Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

Acre, 1204


“Have you read these?” Linyeve threw the books down in front of Elberhard.

The Prinz squinted, reading was not his forte. Elberhard’s eyes widened as he read the titles:

“Why the Pope and his Recent Book are Burned” by Alexander Luther

”On the Byzantines and their lies” by Alexander Luther

“Against the Papacy Established by the Devil.” by Alexander Luther

The Prinz scratched his head and looked pained: “Who the @#$%^&!!! is Alexander Luther? And what the @#$%^&!!! is his problem?”

Linyeve sat down on a chair opposite Elberhard, her eyes boring into the Prinz: “Luther is a Augustinian monk. He lectures at the University of Wittenberg. He was inspired to enter the monastic life after being hit by a lightning bolt..."

Elberhard interrupted: "Well I suppose something like that might put you off going outside..." he joked feebly.

Linyeve gave the Prinz a withering look: "Well, I suppose the event does explain a lot about the man. ... You weren't also struck by lightning in your youth, were you darling?... But to get back to your question - Alexander Luther's problem, apparently, is that he doesn’t like Byzantines.”

Elberhard picked up one of the books and started to read. His painful and halting delivery made Linyeve stand impatiently and snatch the book from his hands. She enunciated clearly:

“The devil's feces ... which they wallow in like swine”

Elberhard rubbed his chin.

“We are at fault in not slaying them.”

Elberhard scratched his cheek.

“Let not your sword grow cold from blood.”

“All right, all right - I get the idea. He doesn’t like Byzantines.” protested Elberhard.

“And the Papacy, now that it has unified.” added Linyeve.

“He doesn’t like Pope Abbate?” queried the Prinz. “Well, I admit, he’s not the most prepossessing of leaders, but he is a sweet old guy and his heart is in the right place.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” snapped Linyeve. “This has gone far beyond personal likes and dislikes. You think you have been having a rough ride in the Diet? That will be nothing compared to the ride you will get on the streets. This mad monk has followers. Already it is starting in some cities - the smashing of statues and images in churches, and denunciations of the magistracy.”

Elberhard whistled. “@#$%^&!!!ing hell! What can I do?”

“Sharpen your sword.” answered the Princess.

A Governor’s Farewell – Acre 1204

The sun was an orange fireball hanging on to the last rays of daylight over the Mediterranean Sea. The reflection of the sun over the water was a shimmering gold as it calmly lapped up to the shore.

On the beach was a great tent filled with many men. The men were there to bid farewell to Karl Zirn the Governor of Damascus. The men came from all walks and faiths from the city and surrounding area. They had formed a large caravan with the Governor’s entourage to see him off. The Governor had created a city of religious tolerance for all the Christians, Jews and Muslims. He was a Crusader and fought many Muslims while in the Outremer but not everyone is a soldier and he knew that men needed a sanctuary. He is considered a living saint amongst the populace and even respected by his enemies like no man before him.

The men sat in a large circle eating fruit and breaking bread. There were refreshments of wine and other drinks for the respective guest. There was no tavern talk even though the occasion was heavy on most there was an air of celebration that a meal can be shared to honour the Governor.

Karl the Honourable was thought by many to be destined a patron saint of knights demonstrating what every Crusader would hope to achieve before God and his peers. The men chatted the evening away and many tributes were made to the Governor.

The loyalty these men showed to Karl was only demonstrated by Karl’s loyalty to his Lord, Kaiser, Duke and men. The locals and peers admire his loyalty and speak far and wide as the epitome of selfless obedience and is universally admired for it.

The evening was coming to a close and Karl bid farewell to each of the guest present.

“Your Kaiser must need you somewhere very important to have you taken from us. You will be missed greatly” said the mayor of the city bidding him farewell. Karl nodded in agreement he had not disclosed his reason for leaving and there were many rumors.

“That priest in Rome must want you back there very much for the good work you have done here with our peoples” spoke a local merchant shaking the Governor’s hand. Karl agreed with the man and continued his farewells.

A local priest from the Byzantine lands approached Karl and gave a blessing. “Thank you for your work here Karl. The churches being united you must have more important work to do for your Kaiser. Godspeed” and he offered a prayer.

Karl thanked him and walked out of the tent to the pier were the boats were moored. The goodbyes continued as he walked along the beach and waved through the darkness to his many friends.

He had time to think and the kind words given to him. He had some doubts about leaving but knew this was no longer his calling that his work was needed home or elsewhere. He had prayed and that was what was spoken to him to leave.

There was much going on and he was confused and concerned. What was the Kaiser really thinking on this unification of not only faith but lands and cultures? It could work as he demonstrated in Damascus but that was one city not an Empire. His loyalty to the Kaiser and the Reich was absolute there was no other way. He gave his life for its cause and work here in the Outremer. No one could take away what he had accomplished no matter how out of touch or outlandish the statements were made towards him.

However, the Kaiser’s actions are suspicious and possible not the Kaiser’s actions at all. Maybe there is some sinister plot behind him and the Reich was in for some very dark time. The nobles must know it wasn’t about one’s allegiance to a man but it must be for the cause the Reich itself that should be fought and defended. Only working has one body in unity.

As Karl walked in the darkness he thought of the darkness that will face the Reich. Though looking up towards the sky he could see the stars making there mark there was no moon but their brightness was piercing the darkness. The light was the answer. There has to be answers to what is darkening the Reich and causing confusion and Karl was determined to find some answers when he returned home.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Well there was a lot of traits in the ole Crusader and thought to point the main ones out in the story.

Fritz the Populist

Fritz von Kastilien walked briskly past the vendors in the market outside the Diet. It was a clear fall day, the trees had just begun to turn, and the smell of freshly cooked Eisbein filled the air. Ah, the day could not be finer. There was a newness to everything. The mists had cleared, the doubts fled. Time stood still on this day, seeming to turn on a very small point.

The point, in fact, of Alexander Luther's pen.

His attention was captured by a knot of people gathered near one of the fruit vendors. He strolled over, his priest Athelstan following, only near enough to be in earshot.

"...Péter..."

"...can't believe they would..."

"...how are we supposed to go on..."

Fritz strode closer quickly and used his announcement voice. "Excuse me, I am Fritz von Kastilien, Péter's brother. You were talking about him?"

Immediately the entire crowd turned and stared. Several of the woman gasped. Fritz tried to smile pleasantly, though he fingered the three scars on the right side of his face self-consciously.

One of the men finally stammered out, "We were just speaking of how brave he is." The others nodded, while Fritz smiled encouragingly.

"Indeed!" piped up a voice from the back. "It was only yesterday we heard the news. Péter gone off to fight the Byzantines!" A hesitant cheer went up from the crowd. The ones in the front row shrank back a bit.

Fritz looked for a moment at Athelstan, then addressed the crowd. "I am grateful for your encouraging words. Unlike many in the Diet, I and Péter have read Luther's words. We know what you must feel.

"A new age has awakened, my friends. We have slowly been falling into the dark, and Luther has awakened us to our duty, as Christians. We have been slothful towards God and under the burden of a Papacy who is obviously out of touch with both reality and God's word! If we continue in the same path, then all will be lost.

"I say we, but perhaps you know what I mean."

*Fritz stopped and turned on his heel, then pointed at the Diet building*

"That building. That building houses those who wish to continue on the same dark path to destruction."

*Fritz returned his gaze to look over the group in front of him. The people were plainly hanging on his every word, and he smiled inside*

"Is that what you want, my fellow citizens of the Reich?"

"No!" came a few voices.

"Will we live under the false and Byzantine-owned Papacy?"

"No!" came more voices.

"Will we submit our lives to the will of a dictator in Constantinople?"

"No!" came a surge of sound from the crowd. Others had gathered now, ringing Fritz and Athelstan.

"Then I will remain yours, my friends, and I will accost every one of the electors who walks into that Diet chamber, until they throw me out. And we, all of us, will refuse to back down until the Reich returns to glory!"

A cheer rang through the street.

"Until the Byzantine kingdom has been crushed!"

Another cheer.

"Until Alexander Luther sits on the Papal throne!"

A final, loud and lasting cheer coursed through the street. Men came to slap Fritz on the back, and shake his hand.

Ragusa, 1304

A man on a horse and his small entourage approached the front gates of the citadel. The usual garrison on duty that day was not present. Instead, a handful of men personally selected by the Governor of Ragusa, Dietrich von Dassel, stood ready to let the man in.

Dietrich was there too, ready to personally intervene in case anything went wrong. Nothing did, however, and the man and his entourage entered the citadel with little fanfare or incident. Just as planned. Dietrich made his way up to the man, who dismounted. They shook hands, cautiously.

"So this is the great Alexander Luther who has incited so much recently. I was expecting a bit more. I keep forgetting that you're a monk."

Luther chuckled, about the most anybody could get out of the man. He was rumored to be stern, as the extremely pious usually are. "You will find that we men of the Bible can be as influential as you men of iron and steel. Indeed, I believe you already have."

"Frankly, I was hoping to cause a little bit of popular unrest myself in the Diet when I stood for Chancellor," said Dietrich. "Congratulations on accomplishing what I could not. You have the Reich in full rebellion against the current agenda."

"And thank you," said Luther, "for granting me refuge and asylum in this time of backlash against me. While I admit that the tearing down of the Houses of the Lord was a bit... much... it gets our message heard. Which is where, I believe, that we share common goals."

"You are correct," said Dietrich. "The Kaiser must be stopped, that much is clear. His incompetence and disdain for the Diet has put us in dark times, indeed. So far he has two major goals; completion of which will forever harm the Reich and put the greatest empire in the world under Byzantine control. They are religious re-unification, your bete noire, as my French friends would put it, and political re-unification, which I have been arguing against. The two of these are tightly linked, for a pro-religious Pope would argue for political, and the Kaiser and his lackeys will argue for religious as well. Therefore, I offered you asylum so that we may work together."

"Which I am most grateful for," said Luther. "Travel is too dangerous now. The public can hide me well enough, but the Dukes... well, the Dukes have the military. And right now the military is out to get me, especially that Hans."

"Do not speak to me about Hans," Dietrich said with clear disdain. "It is because of his willingness to abandon me to the wolves that I am here in Ragusa and not fighting the French as I should be.

"Ragusa is your new home for as long as you wish it to be," he continued. "I shall do whatever is in my power to protect you and keep you safe. You will find all of the resources that you need to continue spreading your word."

"And in return?"

"In return, it's rather simple. Don't tear down my church, and don't do anything that would incite sentiment against me. This would be both from Electors and the common people, although I would prefer it if I had the support of the peasants should you be faced with a choice."

"That sounds agreeable," finished Luther. "May your further endeavors be successful, sir Dietrich."

"And yours, Luther." The two men shook and walked to their jobs; two outcasts helping one another out.

Somewhere in the wilderness between Franconia and Constantinople, 1304

I have set off. My armies are sufficiently large to do what must be done - to cleanse the world of the Greek menace.

That fool Theodora only fed my rage - clinched the deeds that I plan to do. Fritz may be the only friend I have not in these two armies.

Two armies. I have the Prussian Army - which I hear is no longer the official First Franconian Household Army, no longer the official Prussian Army. Ridiculous, isn't it? I made this army. These men are loyal to me. Loyal to their starving families my brother Siegfried casts aside with his sanctions to the Byzantine Empire. This is the real Prussian Army, no matter what false army they create back home. This army is Péter's Immortals.

The other army, of course, is from the garrison of Vilnius and is shadowing my force. Tancred von Tyrolia - I knew I could trust that man from the second I laid eyes on him - is at its head, loyally following the cause. The cause of what is right. I will never submit to these Orthodox fools - leeching off of our generosity for years at witless allies while preaching against us in their pathetic churches that the Old Man wants to unite with. Bah! I retch at the thought.

Lars and Ulrich have returned with information. Duke Hans of Swabia, a man who I have had many encounters with, good and bad, is in pursuit of me with the Imperial Army. The fool. I do not intend to kill Germans, but I will not risk the loss of the truth.

Péter von Kastilien, the last hope for the Reich
Commander of the Immortals

Krakow 1304

Arnold looked on as various elements of the 2nd AHA ran through the streets looting anything they could find. Smoke was pouring from a number of the great Polish houses that had obviously not fared well in the sacking taking place.

As the Duke and his heavily armed retinue made their way towards the Governors House a young girl careened out of a side alley, her skirts hitched up allowing her to run as fast as humanly possible. A moment later the all too familiar sight of some over zealous men appeared.

A quick nod to Grom was more than enough to have the big barbarian knock the two men senseless, his clothes line hit on both men lifted them off their feet and left them reeling on the sodden earth.

Peering at the livery of the half conscious men, Arnold glanced at Szczepanski, his Sword Bearer.

"Tell Jansen his “Two Hander’s” better start showing some discipline or I’ll have one in ten hung to make my point.”

The Sword Bearer’s eyes widened at the order, a moment before he was about to protest, the Dread Knight’s armoured helm turned in his direction…the effect was, as usual a chilling site to behold. Many orders were accompanied by the unnatural gaze of Bane, and many orders were simply followed because of it.

“Ahh, yes my Lord, at once.” With that Szczepanski summoned a nearby horse and quickly galloped off to inform the Regimental captain of the order.

The Duke and his retinue continued their progress towards the governor house. As the group progressed the Duke was clearly lost in thought, oblivious to the looting and destruction occurring around him.

It was finally done. Decades of fighting had finally lead to its fall, now of course the Franconian’s would want it incorporated into their house. #$# it he thought, his life was going to be one long war and with no family to speak of it was all he had, there would simply be more battles to fight and Krakow was just another one.

His spirits lifted as he thought of Karl Zirn and his sister returning to Austria, he had never seen his sister’s children and he was keen to see how they had grown.

And just as it came, his mood swung back to that of dread.

The Reich…it was seemingly on a downward spiral. Rogue nobles, mad ideas of reunification, a Kaiser that seems to have taken his eye of what his true responsibilities are.

Siegfried had clearly failed to consult both his nobles and the people when it came to his grand plan. The Church was clearly having difficulty pulling its own priest and clergymen into line with the agreements being made at the top…something that was simultaneously occurring in the Diet with the Kaisers own nobility.

How could anyone possibly make a power play of such magnitude without having confirmed substantial support before hand…the man was clearly mad or being influenced by outside forces not of the Holy Roman Empire.

Still he thought, unless he was faced with a clear act of treason or a complete break down of the Reich he was a Duke of the Realm and charged with a number of responsibilities and no one was going to ever suggest he didn’t do what he duty bound to do…at least for the moment.

Just then another scream broke his train of thought…at the front of the Governors house was another scene reminiscent of the last. A woman of striking beauty was dashing from the front hallway. Behind her another pair of Two Hander’s in close pursuit.

“Christ!!! Where’s Szczepanski and Jensen!! This is getting out of hand!!”

Drawing his father’s sword the Duke moved to intercept.

“Hold!!” Bane’s hallow voice rasped across the area. The Dukes retinue and personal bodyguard froze as they watched their Duke meat out justice.

Taking his sword in a hand and a half grip, the Duke’s lightning swing took the first “Two Hander’s” helm completely off his shoulders. Only the last second twist of his wrist turned the fatal blow in a crushing one as the flat of the sword did its work.

The second man skidded to a halt only a few short yards from his fallen comrade. His faced turned from cruel intent towards the women to complete horror at suddenly facing his Duke in a less than forgiving mood. Not knowing what the Dread Dukes next move was the Two Hander readied his weapon...the Dukes eyes widened in surprise.

"You defend yourself against me?

Your Liege Lord?!

Stand down now!!"

A slow but deliberate shake of the head was the soldiers’ only response.

A moment of shock passed over the Duke face.

“You sack of #%#$ing shiet. What’s this god forsaken Empire become!!!”

With a brutally fast and terribly crushing blow the Dukes sword smashed down on the half raised two handed sword of the solider. Amazingly the power of the strike smashed the weapon in two pieces, the momentum not enough to prevent the Dukes sword from striking with still considerable force on the top of the soldier’s helm. The blow knocked the soldier back but he remained standing but only long enough to have his face meet a straight right hook from the Obsidian encased right hand of Duke Arnold. The soldiers’ nose turned to a pulp and blood showered the front steps of the Governors house.

Grabbing the near unconscious soldier by his breast plate, Arnold heaved him bodily over his shoulder to land five feet away directly in front of Grom.

“String him up!! He’ll hang for that!!

Turning to Bane.

"Find Lorenz and his cavalry regiment and tell him to meet me here. He's more than earned his Knighthood after his performance this evening."

Half and hour later, and with a few more hangings, order was restored, turning a potentially out of control situation into a more normal sacking of the former Polish province of Krakow.

This story was written by Ituralde

Constantinople, 1304

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Ituralde

Siegfried felt weary, way beyond his years. He hadn't slept enough in the past weeks. The negotiations had taken up much of his time. Had he enjoyed the luxury of the Bzyantine protocol at first, it slowly began to get on his nerve. He wanted to do things, not be stuck with empty gestures. And after spending such a long time within the Byzantine Palace with strong scents hanging everywhere, he felt an unknown longing for the fresh and clean mountain air on a cold Winter morning deep within Prussia.

Sighing audibly Siegfried reviews the letter in front of him. He felt like a traitor. The very thing he had been fighting to preserve, was now given on a plate to Emperor Isaac. The whole Diet would cry for his head. King Jan would hate him for this. After all the trouble he has put him through, all the efforts he has made, it looked as though it would lead to nothing.

Looking up he gazes at the starlit sky outside. Had his predecessors ever felt like this. He couldn't help but think of Emperor Heinrich. From all he had read he had been a strong man, who had spent most his life fighting against the Diet. He had gotten his will in the end though. Rome was now the capital of the Reich. All those years ago Heinrich had laid the foundation for Siegfried's work. He knew that this was a once in a lifetime chance to change the future forever.

He could not afford to let it pass. In the long run the investment would pay off tenfold. Wouldn't they celebrate him in the future as the founder of the new Roman Empire, once his son ruled after him. Much like Emperor Heinrich is now respected for his conquest and dominance against the Pope. He had been shunned by his contemporates. Just like Siegfried.

With a final sigh he pushes his signet ring into the hot wax in front of him. The letter was ready to be sent. Now the only thing left to do was to bring Emperor Isaac the good news and then travel back to Rome and face the wrath of the Diet. Had Emperor Heinrich ever felt this fear? It was too late to ask him...

---

Mourning a Priest, the Stettin Way

Fritz had seen enough of the Diet. There was too much at stake, too much to lose, sitting there day after day, haggling over air. Air. That's what he wanted.

With a kick he moved his horse into a gallop. His retinue followed behind, onward to Stettin.

The battle with the Danes had almost been nostalgic. It would be the last in which he would meet the despicable scum of the north for a long while. Péter's attack on Constantinople had left the Franconian eastern front empty for the Poles to march into. And, as always, there were swarms of them.

But today he would not be troubled by war.

They came into sight of the outlying farms in a few minutes, and then the city walls. Fritz dismounted as he came to the gate, where a group of well-dressed figures waited.

"Olbrecht!" Fritz called out. "Good to see you. How is your family?"

"Berchtold, I heard about the shipment. You must invite me to dinner sometime!"

"Trutwin, I've brought something for your daughter's dowry."

And so on. Fritz did not have many soft spots in his heart, but the people of Stettin were one of them. The party was joined by Fritz' retinue, and they all wandered through the gate.

Though he had seen many cities sacked and buildings crumble, the sight which greeted him still was a shock. The church which had stood so proudly at the main gate of Stettin, a centrepiece of the city, still smouldered. Blackened pieces of stone lay on the grass, and half-burned timbers stood at strange angles all around. The walls still held for the most part, but large pieces had fallen from the top.

The group paused in silence. Fritz turned to the man Berchtold, who stood at his side.

"What happened to Regibald?" he asked quietly.

"Regibald." Berchtold winced. "Ah, he tried to stop it, even though we had given him warnings. I'm afraid..." Berchtold's voice fell away as he nodded in the direction of the grave field outside the walls.

Fritz stood still for a moment. "Anyone else?"

"A few cuts and breaks when some boys got too close and were hit by falling mortar. But nothing that won't heal."

Fritz nodded, then cleared his throat and smiled up at the gathered group.

"Regibald was a good priest for us," Fritz said. The group nodded.

"He had many fine qualities that we should all strive to achieve in ourselves," Fritz continued. The group made sad smiles.

Fritz's eyes narrowed to near invisibility. "And he was a papist. Let us not mourn unduly." A man in the back spat in the direction of the grave field.

"So," Fritz said to happy agreement, "let's go eat! I'm starving."

Lex Saxonum

In the quiet of a dark night in Stettin, the fire crackled in Fritz' hearth. A few friends sat closeby, sipping beers and talking quietly. Berchtold, at Fritz's right before the fire, spoke up.

"What is wrong with the Empire, that it cannot stand alone?"

Fritz shook his head and looked into the fire for a moment. He chucked. "Such a small question, Berchtold."

He sighed and his glass dropped to his lap. "The Empire, if it were whole, would be strong enough to stand against any power in the world."

"You know the Saxons, and their laws. Your father ten generations back may have helped uphold them. Probably did, come to think of it. We should be following the same laws."

"Should, there's the rub. Saxon kings existed because they gave something to their followers. Gold, land, slaves, women -- whatever the king could spare without making himself poor. They would break rings in half and cut coins into tiny pieces to make sure each of their subjects had a fair share."

Berchtold broke in. "Yes, and followers gave their sword arms in return, I know this all Fritz."

Fritz laughed. "Just a minute! I'm making a point here." He took a swig of beer and contemplated a moment.

"If a king wished to go to war," Fritz continued, "he would go to the chiefs who owed him allegiance, and they in turn would go to those who were under them, and so on. And so a mighty army could be raised simply because kings gave to dukes, dukes gave to counts, counts gave to landed men under them."

A voice at his left interrupted. "What if an underling was a man of God, and did not wish to fight?"

Fritz turned to see Athelstan. "If he accepted his lord's gifts, he was bound to fight. If he did not, word would get round and that man would be outlawed. No king wished to have a faithless vassal."

"The Reich was founded on these principles. But it has existed for so long, now the Emperor expects abject obedience whilst giving nothing but empty titles to his Dukes. His Dukes, in turn, have little to give to their Counts, and so we Counts have little or no reason to remain loyal. To anyone except our friends." He smiled at Berchtold and Athelstan.

"And so the Holy Roman Empire will disintegrate into nothing," said Berchtold, grimacing.

Fritz returned his gaze to the fire, where the logs were crumbling under the dancing blue flames at its heart.

Matthias Adrift, 1308

Even now, years later, apprehension filled Matthias when he sailed, particularly along the coast of southern Anatolia. In 1258 the fleet bringing him to the Holy Land had been attacked by Saracen ships, and he was forced to land on a remote beach south of Smyrna. It was not so much the battle that had unnerved Matthias, but the lack of control. He was no sailor, and the best he could do was repel a few boarders while the ships swirled about him, titans outside his control that could end his life in an instant. Only by blind luck did he survive that day. Oddly enough it had been that loss, that feeling of helplessness that compelled him, among other reasons, to run for Chancellor. With that position he would be in control, as much as any mortal could be. He would rise and fall by his own hand, not by chance or fate.

Now, sailing those waters again, Matthias felt the same loss of control, of helplessness. Of course there was no physical threat to the ship he was on, no ill wind or pirates, yet he still felt adrift. The seas might be calm, but a storm had taken hold of the Reich, and it threatened to consume his life and all he had built up. Forty years in power, forty years of adversity and triumph, Khans killed, Cathedrals built, Popes elevated, Wars won and Peace gained and it had only taken eight years for it dissipate. Just eight years and he felt as powerless and lost as that whey faced boy puking on the shore of a strange land.

I hate ships, thought Matthias, I'd rather be on solid ground. But the Reich itself was adrift, no one seemed to be at the helm, everyone wanted to sail in a different direction and the Corsairs were closing in.

All that he could do, all that he had left, was to repel boarders.

The Italian nobles had been referring to the Florentine Pleasure Palace as ‘The Cathedral of Sin,’ even before its construction had finished. It was a nickname popular with both critics and patrons, though for different reasons. One thing all men agreed on was that it was a magnificent structure, with four floors above ground, two below, and an eight story tower crowning the edifice. All of it laced with fine woodwork and carved stone moldings. It was no simple drinking house; it was vice made art.

The first thing that struck Lothar Steffen as he entered was the relative lack of noise. There were easily two hundred men drinking and carousing inside its walls on an average day, but none were visible, or even audible, unless they wanted to be. The only sounds that pervaded the entryway were those that came from the large public drinking hall off to the left. Even there, the usual mayhem of an inn or tavern was absent. Only men of wealth and breeding were permitted access to the Cathedral of Sin, and they behaved like saints out of respect, and possibly fear, of its proprietor. Lothar considered it a high compliment. I have achieved greater civility amongst men in a brothel than most priests see in their own Churches.

Katharina, the Palace greeter, approached the Duke of Bavaria. She was charming and intelligent, but her firm and voluptuous figure had been specifically chosen as one of Lothar’s finishing touches to his grand work. “Shall I show you to your private suite, m’Lord?” Lothar nodded to her slightly and proceeded to follow her through the twisting, candlelit hallways.

“What ‘specials’ do we have today, Katharina?”

“There are two new arrivals worthy of your notice, m’Lord. There is a Russian girl of some decent upbringing. Apparently the daughter of a minor noble family that did not fare well during the Teutonic Crusade, and fared even more poorly under the Tsar’s wrath afterwards. She is smart, well-spoken, very beautiful, and has impeccable manners. The second girl is a Moor that was sold to us via a Sicilian merchant. Apparently the girl is mute, but she is highly talented in all areas and quite eager to please. A rumor has been circulating amongst the patrons that she was trained in a Moorish harem. Whether true or not, I have encouraged it. It increases her… allure, and her price.”

Lothar snorted. “I have no wish to taste the spoils of Duke Ansehelm’s campaigns or some Mohammedan castoff. No, send me Engeltrud. I desire a proper Bavarian woman this evening.”

“As you wish, m’Lord.” A minute later, Katharina stopped in front of a dark doorway. “If there is aught else, I will take my leave now, m’Lord. Engeltrud will be along shortly.”

Lothar nodded and stepped into his private chambers. From the outside, the door appeared like any other in the Palace; polished oak planks with pleasing, but simple, carvings and inlay work. On the inside, though, the chambers were unique. A long, narrow hallway opened up into a vast sitting room with an immense fireplace. It was so large it could easily accommodate a man and would not have looked out of place in the banquet hall of the Duke’s own manor. A writing desk, chairs, and a few small bookcases served as furnishings. Thick tapestries depicting Bavarian battle scenes adorned the walls and the floors were covered with lush furs of an immense variety. Off to the left lay a private bedroom and dressing room, outfitted in a manner that would suit nearly any man except the Kaiser himself. It was, in truth, more of a small manor house than a brothel suite.

Lothar walked over to the fireplace and looked up at the tapestry that adorned its face. It was an elaborate piece showing Kaiser Heinrich’s assault on Genoa. Lothar’s own father, Duke Gerhard Steffen, had been present that day. He was displayed prominently on the walls of the city, a sword in hand and Bavarian spearmen all around him. Buildings at the center of the tapestry framed a scene showing Kaiser Heinrich cutting off Pope Gregory’s head. Perhaps historically inaccurate, but inspiring and true in essence, if not it detail. Dark times call for dark measures.

A knock at the door broke Lothar’s reverie. “Enter.”

The diminutive figure of Engeltrud appeared in the doorway. Her head was bowed, but her manner was slight and respectful. She closed and locked the door behind her, then turned and curtsied to the Duke of Bavaria. “I am pleased m’Lord wishes to see me.”

Lothar let his eyes drift over the girl’s body. She was beautiful, to be sure, and attired in a manner befitting the daughter of a wealthy merchant, if not a minor noble. Well-dressed whores were always so much more pleasing, and profitable, than the common street rabble. “I expect I will take quite a while this evening, so you had best save your stamina. You may begin now.”

The girl nodded and shuffled quickly over to the bedroom. When she was out of sight of the Duke, she began to giggle and moan. Lothar waited and listened for a few moments, then turned and walked over the fireplace. He picked up an iron poker and began to shove the burning logs to one side. When they were moved well to the left, he ducked his head slightly and stepped into the right side. He pulled a thick cloth from his pocket, wrapped it around his hand, and grasped a metal bar that protruded from the stone hearth wall. Lothar lifted and pulled; the warmth from the heated iron growing steadily fiercer in his hand. With a shudder, part of the wall split and pushed back, sliding along hinges hidden from view to those on this side of the door. As he passed through the yawning gap into the blackness beyond, he heard Engeltrud gasp and call his name. He knew she would continue in that manner for as long as he was gone. Though eavesdroppers were unlikely, Lothar Steffen never took chances. I hope she saves some of that for later.

The Duke of Bavaria shut the door behind him, then turned and blinked into the darkness. It took a moment for his eyes to adapt to the change from the bright fireplace to the dim staircase beyond. To his left was a hook from which was suspended a long, black robe. Lothar gathered it about him, tied the thick silken cord around his waist, and pulled the hood over his head. He took a moment to adjust his clothing under the garment, and then removed the single lit sconce from the wall to his right. Brandishing it before him like a cross, he moved into the darkness below.

The stairs and hallways twisted and turned for some time, but he never made a sound. The floor was entirely coated with thick bearskins to prevent the echoing of footsteps that would otherwise have made it a noisy passage. Lothar couldn’t help but grin as he walked. The secret passages and chambers pervaded the Pleasure Palace; a design of his own making. Men could move unseen from several of the most private rooms through this network of stone and timber. Outside the Brotherhood, only a few loyal and obedient Bavarian servants even knew they existed. The slaves and prisoners of war who had laid the foundations of the Pleasure Palace had taken its secrets to their untimely graves.

After a few minutes, he turned a corner and a brighter light poured towards him. A large, circular chamber with a low ceiling opened out from the mouth of the hallway. In the middle was a triangular table, surrounded by ebony chairs set with gold leaf. The table itself was inlaid to look like a pyramid with a huge, open eye at the pinnacle. There was no spot in the entire chamber that was out of its line of sight. Lothar sat in the seat closest to the hallway from which he had entered. The other chairs were all full; their corresponding passageways leading back into the inky blackness to the private chambers from which their occupants had arrived, unseen.

The dark figure on the opposite side of the circle spoke first. “Welcome, Voice. You are late.”

Lothar bowed his head. “Apologies, Grand Master. I was meeting with our agent in the Byzantine Court. I wanted to hear the news from him directly; one can never trust second hand information and idle rumors.”

“So, is it true then? Does Siegfried really intend to give all of Outremer to the Byzantine Emperor?”

Lothar paused, feeling the weight of the statement he was about to make. “It is true.”

Shouts and cries came from every figure in the circle. “Outrageous!” “Treason!” “He’s in league with the Devil!” The commotion continued on, breaking down into several small conversations as the Brothers digested the information. A single voice on Lothar’s right finally broke through the commotion. “First Naples and Palermo, then a unification of the Churches, which caused mass rioting across the Reich, and now the loss of all of Outremer. This is an abomination!” A response came from the left. “Even worse, all of this is done without consultation with us and without our permission! Our alliance with the Kaiser was meant to produce the exact opposite result! There is no controlling this man, no reasoning with him.”

“Quiet… quiet… my Brothers,” said the Grand Master. Slowly, orderly silence was restored to the chamber, though several of the black cloaks continued to twitch in obvious irritation. “So what are we to do about this treason?”

“We cannot permit it to pass,” the man to Lothar’s immediate left said.

“But we cannot stop it while Siegfried sits the Imperial Throne,” a figure across the circle responded.

A heavy silence fell over the stone chamber. Eventually, Lothar spoke. “We all know what must be done. We have suspected it would come to this for some time, ever since he gave Palermo and Naples to the Byzantines. I can no longer see any alternative.”

“I agree,” said the man to Lothar’s right.

“And I,” said another. Every voice spoke in turn, giving their consent without disagreement.

