa, east past the great desert, east to Baghdad, which was rumored to be under siege…

…there was no rumor, Baghdad was under siege again by a great force, they carried familiar flags of the Horse Lords, they had finally come again, would make their way west, and this time it was up to Conrad to defend the place, for Otto was dead and Henry aging rapidly…

…he “zoomed in”, again, without prompting, on a meeting of commanders, they were discussing strategy in some foreign language, then suddenly the headless body of a familiar friend (if he was a friend) appeared, it was Jebe the Tyrant, and somehow, he could… see… Conrad…

… “I told you,” he said simply, and suddenly Conrad “zoomed out” so fast it gave him nausea, he vomited on the square, Baghdad was shrinking and now covered with chunks, the desert was shrinking, Outremer was shrinking, suddenly the square itself exploded in a fiery ball and Conrad screamed…

…and Conrad screamed, and finally he returned to normal. He looked up, as pale as the thousands dead in Antioch, to the concerned eyes of Frederick. His own eyes glossed over to those of Frederick’s and set themselves on the three Arabs still in the room. All of them were smirking.

“Leave me!” he cried, and then collapsed.

Thorn, 1238

Count of Thorn, that's not the most sought-after job. Ansehelm, the man who had the job, would absolutely agree with that. The last couple of years he had been busy in and around Thorn. Multiple enemy armies had been raiding the countryside. In 1232 and 1233 Ansehelm had been on a campaign to destroy two small Polish armies around Thorn itself. He and his knights had destroyed a small army that sieged the near to unprotected Thorn, and he then took one of his regiments and destroyed the second one. In 1236 he destroyed a Russian Horsemen Army that layed siege to Thorn and this very year he lead the Franconian Household Army to a victory over another big Russian army.
And next to all that he had the internal politics in the Reich to take care off. There had been big arguments in the Diets and in the summer months Ansehelm travelled to Rome to join the great politicians of the Reich.

Now things however turned to normal again, if they can even be called normal. Ansehelm hardly knew this. He had lived in the far north for all his life. He was born in Frankfurt, but at the age of 6 he beceame a Page to the old and jolly knight Karl von Bremen and he moved to Bremen at the North Sea coast. Soon after he moved with Karl to Stettin where he became a squire at the age of 14. When he came of age he lived in Thorn and at the normal age of 21 he was knighted.
He was used to the north and liked the long cold winters. He enjoyed staying at Schloss Folklung, his own personal estate which was converted to a small castle. There he had many servants, he could enjoy hunts in the abondoned forests of Prussia, he had good food and pleasant company. He often brought in great storytellers and jokers to enjoy him and his friends.
During the summers however he hardly ever was at Folklung, he travelled to Rome which took several months when he could, but often he was busy in his province, which he called Prussia. The last 20 years he only managed to visit Rome twice. And he certainly did not like what he saw, both time he had only been in Rome for nothing more then 2 weeks, but already he saw the Italian nobles enjoying their good and peacefull life. That was nothing for him. Rome was too hot for his liking, he liked the rough life he lived in the north. In Rome he was seen as something strange, something weird. After the almost 4 month travel to Rome he often looked like a viking with a beard, and he didn't fit in with the good looking Italians. No, Ansehelm didn't like Rome, but he had to come there every once in a while.
In the north he could enjoy himself, people where different there, used to a hard life and long winters. There was always something to do in the summer. If not in Folklung Ansehelm could go to Thorn itself or any of the little surrounding hamlets. But more importantly the summer was the season of war. That was when the Poles and the Russians came, when they sacked the countryside, and when Ansehelm dispatched the little forces he had to drive them back. From time to time the Poles and Russians send more than 20 men across the border, and that was when big action was needed. Ansehelm himself fully led 3 battles, and helped his brother Peter winning a fourth one. But it seemed the enemy kept coming. Ansehelm, against his true will decided to execute 600 prisoners, so that they would not fight another day. This for Ansehelm was one of the toughest decisions he ever made, but he was happy that he could atleast make a decision.

Now Ansehelm camped with the Franconian Household Army, the year 1238 AD, and time was moving on...

Rome, 1240

"Ggggghxxhxzz."

Conrad Salier woke up and returned to full alertness for the first time in days. Since he had overdosed on the hashish (if that was even possible) and unknowingly revealed his secret to the entire Diet, Conrad had slipped into a state halfway between life and death, temporarily suspending the session as he was given emergency medical attention. After that, his condition had improved slightly, but he was still in a coma for some time. When he finally arose he found himself in a large, comfortable bed that happened to be the exact bed that Kaiser Heinrich had died in many years ago, but no one in the room knew this little fact.

Present when he awoke were the most trusted members of his retinue: Hugo Bresch, his veteran warrior, Frederick Weinmuth, his Chief of Staff, and his old friend Wilhelm de Lannoy, the former Deputy Governor of Rome who had officially joined Conrad's staff upon his return to Rome.

"Ah, Conrad" said Wilhelm, his eyes brightening when he saw that Conrad had woken up, "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Conrad blinked for a second and then looked around. "Care to be more specific?"

Frederick spoke up. "You're in Rome, Conrad. Still in Rome . We've hidden you away from the public eye ever since that little display of yours a couple of days ago."

Although he heard Frederick's words clearly, Conrad thought that he was still groggy. They didn't make any sense to him. "Display? What display? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You blabbed, Conrad. You overdosed on the hashish, stumbled into the Diet, and told the entire esteemed body that Rome was going to fall thanks to the hands of Satan, and that the hashish had told you this. Then you collapsed. You're lucky to be alive."

Finally, everything fell into place. His three friends watched silently as Conrad put two and two together. "I… overdosed… hashish… Diet? …oh, no, oh God no…" He put his head in his hands. "Oh, no…"

"Oh yes," said Frederick unkindly. "You have exposed your secret to the world. Congratulations."

Wilhelm jumped in. "You've got to stop taking this stuff, Conrad. You barely survived this time, and I mean that both physically and career-wise. You're lucky that the Diet doesn't know more about this hashish or otherwise Kaiser Henry would have stripped you of your title and given it to Fredricus."

Conrad was now fully awake, but wished he wasn't. He could tell that this was going to be a massive argument with three of his friends. Not pleasant in any circumstances. "I can't stop taking it," he pleaded. "I see things in there. Visions. I can use the knowledge."

"You can't use the knowledge if you're dead, Conrad." Everybody jumped. That was Hugo Bresch speaking for the first time. They had forgotten that he was even present.

"It's just God testing my strength," Conrad said. "What will this say about my character if I quit?"

"It will say that you are a smart man who made the wiser choice," said Frederick patiently. "Conrad, you must realize what this is doing to you. For God's sake, for our sakes, stop taking this hashish!"

"NO!" Conrad roared, surprising everyone. "If I sacrifice myself for the sake of the Reich, so be it. But I will not consciously allow this gift of foresight that I have been granted to fade away. I am not deluding myself. I know what I am doing, and you will realize that if you wish to continue working with me."

"You say that because you-"

"Enough. Get out of here, all of you. I need some time to rest."

Silently, Conrad's three friends shuffled out of the room, exchanging looks of despair. They had failed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Conrad heard a knocking sound coming from his door.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a wizened old man, older than even Kaiser Henry, stepped into the room. Despite his age, he clearly did not look German. His ethnicity (Greek) was confirmed when he spoke.

"King Salier," the man said in a thick accent, "How is your recovery progressing?" Conrad was immediately suspicious. While this old Greek was far too aged to be an assassin, he wondered if it was another attempt at an intervention.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

The old man smiled. "Greetings to you too," he said in a sarcastic voice. There was a time when Conrad would have recognized his error and apologized, but that time was long gone now. The man continued as if he didn't expect an apology. "I am the official Byzantine ambassador to Rome, and also a historian of our great Empire, stretching back to the days when Constantinople was not even included in it and there was no Christianity to be divided over. I simply wished to liaise with the King of Outremer before he departed back East."

Conrad was still in a foul mood and cared little for diplomatic procedure at the moment. "Liaise with me then, and be done with it."

"Very well," said the old man, slightly taken aback. "The Byzantine Empire officially requests that the Kingdom of Outremer illegalize hashish. Before you can throw me out, I assure you that this request is official. Due to your lack of prosecution, deliveries of the plant have made it all the way to Constantinople, causing our citizens grief."

"I must respectfully disagree with your Emperor's assessment of the properties of the plant," said Conrad, gaining some diplomatic tactics back. “While under its influence I have seen many useful things.”

“But you do not deny that you have seen… upsetting things? Like, for instance, ‘Satan standing triumphant on Palatine Hill?’”

Conrad stared. “Is that what I said at the Diet? Wow…”

The ancient Greek continued on, business-like. I have with me here several transcripts of men speaking while on the hashish, their lives after they had been taking the plant for some time, and comments of their friends and family members. You will notice that many of them are, in fact, suicides.”

Horrified at the casualness of this man’s tone, Conrad took the first paper from the stack. It had already been translated into German.

“Strange things,” he read to himself, mumbling, “he thought he could see the future… started to scare him, eventually poisoned himself…”

“This next one is from our former Minister of Finance,” said the Greek pleasantly, handing Conrad another paper.

“Former?”

“Well, he apparently swallowed some Greek fire while under the influence. It burned right through him, poor man.” He was shaking his head sadly, but continued to rifle through the papers. “Here’s one visitor from your Outremer; he’s still living but thinks he’s Pope Gregory, poor chap… hey, what’s this one doing in here?”

“What? Is it actually a piece of good news?”

“Unfortunately, it is completely the wrong subject. Well, maybe not entirely off-topic, depending on the way you look at it.”

Conrad was mildly intrigued. “What is it?”

“It is a piece of the diary of your Marcellus Aemilius. It’s quite interesting, actually, not counting the fact that we Byzantines have a more complete record of the early Roman Republic than you Romans do. This one was written in 247 BC, in the second year of his shortened co-Consulship with Numerius Aureolus.”

“What does it say?”

“I’m getting to that, young fellow, hold on.” The Greek seemed amused. “The history behind it is interesting, actually. Most of you Germans and Italians consider Marcellus to be a hero, the one who saved the Republic from the evil Servius, right?” Conrad nodded. Everyone knew. “Do you know what happened to him after that little battle of his? This time, Conrad shook his head. Details were always murky after the Civil War. The Greek continued. “Well, it seemed as if the Hero was shirking some of his Consular duties in order to pursue Servius. Apparently, the night before that final day of battle, Marcellus had intercepted a message from Servius to his brother, Oppius. The message detailed Servius’s plans for his wife and legacy after the war. After there was a lack of activity in the Senate Session of 249, an official investigation was not permitted so Marcellus decided to go off on his own.

“Anyways, he grew obsessed with finding his nephew and bringing Servius to justice. In that letter that he had intercepted, it said that Servius’s wife, Eutropia, I think, was with child. Obviously, this was the ultimate bargaining chip to get Servius to come out of hiding and Marcellus knew it. So he tracked Eutropia and the kid down, leaving his army and any semblance of Roman decency behind, and basically made a public statement. Either Servius was to show himself or his wife and the kid were going to buy it. Sad, really.”

Conrad was intrigued. “Did he finally get Servius?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that Marcellus was completely consumed by his obsession. This diary entry is him lamenting on what he had done and how he wishes that he had been more focused on the things that mattered – namely, rebuilding the Republic. It’s quite interesting, maybe you could learn something from it.” He absentmindedly tossed the old paper to Conrad, and glanced out the window. The sun was rather low in the sky. “Look at the time, I had best be leaving. An old man needs his rest, you know. Do think about illegalizing this hashish, will you? The Emperor would thank you very much if you did.”

He slowly got up to depart, leaving Conrad with the ability only to nod. Finally, Conrad obtained the vocal skills necessary to ask a question.

“I’m sorry, I never got your name?”

The old man turned and smiled.

“Iannis,” he said. “Have a safe trip back to the East.”

Prague, 1228:

Willellda sat in front of the large fireplace, a crumbled piece of parchment in her hand, tears were rolling down her cheeks as she watched the flickering flames in front of her. Gunhilde, her trusted midwife was standing behind her and had laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I am sorry, mistress! It seems there is no end to the suffering of our family. First Ehrhart dies, then your husband leaves you and now this grim news from the East."

Willellda shakes herself out of her reverie, takes a final look at the parchment in her hand and then defiantly throws it into the flames. It takes her some time to tear away her gaze from the flames licking at the letter, which had told her of Leopold's demise.

"These are dark times Gunhilde. Very dark. Send for my son will you. He has to know, I will tell him everything. Hurry!"

"Are you sure this is wise, mistress? After all he has done for us?"

"He deserves to know, now go and bring him here, and send for Contzel and Niesenn too!"

____________________________________

This is a coop story between Ituralde and Cecil XIX


Thunder rolled overhead as Sigismund von Mahren entered the Council Chambers in Prague. His mother Willellda had wanted him to come and as he entered the Great Hall he could see three women clad in black huddled around the sole fireplace, the fire banked so that the warmth hardly penetrated the large room and the light was subdued. There were his two sisters Contzel and Niesenn along with his mother Willellda. His mother's eyes were red from tears while his sisters wore a glum determination on their faces. As soon as Willellda lays her eyes on Sigismund she storms forward and grasps him in her arms.

"Oh you have come, my son! You have come, what grief has befallen our family! Why do the Gods curse us so?" She clings on to her son, silently sobbing.

Sigismund returned his mother's embrace, and let her cry in his arms. His brother's death had been a terrible blow to the family, but with his mother in hysterics and his fathers descent into drink he felt an obligation to keep a stiff upper lip.

"There there, mother. Ehrhart's in a better place now. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to cry like this, and neither would I or father."

At the mention of Sigismund's father Willellda lets out another stifled moan. "It's just not... it's just not right. First your brother dies and then they take away your father!" She manages inbetween sobs, still clinging on to Sigismund's shoulder.

Contzel and Niesenn share embarrassed looks as they see their mother reduced to tears, clinging on to their brother, as though he were the only thing that kept her upright. At the same time, they seem to be casting expectant looks towards Sigismund, as though they knew something he didn't.

"He's a soldier, mother." Sigismund replied. "I too would dearly like for us to all be together again, but he and I have our duties to the Reich."

With a final shudder, Willellda seems to draw herself together, and slightly more composed she moves away from her now eldest son. "A foolish old soldier, he was." she states with contempt on her face. She looks at Sigismund sternly: "Don't you think you can run off and get yourself killed in some foolish battle, my boy!"

Sigismund takes a step back, aghast at the words that have come out of his mother's mouth. "M-mother! There was nothing foolish about that battle! And you can't blame father for Erhart's death, or Erhart himself for that matter! Father is even more distraught than you are, because he blames himself as well!"

Willellda looks at her son with a puzzled expression on her face and slowly the realization dawns on her, she raises her hand to cup his cheek, stroking it slightly. "My poor boy, it's not your brother I was talking about, although he should have known better. I was referring to Leopold, your father." She smiles at him reassuringly.

Should Sigismund look up at his sisters he will see an apologetic look on Contze's face. Niesenn on the other hand shows a mishievous grin, just as if this had been some rather good prank, like the ones she used to play on him in their childhood.

Sigismund's face is blank for a moment, then it explodes. "WHAT?!? Duke Leopold is my father?!?"

She gently strokes his cheek once more: "Oh don't be upset my poor boy, you should have figured it out by now. Why do you think Jonas left us, after Ehrhart died? Why do you think Leopold was so eager to have you become an Austrian noble? His blood runs through your veins. That's why I called you here. Now that he is dead, you deserve to know." She gives him a comforting look, waiting for his next reaction.

"How did this happen?" Sigismund responds. "You were married to father, and Leopold was married as well! And what of Ehrhart? He became part of House Austria as well!"

Willellda chuckles lightly. "You have much to learn, my boy! We were both married, but we were also in love. Why do you think Leopold only fathered two children, stopping after he had his heir? He did his marital duty and nothing more. Your father was away on Crusade anyways, he didn't care. At least Leopold had the decency to take his wife with him to Outremere."

She shakes a little bit once more and stifles a sigh, as the emotions well up in her once again. "As for your brother. He was a fool like Jonas, but he was needed too. To make you an Austrian noble. How would it have looked if only you were to become part of the Austrian nobility." She dabs at her cheeks with a handkerchief where tears have welled up.

"No, he did it for you, for his first son, to serve the House he loved so much, he gave his life for it." She lowers her head and a low sobbing can be heard.

Contze looks slightly ashamed from Sigismund to her mother, while Niesenn still somehow managed to find the whole situation amusing.

For a moment Sigismunds just stands, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. Then he straightens himself out and turns to leave.

"I can't stay here anymore. I must speak with my father."

Willellda grabs her son by her sleeve and turns him around again as he tries to leave. She looks infuriated: "Haven't you listened to me? Your father is dead! Jonas has left us, he doesn't want anything to do with us! You are Leopolds son, you can't change that by running away now. Don't you realize the implications, my little boy? You are his eldest son, his true heir. That Arnold is nothing against you, nothing!"

Willellda stares at her son exasperated, once again tears are welling up in her eyes.

At this Sigismunds expression suddenly mirrors his mother's earlier rage. "No, this changes nothing! I am Sigismund von Mahren! Even if it is Leopold's blood that flows through my veins, Jonas von Mahren was the one who raised me! Even when he was off saving the Holy Land, he sent Erhart and me letters on how to behave like a true knight! Brother and I cherished those letters dearly, and no son of Leopold could have ever received something so precious. Now you ask me to usurp the man I have sworn fealty to, and call another man my forebear? I will not betray my duke, and I will not abandon my father!"

Sigismund turns around and walks away, muttering to himself. "A trueborn son, not a bastard, deserves to be Duke."

Night time, at camp on the road to Mosul, 1240


“I knew you would come back.” Henry murmured, staring at the black cloaked figure in the shadows. The figure bowed gently.

“Is it time?” Henry asked faintly, but he knew the answer already. The strength was leaving his body. He had a high fever and his bed was drenched with sweat.

“You always were a disappointment, Henry.” said the figure. Henry’s mind felt numbed and in his stupor he could not tell if the harsh voice of the intruder was that of his pagan magician or his father. “You came all this way to the East. You could have established an Empire from the Pyrenees to Alexandria. And what did you do? Gave Jerusalem to a jumped up priest and tried to block all further expansion. This is not the destiny of the Reich. This is a mere interruption. And it must end.”

Henry closed his eyes. “You are wrong, Kolar …” he started, but the words would not come.

The intruder limped out of the shadows and continued vindictively: “You have just lived long enough to see it start to unravel. The true nature of the Reich is re-asserting itself. Ambitious young men are replacing the foolish and dying old guard. They strain at the restraints you seek to impose on them and soon will break free. Ulrich Hummel’s election confirms it. You tried to use all your influence to stop him, but you failed.”

The figure stepped back. “But you do not know the extent of your failure. Do you think I work alone?”

Henry was gasping for breath. “Hashshashins…”

“Yes, yes, I use the Hashshashins on occasion. They were the ones who supplied that nice cake you ate this evening, by the way. That talented Syrian cook you hired?” the figure smiled: “A mean chef by day, but one of their master assassins by night”.

The intruder paused and continued on his aside, as if he had all the time in the world: “You would not believe how hard it was to persuade the Old Man of the Mountains to authorise your assassination. He actually thought he owed you a favour for defeating the Horse Lords. The Mongols have done a more effective job of clamping down on the cult than ever you or the Egyptians did. But now the Horse Lords are back and anyway, I convinced the Old Man that the crusaders were the true long term threat.”

The dark figure reigned himself in and turned back to Henry: “But no, when I referred to my partners, I did not mean the Hashshashins. I no more work with them than I work with my horse or my servant. I use them and in return I pay them their exorbitant fees. No, I speak not of the Hashshashins but rather of my associates - a group of like minded men, who work behind the scenes directing the future of this Reich you so foolishly believe you rule. We have done rather well during your inattentive rule - we have the ear of the future Kaiser and the current Chancellor. There is nothing you or your pathetic Charter Amendments can do to stop us now.”

Henry tried to lift himself out of bed, but succeeded only in temporarily raising himself before he collapsed back down. His eyelids started to flutter, as he saw the dark figure leaning over him. What will they say after am I dead? wondered Henry. When the Reich burns?

The intruder sat down beside Henry’s bed. “You made a mistake letting me go, taking your eye off your opponent.” he whispered. “I won’t make the same mistake. But I will repay your kindness. I will stay with you until the end.”

The dark figure held Henry’s hand. Henry looked at long gnarled fingers clasping his own in revulsion, but was powerless to pull back.

“The toxin used by the Hashshashins is very rare and leaves no traces. As far as the rest of the Reich will know, you passed away peacefully in your sleep. Which, after a fashion, is the truth, I suppose.”

The wry smile on intruder’s face was the last thing Henry ever saw. He closed his eyes, not knowing if the dark figure by his side was real, a fevered hallucination or a demon, come to escort him to the next world.

*****

During the night, Henry’s shieldbearer had slept heavily, with unusually vivid dreams which he could not shake. In one, he saw a tall, black cloaked figure leave the Kaiser’s tent, followed dutifully by Henry’s devoted dog, Ernest. When the shieldbearer awoke in the morning, he found Henry had passed away in the night, but his dog was no where to be seen. Fearful of the appearance of negligence, the shieldbearer told no one of his dream. Ernest the dog was never found.

Eastern Mediterranean Sea, 1240

Three AM. Conrad Salier woke up, sweating, after approximately forty-five minutes of sleep. He groaned. That feeling was back again. He made his way up to the ship's deck, staggering. Silently praising the Lord that he didn't stumble or fall, he leaned over the ship's side and vomited. Not for the first time that night. Seasickness combined with hashish withdrawal did not make for a fun extended sea voyage back to Damascus.

He silently returned to his quarters, feeling only slightly better. The feeling that he needed to vomit was gone (for the moment), but now he had to deal with that unpleasant acidic aftertaste currently present in his mouth. He climbed into bed, at first trying to sleep, and later simply contemplating. It was evident that sleep would not come. Conrad sighed.

While it was still affected by withdrawal and lack of sleep, Conrad found his mind to be clearer than it had been in years. This "awakening" of sorts had led him to discover certain unpleasant details. Firstly, Ulrich Hummel, perennial election loser and Diet pariah (he had one time taken the entire Swabian Household Army and gone through half of France on an unconstitutional rampage) had somehow ascended to the position of Chancellor. Although Hummel was Count of Acre, Conrad would sooner entrust Outremer's security to an Egyptian. At least they would leave everything untouched.

The other problem that Conrad had awoken to was the unfortunate shift of power that was taking place in the Diet. On the out was his greatest ally and fellow lover of religion, Kaiser Henry. The Kaiser, with his increasing authority, had managed almost singlehandedly to continue the implementation of pro-Papal policies with the death of the Old Guard. Taking his place, a dearth of brash, young Electors who grew up under the aftermath of Kaiser Heinrich had risen in the Diet. The incoming Kaiser, Jobst von Salza, was no friend of religion (he had attacked an army on Crusade, no matter what the report had said). And his daughter was reportedly engaged to Lothar Steffin, who openly stated he cared little for Outremer or Kaiser Henry.

When the Kaiser died, the Old Guard would die with him, leaving only Conrad to uphold its principles and beliefs. Sure, Matthias Steffin was promising, but he was overshadowed by his brother. To put it simply, Conrad's faction, for the first time in decades, was outnumbered. The question was, how would he prevent the worst?

It never went through Conrad's mind that he was on the wrong side. Of course I am right, he thought. How can one be wrong when he sides with the Lord? Obviously people would see the wisdom in time. Hummel might be a bumbling Chancellor. With his style of running things, there would be discontent.

Do I point it out? No, he decided. He would still be outnumbered. People knew him, knew his devotion to religion, knew his former hashish problems. They would take it for what it was - deliberately laying the blame on all that might go wrong on the Chancellor in order to recruit more people to his side.

No, he decided. Stay silent, watch, wait, pray. God would see that everything would go right in the end. The values of the Old Guard would remain in the Reich; this was just a relaxed period. Conrad would let events run their course and not endanger them by rocking the boat too much.

Rocking the boat, ugh. At the thought, the feeling to vomit returned and Conrad staggered out of bed once again. It would be a long night, but there was much to do. He was glad to be rid of the hashish so that he could get some actual work done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damascus

The headquarters of the hashish cartel was inconspicuously located, probably not a surprising fact. Even though the sale of the drug was legal, the cartel realized that secrecy was always best. The headquarters were in the residential sector of the city, more appropriately under the residential sector. A lone house, indistinguishable from the others aside from the fact that it appeared to be abandoned, was the sole means of entering or exiting the underground complex. Once inside, assuming the person was allowed entry by the sizeable amount of guards, one would be privy to a series of large, connected rooms that contained delivery transcripts, the hashish itself, a large amount of florins, and the offices of the higher-ups in the cartel. It was in one of these offices where Abdullah, the mustachioed man with slick hair and dark eyes was discussing a series of events, both fortunate and unfortunate, to his fellow members of the cartel.

"So, it seems that we are facing a return to illegalization. Is that correct?"

"The Byzantine government has officially requested that Outremer illegalize the drug, yes," said Theofilos, one of the few Greeks represented in the cartel. He was nothing like the ancient, proud Iannis that Conrad met in Rome.

"And, judging by Salier's outburst in the Diet and that old fool's visit, it seems likely that this will occur once he lands in Damascus," said Hamid, the big man with the beard.

Abdullah looked around to Theofilos. "Do you agree?" He was met with a nod. He turned to the only man who did not speak, Achmed, who was a huge bear of a man and a mute. Achmed also nodded. Abdullah sighed.

"Outremer is becoming filled up with dirty Catholics and Germans. We could not take a hit like criminalization. It wouldn't be like last time."

"I agree," Hamid said.

"Then we should take steps to ensure that criminalization does not occur. The time has come to act, gentlemen. I have received word that Kaiser Henry is dead. That fool Jobst will be taking over, he does not care for Outremer. Hummel is Chancellor, but is not fully committed. The rest of the Diet couldn't care less what happens out here. Hamid, Achmed, prepare your men. We strike Salier when he least expects it. Kaiser Jobst places one of his followers as King, allows us to continue sale of hashish, we stay rich."

Hamid looked slightly discontented. "Assassinate Salier? Is that the smartest move? What if they come after us."

Abdullah laughed. "They won't care, Hamid! Haven't you heard? Henry is dead, Hummel's Chancellor. Salier is in the minority now. Nobody will care about him."

The three men nodded and departed, plotting on how to bring Conrad's newly-meaningful life to an abrupt end.

“Back for more, are ye?” Adelman snorted and spat on the ground. “I hear they call you the ‘Count of Florence’ or something equally ridiculous these days.” He eyed Lothar Steffen coolly. “You still look like a spoiled pup to me. The ‘Count of Flatulence,’ perhaps.”

“I may still be young, but I have learned a great deal since last we trained together. It is unwise of you to underestimate me,” the Bavarian noble deadpanned.

“Underestimate you? For the love of… you go and win yourself a few minor battles and you think yourself a master now? By the Devil’s Tits, I swear I never thought it was possible for you to get even more arrogant than you were before you left.” Adelman popped his jaw; an act that somehow managing to convey immense disdain.

Lothar Steffen paced across the room to a rack of practice swords. He traced his fingers along the hilts of half a dozen, before he found one he liked. With a deft movement he lifted it, feeling the balance. He flipped it back and forth between his hands and swung it in smooth arcs. Satisfied with the results he turned back to face the weapons master. “Perhaps you should give me another lesson in humility.”

Adelman stared at the Bavarian for a moment, then laughed. “Now? You’re not even armored! Even with the dulled edge, you’d take such a drubbing that your father would have my head on a pike!”

Lothar shrugged and lifted a round wooden shield propped against the nearby wall. “Is this better? I would not want to put you at too much of a disadvantage. It would not be… ah, what is that word… chivalrous.” He looked his old trainer in the eye. “Or perhaps you are simply a coward.”

There was no verbal response, but none was needed. Adelman lifted his sword high, bringing the hilt in line with his right shoulder. He held it two-handed, his fingers flexing slightly to achieve the perfect grip. Lothar could see his opponent’s weight shift as he adjusted his stance. Adelman’s body angled backwards, narrowing his exposed front. The shieldless man was preparing for a rush; a brutal direct assault on his opponent that was designed to overwhelm and subdue through sheer force.

In response, Lothar slipped his hand more firmly into the leather straps of the shield. He held it lightly on his left, prepared to bring it up in front of him at a moment’s notice. The training yard was inundated with the silent expectation of combat. Several long moments passed as both men stared into each other’s eyes, in an effort to shake the other’s confidence; victory before the fight had even begun.

Lothar grinned. Adelman charged.

The speed with which the huge man moved was startling. Lothar himself could barely move that fast without armor, and he was half Adelman’s age. The intensity in the man’s eyes was disturbing to behold. Had Lothar not experienced such an expression dozens of times before, he might have broken at the sight. It was a berserker’s charge, being wielded by a man who never yielded to rage. Cold, calculating, and deadly. There was no way to deflect, dodge, or riposte. One could only endure and hope to survive. Lothar braced himself and raised his shield to meet the oncoming blow.

Adelman swung his sword down with every ounce of strength he could summon. Rarely had he put as much effort into a single blow as he did at that moment. It was a stroke that would split a man in two in a real battle, and even with the blunted practice weapon it could seriously maim. The sound of the impact was so slight, the opposition to his blade so weak, that at first he thought he had smashed the eldest son of the Duke to the ground. It took him a moment to realize that Lothar was still standing, unphased by the blow. A loud clattering sound came from his right. It took him a moment to realize that his blade had sheered cleanly from the hilt. A moment after that he noticed the sharpened dagger at his throat.

“You taught me well, Adelman.” Lothar cocked his head, the tip of his dagger drawing a drop of blood from his opponent’s throat. “Never fight a battle that you cannot win. Those are your words, not mine. I will never best you in even combat, so I will not engage in even combat.” He nodded towards the hilt still clutched in Adelman’s hand. There, clearly visible in the afternoon light, were fine marks spanning three-quarters of the width of the blade. The tool used to file through the hardened steel must have been incredibly narrow, to keep the split imperceptible to casual inspection. “I have learned a new lesson since the last time you trained me; Exitus acta probat.”

Adelman smiled broadly, then let out a hearty laugh. “Perhaps you are not the dummkopf you were when last we met. Very well, then…” He touched the dagger gently, moving it away from his throat, and bowed deeply. “I yield, my Lord.”

Triumph glittered in Lothar’s eyes. “Do not forget it.” In a flash, his dagger whipped out and sliced deeply into Adelman’s cheek. Blood poured in sheets down the side of the man’s face. He raised his hand to the gash, but was greeted with a boot to the chest. Adelman fell backwards in a sprawl. “That is for your many years of disrespect. If you ever fail to address me in the proper manner again, I’ll have your head.” The Count of Florence bowed.

Damascus, 1242

The Cathedral of the Virgin Mary located in the city was not part of the new, rapid re-Christianization movement taking place. A great number of smaller places of worship had popped up since Damascus changed hands some years ago, but none could match the splendor or grandeur of what had been there for a millennium. Built by the Romans in the Second Century AD, the Cathedral had seen its share of history over the years. It currently housed the Crown of Thorns, Conrad Salier having lent it to the Diocese prior to his departure to Rome.

Today, however, seemed like just another ordinary day inside the Cathedral. Mass was taking place; the usual Gospel passages (Romans 20, others) were posted for all to see, and Communion was being administered.

Conrad and his aides having taken Communion first (being King of Outremer did have its benefits), they silently returned to their pews, and, after prayer, observed the rest of the congregation.

"Lots of Arabs getting Communion today," whispered Wilhelm de Lannoy.

"Good," Conrad whispered back. "The Word of the Lord is spreading."

"I don't like it," said Hugo Bresch, Conrad's veteran warrior. "It seems like the number jumped at once. Unless a priest gave a particularly powerful sermon a few days ago, I suspect foul play is involved."

“Rubbish,” said Frederick Weinmuth, Conrad’s chief of staff. “You’re paranoid and need to get to church more often, Bresch.”

Conrad was annoyed. “Can we be silent? In case you haven’t noticed, a holy ritual *is* taking place.” Hugo muttered something under his breath but the matter was not pursued further. The remainder of Mass continued without incident.

Following the priest’s exit from the main hall, the congregation rose to depart, as did Conrad’s staff. He, however, motioned for them to sit, saying that he wished to observe the Crown of Thorns before leaving. The three men, especially Hugo, reluctantly returned to their seats. They all knew better than to annoy Conrad while he was in church.

