Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Warluster]

Rheims, 1324 AD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

New Jersey, 2007

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

"So, I finally finished that Kingdoms Crusades campaign last night," said one of them, Steve.

"Oh really?" answered another, Don. "I thought you said you were pretty much screwed in that one."

"Yeah," said a third, John. Despite being in New Jersey he spoke with a British accent, having lived there for most of his life. He was viewed as something of an interesting specimen by the AP European History class, being one of the few who did not bring an American bias to the discussion. "Didn't you have von Saxony leading the campaign and then he died right before Adana was assaulted?"

"Don't remind me," said Steve. "Yeah, so I decided to take the place with a captain. Bad move. I lost big."

The final student, Stan, laughed. "So how'd you turn it around?"

"Well, it gets better. I finally take Adana with a second army led by Kaiser Henry but he loses so many men in the process he barely has enough guys left to garrison the place. Then suddenly this Egyptian dude comes out of nowhere with this uber-army. He's got ten stars, seven dread, tons of bodyguard, elite units, all that. He catches Otto von Kassel by surprise and slaughters that army."

Don chuckled. "You suck at this, dude. So you lost two of the six guys."

"Three. Jonas von Mahren was the second general in Otto's stack."

"Ouch! So you lost three guys and Henry's in Adana and can't really do anything."

"Yeah, he's building an army but it doesn't look like he'll last because that nasty Egyptian stack is heading right for him. So I'm down to Hans, who's bogged down against the Hungarians, and Max Mandorf. I decide to put Mandorf on a ship and sneak him around to hit Jerusalem from the south but it doesn't work and the Egyptian guys turn around and hit him hard. But then, he's got that special ability."

John groaned. "You didn't. That's so cheap."

"It's not cheap!" said Steve. "They attack, I'm so outnumbered it's not even funny. But then I just maneuver Mandorf's bodyguard around, sic him on the Egyptian general, and bam. Dead general. Huge chain rout, we somehow win with minimal casualties, and good ol' Max Mandorf and his general-killing ability is the Hero of the Crusade. We sneak around, hit Jerusalem from the south, and win."

The bell rang, and the four students sat down, still discussing the cheapness of Mandorf's ability and the merits of the Crusades campaign with Ansehelm von Kastilien's Teutonic campaign.

"All right class, settle down," said the teacher, Mrs. S. "Today we're going to continue our discussion of the Imperial Cataclysm. Going into 1320 and the formation of the Catholic Alliance, what was the Reich's greatest disadvantage?"

"They had a united enemy?" somebody asked.

"Hmm, good guess. But remember that the Reich was able to fight off numerous enemies and expand even before 1300. Anyone else?"

"Political instability," said Stan. "Too many nobles were looking to save their own skin, Luther was still causing problems, and Swabia was too ready to destroy itself before it focused on France."

"Exactly," said Mrs. S. "Too often the Swabian Civil War is left out of the history books as they focus on the greater situation and the French push more. It's a shame, really, as it was a fascinating conflict, as most civil wars are, and we're going to learn more about it.

"Your work for today will be to complete an annotated timeline for the Swabian conflict up to the showdown at Rheims in 1324. I want it to me by the end of class. You may work with each other."

Everybody groaned. Mrs. S loved annotated timelines, but she was the only one. It was only October and already the kids were sick of them. However, being AP students, the grade was more important and they grudingly got down to work.

1312: The Conflict Begins - Wolfgang Hummel, probably mad at his Duke and Kaiser for being ordered to attack a city that had the plague, decides to take his army and march on Staufen, proclaiming himself Prinz of Swabia. Hans is in Austria and unable to crush the rebellion.

"Hey John," said Steve. "Do you think this is an all right length?"

John looked it over and nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Mine's a bit longer, but I've learned about this before. You should add that this was Hummel's seconds rebellion."

"Oh yeah," said Steve, and scribbled it in. "Next entry..."

1314: Sides are Taken - Athalwolf von Salza, the only other noted commander in Swabia, declared for Hans. Meanwhile, to the south Dietrich von Dassel finished up slaughtering the people of Durazzo and prepared to make the long trip back to Swabia. Everyone knew that he had no love for his Duke. Two cities, Paris and Metz, decided to become independent cities, siding with neither. I don't think they trusted either man to lead them, especially with the frontier being abandoned.

"Mrs. S?" Steve raised his hand. "Is it okay to use first-person commentary in our annotations?"

"Yes, but try to keep it to a minimum. Remember, your opinion as a historian means absolutely nothing until you take the AP test and do well on it."

"Thanks, Mrs. S."

1316: Movement - Wolfgang and Athalwolf neared each other in Normandy. Hans continued to march to Swabia. Dietrich von Dassel landed in Italy. Dijon also became independent. I don't know why this year is significant enough to merit an entry in the timeline.

1318: The War Becomes Hot - Wolfgang and Athalwolf engaged each other in Normandy but neither one is manly enough to take the initiative in the battle the battle is inconclusive. Wolfgang goes back to Caen and Athalwolf to Staufen, where he is joined by Hans. The French finally wake up at what's going on in the land of their mortal enemies and besiege Paris, their former capital. No one in Swabia really blinks. Too much has been said and done to back down and unite now.

"What's with all those crossed out bits?" Don peered over at Steve's paper and saw the deleted comments. "It's a timeline, not a commentary."

"Timelines are a piece of *#%!, dude. I need to amuse myself somehow."

"Steve! What did I say about language in the classroom?!"

"Sorry, Mrs. S."

1320: The Sides Entrench - Wolfgang marched on Bruges, adding it to his lands and making it the new capital of his Principality. It is now clear that he intended to secede from the Reich with as many lands as he could. It seems like Athalwolf was the only one concerned with actually protecting Swabia from the French. Dietrich von Dassel lollygagged in Italy, killing some more Byzantines with Lothar Steffen. For all his hatred of Hans, the guy could have hustled to Swabia a little quicker. Hans, meanwhile, aided the English King Davy in return for a promise of support against the rebellion, but the English, being typical Englishmen

"Hey!" said John. "What's this about Englishmen?"

"All I'm saying is how King Davy didn't really do much in the first part of the war. Relax, dude. It happened over 700 years ago."

John chuckled. "Well, yes, Davy really didn't do that much. But you do forget, we had the Danes to worry about at that time."

"Yeah yeah yeah," said Steve. "This is a timeline about Swabia, not England. Let me get on with it."

1322: More Movement - Wolfgang began the march to Rheims to claim it. Athalwolf began the march to Rheims to defend it from the French. Hans began to besiege Metz, trying to add it back to the Reich. The Frenchies began their siege of Caen.

"One more year," Steve sighed. "Finally."

1324: The War Grows - Dietrich von Dassel came out of nowhere with a huge army and a proclamation that he was claiming Swabia for himself. At that point it was unclear whether he included Wolfgang's Principality in this. He delivered an ultimatum for Hans, which was of course denied. Peter von Kastilien, a Franconian, similarly came out of nowhere to aid Hans in the conquest of Metz, which was surprising considering Hans had tried to arrest Peter earlier. Dietrich was near Bern. At Rheims, Athalwolf and Wolfgang met again, while Caen was still besieged by the French.

Steve sighed. "Finally," he said. "That was long. Stupid Swabians and their egos. I hope Mrs. S doesn't make us do another one for the second part of the war." He took the paper, put it on the teacher's desk, and waited for the bell to ring.

[gibsonsg91921]

Metz, 1324

Péter von Kastilien was at an interesting crossroads. Having just won a great battle at Metz under the command of Duke Hans of Swabia, who politically he opposed, he knew not what to do next. The self-declared Duke Dietrich von Dassel and Duke Lothar Steffen had suspected him to go fight along with them against Hans. Péter did not wish to fight in a civil war, however much he disliked Hans. He was too loyal to the Reich to desire the death of fellow Germans. There are foreign enemies abroad, and Swabia is concerned with killing each other.

It was time to return to Franconia.

[econ21]

The Kaiser’s camp at the ford east of Acre, 1326


Kaiser Elberhard looked up from his map at the stranger:

“Kachig says you have a proposition for me.”

The stranger bowed: “Sire, I have spoken to the shipwrights in Antioch. We can assemble a large fleet - large enough to transport all surviving Crusaders and their armies back to the Reich. It will not be quick and it will not be cheap. But it is possible.”

Elberhard frowned: “How not quick and how not cheap, precisely?”

“We could assemble the fleet by 1332. But it will take every resource in Outremer to see it done.”

“@#$%^&!!! it!” swore Elberhard under his breath and looked away. The offer re-opened a tension that had been present ever since the start of the cataclysm: whether to stay to protect Outremer or to return to the Reich to reassert his authority.

The Kaiser looked up at the man again: “Thank you … what is your name again?”

“Gustav Peters, Sire …explorer.”

“Good work, Peters, good work. I need to discuss your proposition. Wait in the camp. It’s going to be a long night.”

*****

Elberhard looked around at his inner circle. At the head was his wife, Linyeve. Next to her stood the veteran English warrior, Sir Charles de Villiers. Sitting relaxed on a stool, was Kachig Iskyan, the Armenian mercenary captain. Jan the Teuton stood upright, as if to attention. Almost in the shadows, lurked Niklas Gruber, his disgraced mentor.

“So, do we stay or do we go?” opened the Kaiser.

All eyes turned to Linyeve.

“We go.” she said simply.

Jan the Teuton turned red: “But to abandon Outremer! It is unthink…”

Linyeve cut him off: “Abandon Outremer or abandon the Reich? Which one is more unthinkable?”

The Empress paused and then began to list the Reich’s current woes. “The Kaiser’s brother is fighting for his life in Swabia. Bavaria has now entered the conflict, using Dietrich as its proxy. The Reich is on the verge of open civil war. With Prague’s secession from Austria, that House may soon also fall into internal warfare. Franconia’s eastern and northern flanks have been ripped open - invading armies of Poles, Danes and Russians are pouring into our heartlands. Byzantium has exterminated Rome and Bologna - the whole of north Italy is open to them. How many more settlements will they wipe out? How can we stay out here, while all that happens in Europe?”

“But Outremer…” protested Jan the Teuton.

The Empress raised her hand demanding for silence. “There is a way we could leave without abandoning Outremer to the Byzantines and the Mohammedans...”

Again, she commanded the attention of all in the room. She nodded at Sir Charles de Villiers and the English veteran warrior spoke hesitantly.

“At the Empress’s request, I made informal soundings to England. It is possible that they would accept the gift of Outremer.”

Linyeve continued: “If my father’s people ruled these lands, perhaps the Byzantines would halt their offensive. Their quarrel is with us for sacking Constantinople. They have no dispute with England. The Mohammedans, well - at the moment, they are killing themselves. The Egyptians are attacking the Turks in the east, so there should be a respite. And we could always return when the Reich is made whole again.”

Elberhard looked frozen with indecision, then broke into a wry smile: “@#$%^&!!! it - I’ve given away Outremer once, why should I blanche at a second time?”

Jan the Teuton looked appalled.

Elberhard turned to him: “Look, we came hear to protect Jerusalem and the Pope. Now Jerusalem and the Pope are trying to kill us! Don’t you think that shows we have outstayed our welcome?”

“About the Papacy, Sire…” a quiet voice spoke up from the shadows.

Heads turned towards Niklas Gruber, the Kaiser’s old mentor.

“While we are still in Outremer, there is one last task that we could perform - one that could only be performed from here.”

Jan the Teuton whistled and swore under his breath, but Niklas continued:

“Regime change: if the Pope were to fall in battle, we still have enough influence in the College of Cardinals to perhaps elect a German as replacement. That may make it easier for the Reich to be reconciled.”

A cold shiver ran through Elberhard and it was as if he could feel the spirit of his grandfather, Heinrich, passing by. He shook his head:

“As usual, there are too many “perhaps” and “maybes” in your advice, Niklas. If we destroy the main Papal army and take Jerusalem, we rob Outremer of a key bastion against the Mohammedans. The Holy City would surely fall when we leave.”

“At least consult Matthias on this.” prompted Linyeve.

The shiver ran through Elberhard again. “Very well.” he said, reluctantly.

“And what of besieged Aleppo?” said Kachig the mercenary Captain, ever practical. “What do we do now?”