“It is unanimous then,” the Grand Master said. He stood and walked a few paces to the head of the pyramid. “I hereby proclaim Kaiser Siegfried to be a traitor to the Reich and an enemy of the Divine Order of the Illuminati. His sentence is death, to be carried out immediately.” He looked back at Lothar. “I trust you will see to this matter, Voice?”

Lothar stood and bowed deeply. “The road from Constantinople to Rome is long and treacherous. Even the Kaiser’s own bodyguards could find themselves overwhelmed by an unexpected foe. It will be easy to find Poles, Hungarians, or even brigands to do the deed, if enough coin is devoted to the matter. In this case, I will spare no expense.”

As one, the remaining Brothers stood and approached the table; forming a pyramid around the pyramid, with the Grand Master as the eye. All voices spoke in unison. “Re acre accipemus, cuncti pro bono terrae, finorumqu'et regni.”

When it was done, Lothar turned and walked back into the darkness from which he came. Eventually, he knew, he would emerge once again into the warmth and light of the world above. Soon, though, Kaiser Siegfried would not.

The King's apartment in Rome: 1308

Jan sat at his desk working on a large piece of paper. He was in town to attend the Diet and retired to his apartment to work on something. A knock came at the door. Jan barked "Enter" and Gunther opened it and called in, "My King, sorry for bothering you, but a man is here to see you."

"Send him in," Jan called out. He pulled a large tarp over his whole desk and turned his chair around. A non-descript man walked in, sat on the couch, and put his feet up. Jan's eyebrow rose at the man's complete lack of tact. "Who are you?"

"My King, I represent the men who you contacted some time ago. The old man of the mountain finally decided to see what your query was about," said the stranger.

Jan was surprised, "Hashashins? What are you doing in Rome?"

The man chuckled, "Why my King, some of our best customers are in Rome! We would be quite remiss if we failed to have a liaison set up here. So, why did you contact us? We were quite surprised when your contacts reached out to us. Your not exactly known for dealing with our kind."

"I want to know if you know of a Dusan Kolar. I believe he works with your group."

The man's face betrayed no emotion, "and what if we did?"

"I want to know what the price would be to have him turned over to me. As you know, I have been re-appointed as King and am in a position to reward your group heavily."

The stranger told the King the Hashashins's price for turning over Dusan. The King reacted with shock. "That is absurd! I should lock you up for even suggesting it!"

The man chuckled, "And how long do you think I would sit in jail my King? No, others run this Reich behind the scenes and it would be good if you figured that out. And I know from your reputation that you won't kill me. And even if you did, your family would suffer. If I don't return from your apartment to check in, your young niece is going to die. It is well known that you don't fear for your own life but I don't think you would be so cavalier with someone else's. So, if we don't have a deal, it is time I bid you farewell." Before the King could reply, the man got up and left.

After the man left, Gunther walked in. "How did that go?" he asked. Jan filled Gunther in on what the man said.

"He was right about one thing. A group of men are trying to run the Reich from behind the scenes. Here, it is time I show you something," the King said as he lifted the tarp off of his desk. Gunther saw a giant poster with elector's names circled. From these circles, lines branched out to connect the names of other electors. On these lines, were descriptions written out of political acts and votes that the electors had in common. Gunther noticed that the elector names spanned across every house and the recorded acts went back at least three Diet sessions.

"My King, this poster is quite something. I even see Dukes on the list. But what does this all mean?"

"Gunther, this last Diet was quite strange in many ways. Some things happened that confirmed suspicions I have held for quite some time. I believe that there is a cabal of men who are attempting to run the Reich behind the scenes. The events during the last Diet were not some spontaneous expression of rage. It was a carefully crafted plot to usurp the Kaiser's prerogative for Chancellor and to take the reins of power for themselves. It almost worked too but a few of us banded together and formed a bloc powerful enough to block CA 13.3. When this cabal saw their CA would fail, many of them jumped ship in order to avoid being in the embarrassing position of voting for a failed piece of legislation that would only anger the Kaiser."

Gunther nodded, "yeah Max and I have been talking about that. Things did seem strange in the last Diet. During the first day, a whole bunch of men immediately acted out in great rage and frustration. The second day, some things quited down, almost as if they were waiting to see what would happen. Then the third day was eerily quiet. Except for Dassel."

The King chuckled at Dassel's name being mentioned, "ah yes, our young rebellious populist. Or at least that's what he wants people to think. I believe he is this group's mouthpiece. He says what others are too afraid to say. I took up a similar role years ago. And I know from experience that he can not get away with what he has without having a patron quietly supporting him. But as to your observations, I think you and Max were spot on. The group in the Diet was quite disciplined with their lack of discipline. I believe the first day was to test the waters and see how far they could push. The second day was to evaluate the situation and count their votes. And on the third day they abandoned their plan and went back underground. Except for those tasked to keep stirring up trouble."

Gunther looked at Jan's poster, "I see every person who was raucous at the Diet is on this list. Looking at these connections, it does look like these men had been working together all along. Some of these relationships go back years. However, there is one name on this list that was not raucous at the Diet. How do you know he was part of it?"

Jan smiled, "Him? Oh I am convinced he is in charge of the whole thing. Yes, that man was uncharacteristically quiet through most of the whole Diet session. Pretty smart if you ask me. He directs an attempt to overthrow the Kaiser's Chancellorship but comes out of this relatively squeaky clean."

"So my King, what are you going to do with this information?"

"Gunther, I have served the Reich loyally my whole life. I refuse to sit by and let some secret cabal take over. When the Kaiser returns to Rome, I plan on giving him a full report. I will let him deal with them."

Gunther nodded, "I expected no less from you my King. As always, it is an honor to serve you. But what do we do now about Dusan?"

Jan shook his head, "I don't know. It looks like we just hit another dead end. But we keep trying. Salier deserves to have his killers brought to justice."

Gunther left the room and Jan returned to working on his report for the Kaiser.

The Road to Magdeburg

Horses galloped onward, their hooded riders flat against the horses' backs and necks. The thunder of hooves startled deer along the forested sides of the road. Voles scattered into the brush.

Fritz was not sure the secrecy was all that important. After all, he was known in Rome, Thorn and perhaps Hamburg, and there was where his reputation stopped.

But Berchtold had insisted they come this way, and so they sprinted on southward. The cloud-covered but bright fall sky peeked through branches overhead in rapid succession. Finally they broke through tree cover into a wide open plain, dotted with well-tilled fields. A tiny peasant village stood some way off, to the east. Ah, just a bit farther.

Suddenly the lead horse reined in. Fritz had to swerve to miss the horse in front of him and they all came to a sudden halt.

"Who goes there?" a voice yelled. A muffled curse sounded from one of the hoods. Fritz was on the back side of a small hill, and could not tell what transpired.

But Athelstan's voice reached Fritz's ears as a hood was pulled back. "Only a few travelers on God's holy errand, friends." As he spoke, he pulled back his hood to reveal the tonsure and, Fritz assumed, the small cross he wore around his neck. Fritz sighed with relief.

Athelstan continued. "I have a meeting with Brother Ulf in Magdeburg this very afternoon."

A pike appeared above the crest of the hill, then the shaft, then a soldier's helm. Nine more followed. The soldier looked over the group of riders, then looked up at Athelstan for a moment. Athelstan stayed still and gazed back directly at the soldier.

"Very well, carry on."

Five minutes later, they reined in their horses again, near the walls of the city. Fritz maneuvered to Athelstan.

"You likely saved my life," said Fritz. "And that sort of debt is not one I will forget."

Athelstan's hands were shaking. "Find me some good ale, and I'll consider it repaid. And this meeting with the magistrates had better not be a waste of time!"

Fritz grinned, fingering a scar at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I'm told they'll be very receptive."

Rome, 1308


Quietly, Elberhard entered the room. His eyes lighted on the striking figure of Theodora, dressed in black. She rose, her face etched with stress and grief.

“They killed him. They murdered my poor Siegfried.”

Elberhard watched stony faced, emotionless.

Tears fell down Theodora’s face and she ran at Elberhard, then began beating on his chest.

“Why did you let them? Why didn’t you protect him? He was your King! You should have protected him!”

Elberhard stood motionless as the blows continued to rain down upon him. He could give no answer.

Theodora crumpled and fell to the floor. Elberhard caught her and gently seated her on a chair.

“You must find them - find the men who did this! And kill them all!”

Elberhard sat down opposite Theodora and looked at her calmly.

“Who did it?” said Elberhard, softly. “Someone who wanted to frustrate unification or the gifting of Outremer. Thanks to Matthias Steffen’s vote of no-confidence, we have a clear list of suspects.”

Theodora’s eyes lit up but then she despaired as Elberhard brutally crushed her hopes:

“But you must know, my lady, that list is virtually the entire Diet.”

Elberhard kept quiet about the note he had received in the last Diet - the one from “the Order”, advising him on its preferred choices for King of Outremer and Duke of Swabia. Since Siegfried’s death the thought of that polite, anonymous note had weighed increasingly on Elberhard’s mind, becoming more and more sinister.

Still thinking of the note, Elberhard continued: “There are two men I trust, my brother and King Jan. We will do our best to root out the assassins, but quite frankly, I do not envisage much success.”

“Then the assassins will have won.” said Theodora flatly.

“No.” said Elberhard, stubbornly. “I have failed Siegfried and I have failed you, but he will not have died in vain. We will continue on, as before. His death changes nothing.”

Theodora looked puzzled at Elberhard.

“We will continue to rule together, as we did when Siegfried was in Constantinople. That way Emperor Isaac will know that nothing has changed. We will oversee the gift of Outremer as Siegfried promised. At the end of this Chancellorship, we will present the issue of unification to the Diet.”

Theodora smiled irresistibly and kissed Elberhard lightly on the cheek.

Elberhard took his leave. Almost as soon as he closed the door, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. @#$%^&!!! it, thought Elberhard, I wish I had not said that.

Somewhere between Ragusa and Zagreb, 1308 AD

"Hold position here and await orders. Ehrhart, you take your footknight regiments to secure the perimeter and make sure we are not being watched. Rudolf, you stand ready to sound the alarm if you notice anything suspicious. Peter, you take over if Rudolf is unable. To your posts men, we have much to do this day!"

Hans walked over to the scene of battle.
The attackers, whoever they were, did not bother cleaning up the mess they left behind, leaving men and horse alike rotting on the ground. Walking to each corpse, and there were few besides Siegfried's retinue, Hans half-heartedly checked for signs of life, as he was not expecting any after several days of travel to this site.

"How many men were with Siegfried when he left Constantinople, Adalberth?"
"I am not sure lord, but reports indicate around fifty cavalry."
"I wish that would do, but I need the exact count to ascertain none ran from battle or was escaped."
Adalberth shrugged and Hans returned to investigate the scene, with his retinue close-by

Of the few dead attackers, most wore no special livery that would have given hints of their origins and of those that did, they wore stitched rags of counties that had long changed hands and thus their coat of arms.

"Mercenaries"
"Mercenaries?"
"Yes m'lord, their attire suggests they came from all around the empire and were hired to attack Siegfried." spoke Ulrich, Hans' recent addition to his retinue as infantry commander.
"What makes you think that they are not mere assassins?" questioned Hans
"Assassins tend to be professionals. They do not wear random pieces of clothing, especially not a whole group of them, and they would have cleaned up the scene of battle eventually, even if chased."
"You have a point. But what about brigands?" asked Adalberth, who became interested in the discussion
"Possible, but what is the likelihood of sufficient well armed brigands Ulrich pointed at the masterwork swords and spears scattered around the field that knew the road the emperor was travelling on and had the skill to overcome fifty elite horsemen?"
"Quite low. Brigands usually cannot afford such weapons and armor and there have not been reports of convoys being waylaid recently" replied Hans

"Still, it would be difficult to track them down, although judging from the Danish incident, we might just find them at a nearby tavern, bragging about their feat" Hans continued and chuckled. It had been a while since he led that investigation and the one into Siegfried's ascension, but either had been successful eventually, yet the results not quite accepted, he added grimly to his thoughts
"To the taverns around this place then? I could use a drink." exclaimed Dirk
"Not yet. Let us wait for the patrols to return. For the moment, set up camp over there and keep guards posted in the bushes. Maybe someone witnessed the events and would speak to us if we made ourselves noticed."

Before the camp was even properly set up, two of the perimeter guards returned to the camp, prisoner in tow.
"My Duke, we found this man hiding in the bushes to the west of here. Sir Ruppel sends his regards." the soldier saluted.
"Very well. Release him from his shackles and bring him to the fire."
As the guards took the man away, Hans studied his features and attire closely. He wore the outfit of a hunter and the rags suggested that he unlikely was one of the attackers, yet Hans could not be sure. "Regardless however, this man saw something, and he will tell us what he knows." Hans added in his thoughts.

Hours passed interrogating the man, with Hans and his retinue asking poignant questions, questioning his intentions and answers, and turning words against him in an attempt to confuse him if he were lying. After they had the information they wanted, Hans threw the man a pouch of florins and offered him some of the rations from the supply train. Then he wrote a quick note of passage, sealed it, and handed it to the man, instructing him to meet him in Rome by the winter.
As the man left the camp, Hans took a regiment of footknights under Ehrhart and his retinue north. Either him or the attackers would not see the dawn.

*****

The road-side tavern was run down and its name was no more inviting either, being called "Zum trüben Ritter". It would be suitable however once the attackers inside were slain, if they still resided here of course.
Hans had Ehrhart surround the location with the footknight regiment, all bearing make-shift torches and in the sparse moonlit night, it almost seemed as if the knights were an angry mob being led by the Duke of Swabia in a revolt. The scene of course was far from the truth, although talks of Hans' attempt to force Siegfried's abdication still made the round in taverns around the empire, with riots taking place in many of its major cities.
Hans himself however, did not stand behind the circle of knights to command them, but rather was the lone man who moved towards the entrance of the establishment. Those men of the Imperial army who had not served long under him were surprised at his valor or foolishness, yet those in his retinue knew that Hans was certain of his actions and that he was always found at the frontline of battle.
When Hans pushed open the creaking door, he had his sword sheathed to not draw too much unwanted attention and surveyed the attendees. The barroom was crowded as the man had foretold and the rugged and ragged men were dressed not unsimilar to those dead that he had found earlier in the day, and their weapons were no worse than the ones his own retinue carried. It seemed he was in luck.

Hans stomped his boot on the floor to announce himself. Immediately, the entire room stared at him, some warily, some almost to invite him to the round. Very few others yet drew steel and rose. Calmly, Hans raised his arm and through his sheer authority, all fell quiet and those armed lowered their weapons.

"Hail, warriors. It seems you are having a grand celebration in here. Care if I join you and learn what it is that deserves raising a cup to the Lord?" Hans spoke loudly and clearly, with a taunting undertone.

Some of the gathered started to whisper to each other, while others became even warier of his presence. One of the men, quite red-faced and clearly drunk, rose.
"We've killed tha' scum o' Siegfridd tha'as b'en a turncoat t' the B'zzant'ns. Ischn't tha' righ' m' fellows? Eh? Give me mo' ale ey!"
"Jonas you idiot, do you have to tell that to everyone?" shouted another immediately after the drunkard had finished. "Now we have to kill him to make sure he won't tell argh!"

Several more of the men drew steel and walked closer to Hans, who still stoof with his arm raised, calmly observing the mercenaries. Hans suddenly felt a presence behind him, but it was only Ehrhart.

"Drop your weapons! Before you stands Duke Hans the Mighty of Swabia, Grand Marshall of the Imperial armies and Chief-Investigator in service of Emperor Elberhard the Champion. You are all under arrest!" were the words that came from behind him and Hans immediately cursed under his breath. Did this upstart really have to ruin his plan to peacefully subdue the mercenaries? Now there surely would be bloodshed.

"We are so dead, what should we do?"
"Damn it, they got us, they are at the windows!"
"I surrender!"
Yet most loudly to Hans' despair "Attack! They will not get us alive!"

Ehrhart ran out to rally the men as the tavern rose as one armed man and started erecting barricades inside. Hans still stood in his place, in anger at both Ehrhart and the mercenaries who dared raise their weapons against him. Hans drew his sword and backed slowly from the tavern door, while taunting the mercenaries to come out to attack him with his other hand.
As he stood outside the door, Hans bellowed orders to lay fire to the tavern to smoke out the mercenaries.

After a short while, that seemed as if an eternity, men started running out of the tavern or jumping through the windows even from the upper floor, coughing and holding rags over their faces to cover themselves. Few were able to raise their weapons in their condition and all were subdued with exception of eight who had to be struck down.

"Chain them and assign guards. We return to camp men. Good work."
A cheer rung through the night as the victorious knights bounds their prisoners and celebrated not losing a single man. As they walked back to camp, Hans had a word with Ehrhart who eventually agreed that he should have been more considerate rather than exposing their agenda.

*****

Very late that night, Hans sat by a make-shift desk in his tent, scribbling words to his brother, who was now emperor. Some men in the diet would not like this turn of events, but justice had to be done. Besides, his agents had brought quite intriguing intelligence on Dassel's intentions at Ragusa that needed to be taken care of.

The Prison of Rome, 1310

Peter receives the grave news.

"That isn't what I wanted..."

He weeps quietly.

North of Adana, 1310

Matthias had returned to Adana. The news of the planned handover of Outremer to the Greeks had galvanized him and he had taken the first ship back to the Levant. The Diet was in chaos, half of them seemed mired in rebellion, the other half, denial. There seemed little point arguing there anymore, but here in Outremer he could hold onto something tangible. Make sure the Byzantines never laid their hands on Adana, the site of the First Crusade's greatest triumphs and the first settlement of Outremer. If the Greeks couldn't take the Citadel, they would have a hell of a time occupying the rest of Outremer, unless they felt like going through Turk territory.

The death of the Kaiser changed nothing, Matthias hadn't returned for the funeral or the coronation of the new Kaiser. He didn't feel it was safe to leave Adana. His suspicions were confirmed when Elberhard had foolishly sought to continue with Siegfried's plan. This very year Adana was supposed to be handed over to the Greeks. That wasn't going to happen, not if he could help it.

"My Lord, Kurt thinks he has found their camp, what should we do?"

A question from one of his men brought Matthias back to the present. He and his escort were in the mountains north of Adana trying to track down a band of Turkish bandits. Pleas for assistance had been pouring into Adana from the local villages, and Matthias, pleased to have something to do, had personally seen to it. Best to see to the concerns of the small folk lest they revolt as they had in other parts of the Reich.

Matthias peered through the moonlit darkness, as if trying to spy the camp himself.

"He's sure, Jurgen? The bandits are there?"

"Aye Lord, the sentries didn't see him, the rest are abed and they match the description given to us."

Matthias thought a moment, twirling the Seal of Solomon on his ring finger, and then made up his mind. Placing his gauntlets on, he spoke.

"We'll ride in, kill the sentries and the rest when they wake. I don't feel like being subtle tonight."

Matthias's retinue charged into the small mountain glade that contained the bandit's hideout. The sentries died first, followed by half-dressed bandits roused from their tents. They were slaughtered by the light of a rather large camp fire, a mistake Matthias wouldn't have made.

Soon enough, the Imperial Horsemen were milling about the camp looking for survivors. It had been easy, Matthias thought, the glade provided some cover but it was in a depression of the forest. It was too easy to be caught in it, ringed by trees and high ground. Despite their nasty reputation, the Turks had chosen a poor site.

It was then that Matthias saw Kurt, his scout, galloping out of the camp. Terror and guilt were splashed across his features as he looked back. A feeling of dread suddenly rose in the Count.

"Scheisse! It's an ambush! Get out!"

As soon as the words we spoken, bowstrings sung and arrows flew out of the darkness. Half his escort were down in an instant. An arrow glanced off his armor, while three took his Charger in the flank and neck. The animal screamed in pain, bucked, reared and collapsed. Matthias tired to leap free, but the dead animal crashed to the ground, crushing and pinning his left leg. Matthias cried out as the world turned white and then seemed to recede. Around him he could hear the screams of his men and the sound of battle.

Trapped, Matthias could only watch half conscious as shadows came forth from the darkness clutching spears and axes as arrows continued to fly. Now his men were slaughtered. Jurgen managed to gallop out of the clearing, two arrows in him, but horsemen, with bows aloft, emerged from the trees and rode after him. Soon after, a single scream echoed through the the night as the camp itself became hushed, except for the moans of wounded men.

The shadows became Turks, moving in among the wounded, ending their cries. A few circled Matthias, laughing, one roughly removed his helm. His vision began to swim, but Matthias could hear them talking in their foul language, all he could make out was his own name.

A man strode towards Matthias through the Turks, who were now busy looting the dead. He, oddly enough, appeared to be a Greek, a military man by his bearing and dress. Standing over him, the eyes of the Greek danced with fire light. A small cold smile broke his features as he looked down on his prey.

Matthias struggled to speak.

"Why?"

The Greek's boot lashed out, catching him in the temple. The world went black.


Later

Water splashed into Matthias's face, bringing him back to consciousness. A fire burned in his left leg.

"Welcome to Caesarea, Matthias. I'm glad you could finally join us in the Citadel you claimed to help liberate."

Sputtering, Matthias groggily looked up. He was in a dank room, most likely in the dungeon of Caesarea, if that was to be believed. The Greek stood before him holding a bucket. Looking down, his left leg was splinted, blood seeping through the bandages that covered it. He was bound to a chair. Torches on the walls cast a flickering red light across the cell.

The light cast shadows along the Greek's face. Matthias could see scars and the grim set to his features.

"Alvanites told me of the assistance you provided, but also the arrogant manner in which you conveyed yourself. Still, the damned fool allow himself to be used. Now that I am in command, such inequities will not occur. A new day is coming in the relationship between the Empire and you Germans. The Wheel turns."

Matthias looked up at the Greek.

"Have we met? I would like to know the name of my captor, the man who betrays an alliance."

Swearing in Greek, the Greek viciously swung the bucket down onto his wounded leg. Matthias, despite his best efforts, howled in agony.

"You are a piece of offal. My name is Strategos Nikeforos Argyrus, some call me 'the Mean'. And what exactly were you doing in Adana, dear ally? Preparing for the handover? Your sedition in the Diet is well known, as is your hatred of our Empire. No doubt you cheered when your Kaiser perished. Our intelligence also suggests you are one of those Lutherites, who opposes the true Orthodox Church. Do not speak to me of our alliance."

Despite himself Matthias could not help but laugh, a manic gasp tinged with pain. "I do not follow Luther. I don't hate your Empire, I only wanted the Kaiser to give up this mad idea of Unification. Keep everything the way it was, that's all I wanted."

Dropping the broken bucket, Nikeforos casually backhanded Matthias. His head snapped back.

"It does not matter, you German pig, you are here for other reasons. Tell me, how many men garrison Adana?"

Matthias looked up sharply, blood seeping from his mouth, "What!?"

A blow to the stomach, "How many men?"

It got worse from there. Questions about Adana, the defenses, the walls and passwords. Questions about the Prinz and King. Questions about the Armies of Outremer. And Pain, pain with the questions, pain by fist, pain by fire, pain by blade, over and over in a red haze until Matthias wasn't sure what he was saying or even if it was him screaming.

At the end he fell into a merciful oblivion.

Nikeforos looked down coldly at his victim, holding a red blade glowing in the torch light. Who knew if the information was reliable, but it did not matter too much. The garrison of Adana would be in a panic, looking for their commander. They would be disheartened when they found his bodyguard killed, the victim of a Turk ambush, and their Count gone, most likely dead. It was good sometimes that the Empire employed mercenaries, even those of the old enemy.

Adana would be leaderless. The foolish German Kaiser and King of Outremer had ordered its transfer to the true Roman Empire. With Count Matthias out of the way, the crusaders would have to march out of Adana without a fight, and Nikeforos could march in unopposed. The Wheel would turn.

Southwest of Bucharest, 1310

Mine Kaiser,

The situation is grim. If I were just taking the city, holding it against the Huns, or doing both with a few years in between it would not be a problem. But I cannot take the city without tearing down those walls, I cannot repair those walls before the Hungarians attack, and I cannot hold out against the Hungarians without the walls intact. It is my suggestion as acting commander of the 2nd AHA that the army be withdrawn south, so that Karl Zirn may take control. By the time he is able to march back to Bucharest the city should be held by a weakened Hungarian host and more soldiers can be trained in Bran. If we have to wait for the Papal Bull calling for peace to expire, than that also favors us. The Hungarians seem to prefer keeping their armies in the field rather than defending their settlements.
Regards,
Edmund Becker

Edmund sighed as he finished writing the letter before continuing on his own personal copy.

“If I had known that it would take so much work and war just to be left alone to govern my county in peace I would have though long and hard about marrying into this family.”

“Woe is you,” replied Karl, never one to recognize when someone was speaking rhetorically.

“Yes, I was being overly dramatic.” Edmund continued bitterly. “At least my family life has been rewarding. When I have time for it.” He sighed once more, but this time it seemed to improve his spirits considerably.

“But soon, all that will be over. I’ve redeemed myself as a General and my capture of Peter has given me an ample time to resign. Soon I will be in Prague, where I can live in peace and enjoy myself for the rest of my days.”

“Look at you.” stated Karl. “Here you are with a nice, big army at your command and you’re working hard to just give it away. What is it with you and governing anyway?”

By now Becker had finished copying his letter, and turned to Karl.

“I know it’s not your way to stay in one place for too long, but listen to me. Too many of the electors see counties as stepping stones for greater things. To them, a county is just a sign of adulthood and their Duke’s trust. They don’t spend any time with their people and when they do it’s just so they can get them to serve in Imperial armies, this despite the fact that Counts wield extraordinary power in their own right. That is why I want to live with and rule the people of my county, so I can give them the attention they deserve. No one has more authority over Bohemia than I. I set the build queues, I set the tax levels. And just as I am Duke Arnold’s men before I am Emperor Elberhard’s, so are the soldiers of Bohemia my men before they are Duke Arnold’s. It’s time I start taking this authority seriously.”

“So you get to Prague. Then what? You spend the rest of your life in one place?”

“Ideally. There is much to be down to further Bohemia’s greatness. Although it was the first province taken during the Reich’s resurgence, it is now a rather unimportant place compared to the other territories under our control. I will change that and make Prague one of the most important cities in the Empire. It will be a constant struggle, one that will probably outlive me, but I need to see it through and I need to put my plan into action from within Prague’s walls. That is the best way to govern Prague and the only way to secure my legacy.” Becker paused, collecting his thoughts.

“And the only way I can do Sigismund justice is by building up his homeland into something happy and prosperous.”

Karl sat forward. “You were a newlywed when Sigismund died. You never even met him. Why do you care what he’d think of you?”

“You don’t have to pretend with me Karl. I heard what they said about Sigismund when he heard Contzel was to marry me.”

https://img186.imageshack.us/img186/...tojudgetj2.png

“…Let’s just say I have something to prove.”

Ragusa, 1312

"You summoned me, von Dassel?"

"Yes I did, Luther." Dietrich von Dassel sat behind a desk in his study, barely visible over a mountain of papers, looking grim. Alexander Luther had no idea how much pressure the man was under, how much he had gone through to keep him safe. "Duke Hans is closing in. I cannot protect you forever. A move will have to be made."

"Closing in? Please explain."

Dietrich sighed. "While you have been out preaching that the Byzantines and the Pope are evil, I have been facing political pressure. The army I recruited to keep this Citadel - and you - safe has been discovered. I have come under suspicion. I have been called a traitor and a rogue. I have been forced to temporarily renounce my loyalties to Swabia in protest. Duke Hans and his army are coming to kill you and arrest me."

"I see," Luther said with far too much calm. "What are our options?"

"Option A is to give in and let Hans pass. I cannot let that happen. I have not fought against re-unification and tarnished my reputation for this long to give up and turn you in."

"And I thank you many times over for that," said Luther.

"Spare me," said Dietrich with a wave of his hand. "I have little time. The second option is to hunker down, quarantine the city, and refuse to let Hans in. It will be his move, but I believe that he will besiege us and start a full-blown civil war. I am confident that I can defeat him but I would rather not escalate that conflict to that level.

"Another option is to let you escape," Dietrich continued. "I do not believe this would be prudent. You are as safe as you can possibly be with me. Any journey to another Elector's protection - Fritz von Kastilien comes to mind - would be filled with danger and peril. I do not believe that you would get to sanctuary elsewhere, and even if you did you wouldn't be safe for long."

"So what is left?" asked Luther, this time with a tone of exasperation.

"March out with the army. Other Electors have been mentioning it for so long, so I might as well do it. You will come with me, we will take Durazzo, and replace Pope Abbate with a Pope who is not so pro-reunification."

Luther's eyes glowed. "Open war with the Papacy?"

"Yes. Times have changed since the Second Investiture Controversy. The College of Cardinals is under our control. The Pope has lost much influence. Excommunication does not mean as much, and it will be shorter-lived. And, as much as I hate the Byzantines, I do not want to fight a war with them. They are too powerful (thanks to Siegfried and Elberhard, damn them) and we are not as strong as we used to be. Deposing Abbate will accomplish our goals while still keeping the Reich intact."

"So," said Luther, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "When do we leave?"

"Immediately. It is time to take matters into our own hands."

Flanders, 1312

"I have had enough! No longer will I be a lowly Swabian, under the thumb of the Kaiser's brother.

I served him well, I supported him when he made his bid to become Kaiser, I bore disgrace for him, and how does he repay me? He sends me off to assault a city smitten with the plague! Surely he must have desired mein end and no less!"

After venting out his feelings, Wolfgang buckled on his sword.

"Assemble the men, Conrad!" he barked to his captain, "We are marching to Staufen!"

*************************************************************

Paris, 1312

A large throng of townsmen were busy in the centre square, reading the message that had been nailed to the Cathedral's doors.

"Swabians, how long do you languish under the thumb of one who seeks to flatter a Roman puppet? He has put the interests of the Kaiser and the Pope above that of Swabia. He is the son of Henry, once Kaiser of the Reich. He has shamed the memory of his father with his Papal inclinations.

Why is our Reich in turmoil? Is not his brother Kaiser? Why is he in Austria at such a time like this when he should be in Swabia maintaining order?

We have no future in the Reich of Elberhard, but we do in the Principality of Swabia, which bows to no one save Gott!

I do declare myself Prinz of Swabia, and renounce Kaiser Elberhard, Duke Hans, and their Greek and Papal conspirators altogether! Let us fight for Swabia!

Wolfgang Hummel, Prinz of Swabia."

Outside of Thessalonica.

The City is under siege, and has been for the past two years. The Venetian town is attacked by the Bavarian Household Army Otto, led by Count Friedrich Karolinger.

The Count has received word that von Dassel was to attack the Pope. He has also received a copy of the Chancellor's report, which detailed the chaos in which the Reich is. And finally, Duke Steffen's missive [OOC:See TC's post in the Bavarian thread for more info] rests in Friedrich's hands. His aide, Jonas, stands by the Count's side in the Command Tent while he reads the letters. After, Friedrich speaks.

"Have you read this?" he asks, sighing.

"No, my Lord. But may I suppose that it is not good news?"

"This says that there is a traitor in the Reich" he explains, pointing to the first message. "That letter says that Hell has come for the Reich", pointing to the appropriate missive. "And that one instructs me to return to Bavaria as soon as possible", after showing his Duke's letter. "Dark days have come for us."

"Is there anything for us to do, my Lord?, Jonas asks. "Do you have a plan?"

"A plan? Oh yes, I do. The first step is easy: take Thessalonica. We will sack that town, bringing some apparently much-needed Florins in the Reich's coffers. Although I'm sure the fools in the Administration who managed to empty the Reich's coffers in the first place will only squander the money we bring back. Is nothing ever simple in life?"

"And then, if I may?"

"Then, we'll follow the Duke's orders, of course. After all, we are loyal soldiers of the Reich. But maybe..." Friedrich trails off, and then shakes his head, laughing.

"What is the matter?" says Jonas, ever the worrier for his Liege.

"I've got a new ending for my plan. But just wait and see, friend. Just wait and see."

