Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Ignoramus]

Staufen, 1334

Wolfgang smiled as he went to address his men.

"Men, we are besieged. The loyalist, Erhart Ruppel, has surrounded the citadel and has cut off our escape. However, we are secure in the finest citadel in the Reich, and adequate precautions have been taken to ensure our survival.

Firstly, the walls have been fully repaired and are in ready state of defence. No loyalist will find their way in here without arrows, bolts, and shot tearing through them.

Secondly, the granaries are well stocked with grain; we certainly shall not starve, although rationing will be necessary.

I am confident that soon the loyalists will see the futility of their cause; they have not a leg to stand on.

That is all men; remember your duty to myself and Swabia!'

[Cecil XIX]

The following is a passage from the diary of Edmund Becker, circa 1336 A.D.

At long last, the Poles have besieged Prague. Though it pains me to have the construction of the Gunsmith delayed, the city will be safer if I repel the Poles from the walls. I only hope they attack quickly; the sooner the Gunsmith is completed the sooner I can begin construction of a new City Hall. It is vital to my plan that Prague becomes a huge city as soon as possible, and to do that I will need a skilled corps of civil servants.

***

It has just occurred to me what a waste it will be when the wealth I have accumulated from Prague returns to the Reich upon the Kaiser’s return. It sickens me that money from Bohemia will go to some other corner of the Empire instead of towards improving my county.

Wait… There may be a way. If I can break this insipid siege on my fair city by 1338, I will have enough time to begin construction of a new building before the Diet reconvenes. I can postpone the construction of the gunsmith and focus every resource on constructed the City Hall. Not only that, but attacking that army sooner will allow me to release prisoners sooner. Yes, it is the perfect strategy to hasten Prague’s growth. I just need to be sure that I can win. I shall adjust my recruitment, and see how the Poles conduct themselves before making the final decision.

[Privateerkev]

Bern 1338:

Alfgarda sat at her desk looking over letters. She was tired. Since Jan died, she had done the best she could to handle her husband's estate. Some in the Reich had treated her with respect and had been more than happy to maintain communication. Others had not.

Fritz von Kastilien had singled Alfgarda out. Fearful of what would happen to him when the Diet reconvened, he attempted to blackmail her into supporting him against her brother-in-law, Dieter Bresch. Not expecting such venom, and unable to take up arms, Alfgarda was completely unable to prevent him from taking Hamburg. Later letters made clear that the people of Hamburg would suffer unless she gave in to his demands.

She didn't want her husband's people to be used as pawns in Fritz's power game. That and she was feeling her age. Streaks of gray were starting to come out in her hair. Her breathing had been getting more labored. She didn't know how Jan lived as long as he did in such a hostile political atmosphere.

Jan's Teutonic knight, Max, walked into the room.

"Ready to leave my lady?"

Alfgarda finished a last letter and looked up.

"Yes Max. Just one more thing left for us to do."

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

Edessa: 8 months later

Alfgarda and Max rode in on a horse drawn carriage with Jan's body. Since Edessa was under Byzantine control, Alfgarda had to do some lobbying in order to be let in. A nice letter to Empress Theadora had smoothed things over. The Empress had always liked Jan. And what Alfgarda was asking was not much. Jan had always been very pro-unification until the war started. Eventually permission was given to bury Jan in Edessa next to his father, Fredericus.

The plot was already prepared. On the headstone it read simply:

Saint Jan the Merciful

Instrument of the Lord

Loyal servant of the Reich

Loving Husband

Devoted Father

Trusted Friend

Jan's sainthood had been rammed through Papal bureaucracy with great speed. He was gaining official recognition for his part in re-taking Jerusalem in the 3rd Crusade, his support of Pope Abbate during religious re-unification, and his fight against violent Lutheranism that culminated in his death. Approval had been given that these could be seen as "3 miracles" despite the new attitude the Church had taken regarding Pope Abbate's past policies. Finding the 3 miracles was more of a formality anyways. Jan had dedicated his life to defending the Holy Land and the Church so when the idea was first broached, it was just a matter of how to justify it.

Alfgard watched as Jan's casket was lowered. Her children were staying with the Bresch family. While she did not expect trouble, it was best to leave them back in Germany. Max silently stood by her side. When Jan was buried, she turned to Max and said, "Alright, I think we should say our goodbyes now. I'd like to say goodbye to my husband in private."

Max was not happy. He had just received orders informing him of his reassignment. Word had gotten out that he had executed a German noble on the battlefield after that man had surrendered. While the Hochmeister did not grieve for Dassel's death, it was politically inconvenient. Max was not in trouble but it was thought best if he maintain a low profile until some time had passed.

"M'lady, it has been the honor of my life to serve your husband. And I am glad that I was able to continue that a little longer by serving you. May God go with you." Max bowed to Alfgarda. Then he turned to Jan's grave. "Goodbye my friend. May the Lord take care of someone who served him so faithfully." Max made the sign of the cross on his chest, turned around, and headed to his old Chapter House in Aleppo for reassignment.

[Privateerkev]

University Library, 2007:

Kevin walked up to the inter-library loan desk to pick up his order. The clerk looked up from her homework, got up and lazily walked over to a shelf, and picked up a box of microfilm. Scanning Kevin's university card, she handed the box over. Kevin thanked her and took the escalator up to the 2nd floor where the microfilm readers were.

Kevin was doing some primary source research for his upcoming research seminar in gender next semester. On microfilm, were letters from one of the first female politicians in German history. Alfgarda von Hamburg was the wife of Saint Jan, a famous German knight and King of Outremer. She had briefly entered politics after Saint Jan's death against Lutherans. And then she had quickly left.

These letters might give a clue as to why she left. While historians had written whole books on Jan, Alfgarda was largely ignored. But Kevin figured looking at her short political career might shed some light on gender relations in medieval Germany. Plus, as an early female political figure, she was novel in her own right. Loading the film into the reader, Kevin started reading the letters between Alfgarda and Fritz von Kastilien.

I will not pretend we are friends, but if I can compromise with the Russians I can compromise with you. I do not believe you can stop my capture of Hamburg, but you can influence the course of it. Give me your word that you will not foment a rebellion within Franconia as your husband did within Swabia and I will swear to occupy Hamburg as peacefully as possible. Only Danes will suffer so far as I can control the matter.

To be more specific, I want your hands off of Dieter and I want you to make a public appeal for tolerance and conciliation to the non-Lutherans of Franconia.

This is not blackmail, and I am not threatening to sack Hamburg if you disagree, but that option is currently open to me and you, despite your insults, can have some influence in my choice.

Fritz von Kastilien

Sir Fritz,

First I am a "poor widow" and now I have my hands on Dieter? Which is it? Am I a simple "peasant" or do I have the power to sway the minds of great men? You can't have it both ways. Pick one.

While you were off butchering civilians, my husband was trying to do something about the religious unrest that racks this land. An unrest you helped cause. He ended up doing the wrong thing by trying to raise an army using such powerful religious language but his motives were infinitely more pure than yours.

I too could raise an army in this way to "bleed for Franconia" but I fear it would cause more harm than good. I will instead try to calm tensions instead of exacerbating them. I have put out a call to Luther to join me in settling these old religious scores.

But you are a seperate matter. I will not allow the people of Hamburg to be used as blackmail in some sort of political deal. I will not be bullied by a monster. My husband stood up to far scarier men than you and I will honor him by trying to have even half of his courage.

I will again state this plainly. If you so much as set foot in the city of Hamburg, I will leave Franconia. If you sack or exterminate the population, then you will see what this "poor widow" is capable of.

When Kaiser Elberhard passes, Peter will become Kaiser. Which will make Dieter Bresch Duke. You best start thinking how your going to deal with that inevitabilty. It will serve as a better use of your free time than threatening middle aged women.

Lady Alfgarda

I can very well have it both ways since I must, in public, acknowledge your widowhood and in private acknowledge that you have a rudiment of power.

Pure motives don't raise the dead. As far as peasants, surely you can see that your husband's direct actions have led to more deaths than mine. I'm certain that other rational parties can...

If you won't be reasonable, then neither will I. If you attempt to take the von Hamburg heir from Franconia the people of Hamburg, whom you clearly care so much about, will suffer for it. Assure me that you are more faithful to your House than your husband was to his Kingdom, for while I would be greatly pleased to see an end to your line's influence in Franconia, it would doubtless vex Peter to no end and threaten the peace between Dieter and I.

Franconia needs unity now for her Duke and her people and if I must threaten you and yours to accomplish that unity it is a small, pleasant price to pay.

As for Dieter, what care I if he is Duke when Peter is Prinz? If Dieter troubles me he may find ten times that trouble dragged down on his own head.

Fritz von Kastilien

Sir Fritz,

While you claim that you are not worried about Dieter, you are sure trying very hard to make sure I do not aid him. One day you will learn that being a woman does not automatically make you stupid. You will find our conversations much more productive when that day comes.

As for my husband, he is hardly alone in causing this current unrest. The religious strife was caused by Luther, Dassel, my husband, Duke Hans, Duke Lothar, Duke Arnold, and you. And it was also caused by the inaction of just about everyone else.

I have been quite frank with admitting my husbands part in these troubles. It would break his heart if he was still alive to know what he helped cause. It is why I am refusing to add to those trouble by raising an army. Such a move would just drive the wedge between the Catholics and Lutherans even deeper.

As for where my loyalties lie, they lie with the Reich, like my husband's did. And then it lies with the people of Hamburg and the von Hamburg family. I will stay in Franconia if it serves the interest of the people of Hamburg. If the Duke's own brother is going to butcher those people, then there just isn't much left for me in this House.

If people are nothing more than political pawns to you, instead of rational breathing human beings, then there is little you and I can ever see eye to eye on. I will not allow the people of Hamburg to be used as pawns in a blackmail scheme just so you can avoid the consequences of your past actions.

The choice is yours. Hurt those people, and Franconia will become more split. Avoid the city, and Franconia will become more unified.

As for Peter being Kaiser, he is not Kaiser yet. Think about who is Kaiser now. And then think about how close my husband and the current Kaiser were. Then try to convince yourself that this "poor widow" could not possibly hurt the great Fritz von Kastilien.

Lady Alfgarda

So for all your fine words what it comes down to is that you will do nothing, not even something simple and reasonable like agree not to exert undue influence on Dieter and call for peaceable conciliation, to save Hamburg and after I sack it you will run to some other house for protection while hoping 'Duke' Dieter keeps me in check.

Oh yes, you have perfectly mastered your husband's form of 'bravery.' Well done! When the people of Hamburg cry out for succor and ask who sent me I will give them your name.

Fritz von Kastilien, Scourge of Hamburg?

Funny how you try to lay the blame for your own actions on me. You decide what you will do. Then I will react accordingly. Take some responsibility for your own actions.

To me, it is sparing people that is "reasonable". If you can not agree to that, then further dealings with you will not be fruitful.

Goodbye Fritz and may you rot in hell for you what you are about to do.

Dearest Alfgarda,

Where are the kind words, the congratulations, the apologies? I would expect one who was struggling to live up to a noble tradition to be prepared to accept the consequences of her error. Hamburg rests easy under my control, and her citizens were quite shocked that Jan's wife thought she was safer under the barbarian Danes than under a good German.

I suppose, in your husband's tradition, that you are much louder the further you are from your target or the truth.

Fritz von Kastilien, Hero of Hamburg

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Letters from Fritz used with Ramses permission

[Zim]

Written as a collaborative effort between Zim and Overknight

1338: A merchant ship approaching Acre

As Andreas von Salzgitter’s ship approached port the Citadel of Acre loomed large on the horizon. It really is as big as Staufen! he thought. With a Citadel this large still firmly in the hands of the Reich, perhaps the situation in Outremer was not quite as dire as my friends had warned.

Andreas began to reflect on the events that brought him here. A native of Salzgitter, his family had left the area for Bruges upon inheriting significant tracts of land in Flanders. They had no history of crusading. Indeed, since the War of the Reformation had begun, most of them came to be suspicious of religious zeal. Not Andreas, however. He used to spend each Sunday afternoon listening to the preaching of an itinerant street preacher, who taught violence against the Lutherans.