Elberhard rubbed his head. Two depleted regiments of sergeants were holding the castle - besieged by two Byzantine armies. A third - an elite Guard army - blocked the path east from the ford. To relieve Aleppo, he would have to cut through all three armies.

“There are scarcely over one hundred men in Aleppo.” said Elberhard firmly. “How many men would we lose to rescue them? And if I lose my army, what is the point of returning to the Reich? I would merely be hostage to the first usurper we encounter on landfall. We cannot save Aleppo.”

Jan the Teuton looked distraught: “Sire, we are abandoning all codes of chivalry! This is not the honourable path!”

“I know, Jan, I know.” Elberhard looked down. ”Perhaps we should challenge the Byzantine Guard army in front of us? We avoided giving battle to them outside Damascus, but now they have put us in an even worse position. Perhaps it was a mistake to let them be? If we survive our encounter with them with sufficient strength, we could continue on to Aleppo and evacuate it.”

Linyeve looked at Elberhard harshly, with disapproval.

The Kaiser caught her glance and started to backtrack: “I must consult with the other Crusader Electors on this. But the principle is decided: we are leaving Outremer.”

[Ignoramus]

Normandy, 1326

Wolfgang wearily mounted his horse as his men prepared for the long march west to Flanders.

"Ah, Herr Hohenburg, what do you think of this latest invasion by the Danes?" he asked his companion.

Sheathing his sword, Conrad sighed before answering, "To be honest, mein prinz, this is becoming draining on the men. We have been marching all over this war ravaged patch of northern France for the last ten years. The men are loyal, but even loyalty begins to be tested at feats like this."

"I am afraid you are right. The men have not seen a battle in years, and one is a soldier to fight, not to see the countryside. However, the Danes ought to provide some action for the men."

Smiling wrly, Conrad replied sarcastically, "Unless they live up to their reputation and sail away."

"I doubt they will do that; they have too much to lose. With von Kastilien's invasion of Sweden, the Danes cannot afford to lose wealthy cities. If they sail away, the way is open to Antwerp. Nein, the Danes will fight, and we must crush them."

"What about von Salza, mein prinz? He may yet prove a thorn in our side."

Wolfgang laughed, "Von Salza's army would crumble against me. Our men are seasoned and blooded, and will not let me down."

Spurring his horse, Wolfgang galloped over to the vanguard, which was led by Gerhard van Ghent, Jan van Ghent's son.

"Heil, Prinz Hummel! It is an honour to see you in such gut spirits." shouted Gerhard.

Wolfgang rode up beside van Ghent, and the two began an earnest discussion.

"Are you serious? Surely that is madness?" exclaimed van Ghent.

"Nein," grinned Wolfgang, "it has the element of suprise, which is vital in times such as these. I think that we might be able to pull it off."

[gibsonsg91921]

Frankfurt, 1326

Péter lay awake in bed on the eve of battle. Ansehelm has died, he thought. A year after retiring from politics Ansehelm rode off against the Poles and was slain while killing his foes.

This meant Péter was Duke of Franconia; it was a position he never expected to hold, or if he did, only for a few years before he died.

It was a tremendous responsibility - especially during these years of plague and rebellion. He hoped he would bring glory to his Duchy and the Reich.

His plans were clear - to regain lost territory and protect those in danger. He was in command of the Army of Hamburg, which was going to relieve the siege of Frankfurt and then reconquer the city of its namesake. Jan von Hamburg, former King of Outremer, is returning to take up the county he was born in.

His older brother Fritz was in command of the Army of Prussia, which was now situated at Stockholm, waiting to kill the Danish Prince and take the city for the glory of the Reich.

His cousin-in-law, Dieter Bresch, was commanding the Saxon Army and holding up at Magdeburg - he would soon have to move to strike those invading the eastern front of Franconia. Alas, Franconia's sprawling size is its weakness.

His protege, Tancred von Tyrolia (commanding the Army of Brandenburg), was assisting the Austrians to improve relations with the old allies and Duke Arnold. Plus, a united Reich is a protected Reich - sectionalism will cause a house to crumble.

Count Edmund Becker, separated from the House of Austria and married to Péter's old friend Niesenn von Mahren, recently won a great victory against the Poles in Péter's plague-ridden County of Breslau. It was good to know that friends elsewhere can protect you.

Péter was a bit more at ease, and became anxious for battle. He had never fought the Danes before, and his lust nearly drove him mad. He howled into the night, startling the camp.

Jonas, the veteran warrior, overheard him.

"Are you alright, my lord?"

"Yes, Jonas, for tomorrow we conquer!"

[TinCow]

Preface: I began writing this piece as a fictional narrative with the usual amount of dramatics and bloodshed. However, I found that I had to include a great deal of historical background information which quickly started to dominate the entire story. So, I have instead abandoned the ‘fictional’ account and turned to a purely ‘historical’ one. I am always fond of turning to actual historical events for motivation and inspiration and this is no exception. This story is occurring in KOTR, but it is an exact replica of an event which occurred in the Bavarian town of Donauwörth in 1606.

In the process of self-edification, I found a very detailed account of the event in an article published in a Cambridge University journal. Rather than butchering the account with my own inferior knowledge, I have instead decided to copy the majority of the factual account from this article. I have changed some of the background information and the dates to correspond with events in KOTR, but the vast majority of the following piece is copied verbatim from the following paper:

Urban Order and Religious Coexistence in the German Imperial City: Augsburg and Donauwörth, 1548–1608, C. Scott Dixon; Conference Group for Central European History of the American Historical Association, Central European History 40 (2007), 1-33.

The complete paper can be found online here and I personally find it very interesting. It also includes a narrative of similar conflicts between Lutherans and Catholics which occurred in Augsburg around the same time. I encourage anyone interested in the history of the Reformation in general, and the origins of the Thirty Years War in particular, to read it.

Donauwörth and the Battle of the Banners

After the fall of Rome in 1318, the greater problems of the Holy Roman Empire began to supersede the growing religious conflict between Catholics and the followers of Alexander Luther. In 1319, many prominent leaders of both groups gathered in the northern Bavarian city of Augsburg to discuss a way to end the civil disorder which was disabling the Reich. After weeks of debate, they eventually agreed to a partitioning of the local lands into Catholic and Lutheran areas. Under the Peace of Augsburg, free practice of both religions was officially sanctioned and local Lords were authorized to divide their lands into Catholic and Lutheran sections, to prevent the conflicts that inevitably resulted when the two groups mixed.

Soon after the signing of the Peace, the religious rioting and disorder that had plagued the Reich for several years began to die down. With the core cities secure and stable, the Duchies were able to resume effective taxation and military recruitment, thus allowing them to put up an effective defense against the coordinated onslaught of the Byzantines and the Catholic Alliance. Yet, despite the official peace between the Catholics and Lutherans, discontent continued to simmer. The events in Swabia in particular continued to fan the embers of the smoldering conflict. Duke Hans was an avowed Catholic, a loyal supporter of Kaiser Siegfried and the Pope, and he had made repeated calls to his fellow believers for support in his war against the rebellious Electors. While Wolfgang Hümmel had not allied himself with either religious group, Dietrich von Dassel was one of the most ardent Lutherans and his entry into the conflict in 1326, with Alexander Luther himself at his side, began to give the Swabian Civil War some less than subtle undertones. Across the Reich, the peace between Catholics and Lutherans continued to hold, but both sides began to complain openly about the abuses and atrocities committed by the other in the fratricidal war in Swabia.

In Donauwörth, the religious peace of 1319 secured the free exercise of both religions. However, the Catholic community in Donauwörth was not a powerful presence in the city. Already within a year of the Peace, the Catholics had been forced out of the parish church and consigned to three places of worship—the Benedictine monastery of Holy Cross, a chapel belonging to the Order of the Teutonic Knights, and a small chapel in the residence of the abbots of Kaisheim. As long as the Catholics did not move beyond the borders of these three sacral enclaves, the two communities lived in relative harmony. Surveying Donauwörth late in 1320, Jacob Maier von Binicken, the neighboring pastor of Berg, claimed that Lutherans and Catholics had achieved a state of equilibrium in the city. Once the balance was tipped, however, or the sacral boundaries overstepped, it quickly led to tensions.

Troubles first surfaced in 1322 when the abbot of Holy Cross began to extend the route of the pilgrimage processions to the village of Auchsesheim, held annually on the Feast of St. Mark, and introduce observances, such as the ringing of bells, the carrying of candles and torches, the use of a stole during burial services, and above all the unfurling of banners, which were seen as “novelties” by the council and in violation of earlier agreements. Tensions increased, reaching a high point in 1324 with the election of a new abbot, and then amplified again in 1325, when, inspired by a miracle reputed to have occurred in an outlying parish, the monks of Holy Cross joined up with hundreds of others and marched through nearby Protestant lands with as many as eighteen banners on show. This was a formula for discord. The council had already issued a mandate against the display of banners outside the limits of Holy Cross, thus when the procession took place one year later and the abbot was equally bold in the choice of route and the use of ceremonial display, the council turned to force. Urban officials stopped the procession in its tracks and confiscated the banners. On getting word of this, the bishop of Augsburg forwarded an appeal to the Imperial Court. In response, the Imperial authorities issued a mandate, forbidding, under threat of ban, any further disturbance of the exercise of the Catholic religion in Donauwörth.

Relations between Lutherans and Catholics broke down completely the following year, on the day of the St. Mark’s procession (April 25, 1327). Despite Imperial censure, the city councilors continued to warn the abbot of Holy Cross to leave off all “nontraditional ceremonies” (such as the use of unfurled banners) and stick to the street near the grounds of the cloister. In the churches, the Lutheran preachers railed against the impudence of the monks and mocked their claims that they would rather suffer death than march with banners concealed. Disregarding all of these threats, the monks of Holy Cross, led by Prior Georg Beck, preached about the dangers of a Lutheran kingdom being established in Swabia, under the rule of Dietrich von Dassel. Accompanied by a group of young musicians and members of the Donauwörth Catholic community (including the wife of a Fugger count), they then marched as planned from the monastery to the marketplace, where they were soon surrounded by a hostile Lutheran citizenry shouting abuse and threatening violence. “One should meet these staff-bearing sacrament rogues with staffs,” suggested one of the onlookers, “and serve up some knuckle sandwich.” Against the odds, the procession made it out of the city; but on its return to Donauwörth, things did not end so well. With the Lutherans still gathered and the magistracy watching on, local men armed with wheat flails and pitchforks, as well as a few swords and spears, let loose on the Catholics as they entered the city. Staffs were ripped from hands, banners were shredded, crosses were smashed to pieces, and Catholic pilgrims were chased through the muddy streets, some making it back to Holy Cross, others taking shelter along the way. It ended quickly, but within days the “Battle of the Banners” had become a celebrated event in Lutheran Germany.

Bavarian and Imperial authorities quickly re-imposed order on the town, but word of the riot spread to all corners of the Reich. Groups gathered in homes, taverns, and public halls, complaining about violations of the laws of God and the Reich. Lutheran and Catholic clergy alike spoke of the event regularly from the pulpit. For the former, it was proof that the Catholics would violate the Peace of Augsburg whenever it pleased them, while for the latter it was evidence that Lutherans were determined to subjugate all Germans to their religious beliefs through force of arms. The only thing both sides could agree on was that vigilance and action would be required in the days ahead.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Bern, 1326

"Sir? The latest pigeon has arrived."

"Thank you, Joseph," said Dietrich von Dassel. "Where has it cooped?"

"The usual spot, sir. It seems to have more to say than usual."

"Excellent, lead on. It appears that this is what we've been waiting for." Dietrich started giving out orders to the people around him. "Friedrich, alert Luther. He might want to know about this. August, come with me. I'm sure Hans knows about this by now and he might be prepared to react at any time. I need you to be ready to alert the troops."

Both men nodded. Friedrich, Dietrich's aide, departed, searching for Luther. August von Blücher, a Franconian whose hatred of the French brought him to Swabia, followed his general and Joseph, the man who brought them all the news.

The city had now been under siege for some months, but there were still ways of communication with the outside world. Just hours before Hans's army had arrived to trap his enemy, Dietrich had made contact with a sympathetic farmer who had an odd hobby relating to birds. The man had agreed to send carrier pigeons detailing the news of the outside world, and particularly Swabia, whenever possible. At first Dietrich was skeptical but after his preferred method of communication, a man who knew the secret passages of the city well, was caught and brutally executed by Hans's men in front of the garrison, he had no choice.