"Very well, my Lord."

Night had closed in around the camp. Fritz sat alone in his tent, occasionally sipping froth off a stein. He gazed down at the parchment sheet in his hand.

Belger butchery - partially destroyed, 30% equipment lost
Kierkeg weaving house - completely destroyed, all equipment lost
Town hall - light smoke damage
Volger tannery - no structural damage, product loss

The list went on down the page. Fritz sighed. All that work for nothing. All those magistrates bought off or coddled into complaisance. The Saxon Army was not meant to be a peace-keeping force!

Fritz threw the list on the ground, sat back in his chair, and glared at the spectre of Stettin's gates closed against him.

Ansehelm looked out of the window of Thorn Castle, he heard that everywhere in the Reich people were revolting, but would you walk through Thorn you would not believe that to be true.
Thorn was living, blooming. Merchants were coming into the city selling their goods, citizens were happy and even tournaments between local hero's were held as if nothing was happening.
In other cities churches had been burned, or people had simply spoken against the church, but in Thorn this wasn't even seen, people went to the little chapel with smiles on their faces.

Yes Thorn really seemed like the only city where people were still able to think clearly.

But deep inside himself Ansehelm knew better, yes Thorn was a happy place, and yes little was happening here, but in the last 2 years many men resigned from the armies, as they would rather tend to their families. While Ansehelm allowed this, this did mean that he now had far less troops, and there were still two large Polish armies near, he would have to split them and fight them in turns.

Next to that Thorn might be happy, but all other parts of Franconia aren't, and Ansehelm was in no position to travel to those cities, as he had no-one to take over command of the Teutonic Army.

Best thing to do might simply be stay in Thorn and defend that to the last men, leaving to fight some foolish Civil War might mean loyalty to the Reich, but loyalty to Thorn is more important than that. Thorn had already once fallen into the hands of the enemy, and since it was Ansehelms city he had no intention having to desert the people again.

Atleast the Teutonic Knights were still with him, mostlikely because Thorn meant much to them, it was the start of the crusade on Moscow.

Hans surveyed the men at the camp.
All of them Imperial troops levied from all across the Empire to defend the emperor and his interests he thought to himself Loyal men who would give their lives to defend the empire against rebellious knaves and heretical villains, even if they were German

The times were grim. Dassel departed Ragusa before he could stop him, Luther in tow. Bavarians and Franconians opposing his suggestion to stop him by helping the Pope defend Durazzo that they had been holding ever since his own chancellorship, which prevented the godfearing Venetians from attacking Austria.

And now this idiot Hümmel is turning against me too
Hans had heard the news from a merchant friend passing through Paris that Hümmel had attached messages calling for rebellion. No doubt his target would be Staufen to control the Ducal seat and the most advanced citadel of Swabia.
Why must all horrors occur at the same time and when I am growing old, too old to defend the empire at all fronts at the same time

Still standing atop a small hill and surveying his men, Hans knew that he would have to return to Swabia and face the rebellion himself, lest he wished to return to a hostile place, seceded from the empire and a lunatic ruling over what Henry, his father, had made prosper.
It was once again time to write letters appealing to the populace' loyalty and hearts and to unsheath the sword.

"Men, it is time we march. These are dark times and the traitor Hümmel is attempting not only to declare himself Duke but also secede Swabia from the Empire. We cannot allow this to happen. For Swabia, for the Emperor, for the Holy Roman Empire!"

On the Adana/Aleppo border: 1312

King Jan sat in his command tent. He had moved his army north from Aleppo and his men needed to rest. While the men sat and slept, the King read through reports. Things did not look good. Dassel was moving an army towards the Holy Father. Constantinople was sacked. The Byzantines and the Reich were on the brink of war. Unrest ran rampant throughout the Holy Roman Empire. Desertion was prevalent even in the King's own army.

And through it all, the King led an army behind what was now hostile lines, on what seemed an impossible mission. Count Matthias had gone missing. While there was little friendship left between the two men, Matthias was one of Jan's Crusaders and a comrade in arms. Jan was the closest to the area so he volunteered to go look for the wayward Count. A letter had just arrived from an old friend with some very important information. If Jan could confirm the facts in that letter with his own investigation, things did not look good for those still left in Outremer.

Gunther came into the tent, "My King, the men are ready to move again. What are you orders?"

Jan sat back and thought for a moment, "We're going to enter Adana. Tell the men to be ready for anything."

Gunther had a look of worry creasing his face, "Sir, there are reports that we are on the verge of open war with the Eastern Roman Empire. Do you think we should go deeper into their territory?"

Jan stood up and started packing away his things in order to get ready to travel. "I have reason to believe Count Matthias needs our help. I might not be able to save the Reich from imploding, but I do have an army command and I am going to put it to good use. We are going to march into Adana whether the Byzantines like it or not. And if we find information that confirms what is in this letter, we will march to Caeserea. Any Byzantine army that gets in our way is to be considered hostile and treated accordingly."

Gunther only nodded and left the tent to carry out the King's orders. The King stood there in thought. Everything we have all fought for is collapsing. Everything is falling apart. All we have left is death and honor. If I must face the former, it will be in service of the latter.

Jan's thoughts traveled to the captive Count and what the young man had to be going through. As he continued to pack, the King said to himself, "Hold on a little while longer Matthias. We're coming for you."

The King said a prayer for Matthias and left the tent as workers came in to collapse it for transport.

Roman Prison, 1312:

Péter von Kastilien receives the news of the fall of Constantinople:

"Aha! Exactly as planned. Tancred shall be rewarded for his loyalty. Those fools - thinking I was giving up and leaving - forgot about Tancred."

He then sees von Dassel is moving to Durazzo.

"Take the city back, for Ehrhart," he says morosely.

Under the Walls of Budapest 1312:

The 2nd Austrian House Army was arrayed before him.

To his right stood the imposing figure of Lorenz Zirn his second in command. To his left stood the Dread Knight Bane, in a semi circle behind him stood Grom, his Priest, Military Engineer and Szcepanski his Sword Bearer.

"I'm a reasonable man..."


The Duke voice carried across the vast field easily. His ability to speak in a normal tone of voice but have it reach hundreds of ranks deep was an art in itself.

"...some of you might scoff at that suggestion but I like to think I am."


The Duke began walking towards the front ranks, unsheathing his fathers sword as he approached. Some of the soldiers flinched at the move, others began sweating in the cool fading light.

"I'm sure you've heard rumors, gossip, reports from friends and family from across the Duchy, so I'm going to set these straight right here and now.."

*Swoosh* In a slow lazy arc the Duke swings his sword in front of himself.

"The Reich is going to shiet in record time. Lord Tancred has attacked Constantinople."

A murmur rang through the ranks at this statement.

"Lord Dietrich is marching on the Pope in Daruzzo."

A louder murmur ran through the ranks at this. Immediately Bane steps forward in an intimidating move, his voice booms across the plain.

"SssILENCE!!!!"

Waiting a moment the Duke continues.

"That means two things men...firstly you can expect a whole horde of pissed off pansies in Purple Trousers coming our way to exact revenge.

Secondly that means we will be excommunicated in a very short period of time."

At this there is a louder murmur from the ranks and some shouts of agreement.

Suddenly Lorenz Zirn surges forward, steps up to a huge Two Handed soldier and screams into his face.

"SILENCE!!!"

The Duke pauses for a moment and in a quiet tone continues.

"Thank you Lorenz

I see there is some agreement on that topic...interesting.

Prague is revolting, Karl Zirn is alone, Lord Becker is in Bucharest and we have large desertion rates in the militia units across the whole Duchy.

Plus, there are riots and religious unrest everywhere.

Essentially men, we are in serious shiet and there seems to be no end in site!!!

Personally I can forgive the clergy, they think a lot and are delicate men to say the least, the citizens of Austria I can also forgive to a certain extent. We as nobles are not providing them with what they should expect of us..."

The Duke is now striding between and through the ranks...every mans head is dead straight, however the eyes of every soldier strain to keep an eye on the Dread Duke as he moves amongst them

"BUT!!!"

Within ten feet every soldier flinches as the Dukes his voice cracks across them like a physical force.

"What I can't stand men, is desertion in Austria's professional soldiers!!!

That pains me, much like my lack of a wife, which also pains me...

Much like the Elephant Balls I receive from the Kaiser sometime ago...

it's like a festering wound that can't heal...

and I don't want to feel this pain..."

There is long silence as Arnold continues to stride through the assembled army.

"Now...

even though I'm in pain and the Reich is crumbling around us there is one thing I can tell you.

I will ensure this Duchy and the people in it survive, I promise you that, but what I need in return is loyalty, I need you to stay loyal to me, so I can stay loyal to your families and the Kaiser. If you do this I promise you we will make it out of this mess alive...well at least some of you.

BUT!!!"

Again the men around the Duke flinch as his voice thunders over them.

"I TELL YOU THIS FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY BLACK HEART...

IF YOU DESERT ME I WILL END YOUR EXISTENCE ON THIS WORLD!!!!"

There is a pause and dead silence.

"For every man that is not present here and every morning from now on, another man will hang for his desertion!!!

AM I CLEAR!!??"

The Duke heared a few words in response.

"AM I CLEAR!!??"

A few more voices are raised but nothing signification.

"Is this a £$%£$ing morgue? Am I surrounded by thousands of the best fighting men in this Empire?

AM....I...CLEAR!!??"

"YES SIR!!!" The thunder of voices in response startles birds and the city watch some half a kilometer distance.

"Right then...I think you've given me a Hard ON...excellent!!!

...Lorenz, dismiss the army."

1312, Day 751

Another day, another "interview".

"So you had nothing to do with the attack on Constantinople?"

A blow to the face, Matthias couldn't see out of his right eye anymore. Of course it wasn't like the view had changed much.

"I find that hard to believe," Nikeforos continued.

Matthias let his head hang. Talking usually only brought more pain.

A backhand to the cheek, close to that eye. Sometimes not talking brought just as much.

Matthias looked up, vision swimming, the shadow of the Strategos over him.

"I been here two years, why would I know about Tancred's assault on your capital?"

Nikeforos grunted, "You were Domestikos for two terms. You ran the Reich while that dreamer Siegfried enjoyed the pleasures of Constantinople. You inserted yourself into every aspect of your Kingdom for that long and you're telling me you had nothing to do with his death, the Lutheran rebellion or the sacking? Next you'll say that you had no plans to hold Adana against us."

Matthias spat some blood.

"Oh I was going to hold Adana. I never denied that. I would have made it a killing ground for anyone who tried to take it from me. But the rest. . .no. No."

Nikeforos kicked over his chair, sending Matthias sprawling to the floor. Two kicks into the ribs. Matthias thought he could hear a snap as he screamed. Wheezing, he began to laugh.

"What's so funny you German pig? You did all that didn't you?"

Matthias's laughter became higher pitched and he began hyperventilating. Finally he calmed down enough to speak.

"No, don't you see, it's too sloppy. If I was going to launch a vast conspiracy against your Empire, I wouldn't have given you southern Italy and Outremer before I stabbed you in the back. I certainly wouldn't have used religious extremists, their faith gives them strength, but they can't be controlled. As for the sacking of Constantinople, if I was going to break the alliance, I would have set it up to make it seem that you betrayed us. That way, the world would see the Reich as the aggrieved party. Oh no, I. . .I would have done it much better."

Nikeforos seethed.

"You arrogant bastard!"

Another kick, it caught him in that eye. Pain again, worse. Blackness.

Nikeforos turned from Matthias. He wished he could just kill him. But some in the Court still hoped for reconciliation, if word got out that he had a prisoner, one who then died in his custody, it would be bad for him. They were fools, but they outranked him. The latest German atrocities would turn that tide, and when Imperial opinion switched, Matthias Steffen would die.

Roman Prison, 1313:

Peter bursts out laughing, hearing of Wolfgang's rebellion against Hans and Elberhard. He hears that Matthias has gone missing, and begins to taunt the prison guard.

"You fools! You can't leave me in this prison forever! Do you know why?"

"Because you need me. The Reich is falling apart. Elberhard is sending it to hell, Tancred sacked Constantinople successfully, and we are both heroes of the Lutherans! The majority favors me!"

"It won't be long until the riots come to Rome and set me free. And when they do, I'll set things straight. I wish to personally shake Dietrich von Dassel's and Wolfgang Hummel's (his dad had a hard time for a bad Chancellorship, that's all) hands."

"Ha! Hans. Thinks he can hold me behind these bars for long. The sad thing is, I admired Hans and Elberhard before all of this. They lost a friend, and a powerful one at that."

"By my reckoning, it won't take a riot to let me out. Kaiser Elberhard is going to walk into Rome and set me free himself. The Reich needs me, and he knows it. And Papa Peter will set things straight."

Peter sighs, and sits back down.

"It won't be long now," he thinks.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a coop story between Privateerkev and myself.

Caesarea: 1314

"My King, the guard is rotating on the walls like your source said. The men are ready."

Jan nodded to Max and looked around. Two dozen men we're laying down on a sand dune overlooking the castle. It was night and Jan could barely make out the figures around him. Dressed in dark robes, the men were all hand-picked. Veterans of the many wars in Outremer, men who fought the Mongols, senior NCO's of the regiments in AoO North, these men were the best the Reich had. All volunteers and all unmarried. Gunther was back at Aleppo with the rest of the army quite unhappy at being left behind. Someone had to command the army though.

A robed figure ran out of the darkness to the King's position. "My King, my men are ready to start a diversion." The man was a newcomer to Jan's retinue. He was a mercenary captain by the name of Azim. Impressed with the King's reputation, Azim sought Jan out in order to join. Bringing Azim with was partly to test his effectiveness and his loyalty. He had brought a band of twenty Turcoman mercenaries from Aleppo. They would stir up trouble at the front gate while Jan and his party would sneak in around the other side at a sewer grate. Jan looked at a map that his contact had given him. He mentally drew a path from the sewer, to where prisoners were kept.

"Alright Azim, get your men ready. We go on your signal."


Day 1420

Days, if the passing time could be called such in this hole, went in a blur now. "Interviews", fever and monotony had taken their toll. Still Matthias kept track of their number. Even in this place there were patterns, patterns that could be discerned if one had time, and of course time was the one thing he did have.

Black bread and soup marked a new day, if the soup had a bit of meat in it, that meant it was the seventh day, the Sabbath. No matter how bad it got, he made the mark on the wall. A thumbnail scratch for each day, a new group for each week. There were patterns.

Nikeforos, however, was hard to predict. His interviews could be months apart when he was out in the field, or only days when he was in the Citadel. Matthias never saw anyone else, the food was pushed in through a slot. Patterns there too, yes, Nikeforos wanted his imprisonment kept secret. That most likely meant he had taken Matthias without sanction from the Basileus. Both Empires, it seemed, had their independent nobility.

Matthias laughed, a manic rasp that rose from a huddled figure on the floor. Matted hair and beard covered an emaciated face. A dirty strip of linen was wound over his right eye. The maggots had been at it, it didn't hurt anymore.

The door opened suddenly, and the man himself walked in holding the new day's meal.

"Do you realize, Matthias, that you were talking to yourself?"

The former Chancellor scampered back to the rear of the cell. Looking up he rasped, "Best conversation I could get."

The Strategos dropped a bowl on the floor. A heel of bread and half the soup spilled onto the dank, fetid straw.

"I suppose I should have altered the feeding times. No matter, you're quite right. The Basileus does not know you're here. Nor does your beloved Empress. They can't be trusted with the information. I serve the Empire, the true interests of the Empire. Some matters are best left in the hands of enlightened subordinates."

Nikeforos coughed, wrinkled his nose and brought a scented cloth to his face. Replacing it he continued speaking.

"At first I kept you for information, then amusement, and finally, I thought I could use you as a bargaining chip. I envisioned influencing events in your Kingdom, but it seems your fellow Germans have self-destructed quite nicely on their own."

Nikeforos looked down at his prisoner.

"The risk of keeping you now outweighs the benefits. Enjoy your meal Matthias, it will be your last."

A knock could be heard at the door, and a muffled voice spoke, "My Lord! There is a disturbance at the front gate and the stables are on fire!"

Nikeforos turned and unleashed a string of profanities in Greek.

"Tell the men to form a bucket brigade and man the walls. Wait! I have to see to this myself, you stay. Guard the prisoner with your life, I wish to send him to hell myself."

Nikeforos exited and the door slammed shut behind him. Matthias could hear the bolt slide home. He stared into space, the new day forgotten.

A scuffle could be heard outside as well as muffled voices speaking what sounded like German. The door opened.

Matthias blinked, a combination of the light pouring into the cell and the sudden appearance of the man before him.

"King Jan, I wasn't expecting you. Have you come to arrest me?"

Jan, obviously appalled at the condition he found his comrade in, answered, "My Lord, what did those monsters do to you?" The King bent down to the Count's aid. "Can you move? We don't have a lot of time."

As men stood guard out in the hallway, Jan and Max lifted Matthias up on his feet. The emaciated condition of the Count made the job far too easy.

Matthias threw off their support, the prospect of escape had given him a last reserve of energy. Pausing he turned to the wall of his cell. Carefully he scraped his thumbnail across it, a mark to join the others. It was Day 1421, and the last.

"Let's go."

The party make their way down the hallway to the manhole cover they arrived in. After a trip through the sewers, the group make it outside the walls without anyone noticing. Azim and his men had done their job well and retreated without casualties. With the stables burnt down, the Byzantine pursuit would take some time to organize.


Later

Matthias sat in front of the camp fire. He had washed and changed, but he could still feel the lice on his scalp. The hair and beard would have to go, he began hacking at them with a dagger, a small looking glass in front of him.

While the Count methodically chopped through four year's of growth, he spoke to the King seated next to him.

"Nikeforos told me that Tancred sacked Constantinople, is that true?"

Jan grimaced, "I'm afraid so. Becker caught up with Peter and he surrendered without a struggle. But it looks like he was just a diversion for Tancred."

Matthias sighed and dropped a tangled length of hair into the fire. Lice sizzled and popped in the flames. The smell was terrible.

"So we're at war?"

"The Kaiser is trying to hold things together. Don't know how long that will last though. He just authorized me to retake Aleppo. The Byzantines left it nearly empty and it fell easy. Looks like he is preparing for the peace to end. This raid to get you won't help matters much either."

Matthias grunted, "Would you believe me if I told you that's not what I wanted? Peter and Tancred are fools, I wanted unification ended without violence, without losing the alliance."

Jan sighed, "I know Matthias, I know. I saw what you went through in order to fill out two terms as Chancellor. I know this isn't what you wanted."

The Count unbound the dirty linen over his right eye to get at the hair underneath. It was still somewhat intact, but the scar tissue and trauma ensured he would never see out of it again. The linen went into the flames as well. Matthias turned his blind eye to Jan.

"How goes the Reich? I heard a few rumours but I couldn't believe them."

Jan took a swig from his mug before replying, "First off, Dassel marches on Durazzo as we speak. It might even be over by now. News from Europe is getting more sporadic and hard to come by. That mad man is going to get us excommunicated. The whole thing is coming undone. Cities are rebelling. Soldiers are deserting. Nobles are going their own way. The Dukes are trying to restore some order in their area but their job is only going to get harder."

Matthias bowed his head. His face and scalp were cut close now. He sharpened his blade a few times before dipping it into a crock of soapy water. He began shaving, running the edge along scalp and cheek.

"It's all falling apart. I should have died four years ago rather than come back to this. Greed, hubris, envy, ignorance and all the other petty sins of man are unleashed on the Reich. If only Siegfried had known what he was letting loose when he called for reunification, when he opened Pandora's box."

Jan shook his head, "You can't put all of this on Kaiser Siegfried. A whole lot of people took advantage of the situation. Maybe we were naive to think political and religious unification could happen, but we never could have anticipated this."

Matthias scowled. He was completely shaved now. With the hair and beard gone and the emaciation of his imprisonment, the flickering fire game him the appearance of a Death's head.

"What of Outremer, King Jan? What of your Kingdom?"

Jan only shrugged, "Mine? It never was mine. All I have ever done is serve the Charter and the Kaiser. Even as a count. I have devoted my life to this place. And I will continue that work no matter the circumstances. Because it is out here that we can do some good. This is where we can serve God. And this is where we can earn the Reich salvation. It was why Mandorf, Henry, Otto, and the others brought us here in the first place. Sure I didn't want Outremer to be given away, but if we could have continued their legacy without it, then that was good enough."

Shaking his head, Matthias responded, "I tried to stop the exchange. It was stupid of me, and I paid for it. I was a fool, but I am in good company."

"Yeah, I think I've had my head in the clouds for too long. I wanted religious unification so bad I didn't think of the cost. Or how hard it would be to ask millions of people to suddenly accept a change to the core values of their belief system. Now I just want to do what I can to fix it."

Taking a fresh strip of linen, Matthias wound it around his head, shielding his blind eye. He spoke grimly, "I wasn't referring to you specifically. We've all made a hash of it. There's not much left. I am in your debt, but I must ask another favor. The man who took me, Nikeforos Argyrus, I must kill him, and I'll need an army. Maybe not today, but if God grants it, I will have my vengeance. 'You shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.'"

The King grimaced at the Lord's book being used to justify such a thing, "That isn't what the Lord meant. But I don't blame you for feeling the way you do. What I saw in your cell disgusted me. You don't owe me anything though. I did what I thought was right. Like I always have. I'm not always right but it has served me pretty well so far. Quite simply, we need you. Dieter left to take the bribe Ansehelm offered. You, me, and the Kaiser are all that is left out here. I know we have our differences but I trust you to do what you think is right. Right now, I need someone like that even if we don't always agree. Army of Outremer South is yours to command if you want it."

Matthias stared into the flames, "Thank you, King Jan, I will do my part to rally the remaining Crusaders, but these are dark times. 'I shall give thanks for the hardships we bear, for they serve to purify the soul.' I don't know if the Reich can recover, but I will try. We have much to do."

The King held out his hand, "It's good to have you aboard Count Matthias, there is indeed much to do."

Matthias nodded and shook Jan's hand.

"God save the Reich."

Fritz von Kastilien slapped his gloves into the palm of his left hand, over and over and over again. His gaze seemed to be focused on nothing but air. Then he smiled suddenly, crookedly and laughed.

"White flag. Jonas, go see to it."

A young man who had been standing nearby ran to a golden stallion and galloped quickly down the road and towards the walls of Stettin which lay across the valley from them.

"The rest of you!" Fritz yelled, turning to his assembled commanders, "Get your soldiers in order. We show them today that a white flag means nothing after disobeying a master. I hope your weapons are sharp. We march on the city in five minutes."

Commanders scrambled this way and that, leaving Fritz alone, except for his dog which lay panting at his feet. He turned again and watched as the small figure of Jonas and his horse draw closer to the city. He began slapping his gloves in the palm of his hand again, over and over and...

Fritz stopped. Jonas had toppled from the saddle. His horse reared up and then its legs too buckled under it. Fritz looked on with his gloves held in mid-swing as the horse rolled over Jonas, and lay still.

A distant cheer was carried to him on the wind, and the white flag disappeared.

Gloves fell to the ground. Eyes narrowed to slits. Face reddened to near scarlet. Then Fritz let out an explosive curse, a howl of rage, and yelled for his horse to be brought.

Oh how those whoresons will pay...

Rome, 1316

“How many of us are there, brother?” Jan the Teuton inquired.

“A score, brother Captain.” answered the veteran gruffly.

Jan inspected the men crammed into the cellar - a core of retired Teutons, aged but still hardened. The rest were a mix of retainers, servants and youths.

“Who’s this?” asked Jan, facing a red faced innocent looking young man.

“Helmut Grubner, Sire” supplied the veteran, adding with scarcely concealed embarrassment. “He’s my gardener.”

Jan raised an eyebrow: “Can he wield a blade?”

Helmut Grubner held up a lethal looking glaive and proceeded to whirl it effortlessly around the crowded cellar.

Jan smiled at the display of skill. “Any other man and I reckon he’d have taken off a few heads!” he said with admiration.

“Aye, I dare say, he could take them all off, if you’d asked.” said the veteran proudly.

Jan looked around the room, at the eager faces. The retired Teutons had seen too much of violence, but it was as if they missed its absence. The others - well they seemed eager and fresh enough. It was not ideal, but it would do.

“What’s the quest, brother Captain?” the veteran Teuton inquired.

Inwardly, Jan sighed. The things the Kaiser had got him to do in Rome! Release the traitor Peter von Kastilien. Negotiate with the officious fools running the Imperial civil service. And now this.

“We must rescue a lady in distress.” said Jan, in a clipped voice.

The men in the room, young and old, seemed to come to attention at these words, straightening their backs and clasping their weapons more firmly.

“And may I inquire who is the lady in question?” probed the veteran.

“The Empress Dowager Theodora.” announced Jan.

There was a collective gasp around the room and, not for the last time, Jan was grateful he was working with a band of brother Teutons whose loyalty to him was unquestioned.

*****

Captain Jan’s motley band of volunteers arrived at the Empress Dowager’s Palace to find the gates unguarded and signs of looting everywhere.

Even the fine gardens had not been spared, with bare patches of earth exposed where once there had been beautiful and rare shrubs and statues.

“Draw swords.” muttered Jan, as his men picked their way through the debris and moved towards the front steps to the palace.

A few figures scampered around the periphery, keen to avoid a confrontation with what they took to be armed authorities. Jan viewed the looters with disgust. One of the bigger specimens cried out a Lutheran curse as he took to his heels.

A tired, bowed old man appeared at the window of the palace and then hobbled out to greet Jan on the steps. He was dishevelled and covered in dust:

“I am Posca, servant of the Empress Dowager Theodora.”

Jan bowed slightly at the dignified, but worn figure standing bravely in front of him. How did the Greek know that Jan was not a Lutheran, keen to put to the sword any residual vestige of Byzantine influence?

“I am Captain Jan, of Kaiser Elberhard’s retinue. I come at my master’s orders to escort your mistress to safety. But I fear I am too late.”

“Captain Jan, the Teuton, yes, I have heard of you.” said Posca.

Jan looked stunned - how could this old man have heard of him?

Posca patted the Captain on the shoulder: “Don’t look so surprised, my mistress knows who her friends are, and her enemies. She is well, but in hiding. She would very much like to see you. Come with me and I will take you to her. But you must come alone. To travel with your men would attract unwelcome attention.”

The Greek looked at Jan’s band of aged Teutons and civilians: “And, with all respect, Captain, I am not sure your band could handle that attention.”

Jan acquiesced. He was used to taking orders and there was something about the shrewd old Greek that commanded deference.

****

Posca and Jan began their journey at night. The darkness shielded them from curious eyes, but it also revealed the lawlessness of the capital. Gangs of men roamed the streets and the calm of the night was interrupted by screams. The old Greek took Jan on a route through back streets and alleys, successfully evading the Lutheran mobs, until suddenly their luck ran out. They emerged into a small square that was home to an armed gang of several dozen disreputable looking men. The thugs approached the two travellers menacingly.

Jan stepped in front of Posca. For the old man to speak a word in his thick Greek accent would doom them both.

“Well, well, well - what we got here, boys?” said one of the thugs, a large man carrying an axe which he toyed with in his hands.

Before Jan knew it, they were surrounded. Flight was impossible; fighting amid so many grappling hands equally futile. Still, the Captain had a mission and he would not fail his Kaiser.

“I am on Imperial business, by order of Kaiser Elberhard.” he declared, trying to summon every ounce of his natural authority.

“That useless @#$%^&!!!er!” spat the ringleader of the thugs. “What the @#$%^&!!! does he want you to do? Surrender Rome to the Greeks?” The ringleader turned to his gang, basking in their admiration for his great wit.

Jan flushed. One of the other gang members pushed aside Jan’s cloak, as if to begin to disarm him. He saw the black cross of the Teutons on Jan’s coat of arms.

“Wait a minute, boys, he’s one of them Teutons.” said the man.

“So what?” said the ringleader.

“Well, didn’t they all desert from the Kaiser’s army after that @#$%^&!!!er gifted away Outremer?”

“That’s right!” “Yeah!” muttered other gang members.

The gang leader smiled. “Oh, I get it - you are one of us, Teuton: a deserter!”

Jan’s face was a bright pink, but the night hid his fury from the gang.

“Imperial errand my arse! Who sends out one soldier and an old man into these streets on an Imperial errand anyway?” reasoned the gang leader.

He stuck his face close to Jan’s and revelled in his superiority over the helpless knight.

“Don’t worry, son. We forgive you. And God, well if Luther’s right, he may even forgive you too.” the gang leader stood aside and waved Jan on. “Proceed unmolested.”

****

When he finally arrived at the safe house, Jan was surprised to see it was an undistinguished town house. It was the sort of place that might belong to a lawyer or senior civil servant. It was affluent enough to be strongly built and in a well protected neighbourhood, but not lavish enough to attract special attention from looters. An old woman opened a slit in the door and looked at Jan warily. Posca induced her to open the many locks and bars on the front door then led Jan deep into the house. It was deserted. No courtiers, no guards, no servants. It seemed to Jan closer to a morgue than a palace.

They arrived at a rear room and Posca ushered Jan into the presence of the Empress.

The Empress was sitting in a dark corner of the windowless room, staring emptily into space. Her hair was unkept and she showed no interest in her visitor.

“This is Captain Jan, your Highness” said Posca. “He has been sent by Kaiser Elberhard to take you to safety.”

The Empress did not react, so Jan strode forward into the dimly lit room and spoke boldly:

“Your Highness, at this moment, the Pope-killer Dietrich von Dassel sails for Italy. He is bringing his Lutherans here. They are frenzied by blood. You are not safe. Kaiser Elberhard instructed me to take you north for your protection.”

“Kaiser Elberhard?” said the Empress Dowager vacantly. “I rather hoped it would be King Jan who came to rescue me. He was such a sweetie.”

Captain Jan looked alarmed. The Empress Dowager raised her eyes and took in his embarrassment. Jan stuttered: “King Jan was rather preoccupied, your Highness - what with the rescue of Matthias Steffen and all.”

Warmth and energy seemed almost visibly to enter the Empress Dowager’s body: “Ah yes, I heard about that. Nasty business. I trust Matthias is well? No limbs missing? I rather feared Nikeforos would start hacking off bits and throwing them to the Diet.”

After listening to Captain Jan’s reassurances, Theodora silenced him and returned to the matter at hand. She smiled, archly:

“So, Elberhard wants to keep me safe? Like he kept my husband safe? Like he protected Constantinople? As safe as poor Abbate? Tell me, Captain, don’t you think I would be better off without your Master’s “protection”?”

The Teuton tried to stammer out a response, but Theodora rose and fixed him with her eyes.

“Captain Jan, forgive my foolish jests. I am not worthy of your protection. I was merely a beast to be used for breeding. I was to give birth to a boy who would be both Caesar and Augustus, who would rule the world. But poor Siegfried is dead, the Pope is dead, the alliance is dead and I … I am finished. I have no more role to play on this earth.”

Jan opened his mouth to protest, but Theodora was in front of him and placed a finger over his mouth, shaking her head.

“No, listen. I am not worth your protection. But there is something in this city that is far more valuable to your master than I. You must secure that, not protect me.”

Jan looked puzzled and Theodora laughed.

“Oh, men of chivalry such as you and your master are so adorable! In a time of chaos, they dutifully stride forth to protect some worn out old woman. And give no thought to the florins that must fund their future. Simply adorable.”

The Teuton’s mouth opened.

“You have the Kaiser’s seal?” Theodora demanded.

Jan nodded and the Empress gave him a letter.

“Take your men to the Imperial Treasury. When the guards see your seal and this letter, they will let you empty the Treasury. I have some merchant wagons you can load up. Do it tonight and your visit may go unobserved by onlookers. When you leave the Treasury, you will travel as merchants under escort heading to market. If challenged by the mob, cut through them. If they think you are only protecting market goods, they will not risk their lives to stop you.”

Jan’s heart was beating, though whether it was from the thought of smuggling out the Imperial Treasury or the close proximity of the striking widow in front of him, he could not tell.