The man’s arguments seemed compelling to Andreas, and he came to believe that the Lutherans were the main source of religious violence in the Reich. One day he participated in some minor anti-Lutheran rioting, just breaking a few windows of an outspoken Lutheran’s shop. Little did Andreas know that the rioting had spread to both sides of the conflict, and most of Bruges that day. When he returned home he found that Lutherans had burnt down his families home. His parents escaped, but not his little sister…

Andreas blamed himself for his sister’s death. He decided that he had been punished for participating in violence against an innocent shopkeeper. Against his parents’ protest, he decided to do penance by going on crusade to defend Outremer against the Muslims and Byzantines which threatened it. He had heard its defense had been left in the hands of Matthias the Merciless, a great man. Andreas’s family may not have participated in past Crusades, but they were noble. He knew how to ride, and handle a lance. He had the money to bring a retinue with him to Acre. Hopefully he could be of some use to the King of Outremer.

Suddenly, a loud noise jarred Andreas out of his ponderings. The ship had docked. Among the merchants picking up their wares, and the Outremer soldiers coming to take much needed supplies to Acre, there appeared to be a few men of higher class waiting for his arrival. As he exited the ship via its ramp to the dock, Andreas squinted in an attempt to make out the men waiting for him.

Matthias strode forward down the dock. A rumor had brought him here, it was said that an Imperial nobleman was arriving in Outremer. After the exodus of Jan von Hamburg, Dieter von Kassel and the Kaiser a few years ago, this was welcome news. Unless there was an influx of new Crusaders, the Kingdom would die with him. Of course, the ways things were going it might die anyway.

Matthias growled to himself, such thoughts were unworthy. He was here to defend the legacy of great men, to ensure that God's will for Outremer was carried out. To do that he needed to project strength, to show his soldiers and citizens, and any new Crusaders, that Outremer would be triumphant and her enemies crushed. Any doubts were best left to himself.

Further down the dock, he saw a young man coming down the ramp of a newly arrived cog. A mixture of zeal and disorientation played across the man's face, the mark of a newly arrived crusader. The ruler of Outremer approached him.

"Welcome to the Holy Land, I am Matthias Steffen. You have come to take the Cross?"

“Y-yes…ahem…yes, sir” Andreas stammered. He was shocked to find that Matthias himself had come to greet him at the dock. Hoping to make a good impression, Andreas immediately straightened up to his full height, and tried to hide the queasiness he felt from being at sea so long. He continued “My King, I am Andreas von Salzgitter, newly arrived from the city of Bruges. It is my intention to take the Cross and offer my services to defend Outremer from its enemies”. Having said his due, Andreas squirmed a bit. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do next. Should he kneel, or…?

Matthias surveyed the disconcerted young man with his one good eye. Giants had once walked in Outremer, and now, it seemed, its defense would be left to him and a stripling minor noble. Still, who was he to question providence?

"Your arrival is fortuitous, Andreas, Outremer is in dire need of brave men such as yourself. You see, thanks to the Greeks and the dear departed Siegfried, I am King in name only, there are Counts back in Europe with larger domains than this. The title is a relic of Kaiser Henry's vision, and has little to do with current events. I intend to address that at the next Diet Session."

Matthias's one eye narrowed, "Tell me, Andreas, have you seen battle? How many men have you brought with you?"

Matthias direct approach surprised Andreas a bit. It was so different from the genteel words of the world his parents had tried to bring him into. No doubt, he thought, Matthias’ straightforwardness was one of the traits that had made him so great, and allowed him to get right to the point and accomplish his goals. Putting away his discomfort, Andreas again put forth the effort to straighten up and speak clearly, “Sir, I regret to say that I have only been involved in tournament fighting. I have had some success in tourneys, and I do bring with me a retinue of experienced knights in the employ of my family’s feudal estate. I had heard back in Bruges that Outremer faced difficulties, and hoped that I would be up to the task of defending it. You have my word that I would die to see Outremer restored to its past glory, again as the powerful protector of Jerusalem."


Matthias nodded. The spirit was willing, but only time would tell if the man before him had the iron will needed to survive in Outremer.

"Tourneys, eh? You'll have your fill of real fighting soon enough at Antioch. For, as you say, we do face difficulties. Outremer is a crucible and God tests our faith here. If we are not consumed, all our weaknesses will be burned away, and then no force on earth will be able to defeat us."

Matthias, in a swift change of mood, clapped the young man on the shoulders.

"Welcome indeed! Your arrival and brave words have buoyed my spirits. Together we'll spit in the eye of the Greeks and restore Outremer to greatness. Come, let's get you and your men some quarters."

Andreas walked off with Matthias, feeling somewhat relieved at the King’s change in mood. Still, he couldn’t avoid worrying a bit. What was he getting himself into?

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1338

The final words had been written and the letters sealed. They would now be sent via carrier bird to a near by estate where outriders of the Imperial Messenger Service would deliver the Duke’s thoughts to a select few of the Reich’s nobles spread across the known world.

The Duke look out of his window at the sea beyond the Venetian encampment. The siege had certainly begun to take its toll he thought, disease and rationing had begun to kill members of his staff and army.

He hated sieges for that reason alone, but he knew that sallying would lead to a glorious but certain end and that was not something he could do at this time.

He must stay alive and serve the Reich further, that was the burning thought etched in his mind this morning after a disturbed and dream filled sleep. He wondered what the future would bring given the decision that had been made from the embers of those dreams.

As the waves crashed below the only thing that was certain was time. The passing of time would be the only true gauge of success or failure, of service or disservice.

Luckily the burning resolve in the Dukes eyes could only be seen by the passing gulls flying overhead. The Dread Duke’s visage left little doubt that the actions of the next few years would be conducted with all the force of will and resolve he and his father were renowned for. Those characeristics had been unhealthy for some and a boon for others. The eternal question to those around the Duke was always, WHICH, of those two results would visit them.

[flyd]

Portsmouth, 1162

The weather had cleared sooner than expected, and the fleet was to set sail immediately. Instead of reforming the army into regiments first, a general order was given that each soldier board his assigned ship.

The ship docked at Pier 12 was to take the 2nd and 7th regiments. Two walkways led up to the ship, and the First Mate paced back and forth on the pier, yelling "2nd regiment to the left, 7th regiment to the right", as a mass of soldiers shuffled back and forth. In front of each walkway stood a petty officer with a list of names.

"Name?"

"James Carpenter."

"Ok, name?"

"Edward Smith."

"Smith..." the petty officer looked at the next page, "M.. N.." He flipped to the third page, now looking a bit annoyed. "Smith, right. Go on, then. Name?"

"William Godwinson."

The officer looked at the first page again. "Fine. Name?"

"Where are we going?" asked William.

The officer looked up from his papers for the first time. "I can't tell you, keep the line moving."

"I'll give you a Florin." William pulled out a gold coin from his pocket.

The officer hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the coin and quietly said "Saxony."

[flyd]

Hamburg? 13xx?

The late morning sun shined through a stained glass window, casting red, green, yellow, and blue light upon the people inside the church. The window depicted St. Peter.

A brick, an ordinary red brick, came flying through the window at high velocity, shattering it into hundreds of little pieces.

The mob outside got louder.

The door broke open. Run! Run for the other door! She did, but the mob caught up, and...

Nuremburg, 1340

Lukas woke up. He knew what it meant. There would be no further sleep tonight.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Nuremburg, 1340:

A tiny, squashed voice rose up to Herrmann Steffen.

"Herrmann? What's going on?"

"I still can't see. Gimme a boost."

This time a groan rose up. "Come on, I'm already standing as tall as I can get."

"Then the others need to stand on their tip-toes. Come on, guys."

Another groan. There were two other voices now appearing, in the form of moderate laughter. There was a pause, and then three sounds of pain ranging from mild discomfort (near the top) to actual hurt (the bottom). Herrmann, however, being on top, didn't notice. He finally was able to see what was happening.

"Whose stupid idea was it for me to be the guy on the bottom?"

"Quiet, Harold," Herrmann said to his youngest brother, nine. "Luther's talking."

"What's he saying?" This time it came from the person directly below Herrmann on the human totem pole, Wenzel.

"Something about how the Byzantines are all going to Hell and it's our duty as good Christians to help send them there. Come on, what do you expect? It's Luther."

"What about the rest of them?" said a pained voice. This one, coming from the second man from the bottom, belonged to Bernhard, who at 11 was just a few months younger than Wenzel.

"Let's see, a couple guys are writing, - oh, there's Uncle Matthias, he's just listening though - Prince Peter just entered, looks like he just got back from the Tavern, he's talking with Tancred von Tyrolia... oh, wow..."

"What is it? Do you see Father?"

"Yeah, but that's not important. A bunch of young guys are lined up to kiss the Kaiser's butt."

"Seriously?" said Harold. "They're really kissing it? That's disgusting!"

"No, you nitwit," said Herrmann. "It's an expression."

"Then what are they really doing?"

"God, I wish you weren't nine. They're fawning all over the man, shaking when he speaks to them, afraid to stand up and forcefully give an opinion. These are the young military leaders of the Reich. These kids are only a few years older than me. It's disgusting."

"Oh, and I suppose you would make the entire Diet tremble with your words if you were old enough?"

"Shut up, Wenzel. Well, I wouldn't try to set the place on fire like Dietrich von Dassel or Jens Hummel did in their early days, but I wouldn't act like a timid little wuss either. I mean, really. Aside from that young Austrian getting purple in the face at Luther, they're all hopeless."

"Thank God the Diet's going to have us in a few years," said Bernhard.

"Yeah, really. We're highborn. We know how to deal with people. Hells, I wish I was old enough to attend! Just a few more months and I'd be an actual Elector at probably the most important Diet Session since 1080!"

"Well then, Mister Elector, what is your opinion on the issue of the day?" said Wenzel. "What do you think of 14.4?"

"Are you nuts?" said Herrmann. "For, of course! If we go on a sustained campaign against the Byzantines I'll certainly have a part of it! Imagine... Herrmann Steffen, Savior of Italy! Conqueror of Constantinople and Caesaria! We'll all get glory if this thing passes, lads."

"Herrmann?" Harold really sounded in pain. "My shoulders are killing me. Can we do something else now? Please?"

"Yeah yeah yeah, hold on. Fritz von Kastilien's bashing the Kaiser. Like, majorly. Oh, wow, this is awesome. I can't wait to be part of this whole thing. Of course, I'd rather it be in Ro- Oh, Hells, Father's walking out! Get down, quick!"

There were several shouts of agreement and then a giant lurch, and a moment later all four Steffen brothers were on the ground. Harold, having the least distance to fall, got up first and mocked his older brothers, all still on the ground.

"Quiet, Harold, Father will hear!"

"Come on! Let's get back to Theology lessons!"

The four ran off.

[flyd]

North of Hamburg, on the North Sea Coast, 1164

The entire army was assembled, and the commander, Walter Smithe, was addressing the troops.

"Men. In case you are unaware, we are in Saxony. We have come here to wage war against the unHoly Roman Empire." He pauses for laughs, but none are forthcoming. He continues, "well, uh, as you know, they have been excommunicated for waging war against the Church, and killing numerous Popes. So, we are here on a holy mission. But we are also here to secure glory for England, and ourselves. To the south lies the city of Hamburg, full of vast riches and beautiful women, and the Germans have no army that can stop us. We shall wreak havoc for a few years, get the King what he wants from the Germans diplomatically, help the Pope, and then go home rich and happy. How does that sound?"

Loud cheers erupted from the army.

Outside of Hamburg, 1174

A fresh snow had fallen over night, and it was very, very cold. About a third of the English army was manning the set of temporary fortifications around Hamburg. The rest of the soldiers were in the camp, just north of the city, sitting in small groups around fires, trying to stay warm.

"Ten years! Ten !@#$ing years! Ten years and we're still sitting on our butts!"

"Be quiet, William, they'll hear you."

"Who'll hear me!? !@#$ing Walter Smithe? I don't care if he hears me, that incompetent son of a goat. Damnit, James, we've got an army three times the size... three, it was three, right, they said three? Three times the size of their garrison, and enough siege equipment to storm freaking Constantinople."

"Constantinople? Oh, I don't know about that."

"Shut up, James, you've not been down there."

"Well, neither have you!"

"Fine. We'll ask Harold. He's been." William turned to one of the nearby groups of soldiers sitting around their fire. "Hey, Harold! Do you suppose we've got enough siege equipment to storm Constantinople?"