The three men arrived to where the pigeon was perched, resting after its flight and graciously accepting some seed, the message still tied to its leg. Dietrich untied it, and without waiting for Friedrich or Luther, read the message out loud.

Hummel is victorious at the Crossroads. He marches on Bruges against the Danes. Von Salza in full retreat towards Rheims, carrying only archers and some cavalry. He has lost all infantry. Hummel still has a decent army. Expected recovery time for von Salza is long.

And then, scrawled at the bottom of the paper:

Can you hurry this siege up? I'd like to be able to sell my crops again.

Dietrich read the first part of the message once more and then discarded it, turning to August von Blücher. "What do you make of all this?"

"Too early to tell," said Blücher. We don't know whether this victory was Phyrric or not yet. Hummel definitely won, but the question is whether von Salza roughed him up enough to make Bruges difficult. After he fights the Danes his army might be in as bad condition as von Salza's."

Dietrich was about to reply, but then Friedrich and Alexander Luther joined them.

"What'd it say?" Friedrich asked.

"Hummel won," Dietrich said simply, and then continued his discussion with Blücher. "August, you have a point about long-term. That's long-term though. What about short-term?"

Here Friedrich piped in. "Well, short-term, it energizes those who do not support the current Swabian regime. This kind of battle result won't convince anybody that Hans has his act together. That means the good Duke is going to have to do some major damage control to salvage the situation."

"Against us," said Luther.

"Very good, Luther," said Dietrich. "That's the thing now, in order to save face and keep Swabia in line Hans is going to need a decisive victory against us, and he's going to need it fast. Preferably one that results in mine and Luther's capture or death. Rebellions that survive the initial effort to put them down become infinitely more dangerous."

"What he needs to do now," said Blücher, "is beat us quickly, turn around, and then march on Hummel. If he focuses on us too long, then Hummel gets a free hand in the north and can wreak havoc for quite a while until von Salza gets back on his feet. If he abandons Bern in favor of chasing down Hummel, then we get to stretch our legs a little bit."

"And there's no way he can do either thing," said Luther. "Because the other side would get too dangerous."

All three of them nodded at Luther's words. Even though the man was a professional theologian he had spent a lot of time around armies and garrisons, and was starting to get a good grasp of the military perspective.

"Hans has no choice but to attack us here, and to do it quickly," said Dietrich. "And when he does, we'll be ready for him. By God, we'll be ready for him."

[AussieGiant]

Outside Ragusa 1326

Duke Arnold was sitting in his field tent. As much as a field tent that it was. With multiple rooms, including a council of war table, reception area and small armoury is was in reality a small palace. Lantern’s strewn throughout the massive marquee turned night into day and allowed the Duke and his retinue to work throughout the night, attending to the tasks required to govern a Duchy in a time of crisis.

Sitting at one end of the massive table normally reserved for his briefing sessions Arnold was putting the finishing touches on a fairly long letter.

“My Lord,” Bane knelt briefly before taking a seat and pouring himself a glass of mead.

“Reports indicate Hummel has handed von Salza a fairly decisive defeat.”

“Did either of them get killed?” Arnold looked up as he pressed his Ducal seal into the blood red wax sealing the envelop.

“Unfortunately not my Lord. Both men survived the encounter.”

“God damn Separatists, or Rebel’s or what ever you want to call these bloody Count’s pissing about while our real enemies are smashing down the Reich’s collective doors!! They should be all put against a wall and shot with these new pistol contraptions!!”

Bane paused before continuing. Letting his Duke calm down was always a healthy option he had found, it usually lead to less fatalities in which ever situation they found themselves in. The recent destruction of the Venetian forces being the latest example. In reality the Duke would never have attacked if it wasn’t for the merchants from Prague stealing gold and crops from Vienna.

“Have you heard the rumours?”

The Duke raised an eyebrow at the fully helmed Dread Knight. Bane realised the Duke wanted him to continue.

“Words has reached our scouts south of Daruzzo that a large fleet is being constructed in the Holy Land. The Kaiser is making his way back to the Reich it seems.”

Arnold face betrayed nothing of his feelings on the subject. Even to his most trusted servant, the Duke would not publicly speak his mind about the Kaiser.

“Interesting, his return should impact the general situation.”

Bane could not even read between the lines of that statement so he fell silent.

Handing him the letter Arnold stood and placed his hand on his tall dark armoured companion.

“Take this to Becker. Talk with him, make him see reason Bane. I spoke to you yesterday on this and the Priest has not changed my mind on the matter. What I said still stands. Go, be safe Bane.

Ride to Prague and heal this Duchy my friend.”

Without a word the Dread Knight bowed and left the chamber.

[Privateerkev]

Venice: 1328

Jan von Hamburg walks down the ramp of the ship. The journey had been quite long and he was very happy to be back on dry land. His bodyguards and retinue fanned out and secured the area. There were men out there who would not approve of his presence back in Europe and Jan knew he had to be careful. His wife was behind him and carrying their belongings while some aides carried his children. At the bottom of the ramp a man waited for him.

He was an old grizzled veteran of Outremer. He had fought with Jan in the battle for Damascus during the Second Crusade. He had served Outremer loyaly for years. But, like many men, the call of home finally proved too much. As King, Jan was able to use his position to secure jobs back in Europe for loyal Crusaders. He had done it many times before. While he fought hard to help men stay in Outremer, he would fight to make sure they had a good life afterwards. Such was part of the code and one of the perks of being King. This man in particular was a high level official in the Imperial Messenger Service. Jan walked up to him and firmly shook his hand.

"Conrad! It's good to see you again!"

The veteran smiled as he took Jan's hand, "And it's good to see you too Ki.. , I mean Sir Jan. Sorry, I am still not used to your new circumstances. Is it true that you resigned?"

"Yup. Right at the beginning of 1324. It was hard to do but I have more important things to do here in Europe. Did Azim contact you?"

Jan's mercenary captain was sent to Europe ahead of time in order to prepare things. "Yes, he came bearing your seal. I have done as instructed. I have gathered up clippings of reports of every event in the Reich that has happened while you have been on board ship. A whole lot has happened."

Jan took the reports and browsed through them. A whole lot had indeed happened from 1325 to 1328. He read that Duke Ansehelm had been killed. Jan paused at that part. While they had never gotten along, Jan was struck by a moment of sadness at the news. He saw that Peter had become Duke and had indeed decided to stay out of the Swabian Civil War. Becker had messed up with sending his merchants out to procure supplies but had tried to make things right by aiding Breslau. Wolfgang and Athawolf had finally met again in battle with Wolfgang getting the better of the deal. Jan's eyes went wide when he saw his nephew had killed the Pope. Struck silent for a moment, Jan rationalized to himself that the Reich would be safer and better off being reconciled. Jan saw with amusement that Fritz had called for his arrest. Yes Fritz would indeed not like having Jan around. Jan chuckled at the thought of the next meeting in the Franconian Hall. His eyes burned though when he read about the events in Donauwörth. Lastly, he read that Hans had trapped Dassel and Luther in Bern.

Jan took all of these events in. He stood there thinking for a moment. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment, walked over to a crate, and made some changes to it. He handed the parchment over to Conrad. "Here is what I have been working on. I need this sent to every settlement in the Reich that you can reach. Your the only one I trust to handle this."

"Don't worry sir, you can count on me. I have printers ready to copy this and runners I trust to transport it all over Germany. It will be circulated within the year." Conrad shook Jan's hand again, put the parchment in a pouch, and got on his horse.

Jan watched him leave as Gunther walked up to him. "Sir, we're ready to move. Do you have a destination for us figured out yet?"

Jan looked at Gunther, smiled, and said one word.

"Bern"

[Ignoramus]

Antwerp, 1330

"So this is an arquebus?" asked Wolfgang, "How powerful is it, exactly?"

Wolfgang examined the firelock with interest. He had faced a company of Danes with handguns, but he had never had been in possession of them himself.

The Flemish gunsmith, Willem Tykel, strolled towards his new patron, "It is capable of piercing all but the thickest plate, something that you will need against the French."

"Indeed." remarked Wolfgang drily, "However, you leave the French to me, and I'll leave the production of the firelocks to you."

As the gunsmith left the room, Wolfgang began to think. With these weapons, he could revolutionise warfare as the world knew it.

"Chivalry has been sorely tested these last thirty years," he though out loud, "and the reign of the horsemen is waning. The combination of pike and firelock is a deathblow to any mounted foe. And as the French are especially fond of horsemen, we shall be glad of the changing times."

Collecting his thoughts, Wolfgang left the room.

[Tamur]

Near Stettin, 1330

Fritz von Kastilien paced the floor, his head down, lost in thought. The eviction of the family who had until recently lived here gnawed at his stomach, especially the pleading look of their teenage daughter as she had been dragged out.

Yes, he was back on home ground, and yes he was comforted to see sausage curing in the farmer's smokehouse instead of bread like the Swedes seemed to prefer. But time was drawing down for Fritz, and he knew it. He felt the loss of strength at his core - a weakened desire for the sword at his hip to be in his right hand.

And the mercenary captains, all at least twenty years younger than he... they did not help. All they wished was to line their purses and encrust themselves with jewels.

An image flashed through Fritz's mind, one of the few days when he and his brothers had played peaceably together, out in the courtyard, waving sticks at each other in harmless play.

Siegfried was now dead by an assassin's hand. Ansehelm had been overwhelmed defending his lands. Father had died years ago, old and noble and believing everything would remain so after his passing.

And here Fritz stood, pacing the floor in a house that had just been cleared on his order of its lawful owners, while he contemplated the next bloody foray for wealth alone.

Trapped. Fritz's jaw clamped shut, his eyes darted over internal visions. There must be a way out.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Bern, 1330

It had been quiet.

Sure, there were the constant stream of couriers coming and going, delivering messages, the frenzied redeployments as parts of the Army of Light were twice revealed to be out of position, and the now-constant thudding of the Grand Bombard coupled with the sounds of the city walls crumbling, but really, it had been quiet.

The whole morning was just simple tactical maneuvering, really. The chess pieces that had been placed on the board long ago, probably in 1300 or maybe even before that, depending on if one wanted to view the political emergence of Dietrich von Dassel or Hans's return from Outremer as the start, were being manipulated for the final time. Soon, the time would come to take the plunge.

The quietness was frightful, really. Dietrich wasn't used to it. He relished the heat of battle, the time where little coherence could be made over the clash of metal, sounds of horses trampling, and screams of men, whether it be from anger or pain. This... this was worse. Different. The whole morning had been like it, as if it was waiting too. Everyone was waiting, and for every second they waited the tension would increase and eventually the knowledge came that when things did start to get loud, they would get really loud, as if a giant war god of ancient times bottled up his anger and then finally released it at once, causing a massive frenzy and a whirlwind of destruction that would be terrible for all to behold.

The silence would be broken, that was certain. That time was rapidly approaching, that was also certain. The only thing still in doubt was who would break it?

This was the terrible question that was consuming Dietrich for the moment. For it was the question that would decide the battle.

Hugo Merode, the commander of the Lutheran relief army that had come to Dietrich's aid, and his advance guard had arrived in the north, deploying alarmingly close to Hans. The Duke of Swabia had been demonstrating on the city walls all morning, making especially good use of his Grand Bombard on the area. Dietrich had been content to sit back and wait for Hans to impale himself on his defenses. Now, however, things had changed.

Hugo's army was required if there was to be any hope of victory for that day. Hans currently only had one loyalist army on the battlefield, but Jan von Hamburg still lurked to the south. The old Duke could easily turn north and defeat Hugo in detail, thus ridding himself of one army and making things a lot easier. On the other hand, he could make an attempt on the city.

If I sit back and do nothing then Hugo might very well be destroyed.

If I sally to Hugo's aid there's a chance that Hans could catch me in the open and destroy me.

The uncertainty of it all lasted an eternity and continued to draw out the terrible quietness. Something must be done, and quickly.

"Sir? What are your orders?"

It was August von Blücher, looking at his commander expectantly.

Dietrich sighed.