“Posca will meet you outside the city and take the caravan north. You will return to this house.” the Empress Dowager concluded: “Then you can fulfil your quest for the Kaiser and bring me out to safety.”

“I will do as you command, your Highness.”

Theodora clasped Jan on the arm and smiled appreciatively. Then, as if recalling something, her gaze became clouded and she turned away. She returned to the isolated seat she had been sitting on when Jan arrived and gazed at the wall, as if addressing no one.

“After your quest is done, you will return to Outremer, Captain?”

“Yes, your Highness, the Kaiser will need every blade out there.”

Theodora stroked her chin with her hand: “Yes, these are terrible times. I fear you will end up walking in the blood of those I used to call my countrymen. It will be hard on the Kaiser. I believe, like Siegfried, he came to regard the Eastern Romans as brothers. You must tell him - in such times, a person must do from duty some things that others would see as a betrayal. Are you listening to me, Captain? You must tell your Master that. You promise? When you think of me, remember those words and tell them to the Kaiser. You swear?”

Jan was puzzled, but made an oath. Satisfied, the Empress Dowager dismissed him.

*****

As the caravan left the city, Captain Jan felt exultant. It had all gone exactly as the Empress had said. The Treasury guards had reluctantly surrendered their charge. Whatever their inner loyalties, they could not dispute the authority of the Kaiser’s seal and the word of the Empress Dowager. Jan had made sure the florins were well hidden beneath miscellaneous market goods in the merchant wagons Theodora had provided. His motley band looked every inch a merchant escort, but with weapons drawn the Lutheran mobs showed little interest in accosting them.

Now Jan could make out the aged figure of Posca, waiting outside the city gates with a band of horsemen.

“No problems, Captain?” said Posca, urbanely.

“No problems, Posca.” said Jan, happily.

“Good. You have done well, Captain. I will take the caravan north from here. You do not need worry - these riders will protect me. They are not as brave as your band, but they do not know the nature of our cargo and they are being handsomely paid for their services.”

Jan tried to make out the mounted escort which lurked in the darkness behind Posca, but could see little. Once again, the old Greek inspired confidence and Jan did not worry.

Posca continued: “You must go back now. You see the fires burning in the city? Who knows when the mob may learn of my Mistress’s hiding place? You must bring her back … whatever the cost.”

Jan nodded: “You can count on me.”

Posca smiled. “I know.”

Jan turned and began the journey back into the city.

*****

When Jan and his band arrived back at the safe house, it was deserted. Frantically, the Teuton searched the corridors, until at last he arrived in the room where he had met the Empress Dowager earlier in the evening. Gingerly, half fearing to find a bloody corpse on the floor, he entered the chamber.

He looked around. It was deserted. Then he saw a note on the desk. It was written in an elegant feminine script:

Quote:

---

Captain Jan,


Tell the Kaiser what I told you to say:

In these terrible times, a person must do from duty some things that others would see as a betrayal.


And tell the good citizens of Rome:

I will be back shortly.


Empress Theodora

---

*****

Outside the city, Posca’s caravan turned south. Once into the countryside, Vardariotai stripped the wagons and loaded the gold onto their fast moving horses, then began the ride towards Naples.

In that city, many columns of Byzantine soldiers were already forming up and beginning the long march north.

Outside of Thessalonica.

The City is still under siege. But...

"My Lord? We're abandonning the siege?", asked Jonas to the Commander of the Bavarian Household Army Otto.

"Yes, indeed."

"But, why? We've waited so long for the battle, it makes no sense."

"We are needed elsewhere, that's all there is to say. Now, make preparations for departure. I want to be left alone for awhile. I'm not to be disturbed. Of course, if von Dassel pops up, or another kind of major matter, then call. But not otherwise. Clear?" says Friedrich, choler rising.

"Yes, my Lord. If I may, you had a plan before?" risks Jonas.

"Before. But not anymore. We leave for Bavaria tomorrow, so you'd best hurry. Let it be known that any who is late will be left behind. Even you." Jonas then departs.

'What a lad', thinks Friedrich. 'Of course, I'm in a good position to talk about lateness... Ah, well.'

River crossing at the Antioch/Aleppo border: 1318

Refugees were streaming across the river. The war between the Byzantines and the Reich was heating up now. Count Matthias had just won a major victory on the bridge to Antioch and now Antioch itself was surrounded by three Imperial Armies. Ordinary citizens were fleeing the region to escape the bloodshed.

King Jan strolled among the refugee column overseeing the vast movement of people. He had deployed his army to assist the refugees. Some soldiers stood guard so the refugee column would not be preyed upon by bandits. Others passed out food from their own limited supply. Another group set up an aid station to help the injured. It was towards this last, that the King strode towards.

This particular refugee column was from Antioch. They had fled when the city was handed over to the Byzantines. There were rumors that the Byzantines had not exactly been kind in their rule over their new city. The groups of injured gave those rumors some substance. Among the healers and nuns tending to the injured, was one woman clearly in civilian clothing. Middle aged and a little heavyset, she tended to a child's bandaged arm. The child was clearly in pain and struggled.

Jan ran over and held onto the child as the woman bandaged him. The child calmed down a little and the woman was able to finish tending to him. She looked up and noticed the King for the first time. "Thank you my King, he was getting restless."

"Please, call me Jan. And your name?"

The woman smiled in a way that melted Jan's heart, "Alfgarda. Pleased to meet you Jan, I have heard so much about you." She got up and curtsied. While hardly graceful, to Jan the movement was the very picture of litheness.

The group of injured were being tended to at the moment and all were resting. The two people got up and went for a walk as Jan's retinue followed respectfully at a distance.

"Alfgarda, that is a beautiful name. Are you from 'up north'?" Jan asked in the universal question that meant Franconia.

She grinned, "Ah, very astute of you. I am originally from Hamburg. Aren't you from there?"

Jan chuckled, "I haven't been there since I was a child. My father took myself and my two sisters with him when he went on the Second Crusade. I came of age on the way to Damascus. I have been out here ever since."

Alfgarda lit up, "The Crusades? That sounds amazing. I've read everything I could get my hands on about them. Weren't you on the Third Crusade as well?"

Jan answered with pride, "Yup, we retook Jerusalem from the Saracens. But enough about me, what brought you out here?"

Alfgarda brushed a lock of blond hair from her face and replied, "My family came here years ago to start up a business. My parents died a while ago and I have been running it ever since by myself."

"Don't you have a husband to help you with that?" Jan asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to see if she was married.

Alfgarda laughed a little, "No, I have never been married. I'm not a nun or anything. I just have always been busy working. That and I never met the right man." She said this last as she looked at Jan with a twinkle in her eye.

Jan blushed. But he returned her look with one of his own that told her all she needed to know. The two walked off into the desert blissfully enjoying each other's company in silence.

Max and Gunther looked at each other and smiled. They had always hoped that the King would find a companion. They believed he deserved to be happy. The small group stayed farther behind to give the new couple some privacy. Azim didn't know what was going on but was polite enough to be quiet.

Eastern Italy, 1318

Four large ships were docked off a deserted coast. Slowly, movement could be seen from the ships, movement in the form of rowboats approaching the coast. The first one to reach the shore was a lonely boat, filled mostly with Balkan Archers who had never seen the other side of the Adriatic sea. They got off their boat, looked around, started peering through the bushes and scanning the horizon for movement.

When nothing could be found, they made large, exaggerated movements with their arms and hands. Apparently it was the "all clear" signal as more movement could be seen from the ships. The rest of the men were beginning to depart for dry land, at last.

Eventually, Dietrich von Dassel, Alexander Luther, and the remnants of the Army of Light had reached the shores and waved good-bye to the navy men rowing the boats back to the small fleet. The people on the shore were the hard-core, the meat of the army. Austrians most of them, they had declined to stay behind and defend their homeland from invaders, instead opting to stick with Dietrich and Luther in hopes of furthering the Glorious Cause.

When they left Durazzo, sneaking past the massive Papal army lurking nearby, they had all assumed that the Glorious Cause would take them to Rome where they would depose Theodora, get the city working again, and establish it as a base for defense against the invading Byzantine forces. However, things had changed since they slowly sailed up the Adriatic.

At a distance, a lonely horsemen spotted the fleet and rowboats making their way back. That was his signal, and he spurred his horse on towards the coast, a large bundle of papers tucked under his arm. He made his way to the coast, where he was quickly dismounted and searched by the most fanatical Lutherans. Dietrich, even though he was expecting the man and knew this was the designated meeting place, did nothing to stop them, a sign of the massive need for security in these days.

Once he was searched to the Lutherans' consent, the man was allowed to approach Dietrich with his papers, which he gave to him without a word. Dietrich, motioning Alexander Luther over to a remote part of the beach, sat down and began to read.

"...regret to inform you that the Imperial Treasury has been emptied and the gold is unaccounted for..."

"...Kaiser's men have no knowledge of where the gold is..."

"...Empress Dowager has also disappeared..."

"...Furthermore, Bavaria will not lift a finger to defend Rome..."

"...Madness! Kaiser Elberhard is weak and a fool..."

"...several large columns marching north across the border with Naples..."

"...declare myself Prinz of the Holy Roman Empire, and will be acting as Kaiser until he reveals his spineless self..."

"...much more important things going on..."

"...trust you have a swift journey back to Swabia after you have tied up your affairs in Italy; I will see to it that Northern France is secure before Hans can advance against me..."

"...Count Becker has fallen in battle..."

"...dare use the death of Count Becker to silence political dissent..."

"...shall cast a poll for all electors - they can vote by absentee..."

"...Divine right to rule..."

"...degenerated into a farce..."

"...don't seem to realize the gravity of the situation we face..."

"...most of you traitors already are, I shall kill you..."

"......the fact I refer to her as my former Empress should be enough to tell you what I think of the matter..."

"...reports that a Byzantine army is besieging Bologna..."

"...At the next Diet, the King will urge for strong legislative sanctions to be leveled at Sir Dassel..."

After the last two snippets of Diet transcript and personal communications Dietrich threw the entire stack into the air in disgust. This was what the Reich had come to while he was sailing? Becker dead, the Byzantines turning Italy and Austria into a gauntlet, and still they were all bickering and determinedly sniping at each other? While the Byzantines were besieging Bologna? How far north had they gotten anyway? Dietrich buried his head in his hands.

"Answer me something, Luther," Dietrich mumbled. Luther, realizing Dietrich's thoughts, made a questioning noise but no more. "Are we to blame for all this?"

"This?"

"We, I mean. You. Me. Peter. Tancred. Our kind, the kind that simply stuck by our beliefs and took matters into our hands. Are we to blame for this?"

"I don't know, you still haven't explained what 'this' is."

"The entire mess. The division in the Diet. The rebellion in Swabia. The Byzantines threatening Bavaria, Austria, and what's left of Outremer. Is it our fault?"

Luther looked pensieve for a minute. He simply stared out at the coast, looking at the waves gently lap onto the shores and the fleet offshore preparing to cast off and head to destination unknown. Finally, he answered. "No. Well, not entirely. It's Siegfried's fault, Siegfried and Elberhard and Abbate and Jan and everybody else in the elite crowd who were sure they knew what was best. Re-unification would have turned us all Byzantine, you know that Dietrich. We would have gradually lost everything that was unique to us, everything that made us the Holy Roman Empire in the first place. They would have re-written history to make all those glorious conquests of Heinrich and Leopold and von Saxony and Hans, all of those would have been diminished, even warped into Byzantine intrigue. We would have died and watched from above as the world slowly turned into a sickening shade of purple, and we would be forgotten forever. The Byzantines knew it; they wanted it to happen. And they were so close to doing it the easy way, Dietrich. They had a puppet Kaiser in place and a puppeteer in the form of Theodora. But then we came along. And dammit, we made ourselves heard."

Luther pounded his fist into the fine Italian sand. Only Dietrich watched. The rest of the men were too busy doing their own thing, deep within their own philosophical conversations.

"The Byzantines wanted to wipe us off the map one way or another," Luther continued, with increasing conviction, "Is it a crime if we fight back doing so? If we make it bloody for them? They got the jump on us, sure. It's partially our fault that we're so weak; all of the internal strife. But we can get over that eventually. We can gloriously fight back and overcome this force and reclaim our heritage. It will cost many lives, sure. Becker is sure to be the first of many casualties. But when it's all over, he'll be a hero. We'll be heroes. We'll be known as the group that prevented Byzantine takeover and made it a mess for them."

Dietrich sighed and collapsed in the sand. It was all too much. War with the Byzantines, he never wanted any of that. Armies marching through Austria, deep into Italy, that was exactly what he tried to stop when he was marching for Durazzo. And then he got news about Constantinople about halfway through... and of course he couldn't turn back then, because he had Hans after him and a thousand passionate Lutherans urging him on and so he went on to Durazzo, conquering the place and massacring the inhabitants, and celebrating because it was the final hammer blow for re-unification, but in reality it was the last hurdle before all-out war.

"All I wanted to do was stop re-unification," he mumbled to himself in the sand. Now the very Reich itself was threatened by this Greek menace, a menace that had grown exponentially since 1320 because of those stupid, numerous "gifts" that Siegfried and Elberhard had given Isaac.

And what did he have? He had an army - no, a legion - of loyal followers, followers ready to do anything to advance The Cause.

Followers ready to die for a German Reich.

Dietrich left Luther in silence and crawled over to Friedrich, his aide, who was trying to start a fire.

"The men rest tonight," he said. "Tomorrow we move on Bologna. We've got to set this right."

Countryside Eastern Austria 1318

Quote:

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My fellow Austrians, I fear my days are numbered when I look upon the Hungarian host arrayed before me. The primary army numbers five hundred-sixty pavise spearmen, four hundred fifty dismounted feudal knights, four hundred eighty chivalric knights and two catapults with forty artillerists. There is also another army that is able to assist that consists of an assortment of archers, crossbowmen and artillery totaling eight hundred eighteen people led by a member of Hungary's royal family.

It pains to plead like this, but I beg of you to send every available man to assist me. As it stands the destruction of the 1st AHA and my own death seem very likely.

Count of Prague

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Karl looked at the letter and dropped into the fire.
“Too late” he muttered to himself just staring into the campfire as the paper burned disappointed and frustrated by the current events. “If I had only been faster...”
“My lord, confirming the preliminary report from Bucharest, it’s not good” said Peter dropping his head and looking into the fire. He looked back at the Count and continued. “Count Becker is missing and the 1st AHA has been annihilated.”
“Damn! No survivors? How many Hungarians are in the area? We must fall back to Bran immediately. Just has the Count was to continue a galloping of a single horse could be heard coming over the hill. He must be one of ours to get past the sentries or a ghost rider.
The rider charged up to the men around the fire and came to an abrupt stop leaping off his horse in one motion and holding the reins with his right hand and presenting a letter with his left hand to Karl. The Count was impressed with this messenger he had not seen riding like that since the races in Damascus. Karl immediately recognized the Seal as that of Duke Arnold’s. He took the message and stepped over by the fire alone to read it.

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Karl Greetings,

I have heard of the news at Bucharest and the defenders. There has been a change in plans. Bran is to be abandoned and you must head for Budapest. There is no Austrian House Army to command you must recruit who you what you can from the land. Not only are the Hungarians at our door but the damn Byzantines are waging war against us.
I have spoken with Duke Steffen and he has ordered Count Karolinger to assist with the Bavarian Household Army Otto he has coming from Thessalonica and will meet with you in Budapest.
These are dangerous times for Austria I have my sister and the children with me they are safe. I am doing my best to secure the southern borders.
God speed. I will see you soon.

Signature and Seal of Duke Arnold.

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The Count turned to his men “Budapest!”There was a stunned look amongst the men all thinking no Bran is our destination.
“Saddle up, were moving out!” shouted Zirn to his aide. “Hurray things are much worse then we though and we will not miss any action this time. Where is my geographer!!!?”
Ingo the veteran spoke up “We know our way we don’t need a map to Budapest?”
Zirn gave him a stare “Do you know ever village along the way then?”
Peter quizzically asked “Why? I thought we were in a rush?”
Zirn gave an exasperated look and then thought he should inform him of the plan.
“We have no army, no money and little supplies. If I am to prevent another city from falling it will be with an army of Austrian men who are damn ready to defend their country. I will recruit able body men to answer the call of duty to defend their home from the enemies breathing down our necks. I will plead to their honour and duty for the Duke. I will have an Austrian Household Army. Let’s move.”
The two men looked at each other and mounted for the recruiting drive.

The recruiters made their way along the country hitting every hamlet. Karl was almost embarrassed by the awe the locals held for a Crusader Knight returning from foreign lands and here in their hamlet.
The strategy was simple in each community he would meet with the Elders and filled them in on the political landscape. There would be a meal and the younger men would be there. He would offer them service not in the reserve unit or auxiliary home guard but in the regular force with the promise of advancement to those that demonstrate their loyalty to the Duke. Villages that were the best in cooperating would be aided in compensation by the Duke when the Reich is stable and peace is in the land. He appealed to all ages of men and women to convince their men to join.
This continued along the road to Budapest.
The Count did not forget the lesser nobles and would stop and plead his case to them they were much more indifferent and the Count did not receive the same warmth and affection that he felt with the peasants.
However, he needed the nobles and their horses because they could ride they would be the cavalry units that he so desperately wanted to complete his army.
This scenario continued all the way to Budapest. There was some mocking the “old man” and his rag tag soldiers but it was minor many citizens were afraid and having the Count coming through their community with whatever army gave them a sense of security and a willingness to do their part for Austria. They were not the best trained or best looking but they were loyal and determined to defend their homeland, their families.

Fritz paced back and forth in front of his unit commanders, lips tight and staring at the ground. Then he began speaking.

"Men, we have been together through many battles, many miserable winter campaigns against the Poles and the Danes. But Ansehelm, as you know, has asked that I be stripped of my command."

"We know this, Count," piped up one of the younger commanders. "You told us months ago. Why bring it up again? The men are growing tired of all the talk."

"Talk!" Fritz stopped and shouted, waving his long arms about wildly. "It's no longer talk! Dieter is at Ansehelm's table this very moment asking why he has no army!"

The commander shrank back a bit into the group.

Fritz went on, half to himself. "And you all knows I will not give up my command..."

This story was written by TinCow

Rome, 1318

His legs ached from hours of standing, but he refused to sit. The only rest Johannes Tockler would allow himself to take was a few short minutes of leaning against the stone wall of the gatehouse. In a way, he considered the soreness and fatigue to be the mark of honorable service. Several of the other guards mocked him for it. They would snicker at his unbending vigil and one man, Ladislaus, liked to kick dung on his boots when his shift was over. Johannes did not care; they were slothful cretins and knew nothing of pride.

Figures were moving in the distance. Johannes raised his hand and squinted into the mid-day sun. Purple cloaks flickered around the edges of the men, marking them as Byzantines. The second man in line raised a horn to his lips and blew a long, two-note blast; their typical method of announcing a prominent diplomat on an official visit. Johannes straightened up, his chin held high, in a posture of Roman formality. Grumbles and the scrape of metal sounded from his right, where the other guards were hastily assuming their positions.

In truth, the event was not unusual. The ambassador had taken an immediate liking to the ‘Cathedral of Sin’ in Florence. It was unusual for him not to spend a week there each month. Even the recent unrest had not diminished his taste of Bavarian pleasures. Johannes wondered momentarily whether allof the ambassador’s ‘formal entries’ were announced with a warhorn.

The processional arrived a few moments later. It was easily three times the size of the ambassador’s normal guard. The Byzantine captain, Kostas Philanthropenos, stopped by the gatehouse, while his column filed through. He turned to Johannes and saluted

“Sergeant Tockler, it makes me sad to see you standing such a post,” he said in thickly accented German. “Surely your talents would be better used elsewhere.”

Johannes smiled. Despite the arrogant attitude the Byzantine emitted, he liked Kostas. “I thank you for the compliment, but we are short on manpower these days. The recent… difficulties… with the Imperial Treasury have caused many men to desert their posts.”

Kostas frowned. “Yes, this business with Empress Theodora is most unpleasant. Shameful, really. It is an insult to the honor of Byzantium. We are not a nation of thieves.” The captain shrugged and clapped Johannes on the shoulder. “But at least they have managed to find enough gold to pay you, my friend.”

The German shook his head. “No, I have not been paid for many months. My salary is enough to keep ten more guards employed and a score of hands is worth far more than my pair, no matter what you think about my merits. Besides, food and lodging are still provided by the barracks and I need little else.”

“Ah, an altruist to the core.” Captain Philanthropenos sighed and shook his head. “As I said, you should be elsewhere today.”

“If I were, I would not have had the pleasure of your company; and that would have been a loss I would have sorely missed.” Both men laughed heartily. Johannes was genuinely grateful for the compliment. A life of duty and virtue was a reward in and of itself, there was little enough of either in the Reich in recent years, but knowing that his actions were acknowledged as such by others brought warmth to his heart. He knew his father would have been proud of him.

The Tockler family had been shepherds for generations. They owned a small farm in the northern foothills of the Odenwald and had passed it down from father to son for as long as anyone could remember. Johannes’ own father had been the ninth generation of Tocklers to work the land, and he had talked often of how proud he was to pass on a legacy to his own children. Much of the surrounding land was owned by Baron von Adelmann, who lived in Weinheim, two days ride to the east. Unlike those men, the Tockler land was a freehold, a highly unusual privilege for a peasant family.

The Tockler men had told their children for generations about how that privilege had been bestowed on them by the Kaiser himself. As a boy of 16, the progenitor Tockler had saved Conrad II’s life during the defeat at Vienna in 1030. Three Hungarian knights had cut their way through the Kaiser’s bodyguard. All that stood in their way was a single levied peasant boy with a rusty spear. Instead of fleeing, he stood his ground and held off the knights for several minutes. When the rest of the Kaiser’s guard finally broke through, they found two bloodied Hungarians dragging away a third, who was mortally wounded. The boy himself stood unharmed in front of the Kaiser, his spear broken, but still leveled at the enemy.

In gratitude, Conrad II had bought the title to the Tockler farm from their feudal Baron and bestowed it on the boy. From that day on, the Tocklers had been vassals to no man, and had survived and prospered by the sweat of their brow. Johannes himself had been named after his famous ancestor, and as the eldest son he had been destined to inherit the family land from birth. Yet, the life of a shepherd had never sat well with Johannes. When he was 14, his father had taken him to sell wool in the market in Weinheim. On the road they had been passed by a contingent of Teutonic Knights from nearby Frankfurt. They were riding south, to Venice, where they would take a ship for Outremer.

Johannes never forgot the sight of their white surcoats, shining steel armor, and powerful warhorses. For months afterwards, he could think of nothing else. Yet he was shamed by the thoughts and prayed for forgiveness each night. He knew that his duty was to his family and the farm, but he could not shake the thought that he was destined for something greater, something more important. The guilt he felt over this was unbearable and he cried himself to sleep on more than one occasion.

One night, three months later, his father took him aside after dinner. “Johan, you are a man now. It is time for you to begin your life.” With that, he had handed him a long, wrapped bundle. Inside, Johannes had found a finely crafted sword and scabbard, its polished steel shining in the candlelight. He had been so overwhelmed with emotion that he had simply stared at it, mouth agape. His father simply smiled. “I know you do not want to be a farmer and a shepherd. There is no shame in that. Our family was founded upon the virtuous actions of a soldier. Now it is your turn. Take this sword and go forth into the world. Protect the innocent, punish the wicked, and above all live with pride. God will guide your hand.”

The next morning, a squire in the service of Baron von Adelmann came to take him to Weinheim. He served the Baron for a time, and then made his way to the Frankfurt, the old Imperial capital. In 1261 Johannes joined up with a small group of Teutons who were on their way to Outremer, in response to the Pope’s call for the Third Crusade to recapture Jerusalem. They journeyed over land to Venice, and from there took ship to the citadel at Acre. He was spotted by an Imperial recruiter within moments of disembarking and joined a regiment of armored spearmen in Karl Zirn’s army. After Jerusalem was recaptured, he transferred to a unit under Jan von Hamburg’s command and followed him for many years. Even at such a young age, the future King of Outremer was a shining example of chivalry and duty. Inspired by his example, Johannes quickly gained a reputation for bravery and, above all, honor.

He held the line, unflinching, against the Mongols on the day that King Salier had fallen. His unwavering stance rallied his terrified men and allowed for an orderly withdrawal from what would otherwise have been a complete rout. For his actions that day, he was promoted to Sergeant. He served in King Jan’s armies for the next ten years; never the most skilled fighter, but always the first into battle and the last to leave it. His men loved him for it.

Then, on a trip to Antioch, he met a young girl, fresh off the boat from Venice. She was from Prague and had accompanied her parents on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Fate and dysentery had taken them from her off the coast of Cyprus, and she had been abandoned in the streets of the teeming city. Johannes saw her wandering the streets, hungry and dirty. He took her in and, for a time, they were happy. She gave birth to a daughter, the light of his life, but the plague visited the city two years later and neither was spared. Devastated by the loss of his wife and child, Johannes had left Outremer and returned to the Reich. He had gone straight to the Imperial capital of Rome and, with the aid of a letter from King Jan himself, was welcomed into the city guard, where he had been ever since. He found pride in his station and it showed in his work. Rome was the seat of the Kaiser and a Holy City in its own right. There was no better way for him to spend the remaining years of his life than serving in its defense.

Johannes looked at Kostas and his face darkened. “I have heard rumors that Byzantine armies are marching on Bologna. Is there any truth to this?” The Captain’s eyes narrowed, but before he could reply a scream came from up above. Johannes looked up, but his vision was impaired by the bright sun overhead. He raised his hand to block the light, and saw a glimpse of a large object falling through the air in front of him. It was the body of one of the guards on the gate ramparts.

He reached for his sword, the same blade his father had given him so many years before. The scabbard was heavily worn and the grip had been replaced three times, yet Johannes still polished it until the blade gleamed bright. “To arms! To arms!” He cried, and turned towards Kostas. “You must get to safety! There are men inside the…”

The cold steel of a dagger pierced his throat and severed his windpipe, cutting off his words with a bloody gurgle. Johannes grasped at his neck, but his fingers could not stop the surge of blood that spewed forth. As he sank to the ground, he stared wide-eyed into the face of Kostas. “I am sorry, my friend. You should not have been here today.”

It took several minutes for Sergeant Johannes Tockler to bleed to death by the gates of Rome. It was long enough to see the vanguard of the Byzantine armies pass through the open portcullis.

The echoing sounds of fifty simultaneous conversations mixed together into a low roar. Had it not been for the tapestries hung on every wall of the massive hall, even shouting into a neighbor’s ear would have been futile.

“ORDER! ORDER!”

The Count of Toulouse was vigorously banging a steel gauntlet on the table.

“ORDER! ORDER!”

It took a good two minutes for the din to die down, but he kept pounding until every last voice was silent. The last crash echoed ominously around the room; suddenly out of place in the quiet hall.

“Are we in agreement then?” the Count asked. Several voices rose at once, but the Count raised his gauntlet and the speakers stopped in mid-sentence. “One at a time, please.” He gestured to the Polish delegation to his left. Sicily, Venice, Hungary, Poland, and Denmark had all answered the French call for a diplomatic conference in Toulouse. Only Spain had declined to send a representative. They had lost little to the Holy Roman Empire and were apparently more concerned with the Moors and Africa. Of the remaining Catholic nations of the world, only England, Scotland, and Portugal had not been invited to the meeting. The first remained stubbornly allied to Reich, while the second was essentially powerless. Portugal had simply offended the French too often to allow for reconciliation, even under the present circumstances.

The head Polish diplomat rose and cleared his throat. “Poland agrees. There is no better time to strike at the Reich than now. They are destroying themselves from within. They have murdered their own Kaiser, made enemies of their Byzantine allies, received excommunication from the Pope despite their complete control of the College of Cardinals, and there are even sparks of civil war. With the loss of Rome, they are politically divided and vulnerable in all areas.”

“The Reich’s main strength has always been its centralized government and the Electors reluctance to violate their so-called Charter. They are now burning it like so much kindling. If we strike them hard and fast from all sides, they will not be able to cope.”

A sullen looking man from the Venetian delegation rose. “Venice also agrees, but we must not forget that it is this Lutheran heresy that must be suppressed first and foremost. While the Reich’s armies endanger our lives, their protection of this blasphemous movement risks our very souls! This is an alliance of true Christian nations and it is our duty unto God to see that these heretics are completely destroyed. There is a reason that the Byzantines and Russians were not invited to this meeting, let alone the Mohammedans. We are taking up the Sword of Christ against the enemies of God! Wherever they are encountered, their cities should be burned and their peoples put to death. There is only one way to deal with Lutherans, and that is to send them to meet the Devil they worship!”

At that remark, the room once again exploded into conversation. The Count banged his gauntlet several times before silence was restored. “We are not here to debate the reasons behind the Roman collapse nor the treatment of its conquered peoples. We are here to agree to a Catholic Alliance against the Holy Roman Empire! Where have discussed this for three days, already. There is one question, and one question only, that remains to be agreed upon: Do we agree to a temporary cessation of all hostilities between our nations and focus all of our combined armies against our common enemy?” A murmur of agreement went around the room. In turn, the representatives from Sicily, Hungary, and Denmark stood and proclaimed their agreement to the plan.

“Very well then,” said the Count of Toulouse. “Today marks the formation of the Catholic Alliance. For the next twenty years, all French, Danish, Sicilian, Venetian, Polish, and Hungarian armies will be tasked with the destruction of the Holy Roman Empire and the reclamation of our lost territories. No member of the Catholic Alliance will attack another, even if a state of war exists between them. This we swear unto God.”The hall once again erupted into a chaos of sound. The Count of Toulouse sat down and sighed heavily. One of the French diplomats approached him. “My Lord, do you truly believe this Alliance will hold?”

The Count snorted and shook his head. “Never, just look at them now.” He gestured sarcastically at the room of arguing men. “No, sooner or later blood will be spilt on a field of battle and it will once again be as it always has been. Still, we will be united for a time. Perhaps that will be enough.” He stood and walked towards a window facing east: towards the Reich. “I do not envy any Roman soldier today. The best any of them can hope for is a quick death. Even now their noblemen do not understand the full consequences of their errors. They bicker amongst themselves and scramble to hold on to pieces of a shattered empire. We will teach them what it is to know fear.”

ROME 1320

Arnold's Household Guard were fighting a brutal rear guard action down to the Docks.

The Byzantines knew they had one of the Reich's Dukes in a precarious position and we throwing everything they had at the Austrian Regiment in order to capture or kill their quarry.

Striding through the chaos Duke Arnold could be seen issuing orders and barking at the men to fill a gap here or lend his sword to assist soldiers that needed it.

"It's seems our visit to the Diet was not the best idea Priest"

The Dukes Priest was wide eyed, glancing in every direction he was trying to avoid being struck down or run over by a horse while at the same time stay as close as possible to the Duke who was a clear place of safety.

"My lord, I'm petrified!! We need to get on that ship now!!"

His plea was met with a grunt of acknowledgment from Arnold.

"BANE, where are my orders?"

The Dread Knight was engaged in a fierce dual with a very large Byzantine.

"Grom has them."

Without breaking his concentration at the Duke's question, Bane turned his wrist expertly parrying the blow and counter attacking with a vicious cut which left the Byzantine with no leg below the knee.

Turning to face his Duke now that his opponent was screaming in pain and no longer a danger, Bane scanned the melee.

"Grom!! Where are the Duke's orders?"

The huge Barbarian was on the other side of the street holding a fully armored man above his head. Realising he was being summoned, he swiftly turned and threw the man a clear ten feet down an alley which was about to be overrun. The impact and chaos that followed allowed the Duke's men to dispatch the remaining Byzantines and continue the withdrawal.

Jogging over Grom pulled out a small satchel. Handing them to the Duke he said; "Can I get back to the fight my lord?"

Checking each man's name and the Austrian seal was correct and accounted for, the Duke finally looked up and gave a nod.

With that Grom charged off with a blood curdling screaming.

Shaking his head in amazement Arnold looked at his Priest.