"We've got enough to storm five Constantinoples, William," responded Harold.

"He's been to Constantinople?" asked Edward.

"That's what he claims. Says he was in the Emperor's guard or some such. Claims he..."

The conversation was interrupted to by a call to arms. Those weren't very rare, and were often pointless. The soldiers slowly got up, and carefully put out their fires, when some of the junior officers started running through the camp, yelling, "To arms, you fools! There is a huge German army coming from the south! This is not a drill!"

The army assembled somewhat more quickly.

North of Hamburg, 1174

"Forward!"

William was in the last row of his regiment's formation. Edward was to the left, and some other guy, uh, Simon was it? to the right. Their regiment was in the center of the line.

"Charge!"

Right, they charged. William stood at the back, watching the front rank. Combat was more violent than one might have imagined. At the front, German and English spearmen faced off. Other than the colors of their shields, they looked exactly the same, and yet each put in the greatest effort to spill the guts of the other onto the snow. It was sort of weird.

While the front was very interesting, William's attention soon turned to the right, as the German cavalry charged the English flank. Even though he stood some two hundred feet away, he could feel the ground tremble. The peasants on that flank never saw it coming. Many were trampled, and only a few were fortunate enough to actually be stabbed. William wasn't the only one to notice; some of his comrades were getting nervous too.

Suddenly, however, Walter Smithe's bodyguard charged forward, right through William's regiment. Men shuffled out of the way of Smithe's horses, as the goat-man himself yelled "Onward men! Onward to glory!" On the right, a regiment of English spearmen pivoted to meet the flanking German cavalry, as they were joined by other friendly units. Maybe all is not lost?

The battle continued. William's attention was divided between Smithe in the front, and the increasingly worrisome situation on the right. And then, Smithe was brought down from his horse. William paused for a moment, turned to the right, and saw most of his comrades on the right flank fleeing, and the German cavalry making maneuvers.

"Oh, !@#$ this!" William yelled and ran away! His comrades followed right behind, but the German cavalry arrived. He threw away his spear, and dropped to the ground. Those who did the same were ignored by the cavalry, though some were trampled. Those who fled were cut down, and those who stayed were taken prisoner by the advancing infantry.

Hamburg, 1175

The English prisoners, about 300 survivors from an army of 1500, were kept in the city's main barracks. The German commander had ordered that the prisoners be released, and the arrangements had finally been made. The prisoners left for the ship early in the morning, but no headcount was made, and, well, William was left behind. He was a deep sleeper. The guards in the barracks did not buy his story, and he was kicked out. He made his way to the Governor of Hamburg. Luckily, his German had gotten better as he served as a translator for the survivors.

Office of the Governor of Hamburg, 1175

"Sir, I am William Godwinson. I was supposed to be among the English soldiers who were sent back to England, but I was left behind by accident."

"That ship left this morning," said the Governor.

"Yes, I know. I said I was left behind by accident. I need to get back to England."

"Yes, I see. I suppose we could arrange something. Might take a while, you may understand that there are few ships going to England these days."

"Well... where am I supposed to sleep?"

He was given some money and kicked out of the office.

An Inn in Hamburg, 1175

"Hi, I need a room for the night."

"That'll be a quarter of a Florin," said the young woman.

He handed her a coin, she gave him a key, smiled, and said, "you have a strange accent, where are you from?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, I'm from, uh, out west..."

"Oh, are you Frisian?"

"Err, yes. Right, that's exactly it. Frisian."

She went on, "Cool, I have some cousins who live in Emden. What town are you from?"

"Hum..." He didn't know any towns in Frisia. He couldn't say he was English. But he had to say something! He could not appear awkward or weird in any way! What was that place the army landed near? Was that even in Frisia? Where is Frisia, anyway? It has to be up there, somewhere.

She laughed. "Ok, I'm sorry, I do ask too many questions."

"No, heh, that's ok.."

The Narrator rolls his eyes. Right then, get on with it.

Office of the Governor of Hamburg, 1175

"Ah, Mr. Godwinson. We have arranged your transport back to England."

"Yeah, about that. Uh, I don't really want to go to England. I'd rather stay here."

"That's not an option, Mr. Godwinson. I do not wish to have an English spy in my city."

"You've already had an English 'spy' running around your city for two months, while you took your time in arranging that transport. I don't think that would look very good, indeed. It's best for both of us if we keep a low profile about this while our nations are at war.

Hamburg, 1242

"How about Lukas?" she said.

"I like it. In English, he can be Luke," said William.

[Cecil XIX]

The following is a collaboratin between Cecil XIX and AussieGiant.

Prague, 1330

Edmund Becker stood atop the southern gate of the city. He had received a letter from Bane detailing his exact time and date when he would arrive, and Becker was making sure that things did not start off on the wrong foot.

It was late in the afternoon, that time when the sun's glare was just strong enough to make it unmistakably day. That is until the movement of the clouds began to obscure the sun and bask the land in shadow.

"Don't tell me he's going to show up now." Becker looked at the overcast sky for moment. When he looked back across the south of Prague, he sighed and walked down to the gate to greet his guest.

***

The journey north had taken Bane sometime. About half way towards Prague the War of Reformation had erupted making travel that much more difficult.

Dodging civilian armies had been a time consuming and a dangerous exercise, but he had finally made it. He had sent a messenger ahead to inform Becker of his arrival time and now, finally, he was here.

Dark clouds had gathered on an otherwise perfect day making the Dread Knight wonder if it was a sign of things to come.

As he approached Prague a lone figure appeared from behind the massive gates of the city.

Bowing briefly the hollow rasping voice of the Dread Knight was grating on the ears of the on looking guards.

"My Lord, I bring you greetings from Duke Arnold. He has instructed me to negotiate with you on his behalf. The letter gives written permission with his seal to do so."

With that the Dark Armored figure handed Becker a note with the Duke's seal clearly marked.

Becker took the note, and read it carefully.

"Thank you Sir Bane. Now then, let us begin our discussion in the Council Chambers. I've prepared a room."

Soon they had arrived in the main conference room, where the leaders of Bohemia’s boroughs and estates met to discuss business. They both took a seat at opposite ends of the table.

"Now then, let us begin. What is Duke Arnold's attitude towards and opinion of Bohemia?"

Bane sat perfectly still for some moments and seemed to consider the question.

The effect was a little unnerving. Finally he leaned forward placing his elbows on the table, his voice icy and calm.

"My master has no real opinion on Bohemia Lord Becker. What he would like to know is what it will take for you to rejoin the Duchy? You must clearly see the mounting risk approaching in the form of the Polish and Hungarian armies.

Alone you can not hope to defend against these armies with the forces at your disposal. The combined might of the Duchy is slowly failing to defend the Reich's eastern border. Only united will there be a chance.

Duke Arnold is extending his hand to you all and especially you Lord Becker. Outline your needs or propose something to bring the Duchy back together. Alone you will fall for certain. Joined again with the rest of the Duchy and we all stand a chance."

Becker frowns, and begins his reply.

"Before I answer, I will explain my thoughts. As you say, Austria is slowly losing ground. With the loss of the income from Budapest, and the departure of Tancred von Tyrolia and Frederich Karolinger, it will be that much harder to drive back Hungary when it strikes next. You are asking me to give Austria the money and manpower to defend itself properly.

And yet you also claim, mistakenly, that Bohemia cannot stand on it's own against the Poles. Believing this, you would have me weaken Bohemia further to aid you, which would inevitably result in a two-front war for Austria. Perhaps Duke Arnold thinks you can stop the Hungarians in time to prevent the Poles from taking Vienna. Perhaps he has another plan. Regardless, I know now that Duke Arnold needs me more than I need him.

So to answer your question, for me to even consider rejoining Austria I would need to believe that doing so would not put Prague in more danger than it is already in."

Bane shakes his head slowly at Becker’s reaction.

"My apologies Lord Becker, I am not well versed in diplomacy. It seems I have not been clear.

Duke Arnold doesn't need you more than you need him. If I have given you that impression then it is my mistake.

Duke Arnold's point is, how do you propose to defend yourself against Poland and Hungary where the combined efforts of Franconia and Austria can not?

Duke Arnold needs you... Yes, that is clear. Any and all nobles with an army are needed in this time of crisis.

Your forces could tip the tide, but if you don't rejoin the Duchy then all that will do, as Austria retreats, is place you at the front of the conflict. Your troop quality is not enough to stem the tide Lord Becker, surely you see that after your last encounter with the Poles?

So I say again. Duke Arnold is asking now...

...What it will take for you to rejoin the Duchy and help in the defense of the Reich against it's enemies?

Once this opportunity passes, in the form of this meeting, then you will be left to your own defense Lord Becker. Please do not take offence Lord Becker, the Duke believes you will do an excellent job, but you are isolated and alone. You defense will be a Forlorn Hope against the tide of our enemies. In conjunction with the rest of the Duchy we can conduct a far better defense.

More over, if and when the Reich reconvenes then you can not possibly hope to find a political solution in your favor if a Diet vote was to take place.

Essentially Lord Becker, you can negotiate now with the Duke... However, if you don't take this opportunity, then once the Diet is back in session you will have a united Duchy and a Duke using every political ounce of influence against you. Do you honestly think you could withstand that in the face of how other rebels have been treated?

With every passing moment that you fail to assist in the defense of Austria you place another nail in the coffin of your attempted separation.

Take this opportunity now to negotiate something in your favor. If you don't then it will simply be a matter of time before a political solution will cast you as a traitor and a rebel and end your separation without swinging even one sword.

Prague is in danger Lord Becker, and every month that passes without a resolution between you and the Duke places you closer to the combined armies of Poland and Hungary.

You say you have lost faith in the Dukes and in particular Duke Arnold... How can that be when it is in fact Kaiser Siegfried and now Elberhard who have given away our lands, made negotiations without OUR consent and plunged this Reich into chaos? The Duchy had nothing to do with that. If you have lost faith Lord Becker then it must be with the Kaisers, not the Duchies who have simply been thrown into this maelstrom due to the actions of our own Emperor.”

Bane fell silent...he seemed entirely spent in his passionate plea to you.

Becker sighed slightly, as Bane's plea had not failed to affect him.

"It is not men with whom I have lost faith, but an institution. But that's neither here nor there. I appreciate your earnestness on this matter, so let me start over with my previous line of thought, for I think I was being unclear.

Simply put, what would Duke Arnold have me do if I were to rejoin? No doubt he would want me to contribute soldiers, or money, or myself as a leader. How much would he expect me to do, when Prague needs so much to keep it safe from the Poles? As it stands, before I can seriously consider a reconciliation I need to know what Duke Arnold would have of me, and how it would affect Prague.

The Dark Knight considers Lord Becker’s words for sometime. Finally he leans back in his chair; his tone of voice hardened as he answers.

"Lord Becker, unfortunately the Duke did advised me that this might happen.

There is a stand off.

I understand that you want me to outline what the Duke wants from you so you may decide what to do...but this is inherent in you believing you have at least an equal footing in these negotiations.

The Duke does not see it this way.

Firstly you must survive and the Poles are approaching as we speak. If, you manage to defend yourself against the enemies of this Reich successfully, then you must still deal with the political consequences of your actions. This is again something the Duke, with some degree of objectivity, believes he has an advantage in.

If you do not take the opportunity now to state what you require to rejoin the Duchy the Duke has instructed me to wish you all the best in the defense of Prague. Should you survive and the Diet reconvenes, you will then have to survive the political conflict that will result. Either of these two areas may be resolved with little or no intervention by Duke Arnold.

You are regarded as "separated" from the Duchy now in the Duke’s mind. Once the Diet has reconvened you will then become a rebel and one that has forsaken his oath and duty to his Duke and by extension to the Kaiser himself.

Therefore, if you do not take this opportunity to negotiate now, then that is the direction the Duke will take.

Pausing again Bane considers his next words.

"Lord Becker;" clearly he is now speaking as himself and not on behalf of his Duke.

"The Duke is being very clear and frank with you on his intentions. Believe me when I say that he is entirely upset that you have separated... He does not understand why and has spent many nights trying to find out where he went wrong in his dealings with you."

Again he pauses.

"I can say this with all certainty. Once he decides that you have really forsaken him he will make every effort to correct the situation by any means necessary.