"We

[Zim]

An introduction: 1330, outside Staufen
Jan von der Pfalz looked over his shoulder. He could still see the castle of Staufen, his home for the past season, through the darkness of night and the branches of trees in the way. He had grown up within a days march of the castle, but had never thought it looked so foreboding. Snap your self out of this, it’s only a castle! he thought, shaking his head furiously as if he could thus cast out the feelings of doubt and shame that coursed through him.

A scant few months ago, Jan had answered the call to arms in service of the Reich. He had left his small family holdings to go to the castle Staufen, where he was charged with whipping men from his hometown into a fit shape for military service. One fateful day he had received the letter from Wolfgang Hummel, prevailing upon him to join the Principality. Raised to be a loyal citizen of the Reich, his first instinct had been to cast the letter into the flames. Perhaps it would have been better if he had.

Instead, he had decided to think about it. He thought about the recent past. While Hans went on a wild goose chase after Peter von Kastilien, a national hero, the Reich had fallen apart, its people divided by political and religious differences. Now Hans continued a religious war against the Lutherans and Wolfgang Hummel, while Franconia was being destroyed by foreigners. This was all done in the name of the Reich. Jan was always a loyal citizen, but perhaps the schismatics had a point. For centuries the Kaisers had worked for centralization. The Empire grew strong and more unified, but dissent also increased. Kaiser Siegfried had seemed a madman, seeking to merge the German Empire with the corrupt Greek Empire, where neither lord nor freeman controlled his own destiny and everyone was a slave. This madness was destroying the Empire, even after the man who initiated it had died.

So Jan had decided to accept Hummel’s invitation. Hummel seemed a man after his own heart, who wanted to see the regions of the Empire regain their former autonomy. Jan hoped he made the right decision, but whatever the case, it was made. Now he was leaving both the castle he had spent these past months in and the lands he had spent his life in to go to a city he had never seen called Antwerp, fleeing in the dark like a brigand. Around him he could see the shadows of his guard and others, soldiers who had trained under him and retained their loyalty to Jan. Common soldiers, low ranking spear and horsemen. He did not know if they numbered enough to make even a single regiment of soldiers, but he hoped so. God knows Hummel would need them.

[Privateerkev]

Bern: 1330

Jan sat in his command tent on the mountainside overlooking the southern wall of Bern. His advance guard was almost ready. His reserve force was arriving and forming up. The former King of Outremer sat at his desk writing out his will and some letters. When he was finished he got up and walked over to another part of the large tent.

His family looked up when he entered. They had joined him on his crusade. Partly for security reasons and partly because he just liked having them around. Alfgarda got up from her chair and walked over to her husband. Jan handed his paperwork over to her.

"Here, send these out if I fall today."

She looked at him for a few seconds, took the letters, and laid them on her desk. "I do think your worrying too much honey. You've lived through so much already. The Lord won't let you die."

Jan grunted and said, "I think I have fulfilled the Lord's purpose. Once this is over, there won't be much left for me except semi-retirement. No, if I live, it won't be because of Him. These letters are to make sure some things are taken care of if I fall. Don't worry. I have no intention of falling but it's best to be prepared."

Alfgarda walked over to her husband and embraced him. They had been quite the happy couple in the few years that they had been married. For some marriages, time was not kind. Such was not true of the von Hamburgs.

Jan let go of his wife and bent down to pick up his two children. Clare and Andreas were the apples of his eye. They were still too young to understand what dad did for a living. Jan looked over at Clare. "I hope you marry well. A young man who treats you well and serves this family." He looked at Andreas. "And I hope you grow up to be a good and righteous man. I still have a few contacts among the nobles and I'll make sure you have the opportunity to serve the Reich and the Lord with honor."

Jan handed the children over to his wife. Alfgarda took them up in her arms and held them. "I need you to do something for me if I fall. It's asking a lot."

She smiled, "If I can do it I will."

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

Jan walked out of his tent where Max, Gunther, and Azim were waiting for him.

Gunther nodded and said, "The men are ready sir."

"Good good, we need to get going. Hans needs our help. Max, a word with you?" Jan asked of his Teutonic knight.

Max stood at attention, "What do you need my lord?"

"I need you to stay out of the main fight. You are to join your brethren when they are ready."

Max looked like he was punched in the gut. "My lord, but why? My place is at your side!"

"I have a couple of other things I need you to do." Jan pulled a letter out of his tunic and handed it over. "This will explain everything." Jan shook the man's hand. "God be with you Max. Thank you for everything you have done for me my friend."

Max nodded. "It's been an honor my lord. God be with you."

Jan returned to Gunther and Azim and walked down to the rest of his bodyguards.

[GeneralHankerchief]

A parable

Once upon a time there was a young soldier by the name of David of Dunland. David was a fine young leader who had won many great victories in his short time on Earth. He thought to himself, "I am a fine young leader. I want to help out as many people as I can and bring the people of the Grand Kingdom under my peaceful rule."

Horace, the old warrior and Lord of the Western Realm, owed the Grand King a favor. He said to David, "David, you are a fine young leader but do not cross the Grand King. He is a good man and there is time to rule later." But David disagreed with the Grand King's policies. He believed that the Grand King's policies would bring the Grand Kingdom and, by extension, the Western Realm into ruin.

"Horace," he said, "I do this for the people of the Western Realm." And David continued to agitate the Grand King and his followers and failed to see anyone's side of the story but his. He was eventually exiled from the Western Realm, exiled and disgraced.

Time passed. In exile, David saw a threat to the Western Realm in the form of a corrupt extension of the Grand King's policies. "I am going to build a large army and make things right," David said. And he did.

In the Eastern Watchtower, John the Viceroy heard of David's act. "The man that David killed was my friend," John said. "He was a good man and meant nothing wrong. I cannot see why anybody would want to kill him." John decided to confront David about it at the next legislative meeting. He continued to watch as the good Grand King, Steven, was also assassinated. "These times are not good," John mused to himself.

Horace saw what was coming and tried to stop David, but was too late. "David has done an evil act," Horace said. "He is a danger to the Western Realm. He cannot be allowed to rule."

Time passed. David's army was depleted from many battles and it appeared that he was once again powerless. All across the Grand Kingdom, including the Western Realm, people were dying, lands were being taken, plagues wreaking havoc on cities. The Grand Kingdom faced a massive threat and was sorely in need of leadership.

One man, Leonard, Duke of the Southern Plains, saw this and gave a large, powerful army to David after David had assisted in fighting off the Grand Kingdom's mortal enemies, the Violet Empire. "David," he said, "Take this army and use it to free the Western Realm. It needs a ruler like you."

When John the Viceroy heard of this, he was outraged. "How could Duke Leonard do this?" he asked. "David is clearly deranged and is the main contributer to why the Grand Kingdom is in such trouble! For the people's sake, he must not be allowed to rule the Western Realm." And John the Viceroy departed the Eastern Watchtower, leaving behind what he had devoted his life to, in order to raise an army and defeat David, thus saving the Western Realm.

Horace, meanwhile, also saw what happened. "Great, another challenger," he said, for the Western Realm was already strife with civil war, "If the Western Realm has any chance of surviving it must be united. I must defeat this usurper David and save the Western Realm."

Horace and John together trapped David in a city and were about to strike, when another army, led by General Henry, materialized out of nowhere. "Wait," this Henry said, "Do not strike! David saw what was coming long before any of you did! Horace, you are old, and John, you understand only the Eastern Watchtower, which is a totally different place. David is the only one that can save the Western Realm!"

The four parties argued and argued, but alas, no side would budge. And so, the four armies, all soldiers of the Grand Kingdom, fought a terrible battle.

Henry died first, with his inferior army. His final words were "Keep fighting... lads... Only David... can save... Western Realm..."

The three remaining generals continued to see the battle rage on. They fought each other, oblitering each other's armies to no effect. Combat became smaller and smaller until individual fighting prowess had the chance to determine the outcome.

In the Great City, John the Viceroy charged right into a wall of David's soldiers. He fought through them, confident that he was doing the right thing, for David was a cancer to the Western Realm. He eventually fell, his victorious army taking control of the city.

To the North of the Great City, what was left of David's and Horace's armies continued to fight a vicious conbat even though it no longer had any meaning, since their conflict was the longest and most personal. "David," Horace said, "You are destroying the Western Realm! Surely you realize this!"

"No," David said, "It was under your rule that the Western Realm became this threatened. Only I can save the Western Realm!" The two fought a terrible duel, and eventually David's youth prevailed and he slew Horace. However, his triumph was short-lived.

John the Viceroy's cavalry, looking for vengeance, rode out from the Great City to finish the battle. David fought bravely, but was no match for the superior cavalry and eventually he fell. The cavalry members, the only survivors of the horrible bloodbath, looked among themselves.

"David the Devil is slain!" they cried. "The enemy is beaten! We are victorious! Oh, what a grand day this is!"

But then, a particularly smart member of the cavalry spoke up.

"It is a great day indeed," he said, "But who will rule and defend the Western Realm now?"

Nobody had any answer to that.

[Privateerkev]

Bern 1330:

Alfgarda looked up as Max entered the tent. She could hear bells ringing in the city of Bern which was down the mountain. She took one look at Max and knew what he came to say. Before he could say anything, she said, "Take me to him."

They went down the mountain to Bern. She passed four siege towers that were up against the south wall. As she got to the south gate, she could see some fallen members of Jan's bodyguards. She recognized Azim, Jan's mercenary captain, as one of them. She went further into the city.

At the city square, it was chaotic. Bodies were strewn everywhere. A large crowd of Jan's Crusader Army were kneeling in the square praying. Everyone was exhausted and upset from the day's events. Alfgarda went up to the largest pile of bodies where she could tell the fighting was most fierce.

A circle of fallen Gothic knights were strewn about. In the middle of the circle was the body of Gunther, Jan's veteran warrior. He had fought with his lord until the end. Also there was a blank spot in the ground where Jan had fell. Alfgarda looked up at Max who said, "The pilgrims took his body into the church. They thought it was appropriate."

Alfgarda walked off towards the cathedral. She made her way past the throng of visitors who were already gathering to pay their respects. She walked up to the bishop. "You know who my husband was and you know who I am. I want the church cleared for a little while. I wish to spend some time with my husband."

The bishop's adam-apple in his throat went up and down as he tried to think of what to do. He looked over at Max who just stared at him. "uh..uh..of course misses von Hamburg. We would be honored to have the former Queen of Outremer grace our church. Take all the time you need and let me know if you need anything."

He scurried off as Alfgarda turned to Max and nodded. Max turned and left the cathedral to guard the front door. Her husband lay in a coffin in the front of the church. He was still in his armor which was dented and dirty. Nuns had at least wiped the blood off of his face. She reached out and touched her husband's cold face. Finally she started to cry as the enormity of the situation hit her.

"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" she asked the corpse.

"I hope Duke Hans and Kaiser Elberhard appreciated your sacrifice and knew what a good friend you were. I hope this was all worth it. Because now I'm a widow and Clare and Andreas have no father!" she yelled. She obviously didn't know what had happened to Hans yet.

She calmed down a little. "I'm sorry... I just don't know what to do right now. I don't want to go through life without you. You were my light. You were one of the best men that has ever walked. And I was lucky to share these few years with you."

The tears started flowing now. "I'll do what you asked. I'll talk to the Kaiser and join the Diet. And I'll mentor our children. I will make sure that your work lives on through them."

Alfgarda stood there for a moment. Then she spoke her last words to her husband. "Sleep well my love. I will see you again one day." She bent down and kissed his forehead and left the cathedral.

[econ21]

The Fox and the Scorpion

There once was a scorpion in Swabia, trying to cross the river Rhine. The poor creature could not cross the deep waters alone and was quite stranded.

Then he saw a fox, approaching the river bank. The fox was strong and a good swimmer, he could cross the river.

"Please, Mr Fox, will you carry me across the river on your back?" asked the scorpion.

The fox was wise and merely laughed:

"No, no, Mr Scorpion - if I let you on my back, you will surely sting me and I will die."

The scorpion was shocked:

"But Mr Fox, if I sting you, I will drown. Why would I sting you when I will die too?"

The fox was persuaded and let the scorpion climb his back. Happily, he started to swim across the river. The scorpion was light and the fox was a strong swimmer, so they made good progress.

Half way across the Rhine, the fox felt a terrible pain in his back.