"I really think he enjoys it when the pressure is on and the situation is tense."

Without waiting for an answer Arnold bellowed: "Szcepanski!! Get the messenger riders ready!! I need 10 of them!!"

At that moment there was a rumble rising about the clamour of battle.

From the up the street one of the Duke's men screamed: “Heavy Cavalry!!!”

A moment later the entire company was crushed in a solid wave of horse, armour and purple banners.

“Christ almighty.” The Duke voice was clearly concerned as he drew his sword and charged into the fray.

His first thrust took a horseman clean under his helm, the second stroke cut through a horseman's leg just above the knee, his third swing decapitated an unhorsed rider as he was attempting to stand.

The last Bane saw of his Duke was his black obsidian armour disappearing in a shower of blood, horse flesh and blood soaked purple.

Normandy,1316, German France.

Athalwolf von Salza was seated in a large tent, he always gave himself to rest after a long battle. Especially when his enemy was a fellow Swabian. The sound of shuffling made him turn around from cleaning his sword. It was a aide from his bodyguard.
"Sir, a man requesting your attendance." Athalwolf stoodbuckling the sword and a pistol, engraved with a tiger streching down its barrel.
Outside the tent, stood the man. He wore blue, and had a strange goatee.
"Mon Count, I am honored to be here. I bring news from afar." said the man, his voice coated in a French accent. Athalwolf cared not, he had a Civil War to deal with, and was busy writing a letter to Duke Hans. He montioned, though, for the man to continue.
"Rome has fallen Monsieour. The Greeks have come from the north, and Northern italy is certian to fall afterwards." said the man quickly, not a glance of care crossing his face.
"What is this blasphemy! Rome, fall? How could the Holy City fall? I shall have you arrested!" declared Athalwolf, some of his Imperial Knights drawing swords.
"Listen mon Count, the Kaiser has declared every man for himself!"
"Is this the only reason you come? Could not I be told by others, not a Frenchmen?" He asked.
"No mon friend, Ibring news from the von Salza family, in Spain." said the man, there was moments of stunned silence, then-
"In Spain, what are my family there for? Are they not in Dijon?" asked Athalwolf, sheathing his sword, a pouzzled look cracked over his face.
"Do you not know sire? Late Emperor Jobst's parents." said the man, he continued,"I come from them, we have heard mcuh of you, and eagerly await your visit."

1318,Toledo, Spain.

Toledo was alive that day, as was every other city in the Spanish Empire. Quite unlike the German Empire. Athawlolf and his entourage were rapidly approaching the walled city, sun scorching them in their full plate armor. Athalwolf was listening to a report read out by one of his aides,
"...and from that point on, the Diet Speaker closed the Diet, and declared every man for himself." finished the aide, looking up at his Count.
No one spoke, but awaited the call.
"Leroy contar?" yelled a man in Spanish, whilst men saluted and peasents bowed. Athalwolf was confused, he was German Nobility, not Spanish or French.
"It is Count von Salza!" roared back a Knight, and flags were raised with a strandard of the von Salza family. Athalwolf entered, with trumpets playing. People milled around the back of his escort, watching closely. But they continued through the city, until they stood before a large mansion, with beautiful gardens surrounding it.
"Wait here." He ordered the escort, entering th place. At the door waited the same French man from Normandy, now known to be a French Musketeer.
"Mon lord, please enter. Count Leroy awaits, with news from his son." Atahwlwolf entered, the room was light and cool, opening up with views of the city. There were stairs in front of him and rooms either side. A very old man hobbled up to Athalwolf, who towered over him.
"Eh? Mon son?" inquired the man, squitned at the German Count.
"No mon Lord, this is Jobst's son, Athalwolf von Salza." The odl man groaned,
"Its le roi you silly bugger, mon family name! What is this german names, von Salza? You come not from Salza! But from our lands of Rheims!" stated the man.
"Non, we come from the Swabian Lands of Dijon. I heard it from the Kaiser himself..." The old man walked away, followed by Athalwolf.
"You are not, mon friend. Do you not know? I am Jobst von Salza's father! He sadly, was adopted into those German lands..." Athalwolf stared in shock, then started to leave.
"Where are you going, mon Count Leroy?" asked the man.
"I am NOT COunt Leroy! I AM COUNT VON SALZA!" roared AThalwolf, he kicked down the door, briskly leaving. He mounted his horse, his appearance suprising his escort.
"Hurry up you buggers! We leave for Swabia!" A man galloped forth from the mansions stables, it was the Frenchman. His company though, was not protested, and the escort of Imperial Knights and Athawolf left the city, sadly watched by Duke Leroy of France. He knew it was to happen, and only hoped his planned actions worked.

1320

Kaiser Elberhard's announcement of the fall of Rome, while the first official mention of the event, was not anywhere near being the first acknowledgement - nor was it the most-talked about.

That honor fell to a voice, a voice that made itself heard throughout the known world, as soon as the Byzantines stormed the city, captured the Imperial Diet and Palace, and declared victory. A loud scream, a yell that was simultaneously in fury and frustration, anguish and agony, boomed throughout the city, the surrounding areas, and most of the world.

In Rome, the citizens being executed mistook it for the cry of their fellow people in pain and for help. The Byzantines doing the killing took the yell as an omen, as in maybe they had crossed holy ground and weren't supposed to go further, or that someone was disapproving of their executions in general. But, when no lightning struck, they continued their spree, although slightly unnerved.

In Florence, it took Dietrich von Dassel and Alexander Luther, who were arguing about the merits of the "Cathedral of Sin" by surprise. Luther, after pausing and looking around, crossed himself and began muttering. Dietrich also looked around, lost in thought, wondering how such a yell could reach the capital of Bavaria and Kaiser Heinrich's former "watchtower over Rome." He looked around some more and excused himself, heading for the Cathedral to take his mind off of the unholy scream.

The yell spread throughout the heartlands of the Reich, both those which were gone and those that still called themselves Imperial. The majority of the people, lacking proper knowledge of what triggered the noise, figured only that something terrible had happened and this was just a very bad omen.

It made its way through the east of Europe, where it similarly unnerved the thousands of Byzantine soldiers, wondering if something had gone terribly wrong in Rome. It crossed over Anatolia, causing a great wave of prayer, and eventually made its way to Outremer.

In Jerusalem, the new Pope, Lambertus, heard the scream and shuddered. It was a familiar voice to all Popes, a one that they all feared, or at least all of them since Gregory. It was a voice back from the dead, a voice that knew something had gone wrong and had expressed its emotions so loudly that it had crossed over into the mortal realm.

Similarly, Kaiser Elberhard heard the voice and recognized it at once, instantly realizing in that moment why his father, Henry, had moved the crown away from his family. After the initial shock, he calmed somewhat, maybe even hopefully thinking that it wasn't his fault, that he never should have been Kaiser in the first place, that his family was cursed.

The majority of the Electors, spread out from Caen to Antioch, from Thorn to Ajaccio, did not know exactly where the voice came from or who owned it. Not even Hans, the oldest of them, knew, for by the time he was old enough to have a memory the owner of the voice had already had a falling-out with his father. Those people that knew people that knew the owner, those that still had a second-degree connection, those that had heard firsthand accounts of the owner, knew where it came from and shuddered, for even in death the voice possessed all of the emotion and force that it did in life, and it was clear to all that the voice was displeased, to say the least.

The scream echoed throughout the world, the very past of the Holy Roman Empire screaming in pain and agony, screaming at the fate that was befalling his precious city, his precious Reich. It was to be a sign of things to come.

Prague, 1320

Filled with a new sense of purpose, Edmund Becker marches toward the center of Prague. Upon his arrival, he spot a great crowd ready to listen to his speech. Slowly but surely, he begins. It is his first time speaking publically in Czech.

"My fellow Bohemians! Currently, the Reich is in a time of crisis. Our enemies surround us, lawlessness breaks out amongst the people, and electors war amongst themselves instead of working together. Well, none of that will happen here!

Bohemia has been a part of the Reich for nearly one hundred and fifty years. It has always been a peaceful place, a place far away from war where the men and woman have been able to enjoy the protection that the Reich offers. I say to you now that will not change! This county will not fall as long as I am alive, I assure you!

I call upon every able-bodied peasant in Bohemia to report to Prague’s City Watch, and every noble infused with a martial spirit to make himself known in the Council Chambers! Together we need fear no enemy, for when the people from all walks of life unite in the defense of their homelands there is no enemy alive that can stop them!"

After much cheering, he steps down and returns to the Council Chambers thinking to himself.

"With a little luck, we just might pull this off."

Antioch, 1320

In the newly rebuilt Church in the newly retaken capital of Outremer a solitary figure knelt in prayer. The Priest had given his blessing an hour ago and the other parishioners had shuffled out, yet Matthias stayed. He was troubled and he sought solace in this place, it reminded him of another Shrine he had prayed in long ago under similar grim circumstances. But this Church was not consecrated to Saint Maximillian, that Chapel most likely had been pulled down by the Greeks, and this place was not Adana, still under their heel, and this time he had no comfort. If God heard him, he sent no sign.

No doubt there were a few who found Matthias's piety at odds with his reputation. The King, perhaps, or the Kaiser, and only the Lord knew what the smallfolk thought, but he was a religious man and they did not truly know him. Jan was a proponent of the New Testament, a man of mercy and forgiveness, of turning the other cheek. Matthias, well, he took strength and guidance from the Old Testament. The Germans were the new Chosen People, following the Will of God in return for His protection and guidance.

The Reich, however, had fallen out of the Covenant. The mad Kaiser Siegfried had attempted to rebuild the Tower of Babel, to work against God's plan, and the Reich, despite Matthias's attempts to stop it, had been laid low. Matthias had fought on, enduring his time in the Lion's Den and striking where he could at his enemies, but the task before him, of bringing the Reich back to its primacy, or even just its survival, was daunting. The Empire had survived treachery, constant attack, interdiction and Mongols from the Steppe, but it had fallen to the only enemy that could stop it, the Reich itself.

How could Adana be returned to the light, or the Reich restored and brought back to the Grace of God? Matthias did not know, and so he knelt in a strange Church, seeking guidance. His heart fell as the silence encompassed him.

"Chancellor Matthias?"

Matthias looked up, a man stood before him holding a long wooden box. He had seen better days, his clothes were in rags and hung loosely. Despite his bedraggled state, he carried himself as a fighting man, a dagger hung at his hip. He seemed familiar.

"I haven't been Chancellor for twenty years, young man, and I'm barely a Count, but yes I am he. And you are?"

"Adalric, Sir, I was a soldier at Adana, before the. . .transfer. Been bouncing around Outremer since. It's good you made it out of Caesarea, my Lord. We all thought you were dead. Most of the lads left for home. I stayed in Antioch, untill I got booted out by those damned Greeks. Seemed they had a thing against Bavarians, after things went bad. We should have know you were alive. . ."

The soldier trailed off awkwardly. Matthias stood and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault Adalric, I got myself captured. I should have stayed in Adana."

The man brightened and spoke up, "Adana, that's just it. That's why I wanted to find you. I've got something from Adana for you. Grabbed it before those damned Greeks took the place. I hid it here, but I only just got back. . ."

Matthias nodded and looked at the box with curiosity.

"These are chaotic times Adalric, we all do the best we can. Why don't you show me what you brought?"

Adalric smiled sheepishly and put the box down on a pew.

"Yeah, as I was saying, I took it from Adana, from St. Maximillian's Chapel, before they could get their hands on it. It felt wrong opening up King Salier's tomb like that but. . .I couldn't let them have it, Unified Church or not."

Matthias opened the box. Wrapped in cloth within it was a sword and scabbard. He gasped, "My God, is this. . .?"

Adalric nodded, happy, "Yes my Lord, Saint Maximillian's sword itself. The sword that cut through metal without a scratch, that killed that heathen General, that King Salier took with him to his last battle, poor bastard."

Matthias unsheathed the sword and raised it with reverence. After he had retrieved King Salier's head from Kitbuqa the Wrathful he had found his body and looted possessions, including the sword, and interred them in the Chapel of Adana next to his fellow Bavarian Crusader, St. Maximillian. Of course some said there was a stronger relation between them than nationality, but the Church frowned on that particular rumor.

Matthias thought that the sword, along with everything else, had been lost with Adana, but here was the Sword of the Saint delivered to him in his hour of need. Here was a sign, a talisman of hope and an instrument of God's Vengeance upon His enemies.

Matthias ran his thumb along the blade and pulled it back with a exclamation. A bit of blood shone on it. After all those years, the sword was still sharp.

"You have done well, Adalric, I would be honored if you joined my retinue."

The soldier nodded, tears in his eyes, "A Bavarian should have it, my Lord. The Count of Adana should use it."

Matthias raised the sword to the light poring through the windows of the Church. Gazing up at it, there was a grim set to his features, but a new fire burned in his eyes.

"Yes Adalric, you have the right of it. The Sword will be used, for God, St. Maximillian and the Reich. We will have restoration and, the Lord willing, revenge!"

Rheims, 1320 AD

Hans sat in his command tent, flanked by Dirk and Adalberth. A rare smile crossed his face in these dark times as the English King and Prince entered and were announced.
"His Majesty, by the grace of god, King Davy of England and Prince Davy, heir to the throne"

Hans rose from his wooden stool to bow before the visitors who had somehow managed to change into more formal attire, unlike himself, who was still clad in plate armor.

"Your majesty, your highness, it is good to see you safe and well here in my humble tent. May I offer you some herbal tea from the Eastern provinces?"
Without waiting for a reply, Hans motioned for one of the guards to fetch the kettle and serve tea to his guests.

"We thank you, Lord Hans, for your warm reception" after a slight pause the King added "and of course for your swift aid in battle."

"T'is nothing your majesty. It is always good to help an ally in need, especially if they are threatened by some rebellious knaves. Can I offer you something else?"

"Some milk would be nice. But yes indeed, these lands seem more troubled than I remember them when I attended my daughter's wedding to your emperor...your brother no less."

Hans could not help but wonder to himself why someone would want milk in their tea. Those English certainly were an odd people. "Indeed your majesty. Emperor Elberhard is my brother and his absence and the recent uprisings in these lands have caused me much heartache. As you could see first hand, I must make do with a small force gathered around me and can no longer rely on extensive patrols to keep order. The godless French returning with a large host might well threaten the very earth we now rest upon."

"The French you say? We have fought many a battle against these damnable folk and have even been forced to give up our rightful holding of Caen to them."

"Ah, Caen. I would gladly offer to return this mighty citadel to you, your majesty, however I am afraid a rebel has holed himself up there and proclaims himself Prince of Swabia."

"A pity really. England would welcome a foothold on Europe again to aid her worthy allies."

"Ah of course. But you see, no one would mind if the rebel Hümmel and his band were to go amiss and being the Duke of Swabia, you can be assured that Caen will be returned to England as soon as he is taken prisoner or executed."

"Very well Lord Hans, it is reassuring to hear that an attack by our royal forces on Caen would not be seen as an act of war against your people. I am certain we can bring mutual benefit to each other, would you not agree?"

"Definitely your majesty. This proposal would be most wise and worthy. Indeed, I am pleased to agree to a combined offensive against the French thereafter as well, if this would suit you."

"Then it is done, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, who shall be witness of this agreement between England and the Holy Roman Empire." King Davy seemed clearly enthusiastic as he rose and concluded "This meeting was fruitful my friend, I look forward to our next meeting and the fruits we shall reap against our common foes. I thank you for the audience, Lord Hans"

"The pleasure is all mine, King Davy. I trust your travels through these lands will be safer soon."

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

Later that night, Hans filed through the many letters that he had written in these past years, concerning the Swabian rebellion.

The letter to the governors seemed to have resulted in at least Rheims and Bern staying with Swabia and seen their garrisons bolstered. Hans read through it once again.

overnor,

These are dark times and I have been informed that the son of the traitor Ulrich Hümmel, Wolfgang, has turned one himself and intends to overthrow what little order remains in Swabia and usurp the Duchy.

As Duke, it is my duty and wish that this does not happen, and as governor, it is yours to aid me in this matter while I race back to Swabia with the Imperial Army.

Therefore, you are ordered to recruit as many militia as you can every year with florins being provided by the Ducal treasury that has long been untouched. Taxes are not to be levied during the next few years to calm the populace and the gentry are called to protect the innocent while all guards and men able are to slay any who follow the traitor Wolfgang or the heretic Luther.

You are also to bar your gates to any army except my own until you receive another letter bearing my seal and signature. The traitors are not to be given supplies at all costs and any consequences that this order may have will be born by myself and you will be richly rewarded.

As for the reward, depending on your sacrifice for remaining loyal, you will receive 20,000 florins and I may consider adopting you as a son, thus enabling you to become a Count, or even the next Duke of Swabia as I have no natural sons.

Godspeed and remain steadfast for Swabia and the Empire.

Signed
Duke Hans of Swabia

Post scriptum: Notices warning of Hümmel the traitor are to be posted around your settlement.

He wondered why Metz, Dijon and Paris fell regardless. Metz he could somewhat understand, but the other two were held by his now only remaining loyal Count, Athalwolf. Could it be due to his Lutheran beliefs? He would have to have a serious word with him eventually, if Athalwolf was hoping to become the next Duke.

The next two letters, or rather notices, had been aimed at Hümmel's troops. The first one was read to them shortly after Hans had sent orders to the governors.

Friends, Swabians,

As your Duke, I am most saddened that the man who I thought I could trust has betrayed not only me but Swabia so horribly.

He wished a county and command of an army to take Bruges, yet he now blames me for sending him there and catching the plague.

In the past, his father became chancellor and betrayed the empire, casting it into a deep recession and turmoil, and now the son, Wolfang, himself is attempting to do the same.

As Swabians, it is your duty to defend your Duchy, your homeland, your families. And the only way to do so is to return to them and protect them from harm. Not wage war on your German brothers and cousins who have helped and protected you for so long, and your Duke, who has ensured that you never go to bed with an empty stomach, nor you are denied coin for your kin's ailments.

Be aware that Duke Hans despises traitors and villains and will judge them swiftly and summarily. Think of your families, your wives and children, and what they would think of you if you were hunted as scum and rebel for following a lunatic such as Hümmel.

Friends, Swabians, go home and protect those close to your heart rather than bring shame and god's wrath upon them, your Duke is almost back home to care for you again.

Duke Hans of Swabia

The second right before the battle for Normandy.

Soldiers, Swabians!

This is another message fro your Duke, Hans of Swabia, and you would be wise to listen!

Count Athalwolf von Salza and his full strength second Swabian Household Army lay near and are under orders to arrest the traitor Hümmel for high treason and secession.

Neither Duke Hans, nor Count Athalwolf wish needless spilling of brotherly, Swabian blood and offer amnesty from persecution and execution to any man, save Hümmel himself, who lays down arms and leaves his army.

Any man who raises his arm, weapon, or bow against a member of the Second Swabian Household Army will be cut down or executed, and their families sold into slavery.

Think of your fate and that of your loved ones carefully. Do you wish to die a traitor and be despised by your ancestors and offspring, and be synonymous to the thirteenth disciple of our lord Jesus Christ?

There is no reason for you to stay and fight another man's war. This is about loyalty to your Duke, your Empire, and Swabia, not about blindly following a man who leads you to doom!

Hümmel rides alone, friends, do you truly wish to follow him to eternal damnation to burn in hell?

Yet none of them seemed to have resulted in any loss of men on Hümmel's side. What drove these men forward, Hans wondered. What could Hümmel possibly offer them and bind them with that not a single man would desert him, forsaking even their families, while his own soldiers had been deserting in broad daylight even.

It did not matter any longer though. For even without the loss of men, Hümmel's days were numbered. The English invasion fleet would arrive in droves the next few years and end this rebellion once and for all. The gifting of Caen to them was no great loss to Hans either, as he would rather have the English battle the French than his Swabians taking the full brunt of the French attacks.
Indeed, it was quite a fortunate coincidence that the small English delegation, the King and Prince no less, had been cornered by a large rebel force, only to be saved by him.

Aleppo 1322:

The King of Outremer stood in his bedchamber in the citadel. The normally tough and powerful man was holding something in his arms with the tenderest of care. It was his newborn daughter Clare. Jan, King of Outremer, slayer of Mongols, shining example of piety and chivalry, and staunch political opponent to those of the dreadful persuasion everywhere, had finally met a situation he felt unprepared for. He was a father.

He stood there just looking at her. She was sleeping peacefully wrapped in a soft blanket. She was amazing. She hadn't done anything yet of course, but that didn't matter. To Jan, she was this little bundle of joy that brought light into his life. A voice from the bed said playfully, "staring at her isn't going to do anything. She is still going to be there even if you look away."

Jan turned to look at his wife. She had that radiant smile that Jan noticed on that day at the refugee camp. Jan walked over to her gently. He lowered Clare down to her mother's arms. He then sat down on the bed carefully. Everything was perfect. Except for the large Byzantine army outside the walls of course.

Alfgarda looked up at Jan. "Something tells me your going to stay here." She said this rhetorically knowing full well that her husband would not dream of leaving the settlement behind while it was in danger."

Jan answered, "Gunther did find a tunnel the other day. I won't take it of course. But you and Clare could get out of here."

Jan's wife was adamant. "Oh no you don't. Your not sending us away. The other families trapped here don't get to escape through some tunnel. Besides, we trust you to defend us just like the people in this citadel trust you."

The King simply sighed. He knew better than to argue with his wife when she was being stubborn. They were much alike in that way. Not only stubborn, but selfless. In her position, Jan would do the same thing and they both knew it. No one had ever quite understood Jan like Alfgarda did. Until he met her, no one else had cared as much for their fellow man like he did either. But their shared passion for humanity had brought them together. And it was one of many things that they had in common. And that commonality was one of the many things that kept their marriage strong. Clare's very existence was only the most obvious and recent evidence of their love for each other.

Jan leaned over and held his wife as she held their daughter. Together they both stared at her as she slept. The von Hamburg family sat together in blissful silence. Outside, an army of people prepared to storm the citadel and kill them all.

There was nothing kind in the way Fritz von Kastilien looked at the woman. She huddled there as far away from Fritz as she could get, with two pike-bearing veterans behind her, barring her way. The wailing coming from the first storey was annoying, but it would stop soon hopefully.

"I'm surprised you haven't warmed to my hospitality, Gunehild. Berchtold must have said many things in praise of the fine accomodations I gave to him and his men when we went to Magdeburg."

The woman simply looked at the floor.

"Oh, come now, isn't there any of this fine food you would like? Here, I know," he said, turning and picking a plate off the table behind him, "grapes, from the vineyards of France. There was a great deal of expense that went to bringing these here to Stettin." Fritz paused and cocked his head. "You should know, of all people."

The woman glanced up for the briefest of moments, her face contorted between sorrow and rage, then shook her head and looked back down.

Fritz frowned. "I'm disappointed, truly. Berchtold appreciated these things a great deal. Surely you enjoyed the same pleasures with him oft..."

The woman began weeping. Fritz shook his head, placed the plate back on the table, and looked at the men. He nodded.

Almost instantly the woman began crying, "No, no!" over and over as the soldiers each took one arm and dragged her to the door. The wails upstairs turned to shrieks, which were silenced quickly. The woman continued to cry out as she was taken across the grass.

Fritz watched until they were at the city gate, then turned and walked back inside the cosy home. He strode around idly, fingering this and that trinket.

"My lord," came a voice from the stairs. "We found the treasury."

"Excellent!" cried Fritz, slapping hands together.

"The children, lord. What do you wish done with them?" There were sounds of scuffling on the upstairs floorboards.

"Let them join their mother." Fritz smiled as the wails began anew, and waited for the three youngsters to be removed before going up to count the coin.

Fritz von Kastilien paced back and forth across the floor while the other five men in the room waited. They watched him as they fingered engraved pommels, or examined their richly jeweled rings, or sniffed slightly and brought hard-heeled feet down on the floor a bit too heavily.

This was not a time for timidness, and Fritz was well aware of that. His moves had cost him in his own county. But what could the people expect after rebelling against him? That he would be a saintly figure of forgiveness? The loss of the Saxon army had been a blow, but the men who now followed him would be loyal through thick and thin -- so long as he kept the money flowing.

And that was the problem. Stettin had its limits, and they were low. Fritz stopped pacing.

"Very well, then. I agree to your terms, though you will have to work out details with my quartermaster. In reply I can promise you greater plunder than any of you have ever witnessed. But you will need to be patient. The plan I have begun is not an overnight ambition."

One of the men guffawed.

"I've seen more plunder than you can dream of, Count. No disrespect intended, but what you've done is slight pickings compared to the sacking of a great city. In fact..."

"Have no worries, Oswy," cut in Fritz with a deep smile that made his eyes mere slits. "What we have done is only the beginning."

Ah, yes. The chaos around them would be a good mistress.

Caesarea, 1322

Nikeforos Argyrus was a troubled man. Seated in his study, he reviewed the latest reports. The seamless seizure of Outremer from the Germans had done much to raise his reputation at the Imperial Court, but lately, the news had turned sour. Matthias Steffen had escaped in a brazen raid by Jan von Hamburg, the so-called King of what was left of the German lands in the Levant. Antioch and Aleppo had been reclaimed by the Crusaders despite strong Roman armies in the area. Regardless of the implosion of the Reich, the Germans in the east still seemed capable of resistance.

Nikeforos's contacts in newly reclaimed Constantinople informed him that the Basileus was displeased with progress in the east. Unfortunate comparisons were being made with the campaign in Italy. This did not bode well for his career or standing in the Empire. New efforts were under way however, Aleppo and Antioch were besieged, and Jan and Matthias were trapped. Those two thorns in his side would soon be removed. Crushing them, reclaiming those cities and hunting down their Kaiser would raise his star again.

A knock sounded at the door, and after the Strategos gave permission, a servant came in bearing a heavy square box. Placing the package on the desk the messenger spoke, "This just came in with Strategos Diogenes's seal, my lord."

Waving the man away, Nikeforos turned his attention to the box. Opening it he pulled out a large class container.

There, floating in brandy, was the head of Demetrios Diogenes. His features were still contorted in agony and surprise. His right eye was missing.

Swearing, Nikeforos searched the box, he found a letter.

Quote:

---

Strategos,

Greetings from the Iron Bridge. It seems your man Demetrios underestimated Imperial accuracy at Antioch, and Captain Draganos underestimated Imperial bravery here. I would have sent you his head too, but it was somewhat unrecognizable after he was trampled.

I do wish you would come south so that we could resume our acquaintance, we have much to catch up on. Of course, if you wish to hide in Anatolia, that is your decision. Either way, I will find you.

Matthias

---

"Good heavens, of course I know what a canon is!" Fritz strode across the room and flipped open a heavy, leather-bound tome that sat on its stand. "Not only that, but I know what the canon is. This!"

Odred One-Hand coughed politely, then ran his fingers down the corner of his mouth, pulling the smile off his face as he did so.

"Fritz, let me show you what a cannon is," he said, motioning for a quill. He took this in his one good hand, made a few swift movements on a piece of birch parchment, and stood back.

Fritz regarded it for a moment, nodded, then looked at Odred and said flatly, "That's really short."

Rheims, 1324 AD.

On the walls of Rheims stood a man. The sun shone from behind his back, making him cast a shadow before the forests and plains before him. A arrow would whistle by softly, a Archer hoping for a glorious and lucky shot. THis man stood on the walls, not on the ground behind it. His fingers were grasped behind his back while his steely gaze looked over the ground beneath him. He was Athalwolf von Salza.

He was truely in mourning. This Civil War had to end, Duke Hans had said nothing about the Invasion of the Bavarians. Athalwolf though, was certian he was going to die before the war was over. Wolfgang would want his head, Athalwolf was certian. It was the same with Athalwolf. Athalwolf had counter acted the other man's every move, except the move on Bruges. Behind Athalwolf the town was in movement, the chip of Blakcsmith's hammer rang through the city, constructing and sharpening killing blades. Men were being trained while the trained were guarding the City Wall and Gates. Athalwolf drew his sword, the soud of sword against scabbard ringing a sharp sound across the field. THis provoked several shots from enemy Archer's.

While Athalwolf had worried over the fate of Rheims, and what would happen afterwards, he had forgotten of Toledo. It was minor, had been dealt with, and was now not a problem to Athalwolf. He sheathed his sword, and further arrows glanced about him. One struck his helemt, dinting offwards and falling towards the ground before the City.
"Sir, please come down from there, we have words of enemy gunmen." A Aide told Athalwolf. The COunt grimaced, the best of a smile he could do, then hopped down from the tall edged defenses.
"Leave me, I have things to attend to elsewhere for now." Athalwolf muttered. He would once again write to Hans, find out what to do. Athalwolf downed his head in his hands as he sat on the stone. The Aid was gone, thank god. THe man was as annoying as a pestering fly. He would nag, and nag, and nag. Thank god Athalwolf wasn't married...
"Jobst Leroy?" asked a voice. Athalwolf sighed, that bloody Aide... He looked up, it was a small man. Dressed in rags of a prirest and a questioning look on his face.
"Athalwolf von Salza, and I am trying to bloody defend this town." Replied Athalwolf.
"But you have the distinctive nose and eyes of a Leroy, have monsieour come back to defend the Duchy? Has mon Duke sent you?" asked the priest hopefully. Athalwolf faltered, it was rushing back. Leroy, Rheims, von Salza... Athalwolf backed away into the wall.
"Non, I am von Salza, not Leroy!" Athalwolf yelled, this was impossbile, this myth was finding him everywhere!
"Mon Lord, our DUke has ran away! 'I return with Spanish conqueors, and we retake France from these Germans!' says our Duke Leroy. He goes off to Spain, to Toledo! And where is monsieour now? Now we find ourselves stuck within a German War! But has mon Duke sent his promised help?" asked the Priest hopefully, the ground rumbled from a stone, flung from a catapault, nearby. Athalwolf once again faltered. Denying more would do no help, if it was true? The Priest was walking away though, quite quickly.
"Come mon lord, let us visit the CHurch!" Athalwolf had no wish to go to the church. The German, and possibly French, Count hurrired onwards, following the Priest.

They eventually stopped at a Cementary. The Priest walked towards a gravestone, and Athalwolf reluctantly followed. The man blew off some of the dust, and pointed at it.
Duke Leroy of Champange, Died 1168 AD

Beneath was written several Latin words. Athalwolf smiled.
"Impossible my friend. That is the year when my Father fought..." Athalwolf stopped, wave after wave of shock crashing upon him. The Priest took it for conversation,
"Yes mon lord. The Count, at that time, died while assualting the walls of Dijon." said the Priest. Athalwolf gasped for air, his father had killed his own relatives. Athalwolf remembered a child hood story Jobst had told him, of when he had come face to face with a French Duke while defending Dijon. Did he know that was his family? That he had proabably killed his own brother!? The Priest motioned on, Athalwolf walked on, slightly fearful of what was to be uncovered.
Duke Leroy of Rheims, Died 1136
"This man died in the a small battle in the Italian Alps. Killed by a stray crossbow bolt. THey said he was searching for one man..." Athalwolf stepped backwards, then ran from the graveyard. He stopped, letting a single tear grace his face before wiping it away.
"You see Athalwolf, we knew the whole time. THis is why the late Kaiser defended Dijon so many times. He was not defending Dijon, but from us claiming him again. We have searched for him for so many years, even sending that man Dieter to him. I think the man was secretly pleased at having died in Denmark." Athalwolf looked up, it was the old Duke again.
"You, are a Leroy my son." said the old man, smiling.

After so many years, they'd caught not the man, but his son.

New Jersey, 2007

Four high school seniors were gathered around an empty desk, chatting. The bell signalling the start of class had not rung yet, and plus the teacher was lenient.

"So, I finally finished that Kingdoms Crusades campaign last night," said one of them, Steve.

"Oh really?" answered another, Don. "I thought you said you were pretty much screwed in that one."

"Yeah," said a third, John. Despite being in New Jersey he spoke with a British accent, having lived there for most of his life. He was viewed as something of an interesting specimen by the AP European History class, being one of the few who did not bring an American bias to the discussion. "Didn't you have von Saxony leading the campaign and then he died right before Adana was assaulted?"