Conrad, however, was focused on other matters. He could not help but linger on what Hugo had said, and noticed how many of the Arabs present were taking their time leaving the church. Perhaps one of them would try to kill him, after all. Conrad had brought no weapon to church, but put his senses on high alert as he silently prayed for peace. Which one would attack? Was it the one lingering by the altar who had badly fumbled an easy song in the hymnal? The one currently ambling down the aisle, about to pass their pew, who had turned east during the reading of the Apostle’s Creed? The one behind them, who had arrived late? The one diagonally in front and to the left of them, who had held up the Communion line? The one still in his pew off to the side, who kept his face hidden?

As it turned out, the answer was all of them. After the last people had departed the cathedral, those five Arabs plus three more drew knives out as one and charged at Conrad’s group.

They were badly outnumbered and out-armed. The only member of Conrad’s group with a weapon of any kind was Hugo, who drew out a longsword. Conrad saw with displeasure that one of them was the mountain of a man, Achmed, the mute one. Another, the one with his face hidden, was the also-powerful Hamid. He was suddenly giving orders in Arabic. This assassination attempt was obviously not designed to fail.

“HELP! ATTACK! IN THE CATHEDRAL!” Frederick screamed shortly before the tussle began. It was not out of cowardice; he was just trying to even the odds.

The attack came. Hugo was able to hold off three of the potential assailants by holding out his sword; they could not compete with his reach. That still left five. Wilhelm ducked behind the pew; if the attackers were to come for him they would have to go over the top. Frederick was desperately fighting off one trying to plunge his knife in. Most were going for Conrad, however. The King of Outremer, thinking quick, had counter-rushed three men coming at him from the side, surprising the men and spilling the fight out into the center aisle of the Cathedral.

Elated at his success, Conrad tried to wrestle the knife from the closest man, but he wasn’t giving it up easily and now the other two were up and closing in on him. Realizing that this was a battle he could not win, he kicked the first man in his privates and retreated a few steps back. The man was hunched over in pain, blocking the aisle and impeding the other two’s momentum. Conrad had earned a brief respite.

Back in the main pew, a series of wrestling matches were occurring. Somebody had decided to climb over a pew and try for Wilhelm, who was still hunched and ready. However, the pew had slipped and gone askew, causing the man to lose his footing and trip onto Wilhelm. Both were now on the ground, fighting for the knife. Frederick now had Hamid gunning for his throat and it was taking the full strength of both of his arms to try to push the knife away. Despite this, he was still losing.

However, it was Hugo who drew first blood. One of the men he was fending off feinted, paused, and threw his knife at Hugo’s neck. Hugo easily parried it aside and quickly lunged at the now-unarmed thrower, stabbing him in the chest. He went down, moaning, and blood spilled on the stone floor and pews. Hugo turned to the other two men, who were now more cautious.

The three men chasing Conrad were now all up again and closing in on him. Conrad turned and ran down a pew aisle. He reached the other side with the men in about the middle. He gripped the end of the pew and with all his might swung the side. The pew moved, crashing into Conrad’s pursuers, buying him more time. He needed to find a weapon. He found some in the vigil candles (God forgive me, but this is a time of great need), and rushed over to them, grabbing a handful. He only had a split second of grace before he could fire them (Achmed was one of the men chasing him and had recovered instantly). Tossing all the candles in his right hand, he watched as they found their target. Achmed slowed, emitting a wordless scream.

Wilhelm had finally succeeded in wrenching the knife from his attacker’s grip and had managed to stab him in the throat. He turned around and locked blades for a second with a surprised Hamid, who had just overcome Frederick. Wilhelm quickly withdrew, his feet splashing in the blood created by three separate stab wounds. Six to three.

One of the men pursuing Conrad broke off from the chase and ran towards the altar, more specifically the Tabernacle off to the side. Grunting, he picked up the heavy golden box and staggered over to Hugo, chucking it over the heads of the two men he was holding off right at him. Hugo ducked, and the two men rushed him. One managed to implant his knife in Hugo’s back. Hugo, screaming, swung his sword wildly, lopping off the arm of his attacker. The man retreated back to the cathedral’s wall, groaning, and sat down. He was out of the fight, simply waiting to die. Meanwhile, the other two men still on Hugo were pushing him back little by little. Eventually he was back-to-back with Wilhelm, who was being marked by Hamid. The two men were surrounded by pews and attackers. Hamid grinned.

Finally, someone ran back into the church. It was the priest who presided over Mass that day, his white robes flailing as he ran. He couldn’t have been younger than fifty. Nevertheless, he did what was required of him. Hamid, who was completely focused on Wilhelm, never saw him coming. The priest began to choke him from behind. Hamid, surprised, flailed his arms for a minute, allowing Wilhelm to stab him in the stomach. Hamid went down but not before his knife found the priest’s shoulder. Both men went down, Wilhelm’s knife still implanted in Hamid as he fell, causing a large incision to be made. Wilhelm looked ready to vomit, but somehow managed to turn away and face Hugo’s attackers.

Three to four. Conrad ran over to the main action, eager to finally get a knife. As always, he was closely pursued by Achmed and the other man. In one fluid movement, he bounded over the bodies, picked up Hamid’s knife, and slashed, making contact with Achmed’s knee. Good. Maybe that will take some of the speed out of him. Achmed turned around to the other man and gestured rapidly. They switched positions, but Conrad struck as the other man was off-balance. The second that Conrad’s knife was in the other man’s groin, he was vulnerable. As he went down, the other man slashed, making a deep cut in Conrad’s arm. Conrad groaned, staring at Achmed. Both men were injured. After a second, Achmed charged but tripped over all of the corpses. He fell face-first to the ground, the blood splashing up onto Conrad’s shirt. Conrad switched the knife to his uninjured arm and quickly put the knife into the back of Achmed’s neck before he got up. Achmed did not rise.

“Exit’s clear!” Conrad yelled. “Watch for the bodies!”

The three men turned and ran for the exit doors. They were about halfway there when suddenly the doors to three confessional rooms opened. Out rushed Abdullah and two bodyguards. The exit was blocked. The two pursuing them blocked them from going out another way. They were trapped.

Abdullah, drawing a dagger along with his bodyguards, grinned. “One way out of this, Salier. You know it as well as I do. If you legalize the hashish, I might just let you live.”

“Ha!” Conrad spat back. “I would not allow myself to make your ‘generous offer’ be used as a crutch for me so soon.”

“So be it,” Abdullah said simply. He jerked his head in the slightest of motions. At that instant there were footsteps behind Conrad’s group. Hugo reacted quickest, spinning his sword around and making contact with his two attackers. They both fell in a pool of blood. After about five seconds Hugo joined them, his back wound finally getting the better of him. Hugo Bresch, poor Hugo Bresch, the veteran warrior who was against the hashish from the start, now became a casualty, a victim, of the substance. He died doing what he was supposed to do: protect the King of Outremer.

Conrad had no time to weep. He was bleeding freely from his arm and Wilhelm had taken quite a few bruises. The path to retreat was now open, but then all the deaths would have been meaningless. Abdullah would escape and surely organize another assassination attempt, and the next time Conrad wouldn’t have Hugo to protect him.

Without warning, Abdullah and his men charged, catching Conrad and Wilhelm unprepared for a moment. It was enough. They wrestled the two remaining Germans to the ground, the thin layer of blood between them and the hard ground somewhat dulling the impact.

Knives flew everywhere. Conrad took another slash, this time to the leg. Neither had any time to grab Hugo’s sword, and so they were forced to defend themselves at close range. The fighting soon got dirty. One of Abdullah’s men spat in Wilhelm’s eye, temporarily blinding him. Wilhelm took half a second to wipe the spit away, and his attacker used that short period of time as an opening. He plunged the knife in the German’s throat. Wilhelm, crying out silently, did the same in retaliation.

Conrad did not notice. He was too busy with his own battle. A knife was drawing perilously close to his own throat. In desperation, he bit the man’s hand, for his own weapon was being used to fight off Abdullah. Conrad rolled away, managing to grab a second knife from one of the many corpses on the ground.

He took stock of the situation: He was outnumbered, injured in two places, and facing relatively fresh and unhurt foes.

Jesus, grant me strength, he thought, and for a second, his wish was granted. The pain in his arm seemed to wash away, and with all his might Conrad threw both knives at Abdullah’s remaining bodyguard. The aim was off on one, but by luck (or the will of a higher power) that was the one that was blocked. The second throw’s aim was true and the knife embedded itself right in the man’s heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

It was down to Conrad and Abdullah. The two men stared at each other, and for the first time in his life Conrad was able to stand Abdullah’s bottomless eyes for more than a second. Abdullah was no longer grinning; his face was the epitome of hatred. He raised his knife and flung it. For a third time Conrad was wounded; this time it was in the shoulder. Moaning, he went down.

He opened his eyes and stared at the cathedral’s elaborate ceiling. It seemed to change before his eyes into a blue sky complete with white puffy clouds and white doves flying across his field of view. Is this a hashish vision, or is my life flashing before my eyes?

Suddenly, the brightness of the vision turned dark, and the ceiling returned. A moment later Abdullah’s face, once again grinning, blocked his view. He had picked up another knife. Conrad somehow found the strength to crawl back to avoid Abdullah’s final blow. Finally, though, he came across a roadblock – a corpse – and could crawl no more. Abdullah’s face came into view once more.

“End of the ro-OOMPH!” Abdullah’s speech was interrupted by Conrad shoving his hand in Abdullah’s face. His other hand was busy groping around for a weapon. He had to work quickly, Abdullah was strong and had position, both of his hands were working to get Conrad’s out of the way…

Abdullah finally did so and recovered his vision. In that brief moment he saw Conrad, tired and bloody but still triumphant, holding a longsword and stabbing it forward. Abdullah screamed and fell, adding his blood to the drenched cathedral floor.

Conrad paused and eventually got himself up with the help of two pews. He did not observe the carnage, and slowly limped out of the Cathedral of the Virgin Mary, seeking medical attention. There would be time to grieve later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, before the masses arrived, a dark, hooded figure stepped into the church. A barely-conscious Abdullah was the only person still living to witness it. This figure seemed to know this fact and made his way straight for Abdullah.

“Rise, Abdullah. That wound is nothing.” The man’s accent was indistinguishable, but his voice was that of poison.

Somehow, at these words Abdullah’s wound did not seem to hurt him anymore. He rose slowly but without a grimace.

“Do you wish revenge on the man who did this to you?”

Abdullah nodded, being unable to speak. After all, the man had just saved his life!

“You will not go back to the hashish. You are done with that silly substance and that foolish cartel. You will go to work for my associates. We are much more powerful and influential than any illegal operation that deals in drugs. We work behind the scenes and control the Reich’s affairs from afar. And we… deal with those Electors that do not cooperate. Your Salier is a target. Will you work with us?”

“Yes, of course… my master.” Abdullah did not consciously remember saying that last bit, but it just came out and he did not correct himself. He did not wish to correct himself.

“Good.” The dark figure clapped his hands. “We will begin immediately. Your first assignment is regarding Ulrich Hummel. He is becoming somewhat of a liability…”

Abdullah, fully reinvigorated with life, followed his new employer, his new master, out of the bloody cathedral and into the light of the day.

Deep in Imperial territory, 1245:

Siegfried retched a final time, as the stench of his own vomit slowly arrived in his nostrils. He was leaning off his horse, but still couldn't tear his gaze from the lonely eye on the ground, which was staring back at him. A fleshy cord was connecting it to the eye socket of what once had been a hare. The body flattened by a wagon wheel, its intestines squeezed upon the road.

He hadn't felt quite well ever since a messenger had brought him a scroll bearing the Emperor's seal. It had interested him ever since, why the Emperor was interested in him. The fourth son of the Duke of Franconia could count himself lucky not to be sent to some monastery and spend the rest of his life in devout contemplation. But suddenly, Emperor Jobst himself had taken an interest in him and every explanation he had so far come up with had left him a little more nauseated.

Finally, he managed to tear his gaze from the dead animal and focused on the men standing around him. It was a small entourage, but he knew most of the men well enough to recognize their uneasy looks. Straightening up he stared down at them, a feat he had learned long ago, although some of his companions were well larger than him.

"As far as you are concerned this has not happened! Have I made myself clear?" His gaze lingers for a moment, before he continues: "And now get me some water, will you!"

As the first gulp of water washed the vile taste out of his mouth, Siegfrieds thoughts once again turned to the encounter ahead of him. What was it the Emperor saw in him. Was he to be used in an elaborate ploy or another to then be discarded later on, or was this an opportunity for genuine advancement. He hoped for the latter, but believed it to be the former. Still, as the fourth son of the Duke of Franconia he couldn't be too picky, besides, you couldn't deny the Emperor. Not yet, anyway.

Governor’s residence Damascus 1242

“Meckle, I think this consulting with the soothsayer is not good for you or the image you are presenting to this family.” Karl was continuing an ongoing topic with his wife about a gentleman that she was consulting on occult matters.

“Karl, I have told you many times that this man is able to see into the future. He has told many things, things I want to know for this family. He said a son will come to us. There are great things ahead for you and my brother Arnold. I was told that he can reach the spirits of the dead. I want to speak with my father. It is unfair what he done to me.”

“Enough! It appears that this person has influenced you somewhat or the ladies of the house. It is nonsense to speak with the spirits. That kind of talk can you into trouble, our faith is much stronger to believe in such things.” Karl toned his voice down and continued.
“Great things will come to a man who trust his faith in God and obeys his Kaiser and Duke. It is with hard work, he is only telling things you want to hear. Of course a son will come that is what we want to carry the Austrian family line. I will have no more talk of this and I want you stop consulting with this magician”

“Gihadji is his name” cried Meckle in frustration. “If you want me to stop seeing him then I only ask one thing that you meet him and see what he says is true or not”

The Count thought for a moment, “Alright I will this afternoon, briefly and then put an end to this nonsense before everyone starts talking.”


Latter that afternoon at the residence

Karl knew this was not a good idea and had no use for such nonsense. However, he loved his wife dearly and this was the only issue that has come out since she has been travelling with in the Outremer. If he did not put an end to this soon there will be talk and embarrassment from the nobility. There has been a few of these individuals “preying” on the his peers and to only accumulate wealth as they leach and telling their clients of good omens and luck. A good opportunity comes along and these magicians fool them to say it was there doing. They only remember the good and not bad misinformation.

Karl came into the parlour where Meckle was talking to a man. It was quick to make the assumption that this was Gihadji the Soothsayer. He was tall and slender looking, he had the look of the Horse Lords but not quite. His skin was more olive colour, and he had very little facial hair except some scarce hair on his chin. He looked to be in his 50’s and his eyes were very dark. He had a calmness about him and almost approachable yet mysterious. His clothing was nothing extravagant, tan coloured robe and a head dress that was unfamiliar.

“My lord, it is a great honour to meet you” Gihadji made a low bowing motion.

“Yes, I am sure it is” said Karl has he went to sit in the main chair.

“Karl this Gihadji, the man I wanted you meet and listen too. I will excuse myself and let the two of you talk.” Meckle curtsied towards her husband and left the room closing the doors.

The soothsayer sat down across for the Count and began to speak.
“My lord, I know that you have some doubts of my abilities but I come from a family that as for many generations been able to see into the future and assist important people like yourself.”

“I am sure you have been of a great service to many let’s get on with this.” the Count already having no patience and regretting that he agreed to this meet.

“Yes, yes my lord, I am only hear to assure you that I come with sincere intentions.”

Gihadji then pulled some cards on the table that looked like playing cards similar to the ones that Karl remembered from his time in Italy. With his long slender hands he laid the cards out and shuffled them around all the time talking to the Count. He also told the Count that he could read the hands of people and advise them of their health and future.

The afternoon wore on as the Gihadji continued to explain the cards and what was in store for the Count. Though the Count kept his doubts to himself he went along with what he was being told. Even though his faith was great there was something tangible about these pagan beliefs. Asking or wishing for something material and not having God involved. Carrying that good luck charm gave a tangible hope.

The meeting finally ended in the late afternoon. It was getting near dinner time and Karl was getting hungry.

The conversation was wrapping up and Gihadji continued,

“.. there will be an heir for you. You will have success in the battlefield however, beware. I must remind you what the cards have told me. Careful who you have into your confidence for there could be a great betrayal the number 64 is not a good omen. Also be very mindful of the letters WITHS.

“Yes, thank you I will. I must leave I have other pressing matters and spent more then enough time with you today. How much?”

“How much!? Nothing my lord I ask nothing I have come on my own good will had the request of the Countess. I only wish to share my knowledge.”

“Alright, grab yourself a meal in the servant’s quarters before you leave. I would not want to have your services go unpaid.” With that Karl got up and left the room. Leaving Gihadji to head for the kitchen to eat.

Meckle saw her husband in the hall and approached him.

“Well?” she asked in anticipation

“Well what, there was nothing I need to know from him” said Karl flatly

A look of disappointment crossed Meckle’s face.

“However.” Continued Karl. “I do find the chap amusing I will let you and your ladies consult with him while we are in the city. But it goes no further he will not be part of our entourage when travelling to Europe. Hopefully you will get tired of the parlour games and see on your own accord that it is just amusement and nothing more and only by then I hope the rest of the nobility doesn’t find out and begin talking about the pagan magician of the Zirn’s.


Later that evening in the courtyard

“Ingo what brings you out tonight?” asked Karl. Who was very pleased to speak with Ingo the Rhinelander. Ingo had joined the Count after the fall of Damascus. He was a little older then Karl but was very wise and battle experienced in these lands. Besides a protector he was also mentor on military matters. The Count found great comfort discussing issues with Ingo since the passing of Duke Leopold. He did not get a chance to really learn from his father in law.

“It is a beautiful clear night and I wished to speak with you My lord if I may be frank?” said Ingo.

“Of course what concerns you?”

“Your meeting today with that magician character. I don’t like the likes of it and it will get people talking. Those kinds of traits are not for a noble of your stature.”

“Yes, you are correct Ingo but do not concern yourself. It is a matter to please the Countess while she is out in this god forsaken land. I wanted to meet him personally and I will see in time that she will grow tired and dismiss him.” Karl gave a pat on the back to his friend and reassured him that there was nothing to be worried about. However, he did not look to convincing.

“Very well my lord I know you know better of these matters. The horses are ready for our ride out tomorrow for some scouting and preparation of our forces in Adanna.” With that Ingo said goodnight and headed to his quarters leaving the Count alone in the courtyard to think things over.

Budapest 1254

Two hulking figures could be seen walking their horses through the battlefield just outside the gates of Budapest. It was early dawn and the first rays of light were breaking the gloom of a moonless night.

The first man was dressed in chain mail and bear skins...and he was huge. At six foot six, he stood as tall as his horse and if it wasn't for the massive double headed ax slung on his back it might have been a comical sight.

The other was covered in night black plate mail from head to foot. Not a single piece of livery, markings or other armour type could be seen. It was an unnatural construction of armour to look at. His helmet completely enclosed his head, and from this came the hollow empty sound of his voice.

“I think you were right my friend. This is a place of death and destruction. We have chosen well it seems.”

The Black Knight was greeted with little more than a grunt in acknowledgment from his hulking companion.

As they approached the massive gates of Budapest, soldiers could be seen carrying bodies out to the mass grave lining one side of the battlefield. Crows and other carrion birds circled above in anticipation of a lucky morning.

Upon approaching the gates the two figures were confronted by a unit of heavy foot knights blocking their path.

“Halt and be identified!!” The unit leader shouted the command with authority.

The Barbarian did as request, the Black Knight however flick the reins of his horse to his companion and walk steadily and silently towards the unit commander.

At this action, the ten man squad immediately drew weapons and prepared themselves for action.

Raising a jet black gauntlet the knight boomed in an unholy and echoing voice; “Calm yourselves children!!”

The men froze instantly, the feeling of cold ice ran through them at hearing the dark knights voice.

Stopping inches from the unit leader the knight continued in a harsh whisper.

“My friend here is the Berserker Grom, and I am called, in some lands, the Dread Knight Bane. WE...WILL...pass, or I will kill you, and your men....”

The unit commander could feel the icy breath of the Dread Knights words not more than a few centimeters from his face.

Time stood still for what seemed like minutes to the Austrian heavy foot knights.

Suddenly, the Dread Knight stepped passed the unit commander, caught the reins of his horse in one motion and proceeded past the Austrian soldiers.

Both figures moved through the gloom filled gates without another word.

------------------------------------------

Arnold stood from the tavern table surrounded by his captains, Sigfried and Sigismund.

Looking at the door in concentration, Arnold suddenly began walking towards it, collected his sword as he went.

Glancing around nervously the captains looked expectedly at Sigismund for an answer. With none forth coming they rose as one and followed the Duke outside.

Once outside the scene before them was both confusing and fearful.

Two of the most imposing figures any of them had ever seen were kneeling at the Duke's feet receiving a field knighting in the dawn gloom.

Turning towards his Captains, Arnold proceeded back inside the tavern. Halfway past them he said; “Men, we have two knew members of my retinue. Make them feel welcome will you.”

Both figures made there way inside the tavern leaving the captains in a state of awe and fear outside the tavern entrance.

Finally one said; “Christ on the cross, who, or what were they?”

One of the grizzled senior captains replied; “I've been around since Leopold was Duke and I've never seen or felt anything more chilling than those two.”

The other replied: “Agreed, but how did Duke Arnold know to meet them outside when he did?”

After some moments with no reply they we collectively left with more concerns than they ever had before.

Frankfurt, 1252

It was a dark, foggy midnight. A heavy mist was hanging over Frankfurt, the City was asleep. Only the sound of dogs could be heard.

IN one of the dirty, horrible slums, sat a Danish man. A man who'd be hiding for 30 Years. He used to be a Lord of Denmakr, now he was a peasent. A simple peasent in Germany.

A knock could be heard, a knock which sounded through the house. The man jumped, drawing what was his hair from his face. He wore rags. The man grabbed a knife, his eye twicthing, he walked catiously towards the door.

A pistol sounded from behind him. He stopped, and a silence procedded, a silence, of uttermost dread. The man turned around, to find a man cloaked in blakc, his face covered, standing behind him, a small gun aiming at the peasents head.
"Sit" drawled the cloaked man, the peasent sat, but sat as if there was a bomb stuck to the chair. The cloaked man sat. No one spoke, as moonlight lit the room.
"I'm sorry..." started the man, but was stopped by the intruder by a raised hand.
"You did not fufill your promise, I thought you, a Count of Denmark, could at least provide some sort of... service." said the man, his voice like stabbing daggers at the Peasent. The man broke down, and dropped from his chair to the cloaked mans feet.
"I tryed too... It was too hard!" he cried, tears splashing down his face.
"Then how... how did He do it?" asked the man, speaking of some other man.
"He,he... must be working with the Kaiser!" declared the peasent, still sobbing.
"Don't you dare say his name!" hissed the cloaked man, and the peasent backed away fearfully.
"You are no more use... the Kaiser suspects something, though that was 10 years ago. I have new people serving me. I came here, not for your apologies, but to dispose of you." he whispered, drawing in the man.
"NO!! YOU CAN'T!!" screamed the peasent, a bang sounded through the air, and the man dropped dead, hitting the ground. The cloaked man walked over to the peasent, and kneeled. He grabbed the mans arm, and raised it. THen he gave him a knife, and finally the knife in the dead peasents hand, was sticking from the mans head.

The cloaked man whisked away, leaving a man, a man who had been at the forests of Frankfurt, 1218 with the then Prinz Jobst.

His services, were dealed and done.

Kaiser Jobst's encampment

Jobst coughed and heaved, as he lay in his cosy tent. He was sick, very sick. So sick he sometimes fainted. The tent was littered with things marking his status. Seals, notes and letters bearing names.

Dieter entered, a long blakc cloak trailing behind him.
"Sir, are you al right?' he wondered, Jobstvomited into a bucket.
"Of course I am Dieter, just-" he vomited again "great" finished Jobst, his eyes bloodshot.
"What did you summon me for?" asked Dieter, his nose wrinkled from the smell.
"Dieter, I have a important task. You of course, are my most loyal servant" stated Jobst, coughing. Dieter nodded, "I need you to keep a eye on some troublesome men from the Diet. There is one, I think, who knows too much..." finished Jobst, looking Dieter in the eyes.
"Yes,sir. If anyone finds out, I am sure the consequences shall be severe. The Diet, for one, shall spit it out like duck-" The curtain to the tent opened, in came Lucas, eyeing them suspicously.
"Sir, this has gone too far." Lucas stabbed a accusing finger at Dieter.
"He, he is planning something. Yesterday, the Guards told me, he left the camp, and came back some 7 hours later." accused Lucas, speaking directly to Jobst.
"I was observing the Danes"
"I bloody well know you weren't!" roared Lucas, "you went to them, didn't you!? Or maybe Frankfurt!?" he roared,he turned on the spot, and left.

"Sir, I assure you I never went anywhere..." started Dieter,
"I know you didn''t. he is too tired from this whole... mess. All will be fine" finished Jobst, beckoning Dieter too leave.

Dieter stepped outside, the camp was in a fluury. THe two guards stood firm, and saluted. Nodding, Dieter walked away.
But not too soon, a figure loomed in the shadows of a tent. Dieter ignored the person, and soon, was gone.

All, for now. Was well.

1255, Dijon, Jobst von Salza's Funeral

The air was still, it reflected the feeling in the crowd below.

Slowly, a steady thud of boots could be heard, as the trees waved, as if in mourning for their Kaiser. Germany's Kaiser. A group of heavily armed Knights came marching through the middle of the crowd.

Slowly, but surely, came six men, carrying a large wooden coffin, bearing in golden writing, the name Jobst von Salza. The men, were important Counts and Dukes of the Holy Roman Empire, those who had attended the Kaisers funeral, which was a must.

They were men, men handpicked by Jobst years before he died. Men he believed he owed favours too, or did a special thing for him. Those men were Siegfred, Lothar , Ansehelm, Friedrich, Gunther and Gerhad.

Following behind them, was several of Jobst's retinue. Lucas, Dieter and Jobst's wife, Heidindrudis and there daughters and son, Lyse, Meinburg and Athalwolf.

This group passed through the crowd, they were marching the streets of Dijon, a request made before Jobst was dead. "I want to pass through a crowd I nearly died for, and my friends died for" Jobst had said to Dieter.

The peasents, honored, never forgetting the times Jobst had saved them before he was even Prince. At least 5 times.

Finnally, the group passed up the stairs of the Church, and there was seated a host who had known Jobst, and the nobles of the Holy Roman Empire. The coffin bearers, their heads bowed. They gently placed the coffin on a large stand, and took their places.

A priest went forward, and stood there.
"We are here today, to honor the deceased Jobst von Salza, Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire...." the man continued on for some minutes, finally, he finished with,
"We shall have speakers, and then a minute silence for the great Jobst von Salza. May Dieter please speak" and he sat down, Dieter walked forward, standing near the back. He stood, back to the crowd, then faced them.

"Mein lords, Jobst von Salza, born 1110, and died 1254, in battle. He was adopted into the Royal Family in the year 1140. Appointed Count of Dijon, he then procedded to fight off more then 4 Sieges by large French armies. He was thus, made Prince.

"Jobst, then, helped the Swabian Dukes to restore peace abroad Swabia, and sometimes Italy. After carefully thinking about accompanying the Crusaders, he stayed. After several peceful years, years when Outremer was established, several dramas happened, and kuch more, he was appointed, by the then Kaiser Henry, the commander of the European Imperial Army.

"The army, was immdediatly in strife. After ambushing a large Danish Army, details which are still mysterious, and many heated discussions started in the Imperial Diet. That, mein friends, is where I joined Jobst, and I still loyally serve his dieing wishes."

"Afterwards, when Kaiser Henry died in the year 1242, Jobst became Kaiser. The years following, were stable. Mainly, he devoted his time to helping the Russian Crusade start off. And of course, commanding his beloved EIA."

"As we all know, Ulrich Hummel became Chancellor, and deposited the Reich into a horrible well. He thus, commited suicide, after the Diet voted him out. Kaiser Jobst assumed his rightful role of Chancellor, and worked to restore order. He did, and when all was well, he retired from the position."

"And thats where he leaves you my friends, he grew up in a time, when Kaiser Heinrich reigned, when the Empire a mere seedling. And he died, Kaiser, ruler of what is today a world superpower. My friends, I hope you remember him. He of course, left me, and a few others, things to do. He left a letter, written shortly before the tragic battle, where he was struck...
I shall read out to you this letter...

"
I write this to all mourners, all those I leave behind. But things are left behind, things I want done.

Firstly, I write to dear Anshelm. I leave you, probably under siege in Thorn. You may not know, but I devoted these last years of my life to helping you with this Crusade. I wished to accompany you with the Crusade, but I say one thing, do not hear the words of others. The Crusade, you must complete, to lands unknown. You were, what I consider, supportive, and I wish you good health, and good luck.

Secondly, I write to Lothar. I owe you much, you may not know it as well, but you have done many,many favors, showing unwavering support. I leave you, Steward of Bavaria, with a newly captured Castle. I always said i would repay you. I offer you the hand of my daughter, Lyse von Salza. THis is one of my final wishes.

Fourthly, and lastly, Siegfred. You have been with me for only a few monthes, in this year of 1253, but I know great things await you. And I have several wishes. First off, please, if Lothar wishes it, to let Lyse marry Lothar. And lastly, you are now Commander of the EIA, which is to now be called the KIA. Kaiser's Imperial Army. It shall of course, pass owndership with every Kaiser. I leave you with a Empire, look after it.

And one more thing, Dieter. I say, remeber the mission. of uttrmost importance, it is!

I never publicly announced, but Dieter is to be hold a new position. He is now the personal serveant of every Kaiser, and his line of spies shall serve the line of Kaisers. Please uphold this Siegfred, but he has one more mission to perform, before he is yours.

Good luck all, and farewell!

Dieter, crying, bows his head, and a minute silence passes. A minute, to remember all happy and sad moments of Jobst von Salza's life.

And that, that is the end of his reign. As he passes into the true Kingdom of Heaven. Dead, he fades from this earth. Forever gone.

But never truly defeated.

Adana, 1256

Things were taking an ugly turn in the Reich. Who knew what terrible events his actions would now cause?

"Alea jacta est!" shouted Wolfgang, as he raised Kaiser Hans' standard.

Wolfgang addressed his men, "Men, from now on, we serve only Kaiser Hans, the true Kaiser, and declare Siegfried von Kastillien and all who serve him as traitors. War may be forced upon us, but we will not waver in our determination to do right. Gott mitt uns!"

ROME 1256

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Coop story between myself and PK

Arnold and his retinue had found exactly where Jan von Hamburg was to take ship back to Outremer. The Duke of Austria was determined to confront the young Franconian and make him take back his insults or die.

They had found an inn near the wharf that would hold the ship taking Jan and his Teuton Knight to sea. Huddled around a table near the fire pit Arnold and his two companions were talking in hushed tones. The sheer size and presence emanating from the three was enough to ward off all other patrons. Every table around them was empty save for the scattered remains of food and drink left by patrons who had made a quick departure once the three figures had sat down.

“This trumped up piece of merde is going to pay for his words!”

Arnold smashed his mailed fist onto the table sending the empty goblets crashing to the floor.

The tavern was immediately still as the patrons glanced nervously to see if the three men would cause trouble.

Grom the barbarian, stole a glance at the Dread Knight and mouthed the word “merde” in confusion. He clearly had no idea what the word meant.

Glancing quickly back at the young Duke, Grom's face fell back into its stoic form as Arnold continued his fuming.

"I want you two to do is keep that Teutonic sack of pig shiet away from me so I can take out Jan myself. If you have to kill him then so be it, the fact he insulted me and refused to apologies means his life is forfeit in my view.”

“My Lord, do you think it wisse to attack another member of the Diet?”. The cold hiss of the Dread Knights voice came through the grill of his great helm. If it seemed strange that he always wore his unnatural suit of black obsidian plate armour, then again no one ever mentioned it, not even Grom who was the only person to be seemingly unaffected by his presence.

“WISE!!! What is not wise my black suited killer is Jan's words to me in the Diet!! THAT WAS NOT WISE!!!”

Moments passed in silence.

“Tonight, when Jan comes to the wharf I will confront him and seek satisfaction. Occupy the Teuton and make sure he allows honour to be had.” Arnold stood, looking at them, his intensity was like a blade running from his eyes to each of his followers.

“Get ready. We leave in half and hour.”

