The docks at Acre

Although it had only been a short trip from Adana, Hans was glad to get off the ship and onto dry land. He scanned the harbour at Acre, but was disappointed to find no sign of the large entourage that would have marked the presence of his father here to greet him. Disappointed, he set off down the pier towards the fortress.

Two men approached him, both powerfully built and clearly warriors. One was older, but sharp eyed, the other was a large bear of a man. The older man bowed, and the big man awkwardly followed.

“Your highness, I am sorry your father could not be here in person.” said the older man. Despite his grizzled appearance, there was compassion and understanding in his voice. He moved close to Hans, talking conspiratorially, while the big man stood back and appeared to be acting as a lookout.

“Ever since you came of age, your father has always been distant to you, he knows that. He also knows that, by right, it should be you who inherits after him, not Prince Jobst.”

Hans looked shocked at the familiarity and presumption of older man. The older man stopped and smiled apologetically.

“Your highness, indulge me. There is not much time and there is much at stake. I must speak candidly. Believe me, I mean you and your father no harm. Indeed, I am part of his retinue.” the grey haired warrior stopped, thoughtfully: “I would die for him.”

Hans felt uncomfortable with the man’s intimacy and affrontery, but stayed silent. Hans had long learned to watch and wait, to let the other reveal his hand, before revealing his own.

“Have you every wondered why your father was so distant? Why he has kept you away from him? Why you are not heir?”

Hans had his own thoughts on these questions, but was certainly not going to disclose them to a complete stranger. The young prince felt more and more awkward at this extraordinary meeting.

The older man looked sharply at Hans and said severely: “There are dark forces at work behind the throne. Your father feels powerless to resist. If he brings you too close, they may drag you down with him.”

Hans stared at the warrior - was he insane? The older man continued doggedly:

“Your father believes it is in his blood. The office of the Emperor is damned. It began with the unspeakable murder of Pope Gregory at the hands of Heinrich. And it is resurfacing now. Blood will out.”

A Papist fanatic? Hans wondered, but the eyes of the man in front of him were observant and thoughtful, not the unblinking lenses of the dogmatist.

“You share the same blood. Do not deny it. You believe in hard justice, winning first and are fierce in battle. These traits may be admirable in themselves, but they lead you towards the path of darkness. Like your father, coming here on the great crusade may have temporarily brought you back to the light. But if you were to take the office of Emperor, you too would be cursed. Every Imperial assassin’s blade would cut into your immortal soul, every deceit by our agents would condemn you in the eyes of the Lord, every settlement put to the sword would drag you into the pit. What does it profit a man to gain an Empire, if he loses his immortal soul?”

Hans found it hard to breath, his head was swimming but the older man pressed on:

“Your father fears he cannot save himself. He fears he is destined to join your grandfather in the life hereafter. But he does not want to take you with him. You are to be saved. You are to break this curse on the family.”

The veteran warrior paused and summoned his large companion.

“Here, this will aid you in your personal quest.”

Hans realised the larger man had been carrying something in a small bag, strapped round his back but held carefully as if it were a great treasure. The big man opened the bag and pulled out a wrapped object, gingerly unveiling it to reveal an old golden goblet.

“Do you know what it is?” said the older man.

Hans had received a fine education - he was familiar with the legends and the stories of the crusaders. Could this really be it? Was it possible? But given all the extraordinary things the veteran had just told him, to believe one more impossible thing before lunch seemed but a trifle.

"How did you get it?" said Hans, breathlessly.

For the first time, the big man spoke out: "Well, let's just say there is one Teuton with a hell of a sore head this morning."

The older man clasped his hand on the shoulders of his companion, amiably:

“And this fellow, he too shall go with you. He is roughly hewn, but will serve you well.”

The big man looked indignantly at the veteran warrior: “Roughly hewn? Rugged, is what the ladies say”.

The veteran laughed and turned back to Hans. “I am sorry you did not get to see your father today. But you must leave now, go to Adana - gather your expedition to Constantinople. Leave your father to battle his demons. I will fight by his side. I do not know if we will ever meet again, young master, but I wish you well.”

The veteran looked at the bag that Hans was now holding.

“Do not touch the chalice. But keep it secret; keep it safe.”

With that, he bowed. Scanning the area around him, the veteran warrior turned and left. Hans thought he saw a dark cloaked figure in the shadows by the docks, but given the excitement of the morning, gave it no further thought.