"Don't remind me," said Steve. "Yeah, so I decided to take the place with a captain. Bad move. I lost big."

The final student, Stan, laughed. "So how'd you turn it around?"

"Well, it gets better. I finally take Adana with a second army led by Kaiser Henry but he loses so many men in the process he barely has enough guys left to garrison the place. Then suddenly this Egyptian dude comes out of nowhere with this uber-army. He's got ten stars, seven dread, tons of bodyguard, elite units, all that. He catches Otto von Kassel by surprise and slaughters that army."

Don chuckled. "You suck at this, dude. So you lost two of the six guys."

"Three. Jonas von Mahren was the second general in Otto's stack."

"Ouch! So you lost three guys and Henry's in Adana and can't really do anything."

"Yeah, he's building an army but it doesn't look like he'll last because that nasty Egyptian stack is heading right for him. So I'm down to Hans, who's bogged down against the Hungarians, and Max Mandorf. I decide to put Mandorf on a ship and sneak him around to hit Jerusalem from the south but it doesn't work and the Egyptian guys turn around and hit him hard. But then, he's got that special ability."

John groaned. "You didn't. That's so cheap."

"It's not cheap!" said Steve. "They attack, I'm so outnumbered it's not even funny. But then I just maneuver Mandorf's bodyguard around, sic him on the Egyptian general, and bam. Dead general. Huge chain rout, we somehow win with minimal casualties, and good ol' Max Mandorf and his general-killing ability is the Hero of the Crusade. We sneak around, hit Jerusalem from the south, and win."

The bell rang, and the four students sat down, still discussing the cheapness of Mandorf's ability and the merits of the Crusades campaign with Ansehelm von Kastilien's Teutonic campaign.

"All right class, settle down," said the teacher, Mrs. S. "Today we're going to continue our discussion of the Imperial Cataclysm. Going into 1320 and the formation of the Catholic Alliance, what was the Reich's greatest disadvantage?"

"They had a united enemy?" somebody asked.

"Hmm, good guess. But remember that the Reich was able to fight off numerous enemies and expand even before 1300. Anyone else?"

"Political instability," said Stan. "Too many nobles were looking to save their own skin, Luther was still causing problems, and Swabia was too ready to destroy itself before it focused on France."

"Exactly," said Mrs. S. "Too often the Swabian Civil War is left out of the history books as they focus on the greater situation and the French push more. It's a shame, really, as it was a fascinating conflict, as most civil wars are, and we're going to learn more about it.

"Your work for today will be to complete an annotated timeline for the Swabian conflict up to the showdown at Rheims in 1324. I want it to me by the end of class. You may work with each other."

Everybody groaned. Mrs. S loved annotated timelines, but she was the only one. It was only October and already the kids were sick of them. However, being AP students, the grade was more important and they grudingly got down to work.

1312: The Conflict Begins - Wolfgang Hummel, probably mad at his Duke and Kaiser for being ordered to attack a city that had the plague, decides to take his army and march on Staufen, proclaiming himself Prinz of Swabia. Hans is in Austria and unable to crush the rebellion.

"Hey John," said Steve. "Do you think this is an all right length?"

John looked it over and nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Mine's a bit longer, but I've learned about this before. You should add that this was Hummel's seconds rebellion."

"Oh yeah," said Steve, and scribbled it in. "Next entry..."

1314: Sides are Taken - Athalwolf von Salza, the only other noted commander in Swabia, declared for Hans. Meanwhile, to the south Dietrich von Dassel finished up slaughtering the people of Durazzo and prepared to make the long trip back to Swabia. Everyone knew that he had no love for his Duke. Two cities, Paris and Metz, decided to become independent cities, siding with neither. I don't think they trusted either man to lead them, especially with the frontier being abandoned.

"Mrs. S?" Steve raised his hand. "Is it okay to use first-person commentary in our annotations?"

"Yes, but try to keep it to a minimum. Remember, your opinion as a historian means absolutely nothing until you take the AP test and do well on it."

"Thanks, Mrs. S."

1316: Movement - Wolfgang and Athalwolf neared each other in Normandy. Hans continued to march to Swabia. Dietrich von Dassel landed in Italy. Dijon also became independent. I don't know why this year is significant enough to merit an entry in the timeline.

1318: The War Becomes Hot - Wolfgang and Athalwolf engaged each other in Normandy but neither one is manly enough to take the initiative in the battle the battle is inconclusive. Wolfgang goes back to Caen and Athalwolf to Staufen, where he is joined by Hans. The French finally wake up at what's going on in the land of their mortal enemies and besiege Paris, their former capital. No one in Swabia really blinks. Too much has been said and done to back down and unite now.

"What's with all those crossed out bits?" Don peered over at Steve's paper and saw the deleted comments. "It's a timeline, not a commentary."

"Timelines are a piece of *#%!, dude. I need to amuse myself somehow."

"Steve! What did I say about language in the classroom?!"

"Sorry, Mrs. S."

1320: The Sides Entrench - Wolfgang marched on Bruges, adding it to his lands and making it the new capital of his Principality. It is now clear that he intended to secede from the Reich with as many lands as he could. It seems like Athalwolf was the only one concerned with actually protecting Swabia from the French. Dietrich von Dassel lollygagged in Italy, killing some more Byzantines with Lothar Steffen. For all his hatred of Hans, the guy could have hustled to Swabia a little quicker. Hans, meanwhile, aided the English King Davy in return for a promise of support against the rebellion, but the English, being typical Englishmen

"Hey!" said John. "What's this about Englishmen?"

"All I'm saying is how King Davy didn't really do much in the first part of the war. Relax, dude. It happened over 700 years ago."

John chuckled. "Well, yes, Davy really didn't do that much. But you do forget, we had the Danes to worry about at that time."

"Yeah yeah yeah," said Steve. "This is a timeline about Swabia, not England. Let me get on with it."

1322: More Movement - Wolfgang began the march to Rheims to claim it. Athalwolf began the march to Rheims to defend it from the French. Hans began to besiege Metz, trying to add it back to the Reich. The Frenchies began their siege of Caen.

"One more year," Steve sighed. "Finally."

1324: The War Grows - Dietrich von Dassel came out of nowhere with a huge army and a proclamation that he was claiming Swabia for himself. At that point it was unclear whether he included Wolfgang's Principality in this. He delivered an ultimatum for Hans, which was of course denied. Peter von Kastilien, a Franconian, similarly came out of nowhere to aid Hans in the conquest of Metz, which was surprising considering Hans had tried to arrest Peter earlier. Dietrich was near Bern. At Rheims, Athalwolf and Wolfgang met again, while Caen was still besieged by the French.

Steve sighed. "Finally," he said. "That was long. Stupid Swabians and their egos. I hope Mrs. S doesn't make us do another one for the second part of the war." He took the paper, put it on the teacher's desk, and waited for the bell to ring.

Metz, 1324

Péter von Kastilien was at an interesting crossroads. Having just won a great battle at Metz under the command of Duke Hans of Swabia, who politically he opposed, he knew not what to do next. The self-declared Duke Dietrich von Dassel and Duke Lothar Steffen had suspected him to go fight along with them against Hans. Péter did not wish to fight in a civil war, however much he disliked Hans. He was too loyal to the Reich to desire the death of fellow Germans. There are foreign enemies abroad, and Swabia is concerned with killing each other.

It was time to return to Franconia.

The Kaiser’s camp at the ford east of Acre, 1326


Kaiser Elberhard looked up from his map at the stranger:

“Kachig says you have a proposition for me.”

The stranger bowed: “Sire, I have spoken to the shipwrights in Antioch. We can assemble a large fleet - large enough to transport all surviving Crusaders and their armies back to the Reich. It will not be quick and it will not be cheap. But it is possible.”

Elberhard frowned: “How not quick and how not cheap, precisely?”

“We could assemble the fleet by 1332. But it will take every resource in Outremer to see it done.”

“@#$%^&!!! it!” swore Elberhard under his breath and looked away. The offer re-opened a tension that had been present ever since the start of the cataclysm: whether to stay to protect Outremer or to return to the Reich to reassert his authority.

The Kaiser looked up at the man again: “Thank you … what is your name again?”

“Gustav Peters, Sire …explorer.”

“Good work, Peters, good work. I need to discuss your proposition. Wait in the camp. It’s going to be a long night.”

*****

Elberhard looked around at his inner circle. At the head was his wife, Linyeve. Next to her stood the veteran English warrior, Sir Charles de Villiers. Sitting relaxed on a stool, was Kachig Iskyan, the Armenian mercenary captain. Jan the Teuton stood upright, as if to attention. Almost in the shadows, lurked Niklas Gruber, his disgraced mentor.

“So, do we stay or do we go?” opened the Kaiser.

All eyes turned to Linyeve.

“We go.” she said simply.

Jan the Teuton turned red: “But to abandon Outremer! It is unthink…”

Linyeve cut him off: “Abandon Outremer or abandon the Reich? Which one is more unthinkable?”

The Empress paused and then began to list the Reich’s current woes. “The Kaiser’s brother is fighting for his life in Swabia. Bavaria has now entered the conflict, using Dietrich as its proxy. The Reich is on the verge of open civil war. With Prague’s secession from Austria, that House may soon also fall into internal warfare. Franconia’s eastern and northern flanks have been ripped open - invading armies of Poles, Danes and Russians are pouring into our heartlands. Byzantium has exterminated Rome and Bologna - the whole of north Italy is open to them. How many more settlements will they wipe out? How can we stay out here, while all that happens in Europe?”

“But Outremer…” protested Jan the Teuton.

The Empress raised her hand demanding for silence. “There is a way we could leave without abandoning Outremer to the Byzantines and the Mohammedans...”

Again, she commanded the attention of all in the room. She nodded at Sir Charles de Villiers and the English veteran warrior spoke hesitantly.

“At the Empress’s request, I made informal soundings to England. It is possible that they would accept the gift of Outremer.”

Linyeve continued: “If my father’s people ruled these lands, perhaps the Byzantines would halt their offensive. Their quarrel is with us for sacking Constantinople. They have no dispute with England. The Mohammedans, well - at the moment, they are killing themselves. The Egyptians are attacking the Turks in the east, so there should be a respite. And we could always return when the Reich is made whole again.”

Elberhard looked frozen with indecision, then broke into a wry smile: “@#$%^&!!! it - I’ve given away Outremer once, why should I blanche at a second time?”

Jan the Teuton looked appalled.

Elberhard turned to him: “Look, we came hear to protect Jerusalem and the Pope. Now Jerusalem and the Pope are trying to kill us! Don’t you think that shows we have outstayed our welcome?”

“About the Papacy, Sire…” a quiet voice spoke up from the shadows.

Heads turned towards Niklas Gruber, the Kaiser’s old mentor.

“While we are still in Outremer, there is one last task that we could perform - one that could only be performed from here.”

Jan the Teuton whistled and swore under his breath, but Niklas continued:

“Regime change: if the Pope were to fall in battle, we still have enough influence in the College of Cardinals to perhaps elect a German as replacement. That may make it easier for the Reich to be reconciled.”

A cold shiver ran through Elberhard and it was as if he could feel the spirit of his grandfather, Heinrich, passing by. He shook his head:

“As usual, there are too many “perhaps” and “maybes” in your advice, Niklas. If we destroy the main Papal army and take Jerusalem, we rob Outremer of a key bastion against the Mohammedans. The Holy City would surely fall when we leave.”

“At least consult Matthias on this.” prompted Linyeve.

The shiver ran through Elberhard again. “Very well.” he said, reluctantly.

“And what of besieged Aleppo?” said Kachig the mercenary Captain, ever practical. “What do we do now?”

Elberhard rubbed his head. Two depleted regiments of sergeants were holding the castle - besieged by two Byzantine armies. A third - an elite Guard army - blocked the path east from the ford. To relieve Aleppo, he would have to cut through all three armies.

“There are scarcely over one hundred men in Aleppo.” said Elberhard firmly. “How many men would we lose to rescue them? And if I lose my army, what is the point of returning to the Reich? I would merely be hostage to the first usurper we encounter on landfall. We cannot save Aleppo.”

Jan the Teuton looked distraught: “Sire, we are abandoning all codes of chivalry! This is not the honourable path!”

“I know, Jan, I know.” Elberhard looked down. ”Perhaps we should challenge the Byzantine Guard army in front of us? We avoided giving battle to them outside Damascus, but now they have put us in an even worse position. Perhaps it was a mistake to let them be? If we survive our encounter with them with sufficient strength, we could continue on to Aleppo and evacuate it.”

Linyeve looked at Elberhard harshly, with disapproval.

The Kaiser caught her glance and started to backtrack: “I must consult with the other Crusader Electors on this. But the principle is decided: we are leaving Outremer.”

Normandy, 1326

Wolfgang wearily mounted his horse as his men prepared for the long march west to Flanders.

"Ah, Herr Hohenburg, what do you think of this latest invasion by the Danes?" he asked his companion.

Sheathing his sword, Conrad sighed before answering, "To be honest, mein prinz, this is becoming draining on the men. We have been marching all over this war ravaged patch of northern France for the last ten years. The men are loyal, but even loyalty begins to be tested at feats like this."

"I am afraid you are right. The men have not seen a battle in years, and one is a soldier to fight, not to see the countryside. However, the Danes ought to provide some action for the men."

Smiling wrly, Conrad replied sarcastically, "Unless they live up to their reputation and sail away."

"I doubt they will do that; they have too much to lose. With von Kastilien's invasion of Sweden, the Danes cannot afford to lose wealthy cities. If they sail away, the way is open to Antwerp. Nein, the Danes will fight, and we must crush them."

"What about von Salza, mein prinz? He may yet prove a thorn in our side."

Wolfgang laughed, "Von Salza's army would crumble against me. Our men are seasoned and blooded, and will not let me down."

Spurring his horse, Wolfgang galloped over to the vanguard, which was led by Gerhard van Ghent, Jan van Ghent's son.

"Heil, Prinz Hummel! It is an honour to see you in such gut spirits." shouted Gerhard.

Wolfgang rode up beside van Ghent, and the two began an earnest discussion.

"Are you serious? Surely that is madness?" exclaimed van Ghent.

"Nein," grinned Wolfgang, "it has the element of suprise, which is vital in times such as these. I think that we might be able to pull it off."

Frankfurt, 1326

Péter lay awake in bed on the eve of battle. Ansehelm has died, he thought. A year after retiring from politics Ansehelm rode off against the Poles and was slain while killing his foes.

This meant Péter was Duke of Franconia; it was a position he never expected to hold, or if he did, only for a few years before he died.

It was a tremendous responsibility - especially during these years of plague and rebellion. He hoped he would bring glory to his Duchy and the Reich.

His plans were clear - to regain lost territory and protect those in danger. He was in command of the Army of Hamburg, which was going to relieve the siege of Frankfurt and then reconquer the city of its namesake. Jan von Hamburg, former King of Outremer, is returning to take up the county he was born in.

His older brother Fritz was in command of the Army of Prussia, which was now situated at Stockholm, waiting to kill the Danish Prince and take the city for the glory of the Reich.

His cousin-in-law, Dieter Bresch, was commanding the Saxon Army and holding up at Magdeburg - he would soon have to move to strike those invading the eastern front of Franconia. Alas, Franconia's sprawling size is its weakness.

His protege, Tancred von Tyrolia (commanding the Army of Brandenburg), was assisting the Austrians to improve relations with the old allies and Duke Arnold. Plus, a united Reich is a protected Reich - sectionalism will cause a house to crumble.

Count Edmund Becker, separated from the House of Austria and married to Péter's old friend Niesenn von Mahren, recently won a great victory against the Poles in Péter's plague-ridden County of Breslau. It was good to know that friends elsewhere can protect you.

Péter was a bit more at ease, and became anxious for battle. He had never fought the Danes before, and his lust nearly drove him mad. He howled into the night, startling the camp.

Jonas, the veteran warrior, overheard him.

"Are you alright, my lord?"

"Yes, Jonas, for tomorrow we conquer!"

Preface: I began writing this piece as a fictional narrative with the usual amount of dramatics and bloodshed. However, I found that I had to include a great deal of historical background information which quickly started to dominate the entire story. So, I have instead abandoned the ‘fictional’ account and turned to a purely ‘historical’ one. I am always fond of turning to actual historical events for motivation and inspiration and this is no exception. This story is occurring in KOTR, but it is an exact replica of an event which occurred in the Bavarian town of Donauwörth in 1606.

In the process of self-edification, I found a very detailed account of the event in an article published in a Cambridge University journal. Rather than butchering the account with my own inferior knowledge, I have instead decided to copy the majority of the factual account from this article. I have changed some of the background information and the dates to correspond with events in KOTR, but the vast majority of the following piece is copied verbatim from the following paper:

Urban Order and Religious Coexistence in the German Imperial City: Augsburg and Donauwörth, 1548–1608, C. Scott Dixon; Conference Group for Central European History of the American Historical Association, Central European History 40 (2007), 1-33.

The complete paper can be found online here and I personally find it very interesting. It also includes a narrative of similar conflicts between Lutherans and Catholics which occurred in Augsburg around the same time. I encourage anyone interested in the history of the Reformation in general, and the origins of the Thirty Years War in particular, to read it.

Donauwörth and the Battle of the Banners

After the fall of Rome in 1318, the greater problems of the Holy Roman Empire began to supersede the growing religious conflict between Catholics and the followers of Alexander Luther. In 1319, many prominent leaders of both groups gathered in the northern Bavarian city of Augsburg to discuss a way to end the civil disorder which was disabling the Reich. After weeks of debate, they eventually agreed to a partitioning of the local lands into Catholic and Lutheran areas. Under the Peace of Augsburg, free practice of both religions was officially sanctioned and local Lords were authorized to divide their lands into Catholic and Lutheran sections, to prevent the conflicts that inevitably resulted when the two groups mixed.

Soon after the signing of the Peace, the religious rioting and disorder that had plagued the Reich for several years began to die down. With the core cities secure and stable, the Duchies were able to resume effective taxation and military recruitment, thus allowing them to put up an effective defense against the coordinated onslaught of the Byzantines and the Catholic Alliance. Yet, despite the official peace between the Catholics and Lutherans, discontent continued to simmer. The events in Swabia in particular continued to fan the embers of the smoldering conflict. Duke Hans was an avowed Catholic, a loyal supporter of Kaiser Siegfried and the Pope, and he had made repeated calls to his fellow believers for support in his war against the rebellious Electors. While Wolfgang Hümmel had not allied himself with either religious group, Dietrich von Dassel was one of the most ardent Lutherans and his entry into the conflict in 1326, with Alexander Luther himself at his side, began to give the Swabian Civil War some less than subtle undertones. Across the Reich, the peace between Catholics and Lutherans continued to hold, but both sides began to complain openly about the abuses and atrocities committed by the other in the fratricidal war in Swabia.

In Donauwörth, the religious peace of 1319 secured the free exercise of both religions. However, the Catholic community in Donauwörth was not a powerful presence in the city. Already within a year of the Peace, the Catholics had been forced out of the parish church and consigned to three places of worship—the Benedictine monastery of Holy Cross, a chapel belonging to the Order of the Teutonic Knights, and a small chapel in the residence of the abbots of Kaisheim. As long as the Catholics did not move beyond the borders of these three sacral enclaves, the two communities lived in relative harmony. Surveying Donauwörth late in 1320, Jacob Maier von Binicken, the neighboring pastor of Berg, claimed that Lutherans and Catholics had achieved a state of equilibrium in the city. Once the balance was tipped, however, or the sacral boundaries overstepped, it quickly led to tensions.

Troubles first surfaced in 1322 when the abbot of Holy Cross began to extend the route of the pilgrimage processions to the village of Auchsesheim, held annually on the Feast of St. Mark, and introduce observances, such as the ringing of bells, the carrying of candles and torches, the use of a stole during burial services, and above all the unfurling of banners, which were seen as “novelties” by the council and in violation of earlier agreements. Tensions increased, reaching a high point in 1324 with the election of a new abbot, and then amplified again in 1325, when, inspired by a miracle reputed to have occurred in an outlying parish, the monks of Holy Cross joined up with hundreds of others and marched through nearby Protestant lands with as many as eighteen banners on show. This was a formula for discord. The council had already issued a mandate against the display of banners outside the limits of Holy Cross, thus when the procession took place one year later and the abbot was equally bold in the choice of route and the use of ceremonial display, the council turned to force. Urban officials stopped the procession in its tracks and confiscated the banners. On getting word of this, the bishop of Augsburg forwarded an appeal to the Imperial Court. In response, the Imperial authorities issued a mandate, forbidding, under threat of ban, any further disturbance of the exercise of the Catholic religion in Donauwörth.

Relations between Lutherans and Catholics broke down completely the following year, on the day of the St. Mark’s procession (April 25, 1327). Despite Imperial censure, the city councilors continued to warn the abbot of Holy Cross to leave off all “nontraditional ceremonies” (such as the use of unfurled banners) and stick to the street near the grounds of the cloister. In the churches, the Lutheran preachers railed against the impudence of the monks and mocked their claims that they would rather suffer death than march with banners concealed. Disregarding all of these threats, the monks of Holy Cross, led by Prior Georg Beck, preached about the dangers of a Lutheran kingdom being established in Swabia, under the rule of Dietrich von Dassel. Accompanied by a group of young musicians and members of the Donauwörth Catholic community (including the wife of a Fugger count), they then marched as planned from the monastery to the marketplace, where they were soon surrounded by a hostile Lutheran citizenry shouting abuse and threatening violence. “One should meet these staff-bearing sacrament rogues with staffs,” suggested one of the onlookers, “and serve up some knuckle sandwich.” Against the odds, the procession made it out of the city; but on its return to Donauwörth, things did not end so well. With the Lutherans still gathered and the magistracy watching on, local men armed with wheat flails and pitchforks, as well as a few swords and spears, let loose on the Catholics as they entered the city. Staffs were ripped from hands, banners were shredded, crosses were smashed to pieces, and Catholic pilgrims were chased through the muddy streets, some making it back to Holy Cross, others taking shelter along the way. It ended quickly, but within days the “Battle of the Banners” had become a celebrated event in Lutheran Germany.

Bavarian and Imperial authorities quickly re-imposed order on the town, but word of the riot spread to all corners of the Reich. Groups gathered in homes, taverns, and public halls, complaining about violations of the laws of God and the Reich. Lutheran and Catholic clergy alike spoke of the event regularly from the pulpit. For the former, it was proof that the Catholics would violate the Peace of Augsburg whenever it pleased them, while for the latter it was evidence that Lutherans were determined to subjugate all Germans to their religious beliefs through force of arms. The only thing both sides could agree on was that vigilance and action would be required in the days ahead.

Bern, 1326

"Sir? The latest pigeon has arrived."

"Thank you, Joseph," said Dietrich von Dassel. "Where has it cooped?"

"The usual spot, sir. It seems to have more to say than usual."

"Excellent, lead on. It appears that this is what we've been waiting for." Dietrich started giving out orders to the people around him. "Friedrich, alert Luther. He might want to know about this. August, come with me. I'm sure Hans knows about this by now and he might be prepared to react at any time. I need you to be ready to alert the troops."

Both men nodded. Friedrich, Dietrich's aide, departed, searching for Luther. August von Blücher, a Franconian whose hatred of the French brought him to Swabia, followed his general and Joseph, the man who brought them all the news.

The city had now been under siege for some months, but there were still ways of communication with the outside world. Just hours before Hans's army had arrived to trap his enemy, Dietrich had made contact with a sympathetic farmer who had an odd hobby relating to birds. The man had agreed to send carrier pigeons detailing the news of the outside world, and particularly Swabia, whenever possible. At first Dietrich was skeptical but after his preferred method of communication, a man who knew the secret passages of the city well, was caught and brutally executed by Hans's men in front of the garrison, he had no choice.

The three men arrived to where the pigeon was perched, resting after its flight and graciously accepting some seed, the message still tied to its leg. Dietrich untied it, and without waiting for Friedrich or Luther, read the message out loud.

Quote:

---

Hummel is victorious at the Crossroads. He marches on Bruges against the Danes. Von Salza in full retreat towards Rheims, carrying only archers and some cavalry. He has lost all infantry. Hummel still has a decent army. Expected recovery time for von Salza is long.

---

And then, scrawled at the bottom of the paper:

Quote:

---

Can you hurry this siege up? I'd like to be able to sell my crops again.

---

Dietrich read the first part of the message once more and then discarded it, turning to August von Blücher. "What do you make of all this?"

"Too early to tell," said Blücher. We don't know whether this victory was Phyrric or not yet. Hummel definitely won, but the question is whether von Salza roughed him up enough to make Bruges difficult. After he fights the Danes his army might be in as bad condition as von Salza's."

Dietrich was about to reply, but then Friedrich and Alexander Luther joined them.

"What'd it say?" Friedrich asked.

"Hummel won," Dietrich said simply, and then continued his discussion with Blücher. "August, you have a point about long-term. That's long-term though. What about short-term?"

Here Friedrich piped in. "Well, short-term, it energizes those who do not support the current Swabian regime. This kind of battle result won't convince anybody that Hans has his act together. That means the good Duke is going to have to do some major damage control to salvage the situation."

"Against us," said Luther.

"Very good, Luther," said Dietrich. "That's the thing now, in order to save face and keep Swabia in line Hans is going to need a decisive victory against us, and he's going to need it fast. Preferably one that results in mine and Luther's capture or death. Rebellions that survive the initial effort to put them down become infinitely more dangerous."

"What he needs to do now," said Blücher, "is beat us quickly, turn around, and then march on Hummel. If he focuses on us too long, then Hummel gets a free hand in the north and can wreak havoc for quite a while until von Salza gets back on his feet. If he abandons Bern in favor of chasing down Hummel, then we get to stretch our legs a little bit."

"And there's no way he can do either thing," said Luther. "Because the other side would get too dangerous."

All three of them nodded at Luther's words. Even though the man was a professional theologian he had spent a lot of time around armies and garrisons, and was starting to get a good grasp of the military perspective.

"Hans has no choice but to attack us here, and to do it quickly," said Dietrich. "And when he does, we'll be ready for him. By God, we'll be ready for him."

Outside Ragusa 1326

Duke Arnold was sitting in his field tent. As much as a field tent that it was. With multiple rooms, including a council of war table, reception area and small armoury is was in reality a small palace. Lantern’s strewn throughout the massive marquee turned night into day and allowed the Duke and his retinue to work throughout the night, attending to the tasks required to govern a Duchy in a time of crisis.

Sitting at one end of the massive table normally reserved for his briefing sessions Arnold was putting the finishing touches on a fairly long letter.

“My Lord,” Bane knelt briefly before taking a seat and pouring himself a glass of mead.

“Reports indicate Hummel has handed von Salza a fairly decisive defeat.”

“Did either of them get killed?” Arnold looked up as he pressed his Ducal seal into the blood red wax sealing the envelop.

“Unfortunately not my Lord. Both men survived the encounter.”

“God damn Separatists, or Rebel’s or what ever you want to call these bloody Count’s pissing about while our real enemies are smashing down the Reich’s collective doors!! They should be all put against a wall and shot with these new pistol contraptions!!”

Bane paused before continuing. Letting his Duke calm down was always a healthy option he had found, it usually lead to less fatalities in which ever situation they found themselves in. The recent destruction of the Venetian forces being the latest example. In reality the Duke would never have attacked if it wasn’t for the merchants from Prague stealing gold and crops from Vienna.

“Have you heard the rumours?”

The Duke raised an eyebrow at the fully helmed Dread Knight. Bane realised the Duke wanted him to continue.

“Words has reached our scouts south of Daruzzo that a large fleet is being constructed in the Holy Land. The Kaiser is making his way back to the Reich it seems.”

Arnold face betrayed nothing of his feelings on the subject. Even to his most trusted servant, the Duke would not publicly speak his mind about the Kaiser.

“Interesting, his return should impact the general situation.”

Bane could not even read between the lines of that statement so he fell silent.

Handing him the letter Arnold stood and placed his hand on his tall dark armoured companion.

“Take this to Becker. Talk with him, make him see reason Bane. I spoke to you yesterday on this and the Priest has not changed my mind on the matter. What I said still stands. Go, be safe Bane.

Ride to Prague and heal this Duchy my friend.”

Without a word the Dread Knight bowed and left the chamber.

Venice: 1328

Jan von Hamburg walks down the ramp of the ship. The journey had been quite long and he was very happy to be back on dry land. His bodyguards and retinue fanned out and secured the area. There were men out there who would not approve of his presence back in Europe and Jan knew he had to be careful. His wife was behind him and carrying their belongings while some aides carried his children. At the bottom of the ramp a man waited for him.

He was an old grizzled veteran of Outremer. He had fought with Jan in the battle for Damascus during the Second Crusade. He had served Outremer loyaly for years. But, like many men, the call of home finally proved too much. As King, Jan was able to use his position to secure jobs back in Europe for loyal Crusaders. He had done it many times before. While he fought hard to help men stay in Outremer, he would fight to make sure they had a good life afterwards. Such was part of the code and one of the perks of being King. This man in particular was a high level official in the Imperial Messenger Service. Jan walked up to him and firmly shook his hand.

"Conrad! It's good to see you again!"

The veteran smiled as he took Jan's hand, "And it's good to see you too Ki.. , I mean Sir Jan. Sorry, I am still not used to your new circumstances. Is it true that you resigned?"

"Yup. Right at the beginning of 1324. It was hard to do but I have more important things to do here in Europe. Did Azim contact you?"

Jan's mercenary captain was sent to Europe ahead of time in order to prepare things. "Yes, he came bearing your seal. I have done as instructed. I have gathered up clippings of reports of every event in the Reich that has happened while you have been on board ship. A whole lot has happened."

Jan took the reports and browsed through them. A whole lot had indeed happened from 1325 to 1328. He read that Duke Ansehelm had been killed. Jan paused at that part. While they had never gotten along, Jan was struck by a moment of sadness at the news. He saw that Peter had become Duke and had indeed decided to stay out of the Swabian Civil War. Becker had messed up with sending his merchants out to procure supplies but had tried to make things right by aiding Breslau. Wolfgang and Athawolf had finally met again in battle with Wolfgang getting the better of the deal. Jan's eyes went wide when he saw his nephew had killed the Pope. Struck silent for a moment, Jan rationalized to himself that the Reich would be safer and better off being reconciled. Jan saw with amusement that Fritz had called for his arrest. Yes Fritz would indeed not like having Jan around. Jan chuckled at the thought of the next meeting in the Franconian Hall. His eyes burned though when he read about the events in Donauwörth. Lastly, he read that Hans had trapped Dassel and Luther in Bern.

Jan took all of these events in. He stood there thinking for a moment. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment, walked over to a crate, and made some changes to it. He handed the parchment over to Conrad. "Here is what I have been working on. I need this sent to every settlement in the Reich that you can reach. Your the only one I trust to handle this."

"Don't worry sir, you can count on me. I have printers ready to copy this and runners I trust to transport it all over Germany. It will be circulated within the year." Conrad shook Jan's hand again, put the parchment in a pouch, and got on his horse.

Jan watched him leave as Gunther walked up to him. "Sir, we're ready to move. Do you have a destination for us figured out yet?"

Jan looked at Gunther, smiled, and said one word.

"Bern"

Antwerp, 1330

"So this is an arquebus?" asked Wolfgang, "How powerful is it, exactly?"

Wolfgang examined the firelock with interest. He had faced a company of Danes with handguns, but he had never had been in possession of them himself.

The Flemish gunsmith, Willem Tykel, strolled towards his new patron, "It is capable of piercing all but the thickest plate, something that you will need against the French."

"Indeed." remarked Wolfgang drily, "However, you leave the French to me, and I'll leave the production of the firelocks to you."

As the gunsmith left the room, Wolfgang began to think. With these weapons, he could revolutionise warfare as the world knew it.