I urge you to take the first step in this process my lord.

In my professional opinion, you will be hard pressed to defend yourself in the coming years without outside assistance.

Lorenz Zirn has just been outfitted with a professional army that could come to your aid. If you rejoin the Duchy you will be re-included in the overall strategy. While I can not guarantee that Prague will not fall, you must realize that the Duke will regain all that is lost or die trying. That includes Prague and all other previous Austrian provinces. It is my belief that your militia force would be utilized to deal with the rebel forces while the professional armies would engage the Polish and Hungarian forces.

Austria is doing very well all things considered Lord Becker. You reuniting with the Duchy would be of great benefit to Austria. Of course that means you would also want to be part of Austria again.

Additionally, should you survive, then I do not believe you will be able to secure your independence in the Diet, which you would need to do or face a Reich wide response to your actions.

There is a precedent set with regards to rebels Lord Becker, and it has come from the Kaiser himself. All Duke Arnold will ask is that the same approach be taken with regards to you.

Take the first step Lord Becker, or I have been instructed to leave immediately."

Bane's demeanour in the last few moments becomes increasingly hard.

As he finished there was a knock on the door. An aide entered and handed Becker a note. It outlined the approach of a new Polish army not far from Prague.

Becker raised his head and stares the ceiling.

"Why..." He pondered the question a great while before speaking.

"I suppose I could have elucidated more when I made my announcement. Maybe I should have put more thought into it. But the truth is, I couldn't get myself to care. Back then I was just happy to finally be doing what I wanted, rather than wasting my career accomplishing little of any importance. It seems rather foolish when I think of it."

He lowers his gaze to meet Bane's, and Edmund's eyes have a sense of resolution that was never seen when he was in Austria.

"But it's different now. For the first time in my life, I have a purpose I can be proud of. The goals I had before I married Contzel and my experiences in Transylvania and Bulgaria all tell me what I must do."

Becker stands up, and gestures towards the window behind him that overlooks the city.

"This is my reason. This is my purpose. This is all I have, and all I ever will have. Prague. Bohemia. Mahren.

These places are my home, and these people need me to protect them. Rather than become like an Emperor or a Duke, who care about acquiring new territories, I will devote all my energy into one county and make it the best that it can be. That is why I will use every resource at my disposal, up to and including my very life, to ensure that Bohemia does not fall into the hands of the enemy. I do not fear the Poles, for they cannot muster a force capable of overcoming the strength of my conviction, the courageousness of my men, and the weight and glory of Prague's walls."

Edmund quickly returns to his seat.

"With this in mind, I present my terms. Until the Diet reconvenes, I will retain full control over Bohemia and it's resources. I will single-handedly prevent the opening of a third front against Austria while Duke Arnold and the Zirns defend against the Hungarians and the Byzantines. I will also send Duke Arnold one base unit of wealth every turn, starting in 1334.

Once the Diet reconvenes, I will renounce my claim of secession. Duke Arnold may orchestrate my apology and subsequent events in whatever way he thinks is best.

Regardless, I will remain Count of Prague. For the remainder of my life, I will remain therein, never to leave. As most of the Electors do not understand the depths of my feelings, this will seem like a rather severe punishment. I will, in effect, be forbidden from ever commanding an army again. And finally, I will abandon my political independence. My influence in the Diet will become the Duke's and I will vote the way he wants me to on every edict the Diet ever considers. I shall willingly become the Duke's pawn with my interactions with the other Electors.

If the Duke should consider me untrustworthy for such things, tell him that the lengths I will go to for him to allow me to direct Prague's future will be as extreme as the lengths I am going to now. As long as I remain Count of Prague, dictating build queues and setting tax levels from within the city, all my other duties and abilities as an elector will be at his disposal.

What say you?

Bane's body language is clearly animated at his final words.

"Lord Becker I can confirm that the terms you have laid out here are within my authority to agree on. If you can have a scribe draw up three copies I will have them sent to the Duke for signature and then bring them here in three months from today for counter signature by yourself.

Three copies are required, for you, the Duke and the official scribes of the Diet."

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

Since the last meeting a document in triplicate was sent to Duke Arnold in Ragusa for signature. One copy is for him which Bane will take with him. One copy is for Lord Becker and one copy for the official scribe of the Diet who is current with the Kaiser.

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

Prague 1334

Striding back into the agreed chamber at the agreed time and date the Dread Knight holds three parchments in his hands.

He lays them out for Edmund to see the signature and seal of the Duke of Austria.

In addition to the three official documents there is a hand written note.

"Welcome back Lord Becker. God speed and good luck against the Poles. If possible I will send professional troops to you.

Duke Arnold"

Holding his gaze steadily while you read the note Bane finally speaks.

"The Duke has instructed me that he would prefer it if you made an announcement using the Imperial Messenger Service. It does not have to be detailed but simply outline the agreement and good will we have found common ground on. All he asks is that you allow him to read it before you issue it to the Imperial riders.

Is that acceptable to you?

He has also asked me to provide my services to you for the defense of Prague until the next season."

Pausing, the Dread Knight extends his hand towards you in the form of a handshake.

"It's good you have you back my Lord."

[_Tristan_]

Hughes’ Story

The French Templar Renegade

The boat prow ploughed a deep furrow in the waves of the Mediterranean. Standing at the rail, the wind lashing at his face and sweeping from around his torso the red crossed white tabard, Hughes was contemplating all that happened in the last years of his life… The treachery of the French King, the fights, the travels, the pain of losing comrades in arms… All that would stay with him for his whole life…

As the boat neared the coast of Europe once more, Hughes thought about that time, what seemed so long ago now but was only two years back, at a time when he left those shores on a mission given to him by the Commander of the Order…


These were hard times for the Order. The King of France, once the Order staunchest ally, had turned against it out of simple greed. With the breaking up of the Holy Roman Empire, the King had seen his opportunity of re-conquering the lost parts of his ancestors’ land at last within reach. But conquest meant armies and armies meant funds to recruit them, alas the French coffers were quite empty. So the famed treasure of the Templars loomed great in the King’s mind as the means to that end.
For some time, he had done his utmost to get the approval of the Pope and thus had his wish granted of having the Templars declared heretics. Then he set Roger de Mauchaut, nothing more than a mercenary turned noble, to lead the “crusade” on the Templars. In less than a year, de Mauchaut had killed many brothers of the Order and arrested the rest. Those stood trial on grounds of heresy and refusing to confess of their alleged crimes were burned at the stake.
Now, only this greatest Commandery of the Order remained but de Mauchaut was on its way… In a day or two, the assault would come…

So, Hugues was surprised when the Order brother came knocking at his cell to give him the summons to the Commander’s chambers. Only once in his life of service to the Order had he been summoned to those halls, on reaching the brother rank with his fellow squires. Now, while still young, he had faced many battles against the Infidels and had risen through the ranks, on his merit alone.

On entering the Commander’s chamber, Hughes was struck by the number of high-ranked members present. Kneeling in front of the dais where the Commander sat, he awaited his master’s words.

“Hugues de Cervole, you are one of the youngest but also one of the most worthy of our men. The Order is greatly threatened this day and we have a mission for you, a mission of the utmost importance.
The French King has been courting the Pope these last years, up to the point where the Pope is ready to grant him his every favour. Fearful of our power in his lands and jealous of our influence, the French King has convinced the Pope to declare us heretics. On these grounds, he has been arresting our brothers and putting them to judgement. But we are not heretics and this is all a masquerade to lay his greedy fingers on the riches of the Order. This is our last stand, Hugues but should we fall, our riches must not fall into the hands of our enemy.
This is why you are needed. I know that you would preferably stand and fight with us, and should you not fall stand the trial and burning at the stake that awaits most of us, but this is not to be.
You are to stay free and leave here with a small company of men and take away our treasury out of reach of the French.”

At that, Hugues tried to object, but a swift and commanding gesture from the Commander silenced him.

“I know… There might be no glory in this mission but if the Order is to be reborn one day, as it will surely die with us, you must succeed...”

The Commander then fell silent for a moment. A scribe handed Hugues a sheaf of papers.

“Here are forged papers bearing the French seal that identify you as Hugo von Holland, from you mother’s name, a German lady, if I remember correctly. They will allow to impersonate a Flemish merchant en route from Antwerp to Palermo. This should allow you free passage to the coast.”

Sensing the dismissal, Hughes bowed deeply and went out of room, taking a good look at the faces of the men present, men he would see for the last time of his life.

On leaving the Commander’s halls, Hughes went directly for the men’s quarters and found Guillaume, the Old Templar brother that had served under his command during many campaigns.

“Guillaume, you are to choose sixty brothers. Have them make preparations for a long trip to I don’t know where yet. All arms and armour, victuals and such are to be prepared also. Have them take also civilian clothes as discretion might be the better part of valour on this mission. Have them be ready by tomorrow at noon… At least, we won’t be running shamefully… And one least thing, please fetch the maps from our campaigns in Africa… I think I might be onto something…”

With Guillaume’s departure, Hughes was left to himself. He was both proud of the trust put in him by the Order and angry at being forced to run when the Order faced its hour of greatest need.

Guillaume came back less than an hour later, handing Hughes the requested maps.

“Captain, the men have been chosen and are making preparations at the very moment. Will you give me an hint of what is going on ?”

“We are to secure the Order’s future and we’ll have to disguise ourselves as merchants doing so. I can’t tell you much more than that. See to the preparations. I’ve some work ahead of me.”

Hughes then set to studying the maps that covered the northern part of Africa, its unforgiving deserts and uncharted regions. Once something happened I those uncharted regions that gave Hughes an idea of what he had to do…

At noon the next day, Hugues donned his chain-mail armour, his red crossed white tabard and came to meet his men in the courtyard of the Commandery…

“Men, I know that you would all prefer facing the oncoming storm… But that is not to be… Our Master has put upon us the heaviest burden of them all : to carry on the crusading spirit of our forefathers and make sure that the Order survives even if only one of us still lives… So we will ride from these walls and not look back but instead look to the road in front of us and the future it leads to… Now, mount up and let’s be on our way…”

Mounting himself, Hughes took the head of the column of riders and wagons, all the men in armour and wearing the colours of the Order. At the gates of the Commandery, he halted his horse and turning in his saddle, he saluted the Commander watching from a balcony high in the main tower of the Commandery. The Commander returned the salute and Hughes spurred his horse through the gates to the head of the column.

The convoy had not covered five leagues that a young brother came riding hard on its tail, calling for Hughes.

Hughes came to meet him. He remembered his face but not his name, one of the last recruits, a boy his own age when he himself joined. The boy’s horse was covered in sweat, having been driven hard, the boy himself panting from the exertion of the ride.

“Cap… Captain… The Comm.. The Commander has sent me to warn you that you must make haste and be as far away as possible in the morning. The French have assaulted the Commandery. As I left, the fighting was still going on but we were on the losing side. Our brothers put a valiant fight but the French are vicious and numerous.”

Hughes was torn between his duty and his honour.

“Guillaume, take the lead and go as fast as you can to Aigues-Mortes. There buy passage on as many ships as necessary to carry us to Africa, at whatever price the captains of those ships require. I’ll meet you up the road.”
“Amaury, pick thirty men and join me. We ride to the Commandery. We must help our brothers. Boy, remain with the convoy. What’s your name ?”

“Arnoul”.

“Fine, Arnoul. You did well. Now, rest. You’re coming with us. Wherever we’re going…”

Hughes and his thirty men rode back to the Commandery, as hard as they could without taking too much strain on the horses. A full day ride passed before they reached the Commandery grounds.

When they crossed the last hill that hid the citadel from view, Hughes had a vision of Hell. The French catapults and mangonels had breached great holes in the citadels’ once impregnable walls. Fires burned within its halls. But more frightening were the upturned crosses where the men nailed to them hung limply and the stakes that finished burning. But most horrifying of all was the smell of burnt flesh that hung heavy in the air… the true smell of Hell…

Everything that Hughes had believed in, everything that he fought for lay in ruins at his feet. This was too much… Tears streaming from his eyes, Hughes turned to his men.

“What you see yonder is the work of the devil… The French devil… That devil has a name… de Mauchaut… We must root out this evil… Men !!! Form up !!!”

The thirty brothers put their horse in a tight line on the ridge overlooking the French siege camp. Hughes snapped a sharp order.

