Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Warmaster Horus]

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."

[Tamur]

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.

[Stig]

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.

[FactionHeir]

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!"

[Privateerkev]

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.

[gibsonsg91921]

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.

[AussieGiant]

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."

[OverKnight]

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.

[gibsonsg91921]

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.

[OverKnight]

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."

[Tamur]

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...

[econ21]

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:

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.

[Warmaster Horus]

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.'

[Privateerkev]

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.

[GeneralHankerchief]

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."

[Northnovas]

Countryside Eastern Austria 1318

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

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.

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.

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.

[Tamur]

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..."

[econ21]

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.

[TinCow]

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.”

[AussieGiant]

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.

[Warluster]

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.

[GeneralHankerchief]

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.

[Cecil XIX]

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."

[OverKnight]

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!"

[FactionHeir]

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.

[Privateerkev]

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.

[Tamur]

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.

[Tamur]

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.

[OverKnight]

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.

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

[Tamur]

"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."