"Oh no, Mr Scorpion - what have you done? You have stung me and now I will die, but you will surely drown! Why did you do it?"

The scorpion shrugged:

"This is Swabia."

[econ21]

Antioch, 1330


Elberhard look appalled at the messenger and then slammed his fist into the door. The messenger stepped back aghast - the blow had passed within inches of his face.

Elberhard lurched around the room, sweeping objects off surfaces and smashing anything that could be smashed. Linyeve eyed him cooly. He looked not unlike one of his late "Arnolds", when they had become maddened and out of control after the battle with the Byzantine Guard Army.

"They are dead! Both dead!" wailed Elberhard. The cause of Duke Hans had weighed more heavily with the Kaiser than even his own struggles in Outremer. It was clear to Linyeve that the Kaiser would have continued to remit all his wealth to Hans, even if his own army in Outremer had been reduced to a single regiment of peasants.

In his devotion to the loyalist cause in Swabia, the Kaiser had something in common with the late Jan von Hamburg. But Jan had sacrificed much more - abandoning a crown and Outremer, his ward. And Jan had risked much more -landing alone in a Europe full of his enemies. In the end, the risks had become realities and Jan had made a last sacrifice.

And Hans the Mighty, Hans the Mauler, was dead. Elberhard was no fool. He knew his brother's age was catching up on him. Indeed, the Kaiser was becoming all too aware of his own creep towards old age and death. But he had never imagined that Hans would fall before his time - Hans who was so strong and so masterful a tactician.

"I'll kill them!" raged Elberhard. "I'll kill them all!"

Linyeve looked up from reading the message, to reprimand the Kaiser: "Kill who? Dietrich is dead."

Elberhard looked into his wife's cool blue eyes. She was so calm and calculating, it was as if Elberhard could see little clockwork cogs and wheels turning within them.

"You know who..." started Elberhard, as if about to recount a long list of enemies.

But Linyeve stood up and grabbed him by the arms, silencing him with her eyes. Elberhard was red faced and sweating.

"We will not follow your brother into the abyss! You must be be smart! You must think!"

Elberhard looked pitifully into his wife's face. The news was still sinking in. Deprived of an outlet for his aggression, the Kaiser seemed to visibly deflate and tears came into his eyes. Despite the close presence of his wife, Elberhard began to feel completely alone. The two people he trusted, the two people he confided in, were both dead.

"What do I do?" Elberhard asked pitifully.

"You use this."

Linyeve grabbed the scroll with the message about the outcome of the battle of Bern. She thrust the message before Elberhard's face.

"You use this to end this bloody war."

[FactionHeir]

Lifeline

Bern, 1330 AD
Hans surveyed what little of his force remained, after many hours of battle. Half of his bodyguard lay dead in the field, as did most of the army that he had brought to battle. What still stood were a regiment and a half of spearmen, all bloodied and battleweary, the grand bombard crew, armed with mere dagger, and two regiments of cavalry, with dented armor and broken lances. Yet all of the men had the same look on their face - a mixture of grim determination, holy conviction, and the will to overcome the large host of infantry that stood a few meters across of them.
He had decided to give battle here and now, instead of turning and riding south to Jan, and his men, touched by the confidence and optimism he exuded, were willing to make their last stand here before ascending to His garden.

Hans did not have to give many orders this time. All of his men knew what they needed to do, and interplay of each regiment would be vital to succeed this day. Without blinking, all horsemen lowered their visors and lances and as one man, charged forward into the masses of polished steel and flesh that enveloped the few loyalists. Simultaneously, the half spear regiment fanned out and chased the missile regiments before returning to pin the hundreds of two handers with their brethren. Steel clashed upon steel, lances rammed through bodies as if they were rings on a tourney field. The masses of Dietrich's men thinned as the cavalry retreated to prepare for the second charge. No man on either side dared to give ground, each fighting for their leader, their religion, their families, their lives. And then the second impact. Some men flew into the air, others were crushed beneath the hoofs of the horses, and yet others were one again pierced by the few lances that were still intact. And then the unexpected. Upon preparing for the final charge, the few men still left under Dietrich's command managed to unhorse Hans' escort, while Dietrich himself, smiling with a devilish grin, decapitated him. The battle still raged for another few seconds before all went quiet. Loyalists and Rebels alike stopped dead, weapons half swung, stared at the scene that presented itself to them.
Then, the sky darkened and lightning filled the late afternoon scenery of blood. The loyalists, disheartened by the loss of their leader, started to break and flee, while the few rebel infantry that remained were fearful of what had been done and of His wrath. Even the most devout followers of Luther faced a moment of doubt and fled before His ire would strike them. Only Dietrich and a few loyal guards remained on the field, one of them Luther. Yet there was no smile on the face of either man at the change of weather, for with the weather came an unnatural thunder that rolled towards them in the form of Jan's cavalry.

~ *** ~

Adalberth crawled out from under his fallen horse. He noticed the darkened sky had filled with lightning and thunder, yet there was no rain. He looked about and first saw the Swabian flag raised on the abbey of Bern with a smile. It seemed that they had been victorious this day and the Lutherans finally dispersed. But as he turned to look at the men around him, he noticed only bodies of the dead and no living man. Had he been left for dead on the field? It was difficult for him to grasp the scene that unfolded itself with his diminishing eyesight, and the darkness did not help it. Yet one particular body stood out to him, and he gasped as he realized that it was that of Hans, the last of the nobles that partook in the First Crusade and his friend and master, who lay dead, decapitated, in the mud, dozens of bodies around him. Adalberth let out a high pitched cry as the clouds finally opened and rain started to fall, as if He was crying for the loss of two of His most devout servants on earth. Adalberth's face was filled with sorrow and anger as he picked up his broken sword and looked around for Dietrich. That bastard will pay was the only thought that filled him and the only thought that gave him the strength to stand, bleeding out of several wounds. It was then that the horsemen returned, and Max dismounted to tell him that they had delivered His punishment to Dietrich and motioned him to join them in the city to be bandaged. The anger subsided in Adalberth, leaving him with sorrow alone as he collapsed. Yet once again, the call of duty was stronger for Adalberth and he scoured his friend's remains, until he finally found it - the Holy Grail. Today, it would be upon him to pass it around and raise the wounded, and while filled with sorrow still, he would not - and could not - disappoint.

~ *** ~

Staufen, 1330 AD
Adalberth was tired after tending to the wounded and being tended to himself. He wanted to sleep and wake up knowing today's events had only been a horribly bad dream, but he knew that it was not so. He had soon learned that Jan von Hamburg had died as well when taking the city, and that while it was under Loyalist control now, it was at the same time leaderless. The toll of war had been too high on Adalberth however to help lead this county, and so he went on to do what he felt was right: To inform both Jan's and Hans' widows of what had occurred on this dreadful day. Alfgarda, stricken by grief, already knew of Jan's death and only nodded as he told her of the events outside the city walls. The Duchess Adelheidis, who had married Hans only this past year, burst out in tears as she heard of her husband's death, and Adalberth almost felt compelled to stay as her guardian and let her have the grail as heirloom, but a voice inside him disagreed, pushed him onwards to pass the grail to someone more worthy of it. And so he stayed for a mere week, helping her with errands and protecting her from scum. In the end, he knew that he had one last task to complete before he could return and bid her farewell, embarking on a swift ship to Outremer.

~ *** ~

Antioch docks, 1331 AD
The winds had been rough and their ships had only escaped Venetian pirates narrowly over the course of travel. Indeed, Adalberth was glad that they had made it out alive, and that he was not on one of the vessels that were sunk. He crossed himself and prayed to God as he disembarked, thanking him for His guidance to this Holy Land. As he arrived at the docks, he notcied the commotion and men hurrying about to building a large fleet. Was Elberhard leaving Outremer too? he thought to himself. He caught one of the workers and was told that Elberhard was in the captain's cabin of the flagship and quickly made his way over, the desert sun bearing down on his old body, even though he was used to it from his time in Outremer with Hans. How will I tell him of his brother's death? crossed his mind as he was let into the cabin, where Elberhard and Linyeve resided. As he exited the cabin hours later, exhausted from telling his story and announcing that Athalwolf had been pronounced Duke of Swabia, he contemplated his next move. He was old, too old, to still serve in the Imperial army, and there was little left to do for him in this world. He had never thought that he would outlive Hans, who he at first had felt as a protector for. Over the years, they had formed a strong bond of friendship, rode to battle countless times to be the only ones to come out alive. And now that he was dead, there was this emptiness that ate away at him. He would return to Adelheidis and serve out the rest of his time as her guardian. It was the least that he could do for his friend.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Somewhere in the Swiss Alps, 1330

Alexander Luther, cold, hungry, and alone, was continuing his desperate flight from the city of Bern which had begun around a week ago. He had no idea where he was, although he gathered that it was somewhere northeast of the city since that was the direction he had fled in, and he was concerned about putting as many miles as possible between him and that apocalyptic death match he had seen.

It was the first battle he had seen up close, and he was terrified.

Really, he had no choice to see it up close, as there was nowhere for Dietrich von Dassel to put him that was safe. He had requested being hidden in a church, or a nice house, but Dietrich had insisted that Luther ride with him.

"The safest point in the battle will be by my side," he said to Luther before the fighting had begun. "I am not so foolish as to throw this escort's life away, and besides, if all does not go well they will surely find you in the city and kill you. At least you have a chance of fleeing with me."

Luther reluctantly agreed, and became witness to Dietrich riding around desperately, cursing, grinning, cheering, and barking out orders left and right at a rapid-fire pace, becoming more and more agitated as the battle progressed. He was clearly in his element, but Luther could only concentrate on staying on his mount.

He wished he had a mount now. Navigating through the rough forest of the Alps was difficult for a fine soldier in the prime of his life. He was a professional theologian who was well past his best years.

So, mostly, he trusted his faith to see him through this period of trial. How could it not? After all, he had already been spared by the Lord twice at the Battle of Bern. How could he be wrong after twice escaping death?

The first escape was right after Dietrich had made the decision to sally out of the city, the city that he had professed to defend and let Hans impale himself on for years now. He was clearly agitated about it, and was also the most indecisive that Luther had ever seen him. When he finally made the decision though, he followed it through, ordering the northern and western walls abandoned.

After the Sergeants had left, the peasant uprising had sprung, bogging down two full regiments of crossbowmen. Luther had looked at Dietrich, who simply pointed at the peasants, eyes blazing with fury. Before he knew it the escort was charging, himself included, right into the fray. And that was when the terror began.

He found himself, although admittedly in armor, surrounded by enemies, people that wanted to kill him. And one man came close, spotting him, dagger ready, eyes fixed on Luther's horse's soft underbelly...

...and then, out of nowhere, a sword emerged from the man's neck, sending him slumping to the ground instantly. Luther breathed a sigh of relief.

The battle and those peasants were certainly terrifying, but Luther prayed that he would come across one of them now, any friendly farmer or goat herder that would give him a proper meal and a proper bed. He wouldn't even have to give them his name, because helping out a person in need was the good Christian thing to do.

No such peasants could be seen, however, and he simply stumbled on, uphill of course, and there was not a break in the monotony of rocks, trees, and grass anywhere, no sign of humans ever having set their eyes upon this place. Oh sure, there was the occasional wildlife, but he was truly alone.

During his trek, Luther had a lot of time to think. He pondered his life, his career, his teachings, and mostly, the memories of what had happened in the final moments north of the city, which would stay with him forever, for even a week after his numbing journey, they still stood out vividly.

There was Hans's last stand, and although the loyalists north of the city had no hope of winning they were still frightfully successful, charging and charging again, rolling over Dietrich's poor infantry. The rebel commander that he had followed from Ragusa to Durazzo to Bologna to Florence to Innsbruck, and finally to Bern, had watched helplessly as every charge whittled away his chances of winning the battle. He remained calm, however, and watchful, even throwing his helmet to get a better view of the situation.

Suddenly, he saw an opening and roared for his escort to charge, and they did in a last-ditch attempt to win the day and destroy Hans. Luck was with them, for the Duke of Swabia was caught in the open and pulverized by a lance, unhorsing him and knocking him senseless. After that stroke of luck the loyalist infantry had simply given up, and all that remained alive on the field were Hans (now Dietrich's personal prisoner), Luther, and a handful of his escort. There was a brief moment of calm in the terror.