--------------------

The docks were deserted save a few men on odd errands. It was dusk and the ship taking Jan and his Teuton Knight was due to leave in an hour.

Arnold, the Berserker and the Dread Knight stood entirely still waiting in the approaching gloom.

Time passed without any perceptible move from the three figures.

Eventually the sound of hooves could be heard.

Then, into view came the young von Hamburg and the Teutonic Knight, both riding war horses and fitted out in full armour.

“GET OFF THAT HORSE AND PREPARE TO DEFEND YOURSELF JAN!!” Arnold voice cut through the silence like the crack of thunder.

“Are you seriously considering a duel Arnold? Are you mad?” Even in the face of the young Dukes dreaded visage, Jan's voice was steady.

“Mad...I'd say your mad, given I've killed men for less offenses than you have committed.” Arnold drew his father sword and raise his shield as he took a step forward.

“Lord Jan, this is ridiculous, if the Kaiser hears of this you could both be sent to god knows where in punishment.” The Teuton expertly moved his horse between the two nobles. Drawing his sword he pointed it at the Austrian Duke. “I'm sworn to protect him with my life Duke Arnold. I will not allow you to fight him.”

In one sudden movement Grom unhitched his Great Axe and swung it clean through the head of the Teutons horse. Man and beast were sent crashing to the ground is spray of blood and gore. Only years in the saddle allowed the Knight to expertly avoid being crushed by the one tonne animal in full armour.

“That's not going to happen Teuton.” Grom smiled at the sight of the headless horse. Looking back at the Dread Knight, Grom's smiled at the carnage of his huge swing. “Not bad hey!?”

“Ahh Grom, it's not over fella, I think you've annoyed him.” Bane's casual tone was warning enough. Grom snapped his head back and amazingly saw that the Knight was on his feet and charging the Barbarian Berserker. His hand and a half sword raised above his head for a killing stroke.

In the blink of an eye Grom raised his steel axe handle catching the blade inches from his face. Astonished at the strength of the smaller man, Grom quickly gained the upper hand when it came to a straight test of strength.

Sparks flew as the barbarian began exerting his massive frame on the point where the two weapons met. Suddenly the pressure was gone as the Teuton side stepped and put some space between himself and the hulking northern ogre.

Circling they began the dance of death. Speed and technique against sheer strength.

--------------------------

Steel clashed on steel behind the two Germanic Lords as they eyed each other in hatred.

“You're going to regret your words Jan. Now get off that stinking horse and face me like a man.”

Without a word Jan dismounted, hitched his shield and drew his sword.

Calmly Jan looked Arnold in the eyes and said; “Ok you butcher, lets see whether what you did to those Hungarian prisoners, you can do to me!”

Arnold eyes widened in rage.

With a suddenness that defied all reason their blades meet, sparks showering the battle ground in the fading light.

--------------------------

Sweat ran down Grom's spine. He'd never faced someone this skilled. Normally by now a mistake would have been made and at least some part of his opponents body would be lying on the ground completely detached from the rest of his opponent.

That seemed to not be the case tonight. Realising fatigue was setting in Grom knew he had to gamble or the fight would end with him bleeding from some mortal wound.

Sweeping his Axe in slower and slower arcs he knew he had to goad the Teuton into over extending himself.

Finally the Teuton took the opening. With a last burst of speed the Knight began thrusting the point of his hand and a half sword at the Berserker's eyes. Swaying from side to side Grom could feel the point pass within inches of his head each time. Suddenly the point of his opponents blade dropped, too late the Berserker felt the point of the blade pierce his shoulder, sliding through his ring mail and leather jerkin like a hot knife.

Pain exploded through his body, Grom's eyes misted over and he fell back clutching his bleeding shoulder, roaring in agony at the wound he had just taken. It was at that moment he started to feel the familiar pull of the red rage begin to take him.

Raising his sword for the finishing stroke the Teuton's mortal blow was block by the shield of the Dread Knight.

“It's over Teuton. You've done well, but you're finished. Let our masterss fight thiss out.” The Dread Knight was deathly still his sword drawn but held low.

The Teutonic Knight staggered back. The final blow had not fallen and now before him stood the deathly figure of Bane the Dread Knight. In the rapidly approaching gloom the black knight's outline was becoming harder to make out with each passing second.

His thoughts drifted to the stories he had heard of the Dread Knight. Speed was his forte, he was reputedly faster than any man alive and could gut a man in seconds should he need to.

Through his helm he could hear the ringing clash of the two nobles battling it out not more than 10 yards away. The man he was sworn to protect was in mortal combat.

“That's not possible Bane, I must protect my lord or die trying.”

The Dread Knight calmly responded; “If you attack me you know you will die.”

Slumping in feigned exhaustion the Teuton waited for Bane's reaction.

The Dread Knights sword dropped just slightly.

With a sudden movement he leaped at Bane, dropping his sword and reaching for his dagger. With shocking speed the Dark Knight dropped to one knee, bringing the tip of his sword up to catch the Teuton cleanly in the throat.

Blood fountained from the back of the Order Knights neck, and with amazing bravery he pulled himself along the Dread Knights blade to bring his dagger to bear. Bane's eyes widened in shock at this amazing feat, his red rimmed eyes showing fear momentarily.

Then, with a ear splitting roar and the crack of metal on bone, Bane glimpsed Grom's massive double headed ax slicing directly above his own head taking Teutons helm from his shoulders.

The body slumped to the ground. Blood pumping from the gaping wound where a head should be.

“Jesus Mother of Merciful Gods, did you see that Bane?”

The Dread Knight stood from his kneeling position and surveyed the headless corpse.

Glancing at Grom; “Yes I did. It was the most disturbing thing I've seen in some time.” said the Dread Knight quietly.

--------------------------

Some distance away the struggle continued between the two Reich Nobles.

Shield and sword were nicked and scarred from numerous hard blows. In the distance the crash of boots could be heard as the city watch was drawing near.

“I'll have your sanctimonious head on a pole Jan, take back your insult or I'll kill you here and now!!”

Jan knew not to respond. Saving his energy and breath for his own defence was far more important that swapping words with this crazed killer from the east.

He must be tiring thought Jan. The pace of the fighting had been blinding. Faster and more precise that anything he had encountered before.

Arnold was not the strongest, the fastest or the most technical, BUT he was a combination of all three that was something Jan had ever seen before.

And then it came.

As if in slow motion a vicious series of combination attacks began that completely opened up his defence. In one last act of defiance Jan raised his shield edge and caught the Duke under the chin of his helm. The Dukes head snapped back, but not far enough to prevent him from bringing down a terrific blow on the exposed shoulder of Jan's sword arm.

Smashing aside the shoulder plate and slicing through the mail and padding, the young Dukes sword bit deeply into Jan body.

Slumping to the ground in exhaustion Jan's head was swimming in agony. In the distance he thought he could hear shouting and the hammering of metal on metal.

--------------------------

“Goddamn it!!!” roared Arnold.

“Rome would have to have more troops in it that just about any other god forsaken City in Northern Italy wouldn't it?!!” The accusing tone of his voice made it seem as if Grom was at fault.

“To be fair my Lord there was thirty of them, what were we supposed to do? Fight all of them?” Grom's bandaged shoulder was be attended to by a attractive young women and he was only vaguely paying attention to the crazed figure of the Austrian Duke pacing up and down his enormous study.

“We'll find him my Lord.” Bane tried to sound convincing, but the idea of traveling to Outremer when there was perfectly good Hungarian's to kill sound like hard work to the Dark Knight.

“Indeed we will Bane. Indeed we will.” The Dread Duke could be seen gazing into the fire place lost in thought.

His eyes glowing red from the fire...or so it would seem.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a joint venture between myself and GH

On a ship in the Mediterranean:

Jan von Hamburg woke up in a daze. The last day's events were a blur. He remembered being in the Diet and arguing with Duke Arnold over prisoners and protocol. He remembered leaving the Diet and, not being able to find the Duke, heading back to the dock to leave for Outremer. He remembered being ambushed by Arnold and his two minions. He remembered fighting the Duke and getting bested. He remembered seeing his friend Frederick lying on the ground with no head. The Duke was about to kill him as well but soldiers from the local garrison heard the commotion and ran over. The Duke and his men ran off and the soldiers took Jan and put him on his ship. His shoulder hurt. Luckily the armor stopped most of the blow. Nothing to do now but rest and heal. Little did Jan know, that Duke Arnold and his two minions were in a ship a few days behind him.

A few days later:

Jan awoke in his family home in Aleppo and traveled to Antioch to visit the King. He had rested up enough and was eager to get back into action. His shoulder still ached but he needed to get out of the house and get moving again. Jan got caught up in the latest news in regards to Outremer. His father had attacked the tail end of the Mongol army as it forded the river north of Edessa. If only the King and others had listened to him as he recommended placing Elberhard on the river days beforehand. But, what was done was done. What was important, was that Jan get back into action and lend a hand. And for that, he had to see the King and get permission to rejoin the army. After all the arguing in the Diet and the subsequent fight with Duke Arnold, Jan was not looking forward to seeing the King for he feared a scolding. But, better to get it over with.

King's chambers in Antioch:

King Salier looked up when Jan walked into the room. Do I tell him what I know? the King thought. Before the King stood what was going to be, the next generation of Crusaders. Young, eager, and capable, Jan represented both promise and headaches.

"Welcome back, Jan," the King began. "I trust that you have healed up nicely after your little stint with Duke Arnold and his men." King Salier's tone was as acid as anyone had ever heard. "I have read the transcripts of the Diet and there were a few specific points where you could have let the matter drop. But you instead chose to push the issue. Why?"

Jan quickly replied, "My king, out here in the Outremer, we talk a lot about chivalry and faith. And some of us even practice it. But, everyday back home there are members of the Diet who commit unspeakable acts. What are our convictions if we do not speak out? You heard what Duke Arnold had done and you said nothing!"

The King impatiently cut Jan off. "I said nothing because nothing could be done. Duke Arnold had already made up his mind before he gave the order to kill all of those people. It would have been a waste of time and breath." He continued. "Executions of populations have been rare in the Reich's history. I can only think of three cases. Ulrich Hummel at Metz, Lothar Steffin at Ajaccio, and now Arnold at Budapest. In case you haven't noticed, none have such a great reputation in the Diet. It is simply an unwritten rule that those who do exterminate are frowned upon. But you do not press the issue! You work within the system. You pass legislation. You elect like-minded folk, folk who share your views about slaughter. What you did was just provocative."

Jan hastily replied, "So you sit here in Outremer and do nothing!? Meanwhile, our fellow nobles are butchering people for the fun of it! Do we just sit all safe out here in Outremer and try to make this an island of faith while we let the rest of the Reich rot to its core!?"

The King sits and pondered what to say next, "Jan, I do not doubt your faith or your convictions... but I wonder if part of what is driving you is an attempt to get your father's attention and win his approval."

Jan looked punched in the eyes and just stood there quiet. The King continued, "I know you've been disappointed at your last few assignments. But Outremer needs defending on all fronts and I will send soldiers where I think they are needed. Your father and I will discuss your next assignment and we will get word to you. Dismissed."

Jan, obviously disappointed, stood up straight, turned around, and left the chambers. The King sat back and ponders what to do. For spies in Outremer had given the King news that Jan would very much want to hear. So much promise, yet so impatient, the King thought. The King knew that if he told Jan the news, something bad would happen. But, if he didn't tell him, Jan wouldn't stand a chance. While Jan probably would not handle the situation the right way, the King very much wanted Jan to stay alive long enough to learn the right way. Plus, the King never cared much for that Duke and his ways anyways...

He took out a slip of parchment and began writing.

"Hermann!" the King barked. "Take care of this for me."

The next day:

Jan sat around at home waiting for word on his assignment. Getting bored, Jan went into town and sat in a local market munching on dates and watching the people go by. A man Jan never saw before sat down at his table. "Greetings young Hamburg", said the robed figure.

"Who are you?", inquired Jan. Without saying another word, the man reached into his robe, pulled out a letter and pushed it across the table. With that done, the man got up and left. Curious, Jan took the letter and unfolded it.

The letter read:

Duke Arnold and two companions made landfall at Acre yesterday. They are taking the mountain pass and avoiding the main road on their way towards Aleppo. God go with you.

Stunned, Jan sat motionless. "The Duke is here?", thought Jan. He had to be planning on finishing the job. Jan knew he had to do something but he knew he couldn't take the three of them alone. Who to tell? Jan didn't want to tell his father. His father had enough going on in Edessa. Plus, Jan wanted to prove himself and it wouldn't do well to run to his dad every time things got rough. The King probably would be a bad idea as well. Jan got the distinct impression that the King was disappointed in him for his part in this mess. Plus, the King probably wouldn't sanction bloodshed against the Duke while he was in Outremer anyways. The other crusaders probably wouldn't be good to go to either. Elberhard was busy fighting the Mongols. Count Zirn would not be sympathetic to the idea of attacking his Duke. Hummel was busy trying to lead a revolution and Hummel's younger brother was too inexperienced. Matthias and Hans had not arrived yet. Jan knew that his brother-in-law Dieter would lend a hand but Jan did not want to ruin Dieter's political future. Who could he go to? Suddenly, Jan had a thought and headed to the local Chapter House.

The local Teutonic Knight Chapter House:

Jan walked up to an impressive concrete structure with a cross emblazoned on the door and a flag waving from the front. Before he could knock, the two massive doors opened. Puzzled, Jan walked in. "Jan von Hamburg! We have been expecting you!", a voice boomed from inside. Jan walked into a long great hall with swords and shields hanging off the wall. At a large wooden table sat many knights fully armored but un-helmeted. Jan walked down the length of the hall to the head of the table where an old grizzled knight sat. A knight got up from the seat next to him and Jan took his place. "How did you know it was me?", asked Jan.

The head knight replied, "We know many things. We know that Duke Arnold is on his way here to Aleppo as we speak." Jan looks shocked that they could know that and the knight quickly continues, "Jan, if something is ever going on in Outremer that we don't know about, be worried." The knight continued, "We heard about Frederick. Since this was his chapter house, we were all especially close to him here. His loss deeply saddens us. And we do not want you to grieve too much for Frederick did his duty. That and he actually liked you which is not something we can always say about our charges."

Jan quickly stated, "I am deeply sorry about what happened. We were outnumbered and Frederick died trying to protect me. He is a credit to your Order and he was a trusted servant and a good dear friend. I too am grieving over his loss. But, while I am grieving, I still have business to attend to and I am in need of company. As a crusader, I am entitled to be accompanied by a knight from your Order."

The knight looked around the table where there was at least a dozen knights seated and said, "Of course! We're all ready to leave when you are!" Jan was stunned. The head knight continued, "You are planning on confronting Duke Arnold before he kills you. But you need someone to hold off his two goons. We need your help as well. The Grand Master has made it very clear that it would be politically unwise for us to attack a Duke. We profit quite well from our arrangement with the Reich. But, Dane and Grom killed our brother and honor demands that we get satisfaction. You on the other hand have clearly no regard for the political consequences back home so you could get away with attacking the Duke. He did try to kill you. And I suspect that there are those in the Diet that secretly wish him dead anyways but wouldn't dare say it. You take care of the Duke, and we will ensure that his two men will not interfere." Jan was so stunned, all he could do was nod.

Two days later in a mountain pass in the Acre region:

The sand and wind whipped around Jan as he squinted in the sun. Him and twelve Teutonic Knights had rode hard in order to make it to this place in time. For hundreds of years, smugglers had used these routes to avoid the main roads. It was here that the pass narrowed and for a time, there were no forks. Just a narrow crevice. And off in the distance, Jan could barely make out three figures on horse back heading his way. Turning to one of the knights, Jan said, "Captain, I'm going to ride on ahead and take a path that will get me behind them. When they get in the crevice, block off their front. I'll come in from the rear. Remember, the Duke is mine. Just keep those two minions away from me. Good luck and God go with you!"

The knights replied in unison, "God go with you!" as Jan rode off into the dust...

1257, Rome

Rome, the capital of many things.

It was busy, very busy. The streets were crowded, the air was steamy. Yell and voices echoed. Angry, sad, annoyed.

In one of the windows of the many apartments in Rome, stood a tall, cloaked man. Behind him was a luxirous room, with the finest of many things. There was a finely decorated table and chairs, and sitting at them was a fit man.

"What is it you want?" demanded the man sitting, the cloaked man turned around slowly, and piercing the man with his gaze.
"As you know, all the plots and attempts are useless." stated the cloaked man, the man sitting drained a cup of tea.
"So? There is an never ending supply of Kaisers, we know that. Well, until we're done." he cackled, the cloaked man ripped the cloak from his head. Revealing himself to be Dieter.

He sat, holding his head in his hands.
"I was, was... intent on killing him. I should've done it with the ambush!" he said in a exhausted tone. The man sitting nodded,
"But why, why did you want to kill him?" he asked.
"Because, he should never have been Kaiser. He was adopted!"
"So?"
"I, I am French, okay? And I know for certian, its common knowledge in France, that he isn't German." said Dieter, the man stopped drinking, and looked up curiosly.
"Your French, he not German? Impossible!" he said,
"But he was adopted, wasn't he...? Anyways, I serve Kaiser Siegfred, thoughtlessly now." he muttered, standing up and kicking his chair.

"I sould have been loyal to Jobst. Now I realise my mistakes, I serve the German Monarchy now. The Union shall be shut down. You, my old friend, are a enemy to the Monarch." finished Dieter simply, drawing his pistol. The man bolted, jumping for the door, but armed men appeared, and Dieter fired.

The smoke poured out, engulfing the room. He heard the thud, as bullet hit flesh, and then, the man was dead. Nodding in a satisfied way, Dieter exited the room, slamming the door.

Slamming the door on his 40 Years of trying to Kill one man.

Jobst von Salza.

Adana, 1258

Wolfgang stared at Conrad Hohenburg in disbelief.

"More electors have bowed the knee you say? How can there honour stand such disloyalty to the Salian dynasty?"

Conrad nodded sympathetically as he continued.

"Ja, even King Salier has sworn allegience. Our very existance here puts us in great peril. Mein lord, we must flee the Reich's borders, lest we be seized and executed."

"As much as I hate fleeing, dear Conrad, Kaiser Hans will be served better by living men, not lifeless corpses. We shall ride west to Iconium; the Romans of Constantinople will be kinder masters, methinks, than those of Rome itself."

Buckling on his sword, Wolfgang turned to his page, Hermann Schultz.

"Assemble mein retainers in the stables assigned to me; we ride out at dawn."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a coop between myself and AG. Proofread by GH.

In the mountain pass in Acre:

Duke Arnold rode with his two colleagues down an old mountain pass. How do those do-gooder crusaders stand this heat? the Duke thought. He looked ahead and saw Grom sweating and heaving as his bulk was slumped over on his horse. Further ahead, Bane sat perched up high on his beautiful black stallion looking quiet un-bothered by the heat. They had followed Jan to Outremer and were riding towards Aleppo where the von Hamburgs kept a family home. The Duke was muttering to himself in the heat. "That sanctimonious little brat...does he even realize what built this empire?...his cousin Ansehelm kills captured Poles and no one says a word...Lothar butchers the survivors from the castle on Corsica and everyone cries about his dead brother...but who do they yell at?...boy if Jan even knew half of what has happened...even Kaiser Jobst did that thing at..." Bane interrupted him, "My duke, we are coming to a narrow crevice, let me ride ahead". The Duke waved him ahead and was about to return to his annoyed mutterings when he heard Bane's horse whinny. The Duke looked up and saw a dozen Teutons standing at the far exit of the crevice.

"Stand aside men, do you know who I am!?!" yelled Arnold.

"These two murdered our brother and we demand satisfaction Duke Arnold", said the lead knight.

"Do you have any idea what will happen to your Order should you harm a Duke of the Reich!?!" yelled out Arnold.

Suddenly, a voice came out from behind him. "That's one of the many reasons I have claimed you all for myself!"

Duke Arnold turned his horse around and saw Jan von Hamburg standing at the entrance to the crevice. It's a trap! the Duke thought. He and his two companions were in a narrow crevice with steep walls. A dozen knights were at one end and Jan was at the other. Arnold yelled to his companions, "Keep them busy while I deal with this turd once and for all! Then I will come give you a hand if you have left any for me!"

Bane and Grom got off of their horse and walked towards the knights. "And here I thought I was going to be bored!", exclaimed the barbarian.

"Good evening, ladies," said Bane in an emotionless voice.

Grom turned to Bane while walking forward and said, "You take the two on the right and I'll take the ten on the left." Bane hissed and gurgled what could have been a laugh but no one could be sure.

There was a brief moment of silence and total inaction. It was quickly broken when Grom lowered his head and simply charged the whole group. His yell was deafening in the crevice. Without even swinging, he crashed into bodies and everyone bounces off of him. Taking a breath, Grom noticed his surroundings had changed. He was now in a wider part of the pass. Good, he thought. More room for me to swing my axe.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Bane decided to back up into the narrowest part of the crevice and force the knights to come at him one or at most two at a time. Six men followed Grom out into the wider portion while six line up to face Bane.

Duke Arnold, ignoring the larger melee taking place, dismounted his horse and circled Jan looking for an opening. "You will not be saved by the militia this time!" he shouted.

Jan remained steady. "You made a real mistake coming to Outremer. I grew up here. You're on my land; On my terms my good Duke." All of a sudden both men were startled by a large crashing and crunching sound.

With more room to maneuver, six men rushed Grom at once. Grom simply punched one in his helmeted face, bent down, grabbed him by the ankle, and started swinging him like a giant mace. The other five had to back up as Grom swung their comrade around but two of them were not so lucky and got hit by a few hundred pounds of knight and armor. With one man being swung around and two knocked down, the remaining three rushed Grom again. One went wide and tried to get behind him as the other two attempted to keep Grom distracted.

Meanwhile Bane was keeping the front two people in line busy. With such limited room to swing and maneuver, no one was able to get a real blow in up to that point.

Jan saw all of this when he turned to see what made the crashing noise. Even outnumbering these people 13 to 3 was barely enough. Something had to be done to regain initiative. Jan kicked Arnold's horse and sent him whinnying and galloping into the other horses. All three startled animals ran towards the exit of the crevice sending one dread knight and 6 Teutonic knights scurrying out of the crevice. Now all of them had more room. And it was when Jan was distracted that Arnold struck.

Jan barely ducked in time to avoid Arnold's blade. He tried to parry but the Duke was swinging fast and furious with a barely contained rage. Jan remembered something from his time fighting the Mongols: If your opponent was good at fighting at a distance, get in close. Jan ducked and instead of swinging his body away from the Duke, swung his body inwards driving his knee into the Duke's gut. Not prepared for such close contact, Arnold was disoriented. Jan put his ankle behind the Duke's foot and pushed his weight into the Duke's body tumbling him over onto his back. The Duke fell onto his back with a thud and Jan lept on top of him, dropping his sword. As they struggled, Arnold grabbed his dagger out of its sheath and tried to jab it towards Jan's ribs. Jan was able to grab Arnold's wrist but it put him off balance and the Duke was able to roll Jan over and get on top of him with the dagger in his hand.

Meanwhile, as two knights kept Grom distracted, the third got behind him and tackled the knight being used as a mace, thereby wrenching him from Grom's grasp. Grom saw Bane and the other six knights run out of the crevice because of the horses. Grom lowered his head and charged the two men in front of him who stepped aside. Grom kept running towards the other six knights as they were running out. Luckily, Bane dove to the side before the barbarian crashed into the six men. All seven fell to the ground. The five conscious knights behind Grom ran towards the group but were intercepted by Bane. The dread knight knocked one poor Teuton in the face with his shield and swung his sword at another, clipping him in the arm and sending him spinning. He let the momentum of the swing carry him around in a spin and wedged his sword into a third knights side. Needing to pause to pull his blade out of armor, the other two knights tackled him.

Six knights were crawling on top of Grom as he attempted to stand up under the weight of hundreds of pounds of men and armor. Too close to use their swords, the six knights pulled their daggers and tried to push them into any exposed part of the barbarian they could find. While hurt, his huge bulk and armor prevented any of the wounds from being lethal. Grom sent an elbow into one knight's face, knocking him off. He tried to look towards Bane and saw the dread knight laying on the ground with two knights holding him down. One knight raised his sword to stab Bane through the chest and Grom threw his axe with super-human strength. The axe caught one of the knights on Bane in the side and stayed embedded in his armor. With a groan that knight fell off and Bane was able to knock off the other one. Slitting that knight's throat with his dagger, Bane went to the pile of knights on Grom and grabbed one from behind by the visor and pulled up, exposing that man's throat and allowing Bane to slit that man's throat as well. He moved to the next but two wounded knights were able to get up and run over to Bane, both of them running him through with their swords. Still alive, Bane collapsed with the blades in him. Seven wounded knights then crawled all over Grom and stabbed him until he stopped moving. Also still alive, Grom collapsed in a heap.

I haven't heard any battle-cries from Grom in a while, Arnold thought. Time to kill this little upstart and be done with it. But before he could plunge his dagger down, Jan raised his knee up into Arnold's crotch. With a "woof" Arnold doubled over and fell off of Jan. Jan grabbed his own dagger and stabbed at Arnold as he attempted to roll away, catching Arnold in the thigh. The wounded Duke swung his gauntlet back and caught Jan full in the face. Jan flew back as Arnold slowly and unsteadily got up and grabbed his sword. Jan still had his dagger and got up. Arnold swung his sword but it was slow and unsteady due to his wound. Jan again got inside, slipped his dagger into Arnold's side between armor plates, and knocked Arnold down again. This time, Arnold stayed down. Alive but with a heaving chest, Arnold gasped through the pain with hate still emanating from his face. Jan looked down at him and knelt beside the Duke.

"I'm going to show you the mercy and consideration you refused to show those poor captured Hungarians." The sound of hooves could be heard behind Arnold. "That is a caravan coming through here. Expecting the victory that occurred, I have arranged to have them take you and your companions down to Acre where you will be placed on a ship." Jan tore off part of his tunic and started wrapping the Duke's wounds.

Caravan drivers arrived and helped Jan carry the duke onto the wagon. Jan walked through the crevice to see how the knights fared. Walking out of the crevice Jan saw seven heavily breathing and wounded knights laying around a passed out and bloody barbarian with a dread knight laying next to them, his stomach already bandaged. The barbarian was also already bandaged but his wounds were many and blood was running all over the path floor. "Someone bind him up better!" Jan yelled.

"He is bandaged!" a knight yelled back. "Plus, his wounds are many but shallow. He will live."

Jan looked around and saw two knights with slit throats, one with an axe imbedded in his side, one with a sword imbedded in his side, and a fifth that was completely crumpled and compact inside his armor. "Five dead!?!", asked Jan, in shock. The head knight of the chapter sat there heaving, "Don't despair, young Jan, they knew what they signed up for. While even though they are still alive, we have gotten our satisfaction. Take young Maximillian to be your personal knight. He is the least injured." The last he said with a slight laugh. The caravan drivers came through the crevice and placed Grom's and Bane's injured bandaged frames upon the wagon with Arnold and headed to Acre. Another wagon came, picked up Jan, and the knights, as well as the knights' bodies, and headed home to Aleppo. Sitting on the ledge of the last wagon, Jan watched the other wagon go off in the other direction. For the first time since he could remember, he felt at peace. At last, he was back home and there was much work to be done.

Rome, 1258 AD

"... and make sure this is done with the utmost secrecy. I do not want to appear in the diet with the speakers cold."

Adalberth, Thorsten, Dirk and Marco all nodded and put on their wide cloaks and hoods.

A while later, only Hans remained seated in the backroom of the hideout, scribbling away at a few more letters that wanted to be dispatched this very night still.

----------------------

Dirk strode carefully yet clumsily across the street towards the tavern. His bulky mass and soldier training did not make him a suitable agent, but who was he to question the man he was ordered to guard with his life by the late emperor Henry?
As he entered the large interior, he quickly appraised the men sitting on hard wooden benches around round tables, drinking their beer and sharing gossip. This place was popular with the garrison and Imperial soldiers - one of the members of the late Jobsts bodyguard was not exception.

After standing in the doorway for around a minute, Dirk made out the man sitting lonely in one of the corners, sipping away at his beer. It was quite fortunate that one of Marcos informants had found out about his whereabouts.

Dirk first walked up to the barkeep, and motioned him to come closer. As he did, a small bag of florins changed ownership and the barkeep nodded. Shortly afterwards, Dirk was listening to the soldier who happily and hastily accepted all the beer that was provided to him as well as a good German meal.

"So all those men just started cheering Siegfried after Jobst died you say?"
The soldier nodded quickly and added "Every one of them. The word got out from around young Siegfried and spread quickly"
"I see. So Jobst made him his heir there and then huh?"
"Kind of. Well, thats at least what everyone says." he leaned closer, holding his hand near his lips in secrecy "But I was there, and the emperor, god rest his soul, did not actually name Siegfried. I still remember it as if it were yesterday. Just said My heir... you! Long live Kaiser Guess he might have meant him though." He soldier finished off his mug of beer and looked around for more, which Dirk happily supplied.
"Really. That is most interesting. Say, you want to come with me? I got more beer elsewhere and something else of interest to you as well."
The soldier, drunk and tired, nodded "How could I refuse more beer?"

----------------------------------

Adalberth waited by the docks. There had been a commotion here earlier, but it was relatively quiet now. It was not yet night, but it would not be long. He wondered whether the informant would really come or continue in hiding.

Just at that moment, the door to the fortified hut creaked and a hooded man entered. Throwing back their hoods, Adalberth could make out from the description that this truly was Adolf der Bartige.

"The Chancellor Hans needed my services again?"
Adalberth motioned for Adolf to sit. "Indeed, it seems your report to him some years ago needs your person to back up."
Adolf jumped slightly "Dont you know I might be a dead man if I say this publically? They found people dead, murdered, for finding the truth!"
"You will be safe, worry not. You are still of use and Lord Hans does not believe in betraying those who support him"
"What makes you think I would want to risk my life for him once again?"
Adalberth grinned "Well, either you do, and you live in the knowledge that you did Swabia a great service with the truth, or you might be fished out of the Tiber the next day..."
Adolf cringed "Fine, but you better make sure of my safety!"

----------------------------

Marco and some accomplices had made out the villa one of the council members was residing in. It was said that his wife was out of town and on these nights he tended to invite his adultress over. Funny enough, his wife never found out, but tonight would be different.

While his Marcos men distracted the guards, Marco entered via the main door by picking the lock and made his way straight to the bedroom, easily found by the noises reverberating through the high walls of the entrance hall.

The door flew open and Marco with his henchmen entered, to total surprise of the councilman and his whore, who had been engaging in carnal pleasures.
Marco made it short by saying: "You have the key to the council archives and I can tell your wife of your little affair. What do you prefer?"

"Please dont tell her! Second drawer to the right of my desk"

"And I need a letter from you later. You surely would be happy to help?"

"Anyting you want!"

Marco smirked and left for the council archives.

Rome, 1260

The door swung open and smashed against the wooden wall with a loud bang. In strode a beaming Marco, bearing a note in his hand that he quickly handed over to the somewhat startled Hans, who had not been expecting visitors at this hour.

"My lord, my agents have found out the location of Luka, the alleged pagan magician of Jobsts retinue."
Blinking, Hans replied "Truly? I hope it is within our reach and we may obtain the information before the council meeting?"
Marcos grin became even wider as he spoke "Actually, it is just outside the city walls. I have put men on guard there and we are ready to leave now. The horses and the wagon are ready at your disposal my lord"
Hans rose from his seat and quickly walked toward the door, patting Marco on the shoulder on his way out. "Excellent work Marco, let us see what this night still bears for us."

--------------------------

Rome outskirts, 1260 AD the very same night

The wind of the clear, star-lit night was warm for this time of year. Although the first snow had fallen earlier, there was something homely and comforting about the climate today. Hans did not know exactly why it was so, but he shrugged it off, as he had more urgent matters on his mind - to find the pagan magician and win him over as his witness.

As Hans and his entourage consisting of Marco, Dirk and Thorsten arrived short of the hut, several shapes emerged from the shadows, raising their hands in a calming manner, that stopped their horses. They were Marco's henchmen and had been shadowing the hideout for some time already.
After exchanging a few words, Marco joined his men and stood guard outside, while Hans and his two companions pressed onward.