“Charge !!!”

As one, all the horses started down the hill… The French were still celebrating and had taken no notice of the riders coming… Death from above… Lucifer falling down to Earth…

The horses gained speed and the thunder of their hooves finally turned some French heads… But even above the thunderous roar of the horses’ charge, Hughes’ voice could be heard calling one and only name.

“de Mauchaut !!! de Mauchaut !!! Show yourself !!!”

Some of the French footmen tried to put up a fight but the momentum of the horses struck them down. Their lances broken, the Templar brothers took their swords out and struck left and right, driving their horses with their knees,

Hughes himself was making a bee-line for the largest tent in the camp, sure to find his nemesis in that tent.

Finally, he reached the tent and dropped from his horse. The guards at the entrance of the tent were quickly dispatched. And as Hughes was about to go in, a giant of a man came out, wearing a fine armour of plate, worked in intricate gold designs, a look of malevolence upon his face.

Hughes stepped back to regain his footing.

The man bellowed.

“It seems you have been looking for me. Let’s see if you fight better than your heretic brothers.”

With this the French leader lifted his double-handed sword in a high arc letting it swoop down towards Hughes. Hughes stepped aside and prepared to counter but however heavy that sword might seem, de Mauchaut was already ready to make a parry with it.

Then it was a flurry of combat… Strokes, parries, feints but to no avail… Hughes’ speed and agility was met by skill and brute force on de Mauchaut’s part, with none of the fighters getting the better on the other.

Still, the fight was not so even-handed in the camp. The sheer number of the French soldiers began to take its toll on the Order brothers. Hughes had the time to see Amaury, being taken down from his horse and clubbed to death by French fanatics…

A quick look around showed him that less than ten men were still fighting, three of them horseless…

It was a losing situation… Hughes remembered the mission he had been entrusted with, and how he was to fail without having accomplished anything towards that goal…

Taking profit of de Mauchaut rising its sword high above his head, Hughes rammed him in the chest, toppling him and ran for the tethered warhorse standing next to the tent. It carried de Mauchaut’s coat of arms : a sable griffin on a red field, as vicious a beast as its master… Hughes cut the reins of the horse and gripping them in his free hand, jumped in the saddle. The horse reared and Hughes called to de Mauchaut.

“Evil fiend !!! You’ll pay for your sins… The day we meet again will be your last…”

Hughes then spurred the horse and called to his men.

“Templars !!!… All is lost !!! Rally to me !!!”

Looking back, Hughes could see five of his men following and de Mauchaut rising up, calling for a horse…

At the top of the hill down which they had charged earlier, Hughes stopped his men… Only five of the thirty had made it through that fight… Two of them had mean cuts on their bodies, the three others bore large bruises. Pursuit had not yet begun but was sure to come.

The next days were spent hiding in woods or caves, the nights riding as hard as terrain would allow. Twice, the French nearly overtook them, but Hughes and his men were riding through lands they knew by heart, and so easily lost their pursuers.

Finally, Hughes and his five companions reached Aigues-Mortes, unopposed. There they met by Guillaume who provided them with civilian clothes, hiding the weapons and the telltale tabards in the wagons. Guillaume led Hughes to the inn where he had booked a room, while the wounded men were getting taken care of. Questions burned in the old Templar’s eyes but he knew better than to speak out of turn.

“No questions, Guillaume, please… I will perhaps tell you later but not for now… How are things going here ?”

“Well, Captain, or as well as might be expected given the circumstances. Everybody seems to accept the fact that we are Flemish merchants en route to Sicily. I’ve managed to find two ship captains ready to have us board with horses and “goods” and take us to Palermo. I’ve set aside a large sum of money, to have them change course while we are at sea.”

“Fine, fine… We’ll be sailing tomorrow as soon as the wind allows… Now, I shall rest…”

Guillaume took his leave and Hugues was left to a restless sleep, full of the nightmarish sights of the last days…

In the morning, after a quick breakfast at the inn, Hughes went to the docks to oversee the loading of the ships. Guillaume was dealing out orders as efficiently as if he had been a cargo-master his whole life.

Soon the whole cargo was loaded onto the boats and the horses had also been taken aboard, with much whinnying… Last to go was de Mauchaut’s warhorse, now Hughes’ own…

With everything onboard, the anchors were raised, the lines taken out, the sails let loose, and the ships left the safety of the harbour…

Hughes stood on the castle looking at the receding quays… A rider reached the jetty just as the ships exited the harbour… A giant of a man seemingly in full plate armour and waving a large sword high above his head…

Taking one last look at the coast, and the man upon the quay, Hughes made a promise to himself.

“If God permits, I will come back and France shall now my wrath… I will repay in blood the blood of our brothers… As for you, de Mauchaut, I shall take special care in dealing with you… You will wish you had met the Devil himself before you meet me…”

With this thoughts in mind, Hughes left the bridge of the ship and regained his cabin, where he once again took to surveying the maps of the uncharted deserts of Africa, to retrace a route from the past…

(to be continued…)

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1342

The journey from Nuremberg to Ragusa was the most impressive experience Duke Arnold's Priest had ever seen. Newly elected and emanating energy and passion for the position the Duke was a sight to behold. He had managed in his later years to temper his fierce and dreaded characteristics with a more lenient and patient approach. Of course just below the surface was his old demeanor, but this new aspect to him allowed people to at least approach him without fear of losing some part of their body if things didn't go well.

As his retinue and body guard had left Nuremberg, messengers and outriders poured back and forth from the Duke's mobile council to every corner of the Reich. The various personal banners of the nobles from Outremer, Franconia, Swabia, Bavaria and Austria mingled with the Royal Messengers of the Kaiser and Prinz to form a never ending queue of requests, pleas and outright demands.

As the light faded on each day the troop put down a massive marque and the work continued late into the night.

Drafted to write the Duke's most personal correspondence the Priest had little sleep throughout the journey and his hand ached from the continuous reading and writing it took to deal with a Reich that was teetering on the edge of collapse. Reports of all kinds had to be read, collated and responded too and most of those could only be signed by the Chancellors hand himself. The problem was that in addition to all that, there were the personal reports and visits to be received and answered by the man himself. There were literally just a few minutes sometimes in which important decisions had to be made. Those decisions were sending men to their deaths by the thousands, yet these demands were part and parcel of Duke Arnold's like and to date they seemed to be working in the Reich's favour. The general's were performing amazingly well under his oversight.

Venice had been relieved, as well as Antioch and Hamburg, Austria was fighting back and Duke Steffen was conducting what seemed to be psychological warfare with the Byzantines in northern Italy.

Where he shouldn't be he was, and what he shouldn't be doing he did.

Somehow everything was getting done and it was taking every single resource at the Dukes disposal. His entire retinue was marshaling The Chancellors Office as only they knew how. The men of the Exchequer and War Office has simply refused to budge when they were told that they had to leave Nuremberg for the long and arduous journey to Ragusa. In true form the Chancellor had stormed out of the meeting and sent Grom and Bane in his stead. The Duke had barked out clear instruction to the two of them and it had taken about 7 minutes for his left and right hand men to convince all 40 staff that leaving for Ragusa was the best course of action given their alternatives.

Sadly after so many decades of inactivity The Chancellors Office had been a shell of it former self, however by the time they had reached the outskirts of Ragusa things had begun running smoothly.

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

One of the many letters the Priest had read was the pending arrival of the daughter of a minor Russian noble. Somehow after the incident the previous season with the Russian diplomats arm being broken, the Duke had become acquainted with some of Russia's minor nobility in attendance for the Diet. Having just won the position of Chancellor it seemed at least one aspiring father wanted his daughter married to the new Chancellor. Arrangements had been made and the woman would be arriving at the docks of Ragusa about the same time as the Duke completed his trip.

Now, having crested the final hill between Nuremberg and Ragusa the Priest could see a ship docked at the harbour flying a Russian flag.

“Well I never!!” The surprise was clearly etched on Sigfreid's face, the military engineer had known the Duke longer than any of them. What had illicited the response from his lips was the sight of Duke Arnold galloping down the slope at full speed towards the ship, all the while letting out a shout of joy and happiness.

“Bloody hell...HE is glad to be finally getting married hey!! He's like a sixteen year old all of a sudden!!” Grinning from ear to ear Grom looked around in amusement as everyone else continued to stare at some of the most unusual behaviour anyone had seen out of their commander, ever.

“You don't think??” replied Bane dryly to the group.

Without another word the troop began a far more sedate pace down the hill towards the harbour. They chatted amongst themselves as various preparations now had to be organised for the pending event. They all looked on in clear amusement as the Duke jump of his horse and walk quickly into the ship.

Finally arriving at the dock Arnold's retinue broke into the familiar days end routine of orders and tasks. The Duke's body guard was dispatched to the Citadel while the his retinue dealt with the constant stream of riders following the Chancellor.

At one point Bane turned to the Priest.

“Can you go and see what is keep the Chancellor. The Viceroy and Prinz have messengers that need his seal on some orders.”

Nodding the Priest headed aboard ship to see what was keeping the Chancellor. Surely the man must be behaving himself he thought...it would be poor form to have the two of them seen together intimately before the marriage.

Jumping down onto the main deck the ship was deathly quite, no noise, no orders being shouted and not a sailor could be seen.

Suddenly a weak cry from a gangway to his right made the Priest spin to see what had caused the sound. From one moment to the next the world tilted. There staggering up onto the deck was Duke Arnold, the Reich's newest Chancellor. Deathly white, blood was pouring from his nose, ears and mouth. The Priest raced over to catch him before he slumped to the deck.

“My lord!! What's happened??!!” Panic caused the Priest's voice to quiver.

“The plague, it's the plague.” Arnold's voice was but a whisper and even those few words caused the Duke to cough up more blood to stain his breast plate.

“Take this...” Arnold reached into his cloak and retrieved a letter. “Give it to Bane...he knows what to do with it...”

Arnold said no more as his head slumped to one side.

“BANE!!!! BANE!!!!”

Sprinting onto the deck the Dread Knight stopped dead in his tracks some ten yards distant. Knowing immediately what he was seeing Bane glanced with alarm at the letter in the blood soaked hand of his master, his voice was calm yet laced with concern.

“Give me the letter Priest, put it on the deck and slide it over.”

Without thinking the Priest prised the letter from Arnold's hand and slid it as best he could towards the Dark Knight.

Kneeling, Bane looked the Priest in eyes. “Get him to the captain quarters and I'll get the Royal surgeon immediately.”

With tears falling from his eyes the Priest managed to move the Duke. In the back ground he could hear the Dread Knight screaming orders to Arnold's retinue...the Chancellor was dying or dead, and the Kaiser must be informed...Bane mounted his horse and without a backward glance headed north west towards Venice, in his hand was a blood stained letter that would potentially change the Reich forever.

[econ21]

Venice, Christmas 1342


Elberhard lay restlessly in the cold bed chamber of the Venetian palace. The refined surroundings could not mask the stench of the water-logged city. But it was not the smell that was keeping the Kaiser awake. It was an eerie sense of foreboding.

Elberhard turned again, looking at the wall - crumbling and unkempt. The Byzantines had not maintained the city. It had only been a frontier settlement to them - too much on the frontline for any highborns to wish to settle there … yet. Elberhard smiled at the thought that he had frustrated any ambitions the Byzantines had of incorporating Venice fully into their Empire.

Then he stopped short. He heard foot steps outside the door … light, female foot steps. He waited for the door to be forced open and was just preparing to say “Not tonight, love, I’m @#$%^&!!!ed”. But the encroachment did not happen. There was just silence.

Elberhard listened. Some sixth sense told him that a woman was still outside his bedroom. Could it be his wife? But such diffidence was certainly not like her…

Elberhard’s skin prickled as the door slowly creaked open. With uncharacteristic reluctance, even fear, he turned over to face the door way. The light was dim, but he could see the door opening.

“Linyeve…” he ventured.

A shadow formed in the entrance, shrouded by the gloom. There was a pause.

“Who’s there?” Elberhard said hesitantly.

The figure started to move towards him, slow and graceful. Rising out of the darkness, he saw a raven haired woman with a haughty bearing. His mind was befuddled and he struggled to put a name to the face. Then it came, accompanied by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Theodora...?”

The Empress Dowager looked down at the Kaiser with dead eyes.