Then, someone pointed out the dreaded sight - two hundred-strong cavalry, out of the western gate, heading directly for the survivors.

"Dietrich," Luther cried, "The battle is lost! We must flee now to save ourselves."

Dietrich said nothing, simply wearing a twisted grin on his face and staring at Hans, who was beginning to come to. "No," he said, "It is a draw." And with that, his eyes now shining brightly, still grinning, he took his sword and quickly decapitated Hans the Mighty, Duke of Swabia, ex-Chancellor of the Reich, last survivor of the First Crusade, Possessor of the Holy Grail, and grandson of Kaiser Heinrich.

"I have done what I set out to do," he said as the enemy cavalry thundered closer. "I have avenged Jens Hummel and killed Hans. Jan von Hamburg and his retinue are nowhere to be found in this charge. My guess is that they all fell to my Gothic Knights in the center of town. That impetuous fool."

The rest of the escort simply stared at him. Dietrich continued talking. "I have done what I set out to do," he said again. "The loyalists are without leaders. Who cares if Bern falls?"

The cavalry drew closer. "Come, let us ride." And they did, but it was hopeless, and Dietrich saw this quickly. Luther could only watch as the rebel commander turned around, faced the incoming charge with his arms open wide, and took the lance blow directly in the chest from the Teuton that had ignored the white flag being raised. Luther could only watch as the Teuton dismounted and bashed Dietrich's helmetless head again and again in a fit of anger, bright red blood pouring out from a thousand different angles.

He took it as his cue to leave as he silently shed his armor and began his trek through the Alps as the rest of Dietrich's comrades and Jan's cavalry ignored him, focusing on the fourth and final fallen leader. This was his second escape.

Although was it a true escape? After all, he had not yet found shelter; he was still a prisoner of the Alps. If he did, it might very well be a Catholic knight waiting for him, a Catholic Knight that knew his face and knew all that Luther and von Dassel were responsible for.

He decided that it was best if he kept on moving and embraced what fate the Lord had in mind for him.

[deguerra]

Ludwig von Böhmen

Somewhere near the Polish-Bohemian Border:

There had been a satisfying look of shock on the Pole’s face, Ludwig reminisced as he tried to clean the sickly sweet blood of his sword and robes. Still, that look burned into his conscience. It was important that the man had been surprised, important that he had not had the chance to scream, important that nobody knew. That did not have to mean it felt right.

Muttering a short prayer for the dead man, perhaps a little for himself too, he made his way back to Heinrich, who was watching the horses a little way up the gentle slope. Despite the short man being some years older than him, Ludwig had always felt better in his presence than in that of the boys his age. Their poorly hidden greed in the presence of a noble’s son sickened him.

It was not as though he had anything to give, any favours to grant, any rewards to dish out. His family’s holdings comprised no more than three villages and a slightly oversized farmhouse which his father chose to label ‘castle’. Ludwig often found himself wondering why the Poles even bothered with them.

“He is dead”. Heinrich seldom asked questions. Where in that Silesian farmer’s skull did he pull such cold hardness from? “You had to do it, Ludwig. He would have warned the others. I would have done it, but you are stronger than I”. That was a lie. The little man had the strength of bear, and the cunning of a viper. And sometimes the tongue too. “Because I am too lazy to walk.” That had been Heinrich’s answer to Ludwig’s father’s question of why he chose to ride with his son. Even the old man had been hard-pressed not to smile at such audacity.

Grinning grimly, he re-mounted. Coming out of the little forest at the top of the hill, he risked a glance over the rim to the Pole’s camp. It was empty. Startled, he spurred his horse on, down into the shadow of the valley, Heinrich yelling something behind him. Where had they gone?

“…a trap!”, he heard Heinrich coming up behind him. “Nonsense my friend, they did not know anyone was there to trap. But where did they go?” Still looking at the trees around him suspiciously, Heinrich dismounted and headed towards the remains of a fire. Kicking at the ashes with one lazy boot, he said: “Judging from this, I’d say they’ve been gone at least…”. A thunderous roar went up in the distance, hitting the valley in a few seconds and bouncing off the walls to grow so deafening that it made the horses rear, with Ludwig struggling to keep from being dismounted. Even before he was in complete control of his mount, he raced off towards the ‘castle’.

He could smell the smoke even before he saw it. His father had insisted on keeping a storage of blackpowder, had insisted it was the way of the future. Arriving at the crest of a little rise, Ludwig saw that the entire complex was ablaze, not individual little fires, but one huge snarling monster. A lone figure was stumbling away from the complex. Ludwig dashed to intercept him, just as he heard Heinrich gasp as he too reached the crest.

It was Tomasz, a stableman in his father’s employ, with a love for horses only matched by a love for drink. He gave a start as Ludwig came into his blurred vision, then recognition marked his face and he slumped into the tall grass. In a firm little voice that belied his outward distress he said: “They are dead, Herr. All of them. Those the Poles did not surprise were torn apart when those fools set fire to the powder storage. I don’t think any of those made it out either. Your father was wounded by a Polish lance. He gave Johann this for you. I took it off Johann’s body. Or what was left of it.”

The sentences came out abruptly and breathlessly. When he finished he held up a charred bit of paper. Ludwig took it, knowing what it was. His father’s prized possession. To him it had represented the reward for years of grovelling, of building up favours and alliances, of bowing his head and doing the will of the mighty. Beside him, Tomasz collapsed into the grass and Heinrich rushed to close his dead eyes.

Ludwig looked back at the burning castle. The shock of the moment had not hit him, would not hit him for a while yet. But a realisation dawned on him, that his future here was over. This land could not be held, not while the Empire was busy fighting itself too much to care about its people. His father had been wrong, and now he had paid the price.

He looked again at the paper in his hand, studying it as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was this his future? Service under a rebel, true, but also under a man who respected his people, who looked out for and cared for his lands. A small bit of his conscience reminded him of his loyalty to the Empire. He told it to burn in hell, and turned his horse towards the west.

[Zim]

Jan looked uncomfortable in the sumptuous working space provided for him, so unlike his training headquarters back in Staufen. He had been in Antwerp a scant few days. Upon his entrance his soldiers had kept the crowds away from him, but he knew he wa unpopular. The Flemish quarters were peaceful enough, but the Danish quarters, the larger of the two, had been brutally sacked when Hummel had first taken it.

"Sir?"

"Huh?" Jan exclaimed, broken out of his revery by the attendant he summoned earlier. "Take all of this down" he said, "Citizens of Antwerp, I know the recent years have been difficult. Especially for our Danish residents. Much ire as been directed rightfully at those of us that conquered the city. Things needed were done, but they were also horrible things. Many of you likely resent me as a symbol of Prinz Hummel. However, circumstances beyond all of our control must drive us together, or they will destroy us."

"The French even now besiege our sister city of Bruges. They command a mighty host. They will easily take it, and then they will then immediately bear down on us. Our only hope is to meet them outside Bruges, or stop them on their way here. However, we lack the troops to face them. This is where I must call on you."

"I need any able bodied man, Flemish or Danish, that possesses training and weaponry to assemble as a volunteer force to defeat the French host. I cannot afford to pay anything beyond what can be scavenged from the bodies of our dead foes, but this is a battle for our very survival. I promise this, that forces raised will only be used to fight this French army. Danish volunteers will not be forced to fight their countrymen, only the French. The volunteer force will be immediately disbanded once Bruges can be secured, or if that is impossible, after any army threatening Antwep is destroyed. Anti-discrimination laws concerning the Danish citizens of the city will be passed, regardless of whether any forces are raised. We are all in this trouble together, and must face it as equals and comrades".

"I know this is a difficult request, but these are difficult times. I have little to offer and know that you owe me no obligation. I can only beg you to do it for the good of the city. I beseech you, in the name of God and all that is holy, join me in the defense of our city!"

"Sign it in the name of Jan von der Pfalz, Count of Antwerp", Jan commanded, "and have it read in every church, every open forum and market place, and every public house in the city".

"Yes, sir", the aid replied, leaving to accomplish the task.

I hope this works, or the Duchy of Flanders might be shortlived, Jan thought. Whatever happened, though, I won't let Antwerp fall without a fight!

[Warluster]

1332, Staufen.

Athalwolf von Salza was in a angry discussion with one of his aides, about the option of 'The Meeting'. The Meeting was that of a lifetime, when two enemies meet each other face-to-face, when all past things are laid to rest. The generals in Athalwolf's army were ready for peace, with the sluaghter at Bern. After the death of Duke Hans, mourned by Swabia, and the death of all other tragic heroes at that battlefield, enough was enough, especially with the Kaiser's proclamation.
"But- But we will be attacked with no army! These useless scum will turn and kil-" Athalwolf crashed his fist down upon the table, furious.
"I hope you do not refer to any of our opponents, man! No General is scum, unless they run like a dog, or bark like one!" roared Athalwolf,
"But sir! I meant the people of Metz! When we go to the bridge they will turn on us and kill the army!" yelled the weak man pitifully back.

Athalwolf and his Army were heading to Metz. On the bridges outside the city, Athalwolf and Wolfgang were meeting to discuss the future of Hummel's Duchy, and Swabia. Thus; The Meeting, that of two old enemies. Athalwolf sat down wearily on a wooden chair, and holding his head, waved the aide away. Discussion over. The man whipped up his head and stalked out, defeated by the mans influence. A Sergeant Guard, in plate armor, poked his head in through the door.
"Sorry mein Duke, but we have a visitor here requesting you here. He, ah, says something strange...” finished the Guard, not wanting to procede.
"What?" stabbed Athalwolf.
"He calls for Athalwolf Leroy." Athalwolf softly swore. Bloody, damned people, Can't they let him live a normal life!? thought Athalwolf.
"Send him in." he sighed, resigning himself to a sitting position which enabled him a look of control of the situation. A man came in, in blue tunic. He bowed,
"Mon lord." He used the French word 'mon'.
"I come here today from Duke Leroy. He sends his heartfelt gratitude for giving him the city." A heart beat skipped, then the blood creeped up Athalwolf's neck. He didn't show his curiosity though.
"Giving him, ah, the city?" asked Athalwolf, I must've been drunk H thought.
"Yes, mon lord. The city of Rheims. Duke Leroy came with some 800 men and marched though the streets, to the cheers of its population, and all that day praised your name. Of course, there was the terrible news of Bern..." He wandered off. Athalwolf covered his eyes with a hand.
“The Duke also says he is very sorry for annoying you. In has accepted an apology for the problem in Toledo. He hopes past deeds, such as Dijon, shall be put to rest, with your passing.” Said the man, drawling now. Athalwolf looked up. The man had a sly look on his face, and he drew a long knife.
“Good bye, Athalwolf Leroy, foe of the Leroy House, and enemy of France.” He spat, and raised the knife to stab. Athalwolf was defenseless, he would not have time to draw his sword, and if he fell over the man would still get him. Nothing was left but death. Athalwolf realized, he was meant to have been led to Toledo, he was meant to know of Dijon. The long point of the dagger slowly, has if wasting time came downwards.

Then stopped.

Athalwolf looked; the man was in the same position. With a long sword protruding from his chest. He gasped for lost air, the last breath rattling in his lungs. He gulped furiously, knowing he was beaten and had failed his Leroy master. The sword withdrew, and the boy collapsed, twitching some final times in a bloody mass on the floor. The Sergeant Guard stood, with a wiped blade at his side, grinning.
“By god man, you just saved my life.” Exclaimed Athalwolf, who stood. He was not shaken, scared of what happened. Just accepting if this man hadn’t been born, he’d be dead.
“No problem sir. I just saw the look on your face at his arrival, and ah, kept an eye to make sure he didn’t try anything. Paid off, I guess sir?” he said, eyes twinkling. Athalwolf let a quick smile slip onto his face, which was worth gold to the Sergeant Guard.
“Promotion, Instantly! I shall notify my aide…” at the mention of him the aide slipped inside and stopped before the man, he then held his mouth and ran for a bathroom.
“…and your promotion to, hm… Bodyguard shall be instant.” Said Athalwolf, sitting down and dismissing the man. The Guard grinned and left cheerfully. Athalwolf went into his private bedchambers, and looked at himself in the mirror. I could, at this moment, be on the floor bleeding to death! Thought Athalwolf. He splashed some water over his face and sat. Why had the Duke Leroy wanted him dead, why Athalwolf, one of the Leroy descendants. He walked into his office, and watched the dead body being dragged away by the other Guard’s, then raised a hand to stop them.
“I want to check the body.” He stated and went over to the dead man, and riffled through he pockets. There was nothing except some gold coins, a gold necklace and a note.
‘Dear Duke von Salza,
You know now. We do not want your existence to continue. You are a threat to France, and a threat to the Leroy family. Your traitorous father, declaring he a von Salza, we shall stop at nothing to kill you. Let it be known, The Guild of Leroy hunts you down, you are a marked man.’ Stated the note, Athalwolf waved away the dead body and Guards, and re read it. They knew this simple man as too die, they also planned it. And the Guild of Leroy… All rang suspicious, all rang clear. Only the last words made sense ‘you are a marked man’ Atholwolf sat for his next appointment. One meeting with an old enemy, one argument with an angry aide, and one assassination attempt, and the uncovering of a deeper plot. He cracked his knuckles,
All in a days work.