The hut was unlit with exception of a small candle near the lone window facing the approaching men, its light flickering in the wind, casting eerie shadows onto the footpath ahead. Thorsten -paced faster toward the old wooden door and kicked it open, sending it slamming against the wall, immediately killing the light with the gust of wind.
"Thorsten, could you please try a bit more softly next time? We don't want to be casting the wrong impression..." Hans sighed.
"Oops... will try harder...err..softer.." Thorsten grumbled, visibly embarassed.
Hans waved him off and entered, seeing little in the pitch dark of the hut.
As the men stumbled their way through the narrow place, Thorsten suddenly felt his weight giving away and was sent crashing against a potted plant, sending it in turn crashing to the floor, breaking into countless pieces with a loud bang.
Dirk and Hans instinctively drew their broadswords and hurried over, only to find a trapdoor beneath the carpet Thorsten tripped over.
"Umm sorry again..." Thorsten said immediately, lowering his head
"Thorsten, sometime I admire how you manage to find those hidden places the way you do... in any case, well done, I guess." Hans replied, while Dirk just muffled a hearty laugh.

Dirk lifted the heavy ring on the trapdoor revealing a narrow corridor below, somewhat lit with torches held in place on holding irons against the roughly carved stone walls.
"At least there is some light" spoke Hans as he descended down the creaking ladder and motioned Thorsten to stand guard while Dirk followed.
The two men walked slowly yet steadily through the narrow corridor that did not allow them to walk side-by-side. They would have no room to swing their sowrds around here and would have to rely on their daggers while they searched for traps that may have lined this tunnel.

After several stressful minutes, they reached the end of the corridor that opened into a well lit chamber, featuring reliefs on the walls and various animal hides and bones littered across the floor. In the midst of said chamber, sat peacefully a robed man in front of a brazier, into which he threw herbs that gave off a rather calming smell.

"That must be that Luka then, eh?" whispered Dirk
"That I am indeed" the voice of the man hallowing through the hallway, bouncing off the walls and giving off many echoes.
"We come in peace, Luka. We are in need of information." spoke Hans as he walked up the the entrance of the chamber and waited
"Then enter. I have been expecting you, sooner or later" was the reply

Hans was the first to enter, looking about at the many drawings of pagan deities, while Dirk came in second, more cautiously and not leaving Luka out of his eyes.

After much time had passed - Hans lost count of the hours - Luka left the hideout with them. They had discussed what evidence Hans had and amended the puzzle with Luka's knowledge and a new objective: To find the possibly last link that would solve the mystery of Dieter and Siegfried's ascension. Hugo von Heidelberg. The spy, Hans had sent to Denmark during his chancellorship to find out more about the royal court at Stockholm.
Luka was no less happy about this turn of events, as for his services, he had been rewarded with a prominent position on Hans' retinue.

--------

Frankfurt, 1261 AD

Thorsten hated travels. Especially travels through Imperial lands where he would have no heads to bash. War was his trade, not travel, and he grew weary of the constant diplomatic approach and caution with which Hans progressed. However, this was not to mean that he was disloyal. Just slightly disgruntled as it had been many years since he had last seen a proper fight, and his axe thirsted for blood.

Hans and his retinue had arrived at Frankfurt some hours earlier and were now waiting for nightfall in one of the more noble establishments in the city, the innkeeper of which was known to ignore gossip and heed the privacy of his mainly aristocratic clients. Exactly what was needed for this mission. Marco's agents once again had tracked down their suspect: Hugo von Heidelberg, who had recently travelled to Frankfurt on unknown business.

As night beckoned outside, Hans and his men prepared their weapons and armour that were crafted by the most able smiths of Outremer and Sofia, and the best armourers at Staufen. Hans, Dirk, Adalberth and Luka carried broadswords, Marco a scimitar, and Thorsten two Skrajas - feared battleaxes of the north. Their armour was hidden beneath long, black robes as they made their way through a secret passage below the inn and through the sewers of the city.
While it was not exactly as clean and quiet as the city streets, this path allowed for secret travel and was surprisingly well-kept - that portion of the sewers anyway, to please the visiting nobles.

Marco read off a drawing of the city sewers that was acquired from the local city hall after some florins had exchanged owners and pointed to one of the exits ahead. "There. We must ascend here and make our way east through the outer slums."
"Where is east?" asked Thorsten immediately.
Luka sighed "Just follow us, will you."

Dirk raised the sewer grate and spied out. The street was dark and quiet, there was no visible movement. Yet he was unsure whether it was too quiet. He was a trained bodyguard and it was his duty to ensure the safety of his companions, yet one wrong step could end it all. Was he willing to take that risk? He knew he had to. It did not matter whether he lived or died as long as he fought for a worthy cause, and this was one indeed. Having filed the thought, Dirk slowly slided the grate across the paved road, avoiding any excessive noise from the metal grinding against the stone below. He emerged, slowly, cautiously, and quickly sped towards one of the dark corners of a nearby building before signalling Marco, who had been behind him, to follow.
It did not take much time until all men had taken their positions behind Dirk, with Marco tracing his fingers over the parchment.
"Follow me, slowly. Try to stay in the shadows. Especially you Thorsten." Marcos words were quickly rewarded with a grumble from Thorsten's direction, and he grinned.

Marco drew a light crossbow he had been hiding under his robes and climbed up the side of one of the nearby buildings near the hideout for a better vantage point. Thorsten and Dirk stood on either side of the front door, with Hans and Adalberth to the side of either window. Luka hid in the shadows under the building Marco had settled on.

There were muffled voices that could be heard through the wooden walls, several to be sure. Hans knew immediately that there would be a fight, and Thorsten took a deep sip from his waterskin, that was filled with cheap wine and pagan herbs in expectation.

The sound of shattering glass could be heared throughout the streets, as a bolt struck through it into the neck of a man who had looked out of the window just at that moment. As if one man, the companions immediately stormed the building, Dirk and Thorsten through the front door, Luka following close behind. Hans and Adalberth remained on their positions, making sure no-one escaped and no more fell into the backs of their friends.

The men inside were visibly surprised at the loss of one of their members and were slow enough to draw steel, that two more fell under the blows of the retinue barging through the door. Their resistance was futile however, as their weapons were no match for master smithwork and honed skills of warriors by trade. One tried to flee through a window but was quickly struck down by Adalberth, while Hans bashed the window near him and shouted for the remainder to surrender or fall. Surprisingly, all of the men chose death over surrender, except for one, who cowered in a corner with a dagger drawn, shaking all over.

With the battle dying down, Thorsten took over Hans' position while Hans moved in and quickly disarmed the man, sending his dagger flying against a wall and the man to the floor in fear.
"Please, there is no need to kill me! I can explain everything! Please!" begged the unarmed cowled man.
"And why would I grant you what you speak of? Is there some benefit for me?" asked Hans sharply
"I... I have connections! I have coin! You don't want to kill one such as I!"
"Really, and why would you think that I need more coin?"
The man looked up at Hans in disbelief "You are not out for coin? You are not robbers? Not Danes? But why?"
"Ah, then you must be Hugo, yes? I came looking for you..."
"What? How do you know? I have done nothing! I won't tell you nothing!"
Thorsten grinned, revealing several gaps where normally teeth would be and stepped closer "Maybe you like to talk to my axe then, heh?"
"No! Murderer! Leave me alone!"
Thorsten raised one of his axes high and cut into the shelf next to the man, splitting it into two.
"Wait! I will talk, just let me live! Just tell this barbarian to back off!"
Hans smirked "What do you know about Dieter von Darmstadt?"

Placeholder for the story about Ansehelms preparations for the Teutonic Crusade



btw Overknight, are you still planning on sending some noble with Ansehelm, would be nice to mention him as well

Far west side of Damascus territory, 1262

Jan sat on a rock up on the side of a mountain. Bodies of Imperial Bodyguards and Muslim brigands were strewn about in a rough circle. He was at the mouth of the pass where he had ambushed Duke Arnold up north a few years ago. This pass was proving to be the site of many events in Jan's life. A few days ago he had finally gotten permission to join up with the Crusade that was launched to retake Jerusalem. Leaving Damascus, where he was stationed, Jan made his way down the mountain pass to save time. An Egyptian army was camped out south of Acre and Jan wanted to join the Crusade in time to intercept it. But all not gone according to plan. The army moved north, chased Jan, and blocked off the mouth of the pass. But then the army rebelled from their Sultan and most of the soldiers went home or off to other duties. But, around 30 peasants and 30 mamluke horse archers formed a bandit ring and were camped out right at the entrance to the pass. Not wanting to be delayed on his way to the Crusade, Jan ordered a frontal attack with only his 30 bodyguards. While the peasants had been killed in the initial charge, the horse archers proved to be quite difficult. Jan wanted to disengage and set up another charge but he was afraid that the horse archers would have shot his men in the back and run off. So, Jan had ordered his men to stay close and it became a battle of attrition with his knights pushing uphill while being clubbed to death by the mamlukes. While roughly half of the enemy horsemen died in the initial charge, the remaining ones took roughly 3 of Jan's knights for every mamluke killed. Luckily, numbers had been on Jan's side at that point and a few knights were able to walk off to the side, up the hill and come back down on the mamlukes from above. The mamlukes had fought to the last man and Jan had lost 20 of his bodyguards in the fight.

One of these last bodyguards walked up to Jan with Maximillian beside him. "My lord", said Jan's Teutonic knight, "this man wishes to speak with you."

"Of course. Come forward my good knight."

The knight came forward and said bluntly, "My lord, forgive me, but you screwed up here."

Maximillian stirred and moved to intercept the knight but Jan waved him off.

"You fought well my good knight. I do not recognize you but you have certainly earned the right to speak your mind. Please continue."

"My lord, I am new to your group of bodyguards. I asked to be assigned to you after I heard stories about you. You fight well and you have honor, but you lack military leadership experience. And that came out in todays battle and I am afraid good men are dead because of your misjudgment. You were so eager to get to the Crusade, you refused to wait for the reinforcements that I know Matthias offered you. You charged straight in instead of trying to bait the horse archers out where they could be ambushed. You became obsessed with victory and lost your cool because of it. I humbly offer my services to you as an adviser. I have been involved in military campaigns for the Imperial Army for over 20 years."

Jan mulled over what the knight had said. "You speak truth to power my good knight and I respect that. I am honored to be served by one such as yourself. And I would be doubly honored to have your services as an adviser. You can be my "veteran warrior" and advise me on matters of military tactics. I also want you to keep touch with the men under my command and let me know what they want and need. Would you please give me your name? And I have one request."

The knight straightened up. "I am Gunther my lord. And what is it that you need?"

Jan looked Gunther straight in the eye and said, "If your advice is to be of any use to me, I need it straight. If you hold back, or sugar-coat anything, I will fire you on the spot."

Gunther quickly replied, "My lord, if I did that, then my advice is useless and I would deserve to be fired."

With a smile Jan said, "Alright! Its settled then. Let us get ourselves to the Crusade."

With that, Jan and his much smaller group of bodyguards galloped off to Count Zirn's Crusader army outside of Acre.

It was a dark, dark night. Nothing could be seen out in the shadows beyond the small village. The small village was the only village within a few good km's.

Several candle lit lights flickered, creating a eerie cold scene. All were asleep, the drunks in the tavern snoring loudly, and the nobleman of the village, a council member from Frankfurt, supposedly there.

But from the shadows emerged a man. Robed in black, and breathing deeply, he walked through the street, walking towards the large house in the middle.

As he approached, he looked up and quietly chuckled. His target was near, a target which would ensure that Kaiser Siegfred encountered nothing more. And most of all, one gone.

He quietly waved his hands, and all lights around the house extinguished. The street plunged into blackness. He had thought with the death of his old buisness partner it would all be fine, but somehow, Hugo found out. The Brotherhood was supposedly finished...

Ge pulled a small picklock from his belt, and picked the lock. THe door creaked open to reveal a lovely home. The man, was obviously drowning in glory. A great couch was planted in a wide living room, glorious paintings hanging on the walls.

Stealthily, he ascended the stairs. The stairs spiralled upwards, and finally opened. A large bed was placed in the middle of a small room, the place opened up to the cold night air. There was hilltops with lights twinkling on them. None could tell the village was there, unless they stumbled into a wall.

The cloaked man silently drew a pistol, and looked around. In the bed was only one figure. Quietly the man approached, and was soon looming over the person.

He pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. It sounded like a angry elephant, the blast echoing around the hills. Soon lights were being lit in the place, and curios voices could be heard, as doors opened to find smoke pouring from the second floor window of the Council Members house.

The cloaked man seemed to fly out the window, pocketing his pistols and drawing a large knife. But he encountered no one, and soon he was fleeing into the hills.


1 Week Later

The large city of Rome was bustling, once again noisy as the Holy Roman Empire's Capital. Amongst the crowd a man walked, he was cooly watching the many fountains, as people brushed past him.

Another man stood nearby, leaning on a railing. He looked over at the other man and nodded, and he came closer.
"Dieter? Have you seen the newspapers?" the man demanding pretending to watch the passing crowd.
"The papers? Where is your brain man? In your arse or your head? Of course I haven't, I was on leave up in Northern Germany near Frankfurt." replied Dieter quietly, still watching the fountain but no longer relying on the railings for support.
"Here" the man slipped Dieter a paper and continued, "I know what happened up there. You weren't on holiday were you?" asked the man suspicously, now watching Dieter intently. DIeter ruffled the paper, and before he read he said,
"Anymore detective work Sergeant and I will ahevt o silence your little meber of life." he replied, then resorted to reading.

The front cover read nothing, but the other man turned the pages until he was quite into th paper, then pointed at a rather large article. Dieter read,

Witness of Count Hans Killed

Yesterday, near the City of Frankfurt, a shocking death occured. The man, known for the famous investigation into the then Prinz Jobst's scandal ambush, and a local council member, has been killed. It occured at the very blackest of the night. The man has also been called forward related to the case made in the Imperial Diet by Count Hans against Kaiser Sigfred's right to be Kaiser.

Dieter looked up.
"Shocking, we are to ensure the rest of the witnesses have great protection. Now, is the man I wish to see ready to speak?" asked Dieter, skipping the discussion of the article whoch was sure to come up.
"Yes sir but-"
"I don't bloody want to discuss this newspaper, it always reports false stuff. Let us meet the man, he is a old friend." continued Dieter, and waved the Sergeant away.

After some time, he returned, accompanied by another taller man. He did not recognise Dieter.
"Let us walk?" suggested Dieter, the tall man nodded. Dieter brushed away the Sergeant. Briskly, they srt off. Slowly winding through the streets, looking at the carts offering things to sell. While they walked, Dieter proposed conversation.
"Well, my old friend, you do not recognise me?" the man shook his head,
"I am Dieter" said Dieter. The man, shortly unfocused as a group of giggling beautiful women passed him, laughing, he quickly turned to Dieter, drawing a sword. Dieter, put a hand on his arm, his grip making the action stop. They cotinued, but now under the nervous and curious watch of others.
"Now, let me make it straight. You provide nothing more to Count Hans, or your life is on the line." Dieter told him, drawing him into a abandoned alley.
"No! You are a evil man! If I knew what you were up to, I wouldn't have helped you! Your poor assa..." Dieter drew a long, curved sword, and pressed it against the mans throat.
"Like my blade I got from Outremer? Now, listen my fri..." But now Dieter was cut off, as someone came barging into the alley, knocking him tot he ground. The glint of a blade flashed, and soon a Longsword was bearing down upon Dieter. Quickly, he parried it and got to his feet, to find the Sergeant and the other man standing with swords drawn.
"Sergeant! What are you doing!?" asked Dieter,
"I shall not let you kill another witness." Quickly he was bearing upon Dieter gain, and they duelled feriouscly. He yelled something, ans quickly the other taller man fled.

Dieter parried, did a fake step to his right, then jumped to his left and stukc at the Sergeant. The curved blade found flesh, and sliced the Sergeant at his waist and then curving upwards to cut his stomach open. The man fell to the dusty ground, gurgling as blood flooded his mouth. Dieter spat on him and leaned down, so he spoke face to face.
"Never, investigate or somehow ruin Dieters plans, or your life is falling from the line." cackling, Dieter rose and spat ont he man. He slashed a clothsline hanging above him, and the clothes fell on the Sergeant, covering him, as they slowly turned red.

And Dieter left, noy a care he had blown out someones ember.

Ember of life.

Rome, 1262 AD

Betrayed!
Betrayed by those I thought I could trust the most!
Hans was furious. He paced up and down the backroom making rude gestures at imaginary individuals.
Steffen and Arnold were supposed to vote for me! They swore it!
...and yet they simply turned their backs on me for a few parcels of land and some alleged efforts to find a wife!
Hans exhaled, his face red in rage.
I had offered them the same and more! Steffen was to gain the holy grail in addition to lands in Italy and Spain and Arnold was to get a wife and support against his foes in Outremer as well as lands in Hungary...how could they accept his offer instead!
Hans struck his arm against the stone wall in anger, but felt felt no pain, no relief.
I should have known. The diet against me with only the Dukes with me, who feared for their houses abandoning them. The council did not even wait a few hours for me to make copies of the final evidence submission but decided to vote for Siegfried immediately.
Emperor Siegfried. Hans spat. I was supposed to become emperor! Not this upstart Franconian who had no hopes of greatness!
And when I presented my plight to the diet, I was called a liar, a corrupt briber! How dare they! All those witnesses were real and impartial. How could anyone prove that any witness was bribed or true? Why did they believe that traitor Dieter instead? What did he have that my witnesses did not?
Hans stopped in his steps and pondered.
Maybe some of the diet plotted with him? Sigismund and Ansehelm seemed to be the most outspoken then. I should investigate them for treason!
Hans walked over to the desk and sat, his arms stretched out before him.
Dieter couldn't have acted alone. Maybe Hugo knows more than he's willing to tell me. Since I cannot become emperor now, maybe I should take some...more drastic measures...
Hans began scribbling on some paper.
This is not over yet. I will not be defeated without a pyrrhic victory.


---------------

South of Aleppo, 1264 AD
"Murdered?! What do you mean by murdered??" Hans bashed his fist against the strategic maps, sending the flags and figures into the air and onto the floor.
"Good lord, please calm! This messenger certainly is not part of it." Adalberth tried to soften Hans.
Hans inhaled deeply as he waited for the messenger to speak.
"Um...well...I..uh.." The messenger was unsure how to explain the turn of events.
"Be quick about it or I will be quick with my blade!" Hans was losing his temper.
"Right...I..the witness...the councilman..got...um...murdered.." Started the messenger once again.
"Yes you already told me that. I want to know more! More!" Hans was growing restless.
Regaining his composure, the messenger continued "It happened on his travels to..uh..Frankfurt..yes..he was resting at a council house when...someone broke in during the night and shot him."
Hans interrupted, with raised eyebrow "Shot you say? And you are certain?"
"Errr, why yes milord, he was...shot..with a pistol it seems. And uhh I heard some rumors on my way here that some other man was assaulted in broad daylight in Rome"
"This is just great! Someone kills my witness and then some other person is attacked in Rome! Come back when you know more about either of them. Best both! I want to know every detail and any other witnesses that saw what happened and who did it!" Hans immediately responded.
The messenger nodded slowly, unsure. "But milord, I am but a messen.."
A bag of florins hit the maps once more.
"Ahh...I will come back as soon as I can! Promise!" The messenger quickly picked up the florins, bowed and left, swiftfooted.
"Are you sure that was wise Hans? To tell him what you need to know and give him payment without knowing more about him?" Adalberth questioned.
"I can use any man in my services right now. I won't be picky. Besides, we got matters to attend to." Hans replied and started picking up the pieces that littered the floor.

Near Baghdad, 1266

Lukas Roht was a merchant. While many in the Reich would debate the utility of Outremer, he was not one of them. The Crusades and establishment of the Kingdom may have had spiritual origins, but it had been a boon to Imperial merchants. New markets had opened up and merchants like Lukas had gained access to trade goods previously monopolized by the Greeks, Turks and Egyptians. Before Outremer, heading so far east would have presented many risks, but the presence of Imperial soldiers and cities now mitigated these.

Business was good, Roht had made a fortune trading Spices near Aleppo, though when the Mongols came near the fortress he had to briefly shelter within the walls. Now that they had been destroyed, Roht had decided to head east and see if he could horn in on the silk trade around Baghdad.

Lukas smiled to himself, the Reich's soldiers claimed they were the shield of Christianity and the Empire, but he didn't see any of them travelling through the desert to open a new market. Where would they be without the tariffs he reluctantly paid? They walked around as if they owned the place, telling each other and whatever tavern wench they could grab brave stories, and mostly did nothing. They did occasionally fight, but they were a drain on the finances of the Reich.

Lukas's reverie was interrupted as his small caravan came into sight of Baghdad. Something was wrong, the city was besieged. He should have known by the lack of traffic on the road. Had the Turks or Egyptians moved in to claim the city?

A strong breeze came up over the alluvial plain, and the banners in the siege camps flared to life. Lukas Roht swore loudly and suddenly wished he had some of the same soldiers he just been thinking were superfluous.

They were back.

Jerusalem, 1267 AD
Hans had just received word from the chancellor that his fleet that would take him back to Swabia was ready.
With good spirit, he had left the inn he had been staying in and inspected the fleet and his ever shrinking army before boarding.
Was this the way to treat the empire's greatest army commander? He had thought to himself. Ever since the end of my chancellorship, every chancellor seemed keen to either delay my travels or split my forces. Hans was angry, but he did not show it openly. It would be unwise, now, that he had no support in the diet left after the succession mess and only very few people he could still trust.
Even Salier, who was outwardly welcoming to anyone wanting to come to Outremer, despised him behind his back, Hans was sure. It was one of the reasons why he was leaving Outremer for good, after having pledged his support against the Mongols and then for the crusade earlier.
At least I am a man of my word, Hans thought wryly. The betrayal of the Dukes still stung, like a thorn in the side and the eye.

Hans surveyed the harbor. It was bustling with activity ever since it was retaken and merchants were everywhere, praising their wares. Even whores were about again. Not that Hans planned on using any of their services. It went against his religious beliefs as a pious man to do so.
Just as he was about to turn and give the signal for depature, Hans spotted something unusual.
What are all those men, women and children doing, crowded at that dock? They seem to have brought all their belongings with them too!
Hans watched more intently.
Some of the men seemed to haggle with the captain of one of the larger ships, but the captain seemed to not care much.
There was movement on deck of that other ship!
Now Hans could see why.
There were even more pilgrims or whatever these people were on that other ship already, and on another ship, and yet another!
What is going on? Why are people hastily leaving behind Outremer with all their family and belongings? They can't all be pilgrims wanting to return to Europe?
Hans waved the captain of his ship over.
"What is the commotion there about? All those people trying to leave?"
The captain scratched his chin before replying "Ah milord, t'is just rumors. Some word spread that the horse lords are back. Must be old, they were just recently defeated in the field once more eh?"
"Horse lords you say?" Hans' vision narrowed as he thought critically. "Tell me more of these recent rumors."
"Aye well sire, some merchant be sayin' that the trade route far east is blocked by many an army. And more scavengin' the ruins of Baghdad, wherever that be. Certainly not a port, or I'd know."
Hans couldn't believe it. He had thought that he came to Outremer to late to still see battle, but it seems his fortunes reversed.
"Give the order to disembark immediately."
"Wh..What?" The captain was visibly taken by surprise.
"You heard me. Disembark my men and equipment. I'm going back ashore."
"B..but milord! I was just about to set sail! Everything is ready, why the sudden change of mind?!"
"I have matters to attend to. Those horse lords...it is time I saw them with my own eyes."

Adana, 1266

Matthias sat alone in the Imperial Chapel inside the Citadel of Adana. It was the first Church built by the Crusaders in the Holy Land, initiated by Otto von Kassel in 1188 to give thanks for the twin victories nearby. After the death of Maximillian Mandorf, the Chapel had been enlarged and remodeled. A stained glass window showed Maximillian striking down the Turkish General Ali al Hadi with a flaming sword. It was one of the miracles that had led to his canonization, though that had occurred only recently to coincide with the Third Crusade. The Pope had made the architect of the original Crusade on Jerusalem a Saint as an astute move to inspire the retaking of the city.

Now another Bavarian ruled in Adana. Matthias had finally arrived in his County 26 years after he had been assigned it. His path had taken many twist and turns, from rotting in Bologna, to shipwreck and finally sailing to Jerusalem to liberate the city. With that task accomplished and the Mongols dispersed, Matthias had looked forward to at long last establishing his rule in Adana. Events, however, seemed to be working against him as usual.

Matthias's hand shook as he reread the note it held written by an Imperial merchant. The rumors were true, Baghdad was indeed besieged by a new wave of Mongols. One army it seemed, but there were bound to be more out there.

A coughing fit overtook Matthias, echoing through the Chapel, as he could feel a fever run through him. This was not how it supposed to be. The Mongols had been destroyed. Matthias had already begun work reducing the number of soldiers in Outremer to ease the burden on the treasury. What foolhardy or obstinate foes would come back for a third time after being crushed twice? Matthias shivered, what should be done? To be honest with himself, the eradication of the second wave had largely been the work of Fredericus, Conrad and Elberhard. This new threat would be his responsibility. Count von Hamburg had once asked him if he was worthy of being a Crusader. Matthias had given him a flippant answer, but now he wasn't sure if he was worthy, as a Crusader or Chancellor.

Matthias rose from his pew and knelt by the Altar, praying for guidance. Raising his head, he noticed there were words inscribed on the Altar, a quotation from Saint Maximillian before he had entered the second Battle of Adana:

Quote:

---

“The Lord is testing us. It is not enough that we bring force of arms to his Great City. We must be worthy of possessing the lands of Christ. I shall give thanks for the hardships we bear, for they serve to purify the souls of those who have taken up the Cross for baser reasons.”

---

The words struck Matthias and he reeled as if from a blow. He could feel the fever rise in him and his vision swam. It seemed another time of purification was at hand. A test for the Reich and its Chancellor sent by God. As much as Matthias might wish that this cup would pass from him, it was not to be. He would pass the test, emerge from the Crucible a stronger man, a pure soul, or he would be consumed.

Matthias stood. The time for reflection and doubt was over. It was time to act, and decisively. The Reich would be marshalled to face this new threat. Outremer would gird for another attack, and the rest of the Empire would assist. It would take sacrifice, blood and treasure to accomplish this, perhaps more than some were willing to bear, but Matthias had been elected to lead, and lead he would.

The Chancellor strode out of the Chapel.

Baghdad, 1266

A hooded man was making his way through the wreckage of the recently-sacked city, distracted by nothing, noticed by no one. All around him were scenes of destruction – broken windows, buildings on fire, blood and corpses littering the streets, screams of women and children – but he took no notice, instead focusing on his destination.

As he progressed, the scene became more organized, but at the same time more chaotic. The blood grew more numerous and the screams louder, but it became evident that the soldiers who had sacked the city were the cause of this mayhem, and thus had the situation under control. Still the hooded man remained unnoticed. The soldiers’ attention was focused on other areas – mainly carrying out as much looting, carnal pleasure, and destruction as possible.

The man entered the Khan’s command tent, which on the inside looked no different aside from the fact that it was better-kept than the rest of the city. He paused, taking in his surroundings. To his left, five soldiers were counting and exchanging various trinkets taken in the looting of the city. To his right, three more soldiers were busy ripping the clothes off of two terrified-looking women. The man grunted and turned away. Attractive as the women surely were, he was not interested in them. He looked straight ahead and found the reason why he came. The Khan and his generals were sitting in a circle, having a discussion.

He walked closer to the circle, still unnoticed. He leaned in, trying to pick up what was being discussed. The language barrier was not a problem. There were not many things that were ever since that day.

“…do not want a repeat of the last two waves.”

“Nobody does, Mighty Khan, but it will not be easy. The Imperials have proven themselves most proficient in the area we excel at most – open-field battles. A siege assault will be unwise.”

“I agree,” said a third voice. “We must find out the weaknesses of the Westerners and exploit it.”

“Or rid them of their strength,” said the Khan.

“Mighty Khan?”

“Their strength is their generals,” said the Khan, sounding agitated. “I do not know why the soldiers listen to them when they are not feared like I am, but it is what it is. Cut off the head, and the body will die.”

The hooded man and the generals listened in earnest as the Khan continued. “Three men have defied us time and time again. One of them will surely be taken by age before we arrive. The other two are not so lucky. They have killed too many of us for too long, and accordingly will pay for their past actions.

“I want the heads of Salier and Elberhard before this is over.”

The hooded man stepped forward. He was, finally, no longer ignored or unseen. Instead, he was subject to scathing looks from all of the generals present, most notably the Khan.

“Who dares to interrupt this most important discussion? Speak quickly, before you find your head separated from your body.”

The hooded man bowed low. “Greetings, Mighty Khan Kuo Kan,” he said in a smooth, unctuous tone. “I apologize for intruding on your conversation but it appears that we share the same goals. My organization too wants Salier dead.”

The Khan started. “Oh, it does, does it? And tell me, what makes me believe that I can put my trust in this organization of yours? What are they compared to the might of the Mongol Empire?”

“Might?” The hooded man laughed. His hood slipped, briefly revealing a smooth mustache and dark complexion. “I failed to see any might in your prior two attempts at conquering the West.

“But I digress,” the man said quickly, for the Khan and his men looked ready to kill, “We have acted before. The man who eliminated your first invasion, for example. He was... in our way. We removed him.”

“You killed Henry? But Henry died in his sleep.”

“That was what our organization aimed for. Obviously we succeeded.”

“But...” The Khan was taken aback. This was what he had least expected: an offer that could actually help him, that seemed legitimate. “But if you have that kind of power, why do you need our assistance?”

“I have tried assassinating Salier before,” the man said, and bitterness spilled into his smooth voice for the first time. “He proved... difficult to kill.” The man ripped open his cloak to reveal a terrible scar on his chest, the same kind of scar that came from a longsword. “Ever since then he has had a heightened security detail. But in the heat of battle...”

“Enough,” said the Khan. “You will assist with Salier when one of our armies meets with his in battle. What of the other one? Elberhard?”

“My organization has taken an interest in the Prinz but at the moment he is not on our list. We will help you with Salier in return for the right to his body and ten thousand florins.”

“Ten... thousand?” one of the Khan’s generals sputtered. “You are bold to the point of recklessness.”

“If you refuse my offer then of course I am sure you will be able to finish him easily, like you have with the Reich’s other generals. I do not expect the money until after he is dead. Do we have an agreement?”

The Khan looked around, torn between wanting to kill this hooded man and grudgingly respecting him. Finally, he offered his palm. The two shook, and with it the King of Outremer’s final days began counting down.

Ragusa 1268

The great hall of Ragusa was a hive of activity. Since Duke Arnold arrived and turned it into the Austrian Head Quarters, there had been a steady stream of riders coming and going through the normally quiet Citadel. Running the House from the great hall had turned it into a sea of maps, documents and the usual collection of merchants, ambassadors and courtiers.

Striding through the massive doors of the hall the familiar figures of Bane and Grom immediately dominated the attention of all but the Duke and his engineer who were in deep discussion at the end of the great table.

Most people had gotten used to the two figures but no one could be called comfortable around them, especially Duke Arnolds new Priest, who upon seeing them both immediately crossed himself and silently mouthed a pray of some sort.

Somehow Bane caught the moment through his dark helmeted head and nodded towards the Priest in greeting.

Looking up from the maps Arnold grinned at the sight of his two enforcers.

“Report.”

Grinning hugely the barbarian took his helm off his head and ran his fingers through his sweat stained hair. “As you heard yesterday, they’re sitting there doing nothing. There about five miles from this very hall.”

“God damn it!! What the hell do these Sicilians think their doing!!? Surely they realise they are trespassing? Did you tell them what I told you?”

Arnold leaned back in his chair and studied the two men.

“Yes, your Gracce. We explained very clearly to the Captain what his choicess were. He sseemed indifferent to uss. Of coursse it was a front to ensure he didn’t show fear in front of hiss men.” Bane’s voice held the usual hollow, haunting sound it always did.

Arnold saw the Priest cross himself again out of the corner of his eye.

“Priest!!? Will you stop crossing yourself every time Bane talks!! He’s not the devil!!”

Pausing for a moment Arnold continued looking at his latest retinue advisor.

“What would you suggest we do given the situation?”

Grom was half way through his third pitcher of ale when he sprayed the contents of his full mouth over half the table at this question.

“Are you serious Duke Arnold!!?” placing the half empty pitcher on the table he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his face a look of confusion and shock.

“Well? What do you think Priest?”

Reluctantly the Priest sat at the table and looked at the map.

“Well sire I would not attack them…talking would be the best way to resolve this.”

“Talking, that’s the solution Priest?”