"Chivalry has been sorely tested these last thirty years," he though out loud, "and the reign of the horsemen is waning. The combination of pike and firelock is a deathblow to any mounted foe. And as the French are especially fond of horsemen, we shall be glad of the changing times."

Collecting his thoughts, Wolfgang left the room.

Near Stettin, 1330

Fritz von Kastilien paced the floor, his head down, lost in thought. The eviction of the family who had until recently lived here gnawed at his stomach, especially the pleading look of their teenage daughter as she had been dragged out.

Yes, he was back on home ground, and yes he was comforted to see sausage curing in the farmer's smokehouse instead of bread like the Swedes seemed to prefer. But time was drawing down for Fritz, and he knew it. He felt the loss of strength at his core - a weakened desire for the sword at his hip to be in his right hand.

And the mercenary captains, all at least twenty years younger than he... they did not help. All they wished was to line their purses and encrust themselves with jewels.

An image flashed through Fritz's mind, one of the few days when he and his brothers had played peaceably together, out in the courtyard, waving sticks at each other in harmless play.

Siegfried was now dead by an assassin's hand. Ansehelm had been overwhelmed defending his lands. Father had died years ago, old and noble and believing everything would remain so after his passing.

And here Fritz stood, pacing the floor in a house that had just been cleared on his order of its lawful owners, while he contemplated the next bloody foray for wealth alone.

Trapped. Fritz's jaw clamped shut, his eyes darted over internal visions. There must be a way out.

Bern, 1330

It had been quiet.

Sure, there were the constant stream of couriers coming and going, delivering messages, the frenzied redeployments as parts of the Army of Light were twice revealed to be out of position, and the now-constant thudding of the Grand Bombard coupled with the sounds of the city walls crumbling, but really, it had been quiet.

The whole morning was just simple tactical maneuvering, really. The chess pieces that had been placed on the board long ago, probably in 1300 or maybe even before that, depending on if one wanted to view the political emergence of Dietrich von Dassel or Hans's return from Outremer as the start, were being manipulated for the final time. Soon, the time would come to take the plunge.

The quietness was frightful, really. Dietrich wasn't used to it. He relished the heat of battle, the time where little coherence could be made over the clash of metal, sounds of horses trampling, and screams of men, whether it be from anger or pain. This... this was worse. Different. The whole morning had been like it, as if it was waiting too. Everyone was waiting, and for every second they waited the tension would increase and eventually the knowledge came that when things did start to get loud, they would get really loud, as if a giant war god of ancient times bottled up his anger and then finally released it at once, causing a massive frenzy and a whirlwind of destruction that would be terrible for all to behold.

The silence would be broken, that was certain. That time was rapidly approaching, that was also certain. The only thing still in doubt was who would break it?

This was the terrible question that was consuming Dietrich for the moment. For it was the question that would decide the battle.

Hugo Merode, the commander of the Lutheran relief army that had come to Dietrich's aid, and his advance guard had arrived in the north, deploying alarmingly close to Hans. The Duke of Swabia had been demonstrating on the city walls all morning, making especially good use of his Grand Bombard on the area. Dietrich had been content to sit back and wait for Hans to impale himself on his defenses. Now, however, things had changed.

Hugo's army was required if there was to be any hope of victory for that day. Hans currently only had one loyalist army on the battlefield, but Jan von Hamburg still lurked to the south. The old Duke could easily turn north and defeat Hugo in detail, thus ridding himself of one army and making things a lot easier. On the other hand, he could make an attempt on the city.

If I sit back and do nothing then Hugo might very well be destroyed.

If I sally to Hugo's aid there's a chance that Hans could catch me in the open and destroy me.

The uncertainty of it all lasted an eternity and continued to draw out the terrible quietness. Something must be done, and quickly.

"Sir? What are your orders?"

It was August von Blücher, looking at his commander expectantly.

Dietrich sighed.

"We

An introduction: 1330, outside Staufen
Jan von der Pfalz looked over his shoulder. He could still see the castle of Staufen, his home for the past season, through the darkness of night and the branches of trees in the way. He had grown up within a days march of the castle, but had never thought it looked so foreboding. Snap your self out of this, it’s only a castle! he thought, shaking his head furiously as if he could thus cast out the feelings of doubt and shame that coursed through him.

A scant few months ago, Jan had answered the call to arms in service of the Reich. He had left his small family holdings to go to the castle Staufen, where he was charged with whipping men from his hometown into a fit shape for military service. One fateful day he had received the letter from Wolfgang Hummel, prevailing upon him to join the Principality. Raised to be a loyal citizen of the Reich, his first instinct had been to cast the letter into the flames. Perhaps it would have been better if he had.

Instead, he had decided to think about it. He thought about the recent past. While Hans went on a wild goose chase after Peter von Kastilien, a national hero, the Reich had fallen apart, its people divided by political and religious differences. Now Hans continued a religious war against the Lutherans and Wolfgang Hummel, while Franconia was being destroyed by foreigners. This was all done in the name of the Reich. Jan was always a loyal citizen, but perhaps the schismatics had a point. For centuries the Kaisers had worked for centralization. The Empire grew strong and more unified, but dissent also increased. Kaiser Siegfried had seemed a madman, seeking to merge the German Empire with the corrupt Greek Empire, where neither lord nor freeman controlled his own destiny and everyone was a slave. This madness was destroying the Empire, even after the man who initiated it had died.

So Jan had decided to accept Hummel’s invitation. Hummel seemed a man after his own heart, who wanted to see the regions of the Empire regain their former autonomy. Jan hoped he made the right decision, but whatever the case, it was made. Now he was leaving both the castle he had spent these past months in and the lands he had spent his life in to go to a city he had never seen called Antwerp, fleeing in the dark like a brigand. Around him he could see the shadows of his guard and others, soldiers who had trained under him and retained their loyalty to Jan. Common soldiers, low ranking spear and horsemen. He did not know if they numbered enough to make even a single regiment of soldiers, but he hoped so. God knows Hummel would need them.

Bern: 1330

Jan sat in his command tent on the mountainside overlooking the southern wall of Bern. His advance guard was almost ready. His reserve force was arriving and forming up. The former King of Outremer sat at his desk writing out his will and some letters. When he was finished he got up and walked over to another part of the large tent.

His family looked up when he entered. They had joined him on his crusade. Partly for security reasons and partly because he just liked having them around. Alfgarda got up from her chair and walked over to her husband. Jan handed his paperwork over to her.

"Here, send these out if I fall today."

She looked at him for a few seconds, took the letters, and laid them on her desk. "I do think your worrying too much honey. You've lived through so much already. The Lord won't let you die."

Jan grunted and said, "I think I have fulfilled the Lord's purpose. Once this is over, there won't be much left for me except semi-retirement. No, if I live, it won't be because of Him. These letters are to make sure some things are taken care of if I fall. Don't worry. I have no intention of falling but it's best to be prepared."

Alfgarda walked over to her husband and embraced him. They had been quite the happy couple in the few years that they had been married. For some marriages, time was not kind. Such was not true of the von Hamburgs.

Jan let go of his wife and bent down to pick up his two children. Clare and Andreas were the apples of his eye. They were still too young to understand what dad did for a living. Jan looked over at Clare. "I hope you marry well. A young man who treats you well and serves this family." He looked at Andreas. "And I hope you grow up to be a good and righteous man. I still have a few contacts among the nobles and I'll make sure you have the opportunity to serve the Reich and the Lord with honor."

Jan handed the children over to his wife. Alfgarda took them up in her arms and held them. "I need you to do something for me if I fall. It's asking a lot."

She smiled, "If I can do it I will."

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

Jan walked out of his tent where Max, Gunther, and Azim were waiting for him.

Gunther nodded and said, "The men are ready sir."

"Good good, we need to get going. Hans needs our help. Max, a word with you?" Jan asked of his Teutonic knight.

Max stood at attention, "What do you need my lord?"

"I need you to stay out of the main fight. You are to join your brethren when they are ready."

Max looked like he was punched in the gut. "My lord, but why? My place is at your side!"

"I have a couple of other things I need you to do." Jan pulled a letter out of his tunic and handed it over. "This will explain everything." Jan shook the man's hand. "God be with you Max. Thank you for everything you have done for me my friend."

Max nodded. "It's been an honor my lord. God be with you."

Jan returned to Gunther and Azim and walked down to the rest of his bodyguards.

A parable

Once upon a time there was a young soldier by the name of David of Dunland. David was a fine young leader who had won many great victories in his short time on Earth. He thought to himself, "I am a fine young leader. I want to help out as many people as I can and bring the people of the Grand Kingdom under my peaceful rule."

Horace, the old warrior and Lord of the Western Realm, owed the Grand King a favor. He said to David, "David, you are a fine young leader but do not cross the Grand King. He is a good man and there is time to rule later." But David disagreed with the Grand King's policies. He believed that the Grand King's policies would bring the Grand Kingdom and, by extension, the Western Realm into ruin.

"Horace," he said, "I do this for the people of the Western Realm." And David continued to agitate the Grand King and his followers and failed to see anyone's side of the story but his. He was eventually exiled from the Western Realm, exiled and disgraced.

Time passed. In exile, David saw a threat to the Western Realm in the form of a corrupt extension of the Grand King's policies. "I am going to build a large army and make things right," David said. And he did.

In the Eastern Watchtower, John the Viceroy heard of David's act. "The man that David killed was my friend," John said. "He was a good man and meant nothing wrong. I cannot see why anybody would want to kill him." John decided to confront David about it at the next legislative meeting. He continued to watch as the good Grand King, Steven, was also assassinated. "These times are not good," John mused to himself.

Horace saw what was coming and tried to stop David, but was too late. "David has done an evil act," Horace said. "He is a danger to the Western Realm. He cannot be allowed to rule."

Time passed. David's army was depleted from many battles and it appeared that he was once again powerless. All across the Grand Kingdom, including the Western Realm, people were dying, lands were being taken, plagues wreaking havoc on cities. The Grand Kingdom faced a massive threat and was sorely in need of leadership.

One man, Leonard, Duke of the Southern Plains, saw this and gave a large, powerful army to David after David had assisted in fighting off the Grand Kingdom's mortal enemies, the Violet Empire. "David," he said, "Take this army and use it to free the Western Realm. It needs a ruler like you."

When John the Viceroy heard of this, he was outraged. "How could Duke Leonard do this?" he asked. "David is clearly deranged and is the main contributer to why the Grand Kingdom is in such trouble! For the people's sake, he must not be allowed to rule the Western Realm." And John the Viceroy departed the Eastern Watchtower, leaving behind what he had devoted his life to, in order to raise an army and defeat David, thus saving the Western Realm.

Horace, meanwhile, also saw what happened. "Great, another challenger," he said, for the Western Realm was already strife with civil war, "If the Western Realm has any chance of surviving it must be united. I must defeat this usurper David and save the Western Realm."

Horace and John together trapped David in a city and were about to strike, when another army, led by General Henry, materialized out of nowhere. "Wait," this Henry said, "Do not strike! David saw what was coming long before any of you did! Horace, you are old, and John, you understand only the Eastern Watchtower, which is a totally different place. David is the only one that can save the Western Realm!"

The four parties argued and argued, but alas, no side would budge. And so, the four armies, all soldiers of the Grand Kingdom, fought a terrible battle.

Henry died first, with his inferior army. His final words were "Keep fighting... lads... Only David... can save... Western Realm..."

The three remaining generals continued to see the battle rage on. They fought each other, oblitering each other's armies to no effect. Combat became smaller and smaller until individual fighting prowess had the chance to determine the outcome.

In the Great City, John the Viceroy charged right into a wall of David's soldiers. He fought through them, confident that he was doing the right thing, for David was a cancer to the Western Realm. He eventually fell, his victorious army taking control of the city.

To the North of the Great City, what was left of David's and Horace's armies continued to fight a vicious conbat even though it no longer had any meaning, since their conflict was the longest and most personal. "David," Horace said, "You are destroying the Western Realm! Surely you realize this!"

"No," David said, "It was under your rule that the Western Realm became this threatened. Only I can save the Western Realm!" The two fought a terrible duel, and eventually David's youth prevailed and he slew Horace. However, his triumph was short-lived.

John the Viceroy's cavalry, looking for vengeance, rode out from the Great City to finish the battle. David fought bravely, but was no match for the superior cavalry and eventually he fell. The cavalry members, the only survivors of the horrible bloodbath, looked among themselves.

"David the Devil is slain!" they cried. "The enemy is beaten! We are victorious! Oh, what a grand day this is!"

But then, a particularly smart member of the cavalry spoke up.

"It is a great day indeed," he said, "But who will rule and defend the Western Realm now?"

Nobody had any answer to that.

Bern 1330:

Alfgarda looked up as Max entered the tent. She could hear bells ringing in the city of Bern which was down the mountain. She took one look at Max and knew what he came to say. Before he could say anything, she said, "Take me to him."

They went down the mountain to Bern. She passed four siege towers that were up against the south wall. As she got to the south gate, she could see some fallen members of Jan's bodyguards. She recognized Azim, Jan's mercenary captain, as one of them. She went further into the city.

At the city square, it was chaotic. Bodies were strewn everywhere. A large crowd of Jan's Crusader Army were kneeling in the square praying. Everyone was exhausted and upset from the day's events. Alfgarda went up to the largest pile of bodies where she could tell the fighting was most fierce.

A circle of fallen Gothic knights were strewn about. In the middle of the circle was the body of Gunther, Jan's veteran warrior. He had fought with his lord until the end. Also there was a blank spot in the ground where Jan had fell. Alfgarda looked up at Max who said, "The pilgrims took his body into the church. They thought it was appropriate."

Alfgarda walked off towards the cathedral. She made her way past the throng of visitors who were already gathering to pay their respects. She walked up to the bishop. "You know who my husband was and you know who I am. I want the church cleared for a little while. I wish to spend some time with my husband."

The bishop's adam-apple in his throat went up and down as he tried to think of what to do. He looked over at Max who just stared at him. "uh..uh..of course misses von Hamburg. We would be honored to have the former Queen of Outremer grace our church. Take all the time you need and let me know if you need anything."

He scurried off as Alfgarda turned to Max and nodded. Max turned and left the cathedral to guard the front door. Her husband lay in a coffin in the front of the church. He was still in his armor which was dented and dirty. Nuns had at least wiped the blood off of his face. She reached out and touched her husband's cold face. Finally she started to cry as the enormity of the situation hit her.

"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" she asked the corpse.

"I hope Duke Hans and Kaiser Elberhard appreciated your sacrifice and knew what a good friend you were. I hope this was all worth it. Because now I'm a widow and Clare and Andreas have no father!" she yelled. She obviously didn't know what had happened to Hans yet.

She calmed down a little. "I'm sorry... I just don't know what to do right now. I don't want to go through life without you. You were my light. You were one of the best men that has ever walked. And I was lucky to share these few years with you."

The tears started flowing now. "I'll do what you asked. I'll talk to the Kaiser and join the Diet. And I'll mentor our children. I will make sure that your work lives on through them."

Alfgarda stood there for a moment. Then she spoke her last words to her husband. "Sleep well my love. I will see you again one day." She bent down and kissed his forehead and left the cathedral.

The Fox and the Scorpion

There once was a scorpion in Swabia, trying to cross the river Rhine. The poor creature could not cross the deep waters alone and was quite stranded.

Then he saw a fox, approaching the river bank. The fox was strong and a good swimmer, he could cross the river.

"Please, Mr Fox, will you carry me across the river on your back?" asked the scorpion.

The fox was wise and merely laughed:

"No, no, Mr Scorpion - if I let you on my back, you will surely sting me and I will die."

The scorpion was shocked:

"But Mr Fox, if I sting you, I will drown. Why would I sting you when I will die too?"

The fox was persuaded and let the scorpion climb his back. Happily, he started to swim across the river. The scorpion was light and the fox was a strong swimmer, so they made good progress.

Half way across the Rhine, the fox felt a terrible pain in his back.

"Oh no, Mr Scorpion - what have you done? You have stung me and now I will die, but you will surely drown! Why did you do it?"

The scorpion shrugged:

"This is Swabia."

Antioch, 1330


Elberhard look appalled at the messenger and then slammed his fist into the door. The messenger stepped back aghast - the blow had passed within inches of his face.

Elberhard lurched around the room, sweeping objects off surfaces and smashing anything that could be smashed. Linyeve eyed him cooly. He looked not unlike one of his late "Arnolds", when they had become maddened and out of control after the battle with the Byzantine Guard Army.

"They are dead! Both dead!" wailed Elberhard. The cause of Duke Hans had weighed more heavily with the Kaiser than even his own struggles in Outremer. It was clear to Linyeve that the Kaiser would have continued to remit all his wealth to Hans, even if his own army in Outremer had been reduced to a single regiment of peasants.

In his devotion to the loyalist cause in Swabia, the Kaiser had something in common with the late Jan von Hamburg. But Jan had sacrificed much more - abandoning a crown and Outremer, his ward. And Jan had risked much more -landing alone in a Europe full of his enemies. In the end, the risks had become realities and Jan had made a last sacrifice.

And Hans the Mighty, Hans the Mauler, was dead. Elberhard was no fool. He knew his brother's age was catching up on him. Indeed, the Kaiser was becoming all too aware of his own creep towards old age and death. But he had never imagined that Hans would fall before his time - Hans who was so strong and so masterful a tactician.

"I'll kill them!" raged Elberhard. "I'll kill them all!"

Linyeve looked up from reading the message, to reprimand the Kaiser: "Kill who? Dietrich is dead."

Elberhard looked into his wife's cool blue eyes. She was so calm and calculating, it was as if Elberhard could see little clockwork cogs and wheels turning within them.

"You know who..." started Elberhard, as if about to recount a long list of enemies.

But Linyeve stood up and grabbed him by the arms, silencing him with her eyes. Elberhard was red faced and sweating.

"We will not follow your brother into the abyss! You must be be smart! You must think!"

Elberhard looked pitifully into his wife's face. The news was still sinking in. Deprived of an outlet for his aggression, the Kaiser seemed to visibly deflate and tears came into his eyes. Despite the close presence of his wife, Elberhard began to feel completely alone. The two people he trusted, the two people he confided in, were both dead.

"What do I do?" Elberhard asked pitifully.

"You use this."

Linyeve grabbed the scroll with the message about the outcome of the battle of Bern. She thrust the message before Elberhard's face.

"You use this to end this bloody war."

Lifeline

Bern, 1330 AD
Hans surveyed what little of his force remained, after many hours of battle. Half of his bodyguard lay dead in the field, as did most of the army that he had brought to battle. What still stood were a regiment and a half of spearmen, all bloodied and battleweary, the grand bombard crew, armed with mere dagger, and two regiments of cavalry, with dented armor and broken lances. Yet all of the men had the same look on their face - a mixture of grim determination, holy conviction, and the will to overcome the large host of infantry that stood a few meters across of them.
He had decided to give battle here and now, instead of turning and riding south to Jan, and his men, touched by the confidence and optimism he exuded, were willing to make their last stand here before ascending to His garden.

Hans did not have to give many orders this time. All of his men knew what they needed to do, and interplay of each regiment would be vital to succeed this day. Without blinking, all horsemen lowered their visors and lances and as one man, charged forward into the masses of polished steel and flesh that enveloped the few loyalists. Simultaneously, the half spear regiment fanned out and chased the missile regiments before returning to pin the hundreds of two handers with their brethren. Steel clashed upon steel, lances rammed through bodies as if they were rings on a tourney field. The masses of Dietrich's men thinned as the cavalry retreated to prepare for the second charge. No man on either side dared to give ground, each fighting for their leader, their religion, their families, their lives. And then the second impact. Some men flew into the air, others were crushed beneath the hoofs of the horses, and yet others were one again pierced by the few lances that were still intact. And then the unexpected. Upon preparing for the final charge, the few men still left under Dietrich's command managed to unhorse Hans' escort, while Dietrich himself, smiling with a devilish grin, decapitated him. The battle still raged for another few seconds before all went quiet. Loyalists and Rebels alike stopped dead, weapons half swung, stared at the scene that presented itself to them.
Then, the sky darkened and lightning filled the late afternoon scenery of blood. The loyalists, disheartened by the loss of their leader, started to break and flee, while the few rebel infantry that remained were fearful of what had been done and of His wrath. Even the most devout followers of Luther faced a moment of doubt and fled before His ire would strike them. Only Dietrich and a few loyal guards remained on the field, one of them Luther. Yet there was no smile on the face of either man at the change of weather, for with the weather came an unnatural thunder that rolled towards them in the form of Jan's cavalry.

~ *** ~

Adalberth crawled out from under his fallen horse. He noticed the darkened sky had filled with lightning and thunder, yet there was no rain. He looked about and first saw the Swabian flag raised on the abbey of Bern with a smile. It seemed that they had been victorious this day and the Lutherans finally dispersed. But as he turned to look at the men around him, he noticed only bodies of the dead and no living man. Had he been left for dead on the field? It was difficult for him to grasp the scene that unfolded itself with his diminishing eyesight, and the darkness did not help it. Yet one particular body stood out to him, and he gasped as he realized that it was that of Hans, the last of the nobles that partook in the First Crusade and his friend and master, who lay dead, decapitated, in the mud, dozens of bodies around him. Adalberth let out a high pitched cry as the clouds finally opened and rain started to fall, as if He was crying for the loss of two of His most devout servants on earth. Adalberth's face was filled with sorrow and anger as he picked up his broken sword and looked around for Dietrich. That bastard will pay was the only thought that filled him and the only thought that gave him the strength to stand, bleeding out of several wounds. It was then that the horsemen returned, and Max dismounted to tell him that they had delivered His punishment to Dietrich and motioned him to join them in the city to be bandaged. The anger subsided in Adalberth, leaving him with sorrow alone as he collapsed. Yet once again, the call of duty was stronger for Adalberth and he scoured his friend's remains, until he finally found it - the Holy Grail. Today, it would be upon him to pass it around and raise the wounded, and while filled with sorrow still, he would not - and could not - disappoint.

~ *** ~

Staufen, 1330 AD
Adalberth was tired after tending to the wounded and being tended to himself. He wanted to sleep and wake up knowing today's events had only been a horribly bad dream, but he knew that it was not so. He had soon learned that Jan von Hamburg had died as well when taking the city, and that while it was under Loyalist control now, it was at the same time leaderless. The toll of war had been too high on Adalberth however to help lead this county, and so he went on to do what he felt was right: To inform both Jan's and Hans' widows of what had occurred on this dreadful day. Alfgarda, stricken by grief, already knew of Jan's death and only nodded as he told her of the events outside the city walls. The Duchess Adelheidis, who had married Hans only this past year, burst out in tears as she heard of her husband's death, and Adalberth almost felt compelled to stay as her guardian and let her have the grail as heirloom, but a voice inside him disagreed, pushed him onwards to pass the grail to someone more worthy of it. And so he stayed for a mere week, helping her with errands and protecting her from scum. In the end, he knew that he had one last task to complete before he could return and bid her farewell, embarking on a swift ship to Outremer.

~ *** ~

Antioch docks, 1331 AD
The winds had been rough and their ships had only escaped Venetian pirates narrowly over the course of travel. Indeed, Adalberth was glad that they had made it out alive, and that he was not on one of the vessels that were sunk. He crossed himself and prayed to God as he disembarked, thanking him for His guidance to this Holy Land. As he arrived at the docks, he notcied the commotion and men hurrying about to building a large fleet. Was Elberhard leaving Outremer too? he thought to himself. He caught one of the workers and was told that Elberhard was in the captain's cabin of the flagship and quickly made his way over, the desert sun bearing down on his old body, even though he was used to it from his time in Outremer with Hans. How will I tell him of his brother's death? crossed his mind as he was let into the cabin, where Elberhard and Linyeve resided. As he exited the cabin hours later, exhausted from telling his story and announcing that Athalwolf had been pronounced Duke of Swabia, he contemplated his next move. He was old, too old, to still serve in the Imperial army, and there was little left to do for him in this world. He had never thought that he would outlive Hans, who he at first had felt as a protector for. Over the years, they had formed a strong bond of friendship, rode to battle countless times to be the only ones to come out alive. And now that he was dead, there was this emptiness that ate away at him. He would return to Adelheidis and serve out the rest of his time as her guardian. It was the least that he could do for his friend.

Somewhere in the Swiss Alps, 1330

Alexander Luther, cold, hungry, and alone, was continuing his desperate flight from the city of Bern which had begun around a week ago. He had no idea where he was, although he gathered that it was somewhere northeast of the city since that was the direction he had fled in, and he was concerned about putting as many miles as possible between him and that apocalyptic death match he had seen.

It was the first battle he had seen up close, and he was terrified.

Really, he had no choice to see it up close, as there was nowhere for Dietrich von Dassel to put him that was safe. He had requested being hidden in a church, or a nice house, but Dietrich had insisted that Luther ride with him.

"The safest point in the battle will be by my side," he said to Luther before the fighting had begun. "I am not so foolish as to throw this escort's life away, and besides, if all does not go well they will surely find you in the city and kill you. At least you have a chance of fleeing with me."

Luther reluctantly agreed, and became witness to Dietrich riding around desperately, cursing, grinning, cheering, and barking out orders left and right at a rapid-fire pace, becoming more and more agitated as the battle progressed. He was clearly in his element, but Luther could only concentrate on staying on his mount.

He wished he had a mount now. Navigating through the rough forest of the Alps was difficult for a fine soldier in the prime of his life. He was a professional theologian who was well past his best years.

So, mostly, he trusted his faith to see him through this period of trial. How could it not? After all, he had already been spared by the Lord twice at the Battle of Bern. How could he be wrong after twice escaping death?

The first escape was right after Dietrich had made the decision to sally out of the city, the city that he had professed to defend and let Hans impale himself on for years now. He was clearly agitated about it, and was also the most indecisive that Luther had ever seen him. When he finally made the decision though, he followed it through, ordering the northern and western walls abandoned.

After the Sergeants had left, the peasant uprising had sprung, bogging down two full regiments of crossbowmen. Luther had looked at Dietrich, who simply pointed at the peasants, eyes blazing with fury. Before he knew it the escort was charging, himself included, right into the fray. And that was when the terror began.

He found himself, although admittedly in armor, surrounded by enemies, people that wanted to kill him. And one man came close, spotting him, dagger ready, eyes fixed on Luther's horse's soft underbelly...

...and then, out of nowhere, a sword emerged from the man's neck, sending him slumping to the ground instantly. Luther breathed a sigh of relief.

The battle and those peasants were certainly terrifying, but Luther prayed that he would come across one of them now, any friendly farmer or goat herder that would give him a proper meal and a proper bed. He wouldn't even have to give them his name, because helping out a person in need was the good Christian thing to do.

No such peasants could be seen, however, and he simply stumbled on, uphill of course, and there was not a break in the monotony of rocks, trees, and grass anywhere, no sign of humans ever having set their eyes upon this place. Oh sure, there was the occasional wildlife, but he was truly alone.

During his trek, Luther had a lot of time to think. He pondered his life, his career, his teachings, and mostly, the memories of what had happened in the final moments north of the city, which would stay with him forever, for even a week after his numbing journey, they still stood out vividly.

There was Hans's last stand, and although the loyalists north of the city had no hope of winning they were still frightfully successful, charging and charging again, rolling over Dietrich's poor infantry. The rebel commander that he had followed from Ragusa to Durazzo to Bologna to Florence to Innsbruck, and finally to Bern, had watched helplessly as every charge whittled away his chances of winning the battle. He remained calm, however, and watchful, even throwing his helmet to get a better view of the situation.

Suddenly, he saw an opening and roared for his escort to charge, and they did in a last-ditch attempt to win the day and destroy Hans. Luck was with them, for the Duke of Swabia was caught in the open and pulverized by a lance, unhorsing him and knocking him senseless. After that stroke of luck the loyalist infantry had simply given up, and all that remained alive on the field were Hans (now Dietrich's personal prisoner), Luther, and a handful of his escort. There was a brief moment of calm in the terror.

Then, someone pointed out the dreaded sight - two hundred-strong cavalry, out of the western gate, heading directly for the survivors.

"Dietrich," Luther cried, "The battle is lost! We must flee now to save ourselves."

Dietrich said nothing, simply wearing a twisted grin on his face and staring at Hans, who was beginning to come to. "No," he said, "It is a draw." And with that, his eyes now shining brightly, still grinning, he took his sword and quickly decapitated Hans the Mighty, Duke of Swabia, ex-Chancellor of the Reich, last survivor of the First Crusade, Possessor of the Holy Grail, and grandson of Kaiser Heinrich.

"I have done what I set out to do," he said as the enemy cavalry thundered closer. "I have avenged Jens Hummel and killed Hans. Jan von Hamburg and his retinue are nowhere to be found in this charge. My guess is that they all fell to my Gothic Knights in the center of town. That impetuous fool."

The rest of the escort simply stared at him. Dietrich continued talking. "I have done what I set out to do," he said again. "The loyalists are without leaders. Who cares if Bern falls?"

The cavalry drew closer. "Come, let us ride." And they did, but it was hopeless, and Dietrich saw this quickly. Luther could only watch as the rebel commander turned around, faced the incoming charge with his arms open wide, and took the lance blow directly in the chest from the Teuton that had ignored the white flag being raised. Luther could only watch as the Teuton dismounted and bashed Dietrich's helmetless head again and again in a fit of anger, bright red blood pouring out from a thousand different angles.

He took it as his cue to leave as he silently shed his armor and began his trek through the Alps as the rest of Dietrich's comrades and Jan's cavalry ignored him, focusing on the fourth and final fallen leader. This was his second escape.

Although was it a true escape? After all, he had not yet found shelter; he was still a prisoner of the Alps. If he did, it might very well be a Catholic knight waiting for him, a Catholic Knight that knew his face and knew all that Luther and von Dassel were responsible for.

He decided that it was best if he kept on moving and embraced what fate the Lord had in mind for him.

Ludwig von Böhmen

Somewhere near the Polish-Bohemian Border:

There had been a satisfying look of shock on the Pole’s face, Ludwig reminisced as he tried to clean the sickly sweet blood of his sword and robes. Still, that look burned into his conscience. It was important that the man had been surprised, important that he had not had the chance to scream, important that nobody knew. That did not have to mean it felt right.

Muttering a short prayer for the dead man, perhaps a little for himself too, he made his way back to Heinrich, who was watching the horses a little way up the gentle slope. Despite the short man being some years older than him, Ludwig had always felt better in his presence than in that of the boys his age. Their poorly hidden greed in the presence of a noble’s son sickened him.

It was not as though he had anything to give, any favours to grant, any rewards to dish out. His family’s holdings comprised no more than three villages and a slightly oversized farmhouse which his father chose to label ‘castle’. Ludwig often found himself wondering why the Poles even bothered with them.

“He is dead”. Heinrich seldom asked questions. Where in that Silesian farmer’s skull did he pull such cold hardness from? “You had to do it, Ludwig. He would have warned the others. I would have done it, but you are stronger than I”. That was a lie. The little man had the strength of bear, and the cunning of a viper. And sometimes the tongue too. “Because I am too lazy to walk.” That had been Heinrich’s answer to Ludwig’s father’s question of why he chose to ride with his son. Even the old man had been hard-pressed not to smile at such audacity.

Grinning grimly, he re-mounted. Coming out of the little forest at the top of the hill, he risked a glance over the rim to the Pole’s camp. It was empty. Startled, he spurred his horse on, down into the shadow of the valley, Heinrich yelling something behind him. Where had they gone?

“…a trap!”, he heard Heinrich coming up behind him. “Nonsense my friend, they did not know anyone was there to trap. But where did they go?” Still looking at the trees around him suspiciously, Heinrich dismounted and headed towards the remains of a fire. Kicking at the ashes with one lazy boot, he said: “Judging from this, I’d say they’ve been gone at least…”. A thunderous roar went up in the distance, hitting the valley in a few seconds and bouncing off the walls to grow so deafening that it made the horses rear, with Ludwig struggling to keep from being dismounted. Even before he was in complete control of his mount, he raced off towards the ‘castle’.