“You did not save him.”

Elberhard could not speak.

“You let him die.”

The injustice of the charge galvanised Elberhard: “It was a vast conspiracy … I did not know. What could I have done?”

“You know now. And yet you do not act. You let him lie unavenged.”

“The conspiracy was too vast … I could not strike or the Reich would have fallen…”

“You dared not even speak out. You traded justice, even your voice, for what? For the loan of a lumpen city!”

Elberhard looked in horror as Theodora raised her hands and advanced towards him. Her hands were covered in a glistening dark liquid, which oozed drops on to the floor.

*****

Elberhard wiped the liquid off him. It was warm and thinner that he expected. It drenched his night gown. He struggled out of the bed and made for his desk. In the darkness, he fumbled to find a flint and then to light a candle.

He looked down at his night shirt. Thank God - it was not blood. It was merely sweat. The relief swept over the Kaiser and he collapsed down on the chair by his desk. Only then, freed from fear, was he aware of how dry his throat was. The decanter on his desk was empty. @#$%^&!!! it - did he have to do everything for himself?

Angrily, he got up and went towards the bathroom. He noticed that a glow of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He thought nothing of it until he heard a faint sound coming from within.

Elberhard stopped sharply - his senses all alert. The sound… it was hard to discern. A laboured sound, as if an old man were fighting for breath. Were those words? Was someone muttering?

Elberhard’s nerves were already frayed, but now they were spent. In a flurry of action, he raced to his discarded clothes and grabbed the swordbelt that lay amidst them. Swiftly he drew his blade and advanced purposefully towards the bathroom.

He kicked open the door and the light temporarily blinded him. He shielded his eyes from the light and looked down. As he focused, he saw the floor was covered in a great pool of blood.

Elberhard uttered an animal cry and raised his sword to strike, and then he saw him … crumpled in the corner, soaked in blood, a man. The man was holding his stomach, and his head was skewed awkwardly at an angle, watching Elberhard’s sword arm poised to strike. Blood and mutilation obscured the man’s face.

Elberhard lowered his sword, staring at the helpless figure in horror and pity.

“Who are you? What happened…”

The man started as if to laugh, then choked on his own blood. His glazed eyes fixed on the Kaiser.

“I am you. … You happened…”

Elberhard could make no sense of the words. Then the wounded man appeared to gain new vitality and started to crawl towards him - one arm outstretched, determinedly reaching for Elberhard, the other still cradling his stomach.

Elberhard instinctively stepped back, out of the man’s reach. The man fell forward, both arms then pushing his prone body up off the floor. In horror, Elberhard saw the man’s intestines spilling out.

The man continued crawling forward, then raised his head and called out: ““I am sorry, your Excellency but honour demands that one of us not leave the field alive.”

*****

Elberhard slammed the bathroom door shut and ran to his bed. He jumped under the bedclothes and pulled them over his head. He listened. No sound came from the bathroom. He waited. Slowly, he lowered the sheets. There was no light under the bathroom door. He looked around - where was his sword? He saw his sword belt lying crumpled amidst his day clothes and started to relax, laughing at his own stupidity. This would be a @#$%^&!!! of a story to tell Linyeve tomorrow. He started to drift away.

A strange sensation woke him. A caressing of his face - almost as if he was being shaved. His face was wet … and the smell, as pungent as Venice but less stale. Something was on top of him. He heard panting. His arms pushed away the thing and he opened his eyes.

There, on top of him, sat Ernest, his father Henry’s old watchdog. Elberhard smiled bemusedly at the dog and was about to pat the gentle creature when he realised they were not alone. There was a presence beside them - sitting next to Elberhard’s bed.

Slowly, Elberhard turned. He saw a leg stretched stiffly out and a walking stick. A long black cloak and a man sat on a seat beside his bed. Again, the fog in Elberhard’s mind struggled to recognise the figure in front of him. The man saw he was being observed and stood up awkwardly, covering his face by with the hood of his black cloak. A claw like hand reached for Ernest’s collar. Elberhard noticed pox marks on the hand and then heard the stranger’s voice shatter the air.

“You think it is all over - this cataclysm that has befallen the Reich?” The stranger laughed - a harsh, humourless laugh. “It has not even begun…”

With that, the enigmatic figure turned and limped towards the door, dutifully followed by Ernst.

Elbehard watched as if transfixed, but as the odd couple left the room, he rose vengefully from the bed - heading again for his sword belt. He drew the blade and picked up speed, opening the door in a rush, sword in hand.

Outside a terrified courtier looked down at the blade levelled at his chest.

“I am sorry to disturb you, your Excellency…” said the petrified young man.

He was holding a silver platter with a parchment on it.

“I have an urgent letter, Sire ... from Duke Arnold in Ragusa…”

[OverKnight]

North of Adana, 1344

Adana had been reclaimed. The Greeks had been destroyed. His old nemesis Nikeforos Argyrus was mouldering in the ground for almost two decades. Despite all this, Matthias had been drawn here, to the mountain glade where his men had been ambushed, and he had been taken. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Looking around he found no evidence of the chaos and blood of that ambush. King Jan, pious man that he was, had buried the dead. A cairn of stones marked their resting place. The Viceroy stood before it, deep in thought. It had been a lifetime ago, he thought, the old Matthias had died that day. The quiet, technocratic Chancellor was gone, reborn as a Zealot, cruel and merciless.

He grunted, he had become prone to hyperbole in his middle years. Yet, there was truth to it. Gazing at the burial ground, he thought, What have I become?

His reverie was disturbed by Adalric, who came running up to him.

"A rider just came from the south my lord. . .terrible news, the Kaiser is dead!"

Matthias gaped at his bodyguard and then swore loudly. This was unexpected. Elberhard and Jan, the two men, not counting the young von Kassel, who had stood with him defiantly against the Greeks in those dark chaotic years just past, were now both dead. Each of them, who had faced so much danger in Outremer, had perished upon their return to Europe. Was that a tragic coincidence or God's judgement on abandoning their mission in the Holy Land?

He shook off the thought, there were now more important tasks at hand than idle woolgathering.

"Saddle my horse, Adalric, we're going back."

Riding south, Matthias left the glade behind him. The past should be left in the past.

Back at the Citadel, Matthias was about to enter his quarters when his Chamberlain stopped him.

"My Lord, I'm glad you got my message. Horrible news. Umm. . .there is a Nun waiting for you in your chambers."

Matthias, already a bit in shock, responded quizzically, "A nun? The repairs on the Chapel are going as quick. . .wait in my chambers? Why did you allow it?"

The man looked at his feet, "She was very. . .convincing my Lord."

The Viceroy's eyes narrowed, "Very well, I'll deal with it."

Entering his chambers, there was indeed a nun, gazing out the window of his, formerly Pelekanos of Akrokos's, study. Matthias was about to speak when the woman turned to face him.

Matthias gasped. She was older, and thin, painfully thin, but it was her.

"My God, Elsebeth."

To be continued.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Matthias's last meeting with Elsebeth and his previous visit to the Glade.

[Cecil XIX]

Prague, 1348

From the Diary of Edmund Becker

It would seem this damnable plague is moving as fast as I had feared. Just two years ago it was limited to only the western parts of Turkish and Russian lands. Now it has spread from Caffa and Sarkel to the Reich’s coastal provinces, as well as Dijon. My only hope is that the plague’s relatively slow progress over land will allow Bohemia a longer reprieve, as all the neighboring territories have so far been spared. Otherwise, this Plague may kill any chance I had of seeing my plan for Bohemia with my mortal eyes. Still, I will persevere. During the cataclysm, when settlements were dwindled down by unrest, and all construction ceased, I managed to keep Bohemia growing while spending more time improving Prague’s infrastructure than all the other settlements of the Reich combined. No matter what, this plague will hurt Prague far less than it will the other cities and castles of the Reich. It could even strengthen Prague’s position relative to the other cities.

[Ferret]

Dieter walked briskly into his chamber and sat on the bed. He had done it. The Ducal crown of Franconia was in the family of the von Hamburgs. Now he could realise his greatest dreams and do what is right for the Franconian people, especially the Saxons, those were the true Franconians, the originals, not the Prussians. He had been toying with the idea of showing this to the world. There were no Prussian territories left anyway so why should it be called Franconia? The Duchy of Saxony would be a far more fitting name, and perhaps it shall become so.

[Northnovas]

Vienna Region 1346

The local noble had opened his estate for the Zirn’s to meet over the Christmas Holiday. The residence was full of activity. The 2nd Austrian Household Army had another victory and was being supplied to defend Vienna. Johann had left but returned to be with his family. A lavish supper had been completed and the guest had excused themselves from the table. Only the Zirn men remained Karl and his sons Johann, Jan and Maximilian. The debate between Karl and Johann developed some hard feelings and had been an issue for the past few months was ready to begin again. It was affecting both men especially Johann and his role in the family and the Duke’s House. This topic was never going to go away till an agreement could be reached. The younger siblings sat by the fireplace poking at the fire. This scene was getting familiar between the two men and the younger boys would try to ignore the debate but Jan was getting more interested in the discussion between his older brother and father. All the sons have the utmost respect for their father and each other.

Karl and Johann conversation was getting more heated then usual so much that the younger siblings turned their attention to the fire and not try look in the direction of the two men. Peter who was outside the room was also puzzled and embarrassed and prevented the help from entering the room to clean up. The Zirn’s would always have a debate but the tone of this one was different then others.

“No, I do not agree father, I can’t see it possible! Can’t you see what is going on? How can I accomplish this it is too much and will not discuss this further?” Johann was very angry with his father for not considering his request and to do his father’s bidding instead. It was not going to happen. He had a vision of the new Reich and the ideas that have been spoken the past few years in the places of learning and the streets.

Karl was getting tired quicker then usual and looking at his son knowing this was going no further tonight. Johann was more on edge then usual maybe it was the last siege of the city? It had a psychological effect on everyone. Karl was going to plea once more…..

“Enough father!” Johann raised his hand in a stopping motion, “I have am tired and will not discuss this anymore. I am retiring for the night.” Johann then left quickly out of the room not looking at his father or brothers and quickly brushing past Peter without a word.

Karl walked over to the fireplace were Jan and Max had been sitting quietly.

“Why is Joe so mad? Did he not get enough to eat?” said the youngest Zirn. Karl looked and smiled at the innocence of his son.

“No don’t be so daft. You are too young to understand these matters of importance just play with your toys. I understand it is not about food” continued Jan.

“Toys, you don’t call those figures of soldier’s on the table toys you play with all the time?!” shot back Max.

Shhhh! enough boys the hour is getting late. Karl sat in the chair and motioned his boys closer. They knew their “debate” was over and sat closer to hear what their father had to say. Karl looked at the boys wondering of the future that lay ahead the privileges of family and its pitfalls.

“Listen boys, Johann is upset because we are having a disagreement. He is young and full of new ideas and energy. There are great plans ahead of him and he is high favour with your Uncle Arnold.”

“The Duke!” exclaimed Max with a smile.

“Yes the Duke, having no children of his own you boys will take an important part in the future of this Duchy. You are all great-grandsons of Kaiser Heinrich and will all have a responsibility in the growth of this House. It is just Johann may have a larger role because he is older and he is seeing things differently. He may have some of the traits of your Uncle in his outlook but there is one trait that this family does have…..” Karl then stared over to the fire he got up and walked over grabbing a log. The boys walked over and picked up some small kindling.

“Loyalty, Trust and Integrity” Karl then reached in and removed a small ember from the hot bed. “You see boys this ember alone losing its glow. That is what happens when you do not work together.” Jan tried to light his stick with the ember but it would not light.
“Do you know why it will not light boys?”

Max reached to touch and quickly pulled his hand away. “Ouch it’s still hot” he quipped shaking his hand to cool his fingers.

Karl chuckled at Max’s wonderment. “Yes it is hot it still has some energy but not enough to light Jan’s little stick. Watch”

Karl then continued placing the log on the glowing embers. It started it ignite and flames grew from the log.

“See how the log ignites all those embers banded together and engulfed the log. That little ember could not light a little stick and on its own it may start off strong but cools off quickly and dies out. Why? Remember, cooperation is the key and utilizing the principles you have learned will keep you strong in adverse situations and overcome your enemies. Remember how important this is for the Austrian House and our family. Don’t forget and we will always remain together.”