“Yes I’m sure of it your Grace. If you simply talk to the young captain I’m sure he will see reason and leave Austrian lands.”

“Well, that’s what we’ll do then. Grom, Bane, get my regiment ready immediately. We leave as soon as possible.”

Ragusa 1268

Standing in his stirrups Arnold shaded his eyes to better look at the Sicilian encampment.

"%&$&ing Hell. They really think this is some type of joke don’t they!!!?

There was complete silence from the Duke’s party and his Bodyguard Captain. All of them knew it was a rhetorical question but designed to have someone answer, and then have the Duke vent on them.

“But your Grace they could be lost.” The Priest voice was full of hope that his explanation would be understood.

And audible groan could be heard from the other members of Arnold’s retinue.

“WHAT THE @#$%^&!!!ING HELL DID YOU JUST @#$%^&!!!ING SAY!!!??”

Before he could respond the Duke continued.

“Did I just hear you say they could be @#$%^&!!!ing lost!!?? LOST!!!?? WHAT @#$%^&!!!ING planet are you ON priest!!?

LOST!!?? What on God’s little green earth gives you the impression they are lost!!? Have you spoken to them!!? Look, they have even set up jakes!!”

“But, your Grace…”

“BUT WHAT?! Do you think men who are lost take the time to dig shiet HOUSES!!??

“Well no your Grace, but…”

“BUT WHAT?! Do you have any idea what you are talking about Priest!!??”

“Well no your Grace, but…”

“Mother of Merciful gods!! Will you just shut up then!!

“Yes your Grace.”

Sitting in silence for sometime the Dukes next order was not forthcoming.

Leaning across his saddle Grom whispered loudly to the Priest.

“That went well...did you actually engage your brain before speaking, or was that some blinding bit of insight sent to you by the Lord Himself?”

Before a response could come out of the priest’s mouth, Arnold yanked his horse’s head around and started off towards the Sicilian encampment.

---------------------

Upon seeing the six riders approach, the Sicilian encampment suddenly looked like a hornet’s nest.

Within minutes a group of 20 riders where galloping out to meet the Duke’s party.

As the two groups approached the Captain and Duke moved slightly forward to speak.

“Duke Arnold, a pleasure to finally meet you” said the Sicilian.

His answer was met with stone silence and a grim stare from the Duke.

The captain’s face slowly betrayed his anger at the lack of response.

Staring at the Duke with increasing offence as no answer was forthcoming, the Captains face began to turn red at the insult being accorded to him.

Finally the Duke responded. “Are you married?”

The confusion on his face evident at the strange question; “What do you mean Lord Arnold?”

“ARE YOU MARRIED CAPTAIN!!?” The fury in Arnold voice cracked over the Captain making him flinch in his armour.

“YES!!”

Reaching into his saddle bag the Duke pulled out a bag of coins.

“Who’s the second in command here??!!!” No one answered. Dropping the bag on the ground in front of the gathered Sicilian’s Arnold turned back to the Captain.

“Defend yourself Captain!!”

“WHAT!!?”

Managing to duck the half speed swipe Arnold took at the Captains head the entire area burst into action.

Swords were drawn en mass, but with a practised move the four members of Arnold’s retinue, minus one horrified priest, quickly moved to block the twenty or so Sicilian’s in the field.

“IF ANY ONE OF YOU SCUM WANTS A PIECE OF ACTION I’LL KILL YOU!!” Grom’s huge frame dominated the gap between the two opposing groups.

Only the barbarians bludgeoning voice and the grim look of the Dread Knight and his two companions forced the Sicilian’s into no action.

Circling each other warily the Duke spoke softly; “You’re a fool Captain, and for that you will die.”

Arnold quickly took the measure of the Sicilian. It was going to be a short fight he thought.

“Your Grace, what are you doing!!??” The priest’s voice cut through the silence as both groups watched the unfolding duel.

With a quick lean in the saddle, a clean miss from the Captain, and a brutally fast counter strike by the Duke, it was all over.

The Captain’s headless corpse remained in the saddle for a few moments before clattering to the ground.

Riding back to the Sicilian’s, Arnold stood in the stirrups as he had done an hour before when observing the encampment.

His voice full of venom and strength it carried to the army some one hundred yards distant; “The money is for his wife and family, make sure it goes to them. If not then I’ll find out and you’ll follow him into the after life.

You’re trespassing!! Get off my land or there will be more bloodshed and it won’t be Austrian!!!”

With that, the Duke turned and rode back towards the Citadel without a backward glance.

Edessa, 1272

It had rained during the night. It usually doesn't, but it had, and everything was wet and slippery. Like every other early morning, Fredericus von Hamburg was up, performing some sort of inspection, review, or other useful task. This morning, it was the walls.

He walked along the eastern wall with some of his most trusted bodyguards (or, as trusted as they could get in the short time, the turnover for his bodyguard group was rather short). The Mongols were the topic of discussion.

"I don't know what they're hoping to accomplish," said one of them, "this wave seems similar to the others, and they didn't stand a chance."

"We should not underestimate them," added another, "the last wave insisted on pressing forward and ended up being surrounded. The leader of this one might be a little smarter."

"And do what exactly?" responded the first, "Not press forward? Stay back, sit in the desert until... what?"

"Until we attack them," Fredericus interrupted.

Everyone looked at him as they reached one of the gates.

"Let's head to ground level to inspect the gate," he added, and then continued, "I made the mistake last time of thinking that the Mongols could be induced into attacking. I guess they thought they could find an easier target somewhere along, but we were prepared. We'll be even better prepared this time, they might end up avoiding us altogether. We have to attack."

"But why? If they avoid us, have we not already succeeded?" said one of the bodyguards as the group approached the stairway in the gatehouse which was wet because the roof was not built to cope with the amount of rain that had fallen.

"Because it is glorious to fall in battle to defend the Outremer. You may have other chances, but I..."

Fredericus von Hamburg (the Brave, the Crusader, the Honorable...), Ex-Chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire, Count of Hamburg, Crusader Count of Aleppo, Grand Crusader and Knight of the Holy Roman Empire, on that day, the twenty-third day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred and seventy-two, did slip, and being unable to regain his balance, tumbled down the stairway, losing his life.

Edessa 1272

Jan walked into the city. All around him was teeming with activity. Finishing touches were being put on the huge walls. Work had already begun on making the towers tall and strong enough to hold ballistas. Provisions were being stockpiled. Regiments were training in the courtyard. The city was preparing for the Mongol horde that was approaching. But all of that could wait because Jan had something else he had to attend to.

With Maximillian and Gunther in tow, Jan strode through the streets and up to the chapel. By himself, Jan strode inside. It was empty except for the body of Fredericus von Hamburg. Jan walked up to his father and kneeled at the casket. On his knees, Jan thought of his father. He never knew him very well. His father was always distant. Jan knew his father loved him but Fredericus was not one to show it. Well, he showed it in other ways. Like when he was Chancellor he kept Jan from joining him at Edessa during the second Mongol wave. Fredericus had said he did not want the whole Hamburg line to die at once. When he was kept away from the action, Jan was devastated.

All of Jan's adult life, he had been trying to win his father's approval. It was why he was so headstrong. Why he was so outspoken. Why he took risks in the Diet and on the battlefield. Jan thought that if he proved himself, his father would be proud of him and let Jan join him in battle against the Mongols. It was why he had picked a fight with Duke Arnold.

As Jan knelt, he remembered what little his father had taught him. He remembered his fathers plans to become Duke and secede Franconia from the Reich. For some reason though, Dietrich gave the Duchy to Gunther Kastilian. Fredericus had traveled to Outremer to find glory and took a young Jan in tow. But, as many do, Fredericus found God in Outremer and became a changed man. He taught Jan that it was out here in Outremer that one could do good work. He said the Reich was filled with self-serving men back home that would sell out Germany for a handful of florins. Jan grew up learning that the Kastilians were just going to destroy their House with their own selfishness and ineptitude. And that only a couple of men could be trusted to do what was right like the King and Ebelhard. Jan remembered his father's last words to the Diet. He had said that it was time for Outremer to become a house.

His father was right. The people back home had no idea about the Holy mission. All they cared about was expanding their duchies until their borders became impossible to defend. Fools like Lothar questioned the expense of Outremer. In order to secure its future, Outremer needed to be made a fifth house. Crusader Counts needed to be loyal to the cause and the cause only. Otherwise, they are still susceptible to the whims of their Dukes. Only by becoming a house, could Outremer guarantee that its holy mission would be fulfilled. But Jan was not that naive. This would not happen quickly or easily. It might take Jan's whole life. It might not even happen in Jan's lifetime. But, Jan thought, I can start.

He would have to be quiet and he would have to be careful. Ansehelm had become Duke and he was going to drive the duchy into the ground, Jan was sure of it. Jan was already feeling the pressure. Ansehelm had blamed Jan for CA 11.8 and claimed that it was an attempt by Jan to get him killed. The fool, Jan thought, I wasn't trying to get him killed, I just wanted him to stop murdering others. But, Ansehelm was paranoid and power hungry. He assumed the Kaiser would always be his little brother so he could get away with anything he wanted. Ansehelm had already made clear to Jan that he considered him a threat. Jan knew a recall order from his Duke was going to come for him and order him back to Germany. Jan would ignore it as long as he could. Outremer was his home. The Crusaders were his family.

Kneeling at his father's casket thinking all of these thoughts, Jan realized something. He realized that one of the reasons he was sad was because he now would never be able to prove himself to his father. He shouldn't have to prove himself to anyone. He had his God. He had his purpose. And he had a mission. If he wanted to do good work, he had to stop worrying about what others thought. Those that understood, would help. Those that didn't, would not help until they one day understood. Jan had started serving the King because his father had asked him to. Now he did it because he believed it was the right thing to do. Crusading into Jerusalem had changed him. Jan was always a pious man but now he was starting to realize that the mission was bigger than him. And he not only realized it but started, for the first time in his life, to be ok with it.

There was much to do before the Mongols came. For Outremer to become a powerful enough political force to fulfill its Holy mission, it first had to survive. And the Mongols were a threat to that survival. They had to be stopped. And the King had entrusted Jan with Edessa's survival. The Mongols were exterminating every city in their way. Well, they are not going to get this city as long as I am alive, Jan thought. With that sense of urgent purpose, Jan stood up, made the sign of the cross at his father's body, said a prayer for his father to find peace in heaven, and strode out of the chapel.

Rome 1272

Few hours after his seizure in the Diet hall, Jonas Von Mahren sat on his bedside doing absolutely nothing. Just sitting there without any thoughts, emotions or anything. He just couldnt believe what had happened. First Erhart at the battle of Durazzo and now Sigismund at the walls of Bran. He still had daughters, but no sons, atleast men he had thought to be his sons. His wife had told him during an awfull fight after Jonas had came from Holy land that indeed the sons he thought as his were infact bastards of the Late Leopold, Duke of Austria that he had always considered his friend.

While Jonas had been separated from his family, most of his life, he had always loved his children, even after the claim that they were not his. He had kept contact with his remaining son Sigismund after the reveeak of his wife about the sons being from another seed. Sigismund had swore that whether Jonas was his father in blood or not,he would be his true father always.

Jonas had received an letter from his dead son the same day that he had been informed about the same sons death in battle. Jonas just didnt have any strength left to read the words of his dead son until now. He took the letter on his hand and looked at the Austrian seal of it, touched the rough surface of the scroll and opened it. He started reading slowly:

"Father,

I apologize for not having written to you in so long, but I've been busy with the AHA. Things aren't easy, but I am confident that before the Chancellors term ends the Reich will once again be reminded of the our family's martial prowess.

That being said, I've spoken to Mother and that business I mentioned before. She admits she has no proof, only her word. But what is more troubling is that Duke Arnold has independantly confirmed her story, and has called me brother himself. I did not press the matter further, but I cannot think of a reason for him to think this if it were not true.

It has been deeply troubling, not only that my mother could break the Lord's Seventh Commandment, but also that Leopolds barbarity could reach such heights. But I will not pursue the matter further, as I doubt there is any proof left to be found. I have done this out of a sense of filial obligation to you, an obligation that will not diminish. I am your son. Whatever blood flows through my veins will not change that.

Once Transylvannia is stable, I would very much like to visit you in Stettin. We have spent precious little time face to face.

Your loving son,
Sigismund"

Jonas lifted his eyes from the letter and breathed heavily saying out loud.

" Well son. Next time we will meet. It will be in heaven, or maybe in hell."

The old man stood up and walked to an window,where the midsummer sun of Italy scorched the earth, the hills that were covered with shades of yellow and brown as the wheat fields were starting to be ready for harvest.

"I wish that the harvester man of eternity will soon visit me also. There is no point in living when my sons are dead and my family name will die with me. My God,what i have done to deserve this?"

the old man thought as sun touched his old and wrinkled skin.

Outside of Edessa, 1276

The hooded man made his way through the camp. It was two in the morning, the ideal time for activities of a stealthy nature. The entire army, including its officers, was finally getting some sleep before the engagement the following day. Nobody would be up late, nobody would be awake early.

Perfect.

Of course, there were exceptions to this rule. Most annoyingly for the hooded man, these exceptions happened to be stationed around his target's tent. The King of Outremer took his security seriously. The only more-guarded men in the entire Empire were the current Chancellor and the Kaiser himself. If he was attacking a lesser figure, the hooded man would take his chances but trying to enter Salier's tent would be suicide. Not what his organization wanted.

This would be only a small hinderance to a man of his caliber, however. There were plenty of other ways to get to his target; you just had to know where to look.

In the dark, his nose, not his eyes, guided him. He sniffed away, sifting through the different aromas permeating the camp until he found the one he wanted. Ignoring the all-too-present scents of the dying embers, armor being tinkered with, and urine, he found what he was looking for: the unmistakable scent of meat.

He made his way into the cook's tent where the smell briefly overwhelmed him. He stepped outside, ignoring the urge to cough. Giving in would not have been ideal. He stepped back in, more adjusted, and sorted through the various items of food present.

Eventually he found what he was looking for: The finest cut of bratwurst. This was certainly going to be his target's breakfast. Obviously the King would have the heartiest meal, and being one of the few people in the army who lived in Germany for a significant period he would have time to develop a liking for that disgusting food.

Why risk capture when you can be just as effective by going down a subtle path? the man thought. You're smart, Salier, but not that smart. There are a thousand different ways I can kill you.

He produced a small vial from his cloak. "Iocane", it read. After eyeing it up and taking a sniff, the man sprinkled it on the bratwurst.

Let's see how well you feel tomorrow. Satisfied, the man snuck out of the tent and the camp, undetected.

Acre, 1276

“@#$%^&!!! it.” muttered Elberhard. “@#$%^&!!!ing @#$%^&!!! it. @#$%^&!!! it all to hell”

Jan the Teuton looked at the Prinz with a pained expression. The Order regarded cursing as a sin and there were times when Jan believed Elberhard had been sent by God to try him. Today the Prinz was in a particularly foul mood.

“What ails you, my Lord?” Jan inquired.

Elberhard looked at Jan. “What ails me? You want to know what really @#$%^&!!!ing ails me? What really @#$%^&!!!ing ails me is …”

The Prinz paused and thought, before continuing in a surprised voice. “Well, lots of things really..."

"...This @#$%^&!!!ing place - the heat, the insects, the sand, the smell."

"...The @#$%^&!!!ing food, which tastes so @#$%^&!!!ing fine when coming down but then forces you to spend a week @#$%^&!!!ing on the john afterwards."

"...The fact that the @#$%^&!!!ing beer is always warm and the @#$%^&!!!ing wine tastes like vinegar."

"The @#$%^&!!!ing people! Half are Mohammadans who want to put a knife in your throat, while the other half are sanctimonious crusaders who want to stop you drinking, swearing or otherwise having fun. Sometimes it’s hard to know which of the two are more dangerous.”

Jan looked down at his feet, but Elberhard could not be placated.

“…The fact that I am stuck here in Acre when the rest of @#$%^&!!!ing Outremer is marching against the Horse Lords."

"...The fact that I am stuck here in Outremer when the rest of the @#$%^&!!!ing Reich is battling Poles, Hungarians, Sicilians, Spaniards and God only knows who else.”

Elberhard paused for breath and then continued with a new wind:

“… The fact that @#$%^&!!!ing elephant balls Arnold dominates the Diet with his screaming for a wife and nobody even notices that the heir to the Throne is unwed."

"... The fact that I stand second behind a Kaiser who is a young @#$%^&!!!ing nobody."

"...And that I take orders from a pip squeek Chancellor who is another young @#$%^&!!!ing nobody.”

Jan continued looking at his own feet as if they had become worthy of great study and sustained contemplation.

“…But most of all, what really @#$%^&!!!ing ails me is that is the fact that I am a completely @#$%^&!!!ing useless @#$%^&!!!er that nobody would notice if I dropped down dead.”

Jan looked up. “Sire, might I suggest you speak to old Niklas Gruber, your old mentor, about your discontent? He might be able to advise you?”

Elberhard rubbed his head. “@#$%^&!!! it! You are right! It’s about time that old @#$%^&!!!er started earning his money! I’ll go to him right now!”

As the Prinz left the room, Jan let out an audible sigh of relief.

*****

Niklas looked at the angry young man sitting in front of him.

“You need to go home.”

Elberhard looked up, shocked. “Leave Outremer?”

“Yes.”

“For @#$%^&!!!s sake why? I’ve devoted my life to this @#$%^&!!!ing place!”

“As next in line to the Throne, you cannot devote your life to one part of the Reich. You must broaden your horizons. And your political constituency. Return to the fatherland. Ask the Chancellor to reinstitute the idea of a Prinz’s army. I am sure they will find something for you to do.”

“But what of Outremer?”

“Outremer will survive. It has many able generals. King Salier and Chancellor Steffen have already indicated your services are not required against the Horse Lords. Sire, you are not needed here. But you have your own needs and above all now, you need a change.”

“But what of my commitment to Outremer? I would be seen as abandoning the place!”

“If any say that, tell them - Outremer is not a place; it is an idea and that you will always hold it close to your heart. As your father did.”

Elberhard looked at Niklas. @#$%^&!!! it, the old man was really earning his money today. The Prinz exhaled and smiled. He stood up and patted his mentor on the shoulder.

“Thanks. Really, thanks! Now, that’s that sorted, I am going to get well and truly @#$%^&!!!d.”

And with that the Prinz walked out the door as if he had not a concern in the world.

*****

Niklas Gruber walked cautiously through the tavern. It was in a rough part of town that he seldom frequented. The old man looked at the suspicious faces around him, the furtive glances. Then he saw the person he had come to meet - sat in a corner of the tavern, cloaked in black.

Gingerly, Niklas sat down and muttered nervously.

“It’s done. I have persuaded him to leave Outremer.”

The black cloaked figure did not respond.

“When will you release my grandchildren?” Niklas asked, aggressively.

“Patience, old man.” said the dark figure. “I will keep my word. Your grandchildren will be freed when the Prinz is back in Europe. Now go.”

Niklas stared angrily at the figure, then reluctantly rose and turned to leave the bar.

When the old man had left, the dark figure rubbed an old wound on his leg and muttered to himself.

“Excellent - one down; one more to go.”

And with that, his mind soared to Edessa where King Salier was preparing to challenge the Horse Lords.

Eastern Austria 1276

After dispatching the rebels in less than an hour, the Duke's force has spend the entire afternoon chasing down the deserters and putting them to the sword. Arnold's House Hold regiment was now making its way through a winding track towards the main highway in drizzling rain.

“It tell you he’s pissed”; Grom’s words caused the Priest to flinch in horror at his choice of words.

“Grom, I’d hardly describe the Duke’s mood in that way, it’s more than likely the rain that has causes his unhappiness.”

The Dread Knight had fallen back from riding next to the Duke upon hearing whispering behind him. “Bad mood due to the rain Priesst? Did you ssee the way he ended that poor rebel Captainss’ life?”

Grom snorted in response to the question; “&*% me with a rubber chicken, DID I!!? He nearly took my arm off with that last stroke. The armourer’s been working on Leopold’s sword for hours since then.

I tell you, the messenger came in just after the battle and rumour has it the Mongols have killed King Sailer, butchered the army, plus…and this is what is giving our beloved Duke the shiets… Elberhard’s just gotten married to some English tartlet!!”

The group was quiet for some moments collectively gazing at the back of their Lords black clocked armoured figure.

The rain increased.

Finally the priest rode forward towards the Duke.

Quietly Bane said to the Priest as he rode forward; “I hope you know what you’re doing…”

Edessa 1276

A long line of men snaked into the city. Battered and demoralized survivors of the latest battle. They were joined by refugees from surrounding towns and villages. The word of the defeat had reached the surrounding area and panic had ensued. The horse lords were back and no one wanted to be out on the countryside tonight. In the city, soldiers wandered around looking for others from their unit. Cranes lifted ballistas into the newly completed towers. Crossbowmen climbed up onto the walls and collapsed exhausted. They were ordered to sleep at their posts on the walls in case they were needed. There were not enough survivors to provide a rotating shift so everyone who could stand was still on duty. Among the line of surviving soldiers were carts baring the injured and the dead.

Searching these carts was Jan. His whole unit of bodyguards had been lost in battle, including his Teutonic Knight, Maximillian and his grizzled old veteran, Gunther. Finally, he found a cart with Max lying in it with Gunther walking alongside with a bandaged arm.

"Thank God your alive!", said Jan. "How is Max?"

"He'll live but he will need to rest for awhile. I am sorry that we could not stay with you throughout the battle." Said Gunther with a look of shame on his face.

Jan replied, "Nonsense, I am sorry about what happened to everyone but I had to get to the King to see if he was still alive."

Gunther stood up straight as he could, "Did you get to the King? How was he?"

Jan lowered his head, "He was already gone. I did not have time to try to heft his body onto my horse so I took his box." With that he reached into this cloak and pulled out the box. He still could not believe what was inside it.

Gunther inquired, "What's inside?"

Still with disbelief and awe, Jan said, "Its the crown of thorns Jesus wore. This will have to go to whoever becomes the next King of Outremer. This was King Otto's. He passed it onto King Salier. If Salier gets his wish, it will pass to Count Zirn. I'll write Chancellor Matthias as soon as I am done looking over things here and tell him about it. I will keep it safe until it is decided as to who it goes to." Jan put the box back in his cloak. But Jan's hand stayed on the box as he bowed his head in thought. "I should not have this. This is the King's and the King should still be alive!" Looking around the City Jan said, "Gunther...we have enough men here. Well, we will when the reinforcements arrive from Chancellor Matthias. We need to strike that Mongol general and show him justice! I have already sent word to the Chancellor and his reply should arrive soon."

With that, the leading elements of the reinforcements arrived. One rode up to Jan and delivered a letter baring the seal of the Chancellor. Finally, Jan thought, I have a reply to my request to attack the depleted Mongol army. Jan undid the scroll and read,

Quote:

---

Jan,

Your request does you credit, but you are hardly ready for another battle. All your retainers are dead, and it would just take one stray arrow to finish you.

I promise you, you will have your retribution, but not this year. I need you to look to the defense of Edessa. There are three more Mongol Armies out there, and we must conserve what is left of our forces.

King Salier failed, for whatever reason, and we will not compound this failure by striking out without an advantage.

Chancellor Matthias

---

"Damn it!", exclaimed a very irate Jan. "They are sitting just over that hill!" The line of soldiers filing into the city slowed down to hear their count lose his temper. "This is unacceptable! That pagan scum should not be able to sit there warm and safe in his camp while the King is dead! Gunther! Rally the men! We are going to attack the Mongol camp orders or no orders!"

Jan had taken to pacing up and down the street looking over formations of men who were either standing in line or splayed out in the street exhausted or wounded or both. He was getting worked up to the idea. It might mean being stripped of rank or worse. I don't care. I owe that man everything. This is the least I can do for him.

"Sir!" Jan was interrupted in thought from Gunther. "I share your feelings concerning the King. He was a good man. And that general does deserve justice. But the men are utterly exhausted. They need a good night's sleep. They need to bind their wounds and mourn their dead comrades. They need some hot food in their belly. We need for all of the reinforcements to arrive and for them to be integrated with the older units. If you take these men into battle now, they will shatter against the enemy even though we outnumber them. You told me to give it to you straight and this is as straight as I can give it. This army is combat ineffective."

Jan stood there taking in everything Gunther said. Finally he resigned himself. "Your right Gunther... your right. Its just... I failed him Gunther. He gave me so much and I failed him. If only we got there sooner."

"That is utter bullocks sir!", counciled Gunther. "This army was made up largely of militia. They are not up to a forced march and could not have been pushed harder. There was nothing more you could have done. Sure, you could have run us off by ourselves on our horses or maybe force marched the professional soldiers. But that would have split our army. You kept the unit intact. The King was dead by the time we arrived anyways. You did exactly the right thing in what proved to be an impossible tactical situation. We need to rest and refit. We need to see to the defense of the city. And then we can plan for the general's justice. But first, you need to get some rest."

With that, Jan bid Gunther good night. He clasped Max's hand and bid him a quick recovery. And then he turned around and headed to his quarters to pray and then sob himself to sleep.

Eastern Austria 1276

……

The rain continued to fall, enveloping the Dukes small army in mist as they continued eastwards.

They had pushed on into the night, the Duke not saying a word, his lone figure a steady guide in the darkness.

The torches spat and hissed as there was not quite enough rain to douse them entirely.

Suddenly a muffled thunder of hooves could be heard as the Dukes outriders could be seen in the distant shadows, their torches dancing as they approached.

“Something approaches Duke Arnold!!” the scout, clearly spooked by what he saw or felt.

“Calm yourself man.” The Dukes voice steadied the veteran soldier as the entire column came to a halt. Bunching up, the regiments halted in a clearing as the remaining scouts galloped in to report, each one more distressed than the last.

Finally the last scout arrived, his horse foaming from the mouth after it’s break neck ride through the woods on the other side of the clearing.

“Something approaches my Lord!! It’s nearly upon us, prepare for battle!!” The scout continued riding to the rear, turning his mount only once a few hundred men where between him and the forest.

The moon cast an eerie glow on the men as they stood staring at the wood some hundred yards distant.

Then almost imperceptibly a faint sound could be heard…a moaning…the trees in the distance could be seen bending as if some giant hand was pushing them flat. A feeling of fear crept through the men; gently a wind began to blow into the clearing carrying with it a low moaning of what sounded like dying men.

The priest crossed himself and began to pray.

Hundreds of torches began to flicker and die, casting the area into sudden darkness.

The Duke rode out into the clearing as the wind began to increase, his own torch untouched by the wind; the moaning increased, causing more panic in the assembled men.

“HOLD!!” Arnold voice boomed out across the army, even men at the back could clearly hear their Dukes words. Their fear was replaced by one of horror as for a few brief moments the Duke's torch flared brilliantly revealing a menacing red glow to his eyes.

Then, as fast as it came, the wind and sound stopped.

The clearing was deathly silent, not a sound could be heard.

Moment's passed, then slowly the Duke's party rode up behind him.

Turning to no one, the Duke was gazing at some far off point to the East.

“Something has changed; I can feel a…disturbance.” There was only a chilling silence to his statement as a wave of fear passed over the group. Only the Dread Knight seemed oblivious to the effect it had on everyone around him.

Finally the Duke rode off into the wood, his men following with much trepidation.

Deep Russia, anno 1278

"Little Russians around, hey Sir?"
"Stop calling me Sir Helmut, how many times do I have to tell you?" Ansehelm was looking around while sitting on a rock. The Teutonic Crusade was now well on it's way into Russia, and was ready closing in on Moscow. Ansehelm reckonned it wouldn't take more than 4 maybe 6 years before they would be in Moscow. Moscow would be his, his moment of glory, he himself would be first to storm the walls, he would take the city square. While he had to thought of this he couldn't help thinking about poor Helmut. His cousing came along with him on this lonely mission, Ansehelm never knew why. He would dearly have given Helmut the command in some small, minor battle, but there were so little Russian armies around. Ansehelm hoped on loads of battles, but in reality he only fought 2 really. All Helmut commanded was the detachment of Light Cavalry, the most succesfull part of Ansehelms army, but he would never be able to command an entire army.
"Hah, Helmut can lead the road back to the Reich," Ansehelm thought, "it might be better for me to ride forward, to solve some political matters, Helmut is more than capable of bringing an army home. Or we could attack some Polish castle on our way back, Franconia is safe, but we could drive south and strike against Hungary. The morale is still high, and after we sacked Moscow it will even be higher."

But Ansehelm himself thought about the Reich, about his Heimat, it was now almost 15 years ago since he left, or so he thought, if one goes away as long as this he loses the count. But then, here he was safe from politics, from annoying people, from all that. Well, that isn't true, Ansehelm send scouts ahead, if there wouldn't be many Russian armies he himself would head back to the Diet. There was a route still open to the Reich, it was the one used by messengers, but it was dangerous, it would mean travelling through Polish territory, till he would reach Breslau, but it might also be needed. A Duke should be at the Diet Sessions.



to be continued...

Constantinople, 1270:

The air is thick with the scents of smoke and exotic perfumes. Through the gaze the young man is hardly visible, half-sunk in the giant pillows spread across the floor, while two scantily clad female servants try to circulate the air with palm leaves a third is propped beside the man on the cushion. For the imperial messenger it is hard to believe that he is actually standing in front fo the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.

"Where is my wife again, young man?" Siegfrieds eyes are glazed over, as he inhales another whiff from the pipe laying in front of him. Why in the world has King Salier ever forbidden the substance? It really made it hard for him to acquire it.

"I believe she is in her chambers. There are more pressing matters to attend to though. As I said, the Imperial Diet is starting and King Salier has fallen against the Mongols."

"King Salier dead?" Slight surprise passes Siegfrieds face. "That makes how many nobles dead? Four, five?"

The messenger can't help but to surpress a sigh: "The Diet, my Lord?"

"Ah yes! The Diet! Send a messenger with my wishes, will you. My wife's secretary will hand them to you. Speaking... speaking..."

"So you won't attend the Diet in person, my Lord?" The messenger can't keep his voice calm anymore.

"Speaking of which. I think I shall see her now! You are dismissed, my boy!"

The messenger opens his mouth again, but is dismissed with a wave of Siegfrieds hand. After the man has left, he tries to rise from his cushion to find his wife. He had some marital duties to fulfill, after all. He raises to fast though, and with his head swimming immediatelly falls down again into the lap of the woman beside him. Chuckling to himself the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire decides to stay here instead.

Rome, 1280

The entire known world was subject to his gaze. Europe, North Africa, and Asia – nothing escaped his view. For he was all-powerful.

He saw armies marching to the far corners of the world and back. He saw deals being made and just as quickly broken. He saw fathers passing on weapons to sons, loyal subjects mourning the death of their lord, and politicians dictating policy, hoping that what they made was the right choice.

He saw the Pope, in Jerusalem, drawing up a Papal Bull:

“The Reich shall hereby abstain from continuing hostilities with Spain and Denmark until further notice, under penalty of excommunication…”

The nerve of the Pope! He was an Imperial! He was not respecting the Lord of All’s wishes! But the Lord of all laughed, and swept his hand, and the Pope, nay, all of Jerusalem, was no more, swept away. So the Lord of All wished it, so it occurred.

In Rome, Jan von Hamburg laughed at him and dismissed his groundbreaking legal proposals. The Lord of All clenched a giant fist and brought it down upon the Diet building. There would be no more legal obfuscating.

In Constantinople, that usurper of a Kaiser simply existed. He was vacationing, enjoying his little play for the throne, and now not even bothering to take an interest in the Reich while its true leaders like Hans and Elberhard toiled in obscurity. The Lord of All grew angry at this and let forth a mighty bellow.

Seeing this, the Kaiser noticed his opposition and let forth a cry. “Please, My Lord,” he said, petrified, “What have I done to offend you? I shall do anything, anything to get back in your good graces.

The Lord of All laughed. “There will be no second chances for you, mortal.” Amid the Kaiser’s screaming he pronounced and executed his final judgment. Siegfried von Kastillien no longer existed. The Lord of All surveyed his domain once more. In it, he saw frightened respect, terrified awe, and willful submission. This pleased him greatly. He-

The door knocked. Hastily, Jens Hümmel scrambled, scooping up his map of the world and clay figurines and stuffed them into a corner of his room.

“State your name,” he said in a cracking voice, far from the majestic tones of the Lord of All.

“Innkeeper,” said the voice from behind the door. “You owe me a night’s rent.”