[deguerra]

(to be distributed in the County of Bruges)

"AN MEIN VOLK:

People of Bruges,

I have, in these times of trouble, had the honour and trust bestowed in me to rule this County of Bruges for the illustrious Prinz Wolfgang of Swabia. Despite, or perhaps even because of these hard times, I consider myself fortunate to be able to rule such fine, hard-working and god-fearing people.

I would like to remind you, my people, of the kindness shown to you by Prinz Hummel when he first liberated your fine city from the oppressive yoke of your former masters. Despite his own hardship, that of Swabia and of the Empire, Prinz Hummel lavished sums upon your fair city to make it prosper in these dark times. I ask that you remember his kindness.

I would like to remind you, my people, of the strength and glory of the Holy Roman Empire, and of the peace and prosperity it has brought to those under its rule. When faced with the hordes of the thieving French, it is time to put aside internal differences, and fight against a common foe. I ask that you remember Imperial might.

And I would like to remind you, my people, of the power of God and the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven. When you fight against French swines you rise up against pagan scum, whom even the Holy Father has deemed to be so unacceptable as to outlaw the man who boasts the errant title of French King. To kill a man who fights under tha banner of France is no sin under God, nay it is to be rightly rewarded as ridding the world of another sinner. I ask that you remember the glory of God.

And remembering these things, kindness might and glory, I ask that you, people of Bruges, proud and strong, rise against these people who have come to invade your lands, to steal your wealth, to burn your houses, to pillage your towns and to rape your families. Join me and your fellow Flemish in Antwerpen so that we might gather our forces and drive the invaders from our lands. I pledge that I shall not rest until I see that done!

Ludwig von Böhmen, Graf von Brugge"

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1332

Grom walked towards the great hall located at the centre of the Austrian Citadel. In his hand were the field reports from Bern detailing the demise of three of the Reich's most well known nobles, including the ex King of Outremer Jan von Hamburg.

As usual the hall was brightly lit with massive chandeliers allowing the Duke to work nearly around the clock.

As the massive barbarian approached the Duke looked up.

Grom noticed the toll this crisis was taking on his Duke. While still physically strong and a true menace on the battle field, the Duke's black hair was streaked with grey now and the lines under his eye's showed how little sleep he was getting.

"My Lord, here are the reports from Bern...Hans, Jan and Dietrich have perished in the battle. Luther is no where to be found and the city is now in the hands of loyalist forces."

Handing the reports to the Duke, Grom stood at ease waiting for orders.

"Here," the Duke handed Grom a letter.

"Send this to the family of von Hamburg. If they require, we will provide lodging and assistance to his family now that he has fallen."

Handing another letter plus glancing at a sack full of money by the great table the Duke continued.

"Lorenz's money arrived this evening. Contact the Quarter Master General and have him outfit the recruited troops as detailed in this order. Then send them immediately to Lorenz Zirn just outside Vienna.

That is all."

Turning on his heal Grom quickly scanned the recruiting order. It was an impressive list of regiments and would give Lorenz a substantial force in order to conduct operations in and around Vienna.

The second order was simply incredible. It detailed an order of march, a personal guard and an estate house on the coast just north of Ragusa for the entire family of the late Jan von Hamburg.

There's no way they will accept thought Grom...but still, it was one of the safest places in the Reich at the moment...the only safer place was within sword strike of the Duke himself.

Strange things are happening thought Grom…the Reich was being torn apart and the old lines of internal conflict are being destroyed just as much as the external one’s. Bane’s going to have a brain aneurysm when he hears about this. Grom smiled at the thought of seeing the Dread Knight finally lose his composure.

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1334

The great hall was again lit for a late evening of work. The only figure at the massive table was the Duke himself, the remaining people in the room were servants and assistants running back forth brining the latest reports of how the Duchy was fairing.

Arnold re-read the letter for any sign of hidden meaning. Deciding there wasn’t he cast the letter into the fire.

Jan von Hamburg’s wife and family had decline his offer preferring to stay in Bern with the loyalist forces in the area. He certainly couldn’t blame her for declining an offer from someone who was clearly not an ally of the late and ex-King of Outremer.

So be it, the offer was made the answer given, nice, simple and complete.

Picking up the next piece of correspondence his brow furrowed. This situation, on the other hand, was entirely the opposite.

The Dread Knight Bane had been sending updates on the prolonged and drawn out attempts at resolving the “issue” with Becker in Prague.

The latest round of discussion had been wholly unproductive. At least from what he could read, Bane seemed to have tired of the parry and thrust of negotiations and had attempted to obtain an answer one way or the other. The offer was simple. Becker was asked to state his grievance and then outline what he wanted in return for rejoining the Duchy. Neither question had been answered in any real way.

Leaning back in his chair Arnold cast his thoughts back to the responses he had received from the newly appointed Prinz and that of the Kaiser himself. Both men seemed more than comfortable with having this issue resolved through a Diet vote.

Shaking his head in disbelief the Duke could not fathom how both men could come to the conclusion to allow a vote. This would simply and affectively open the door for any and all nobles to declare independence and be able to request a vote on the matter…no matter how tenuous their issue or problem was.

This tacit acceptance of disloyalty was nearly beyond his understanding. It seemed as if neither men realised the precedent that would be set if this was to occur. The Duke hoped that both men would come to realise, that given this was potentially to their favour in this instance, it could quickly turn against them. If all lines of loyalty or oath giving could be cast aside and circumnavigated politically, the whole structure of the Reich would be in jeopardy. Such a weak approach to the subject of loyalty was anathema to the memory of those early men of the Reich as far as Arnold was concerned. His father was a figure of legend AND loyalty, fighting to the end of his life to further not only the Reich’s heimat but also Outremer.

Christ, he thought…if any of traditional relationships of loyalty should be questioned now, it was the one between the Kaiser and his Dukes. As the first in a string of linear links of bondage and oath giving, the late Kaiser Siegfried and the current Kaiser's actions and words leading up to this crisis were a clear breach of trust and loyalty. Not one of the Dukes were consulted as far as he knew, yet Siegfried had gone ahead and acted without consent or even a discussion with any of his Dukes on the matter. Yet here he was having to negotiate with a disenchanted Count, and neither of his superiors seemed overly concerned.

If anything was to come out of the this crisis it was the current inability of the Diet to control or at least prevent the Kaiser acting on behalf of the Reich without any agreement.

Loyalty he thought, his father was famous for it, his was never in question, but if neither the Prinz or the current Kaiser showed any real opinion or passion on the subject, then why should he. If politics was more important than looking a man in the eyes, hearing his oath and then being able to count on him to the end, then the Reich had changed, and not for the better in his mind. If the breaking of an oath could be voted on, then it was already broken in the Duke's opinion.

Moments passed, Arnold sat as still as a statue, gazing into the fire the red embers caught in his eyes.

With a swift motion he stood in his Obsidian Plate. The attending guards stiffened in response, something was happening, the lethargy and near despair of the past months seemed to wash away in an instant.

From high above, hidden away in an alcove the body language was not missed by the dark figure observing his target. The figure was concerned, having the Dread Duke lacking fire or motivation had been an added bonus to his masters. Seeing the Duke rise so purposefully and begin to bark orders was disconcerting to say the least. He must report this at once.

Far below, the hall burst into activity, at it centre was the Dread Duke, in some moments ghastly and foreboding, the next laughing and joking...

...and somehow, both of his dominant traits managed to cause the same effect...

those who worked for him, or were loyal to him, were equally inspired out of fear, respect or some other motivation to give the utmost to their masters demands, threats or requests.

It was a sight rarely seen in public and amazing to see first hand.

Yes thought the hood figure far above...the Dread Duke was back in "the game" once more and therefore, he was a serious threat to his masters plans.

Something would have to be done...and soon.

[Ramses II CP]

Stettin, 1334

Fritz von Kastilien, Count of Stettin, looked about him at the thin, broken faces of the peasants of his city as they toiled in the broken remnant of their homeland. It galled him to know that Hamburg still stood tall and strong under the Danes while his own lands were so diminished by the war. Stettin had been all but destroyed in the fighting and his men's enforcement of discipline at Fritz's own encouragement had ground the city into little more than an underpopulated town.

Here I won a great victory, he thought, and here my greed and need for control turned that victory to a near defeat. These people cannot afford to pay their taxes and eat, and my army cannot be maintained on what they'd be able to pay anyway. I will not cower here, trapped like a rat! These were my people, but are they still? Is there some way still that they could serve the Reich?

Beckoning to a peasant girl he allowed himself a momentary, grim smile. She hurriedly dropped her load of wet cloth and rushed to his side. Trembling she gazed at her feet and did not speak.

Fritz took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. There, running along the left side of her neck, was the faint but unmistakable scar of a young woman who had not found safe refuge during one sack of the city. Whether it was his men or the Danes who had done this was irrelevant, knowing it was done because of Fritz's own failures haunted him. So many girls of the city had a similar mark from the almost gentle touch of a blade to their throat that some had taken to calling it the Stettin Scar. Some called it the von Kastilien Mark too, though not in Fritz's hearing. Fritz's own blood no longer ran so hot, but though his hand had held no dagger it was his acts that set every one of them in place, including the ones that left a 'smile' instead of a scar.

The girl's eyes were wet, but cold and empty. She had already surrendered to the inevitable. Next time the knife would not be necessary.

Without a word Fritz released the girl, tossed her a florin, and gestured down the street. She fled immediately, pausing only to take up her burden again before vanishing out of sight, in the same direction from which she had approached.

Though they would obey me instantly, these are no longer my people, Fritz thought. They cannot pay me my dues, they do not love me, and rightly so, and there are none here who could serve if I needed to raise an army. Still, there must be some way Stettin can serve!

Now a small contingent of mercenaries swaggered down the street dragging a rough looking man in dark clothes. They tossed him to his knees before Fritz.

'M'Lord! I bring grave news out of the east! The Russians are coming. They've taken my farm and they even now make camp in the eastern wood.'

Waving a hand dismissively at the peasant Fritz turned to his mercenary captain, 'Send scouts to confirm this report, then arrange for an envoy under white flag to meet with their commander. I have an offer to make these Russians. If they accept, we will be marching west within the week. Ask the lads if any of them came through Hamburg since the Danes took it...'

[OverKnight]

Antioch, 1334

As he pored over a map in his study, Matthias remembered the great fleet sailing, watching it go west until all the sails had disappeared beneath the horizon. The Kaiser and Dieter von Kassel had been on those ships, along with two thirds of the fighting men in Outremer. Elberhard had passed the title of King onto him in a perfunctory ceremony held on the docks. Still, the new ruler considered himself lucky that the Kaiser had not cast the Crown into the sea from his ship, like the former Doges of Venice casting a ring into the Adriatic, forcing Matthias to dive in and fetch it. The two men had cooperated in the defense of Outremer, brilliantly at points, but Matthias was left with the impression that if he had the choice, Elberhard would have given Outremer to someone less. . .defiant.

Granted, if Matthias hadn't been so obstinate, there would be no Imperial Outremer, all of it would have gone to the English, instead of just half of it. Matthias grunted, he was King, but of only two counties and he had no vassals. His title was a legacy of the past, of a Kingdom more powerful and far reaching than the one he now ruled. Outremer, through fate and incompetence, was a shadow of its former self. So much had been lost.