He could smell the smoke even before he saw it. His father had insisted on keeping a storage of blackpowder, had insisted it was the way of the future. Arriving at the crest of a little rise, Ludwig saw that the entire complex was ablaze, not individual little fires, but one huge snarling monster. A lone figure was stumbling away from the complex. Ludwig dashed to intercept him, just as he heard Heinrich gasp as he too reached the crest.

It was Tomasz, a stableman in his father’s employ, with a love for horses only matched by a love for drink. He gave a start as Ludwig came into his blurred vision, then recognition marked his face and he slumped into the tall grass. In a firm little voice that belied his outward distress he said: “They are dead, Herr. All of them. Those the Poles did not surprise were torn apart when those fools set fire to the powder storage. I don’t think any of those made it out either. Your father was wounded by a Polish lance. He gave Johann this for you. I took it off Johann’s body. Or what was left of it.”

The sentences came out abruptly and breathlessly. When he finished he held up a charred bit of paper. Ludwig took it, knowing what it was. His father’s prized possession. To him it had represented the reward for years of grovelling, of building up favours and alliances, of bowing his head and doing the will of the mighty. Beside him, Tomasz collapsed into the grass and Heinrich rushed to close his dead eyes.

Ludwig looked back at the burning castle. The shock of the moment had not hit him, would not hit him for a while yet. But a realisation dawned on him, that his future here was over. This land could not be held, not while the Empire was busy fighting itself too much to care about its people. His father had been wrong, and now he had paid the price.

He looked again at the paper in his hand, studying it as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was this his future? Service under a rebel, true, but also under a man who respected his people, who looked out for and cared for his lands. A small bit of his conscience reminded him of his loyalty to the Empire. He told it to burn in hell, and turned his horse towards the west.

Jan looked uncomfortable in the sumptuous working space provided for him, so unlike his training headquarters back in Staufen. He had been in Antwerp a scant few days. Upon his entrance his soldiers had kept the crowds away from him, but he knew he wa unpopular. The Flemish quarters were peaceful enough, but the Danish quarters, the larger of the two, had been brutally sacked when Hummel had first taken it.

"Sir?"

"Huh?" Jan exclaimed, broken out of his revery by the attendant he summoned earlier. "Take all of this down" he said, "Citizens of Antwerp, I know the recent years have been difficult. Especially for our Danish residents. Much ire as been directed rightfully at those of us that conquered the city. Things needed were done, but they were also horrible things. Many of you likely resent me as a symbol of Prinz Hummel. However, circumstances beyond all of our control must drive us together, or they will destroy us."

"The French even now besiege our sister city of Bruges. They command a mighty host. They will easily take it, and then they will then immediately bear down on us. Our only hope is to meet them outside Bruges, or stop them on their way here. However, we lack the troops to face them. This is where I must call on you."

"I need any able bodied man, Flemish or Danish, that possesses training and weaponry to assemble as a volunteer force to defeat the French host. I cannot afford to pay anything beyond what can be scavenged from the bodies of our dead foes, but this is a battle for our very survival. I promise this, that forces raised will only be used to fight this French army. Danish volunteers will not be forced to fight their countrymen, only the French. The volunteer force will be immediately disbanded once Bruges can be secured, or if that is impossible, after any army threatening Antwep is destroyed. Anti-discrimination laws concerning the Danish citizens of the city will be passed, regardless of whether any forces are raised. We are all in this trouble together, and must face it as equals and comrades".

"I know this is a difficult request, but these are difficult times. I have little to offer and know that you owe me no obligation. I can only beg you to do it for the good of the city. I beseech you, in the name of God and all that is holy, join me in the defense of our city!"

"Sign it in the name of Jan von der Pfalz, Count of Antwerp", Jan commanded, "and have it read in every church, every open forum and market place, and every public house in the city".

"Yes, sir", the aid replied, leaving to accomplish the task.

I hope this works, or the Duchy of Flanders might be shortlived, Jan thought. Whatever happened, though, I won't let Antwerp fall without a fight!

1332, Staufen.

Athalwolf von Salza was in a angry discussion with one of his aides, about the option of 'The Meeting'. The Meeting was that of a lifetime, when two enemies meet each other face-to-face, when all past things are laid to rest. The generals in Athalwolf's army were ready for peace, with the sluaghter at Bern. After the death of Duke Hans, mourned by Swabia, and the death of all other tragic heroes at that battlefield, enough was enough, especially with the Kaiser's proclamation.
"But- But we will be attacked with no army! These useless scum will turn and kil-" Athalwolf crashed his fist down upon the table, furious.
"I hope you do not refer to any of our opponents, man! No General is scum, unless they run like a dog, or bark like one!" roared Athalwolf,
"But sir! I meant the people of Metz! When we go to the bridge they will turn on us and kill the army!" yelled the weak man pitifully back.

Athalwolf and his Army were heading to Metz. On the bridges outside the city, Athalwolf and Wolfgang were meeting to discuss the future of Hummel's Duchy, and Swabia. Thus; The Meeting, that of two old enemies. Athalwolf sat down wearily on a wooden chair, and holding his head, waved the aide away. Discussion over. The man whipped up his head and stalked out, defeated by the mans influence. A Sergeant Guard, in plate armor, poked his head in through the door.
"Sorry mein Duke, but we have a visitor here requesting you here. He, ah, says something strange...” finished the Guard, not wanting to procede.
"What?" stabbed Athalwolf.
"He calls for Athalwolf Leroy." Athalwolf softly swore. Bloody, damned people, Can't they let him live a normal life!? thought Athalwolf.
"Send him in." he sighed, resigning himself to a sitting position which enabled him a look of control of the situation. A man came in, in blue tunic. He bowed,
"Mon lord." He used the French word 'mon'.
"I come here today from Duke Leroy. He sends his heartfelt gratitude for giving him the city." A heart beat skipped, then the blood creeped up Athalwolf's neck. He didn't show his curiosity though.
"Giving him, ah, the city?" asked Athalwolf, I must've been drunk H thought.
"Yes, mon lord. The city of Rheims. Duke Leroy came with some 800 men and marched though the streets, to the cheers of its population, and all that day praised your name. Of course, there was the terrible news of Bern..." He wandered off. Athalwolf covered his eyes with a hand.
“The Duke also says he is very sorry for annoying you. In has accepted an apology for the problem in Toledo. He hopes past deeds, such as Dijon, shall be put to rest, with your passing.” Said the man, drawling now. Athalwolf looked up. The man had a sly look on his face, and he drew a long knife.
“Good bye, Athalwolf Leroy, foe of the Leroy House, and enemy of France.” He spat, and raised the knife to stab. Athalwolf was defenseless, he would not have time to draw his sword, and if he fell over the man would still get him. Nothing was left but death. Athalwolf realized, he was meant to have been led to Toledo, he was meant to know of Dijon. The long point of the dagger slowly, has if wasting time came downwards.

Then stopped.

Athalwolf looked; the man was in the same position. With a long sword protruding from his chest. He gasped for lost air, the last breath rattling in his lungs. He gulped furiously, knowing he was beaten and had failed his Leroy master. The sword withdrew, and the boy collapsed, twitching some final times in a bloody mass on the floor. The Sergeant Guard stood, with a wiped blade at his side, grinning.
“By god man, you just saved my life.” Exclaimed Athalwolf, who stood. He was not shaken, scared of what happened. Just accepting if this man hadn’t been born, he’d be dead.
“No problem sir. I just saw the look on your face at his arrival, and ah, kept an eye to make sure he didn’t try anything. Paid off, I guess sir?” he said, eyes twinkling. Athalwolf let a quick smile slip onto his face, which was worth gold to the Sergeant Guard.
“Promotion, Instantly! I shall notify my aide…” at the mention of him the aide slipped inside and stopped before the man, he then held his mouth and ran for a bathroom.
“…and your promotion to, hm… Bodyguard shall be instant.” Said Athalwolf, sitting down and dismissing the man. The Guard grinned and left cheerfully. Athalwolf went into his private bedchambers, and looked at himself in the mirror. I could, at this moment, be on the floor bleeding to death! Thought Athalwolf. He splashed some water over his face and sat. Why had the Duke Leroy wanted him dead, why Athalwolf, one of the Leroy descendants. He walked into his office, and watched the dead body being dragged away by the other Guard’s, then raised a hand to stop them.
“I want to check the body.” He stated and went over to the dead man, and riffled through he pockets. There was nothing except some gold coins, a gold necklace and a note.
‘Dear Duke von Salza,
You know now. We do not want your existence to continue. You are a threat to France, and a threat to the Leroy family. Your traitorous father, declaring he a von Salza, we shall stop at nothing to kill you. Let it be known, The Guild of Leroy hunts you down, you are a marked man.’ Stated the note, Athalwolf waved away the dead body and Guards, and re read it. They knew this simple man as too die, they also planned it. And the Guild of Leroy… All rang suspicious, all rang clear. Only the last words made sense ‘you are a marked man’ Atholwolf sat for his next appointment. One meeting with an old enemy, one argument with an angry aide, and one assassination attempt, and the uncovering of a deeper plot. He cracked his knuckles,
All in a days work.

(to be distributed in the County of Bruges)

"AN MEIN VOLK:

People of Bruges,

I have, in these times of trouble, had the honour and trust bestowed in me to rule this County of Bruges for the illustrious Prinz Wolfgang of Swabia. Despite, or perhaps even because of these hard times, I consider myself fortunate to be able to rule such fine, hard-working and god-fearing people.

I would like to remind you, my people, of the kindness shown to you by Prinz Hummel when he first liberated your fine city from the oppressive yoke of your former masters. Despite his own hardship, that of Swabia and of the Empire, Prinz Hummel lavished sums upon your fair city to make it prosper in these dark times. I ask that you remember his kindness.

I would like to remind you, my people, of the strength and glory of the Holy Roman Empire, and of the peace and prosperity it has brought to those under its rule. When faced with the hordes of the thieving French, it is time to put aside internal differences, and fight against a common foe. I ask that you remember Imperial might.

And I would like to remind you, my people, of the power of God and the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven. When you fight against French swines you rise up against pagan scum, whom even the Holy Father has deemed to be so unacceptable as to outlaw the man who boasts the errant title of French King. To kill a man who fights under tha banner of France is no sin under God, nay it is to be rightly rewarded as ridding the world of another sinner. I ask that you remember the glory of God.

And remembering these things, kindness might and glory, I ask that you, people of Bruges, proud and strong, rise against these people who have come to invade your lands, to steal your wealth, to burn your houses, to pillage your towns and to rape your families. Join me and your fellow Flemish in Antwerpen so that we might gather our forces and drive the invaders from our lands. I pledge that I shall not rest until I see that done!

Ludwig von Böhmen, Graf von Brugge"

Ragusa 1332

Grom walked towards the great hall located at the centre of the Austrian Citadel. In his hand were the field reports from Bern detailing the demise of three of the Reich's most well known nobles, including the ex King of Outremer Jan von Hamburg.

As usual the hall was brightly lit with massive chandeliers allowing the Duke to work nearly around the clock.

As the massive barbarian approached the Duke looked up.

Grom noticed the toll this crisis was taking on his Duke. While still physically strong and a true menace on the battle field, the Duke's black hair was streaked with grey now and the lines under his eye's showed how little sleep he was getting.

"My Lord, here are the reports from Bern...Hans, Jan and Dietrich have perished in the battle. Luther is no where to be found and the city is now in the hands of loyalist forces."

Handing the reports to the Duke, Grom stood at ease waiting for orders.

"Here," the Duke handed Grom a letter.

"Send this to the family of von Hamburg. If they require, we will provide lodging and assistance to his family now that he has fallen."

Handing another letter plus glancing at a sack full of money by the great table the Duke continued.

"Lorenz's money arrived this evening. Contact the Quarter Master General and have him outfit the recruited troops as detailed in this order. Then send them immediately to Lorenz Zirn just outside Vienna.

That is all."

Turning on his heal Grom quickly scanned the recruiting order. It was an impressive list of regiments and would give Lorenz a substantial force in order to conduct operations in and around Vienna.

The second order was simply incredible. It detailed an order of march, a personal guard and an estate house on the coast just north of Ragusa for the entire family of the late Jan von Hamburg.

There's no way they will accept thought Grom...but still, it was one of the safest places in the Reich at the moment...the only safer place was within sword strike of the Duke himself.

Strange things are happening thought Grom…the Reich was being torn apart and the old lines of internal conflict are being destroyed just as much as the external one’s. Bane’s going to have a brain aneurysm when he hears about this. Grom smiled at the thought of seeing the Dread Knight finally lose his composure.

Ragusa 1334

The great hall was again lit for a late evening of work. The only figure at the massive table was the Duke himself, the remaining people in the room were servants and assistants running back forth brining the latest reports of how the Duchy was fairing.

Arnold re-read the letter for any sign of hidden meaning. Deciding there wasn’t he cast the letter into the fire.

Jan von Hamburg’s wife and family had decline his offer preferring to stay in Bern with the loyalist forces in the area. He certainly couldn’t blame her for declining an offer from someone who was clearly not an ally of the late and ex-King of Outremer.

So be it, the offer was made the answer given, nice, simple and complete.

Picking up the next piece of correspondence his brow furrowed. This situation, on the other hand, was entirely the opposite.

The Dread Knight Bane had been sending updates on the prolonged and drawn out attempts at resolving the “issue” with Becker in Prague.

The latest round of discussion had been wholly unproductive. At least from what he could read, Bane seemed to have tired of the parry and thrust of negotiations and had attempted to obtain an answer one way or the other. The offer was simple. Becker was asked to state his grievance and then outline what he wanted in return for rejoining the Duchy. Neither question had been answered in any real way.

Leaning back in his chair Arnold cast his thoughts back to the responses he had received from the newly appointed Prinz and that of the Kaiser himself. Both men seemed more than comfortable with having this issue resolved through a Diet vote.

Shaking his head in disbelief the Duke could not fathom how both men could come to the conclusion to allow a vote. This would simply and affectively open the door for any and all nobles to declare independence and be able to request a vote on the matter…no matter how tenuous their issue or problem was.

This tacit acceptance of disloyalty was nearly beyond his understanding. It seemed as if neither men realised the precedent that would be set if this was to occur. The Duke hoped that both men would come to realise, that given this was potentially to their favour in this instance, it could quickly turn against them. If all lines of loyalty or oath giving could be cast aside and circumnavigated politically, the whole structure of the Reich would be in jeopardy. Such a weak approach to the subject of loyalty was anathema to the memory of those early men of the Reich as far as Arnold was concerned. His father was a figure of legend AND loyalty, fighting to the end of his life to further not only the Reich’s heimat but also Outremer.

Christ, he thought…if any of traditional relationships of loyalty should be questioned now, it was the one between the Kaiser and his Dukes. As the first in a string of linear links of bondage and oath giving, the late Kaiser Siegfried and the current Kaiser's actions and words leading up to this crisis were a clear breach of trust and loyalty. Not one of the Dukes were consulted as far as he knew, yet Siegfried had gone ahead and acted without consent or even a discussion with any of his Dukes on the matter. Yet here he was having to negotiate with a disenchanted Count, and neither of his superiors seemed overly concerned.

If anything was to come out of the this crisis it was the current inability of the Diet to control or at least prevent the Kaiser acting on behalf of the Reich without any agreement.

Loyalty he thought, his father was famous for it, his was never in question, but if neither the Prinz or the current Kaiser showed any real opinion or passion on the subject, then why should he. If politics was more important than looking a man in the eyes, hearing his oath and then being able to count on him to the end, then the Reich had changed, and not for the better in his mind. If the breaking of an oath could be voted on, then it was already broken in the Duke's opinion.

Moments passed, Arnold sat as still as a statue, gazing into the fire the red embers caught in his eyes.

With a swift motion he stood in his Obsidian Plate. The attending guards stiffened in response, something was happening, the lethargy and near despair of the past months seemed to wash away in an instant.

From high above, hidden away in an alcove the body language was not missed by the dark figure observing his target. The figure was concerned, having the Dread Duke lacking fire or motivation had been an added bonus to his masters. Seeing the Duke rise so purposefully and begin to bark orders was disconcerting to say the least. He must report this at once.

Far below, the hall burst into activity, at it centre was the Dread Duke, in some moments ghastly and foreboding, the next laughing and joking...

...and somehow, both of his dominant traits managed to cause the same effect...

those who worked for him, or were loyal to him, were equally inspired out of fear, respect or some other motivation to give the utmost to their masters demands, threats or requests.

It was a sight rarely seen in public and amazing to see first hand.

Yes thought the hood figure far above...the Dread Duke was back in "the game" once more and therefore, he was a serious threat to his masters plans.

Something would have to be done...and soon.

Stettin, 1334

Fritz von Kastilien, Count of Stettin, looked about him at the thin, broken faces of the peasants of his city as they toiled in the broken remnant of their homeland. It galled him to know that Hamburg still stood tall and strong under the Danes while his own lands were so diminished by the war. Stettin had been all but destroyed in the fighting and his men's enforcement of discipline at Fritz's own encouragement had ground the city into little more than an underpopulated town.

Here I won a great victory, he thought, and here my greed and need for control turned that victory to a near defeat. These people cannot afford to pay their taxes and eat, and my army cannot be maintained on what they'd be able to pay anyway. I will not cower here, trapped like a rat! These were my people, but are they still? Is there some way still that they could serve the Reich?

Beckoning to a peasant girl he allowed himself a momentary, grim smile. She hurriedly dropped her load of wet cloth and rushed to his side. Trembling she gazed at her feet and did not speak.

Fritz took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. There, running along the left side of her neck, was the faint but unmistakable scar of a young woman who had not found safe refuge during one sack of the city. Whether it was his men or the Danes who had done this was irrelevant, knowing it was done because of Fritz's own failures haunted him. So many girls of the city had a similar mark from the almost gentle touch of a blade to their throat that some had taken to calling it the Stettin Scar. Some called it the von Kastilien Mark too, though not in Fritz's hearing. Fritz's own blood no longer ran so hot, but though his hand had held no dagger it was his acts that set every one of them in place, including the ones that left a 'smile' instead of a scar.

The girl's eyes were wet, but cold and empty. She had already surrendered to the inevitable. Next time the knife would not be necessary.

Without a word Fritz released the girl, tossed her a florin, and gestured down the street. She fled immediately, pausing only to take up her burden again before vanishing out of sight, in the same direction from which she had approached.

Though they would obey me instantly, these are no longer my people, Fritz thought. They cannot pay me my dues, they do not love me, and rightly so, and there are none here who could serve if I needed to raise an army. Still, there must be some way Stettin can serve!

Now a small contingent of mercenaries swaggered down the street dragging a rough looking man in dark clothes. They tossed him to his knees before Fritz.

'M'Lord! I bring grave news out of the east! The Russians are coming. They've taken my farm and they even now make camp in the eastern wood.'

Waving a hand dismissively at the peasant Fritz turned to his mercenary captain, 'Send scouts to confirm this report, then arrange for an envoy under white flag to meet with their commander. I have an offer to make these Russians. If they accept, we will be marching west within the week. Ask the lads if any of them came through Hamburg since the Danes took it...'

:egypt:

Antioch, 1334

As he pored over a map in his study, Matthias remembered the great fleet sailing, watching it go west until all the sails had disappeared beneath the horizon. The Kaiser and Dieter von Kassel had been on those ships, along with two thirds of the fighting men in Outremer. Elberhard had passed the title of King onto him in a perfunctory ceremony held on the docks. Still, the new ruler considered himself lucky that the Kaiser had not cast the Crown into the sea from his ship, like the former Doges of Venice casting a ring into the Adriatic, forcing Matthias to dive in and fetch it. The two men had cooperated in the defense of Outremer, brilliantly at points, but Matthias was left with the impression that if he had the choice, Elberhard would have given Outremer to someone less. . .defiant.

Granted, if Matthias hadn't been so obstinate, there would be no Imperial Outremer, all of it would have gone to the English, instead of just half of it. Matthias grunted, he was King, but of only two counties and he had no vassals. His title was a legacy of the past, of a Kingdom more powerful and far reaching than the one he now ruled. Outremer, through fate and incompetence, was a shadow of its former self. So much had been lost.

His fist crashed down on the map table. One of the reasons he had stayed was to set that right. To restore the Kingdom to its glory. Mere survival would not suffice. Yet even survival was not guaranteed. After the banner year of 1326 it looked as if the Greeks had been crushed in the Levant, but they had only been biding their time. Two massive armies were attempting to flank and surround him at the Iron Bridge. The Turks were restive and who knew the intent of the Egyptians.

Retreat to Acre, some would say, make a stand there. Matthias shook his head. He had not stayed in Outremer to run, to hide behind walls. It would dishonor the legacy of St. Maximillian and the past Kings, and it would betray the citizens of Outremer who had put their faith in him. They had been sold out too many times for him to do it again.

The Greeks must be repulsed, killed, butchered until they came no more, until that which was lost had been reclaimed, until Adana was Imperial once more. Nikeforos might be dead, but they all deserved to die, and he would be their executioner.

Much better to die fighting in a Holy cause, than live a coward.

"Amen," he muttered to himself, a finger tracing the course of the Orontes on the map, "Amen."

Somewhere in the Eastern Med, 1334


Jurgen Zimmler was a strange sort. He was a proficient bosun - strong even for a sailor - and had an ingratiating manner. But there was something not quite right about the man, with his greasy hair and shifty eyes. When suitably inebriated, Zimmler would tell tall tales about his sexual conquests that made the other sailors laugh out loud. But inwardly, the crew were left feeling uneasy about how much of the cruel exploits was false and how much might possibly be true. The younger sailors gave Zimmler a wide berth. More than one boy had left the ship under a cloud after a falling out with the man. The older sailors had learnt not to cross him. His enemies had a strange habit of disappearing from the ship in the night, never to be seen of again. Why the Captain tolerated Zimmler’s dark presence was never understood, but there were whispers that the bosun had some kind of hold over the Captain.

The arrival of the Kaiser’s party on the ship lightened the mood of the crew. Elberhard liked to fraternise with the men so there was never a shortage of wine and his lewd tales from his youth rivalled Zimmler’s in excess, although they lacked the undercurrent of violence. Whether it was because of the presence of so eminent a rival, or because of the knights patrolling the deck, Jurgen Zimmler seemed positively subdued. He moped around the ship, with a distant look and a mind clearly elsewhere.

*****

“What the @#$%^&!!! are we going to do with her? Stuck on this boat with a hundred @#$%^&!!!ing rough men!” exclaimed Elberhard.

Eue listened intently from outside the cabin, sitting on the wooden stairs. She heard her mother’s incisive voice:

“You must assign one of your men to watch over her, to never let her out of his sight. Who do you trust most?”

Not Nikolas, not Nikolas, anyone but Nikolas, prayed Eue. The Kaiser’s old mentor had always struck Eue as a creep - sweaty, pompous and patronising. What her father had ever learnt from the man, Eue could not imagine.

“Well, I would trust Captain Jan with…”

“With the Reich’s Treasury, yes dear, I know. But that did not turn out awfully well for you did it?” cut in Linyeve.

“All right, Mein Herr then.”

Eue gasped - Mein Herr, the Nubian shieldbearer who never spoke? This was intolerable!

“Mein Herr? Are you sure?” she heard her mother sound surprised.

Please, mum, please - stop him!

“Yeah, no one better to watch your back.” said Elberhard emphatically.

“All right, Mein Herr it is.”

NO! Eue screamed in her head.

Her parents turned at a faint sound coming from outside the door, but when Linyeve came out and looked up the stairs, they were empty.

*****

Eue would not look up at Mein Herr. She lay on her bunk, her face buried in a book. Elberhard looked awkwardly at his rude daughter and shuffled. He cast a glance at Mein Herr. The Nubian stood, starting forward, serenely. My God, thought, Elberhard, these two are made for each other.

“All right, love, then … err … I’ll leave you two to get on with it.” The Kaiser made a quick exit.

Eue watched her father leave from the corner of her eye and then risked a glance at his shieldbearer. Mein Herr stood without blinking, standing as if on parade. She kicked the door closed with her foot, leaving the Nubian on guard outside her cabin. She turned back to her book, but as the minutes became hours, the impassive and exotic figure outside her room started to exercise her mind far more than the dull and familiar scripture in front of her.

While walking after lunch, Eue’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Can you talk, Nubian?” she said, acidly.

“Yes, Princess.” said Mein Herr. His voice had a thick accent, deep and rich, as if drenched in molasses.

“Why do they call you Mein Herr?”

“My name is Maina. Perhaps it is their little joke.” Eue swore she could make out the twinkle of a smile in the corner of Mein Herr’s eyes. She could not help but think the joke was on the ignorant Germans.

“But they don’t like you, do they? Is it because you are a schwarzer?” pressed Eue, insensitively.

“Maybe. Or maybe it was the manner of my arrival.” said Mein Herr coolly.

“You were caught in battle - you were one of the enemy.” stated Eue.

“Yes, I was caught in battle. But not before I killed three of your father’s retinue.”

“What?” Eue could not hide her surprise. Yes, Mein Herr was a brute of a figure, but how could such a primitive man slay three of the Reich’s finest knights?

Mein Herr took in her expression: “Yes, the others, they did not believe it either.” he explained: “So I challenged them to a joust.”

“What?!” said Eue, even louder. The idea of a Nubian at a joust seemed even more unlikely than Mein Herr’s previous claim. “You could joust?”

“No, Princess. I was in the Tarbardariyya. I was a foot soldier. I wielded an axe. I could not use a lance nor ride a horse.”

“But you fought a joust?”

“I fought four jousts - to prove that my account of my capture was true.”

“You killed four more of my father’s knights?”

“No, no, Princess.” Mein Herr reassured her. “I only killed three more. The first three jousts.”

“And the fourth joust?” pressed Eue.

“That was against your father.” said Mein Herr, matter of factly.

“WHAT???!!!” Eue was now purple at the latest of these absurd tales.

“Yes. He saw me kill three of his champions in a row. He was not happy. He said some bad words. Then he came onto the jousting field. His guards tried to stop him, but your father is a reckless man. He came on.”

“Hah, and he knocked you down!” said Eue triumphantly.

Mein Herr smiled: “No, Princess. I brought down his horse. And then I put my axe to his neck.”

Eue’s eyes were bulging and Mein Herr smiled.

“Princess, I may be a schwarzer, but I am no fool. I would not kill the Emperor of the Reich in the middle of his army camp. I gave your father my axe. And he gave me this position. There was a vacancy. Sir Paul Mulner - his previous shieldbearer - was one of the six knights I had slain.”

Eue looked cross. “But how - how could you defeat six knights while just on foot with an axe?”

Mein Herr gave an easy smile: “Princess, you know the game “chicken”, right? Two people charge at each other and the one who flinches first, loses? Well, jousting is not unlike that. Yes, a couched lance is a formidable weapon. But once you are past the point, the knight is helpless. And a Tarbardariyya axe can take down the heaviest horse or the heaviest armour. You’ve just got to know when to duck.”

Eue pulled a face at the mental image of the Nubian’s axe striking a fine warhorse or German champion. She sized up Mein Herr. He was staring straightforward again, with a serene expression. Eue smiled.

*****

“Who do you think I will marry?” said Eue.

Mein Herr gave the Princess a withering look. “Princess, it is not my place…”

“Yes, yes, you don’t speak, I forgot.” said Eue lightly. “Except… you do talk, don’t you? Rather a lot, in fact, when it is about your axe wielding exploits. You’ve learnt rather a lot while you have been with my father, haven’t you? You’ve learnt our language, how to ride, how to survive in a court full of prejudice and intrigue? You were always at my father’s side - I suspect you know more about matters of state than most of our Electors.”

Eue paused. “So tell me, I know I am a commodity, a tool, one of the few instruments of power my father still wields in this disloyal and chaotic Reich. Who do you think I will marry?”

Mein Herr remained impassive.

“Do you know that absurd little man, Hummel, had the temerity to ask my father for my hand?!”

Mein Herr looked Eue: “Do not underestimate a man such as him, Princess. Duke Athalwolf underestimated him, your late uncle Hans underestimated him. His ambition is so great, it leads people to dismiss him. But to achieve great things, you first need great ambition.”

“Fine, we’ll put Hummel on the “maybe” list, then shall we? Pros - vast, overweening ambition. Cons - dirty backstabbing little traitor. Fine. Who’s next? Ah yes, Duke Arnold. What do you think of him?”

Mein Herr remained impassive.

“Well, what I think is that the man is so desperate to get hitched, he’d marry one of his pachydermic namesakes if they could bear him offspring.” Eue thought she could see the corners of Mein Herr’s eyes wrinkle at this declaration. “But I think he and my father may have burnt their bridges over Prague.”

Mein Herr seemed to tire and said with a slight air of mischief: “What about Dieter von Kassel, Princess? He is closer to your age and you did get to know him in Outremer.”

“Oh, please!” said Eue crossly, her face going red. “The man does nothing but talk about his horse. Angus this.. Angus that…I must charge these Papists because Angus needs some exercise!”

“Very well” said Mein Herr in his deep, rich voice: “Better put him in the “maybe” pile with Hummel then shall we?”

Eue threw her book at the Nubian, but it was some minutes before the smile left her face.

*****

The ship was dead in the water. There was no wind. But it was fine, warm day, so Elberhard organised a swim in the balmy sea water. After weeks at sail, the passengers were delighted to find a distraction, although their swimming ability meant that more than once proud knights had to suffer the indignity of being rescued by common sailors. After the men had returned from the sea, Linyeve took Eue into the water, watched by Elberhard and Mein Herr. The Nubian taught Eue to float effortlessly on her back and then provided an inflated pigskin to help her learn the rudiments of swimming. The freedom provided by the open sea exhilarated the princess.

As she clambered back on board the ship, Eue gratefully hugged her Nubian swimming instructor but was immediately reprimanded by her mother.

“Eue! What are you thinking? Get back to your cabin, now!”

Red faced, the Princess fled to her cabin while Mein Herr cast his eyes down in front of the wrathful Queen. Amidst the scandal, no one noticed the bosun slink down the stairs towards the Imperial quarters.

*****

Mein Herr’s reputation for being mute protected him from a prolonged tongue lashing from Linyeve and he quickly made his way downstairs to stand guard outside the Princess’s cabin. His heavy physique moved gracefully down the wooden steps and his sharp ears allowed him to pick up muffled sounds coming from inside the Princess’s cabin. His skin prickled and instinctively he knew something was terribly wrong. Without thinking of the potentially fatal consequences that might befall him if he were wrong, Mein Herr slammed his foot against the cabin door - breaking the lock and kicking it open.

Inside, Jurgen Zimmler, the lanky bosun had Eue by the throat. Mein Herr drew a small axe from his belt. The bosun spun round, holding Eue in front of him, a knife now clearly visible, pressing against her neck.

“Stay back! Stay back or I’ll cut her!” Zimmler hissed.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” said Mein Herr, soothingly, in his soft, treacly voice.

Zimmler was coiled like a spring, breathing heavily. However, Mein Herr was not addressing the bosun, but rather the Princess, whose eyes were wide with fear and whose mouth was covered by Zimmler’s large leathery hand.

“No one is going to get hurt.” purred the Nubian in his rich, gravely accent. He smiled at the Princess and spoke slowly and gently. “Remember what I told you about the joust? It’s like a game of chicken. You’ve just got to know when to … duck.”

Eue used all her strength to bite into the bosun’s hand and throw herself towards the floor. She felt a rush of air above her and then heard a dull clunk. The bosun’s grip seemed to loosen and Mein Herr sprang across the room, grabbing Zimmler’s knife arm with both hands, then snaping the limp sailor’s wrist with a wrathful energy.

“Go!” Mein Herr picked up the bosun’s knife and bundled Eue out of her cabin, shutting her out with what remained of the broken door. The Princess ran, not looking back as, knife in hand, the Nubian advanced on what remained of the bosun.

*****

None of the crew ever knew what happened to Jurgen Zimmler. Like some of their comrades who had crossed the bosun in the past, the man just disappeared from the ship in the night, never to be seen again. But he was a strange sort and no one mourned his departure.