“Yes, of c-course I do,” said Jens, stuttering, as he opened the door. “Please, come in, make yourself at home while I get the florins. How much do I owe you? Eleven florins?”

“Twenty,” said the innkeeper. He peered around the room, looking as if he was expecting to find someone else there. Jens tried not to look at the map and clay figurines. “I heard voices,” the innkeeper continued. “You trying to sneak in an extra customer? ‘cause it’s ten extra florins a night if ye are.”

“It’s robbery, is what it is,” Jens said under his breath as he breathed a sigh of relief. “No,” he said, “Nobody here but me. Take a look around if you like.”

“Very well, young sir, I shall do that.” The innkeeper walked around the shabby room, occasionally peering over for a closer look, for a couple of minutes. He glanced over the map and clay figurines but said nothing.

“Satisfied?” said Jens.

“I s’pose that only you are keeping yourself company,” said the innkeeper wearily. “Twenty florins, then, if you please.” Jens reluctantly handed over the money and saw the innkeeper out the door. He shut it and grunted.

“I have got to be the poorest noble that ever did live,” Jens said to himself. “Here I am, sitting in the shabbiest inn in Rome, barely able to pay rent, and yet I am an important member of the House of Swabia.”

Jens blamed his family for his poor position. Being the son of the worst Chancellor in the Reich’s history and the brother of the man who led a failed revolution against the Kaiser did not endear him to the people. He considered himself lucky that they had even allowed him to become an Elector in the first place. Of course, he didn’t help that perception by picking a fight his first day in the Diet with the man who eventually ascended to the post of King of Outremer, but how was he supposed to know that was coming? Von Hamburg was an almighty wart, a political nobody who was only alive because Salier had taken a liking to him.

And so, he was laughed at, brushed off without a second thought. But that would change. Someday, he would be powerful. Someday, he would be important. Someday, he would restore the Hümmel family name and become the most revered figure in the Reich, one way or another.

“So the Lord of All wishes it, so it occurs,” he said to himself as he departed his room, leaving only a black ribbon in the window and his map and clay figurines in the corner.

Rome 1280

Jan was sitting in his small room in Rome exhausted from trying to catch up on reports on Outremer. The Diet was pretty calm at the moment so Jan decided to take the opportunity to rest. So much had happened in the past few days and Jan was still in disbelief. King Salier had died in combat against the Mongols. Jan had almost died in that same battle but was able to make it to the King’s body and retrieve his box which contained the Crown of Thorns. Everyone knew the King favored Karl Zirn to be the successor. Ebelhard had taken over as Steward since Karl was sick and the Kaiser was away. Then all of a sudden, a messenger came into the Diet and proclaimed that the Kaiser had named Jan King of Outremer.

King? Sure Jan had his ambitions. But they were for the long term. Ever since he had become politically active, he had planned on becoming King. It was where he felt he could do the most good. Before the King died, Jan had assumed that he would work his way up and become Salier’s heir. After Salier died, Jan had assumed that he would work his way up and become Karl’s heir. But now? Everyone seemed shocked and suspicious. Jan knew no one would believe him but he had not had contact with the Kaiser since the last Diet. This was entirely the Kaiser’s idea. Why the Kaiser picked him was entirely beyond him. He would like to think that it was because he proved himself to not only be capable, but unattached to house politics. But Jan was not that naive. Jan thought it was more likely that the Kaiser wanted to thumb his nose at those in power and he considered that Jan would be a patsy. Jan chuckled to himself. Everyone who has underestimated me so far has done so at their own risk, Jan thought to himself.

But regardless of the Kaiser’s motives, Jan was King. And all that entailed was weighing heavily on Jan. First off, there was a war to run. The Mongols, Turks, and Egyptians all wanted territory in Outremer and they would all have to be fended off. The Holy City had to be protected. There could be no more embarrassments to give fuel to those that opposed what they were doing out there. Christianity had to be spread throughout the area. Four Crusader Counts had to be led. All capable men, some probably resented being passed over by someone who was younger, less politically experienced, or both. But salving bruised egos was not the King’s job. Political alliances with other houses had to be maintained. This was a part of the job that Jan had not anticipated. While Crusader Count, you just worry about what will be your next assignment. But as King, you have to worry about getting enough resources to fuel the whole venture.

Something about houses had gotten Jan thinking. While Jan was ecstatic that he no longer had to suffer the inept leadership of Ansehelm, his views on houses had been changing as of late. Something in Duke Arnold’s speech had stirred him. Arnold was right. The houses were the ones that sent their nobles and money off to a far away land. Jan had been there in the Second Crusade when Duke Leopold fell. Jan almost lost his father in that same battle. Maybe trying to turn Outremer into a fifth house was the wrong answer to the right question. The right question being, how can we do good work and serve the Lord, thus earning ourselves salvation? If Outremer is to help save the soul of the Reich, should it really be split off from the houses that bled for it? Jan did not think so anymore.

Jan was interrupted by Max knocking on his door. Max and Gunther had both become more paranoid for Jan’s safety since he became King.

Max announced, “My King, a visitor for you.”

Curious, Jan called out, “Let him in”.

A man Jan recognized walked into the room. “My King, my name is Hermann and we have met once before. I was the one that gave you that letter warning you about Duke Arnold’s arrival in Outremer.”

Jan looked puzzled. “I remember now. But how did you get that letter?”

Hermann stated simply, “Because I worked for King Salier. He gave me that letter and ordered me to give it to you. He didn’t want you to know. But, he is gone now and you are King. I thought you should know. Also, with King Salier dead, there is not much for me to do now that his estate is settled and I could use some work.”

Jan was far too deep in thought to consider Hermann’s offer of service and said dismissively, “While my personal staff is full at the moment, I am sure I can find something for you in Antioch. Thank you. Now, if you please, I would like to be alone now.”

Hermann bowed, “Of course my King. Thank you and good day.”

Even back then, the King was protecting me, Jan thought. I always wondered who warned me about the whereabouts of Duke Arnold. He had to have known that he might have been signing the Duke’s death warrant but he warned me anyways.

With these latest thoughts, Jan sat back in his chair. Scenes of that previous battle played out in his head. Swarms of horsemen that came on like locusts. The body of the King lying on the ground surrounded by dozens of Mongol bodies. The box lying next to him.

With this, Jan turned and looked at the box sitting on his desk. He walked over to the box, picked it up, and took it over to his bed which he sat on. He had glanced at the contents before but he had never really looked at it. He had assumed that he would just be a caretaker until Karl was confirmed as King. Only now did it really dawn on him that the Crown of Thorns was his as a badge of office. Jan opened the box, picked it up, and looked at it. It was a bramble of thorny twigs in a circle. It was light in his hand. Jan looked at it up close and thought he could see dried blood on it. It was then that the full realization of what he held dawned on him.

This was worn by Jesus when he was killed…

Suddenly emotions welled up in Jan. I am not worthy of this. This was worn by the son of our Lord. This sat upon his head as he suffered for my sins.

Jan fell over onto the bed careful to keep the crown in his hands.

He started reciting John 19 aloud in a murmur as visions pass by.

Jan starts an argument with Duke Arnold in the Diet in order to impress his father. A fight follows and Jan’s first Teutonic Knight, Fredericus, is killed.

"Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him.”

Jan’s pride almost destroys him politically as he starts argument after argument with one powerful noble after another which threatens to suicide his own agenda. King Salier threatens to fire Jan if he can not control himself.

“And the soldiers plaited a crown of thorns, and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple robe, And said, Hail, King of the Jews! and they smote him with their hands.”

Jan’s envy at Ansehelm becoming Duke leads him to attempt to undermine him wherever possible. Relations between the two men sour to such an extent, that every young Franconian starts backing away from Jan.

“Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him.”

Jan’s ambition for becoming King leads his every action. From what he tells fellow nobles. To what he brings up in the Diet. To what letters he writes. Being King becomes more important than anything. Than serving the Lord. Than serving the Kaiser, Than serving the Reich. Jan sees himself sending forward his loyal Crusader Counts to conquer the whole Middle East as Dukes and the Kaiser come bowing to him for his favor. Jan sits on a throne made of the bones of countless German sons that died to fulfill his vision for this part of the world.

“Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the man!"

With this last, Jan falls off of the bed somehow keeping the crown in his hand. He sits up stunned by all he saw. He is sweating profusely and panting from the exertion. He finally starts to calm down. Funny how his whole adult life was about becoming King. Then he finally becomes King in a way that he had absolutely nothing to do with. And he finds that he is not sure if he wants it anymore. At least not for the same reasons that he used to.

I can not go on living like this. Living with this guilt. It will consume me. Things do not have to be this way. The Lord sent his son to die for my sins. He sent his son because he loved me. This Crown is proof of that. Jesus died for my sins and I need to atone. I can only atone by living a life dedicated to the Lord. But that isn’t enough. I am finally in a position where I can really do good. Through Outremer, I can save the soul of the Reich. Living for Outremer is no longer enough. I need to live for the Reich. It is not enough to just try to save my own sorry soul. I need to help the whole Reich save theirs. And Outremer is the key. Outremer has always been the key. And I…

I am going to turn that key.

Jan just sat there blinking for a few minutes as all of this processed in his head. Then he looked at the Crown sitting in his hand. He placed it back in the box carefully. And then he got up and opened the door where Gunther and Max were standing guard. If they heard Jan earlier, they gave no sign.

“Get ready to leave. We’re heading for the Outremer chambers. There is much work to do.”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Hermann used with permission of GH

ROME 1280

Glancing at the three empty seats that make up the Austrian Chamber, Arnold shook his head in disappointment at the state of his fathers House.

Lord Zirn's seat was covered in dust, he wondered if his brother in law would recover soon. His sister has reassured him that Karl's health would improving but it had now been some years since he had heard from him. Unfortunately his sister didn't realise just how precarious Austria's situation was.

He then glanced at Sigismund’s old chair...now occupied by the as yet unknown von Heidelberg. He hadn't even presented himself since wedding the last von Mahren daughter...a pity...

Lastly there was Becker. The only active member left of House Austria.

Was there any point having this chamber open anymore he thought?

While the other House Chambers bustled with the activity of nobles coming and going, reporting to their Dukes on House matters, he was left sitting here staring at dust and wood.

Suddenly the Duke began speaking

Welcome nobles of Austria. It’s a pleasure to see you all here for the 12th Diet session…we have much to discuss as the state of Austria is hard pressed at the moment.

First item on the agenda, Hungary!!!!

His voice rose steadily in anger as he continued, Groms eye’s widened at the site of his Lord speaking to no one…Bane glanced at the Priest, his dark helm somehow conveying his thoughts that something seemed terribly wrong…

…Arnold continued, his voice reaching levels that he reserved normally for battlefield commands

We must crush them!!! What say you lords of Austria, are you with me!!!???

Silence was the predictable response…

…with a slow but enormous show of strength, the Duke clenched his fists, the pressure so great the metal of his gauntlets groaned in protest. Shockingly, to those that witnessed the spectacle, blood began running through the chain mail and plates dripping onto the bench beneath his hands.

Finally, with a prodigious explosion of energy the Duke slammed his fists into the bench. With a shower of blood and wood it was broken in half.

Stunned silence filled the Chamber…the cold dread of violence filled the room causing everyone to back away from the Dread Duke…Grom raised his eye brows in startled surprise as he witness Bane place a hand on his sword in anticipation of what the Duke might do next.

LEAVE ME!!!

NOW!!!!

A fine romance

First contact


Elberhard waited for the door to open, to see his bride for the first time.

“What’s she look like then?” he muttered to one of the courtiers. “English, eh? All horse-faced and bad teeth?”

The courtier looked mortified: “Oh no, no, no, Sire…”

The door started to open and the gathering fell silent.

Elberhard saw her gliding through the crowd.

“@#$%^&!!!ing ‘ell!” he whispered.

The English Princess had a head not unlike an onion, or so you would think, if you liked onions (as Elberhard did). A beautiful delectable pickled onion: round, small and smooth; contoured and perfectly symmetrical. A pickled onion, Elberhard thought. White skinned, with a sharp and slightly sour taste.

Her eyes flitted briefly across the room and zeroed in on the Prinz. Strangely, it was the fearless Prinz who blushed, as her eyes confidently sized him up. They lingered on his rough hewn body and seemed to scrutinize every manly scar on his face. She smiled and Elberhard fell, pole-axed, helplessly into love and enslavement.

*****

The lure


“So you are the heir to the throne of the great German Reich?” said Linyeve Apperry, sounding not too displeased at the prospect.

“Err, yes.” said Elberhard.

“But the Kaiser is not your father?”

“Err, no. My dad was Kaiser Henry.”

“Ah yes, I have heard much of him. Some say he civilized the enlarged Empire that Kaiser Heinrich carved out of the investiture crisis.”

“Err, yeah, he was all right.”

“And how many provinces does the Empire now span?”

“Oh, errr, quite a few.”

“Not the most eloquent of men, are you?” laughed Linyeve.

*****

The end of the beginning


“That man was the Kaiser?!?” stormed Linyeve.

“Err, yeah love, why?” queried Elberhard.

“But he is so young! The man is thirty if he is a year!”

Elberhard watched and waited, he had dreaded this moment.

“And you must be, God knows, forty at least!” she continued.

Elberhard rubbed his gnarled chin – the sand of Outremer and the rigours of battle had not been kind.

“So basically…” pressed Linyeve, “You may be the Prinz, but you will never inherit! The Kaiser will outlive you.”

Elberhard rubbed his chin harder and then shrugged his shoulders. There was no point denying it. The maths was incontrovertible.

“So what, precisely, does being a Prinz entail if it does not mean you will succeed to the Throne?” demanded Linyeve.

“Well, I am his, err, deputy.” ventured Elberhard. “And he is away a lot.”

Linyeve looked somewhat placated. “I see – so all the Kaiser’s powers devolve to you in his absence?”

“Well, err, that’s how I see it. But Kaiser Siegfried, well err, he does not quite see it like that. I am only supposed to chair the Diet and, err, shout at Electors if they are out of order.”

“I see, so I married a man of no prospects who is great at shouting?”

“Err, well that’s rather the long and short of it, yeah.”

“Wonderful.”

Acre, 1280


“No, you cannot stay in Outremer, you cannot!” pleaded the old man.

Elberhard looked puzzled. His mentor, Niklas Gruber, was normally so composed, so urbane. This desperation was wholly out of character.

“Why the @#$%^&!!! not?” demanded Elberhard. “The boss is dead. Hans is @#$%^&!!!ing off once he has added the latest scalp to his trophies. Even @#$%^&!!!ing Jens Hummel is quitting. I can’t quit now – not now.”

Niklas seemed almost visibly to be grasping for any support. “But you must not! The Diet will not accept an heir to the throne who refuses to come home! Outremer has few friends now and you need friends.”

“Outremer has few friends and that is why she needs me. But seriously, Niklas, why do you care so much? It’s my @#$%^&!!!ing life.”

“Yes, Niklas, that is a question I would like to hear answered.” intervened Linyeve. “If Elberhard asked me – as I should note, he has singularly failed to do – why I desperately wanted to leave Outremer, I am sure I could conjure up a plausible answer. Probably, something involving sand, camels, murderous Mohammedans and the phrase “Get me out of this sinking hell hole, you bastard!” I suppose.”

Elberhard winced, but Linyeve continued – her gaze fixed on Niklas. For once, Elberhard was not her prey and the Prinz could watch with detachment as she circled her latest victim.

“So tell me, Niklas, why does the Prinz’s old mentor demand that he leave Outremer, when it is quite evident that wild horses and even sweet English Princesses could not get him to do that?”

Linyeve moved very close to the old man, her face was almost touching his, and her fingers gently brushed the sweat dripping from his brow.

Niklas crumbled: “Because they will kill them if you don’t…” the old man cried.

*****

Elberhard paced around the room liked a bear in a pit. Betrayed by his old mentor! He cast hostile looks at Niklas, who was sat, a broken man. Periodically, the Prinz approached the old man angrily, fists clenched, before thinking better of it and turning away.

His closest retainers were in attendance. Jan the Teuton, hand on sword hilt – ready to act the instant the Prinz commanded it. Kachig Iskyan, the Armenian mercenary captain, watching Niklas with distaste. Whether it was distaste for the man’s betrayal or distaste at the possibility of having to kill such a helpless old man, Kachig himself did not know.

Linyeve was like an island of calm among the men. She moved to soothe the restless Prinz. She stopped his pacing and forced him to sit, so that both Niklas and Elberhard found themselves looking up at the young woman in front of them.

“Niklas – you said at your last meeting, you sought this man out in a local tavern?” Linyeve inquired.

“Yes.” sniffled Niklas.

“Rather careless of a kidnapper, don’t you think? He really must think he has you.” she commented.

“My grandchildren.” moaned Niklas. “I could not live with myself if they are harmed.”

“Yes, yes.” scolded Linyeve in a businesslike manner, “Blubbing won’t get them back. You must arrange another meeting – do you have a means of contacting this man?”

Niklas nodded. “But he is well protected – I think by Hashashins. If we send men to seize him, he will know and he will be gone.”

Linyeve smiled. “Yes, if we send men.”

Elberhard looked up at his wife, not understanding. And then, as her meaning became apparent, he fell, pole-axed again, just as he had on the first day he had ever set eyes on her.

*****

Why was the old man sweating so much? Something was not right. Dusan looked at the hashashin by the door again, inquiring. The hashashin shrugged again.

“Are you telling me you have failed?” Dusan asked Niklas. “That would be most unfortunate.”

“The Prinz is determined to stay in Outremer, but I think there is still a way to remove him.” said Niklas, talking fast and almost falling over his words. “His wife… she can be very … persuasive. And she is not fond of this place.”

Dusan smiled. “Good, good, the rats are finally leaving the sinking ship. Salier has been removed. Hans will leave once he has had his sport. Matthias cannot be Chancellor forever and soon will be a lame duck. And that joke they made King, soon his Duke will drag him home to Franconia. Who will be left? The Reich will be free to concentrate on its true destiny in Europe, not this Papist obsession”

“You talk too much.”

Dusan looked aghast as a pretty young whore boldly sat down opposite him.

“Go away, whore! This is men’s talk!” Dusan barked.

The whore smiled and drew something under the table. Dusan felt cold metal press against his groin.

“You remember this blade, Kolar?” said Linyeve. “It was a bequest from King Otto to Elberhard. Apparently Otto always regretted that Henry has stopped him from ever wielding it fully. And perhaps Otto suspected that Henry’s son might one day require it.”

Dusan looked up in alarm, seeking out the hashashin by the door.

“Send him and his men away, now, or say goodbye to your manhood.” Linyeve said commandingly. Dusan felt the metal press hard against his clothing, the point pricking his flesh. “I am not messing around. Do it now or regret it forever.”

Dusan jerked his head up to the side. The hashashin looked curious. Go. mouthed Dusan. Reluctantly, the hashashin exited the tavern.

“Now, listen to me, Kolar. My husband, well, you know, he kind of shares King Otto’s view of you. If it were up to him, he would have his men spend the next few months working you over. By the first day was done, you would be screaming for them to kill you. But they wouldn’t. I wonder how long a man could be tortured before dying? My husband would use you as an experiment to find out.”

“But, Kolar, it is your lucky day. Because you are talking to me and not my husband. You see being a frail and gentle woman, I am a very different creature. I would not want you to be tortured for months. The screaming might disturb the guests. And the stains would be hell to get off the floors. No, insect, I do not care about you.”

“As a woman, I care only about Niklas’s brats. Or should we call them grand-brats, Niklas?” Linyeve smiled at Niklas, who turned away in distress. “Yes, I care only about Niklas’s lovely little grand-brats.”

“So this is what we are going to do. You are going to come with me and stay as my guest in the Prinz’s quarters. Oh, your accommodation may not be of the highest class, but you will not be harmed. While there, you will summon the grand-brats to be brought to Outremer and we will make an exchange: you for them. An insect for some grand-brats: a fair exchange. And you must pray that they arrive here in just as pristine a condition as you yourself will be in.”

“I know what you are thinking: why should you surrender to this mad woman? Why should you not make a run for it? Have your hashashin rescue you?”

Linyeve pulled out two stiletto blades, handing one to Niklas. “But you have to think on this. You are talking to a Princess of the Crown – recently wed and expected to produce many offspring for the Reich. How likely do you think it would be for the Prinz to let her face down a kidnapper with only this old fool as my guard? And if by some miracle, you did escape, how long do you think you could stay in the shadows if you struck down a woman of such standing? In such an event, do you not think the Reich could pay the hashashins rather more for your neck than you could afford to pay to save it? No, Kolar – do the smart thing. Come with me and I will spare you. Defy me and I will squash you like the insect you are.”

The other customers noticed nothing out of the ordinary when the tall, dark clothed gentleman left the tavern. It is true, he did look rather discomforted. A young whore seemed to be clinging to him passionately and a nervous older man seemed to be supporting him. But the tall gentlemen did not protest and the watchers in the shadows did not intervene, as the ungainly trio marched up the street.

Antioch, 1280

Jan sat in a large library in Antioch. At a large table, books on law were piled high. Max sat on a stool against the wall. Gunther was coming back with another pile of books. The King was flipping through books while scribbling notes down. Next to them was a fine piece of parchment that had, as of yet, no writing on it except for the words, Charter Amendment 13.x

Gunther plopped down the books and sat across from the King. He eyed the parchment and noticed its exceptionally high quality. "My King, that is one fine piece of paper. Surely you could have used any old piece of paper for a CA."

"Its the piece of parchment that Duke Arnold sent me as repayment. Its a long story. I thought it would be appropriate for what I'm writing," said the King as he was scribbling.

"And if I may ask, what are you writing?" Gunther inquired out of curiosity.

Jan slid the paper he was scribbling on across the table to Gunther and said, "Here is a rough outline of it."

Gunther took it and the old veteran scrutinized it. His face turned to a scowl.

"What? You don't like it?" asked Jan.

Gunther struggled for a respectful way to say what he was thinking. "Um...Sir... what are you doing? Why are you doing this to the Dukes?"

"What? You don't think they'll like it?" inquired Jan.

"Like it? I think they'll love it! But why ever would you do this?" Gunther was starting to wonder if the King had gone a little crazy.

Jan sat up and explained, "Because Gunther, we need to bind the Duchies to Outremer. Its the only way. If the Dukes feel involved, then the mission will survive. If they feel alienated from the land they sacrifice for, then our mission will fail. This will ensure that they will feel more included."

Gunther shook his head, "Sir, its so unbelievable, it just might work. If this doesn't make them feel included, nothing will."

With that, Jan grinned, took the paper back, and started working again on his legislation. A man in a robe, a few tables down, closed his book, got up and left. Max saw him but thought nothing of it.

---------------------

The robed man walked out of the library. After back tracking to make sure he wasn't followed, he went down an alley. Coming to a door, he knocked two up high and three down low on the door. It opened and a large hulking man saw him and let him in. The robed man walked down the hall to a large den where an older man was sitting at a table counting coins. The robed man sat down and immediately said, "I'm worried, about the King. He's working on something that could undo everything."

The older man continued counting until he was done with a stack before replying. "Oh, and what is the boy-king up to?"

"He said something about binding the Duchies to Outremer. If that works, it could be disastrous. Everything depends on getting the Duchies to become fed up with being over here and call for an abandonment of Outremer. I think we need to add him to the list," said the man in robes quickly and insistently.

With that, the older man fully turned away from his counting and looked up before speaking. "The list? Are you joking? King Salier was on the list. Kaiser Henry was on the list. Elberhard is on the list. Powerful and influential men who were a threat to our agenda. You want to add Jan to the list!? We might as well add Dieter to the list. Or Dieter's dog! If we're going to set the bar that low, we might as well add every German in Outremer to the list. Your thinking too much and your not paid to think. Your paid to follow your target and report. Every noble out here is followed by one of us. You follow Jan and report in. We'll do the thinking."

The older man was about to return to his counting when the man in robes pleaded, "But what if he can really pull it off? Getting the Dukes involved in Outremer could set us back years!"

With a sigh, the older gentleman explained, "Look, your making two assumptions. One is that Jan can get anything passed in the Diet. The man is a laughingstock. The boy-Kaiser appointed the boy-King and then abandoned him to the wolves. The Dukes smelled blood and tore him to shreds during the last Diet. Even common electors mock him openly. He's lucky if he will even get re-appointed. The second assumption is that the Dukes will stop being petty, narrow-minded, short-sighted, and provincial. No, the Dukes are far more concerned with their little corner of the Reich than they are of Outremer. Nothing will change that. And when the time is right, the right words will be whispered in the right ears in the Diet and Outremer will be abandoned. In the meantime, just do your job and you'll be fine. Dismissed."

The older man slid a stack of coins to the man in robes. The younger man pocketed the coins, got up, and left.

The Desert, 1282

“Godfrey! How on Earth am I supposed to do this thing?!”

The horsemaster of Hans’s army turned from his present task and faced the voice addressing him. All he saw, however, was a brown horse draped in Imperial colors. What trickery is this? he thought to himself. Horses can’t talk, so unless some dirty ventriloquist or the Lord himself is speaking…

Then he looked down and saw a pair of human legs. He chuckled. Of course. “So, young Hümmel, what can I do for you?”

Jens Hümmel stepped out from behind the horse, fuming. He made wide, bold gestures with his arms and legs, clearly accentuating the size difference between himself and his intended mount. “This is a friggin’ joke. There’s no way I’m supposed to be able to mount this thing and ride it. Can you tell me how to do it?”

Godfrey had to fight hard to prevent himself from laughing. He knew that if he did, the undersized young man in front of him would probably get even angrier and louder, which would probably make him laugh even more. “Do you mean to say that, merely days before this huge battle with the Horse Lords, you don’t know how to properly mount and ride an instrument of cavalry?”

“Of course I haven’t,” he shouted, “that’s why I’m talking to you, isn’t it?!”

“You mean, in all those trips to and back from Outremer, you’ve never gotten on a horse? Ever?”

“No, of course I haven’t!!!” Jens looked ready to explode, but breathed in and calmed down slightly. “I walked,” he said with a faint hint of pride. “Walking is good. It’s better for you. It builds up your stamina.”

“It also makes you a very susceptible target when the fighting comes if you’re a foot soldier,” Godfrey said, getting more serious as Jens got less angry. “I find it extremely hard to believe that a noble of the Reich, an Elector, a Count, a direct descendent of Kaiser Heinrich himself, hasn’t even gotten on a horse once for any kind of purpose.”

“If you mean to say you think I’m rich enough to own a horse, you’re dead wrong,” said Jens soberly. “My father didn’t have that much money to begin with and after he died my fool of a brother spent most of it in that ridiculous revolution of his.”

There was silence after this comment. Godfrey obviously couldn’t think of the right thing to say and didn’t detect the tone in Jens’s voice saying that it was a topic better left unexplored.

“Well, are you going to help me or not?”

Godfrey snapped back to attention and once again began to feel amused. “Well, you try it again, this time so I can see what you’re doing wrong.”

Cursing, Jens walked back to his horse. It was a brown, normal-sized thing with a kind look in its eye, a horse that would have been better suited on a farm back in Europe than at war with the fiercest people in the world. This fact grew clear to Jens and Godfrey as Jens tried to mount it. Totally ignoring the stirrups, Jens instead leaped on, desperate for any kind of grip. It reminded Godfrey of the way a taller person would try to climb onto the roof of a low building.

Taken aback, the horse whinnied and took off at top speed, leaving Jens wildly holding on as he desperately fought not to get thrown off. The horse veered left and tore through the camp, where most of the army got a good laugh at what was happening, Jens screaming and cursing all the way through.

As he grew more concerned with yelling his head off than staying on, Jens slowly lost his grip and eventually tumbled off, landing face-first in a pile of –what else?- horse excrement.

He rolled over slowly and deliberately, refusing to open his eyes. He vaguely heard people laughing at him. When he got up, he would stab the closest man. It didn’t matter if he was much shorter than them, he would still get a shot in at their privates; that would teach ‘em.

“So, young Hümmel, have you learned anything from that little adventure?”

Jens sat up, wiped the crud from his eyes, and screwed up his face in anger. Godfrey was standing in front of him, very obviously biting his tongue.

“I’ve learned not to ride STUPID *#%!ING HORSES on the account that they’re STUPID *#%!ING HORSES!!! Even from the small part of his face that wasn’t covered in crap, Godfrey could see that Jens was as red as a tomato. He stood up, still shrieking. My Lord that man can make a lot of noise coming from such a small body, Godfrey thought.

“That’s it, I’m not riding any horses, I don’t care whether I go on foot, those damned animals are out to kill me, they’re up to no good, I need something to kill now, I don’t care whether it’s Imperial or Mongol, I’m already more of a *#%!ing laughingstock than I used to be because this *#%!ing thing took me for a ride and threw me into a pile of- ACK! Pphbbth!”

He stopped mid-rant in disgust as he felt something wet and slobbery go across his face. Blinking in surprise, he saw that “stupid *#%!ing horse” licking the rest of the excrement off of his face.

“Stupid nag, licking its own crap,” Jens muttered, but then the horse made a distinct spitting noise away from Jens as if to clean its tongue. Then it returned to Jens, looking at him with an expression that almost matched pity.

“Well, I suppose it can’t be that bad,” he said to himself, getting up. The horse whinnied meekly, as if in agreement. Godfrey approached the man and the horse, still grinning.

“So, you ready to learn the real way?”

“Nah,” Jens said, grinning himself, “I think me and this nag understand each other now.” He proceeded to jump onto his horse in the same, awkward way as before. The horse whinnied and took off again, leaving Jens holding on for dear life, screaming and cursing once again. Godfrey just shook his head and chuckled.

Antioch Docks at night, 1282 AD

Everything went by plan.
His men were now boarding the flagship, horses in tow and the many peasants and dockworkers hurried around carrying crates with supplies, ammunition, letters and other paraphernalia meant for his troops or for Europe.
Hans, however, was not among them. He watched from a safe distance, from within a dead alleyway, Dirk guarding his back.
They were quiet, waiting and watching. Hans subconsiously touched the wide robe he was wearing over his newly acquired suit of studded leather, thinking of the letters he had received these past days after the battle at Edessa. Who would warn me of this he kept wondering to himself. And why would someone be coming after me, now that I was leaving for Europe? The answer to the latter was somewhat more clear in his mind, as he was certain it was not because he defeated the Mongols, but because Jens fell. But who would care so much about whether Jens lived or not? and added immediately besides myself. %/"§ it. Why did he have to die just then!.

A sudden movement behind him caused Hans to startle and he almost dropped the handgun that he bought at the Edessan bazaar. It was only Dirk though, who shifted. Relieved, Hans let out a sigh and continued to observe. Most the men are aboard now, whoever is after me will likely be as well, or waiting for me to board. Hans smiled to himself. Unless Matthias was the one after him, it would be nigh on impossible for the would-be assassin to catch up with him, for he would not be boarding the flagship, but rather one of the smaller two Holks. The would-be assassin would not know of course, since Hans had ensured that two of the Feudal knights, who the chancellor ordered to stay in Outremer against their will, for they were loyal to Hans alone, would be taking his and Dirk's place on the flagship, each in robes as well, flanked by his usual retinue.
Hans smirked, as he left the shadows and boarded the smaller ship, inconspicuous to anyone.

------------

Later that night
Quite rotten, that ship. Hans surveyed his surroundings, which was the storage bunk, filled with countless crates, sacks and chests, carrying the wealth that Outremer held, besides being a place for pilgrims. As an emperor's son, he was not used to travelling in such run down ships, but rather in one of the cabins designed for noble guests.
Hans paced around, peeking behind crates and dark corners, making sure no one else was down here. Dirk on the other hand stood by the trapdoor, guarding his surroundings carefully, as he was trained to do.
This time, I must have evaded them Hans thought to himself, as he sat himself in a well-lit corner and started reading the letters sent to him again. He shook his head whenever Lothar was mentioned. Why would he be plotting against me, now that we had agreed in secret on a Bavarian-Swabian alliance? Hans decided he would meet that elusive writer and find out.

Damascus 1287

“Count Zirn, the Writ has been received and is complete with the Duke’s Seal.” announced the young attendant.

“Excellent! Lets review before we ride out, read what is says” replied the Count has he made his way for another cup of coffee.

“Yes, my lord” the attendant opens the scroll that contains documents bearing Duke Arnold’s Seal from the Austrian House, the Seal of the local magistrate some letters and a special worded information that the attendant reads out loud to the Count.