Jan looked into the fire and threw his stick into the flames “loyalty, trust, integrity”

Max following his older brother’s lead and threw his stick into the flames “cooperation.”

Karl smiled down at the boys and in his heart he knew the Johann also understood.

Johann got to his room and was relieved to be alone. The room was warm and a glow with the fire roaring in the fireplace. He prepared to retire for the night and got to thinking of his after supper conversation with his father. He poured himself a goblet of wine and standing by the fireplace watching the flames leap from the logs, he stared deeply into the flames thinking; euphony came to him.
Maybe the old man is right I think I am being too short sighted he is always looking ahead. I must look further then my own needs. I was a little harsh and should apologize for what I said we have been arguing far too long. He thought of getting dressed and going back to his father but thought an apology over breakfast Christmas morning would be better when they are both rested.

He commenced his evening prayers and he prayed for his father and retired for the night.

Johann awoke it was Christmas morning, the sun light was penetrating through the window and a fire was roaring in the room the servants had been in to prepare the room for him to start his morning. There was activity outside his room but something did not seem right.

Johann quickly dressed and walked out into the hall there were servants quickly walking down the hall some weeping. “The master is gone.” He heard them crying. Johann quickly went to his father’s quarters.

When he got to the room his father was lying in his bed the priest was there, his mother and brothers weeping. The priest looked over to Johann with a sad look.

“He’s dead!?” Johann was stunned it felt like an out of body experience and only one thought raced in his head I didn’t apologize. The guilt of leaving on bad terms was overwhelming. He fell to his knees. How could he have left his father in that state last night? He prayed

“Forgive me father, I will honour your request.”

Johann composed himself has his mother came over to him. He hugged her and his brothers then thought; he must get back to Ragusa and his Uncle Arnold only the second man he admired after his father. Peter and Ingo arrived to the room. Johann directed his attention to them. Your last act of servitude is to prepare the funeral arrangements for my father.

Both men were heavy with grief has they completed their final orders.

[OverKnight]

The continuation of this story.

Elsebeth calmly surveyed Matthias.

"Yes, it is me. Does my appearance shock you?", she focused on his eyepatch and grey hair and smiled, "I have not aged as gracefully as you."

Matthias grunted, "I was simply taken aback by your unexpected arrival here, particularly in such vestments. The last time I saw you in Rome, you had taken no vows."

Elsebeth cast her eyes down and smoothed her robes.

"Ah, yes, I am a Bride of Christ now. Much has changed in the years since last we met."

Matthias, playing for time, crossed to a sideboard and poured two glasses of wine. Offering her a glass, he spoke, "Indeed, so why have you traveled back east after so many years?"

Taking the glass, she drank deeply, and replied, "I have come back to be closer to Otto. When I heard that you had liberated Adana, I took ship from Ostia. I had been at a small convent there since the fall of Rome."

"You've been in Greek territory all these years?"

She nodded and finished her wine in a gulp.

"Yes, I was in Rome when the Byzantines stormed the city. It was terrible. Fortunately, the Kaiserin Theodora intervened on my behalf, and I was saved the depredations that befell the other inhabitants."

Elsebeth sighed, sinking down into a chair, "Of course, I was not to be completely trusted, Theodora had soured on Germans at that point. There is a tradition in their Empire. Inconvenient nobles are bundled off to isolated monasteries and 'encouraged' to take vows, and so that was my fate."

Matthias sat opposite her, "Why stay there? Why did you leave now?"

Shaking her head, she responded, "I was being watched and. . .before the death of Siegfried, I had become a confidant of Theodora. I. . .advised her on how to skillfully bring her influence to bear on the Electors. I served much the same role as I had with you. Once unification was destroyed, my service was remembered. It saved my life in Rome, but there are few Germans who would shelter me. Some might even seek to do me harm."

Elsebeth paused, glancing up at Matthias, "A woman with power is a rare thing, I felt it wise to seek out another like myself. In hindsight, not my best decision. When Kaiser Elberhard, God rest my nephew's soul, arrived in Italy, it loosened Greek control. I was able to escape when the time came."

Matthias sat in silence, thinking. He spoke after a moment, "Whatever has happened, you are welcome in Adana. We all consorted with the Greeks before the split. I myself spoon fed them Caesarea, much to my later regret. It is good to have you here."

Oddly, his words did not have a calming effect on her. Elsebeth paled at the mention of Caesarea and her grip on the wine glass became white knuckled. She abruptly stood, and crossed to Matthias. She gingerly brushed back some hair from above the patch over his right eye.

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your eye," she said, a tear running down her cheek.

Matthias looked up at her quizzically, "No, not for years. What are you getting at?"

Elsebeth looked miserable, she whispered, "I told her. To gain favor, I told her."

"What?!", asked Matthias again, anger rising in his voice.

Elsebeth drew herself up, regaining the composure and poise of a noblewoman. She swallowed and spoke clearly, "I told the Kaiserin of your plans to hold Adana. To defy the Kaiser and prevent the handover to the Greeks. I told her, and that most likely led to your capture. I am sorry."

Matthias batted her hand away from his head and stood bolt upright. A fire burned in his good eye as he loomed over Elsebeth. Swearing he turned and in a rage swept the contents of the sideboard to the floor. Once, twice, three times he brought his fists down on it. Lowering his head, he drew in a ragged breath.

"Get out," he seethed in a cold voice, not bothering to look at her, "You may stay in Adana, but you will remain out of my sight."

Elsebeth tentatively approached him, arms reaching out to him, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I only wanted to stop you from doing something. . ."

"Get out!", screamed Matthias.

She left, head held high.

Matthias bowed his head after she was gone and prayed, but found no peace. The past could not be left behind. It came back unexpectedly, raw and sharp, carried by dark tidings and unexpected revelations. No matter how many times he thought himself reborn, it would still be there.

[econ21]

Nuremburg, 1346


“What is he like?” inquired the Empress Dowager Linyeve.

Sir Charles de Villiers thought for a moment: “His family are minor nobles from Luxemburg, they have conducted much trade with England. While the chaos in Swabia has been ruinous for the Reich, it has provided opportunities for those who know how to seize them. Armies have many needs and the disruption of regular trade routes provides rich profits for those who can work with unscrupulous generals.”

“Yes, yes - he is rich, I get it. But damn it, Charles, do you think that is all I care about?” reprimanded Linyeve.

Sir Charles raised a sceptical eyebrow and Linyeve scowled at him, although half in jest.

“What is the boy like?” Linyeve insisted.

“Not much to look at, but shows great promise in martial pursuits. He is brave and already has scars to show his martial practice. Involvement in his family’s affairs has given him some skill in organisation. He appears religious and earnest.”

“It sounds as if he would be fine as a soldier, but as a husband?”

“You are asking a soldier, not a woman, your Highness.”

“Bah. Very well - I will meet the boy. And what of you, Sir Charles? What will you do now?”

“My services are no longer required in the Reich, your Highness. I will return to serve our native England - perhaps in the Levant, to liaise between her new Crusader provinces and your Kingdom of Outremer.”

Linyeve smiled: “A most excellent idea, Sir Charles, I wish you well. For my part, Germany is my country now and I will not leave her although I fear I too am surplus to requirements. However, I do still have a young family to raise.”

The Empress Dowager sighed: “Speaking of which, I must break the news to Eue. I thank you for bringing this young man to my attention, Sir Charles, and we will speak again before we depart. But now you must wish me luck.”

*****

“No, I won’t do it!” Eue shouted at her mother. “The boy is a parvenu from a family of war profiteers! An upstart creep, using us to crawl up the greasy pole!”

“And we are using him. Your father had many virtues, but being good with money was not one of them. He has left us virtually penniless and while the Reich is fighting for survival, it has no money to lavish on orphaned royalty. Besides, after Theodora’s stunt, it will be a while before foreign Empress Dowagers become popular causes in the Reich!”

“You want me to marry someone just for their money?” Eue demanded.

“Not just for his money. The boy has great promise - Sir Charles has assured me…”

“Sir Charles!?! Well, why doesn’t Sir Charles damn well marry him then!” Eue stormed.

“Listen, Eue - you must understand your situation. You have gone from being the most sort after woman in the Reich to being a near outcast. The young men who lined up to court you - that Hapsburg boy, Karl Zirn’s eldest - will not look at you now. You must adjust to your new situation in life. It is a man’s world, my dear, and you must find the most promising man to attach yourself too. And in these violent times, it is martial men who offer the most chance of advancement.”

“And boys from filthy rich families?”

“Filthy rich helps.”

[Northnovas]

Ragusa 1346

Johann had found comfortable lodgings a few miles from the Citadel. There was very little movement on the road with the sickness spreading across all of Europe. He was fortunate to get this place whose owner’s were weary of travelers. However, once the young man’s family name was recognize he was given a place to stay.

“Bloody hell” Johann though to himself holding the last message from the Duke.

He had left Vienna to take command of the 1st AHA in Ragusa under the Duke’s orders but it has been one major disappointment. He left with high hopes that he was to get away from his father’s shadow and prove his worth. Unfortunately his father’s death this past year did not leave the two on best of terms. Rather then take command of the 2nd AHA and stay in Vienna he returned to Ragusa as originally ordered. This wandering the countryside with no command was making Joahnn feel very unappreciated.

“Another damn message, what is it this time head for Timbuktu?” Johann thought to himself. He had been alone a lot quite lately. “It is damn maddening back and forth without an Army and because of this sickness I have not even seen Uncle Arnold. He is bloody quarantined.” His only contact with the Duke had been by correspondence and healthy messengers. Only miles apart and they have had no met each other.

Johann opened the seal message

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Johann,
I have new orders you are to return to Vienna to assist in the situation there. The Hungarians have besieged the city and no commander as sallied forth. My situation has improved but there is much sickness here in Ragusa. I feel it would be best for you to return to Vienna and fight the Hungarians.

Uncle Arnold

Johann stared at the message and then thought. He crumbled the paper and threw them into the fireplace. “Sickness, mmph,” thinking, “The Hungarians were father’s enemies not mine. I will make my own. I am heading into Ragusa to command an army... and find out what is going on with Uncle.”

His decision had been made he was continuing on his original orders. Sickness or Venetians he was heading for the Citadel.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Rosenheim, 1350

The journey from Prague to Italy had been a long one for Herrmann Steffen. Having come of age in Nuremburg in 1344, he rushed to the Austrian city to assist in its relief from the Poles. Everything went fine, Edmund Becker had not recommended knighthood, and ever since then he had been cut off from the events that concerned him most; on the long road to Italy.

In all fairness, he probably would have been there by now had it not been for the Plague. The dreaded sickness - which was labelled by some as the Black Death, its casualty count approaching the Byzantine genocide in Italy and the War of Reformation deaths - had knocked out every major center in which Herrmann wanted to resupply. As a result, his party, fueled by Herrmann's paranoia, had resulted to living off the land, which had slowed progress down significantly.

The hamlet of Rosenheim was, in 1300, a thriving market town; a budding center of commerce, situated roughly halfway between Nuremburg and Innsbruck. That was before the bad times. Years of war had whittled down the population, and the Byzantine takeover of the majority of Italy had severely hampered trade. Little by little Rosenheim was abandoned as its residents moved farther into the heart of the Reich or the nearby cities for protection. By the time the Black Death hit, it was a near-ghost town.

Herrmann and his party viewed the town from a nearby hill, surveying for signs of possible activity or sickness. All of them were filthy beyond belief after foraging for food and tromping through the wilderness. One of them still had a dribble of juice, no doubt from undercooked meat, rolling down his chin.

"Okay," he said, "Who do you want to send, Herrmann?" It had been Herrmann's policy to send only one of his retinue down at a time into towns in case of infection.

"Town looks pretty empty to me. Nobody left for the plague to kill. I'll go down myself; I need to ask questions."

A pause. It was highly unlikely that Herrmann's fear of getting sick would take such a 180.

"...but, you're all coming with me. Surround me, facing outward. Nobody is going to touch or breathe on me, I can guarantee that."

With knowing smiles, Herrmann's retinue, accompanied by their leader, packed their things and made their way down into Rosenheim. Walking down the main street, they surveyed their surroundings. The stench of death still lingered in the air, although it was only faint. More overpowering was the feeling of general emptiness. The buildings lining this street and others were meant to be filled.