His fist crashed down on the map table. One of the reasons he had stayed was to set that right. To restore the Kingdom to its glory. Mere survival would not suffice. Yet even survival was not guaranteed. After the banner year of 1326 it looked as if the Greeks had been crushed in the Levant, but they had only been biding their time. Two massive armies were attempting to flank and surround him at the Iron Bridge. The Turks were restive and who knew the intent of the Egyptians.

Retreat to Acre, some would say, make a stand there. Matthias shook his head. He had not stayed in Outremer to run, to hide behind walls. It would dishonor the legacy of St. Maximillian and the past Kings, and it would betray the citizens of Outremer who had put their faith in him. They had been sold out too many times for him to do it again.

The Greeks must be repulsed, killed, butchered until they came no more, until that which was lost had been reclaimed, until Adana was Imperial once more. Nikeforos might be dead, but they all deserved to die, and he would be their executioner.

Much better to die fighting in a Holy cause, than live a coward.

"Amen," he muttered to himself, a finger tracing the course of the Orontes on the map, "Amen."

[econ21]

Somewhere in the Eastern Med, 1334


Jurgen Zimmler was a strange sort. He was a proficient bosun - strong even for a sailor - and had an ingratiating manner. But there was something not quite right about the man, with his greasy hair and shifty eyes. When suitably inebriated, Zimmler would tell tall tales about his sexual conquests that made the other sailors laugh out loud. But inwardly, the crew were left feeling uneasy about how much of the cruel exploits was false and how much might possibly be true. The younger sailors gave Zimmler a wide berth. More than one boy had left the ship under a cloud after a falling out with the man. The older sailors had learnt not to cross him. His enemies had a strange habit of disappearing from the ship in the night, never to be seen of again. Why the Captain tolerated Zimmler’s dark presence was never understood, but there were whispers that the bosun had some kind of hold over the Captain.

The arrival of the Kaiser’s party on the ship lightened the mood of the crew. Elberhard liked to fraternise with the men so there was never a shortage of wine and his lewd tales from his youth rivalled Zimmler’s in excess, although they lacked the undercurrent of violence. Whether it was because of the presence of so eminent a rival, or because of the knights patrolling the deck, Jurgen Zimmler seemed positively subdued. He moped around the ship, with a distant look and a mind clearly elsewhere.

*****

“What the @#$%^&!!! are we going to do with her? Stuck on this boat with a hundred @#$%^&!!!ing rough men!” exclaimed Elberhard.

Eue listened intently from outside the cabin, sitting on the wooden stairs. She heard her mother’s incisive voice:

“You must assign one of your men to watch over her, to never let her out of his sight. Who do you trust most?”

Not Nikolas, not Nikolas, anyone but Nikolas, prayed Eue. The Kaiser’s old mentor had always struck Eue as a creep - sweaty, pompous and patronising. What her father had ever learnt from the man, Eue could not imagine.

“Well, I would trust Captain Jan with…”

“With the Reich’s Treasury, yes dear, I know. But that did not turn out awfully well for you did it?” cut in Linyeve.

“All right, Mein Herr then.”

Eue gasped - Mein Herr, the Nubian shieldbearer who never spoke? This was intolerable!

“Mein Herr? Are you sure?” she heard her mother sound surprised.

Please, mum, please - stop him!

“Yeah, no one better to watch your back.” said Elberhard emphatically.

“All right, Mein Herr it is.”

NO! Eue screamed in her head.

Her parents turned at a faint sound coming from outside the door, but when Linyeve came out and looked up the stairs, they were empty.

*****

Eue would not look up at Mein Herr. She lay on her bunk, her face buried in a book. Elberhard looked awkwardly at his rude daughter and shuffled. He cast a glance at Mein Herr. The Nubian stood, starting forward, serenely. My God, thought, Elberhard, these two are made for each other.

“All right, love, then … err … I’ll leave you two to get on with it.” The Kaiser made a quick exit.

Eue watched her father leave from the corner of her eye and then risked a glance at his shieldbearer. Mein Herr stood without blinking, standing as if on parade. She kicked the door closed with her foot, leaving the Nubian on guard outside her cabin. She turned back to her book, but as the minutes became hours, the impassive and exotic figure outside her room started to exercise her mind far more than the dull and familiar scripture in front of her.

While walking after lunch, Eue’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Can you talk, Nubian?” she said, acidly.

“Yes, Princess.” said Mein Herr. His voice had a thick accent, deep and rich, as if drenched in molasses.

“Why do they call you Mein Herr?”

“My name is Maina. Perhaps it is their little joke.” Eue swore she could make out the twinkle of a smile in the corner of Mein Herr’s eyes. She could not help but think the joke was on the ignorant Germans.

“But they don’t like you, do they? Is it because you are a schwarzer?” pressed Eue, insensitively.

“Maybe. Or maybe it was the manner of my arrival.” said Mein Herr coolly.

“You were caught in battle - you were one of the enemy.” stated Eue.

“Yes, I was caught in battle. But not before I killed three of your father’s retinue.”

“What?” Eue could not hide her surprise. Yes, Mein Herr was a brute of a figure, but how could such a primitive man slay three of the Reich’s finest knights?

Mein Herr took in her expression: “Yes, the others, they did not believe it either.” he explained: “So I challenged them to a joust.”

“What?!” said Eue, even louder. The idea of a Nubian at a joust seemed even more unlikely than Mein Herr’s previous claim. “You could joust?”

“No, Princess. I was in the Tarbardariyya. I was a foot soldier. I wielded an axe. I could not use a lance nor ride a horse.”

“But you fought a joust?”

“I fought four jousts - to prove that my account of my capture was true.”

“You killed four more of my father’s knights?”

“No, no, Princess.” Mein Herr reassured her. “I only killed three more. The first three jousts.”

“And the fourth joust?” pressed Eue.

“That was against your father.” said Mein Herr, matter of factly.

“WHAT???!!!” Eue was now purple at the latest of these absurd tales.

“Yes. He saw me kill three of his champions in a row. He was not happy. He said some bad words. Then he came onto the jousting field. His guards tried to stop him, but your father is a reckless man. He came on.”

“Hah, and he knocked you down!” said Eue triumphantly.

Mein Herr smiled: “No, Princess. I brought down his horse. And then I put my axe to his neck.”

Eue’s eyes were bulging and Mein Herr smiled.

“Princess, I may be a schwarzer, but I am no fool. I would not kill the Emperor of the Reich in the middle of his army camp. I gave your father my axe. And he gave me this position. There was a vacancy. Sir Paul Mulner - his previous shieldbearer - was one of the six knights I had slain.”

Eue looked cross. “But how - how could you defeat six knights while just on foot with an axe?”

Mein Herr gave an easy smile: “Princess, you know the game “chicken”, right? Two people charge at each other and the one who flinches first, loses? Well, jousting is not unlike that. Yes, a couched lance is a formidable weapon. But once you are past the point, the knight is helpless. And a Tarbardariyya axe can take down the heaviest horse or the heaviest armour. You’ve just got to know when to duck.”

Eue pulled a face at the mental image of the Nubian’s axe striking a fine warhorse or German champion. She sized up Mein Herr. He was staring straightforward again, with a serene expression. Eue smiled.

*****

“Who do you think I will marry?” said Eue.

Mein Herr gave the Princess a withering look. “Princess, it is not my place…”

“Yes, yes, you don’t speak, I forgot.” said Eue lightly. “Except… you do talk, don’t you? Rather a lot, in fact, when it is about your axe wielding exploits. You’ve learnt rather a lot while you have been with my father, haven’t you? You’ve learnt our language, how to ride, how to survive in a court full of prejudice and intrigue? You were always at my father’s side - I suspect you know more about matters of state than most of our Electors.”

Eue paused. “So tell me, I know I am a commodity, a tool, one of the few instruments of power my father still wields in this disloyal and chaotic Reich. Who do you think I will marry?”

Mein Herr remained impassive.

“Do you know that absurd little man, Hummel, had the temerity to ask my father for my hand?!”

Mein Herr looked Eue: “Do not underestimate a man such as him, Princess. Duke Athalwolf underestimated him, your late uncle Hans underestimated him. His ambition is so great, it leads people to dismiss him. But to achieve great things, you first need great ambition.”

“Fine, we’ll put Hummel on the “maybe” list, then shall we? Pros - vast, overweening ambition. Cons - dirty backstabbing little traitor. Fine. Who’s next? Ah yes, Duke Arnold. What do you think of him?”

Mein Herr remained impassive.

“Well, what I think is that the man is so desperate to get hitched, he’d marry one of his pachydermic namesakes if they could bear him offspring.” Eue thought she could see the corners of Mein Herr’s eyes wrinkle at this declaration. “But I think he and my father may have burnt their bridges over Prague.”

Mein Herr seemed to tire and said with a slight air of mischief: “What about Dieter von Kassel, Princess? He is closer to your age and you did get to know him in Outremer.”

“Oh, please!” said Eue crossly, her face going red. “The man does nothing but talk about his horse. Angus this.. Angus that…I must charge these Papists because Angus needs some exercise!”

“Very well” said Mein Herr in his deep, rich voice: “Better put him in the “maybe” pile with Hummel then shall we?”

Eue threw her book at the Nubian, but it was some minutes before the smile left her face.

*****

The ship was dead in the water. There was no wind. But it was fine, warm day, so Elberhard organised a swim in the balmy sea water. After weeks at sail, the passengers were delighted to find a distraction, although their swimming ability meant that more than once proud knights had to suffer the indignity of being rescued by common sailors. After the men had returned from the sea, Linyeve took Eue into the water, watched by Elberhard and Mein Herr. The Nubian taught Eue to float effortlessly on her back and then provided an inflated pigskin to help her learn the rudiments of swimming. The freedom provided by the open sea exhilarated the princess.

As she clambered back on board the ship, Eue gratefully hugged her Nubian swimming instructor but was immediately reprimanded by her mother.

“Eue! What are you thinking? Get back to your cabin, now!”

Red faced, the Princess fled to her cabin while Mein Herr cast his eyes down in front of the wrathful Queen. Amidst the scandal, no one noticed the bosun slink down the stairs towards the Imperial quarters.

*****

Mein Herr’s reputation for being mute protected him from a prolonged tongue lashing from Linyeve and he quickly made his way downstairs to stand guard outside the Princess’s cabin. His heavy physique moved gracefully down the wooden steps and his sharp ears allowed him to pick up muffled sounds coming from inside the Princess’s cabin. His skin prickled and instinctively he knew something was terribly wrong. Without thinking of the potentially fatal consequences that might befall him if he were wrong, Mein Herr slammed his foot against the cabin door - breaking the lock and kicking it open.

Inside, Jurgen Zimmler, the lanky bosun had Eue by the throat. Mein Herr drew a small axe from his belt. The bosun spun round, holding Eue in front of him, a knife now clearly visible, pressing against her neck.

“Stay back! Stay back or I’ll cut her!” Zimmler hissed.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” said Mein Herr, soothingly, in his soft, treacly voice.

Zimmler was coiled like a spring, breathing heavily. However, Mein Herr was not addressing the bosun, but rather the Princess, whose eyes were wide with fear and whose mouth was covered by Zimmler’s large leathery hand.

“No one is going to get hurt.” purred the Nubian in his rich, gravely accent. He smiled at the Princess and spoke slowly and gently. “Remember what I told you about the joust? It’s like a game of chicken. You’ve just got to know when to … duck.”

Eue used all her strength to bite into the bosun’s hand and throw herself towards the floor. She felt a rush of air above her and then heard a dull clunk. The bosun’s grip seemed to loosen and Mein Herr sprang across the room, grabbing Zimmler’s knife arm with both hands, then snaping the limp sailor’s wrist with a wrathful energy.

“Go!” Mein Herr picked up the bosun’s knife and bundled Eue out of her cabin, shutting her out with what remained of the broken door. The Princess ran, not looking back as, knife in hand, the Nubian advanced on what remained of the bosun.

*****

None of the crew ever knew what happened to Jurgen Zimmler. Like some of their comrades who had crossed the bosun in the past, the man just disappeared from the ship in the night, never to be seen again. But he was a strange sort and no one mourned his departure.