On or about the 22nd day of June to 25 October in the year 1279 in the year of our Lord, in the City of Damascus, Jedda Region, Outremer Possession of the Austrian House, in the Holy Roman Empire.
One General al Muazzam also known as the accused is charged with the following Criminal Acts against the Holy Roman Empire.

Count 1

On the dates stated in the location stated, the accused is charged with 1 count of murder against one Mr. Aftim, resident of the Damascus, servant of the Governor.

Count 2

On the dates stated in the location stated the accused is charged with 1 count of murder against on Mr. al Jazze resident of Damascus, merchant.

Count 3

On the said dates in the said location stated the accused is charge with 1 count of attempt murder on Count Karl Zirn, Governor of Damascus, representative of the Reich.

“There are several other charges of poisoning causing grievous bodily harm. Do you wish me to go on sire?”

“No, that is enough. I am glad to have the Duke’s approval it would not look fair the Governor signing a warrant when he is the victim. I want this up and above. I really liked this al Muazzam, a young fanatical general he gave me a real go and then the Prince. I would like to have a large battlefield session with him. However, once I found out the swine he really is and what he did. We are no longer talking about chivalry and the art of war. Just review the synopsis with me.”

“Yes sire, the accused in charge of a small Egyptian force contaminated the date supply for the city of Damascus in the month of June 1279. When the supplies had entered the city he systematically cut of the rest of the supply along with the other food supplies allowing the dates to be distributed within city. The siege was maintained and supplies were cut the contaminated food made its way the Governor’s residence where he killed the head servant of the kitchen staff by poison and poisoned the Governor Zirn causing him to be very ill and almost loosing his life.
It was also revealed that a date merchant was poisoned and died and several residence of the city were sick from the poison dates. Should I continue??...

“No that is good have the documentation bundled. I will muster a small detachment from the city and arrest al Muazzam at his location in the desert. Have Peter sent to me at once.” Karl then went to a table and viewed a map of the Jedda Region.


1288 Jedda region

In an isolated desert area southeast of Damascus, at nightfall. A detachment of German soldiers waited while the men on the horses talked in a small group.

Ingo was the first to speak. “Sire, we got word that he is camping 5 miles south of here. They only remain in one location and move on. They are all on horse but haven’t been to a settlement in some time and the horses must be tiring in these conditions.”

Karl listened to his advisor and looked for consensus amongst the other men. “Very well this will be a swift operation and I want him captured and returned to Damascus. He is a very cunning individual and our numbers are great but I still stress caution and be very aware of your surroundings.”

The riders broke and the orders given to the men it was almost midnight and there were no fires burning to keep the men warm.

The troops moved out and Peter could hear the distinct sound of horses there was movement in the distance. “I can’t believe it he is coming at us instead of running. Battle Order all units!” shouted Peter. The warrant was being executed.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/...attleorder.jpg

General al Muazzam did not hesitate and charged for Karl’s unit. The spearmen tried to come around the rear to envelope the Egyptians. The crossbowmen kept the small unit of horse archers away.

“Don’t let him get away” shouted Karl. The Egyptians fought viciously they were not going to surrender. Karl had the superior numbers but his men were falling fast it was a battle of attrition. There was no way to stop this crazed man. He truly is a fighter.

Finally the melee broke and Karl was in hot pursuit.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/...theprusuit.jpg

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/...8-3victory.jpg
https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/...8-5capture.jpg

The accused was apprehended and returned to Damascus.

1288 Damascus Court Room

The magistrate listened to closing arguments and then proceeded with his findings.

He began. “General al Muazzam you are found guilty of all counts from this proceeding. Your acts were despicable and you will punished by death for your crime against the Holy Roman Empire.
I therefore sentenced at the time and location specified by this court, to death by beheading and may God have mercy on your soul”
The court proceedings closed and justice had finally been served. The people cheered for their Governor and the law and order that he maintains to keep them safe.

Karl returned to his residence with a new person in his entourage, Randolph the Biographer. He remembered his father in law Leopold had used such a person to share his exploits and now it was time for Karl to have his own history recorded and the dream he has for the city of Damascus.

Constantinople

"So the Dukes were already resenting, the young fool was about to give up, and the support was wavering. And then he marches back into the Diet, backs up his choice and promises, promises that he will do anything it takes to let people go there? To support this forlorn cause in the future? You said you had this man in your hand!"

Theodora taps her chin thoughtfully: "It's not as easy as you make it look, father. I have full control over the situation, I assure you. He listens to me, he listens well. But you can't forget that he is an Emperor. He has visions, and plans of his own."

"Well, see to it that they are replaced by yours!" Emperor Comenus snaps indignantly, before snorting in contempt. How could the fool dare to let himself be called an Emperor.

"They will be in time. But until then I need Outremere as the carrot on a stick to guide him. To give him hope. He truly believes that he can make something grand and right now he believes Outremere to be part of this."

The Emperor shakes his head: "This place has to go, you know it. We can't be surrounded by those Christians!"

Theodora smiles slightly: "Oh it will go, father. Eventually it'll cease to exist. The rift between the Crusaders and the Reich is quite deep already. Just trust your daughter, will you? Besides, you should be happy, those vile Mongols give the Empire quite a beating. You would not want to be facing them along with the Turks, now would you?"

Smiling ever broader Empress Theodora leaves her father standing alone in the vast chamber.
She would help build an Empire, no matter which faith!

Rome, 1290

His head hurt. The room was no longer spinning, but his mouth was dry and gritty as if he was still on campaign in Anatolia.

"This why I don't drink, usually", croaked the Chancellor of the Reich to himself.

The door to his bed chamber opened, letting in a blinding, to his eyes, stream of light. A figure stood in the door way.

"Leave me in peace," Matthias rasped, "If there are letters, dump them in the pile with the others."

The figure spoke with a familiar voice, "This is not a way for a Chancellor to be conducting himself. Did you learn nothing from me?"

Matthias snorted ruefully, "Ah. . .Elsebeth. I fear you catch me at a. . .poor moment."

The Queen sat on the edge of the bed and surveyed him with a critical eye. The years had been kinder to her than Matthias. The travails of two terms had left him prematurely grey, the unrelenting sun of many campaigns in Outremer had etched lines into his face, and the marks of war had left scars on his body.

Elsebeth gently moved a stray lock of hair from Matthias's face and spoke, "I have heard of your recent outbursts. It was so unlike you, I was concerned. You have ruled with subtlety and vision, until now, what has changed?"

Matthias closed his eyes and sighed, "I have sought to rebuild the Reich in my tenure. I have tried to rule impartially, mostly, and avoid the dramatics of the previous Chancellors. I thought I had succeeded, but. . ."

"But what? Matthias, you have done well. You were the youngest man to be elected Chancellor, much less for two terms. There has been little complaint from the Electors."

Matthias grimaced and sat up to look Elsebeth in the face. He swayed a bit but spoke in steady voice.

"This isn't about me, so much. Yes, the books are balanced, cities have been conquered, old enemies defeated, but there's something lacking. Lately, I've gotten the feeling that I haven't restored the Reich, but merely delayed the inevitable rot."

Elsebeth raised an eyebrow, "Rot? The Empire is more powerful than ever. There are no enemies that can match us. Even the Mongols, whose Empire stretches to Cathay, were defeated."

"No, you're right, but I'm not talking about external enemies. A rot from the inside. We have become complacent and decadent. The Electors seem resigned to squabble about family politics or points of order. Each House seems cut off from the other, turned inward on their own pet causes. Their seems to be no esprit de corps that marked, for example, the First Crusade. The Kaiser. . .the Kaiser provides no focus. He seems to be disinterested in ruling, leaving many tasks to me, the Prinz, or his wife."

Elsebeth smiled slyly, "And you object to this? An active Kaiser can have an interesting effect on the course of the Reich."

Matthias shook his head, "Yes, but the Kaiser should be the hub of the wheel, with the houses as the spokes, and the lords of the realm as the rim. Without any of these components, the wheel collapses, the wagon does not move forward. The Reich isn't moving forward. I studied the proceedings of the Diet before running for Chancellor. The dynamic tension between the Houses and the Kaiser, and the Diet and Chancellor that fueled our progress, that elevated us above the simple monarchies of our neighbors, now seems lacking."

Elsebeth pursed her lips, "The past often seems more ideal than the present Matthias. Memories and histories are kind to our ancestors. Nostalgia can be a trap."

Matthias frowned, "Perhaps. I worry though. I worry that for all I have done, all I have tried to do, it won't be enough. Siegfried will come along and take what I have done, what I have accomplished, and fritter it away. And the Electors, focused on their petty chimeras, won't lift a finger."

Elsebeth chuckled and patted the Chancellor's hand. "Ah, so it is not so much the great tide of history that worries you, but the fact that you will have to give up the power you have held for so long."

The Chancellor grunted and his eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps, but there's more to it than that. Empires rise and Empires fall. I'd rather my term be remembered as the start of a golden age, rather than the last glimmer of light before the darkness."

Elsebeth rose and moved to the door.

"Such grim thoughts for a young man. You do have a few years left in power. Try to enjoy them. And if this is the last glimmer the light, it should be savored, not wasted hung over in the dark."

The Queen paused before leaving the room, her face in profile in the light streaming in behind her.

"Of course, Matthias, this doesn't have to be your last term. A two thirds majority in the Diet would ensure that. Think about it."

She left him to his thoughts.

The surrounding Dijon, 1292 AD

Athalwolf had his leg propped up on a rock, he let his hair blow in the breeze. His sweat was cooled as a eagle circled overhead, cawing. He was sitting upon the top of a large mountain, a rocky road layed down behind him. At the bottom of it rested his soldiers.

He was standing in the same spot, where his father some 120 Years earlier had stood and talked with Lukas about his happiness of being made Count of Dijon. The place where he devoted half his life to, where he time after time beat back the French. And now the Empire was clawing at the Western Borders of France, the lands of Dijon were beggining to drain of the blood so mercilessly spilt for many,many years.

Athalfwolf sorely wished he now lived in those times, The Diet was more established, there was no Outremer, the lands beyond theres were a threat. Armies were setting out to conquer new places.

Now they lived in a world where one wrong move, all goes wrong. Where they own foreign lands where the very pages of history do not record. They fought with Horse Lords from far away lands, they owned old English Settlements, once even lands in Northern Scotland! He buried his face in his hands, all these things about his Father, being Kaiser, the Defender of Dijon, once even the last general in Swabia! Why had he not travelled the waters and joined the sun burtn lands of Outremer! Not this politicial madhouse.

"Do not worry young Athalwolf." spoke a voice from behind, he started and jumped up from his rock, straying close to the edge. Athalwolf drew his sword, the ring echoing.
"Who goes there?" cried he, more as a warning then quedtion. The man came into the light, revealing his face. It was warm and kind. Athalwolf dropped his sword.
"Would you really kill a old friend of your Fathers?" asked Lukas. He was aged, at least 70 Years old now and showing signs of stress afther the case some years before. He sat, drinking in the sight of the lands before him. Athalwolf stood, and Lukas fought the tears as the exact same image was burnt in his mind from so many years before.
"I have come, my friend, to warn you." muttered Lukas, making sure they were indeed alone. Athalwolf was still staring at Dijon.
"You may know, from your familys past, of a man called Dieter." He nodded, to show he understood. Lukas pressed on, "I believe he was a traitor to your father. He bretrayed him in the thick forests north of Frankfurt, and set up a ambush for him in the plains north of Metz. he is a traitor, and wanted the Kaiser dead. And there is a chance,my friend, you may become the next in line." said Lukas, eyeing him to see his reaction. Athalwolf though, had merely moved his gaze to Staufen.
"Dieter wants you dead. And he is hunting you down." finished Lukas simply, relief etched over his face. he stood next to Athalwolf now, looking at metz instead and murmuring "Ah, the fields of Sigismund..."

"So Dieter, is coming for me, and will kill me for being a von Salza?" asked Athalwolf, his voice strained.
"Yes, that is the basic idea." eplied Lukas, watching the Fields of France beyond the rivers of Dijon.
"Well I will wait for the bastard, won't I? Meanwhile, I shall go to Spain, Yes, I shall propose iot to the Diet..." thought Athalwolf seamlessly. Lukas sighed and closed his eyes.
"I am honored to meet you, Knight to Knight Count Athalwolf. You are everything your Father was, and I know you shall be more. King of COnquering Armies I say. For now, I say goodbye cruel world." And with that, Lukas jumped.

Athalwolf didn't stop him, he knew he meant that the whole time. He knew Lukas owed one last favor to the man he worshipped. And now, he was to join him on his Masters beloved fields. Athalwolf let a few tears follow Lukas, then turned and walk back to camp.

The Second Lot were going.

Antioch 1293

King Jan was back in the library. It was late and near closing time. The robed figure was off around a corner at a table. Far enough to not be noticed but close enough to hear the King talk to Gunther about the legislation he was planning for the next Diet.

"It looks like things are looking good for this CA! I've got the Kaiser's blessing. Arnold is very much for it. Lothar approves of it. I haven't told Ansehelm yet but he is open to talking about it once I get it more polished up which is much more than I expected from him. Since this so obviously favors the Dukes, I just need to get them on board. They'll hopefully make their own people support it. Outremer will become the responsibility of the whole Reich. The Dukes will become real partners in the project. As it should be. Without them, its just a matter of time before people call for us to end this experiment and come home."

The robed figure grew more alarmed at what he was hearing. He thought to himself, I knew my boss was a fool to ignore my warnings about King Jan. If the Dukes are truly this close to getting on board with his plan, our plans are in peril. I need to report in at once! The man got up to leave. As he rounded the corner, he ran straight into Max who stood squarely in his way.

"Ah, our friend took the bait", the robed figure heard behind him. He turned and saw the King standing there with Gunther at his side. He was trapped. The King looked at him and said, "its time you and I had a little chat." The three men led the robed figure around the library and down into the basement. They all arrived in a small room with a table and two chairs. The King sat in one chair and motioned for the robed man to sit in the other. Gunther stood by the door and leaned against it. Max stood behind the King.

"First off, whats your name son?", the King started off.

"R-R-r-robert!", the spy rambled off. He was new and inexperienced. He was caught off-guard with the turn of events.

"Ok, Robert. Here is what is going to happen. I'm going to explain what I know. Then your going to fill me in on what I don't know. Then, your going to leave here alive. Clear?", the King said evenly and with confidence.

"Um...I don't know anything. I was just sitting at the table reading. You must have me mixed up with someone else.", Robert stammered off.

"I'm disappointed in you Robert. Larisa implied you guys were incompetent but I didn't think they would send someone so inexperienced to trail me. It was probably because I am not considered to be much of a threat. Elberhard and Matthias probably have the experienced spies trailing them. Its nice to be underestimated... ," said Jan as he watched carefully for Robert's reaction.

"I don't know anyone named Larisa," shot back Robert but his face had quickly betrayed surprise at the mention of a name he recognized.

"Yes, Larisa. Her and I had a little talk. She told me much about your group. She told me that King Salier was poisoned and your group had a role in it. She knew because she worked for you. She also told me that your group had targeted Hans next but she tipped him off. Since she told me, I have been digging into things. I have researched into Salier's last battle and he behaved quite strangely as a general before he fell. I had Salier's body exhumed in order to look for poison but I couldn't find a trace. I was however able to start noticing that I have been followed where ever I go. So, here we are." The King concluded the story and did not add the rest. But he thought to himself, At the end of that meeting Larisa offered to whore herself to me but got a pistol pointed at her for her troubles. She was partly responsible for Salier's death and I should have killed her then and there. But, that would have been no way to honor Salier's name. Maybe by using her information to catch his killers, I can bring some good out of her evil past.

Through all of this, Robert was silent. "I don't know what your talking about," he said indignantly.

Jan sighed and reached into his cloak. He pulled out a box and set it on the table. He opened the box and Robert saw a bramble of twigs that formed a circle. Being Catholic, Robert knew what he was looking at. "Are you a religious man?", the King asked.

"Um...I haven't been to church in years," stammered Robert as Jan handed the Crown of Thorns off to Max.

"God remembers you," Jan said as Max walked over to Robert. "This belonged to my predecessor. Salier was a good and decent man. I believe you know something about his murder. Salier was also a very holy man. He was better than you or I. But, we get chances in life to atone. To repent our sins. Jesus died for our sins.", with that, Max set the Crown upon Robert's head. Robert just sat there as still as a statue.

Robert thought all about what Jan had just said to him. All about his life. All about what sat on his head. His head itched yet he dared not move. Robert silently started to cry. Tears ran down his cheeks. Jan nodded to Max who carefully took the Crown off of Roberts head and put it back in the box. Robert told the King everything he knew which wasn't much. But, he did give the King the address and details of the den that he reported to.

-------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later

Jan walked down the streets of Antioch with Max, Gunther, and a company of Teutonic Knights. Jan didn't know how much the criminal gang had infiltrated Imperial bureaucracy and didn't want to tip them off by calling up army units. Jan and the Teutonic Knights in this area had a long past and they gladly formed up when Max went to the Order House in Aleppo with the King's request.

The large burly man guarding the door to the gang's den heard the knocks come in the right place in the right order. He opened the door and was knocked aside by large Teutonic Knights.

The same older man from before was sitting in the den counting stacks of money per usual. He heard the knocks and thought that Robert had finally come to report in. Good, I was wondering when he would finally show up. He's late and I think I'll dock him some pay.

In the den, at least a dozen men were sitting at tables drinking and smoking hashish. As they heard the commotion up front, they all clambered up from their tables. The knights ran down the hallway and entered the den. The front rank kneeled and put their shields out as the second rank leveled crossbows over their shoulders. Bolts shot out and found their marks. Five of the criminals fell instantly. As the second rank reloaded, the front rank got up and moved forward as one, slicing through their adversaries. Through the commotion, the older man ran to the secret exit as his men bought him a few precious seconds. He opened the spot in the wall that was really a door and came face to face with the King of Outremer. After taking heavy losses and seeing they were surrounded, the rest of the criminals dropped their weapons. The King looked at the older man and said, "please have a seat. We are going to have a little chat."

The older man gave up. Gunther and Max appeared from behind the King and expertly frisked the older gentleman. After being frisked, he turned around and sat at the table. The King took a seat across from him with Max and Gunther standing behind him. The knights gathered their prisoners and marched them out leaving the four men alone to talk.

"Whats your name?", asked the King. He was met with silence. "Are you a religious man?", the King asked as he took out the box from his cloak.

Finally the older man spoke. "Save your piety for someone who gives a damn Jan. You have my attention. What do you want?"

Jan looked at the man sizing him up. "Well, the Lord cares about you regardless of how you feel. But, your right, lets get to the point. I want information on your group's involvement with the murder of King Salier. You might not care about what God thinks. And you might be gambling that I won't kill you since you undoubtedly know my reputation. But, I imagine that you don't want to spend your remaining years in a cell. If you tell me what you know, and leave Outremer for good, you will walk out of here. If you don't, I will see that you rot in prison for the rest of your life for your crimes. Don't test me on this. Salier was like a father to me."

The older man sat and thought for a moment. "Very well, it seems you have me in a tight spot my King. We're a cell. There are many of us and we're set up to be independent of the other cells. We deal in criminal rackets and what-not. We were tapped to provide support in Antioch for whatever the higher-ups have planned. Having you followed was one example. We also followed Salier. We helped trail him and set up logistical support for a couple of attempts on his life. But, both attacks on him occurred outside of Antioch so we had nothing to do with it beyond what information we gathered here. In the meantime, we busy ourselves with the usual criminal enterprises."

The King sat back as he took everything in. "So, if your all cells, who is coordinating all of this?"

The older man shrugged. "I don't know. Thats why they use cells. The Holy Roman Empire has many enemies. Take your pick. Sure, I know some rumors here and there but I don't really know what is going on."

Jan replied, "Like what rumors? Surely you report your information to someone."

"We use dead-drops. I don't know who acts on our information. I've only heard a name. Supposedly he is one of the people coordinating things in Outremer but I don't think he is in charge. He used to be on Kaiser Henry's staff and they had a falling out," said the older man calmly.

The King stared right at the older man and said with a deadly seriousness, "give me the name."

The older man replied, "Dusan."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Dusan used with Econ's permission.

A Dialogue on the Great Schism, Acre, 1294


“I had a very interesting meeting with Empress Theodora.” declared Linyeve.

“Did you love? How nice.” said Elberhard, distractedly.

“Yes, there is more to her than meets the eye. You could say we hit it off.”

Elberhard looked up, surprised, from his reading (Linyeve noticed with condescension that it was a book with very large illustrations of knights and fantastical creatures).

“Theodora is very knowledgable about scripture, you know.” Linyeve said.

“Oh really, how nice.” said Elberhard, flatly, returning to his book.

“Yes, she told me all about the Orthodox church. And, to be honest, I think she knew more about the Catholic church than I do.”

“Shocking.” said Elberhard. Then he glanced up, with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you have a Catholic church in England? Or do you still dance naked around big @#$%^&!!!ing stones with blue woad painted on your faces?”

Linyeve playfully whacked the Prinz over the ears with her fan: “No, we only dance naked around big stones on the Winter Solstice. And it’s not blue woad, it’s just that it's @#$%^&!!!ing freezing!” she said, playing along.

Elberhard roared with laughter.

“But seriously…” Linyeve persisted

Elberhard groaned, then yawned, scratched his crotch and looked around in an exagerated manner for a means of escape.

Linyeve sat down on the Prinz’s lap. He smiled and she traced a finger over his lips. She had his complete attention.

“You do know about the Great Schism of 1054, don’t you?” Linyeve asked.

“Err, sure, let me see … wasn’t that when Pope Gregory and the Kaiser had a falling out?”

“No, you dolt! That was the Investiture Crisis! That came later.” scolded Linyeve.

“Oh, ok then. No, I don’t have a @#$%^&!!!ing idea what the @#$%^&!!! you are talking about then.” said Elberhard angrily.

“Well, if you are sitting comfortably, then I will begin…” said Linyeve.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East-West_Schism

*****

“Wake up, you @#$%^&!!!” chided Linyeve.

“Sorry, love, did I nod off?” said Elberhard sheepishly. “You were saying …?”

“Yes, I was saying how ridiculous it is that the Catholic Church remains split from the Orthodox Church. Almost nothing divides us!”

“Almost nothing…?” probed Elberhard sceptically.

“Did you hear anything I said? How long were you out for?” snapped Linyeve. “All that would be required for the Catholic and Orthodox Churches to reunite would be two small things.”

Elberhard stirred in his chair, his wife still draped over his lap. “Do they, err, have to be two small things?” he queried lewdly, staring at his wife’s bosom.

Linyeve elbowed him in the ribs and straightened herself haughtily. “First, get rid of that Filoque clause from the Nicocene Creed.”

“Get rid of the what now?” said Elberhard dumbly.

“You know, the part that says “We believe in the Holy Spirit ... who proceeds from the Father and the Son”. All we have to do is drop the "and the Son” bit."

“@#$%^&!!!, woman you are doing my head in! Three words? - we have to drop three words? Fine, sounds like @#$%^&!!!ing angels on a pin head to me. What’s the other thing?”

“Admit that the Pope is not infallible. The Orthodox Church may accept him as “First Among Equals” and may even accept Rome as a final court of appeal. But The Patriarch of Constantinople must be allowed to be “First Among Equals in the East” A unified Church must be a like a college, not a monolith”.

“Sounds reasonable.” nodded Elberhard, embracing Linyeve. “Now, how’s about the two of us make our own little union…?”

Linyeve rolled her eyes and looked at the clock - 10 minutes of semi-intelligent conversation; that had to be a record.

(OOC: Read this first.)

Northern France, 1292

"Take me to them," Dietrich von Dassel said.

"Yes, My Lord," said Friedrich, his aide and captain, who was in Dietrich's tent. "Follow me." Dietrich picked up his sword and exited after Friedrich.

The two men walked out of Dietrich's tent, past the army camp where the survivors of the battle were mostly eating and drinking in victory. They walked out to a field where three hundred and four French soldiers, now prisoners, were standing side-by-side, disarmed and guarded by several Imperial knights. Dietrich observed this scene for a moment and then spat on the ground in disgust.

"This is a beautiful field," he said to the French prisoners gathered there, who stared at him. "It is pretty. It is green. It is lush and full of life. It is a testimony to the Lord's brilliance.

"You are not fit to tread on this field."

He walked up close to the man on the far left of the line. Judging by his uniform, the man used to be a Chivalric Knight, a Frenchman of some nobility. Now he was a prisoner and he was about to find out just how unfortunate it was to be a prisoner of Dietrich and not, say, some other nobleman.

"You are French. You are the scum of the earth. You pollute this field and this air by walking here. It is a miracle that this country is not a filthy and diseased wasteland after you have inhabited it for so long. My only explanation is that God has been preserving it for us and our eventual takeover."

The Frenchman, obviously not knowing better, spoke up. "Monsieur, je ne comprends pas; je ne parle pas allemand..."

"Of course you don't," Dietrich said, still in German, apparently understanding what the man said. "You're French. You are too stupid to learn anything of worth. You are overall, unfit to live." Before the Frenchman could say anything, Dietrich flashed his sword. His prisoner crumpled to the ground, a bloody mess.

Three hundred and three.

He sidestepped the mess on the ground, moving over to the next prisoner in line, who was now shaking in fear. This one was a Dismounted Noble Knight.

"Et est-ce que *vous* parlez allemand?" His voice was like ice. The Frenchman nodded furiously.

"Good," Dietrich said. "Maybe I can make you understand why you are inferior to me in every way then."

"Waitaminute," said the Frenchman in German, "You cannot say this. This is simply untrue. We are all the children of Charlemagne, after all..."

"No," said Dietrich calmly. "*We* are the children of Karl the Great and his wife. You are the children of his bastard son, created only because he felt like satisfying an Aquitainian prostitute after one of his many victories, and who only became noted because of the blood that ran through half of his body. That was the cleanest that French royal blood has ever been. I imagine by now that it is dirtier than the water you drink. Let's find out, shall we?"

There was another flash of his sword, and another "thud" as the body crumpled to the ground. Dietrich looked at the blood seeping out in disdain, and stepped to the next person in line.

"Yep," he said, "I was right. Perhaps you could explain something to me," he addressed to his next soon-to-be victim. "For years you build up Caen and make it a halfway decent Citadel, although I'm sure it's the mightiest thing you can do. You produce all kinds of troops and send them into our lands by the thousands. But after all those years, you don't get one city out of it, and then when we come into Caen, equipped with the best defenses you can manage, we take it in a snap. Tell me how that's possible."

The Frenchman tried to reply, but it all came out in a stuttering, gabbering mess.

"I should have known that that's the best you could come with. I admit, I had hoped to get at least one coherent sentence out of you though. You're just completely useless to me." The sword flashed, the body crumpled. Three hundred and one. He stepped to the next person, who began pleading immediately.

"S'il vous plaît, monsieur... nous sommes catholiques, le même que vous..."

"Wrong. Only humans are allowed to be Catholics. You are dirt. You are scum. You would pollute and compromise the Kingdom of Heaven if you were ever allowed in. Your heads are not fit to be interior decorations in the Castle of Dis. I do not know where they put you when you die but I can only hope for the people of the Beyond regions that it is an isolated spot. Let's find out."

Flash. Thud. Three hundred. Next.

"I admire the heathens in Outremer more than you," Dietrich said. "They have history; tradition. They pose a threat to the Reich because of troop quality, not because they mindlessly breed and mistakenly believe that they can crush us with numbers. If I captured them, I would execute them because they posed a threat to me. Not because I believe that the world would be better off without them, as I do with you."

Flash. Thud. Two hundred ninety-nine.

"Dietrich!" Friedrich screamed, watching the whole thing. "Stop this madness! Let us ransom them! Let us get florins out of this! The Chancellor always needs the money, and-"

"No," he said, simply, and that was the end of the discussion. "I am killing the French off to do the world a favor. They plague the Reich, yes, but they plague the Earth with their existence. I do this for the English and the Spanish and the Danes. A world without France is a beautiful world, Friedrich, and I intend to see it happen."

There were two hundred ninety-nine more flashes; two hundred ninety-nine more thuds. And little by little Dietrich saw his goal come closer to realization.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between myself and econ.

Outside Aleppo: 1294

King Jan sat inside of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Aleppo. Jan's family had owned land around Aleppo for decades. It was as out of the way and secure as you could get. Max and Gunther patrolled outside. They took days getting out here to make sure they weren't followed. Elberhard arrived a few days later because his journey was farther and he also had to back-track in order to throw off possible pursuit.

Jan was sitting at a table thinking about how the meeting was going to go. He was really going out on a limb trusting Elberhard like this. But, he really had no choice. He had to trust someone. He had sent the Prince a simple message requesting a meeting and urging caution. Jan's thoughts were interrupted when Elberhard walked through the door. Both men's retinue stayed outside and secured the perimeter. A whole lot of people would not want this conversation to take place and security was air-tight.
"Elberhard! Glad you could make it. I hope the trip went well. Here, have a seat. Have a beer. Thanks again, for agreeing to meet like this," Jan said as he got up, shook the Prince's hand and showed him his seat.

“My pleasure.” smiled Elberhard. “Your letter was rather mysterious. But I figured it must be important, so I came right away.”

Jan sat back and relaxed: "My how times have changed. I remember when we were both just a couple of crusader counts trying to impress our fathers. Now look at us. Your heir to the throne and have your own personal army. I got picked to administer a kingdom. We got old. We're getting to be the elders now."

“Us the elders?” exclaimed Elberhard. “Then the young ‘uns are well and truly @#$%^&!!! But it’s true - we can’t complain. We’ve done well out of this lark; perhaps too well. I can’t help feeling pride comes before a fall. But what’s this all about, Jan? Why the cloak and dagger stuff?”

"OK. First off, you’re the only one I can trust with what I am about to tell you. Sure I have crusader counts that are polite to me in the Outremer hall and in letters, but they scheme with their Dukes behind my back. The Kaiser certainly is sympathetic, but he is a busy man and quite frankly, I don't really know him at all. The Dukes see me as a useful ally at best and a threat to their power at worst. You on the other hand, keep your distance from everyone but you care about what goes on in the Reich and out here. I'm sure it has to do with the position of Prince. You don't want to get too close to people so you can at least try to be impartial when your Kaiser. But you always have looked out for me. I remember back when you offered me sanctuary years ago when Arnold was after me. My father named you as one of the only people in the Reich worth trusting. He didn't like many people so that meant a lot to me that he vouched for you. So, that is where I am coming from and that is why we are having this conversation."

“Jan, I am flattered.” said Elberhard. “For my part, ever since I saw you - a young whippersnapper - square up to Duke Elephantballs, I knew you were a man after my own heart. To be honest, it was a little comic and even absurd, like watching an uppity terrier goad a tethered bull. But the Reich nowadays seems dominated by dread knights; our reputation for butchering prisoners rivals that of the @#$%^&!!!ing Horse Lords, for @#$%^&!!!s sake. It was like you saw that coming and tried to stop it. You probably went about it all the wrong way and you totally failed to stop it, of course. But you tried. And for that you have my admiration, my friendship and my loyalty.”

Elberhard paused and looked into his beer awkwardly: “Well, now we have got that mutual love-in over with, are you going to tell me what the @#$%^&!!! this is all about?”

"Alright, on to business.” said Jan. “I believe King Salier was murdered. First off, I was at the battle and some thing just didn't feel right. The King was a masterful commander. But, that last battle looked like it was being run by a private. All the regiments were just thrown in hap-hazard. There was no attempt at strategy. No deployment. No units giving each other cohesive support. Just a total free-for-all. "

Elberhard nodded. “Yeah, it just was not right for the boss to go down so easily.”

"But, so much happened so quickly afterwards at the next Diet session that I kind of put it out of my mind” continued Jan “That is, until that new bar-maid, Larisa, started working at the Tavern. She quickly made contact with me and informed me she had information. We exchanged some messages and eventually met in person at my apartment in Rome. This woman is quite a piece of work. She claimed the King was poisoned and she knew who did it because she worked for them by watching his camp. They never paid her for the job so she tipped off Hans when they targeted him next. Then she came to Rome for safety and to further what ever plots and plans she had. After telling me she had a hand in the King's murder, she had the nerve to come on to me. So, I pulled a pistol on her and kicked her out. I haven't seen her around Rome since."

“@#$%^&!!!ing ‘ell! Women! Can you @#$%^&!!!ing believe ‘em?” exclaimed Elberhard. “More deadlier than the male, let me tell you, mate.”

