Rheims, 1186

"Mein Gott! So that's their game, is it?" sighed Ulrich, as he read the lastest dispatch from the Imperial Diet.

It had looked so promising. After marching across the border into Champagne, Ulrich and the depleted Swabian army had reached the city of Rhiems. It was an impressive sight, surrounded by thick stone walls, flanked by towers. After blockading the city's four main gates, Ulrich was hopeful that the fate of the city was now sealed. Reports had filtered through the camp that though the city was well supplied, the French had but a weak garrision quartered here. After setting his engineers to construct siege equipment, Ulrich was confident that an brief assault would carry the city.

But then the besiegers became the besieged. After surveying his men, a party of horsemen rushed back towards the Duke.

"Mein lord Duke, the French are here!" shouted the leader, Rupert von Hapsburg, a knight from the Tyrol.

Ulrich turned with a start. He had not counted on another French army in the vicinity of Rheims. Was not a large army already besieging Dijon? Quickly regaining his composure, Ulrich signalled the men to come to his tent.

Once they had entered, Ulrich began to question them.

"Where are the French camped?" he began, "How many men do you estimate march under the Fleur de lis?"

"They are but four miles distant, mein Duke." answered Rupert. "Herr Lothar and I reckon that they are over 700 men strong, though we had difficulty in concealing ourselves from the French sentries."

"You have done well, gut ritters." replied Ulrich, "You have the gratitude of your Duke and Swabia"

As the knights exited Ulrich's tent, a page bowed before entering. When he entered he silently handed Ulrich a missive bearing the unmistakeable seal of the Imperial Diet.

A discreet cough interrupted his train of thought. As Ulrich looked up, he saw Jan van Ghent, his Flemish military advisor.

"They have forced mein hand; I must pull back. Those fools in the Diet care more about following rules, rather than serving the Reich. I have just heard that they will call upon mein men to desert, unless I withdraw. Mein men would remain loyal, but I cannot lead them into a life of inglorious exile.

Besides, there are the French to consider. They have now surrounded us. Regardless of mein actions, I shall have to fight mein way out of thier encirclement. The losses will be heavy, but I trust that on this field we will deal them such a blow that will break the spirit of all those who swear loyalty to the French King.

But the further insult comes unabated. They now demand my abdication as Duke of Swabia. For what? For marching across a border of our enemies? I have little pride left this day, for they have trampled Swabia into the dirt."

"Your course is decided? asked van Ghent, "What shall you do, and where shall you go?"

"I shall take a loyal band of Swabians with me to the Holy Land. Perhaps there I can make a name for myself, but I cannot remain in Swabia as a disgraced knight, though it was unjustly deserved."

"Very well, I shall go with you!" exclaimed van Ghent, "But first, we have a French army to scatter."

Ulrich smiled and buckled on his sword.