"After that conversation, I started doing some digging, both literally and figuratively.” recounted Jan. “I couldn't find any trace of poison in Salier's body but I did discover I was being followed. I followed a few leads and moved my way up the food chain of this criminal gang in Antioch. They confirmed that they were logistical and intelligence support to a couple plots to assassinate King Salier. I finally got to the mid-level management. And that guy gave me a name. Dusan. And that's where I have hit a wall. The guy said Dusan was on your father's staff. Do you know anything about this guy?"

Elberhard looked like Jan had thumped him in the solar plexus. Slowly, he recovered: “Know anything about him? You might say that. I had the @#$%^&!!!er in my dungeon only a few years ago!”

The Prinz paused and then began to tell the story: “It was just before your boys saw off the last of the Mongols. There was some weird @#$%^&!!! with one of my retinue, an old chap who used to be my mentor. Apparently, this Dusan bloke was blackmailing him to persuade me to leave Outremer. Nasty business. Dusan had my chap’s grandchildren hostage. Still, we got it sorted - caught Dusan and exchanged him for the nippers. I had half a mind to run the @#$%^&!!!er through after the exchange, but that would not have been entirely chivalrous, would it? Although I am not sure chivalry applies to scum like him.”

Jan was wide-eyed with interest, soaking up every detail. “But who was he, this Dusan? What did he want?”

Elberhard sat back. “I’m not sure of the details. He used to hang around my father when he was in Outremer. But they had some kind of falling out. He disappeared not long after I got established here. Linyeve found out more details from King Otto’s widow, Elspeth. Apparently, Otto despised Dusan - I mean, really despised him. Elspeth even gave Linyeve on the sword cane Otto wanted to stick him with. Good judge of character, King Otto.”

Jan tried to hide his dissatisfaction. The vagueness of Elberhard’s replies was not a form of dissembling. The Prinz had never been a details man. It was clear that if Jan was to find out more about Dusan’s aims and affiliation, he would have to take to Elspeth.

“I don’t suppose you have a means of finding Dusan and getting him back into your dungeon?” Jan inquired, more in hope than expectation.

Elberhard shook his head. “If I told you the lengths we had to go to bag him in the first place, you would not ask. He got careless, but he won’t be repeating his mistake any time soon. There might be some people who could help you, though: for a price.”

Jan looked attentively as the Prinz continued: “The hashashins.”

Inwardly, Jan groaned. Why was nothing ever easy?

Bran, 1296

It was a normal Sunday, like all those previous but with two exceptions. Firstly, Contzel Becker had arrived in Bran with the intent to stay until the second AHA was reformed. Secondly, the Beckers were wearing black to Church that day.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

https://img210.imageshack.us/img210/...6033711do1.jpg

The service itself was not remarkable. After it was over, Edmund spoke to the Priest who had presided over the ceremony. After the exchange of pleasantries and a brief conversation, they parted ways and Edmund guided Contzel to the door that was sequestered towards the back.

The door itself was the entry to a small room that seemed to jut out from the corner. A brief inspection of the stones used showed that the two lesser walls for the room were noticeable younger than the major walls for the building. Edmund opened the door, revealing a well-lit staircase.

As the Beckers descended, Contzel previously emotionless expression began to brake apart, and when they reached the door at the bottom she had started to cry. Becker looked at her with concern before he awkwardly fished a handkerchief from his person and gave it to his wife before opening the door.

The room was small, but rather cozy. There were a few benches on the walls, but otherwise the room was lacking in accoutrements. In the center of the room was a sarcophagus, clearly marked in stone for those who had just entered.

Sigismund von Mahren

1144-1274

"For a true and holy Reich"

At this Edmund quickly made the sign of the Cross. Whilst he was doing that Contzel threw herself onto the coffin and began sobbing hysterically.

“Sigismund! Sigismund, we did you have to leave us too? We all miss you Sigismund! Mother and Niesenn and I were all terribly upset…”

Edmund knelt before his wife, and placed a reassuring hand on her back.

“It’s all right Contzel, Sigismund’s-“

She turned to him with fury in her eyes.

“NO! It is not all right! Sigismund said the same thing when Ehrhart died, so don’t you dare say that it’s all right!”

Edmund stopped, unable to say anything. Ehrhart, Sigismund, and now Wilhelm falling in battle had put them both on edge. As he stared into his wife’s eyes, a look of intense focus entered her features and she began to speak.

“You have to promise me that you will never go to war again. You can’t! This family has been through too much to see you die too!”

Never had he had to refuse something so agreeable.

“I can’t do that Contzel, I’m the only one left. Duke Arnold needs me, and Sigismund would never forgive me if I shirked away from my duty.”

“Don’t you talk to me about duty! That’s what got my brothers killed, and it’s going to get you too!”

“I promise you, I’m not going to die in battle. I will be extremely cautious when I’m on the field.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“All right then.” She stood up. “I’ve said what I had to say. I’m going to go get some flowers to place here before continuing. Do you want to come with me?”

“I will stay here and converse with the priest. They say he met Sigismund when he was a member of the Theologian’s guild in Budapest and became a member of his retinue.” He stood up to walk with her.

“Ludwig was his name, wasn’t it? I’m sure you'll have much to talk about.”

The walked up the stairs in silence and said their momentary goodbyes when Contzel went to pick flowers. To Edmund’s surprise the priest was exactly where he had left him. With a bit of nervousness he walked up to the vicar.

“Thank you for taking care of the burial chamber. It means a great deal to the Reich, Austria and my family.”

The priest was silent, and seemed to be sizing Edmund up.

"It's remarkable really, I've heard Sigsimund made quite an impression on the people here even though he spent so little time in the castle."

The Priest continued to stay silent. By then Edmund had decided that a staring contest was as good a use of his time as he was going to get, and he attacked the matter whole-heartedly. Eventually Contzel returned and Edmund turned to walk away. That was when the priest spoke.

“Sir Sigismund spared Bran from the wanton death and destruction that surrounds the Reich. Many of the soldiers he spared had families here, and they remembered the mercy he showed to their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons. We keep the crypt well-maintained as a tribute to him for treating Transylvania with the respect an Imperial province commands before it was even conquered, as well as showing the people mercy even Imperial citizens are occasionally without.” Without another word, the priest walked away leaving Edmund thoughtful.

“Mercy…”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This story is a co-op between myself and Cecil

Bran 1300:

King Jan rode his horse up to the citadel. He had taken a ship to south Austria and headed here on the way to the next Diet session. He had been both dreading and eagerly awaiting this trip for years. But, it was something he had to do. A letter to Count Becker preceded his arrival and Edmund was waiting by the gates for the King.

"Count Becker! Good to finally talk to you. I haven't seen you since we drank at the Tavern," Jan said as he got off of his horse and shook the man's hand.

"It is good to see you again as well, King Jan. I thank you for coming, the people here are eager to get a look at the King of Outremer. This way, if you please"

The two men walked into the church. They were silent until they got down into the tomb. For awhile, Jan just stared at Sigismund's final resting place.

"He was the best of us you know," Jan finally said softly to break the silence.

"I confess I know little about my brother-in-law, though Contzel spoke very highly of him. I know that the two of you were friends and I'd be eager hear something about him."

Jan began, "First off, I'm sorry about the tragedies that have befallen your family. Sigismund was my best friend. We worked closely together to try to steer the Reich in a new direction. You're one of the two last remaining male family members of his. And I don't think Duke Arnold is ready to hear this yet so I'll tell you."

Becker politely listened as Jan continued, "Years ago there was a piece of legislation that attempted to mandate that prisoners could not be executed after battle and that settlements could not be exterminated. It was pretty unpopular among some and it didn't pass. But, it came a lot closer than people thought it would and it gave those of the more dreadful persuasion a good scare."

"People still think that it was my idea. But the secret I have been carrying around for years is that it was Sigismund's. It was him that pushed me to put that legislation forward and it was him that worked behind the scenes to help get it passed. Afterwards, he was instrumental at getting Duke Arnold and I to reconcile. I was simply the public face of the CA. It was decided that Sigismund was in a more precarious political situation. If you've checked the old Diet transcripts, you'll see that I am somewhat more outspoken and not as concerned with the niceties of politics," Jan said the last with a small smile. As Jan was talking about the mercy CA, Becker listened more intently.

"The point of all of this is, Sigismund was a true knight. In the best sense of the word. And I can't even tell anyone. The Reich has gone in the wrong direction. People in the Diet try to one-up each other on suggestions for massacres. Those of us who believe otherwise are dying off. And not enough of the younger ones are following the right path. Those of the more dreadful persuasion hold positions of power and are not encouraging their Counts to be merciful," with that last word, Edmund perked up. Jan noticed the word struck a cord with Edmund.

Edmund spoke up, "Your sentiments confirm my own observations. Though I am not as grand as you or Sigismund in my thoughts about the Reich, I am a religous man and I find casual slaughter to be extremely distasteful."

Jan looked at Becker intently and said, "Edmund, the Lord is saddened to see us deny him souls. It is our job to save people and spread the good word. Murdering them unarmed denies the Lord his Christian soldiers. While we are the vanguard, he needs many soldiers. That is our task." Jan pulled a box out of his cloak and opened it. Becker's eyes widened in amazement as he saw a bramble of twigs in a circle. "This sat upon the Lord's head when he was crucified. When he died for our sins. This is proof that he loved us regardless of how imperfect we were. We have to honor the Lord's sacrifice by atoning for our sins and helping to build a more perfect world. A world ruled by the word of God. And the Reich will be the instrument of the Lord for we are good and just. I will leave you with those thoughts in hope that it will comfort you," Jan said as he closed the box and put it away.

There was silence for a few moments, as Edmund stared at the space the Crown of Thorns had occupied. Eventually he spoke, "I understand. Thank you my King, I will take these words to heart."

Finally Jan said, "if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for awhile."

Jan waited until he was sure that Becker left. Finally, he knelt in front of the tomb. "I'm sorry old friend, I failed. I tried to continue the work we started together but everything changed when you died. So many of our allies passed on. All of the Dukes are murderers. The Kaiser has even gotten a bit colder. There is only the Prince, myself, and a handful of others left that show mercy on the battlefield. I fear we are facing dark times Sigismund and I wish you were here to help steer us out of them. You were always the brains and heart of our partnership. I was simply the mouthpiece," the King said as his eyes welled up.

Jan knelt in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Alone with his thoughts, Jan knew deep down that Sigismund would want Jan to keep fighting. To never give up. Jan knew that Sigismund always had faith in him. With resolve, Jan stood up and made the sign of the cross across his chest.

"Goodbye my friend. One day, we'll meet again..."

With that, the King walked back up the stairs.

Staufen castle, 1300 AD

The cellar was dark and damp. The few torches that had been lit in the darker corners did little to illuminate the eery athmosphere that lay upon this chamber tonight, as a dark figure entered it, bringing with it some fading beams of light.
It was suitable however, for what was to be discussed between the several men that had gathered here, with none of the usual castle guards in sight.

Hans motioned to the late arrival to have a seat at the lone round table beside the kegs of wine that were lined along the sides of the cellar. The figure hesistated at first, noticing that several other men lay waiting behind some of the pillars, but then seated itself regardless, not without a smirk, hidden by the darkness.

"I see you have brought some lapdogs with you to keep guard. Very good. I prefer dealing with those who trust me as little as I do." was the first sentence that broke the silence

Taking a seat himself, Hans poured some French wine into the two goblets that stood ready, offering one to the shady figure "Indeed. These days are not as safe as they used to be, besides, you know as little of my intentions as I do of yours..."

The figure moved somewhat, releasing from the depth of its hood what sounded like a muffled laugh. Waiting for Hans to drink from his goblet, he exchanged them, and took a sip himself. "Good, I see we understand each other. Do you wish to continue this battle of wits or will you let me in on why you have summoned me here this night?"

Hans was sligtly surprised by the exchange of goblets, but did not show it in his expression. One wrong move could mean the end of this meeting or betrayal. "Very well, let us begin. I have a question and an answer for you, which one will it be?"

The figure seemed startled for the reply did not come after several long seconds of silence. "The answer."

"Ahh, I would have thought you more interested in how the answer is obtained rather than a straight dead-end. Still, I will not count this against you. The answer is 'I cannot trust you to do what I will ask of you, yet neither can you trust me with your reward or support.'"

"Quite. Name your task then."

"I need someone...observed."

"Observation. How boring. Could you not have bothered one of the many apprentices with it?" Was the reply

"Of course. While I do not doubt their ability, I doubt their experience and ... integrity with this most secret mission."

"Really."

"It would also be unfortunate if there were ...problems with the guild if things went awry."

"Interesting. Problems." The figure spoke in a bored tone

"Yet influence in Swabia and possibly the empire might be the other side of the coin."

"You truly believe we lack influence."

"The headquarters certainly is not found in the empire."

The figure once again took a while to respond "Indeed. Very well, speak. You have my ear, but I warn you, if you are wasting my time, there might be...problems as well."

"Good. I see we reached an agreement. Well then. Dietrich von Dassel ring a bell?"

"If it was important, it would."

"I see your men withhold it from you."

"You see quite a lot, no?"

Hans had to chuckle at this remark. His guest was well versed in the art of diplomacy. Still, he did not reply directly to it, instead, simply continuing. "He seems to work for someone influential. Someone who grants him security so that he does not mind going "independent."

"Are you certain you did not wish to talk to the other guild?"

"I do not need him removed...yet. I'd rather strike when the mice are gathered."

A nod was the only reply

"Send your best agents to watch him. I will be putting him to garrison duty and he should be fairly easy to track. Make sure that he does not see your men, and they report in regularly. Every piece of information if to come directly to you and relayed to myself. Any leak and you may find yourself a new home in France. You bring me what I want, and you will gain several ew guild houses."

"And what tells me you will keep your word?"

"What tells me you will keep yours?"

"Good. I like it. Anything else?"

Adalberth passed Hans a heavy purse, which he dropped on the figure's lap "You will find further information inside. Do not disappoint me."

"As long as this is not too disappointing, you will not be" The figure rose, bowed, turned and slowly, like a shade, disappeared to the stairs.

Caen, 1300

"Ragusa?"

"Ragusa."

"Ragusa?!"

"Yes sir, I believe that it says 'Ragusa' on the parchment, yes."

"Cut the crap, Friedrich," Dietrich von Dassel said to his aide. "I'm being shuffled around, which is unlucky for the both of us. At first I thought that the Kaiser would simply be content with putting me in eternal second-in-command of the SHA behind the last Hummel. Kind of an irony considering that he hates me more than the man who tried to violently rebel against him some years ago. But now, not even that's good enough for me! Instead he puts me in Austrian territory overseeing nothing in particular for the best years of my life!"

"Well," said Friedrich thoughtfully, "It is close to the Byzantine border... If the Kaiser screws up negotiations - and considering him, it could happen - then you might be seeing more action than you think."

"No," said Dietrich with a touch of gloom on his face. "That's the brilliance of it all. Not even he can botch these negotiations, at least not to the point of war. He just gave Emperor Isaac two territories that should have been Bavarian right off the bat. I shudder to think what will happen when they get down to business.

"Anyway," he continued, "The whole point of his plan is that I won't even be on the frontier if his plan works. The way he sees it, he puts me right smack-dab in the middle of the new Empire once we re-unify with the Byzantines. I'll be far from anywhere important - exactly what he wants. That's why he picked Ragusa."

"I see," said Friedrich. Now he looked rather depressed. As a commander's career went, so did his aide's, and Friedrich's commander was not on the fast track to greater things at the moment.

"I don't know what went wrong during that Diet session," Dietrich said. It must have been the thousandth time he had said this since the session had ended some weeks ago, and that was only out loud. God knows how many more times he thought it to himself, at night, sleeping, eating, drinking, going over paperwork.

"I thought I really had something going, you know? Power to the people, and all that. I talk bad about the Kaiser, incite popular sentiment, and throw enough carrots to the Houses and I really thought they'd join me. It worked, for a while. I had Fritz, Peter, Athalwolf (although I don't know what happened with him, I was clearly being sarcastic when I insulted him), even Matthias! But what happened after that?"

"Well, sir, the fight with Duke Ansehelm got pretty ugly."

"Bah!" Dietrich spat, remembering the insults that had been traded and the political pressure placed on him to apologize. "I meant every word I said to him. The stupid idiot agrees with me but won't vote with me just because Kaiser Siegfried is his brother, so that completely absolves him of all wrongdoing. Hans acts like a total Frenchman when the time comes to make a stand, of course. 'I want to preserve the alliance with Franconia,' he says. Bah! The Swabian edicts still passed overwhelmingly. And he deprives his own House of voting influence because of that damned Duke."

There was a slight lull in conversation, which didn't last long due to Dietrich's continued ranting.

"Jesus Christ, Friedrich, I don't know what went wrong. I guess I'm just going to have to suck up to Hans if I want this thing turned around."

"Indeed, sir," Friedrich said. He looked uncomfortable at the mention of Hans but said nothing further to that effect. Dietrich did not notice the expression on his face and the two continued to live their newly-boring lives as normal.

Damascus 1300

The stout fellow knocked and waited for permission to enter the Governor’s study. Upon getting permission to enter the middle aged man walked in wiping his face with a hankie to clear the sweat from his eyes before speaking.

“My lord it has been completed. You must come and see immediately.” the man spoke excitedly still wiping sweat from his face and forgetting all manners with his good news.

Zirn looked at his new siege engineer Walter with amusement. He had come highly recommended but there had been no sieges for the Governor for sometime. Wanting to retain his service has insurance the Governor took him on to help complete his Cathedral.

“Excellent, excellent news, Walter! I knew I could put those engineering skills of yours to something more creative then just designing equipment for destruction.” exclaimed Zirn. “Your expertise has put this feat well ahead of schedule. I am truly grateful for your work.”

The man was slightly embarrassed by the Governor’s remarks but had truly believed in the Governor’s mission and felt that his contribution to such a great feat would help balance things out in the eyes of God for some of the work he had done in the past.
“Thank you my lord. It has truly been an honour and I am grateful to have been involved with such a great project. Please hurry! There are some minor details to complete but the major construction is over.” Walter then headed for the door waving the Zirn to follow.

Zirn assembled himself and headed out towards the new Cathedral. He walked to the location instead of the riding and mingled amongst the people as he made his way. Many of the pedestrians not knowing the great feat that had been accomplished. Karl thought to himself they will soon know because they will be the converted. This will be great place of worship that will rival any Cathedral in the known world.

As he got closer he began to slow down and catching the glimpses of the structure in the skyline amongst the lower buildings around it. When he finally got out to the main through way heading towards the building a great emotion overwhelmed him. He had deliberately stayed away the reaming year when he left Walter in charge. He heard many comments but would not go and sneak a peak.

The scaffolding was gone from the front and the last crane was being disassembled. He soaked in the view of the majestic front. The Cathedral face was that of the standard Western architecture with 2 spiraling towers at it front corners and a huge rectangular stain glass mural in the front. However, when he came around to view the sites the building transformed itself taking on the architecture of all the Eastern lands. There were gold domes and spires on its sides and the rear of the building the sanctuary was finished off in an amphitheater shape. The building was alive and seemed to transform from the different views Karl would take. It would almost be difficult for one to readily recognize it's faith if they were not to familair with church architecture.

The interior displayed the workmanship of both Western and Eastern artisans. There was earthly material of fine minerals and diamonds to simple ore. Wood from all reaches of the Reich. This was truly a magnificent house of worship.

When Karl got to the sanctuary he placed the Veil of Veronica in a very ornate box that was part of the centre piece of the sanctuary.

I have truly completed my mission here in the Outremer. I have completed the work the Lord had called to me to do in this land thought Karl the Honourble. Sunday will be the blessing and first service of the First Cathedral of the Outremer.

Rome, 1302

"So, I'm curious, why didn't you take my suggestion? Why did you support Dietrich's bid?"

Matthias sighed and glanced across the table at Elsebeth. An invitation to coffee had seemed innocent enough, but the Princess, true to character, was seeking information. Matthias drank a bit of the strong brew to give himself time to think.

"I doubt I would have had the support of the Diet. Defying the will of the Kaiser and a third straight term, I wouldn't have had the votes."

Elsebeth narrowed her eyes and ran her finger along the edge of her cup, "Really? And you thought Sir von Dassel would garner more support? I know you better than that, why not do it yourself? Why risk defying the Kaiser with a proxy?"

Matthias stared down at his cup, "Even if the Diet bent down on their knees and begged me, I would not have served a third term. I doubt that they would have done that anyway. Most of them are like that weasel Hans, half-hearted praise and muttering about how they would have done it better. Even if you do the job well, you wear out your welcome. And Dietrich was not a proxy. . .I supported his Charter Amendment because I felt the Kaiser was out of touch and not qualified to serve as Chancellor. However, I was not willing to run against him, von Dassel was, so I supported his bid."

Elsebeth raised an eyebrow, "But you voted against his Edict in the end, why?"

Matthias grimaced, "Not my finest hour. It was doomed to fail, and von Dassel had made a hash of enlisting support, enraged half the Diet in fact. I got off a sinking ship."

Elsebeth chuckled, "Well at least you still have a County, if not a command. Are you looking forward to your 'missionary' work?"

Matthias rolled his eyes, "Ah, good King Jan, the sanctimonious prig. It wouldn't surprise me if he was in bed with the Kaiser. Those Imperial edicts were rolled out right at the start, and he seconded all of them in a flash. He does owe his position to Siegfried, and it's not like he can expect a warm welcome in Franconia if he loses it."

"So what now? Will you stay in Outremer, return to Bavaria? Perhaps raise your banner in rebellion like Ulrich Hummel? That was at Adana, your Citadel, was it not?"

Laughing ruefully, Matthias drank the dregs of his coffee, "God forbid, things don't look good, with half of Italy gone Purple and the Kaiser gracefully donating a Sicilian territory to us, but rebellion? No."

Matthias paused and thought a bit, "As for what I am going to do? I don't know. I'd been Chancellor so long, I don't know what to do with myself now that I'm just a Count. I'm not really needed in Bavaria, but Outremer is a shadow of its former self. All I do know is that this unification business has to be stopped."

Looking at Matthias quizzically, Elsebeth refilled his cup.

"Why? One of the last acts of your term was to aid the Byzantines near Caesarea, why turn against them now?"

Matthias looked at Elsebeth and his eyes narrowed.

"Caesarea was a. . .peace offering, and not for the Byzantines. It is one thing to aid an ally, to bolster a friendly buffer state, it is another to treat with them as equals. We are an Empire, they are a remnant of one. Without us, they would not have Iconium or Caesarea, and most likely would have been picked off by the Turks or Hungarians by now. If the First Crusade hadn't intercepted those three Jihad armies, the heathens would be in Constantinople, and their 'Empire' would be nothing but a memory."

Elsebeth gave Matthias an appraising gaze over the rim of her cup.

"The Kaiser, the Kaiserin, the Prinz and most of the Electors are behind Unification, it would be unwise of you to oppose it. You did not follow my last suggestion, my dear, I hope you follow this one. Do not get in their way, you will gain nothing by opposing Unification, and could lose a great deal."

Matthias set down his cup with more force than necessary, "This isn't a matter to be bartered for influence. Unification is folly! We grow weaker while the Byzantines feed off our greatness! The Kaiser seems to listen to his wife more than his Electors, and her claws will only dig deeper the further we go with this farce. No good will come of it! What has been split asunder cannot be rejoined. To try, is to invite disaster."

Matthias rose and bowed to the Princess.

"I am sorry Highness, but I have travel arrangements to make. I must supervise the work on the Royal Arsenal at Adana. If I cannot lead men in the field, I will least help arm them. Good day."

After Matthias had left, Elsebeth sat a while deep in thought. Matthias had reached his potential and more, she had chosen wisely, but his star was now in descent. It was time to consider alternatives.

It was time to speak to Kaiserin Theodora.

This is a co-op story written by Privateerkev and econ21.

King Jan goes to the Vatican, 1302


As Jan waited in the antechamber, he saw the inner door open and out slipped a dark haired, regal woman. Her eyes immediately found Jan and she smiled a rich smile, then she approached warmly, almost skipping over to him. Although in her mid-forties, she moved with a zest and freedom that belied her age and station.

“You must be King Jan, I assume? It is such a pleasure to meet you at last. I am Theodora.”

Jan bows to the lady, "My Empress, it is an honor to finally meet you in person."

“I heard you had an audience with his Holiness scheduled for today, so I thought I would catch you first. I have so wanted to meet you. You are one of the Reich’s young rising stars - one of the few to adhere to the old Frankish code of chivalry.”

Jan's cheek's flush, "You do me a great honor my Empress but I fear I have not done as much as you let on. But enough about me. How are you? Have you settled in? How do you like our fair and grand capital?"

“Oh, the city is wonderful. It reminds me of past ages - of what once was and what could be again.” the Empress’s face clouds and she says sadly. “But the people, you will excuse me Jan - I can call you Jan, can’t I? - some of the people are positively beastly! Like that Peter von Kastilien - such a foul mouth! They all hate me and worse, I swear, some of them would see me dead.”

"Of course you can call me Jan my Empress. I apologize that some of my peers get a little... raucous. But, I assure you it is simply the nature of politics. The Diet gets contentious because people feel so much is on the line when they go in there. Any perceived slight, any perceived insult, is seen as a threat to people's agenda and they pounce on it with great ferocity," Jan says in an attempt to convince the Empress.

“King Jan, you are a good man but you are fooling no one. I am a foreigner, a woman past her prime, alone in this hostile city. There may come a day when I call upon you for your protection. Perhaps you will remember this moment if that day comes? But tell me this - I simply do not understand - why I am so hated?”

Jan straightens up and becomes serious, "My Empress, you are married to mein Kaiser. It is my duty to protect you. The Kaiser rules by divine right. Therefore, he is God's chosen ruler for the Reich. I will serve him faithfully until the end of my days. As his wife, that extends to you." Jan's expression softens a little, "Plus, during the Diet when I was first appointed, I had a pretty hard time and was left quite discouraged. Your letter lifted my spirits and I will never forget your words of kindness. As for the current atmosphere in the Diet, I believe that has to do with unification. Many men fear change. They build up their own little fiefdoms and are afraid of anything that could possibly damage that. My best advice would be to not take it personally."

“But why are the German nobility so hostile to reunification? Do they not see they would effectively be gaining a vassal, a powerful servant who could fight with them to guard the east against the Mohammedans and the pagans? Why do they despise a loyal Orthodox ally more than their many Catholic neighbours who daily fight with them? If Byzantium guards your back, you would be free to crush the Poles, the Hungarians, the Danes and the French!”

Jan thinks for a moment and then answers, "many in the Diet fear outsiders. These men are generals who have been fighting their whole adult lives. Many of us have lost dear friends and family. War tends to create an us-versus-them mentality. I have tried, during my whole political career, to combat that idea. I believe that we are all God's children. While I will not hesitate to strike down someone who raises their weapon against me, I will love them and try to save them the moment they put the weapon down. Such is the will of our Lord. Maybe one day we will strive to be better than who we are and live up to what the Lord sees in us. Hope of that eventuality is what gets me through each day. I support unification because I believe it will help bring about a change for good in this world. A unified church can serve more people and spread the Word farther and faster. A unified Roman Empire will be the beacon that will cast the light of the Lord across the land."

“Jan, it seems that my informants were right to commend you so highly. You are indeed wise and kind. While men of your calibre still hold influence in the Reich, the cause of unification will not die. But I must not keep you from your audience with the Holy Father. Afterwards, we shall have lunch, together, yes? I would so much like to learn of your time in Outremer and all the amazing things you have been doing there.”

"My Empress, I am not so optimistic as you regarding how much influence I hold but I do appreciate your kind words. I would be honored to dine with you when I am done meeting the Holy Father." Jan bows to Theodora and walks towards the door.

*****

Jan's heart beat faster as he entered. This is the most important meeting of my life. I better not !@#$ this up, Jan thought to himself.

As Jan entered, a tall knight approached, dress in full plate and wearing the Papal livery. Jan’s face broke into a smile as he recognized the imposing figure as Sir Reinhold Schimdt - a veteran of the crusade which brought Jan to the Holy Land.

“Brother” said Reinhold, “It is a great day to meet you ago in this most holy of places. We must catch up later, but now let me introduce you to the Pontiff.”

Pope Abbate made an unprepossessing figure as he hobbled over to meet King Jan. He was short, plump and stooped. He spoke softly and at times almost seemed to be muttering. But he radiated an inner calm and conviction, so that Jan felt compelled to strain to catch his every word.

“King Jan, I cannot begin to thank you and the Reich for your service to the Papacy. For many years now, your men have fought and died to protect the Holy Land. You have been a Christian bulwark against all Mohammedans and heathens. You even vanquished the fearsome Horse Lords. Truly, it is an honour to have the King of Outremer visit me.”

Jan kneels to the floor and kisses the ring, "Your Holiness, it is I who am honored. All I have done is my duty to the Lord and to my Kaiser."

“But tell me, my son, what brings you to me? You seem concerned and I am guessing this is not just a social visit.”

Jan stands back up, "Your Holiness, there has been talk in the Diet regarding our impending unification with the Eastern Roman Empire. It has been said that there will be a unification of the Church as well. Quite simply, I need to know if you approve of this. You are the successor of Peter and your word on this will be law as far as I am concerned."

The Pope looks childlike and places a chubby hand on Jan’s arm, barely containing his pleasure:

“I can tell you my son - you shall be one of the first to hear! It is done! I will announce it later in the week, but the Patriach of Constantinople has agreed - they will unify with us, the Church will be whole again!”

Jan was a bit shocked that the religious unification went so smoothly, "My Holiness, this is wonderful news, but how did it happen? I didn't expect it to come about so easily."

The Pontiff relaxes and sits back, recounting events in a detached tone.

“To be honest, I believe it was politics. The great schism was never about belief or doctrine. It was merely recognition of the temporal divide of Western Europe from the Eastern Roman Empire. A man cannot have two masters. And nor can a church. But as the politics changes, so can the church. The Kaiser gave up Naples and Palermo. In exchange, Emperor Isaac has given up his church.”

Jan is surprised a bit to hear the issue of religious unification broken down into a matter of politics, "Thats it? This was about land?"

“But Jan, you are a devout man. Can you tell me one point of doctrine on which the Catholic church disagreed with the Orthodox? The Filoque clause? That the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son? That is a triviality - it has no bearing on the central message of our Lord or the real work of the church, to save souls. We will drop that clause from the Nicocene Creed - it is the price of religious re-unification. But to bring together the brothers of the faith, it is a trivial price, eminently worth paying.”

"A wise move Holy Father but what about you? As I mentioned before, you are the successor of Peter. As such, you are the Lord's agent here on Earth. How will you rank with regards to the Patriarch?"

“Rome will be the final court of appeal in the united Church, but I will not stand ahead of the Patriarch. He will be master in the east and I in the west. We cannot insist on Papal infallibility. I mean, look at me - a short fat old man! Am I infallible? Was Pope Gregory infallible when he excommunicated Kaiser Heinrich? Papal infallibility is the kind of nonsense men only pretend to believe because they are so blinkered and conforming.”

Jan thinks a bit on what the Pope has said, "His Holiness, it is refreshing to hear a great man be so humble before the Lord. I believe that religious unification would be a good thing for everyone. It would help to spread the Word. As Saint Cyprian of Carthage said, 'Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus'."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

OOC: it means, "Outside the Church there is no salvation". That phrase sums up Jan's beliefs better than anything. Also, it is interesting that "Unam Sanctum" came about in 1302. I suggest you "wiki" both terms. Their interesting reads. :yes:

“You know, Jan, God often puts a man into the world for only one purpose. A man may live his entire life, amounting to nothing. But one day, he may pass by a river and in that river he may see a child drowning. That one day may be why he has been put on this earth. After that day, he may drink, womanise and waste away. But on that day, the Holy Spirit may shine through him and in his rescue of that drowning child, may give meaning to the man’s whole life.”

The Pontiff wipes a tear from his eye, caught up in the moment:

“I believe I was put on this earth for one purpose. And it is done. God’s children are reunited again and whatever fate has in store for me, I can die content in knowing that I have been an instrument of the Lord in this great endeavour.”

The Pope comes out of his reverie and turns to Jan:

“But Jan, I feel that you have not yet served your purpose. As I say, I am not infallible - I cannot tell you what your purpose is. But watching your progress through the Diet to the throne of Outremer, I see you have had your own baptism. God has forged you to be a pious man, a man of honour. Whatever trials await you down the road, he has fashioned a mighty instrument that can be relied upon to do what is right. Come to me child and receive my blessing…”

Jan kneels before the Pope full of purpose and hope.