They weren't.

One man approached the circle of soldiers making their way down the street; an old priest, still clean-shaven on the face but long and wild on the scalp. He stared at them, mumbling, and finally approached them. The wall around Herrmann tightened.

"What brings you lads to Rosenheim? Is this the newest, most powerful army the Kaiser sends to deliver Italy from the Byzantines? Oh, truly, better times have befallen us."

"Relax, old man," Herrmann said from behind the wall. "I am Herrmann Steffen, first of four sons of Duke Lothar Steffen of Bavaria. The young generation is alive and well and ready to continue the fight. Our armies are still large and powerful. My men and I have been called down to Italy to provide additional tactical as well as cavalry support to Count Fredericus Erlach. We require provisions for the journey as towns along the way have been few."

"Provisions?" The old priest laughed. "Hah! You're many years late, lad. Sure, we had lots of provisions - at the turn of the century. Times have gotten worse since then, however."

"As they have for everybody. The Reich still survives."

"The Reich, maybe, but not this town."

"You still live. Tell me, is there anyone who can aid us? Surely those remaining who are not sick would jump at the chance to do business with travelers, as this town used to."

"Well..." The priest scratched his unkempt mane, trying to remember. "The leading trader, Gruber, got old and died a few years ago. He had five sons, but four of them went off to war and couldn't continue the family business. Their youngest, not yet of military age, got sick and passed away. The second leading trader, Demetrius, was robbed and beaten to death during the Cataclysm by a few deserted soldiers mistaking him for a Greek by his name. He had no heirs. The third leading trader simply lost his business and died penniless.

"And then we go to the minor moneymakers of Rosenheim. Two young gentlemen, appropriately named Hans and Dietrich, took their religious differences to the extreme and slaughtered each other. Both had pregnant wives and young sons. Both families starved to death the following winter, unable to provide for themselves. Our butcher, Ruprecht, moved away to Franconia. His brother stayed, trying to maintain the family business for a while. Then of course, he got sick and died.

"We lost our blacksmith to the Plague. Our main merchants, our government officials, our clergy, minus me. Anyone remotely connected with business is either gone or dead. Had you come earlier, I would have been able to direct you to our last remaining farmer in the area, one Jens Heinztelman. He had a nice little crop going in the area, was able to feed himself, his wife, his four kids, and still have some left over to sell to us. Last month he got sick, just him. In a fever-induced madness the second night of his illness, Jens Heintzelmen picked up a hatchet and killed everyone else in the house, screaming loud enough for us in town to hear. By the time I got to his place he was covered in blood, muttering something about demons. Right in front of me he picks up his bloody hatchet and implants it in his neck. Now, of course, his farm is ruined, already being reclaimed by nature.

"Young Steffen, if I could be of any help to you I honestly would. But I've watched the town die around me. There aren't very many of us left, and we pretty much keep to ourselves for fear of getting sick. We fend for ourselves, provide what we can. But can we give enough food for a dozen young men on their way to Italy? No sir, we cannot."

A long, terrible silence followed the close of the priest's speech, one that lasted for over two minutes. Herrmann's protective circle broke apart, each man taking a few steps, surveying the destruction that the priest had just described, now being able to visualize the horrors that must have taken place. Herrmann just stared, taking everything in.

"How far to the nearest town?" he finally asked.

"About fifteen miles to the south," the priest said.

"Get back to your horses." Herrmann turned to his men. "We move out immediately."

Several minutes later they were ready, bidding goodbye to the priest and departing the town of Rosenheim, heading south, wondering if the town fifteen miles away had a similar story to tell, wondering if they had fared any better.

[AussieGiant]

Outside Ragusa 1350

Arnold sat at the Chancellors desk oblivious to the passing of time. The intensity written across his face meant the servants simply left food and drink at a nearby table rather than interrupt their master.

The massive field tent was strewn with maps, recruiting orders and the continued reports of the Black Death and its spread across the known world.

Looking up from his paper's the Duke gazed at the unanswered orders sent to Erlach and von Hapsburg lying on a nearby table.

Snorting with disgust he walked over to the two parchments, picked them up with his Obsidian encased hand, then proceeded to throw them into the blazing hearth which dominated one wall of the Chancellors field office.

Taking his seat again he leaned back in his chair while sipping a goblet of red wine. Some moments past and again the Duke shook his head at some other issue that had come across his mind. This problem had also not gone well over the last few years.

##############################

In the adjacent room the grave yard shift at three o'clock in the morning comprised of just three staff, the Chancellor's private secretary, the head servant and a junior servant.

The junior servant, orderd to constantly peer through a small slit to prempt any of the Chancellors wishes, looked on with growing alarm as the slow groaning of metal on metal reached the ears of his colleagues behind him.

"Is he crushing another goblet? Things must not be going so well;" said the head servant from the back of the room.

"Bloody hell sir, I thought we swapped out the delicate stuff last month;" said the junior servant still looking on with growing alarm through the slit.

The Chancellors private secretary glanced up from his book and look on with some concern at the two servants developing discussion.

"We did!! Is he's crushing one of those new steel goblets we purchased from Venice??!!" the head servant voice was clearly full of disbelief.

Slapping his book shut the private secretary stood up in some alarm.

"Well from here it sure looks like it!!" The whisper from the junior servant peering through the slit was now nearly as loud as a normal speaking voice.

"Will you two stop blathering on and get the Priest!! Maybe the Chancellor is getting better!!?"

The private secretary wondered what a healthy Chancellor would be like. A sick and plagued one was already horrifying enough!!

[AussieGiant]

Above Ragusa 1350

The Chancellors priest sat on his horse looking through an eye glass at the carnage below.

Next to him was Hermann the Corrupt, and even though his title was the most inexplicable to ever grace a member of the Preferati, that in fact was what he was, one of the two current Preferati Cardinal's on earth.

Here at the behest of the Chancellor, one of the Pope's most favoured representatives looked on at the phenomenon Duke Arnold's priest had reported some time ago.

The outnumbered army of the Chancellor was destroying a force twice it's size with some ease. It was certainly chaotic but there was a method to its madness. What was even more startling to the two onlooking clergymen was that the garrison of Ragusa had not even made it to the fight before it was all over.

The reason for this...The Chancellor.

Where ever he rode the Venetian's ran screaming like banshee's who had seen the devil. If one flank was being threatened the Duke would wheel, realign his body guard and charge into the mass of men like the devil incarnate.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Blood, flying apendiges and death would ensue and within minutes the screams of men that had seen walking death would be heard. In fact after a point in the battle the Chancellor's body guard rarely had to trade blows with the enemy. The Venetian's would simply run at the first sight of the Chancellor's approaching regiment and the man they all feared riding at it's head.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“I see what you mean Priest.” The deep voice of the Preferati Cardinal made the Chancellor's priest look up from the gore below.

“Your report also mentioned unnatural physical acts...I don't see any. What has this got to do with his retinue?”

“Well your grace, I'm the only member of the Chancellor's seven strong retinue that I or anyone else for that matter have seen in the last few months...you remember what I said in the report?” The Priest tailed off not wanting to actually speak the words he had written down as a theoretical answer to the issue.

“Yes, yes, I remember your words, that is what worried the Pope so much, and that is why he decided to agree to your masters request and have me meet with Arnold regularly.”

There was a pause as the Chancellor's priest gazed at the Cardinal looking on the battle through his eye glass.

“Ah ha...I see what you mean.”

The priest look back through his eye glass just fast enough to see the Chancellor physically punch his obsidian plate covered hand through a man's shield, grab him by the top of his breast plate, pick him up bodily and impale him on a nearby lance that was broken and protruding from the ground.

“Exactly your grace, that, the aura he projects and the occasional glow from his eye's are the reasons I wrote what I did in the report to you.” The priest looked back at the Preferati Cardinal who had never ceased peering through his eye glass through the entire conversation.

Snapping the eye glass shut in one swift motion the Cardinal finally looked at the Priest and smiled.

“Well then, that's that, he's finished them off. Shall we go down there and meet this master of yours? Lets see if he's covered in blood and gore and sounds like the anti-Christ!!??”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The priest blanched white at the Cardinal's tone and attitude. When he meets the man in person he was sure the cardinal would leave for Jerusalem with a far more concerned look on his face.

[OverKnight]

Adana, 1350

Adana was in the grip of the Black Death. The six year Greek siege had worsened the outbreak, confined quarters and privation had aided the spread of the disease. The Great Keep in the Citadel was now used as a quarantine for the sick and dying, with the troops stationed on the two outermost rings of the Citadel. Despite two sallies which had bloodied them, the Greeks had kept to their siege, they seemed to be in a race with the plague to see who could take Adana first. Or perhaps they were content to sit outside the walls and let pestilence do their work for them.

Matthias had steered clear of the Keep. Barring quarantine and prayer, there was little he could do for the afflicted, the Greeks, though, were another matter. He had spent his time since the last sally rallying the troops and working on a defense in case the Byzantines summoned up enough courage to attack. Grim tidings, however, had brought him from his new quarters at the Gate House of the second ring to the Keep. Despite the pleas of bodyguard, he had entered.

He found her among the dying in the Dining Hall. Elsebeth was lying on a straw pallet. A simple cotton shift had replaced her nun's habit. Matthias could see the black splotches dotting her skin, prevalent around the neck, that gave the disease its name. Her clothing hid the swollen buboes that would have surely formed at armpit and groin. She breathed shallowly, lost in a fever, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a trickle of bloody sputum ran down her chin from the left side of her mouth.

With a groan he sank down beside her. Tremulously he reached out and took her hand, "Elsebeth? I'm so sorry, I just heard."

She opened her eyes, and smiled faintly.

"Pardon me Viceroy, if I do not stand in your presence. I find myself indisposed."

A coughing fit took her and Matthias could not help but recoil as more bloody sputum sprung from her mouth. After it had passed, he dapped at her face with a cloth and gave her some water, cradling her head so that she could drink. Elsebeth gasped in pain as she was moved.

"No apology needed," he belatedly replied, "for anything."

Elsebeth looked up, her eyes clearer, "You should not be here. That is how I was afflicted, tending to the sick."

Matthias silently shook his head, unable to speak. After a moment, his words came roughly, "It is in God's hands. Though. . .His Will has become difficult to discern lately. I had to come when I heard, the last time we spoke, I was harsh, I would not have our last. . ."

He paused.

"Last words?", Elsebeth interjected, her voice weak, "I am dying Matthias, that is evident. You need not dance around it."

He exhaled painfully, a mix of laughter and despair, "Of course. I would not have our last words be in anger. Whatever you told Theodora, you had no idea what it would lead to. I should have realized this. We have all done regretful things in the upheaval around unification. The past is the past."

Elsebeth visibly relaxed, though pain remained in her eyes. Her breathing became shallower.

"I'm glad. . .a request. . .bury me with Otto."

Matthias smiled sadly, "Of course. . .with Otto."

He paused again and then spoke quietly, "You're the only women I ever loved. A bit unfair to say this now, I know, but there it is. I hope that means something to you."

Elsebeth nodded weakly. Another coughing fit took her, she struggled to breath through the agony.

Matthias brought a vial from his belt.

"This will help, Laudanum. It will ease your path."

Gently he helped her drink from vial. Waiting, he held Elsebeth's hand as she began to fade.

"I'm here. I'll be here until the end."

Matthias prayed as the last child of Kaiser Heinrich passed on.

Adalric, the only member of the bodyguard who had dared to enter the Keep, found Matthias hunched over her body.

"My lord, the Greeks are mustering to attack! You are needed at the walls!"

The Viceroy of Outremer raised his head, blackness writ across his features. Standing he grasped the hilt of Iron Faith.

"We shall see if God still favors us. Deploy the men as planned, we have Greeks to kill."

With a sigh, Matthias turned and marched out of the Keep to face the attackers.

[Northnovas]

Zagreb Region 1352

The morning sun shone brightly on his face and he could feel the dew on the grass around him. He slowly pulled himself out from his slumber when he saw a figure of a man crouched in front of him. Startled he spun around and jumped to his feet reaching for his dagger it was not there. Damn it! He thought to himself has he saw the dagger lying on the ground partially covered by his blankets. Looking at the figure he could see he was uniformed and a member of the Reich.

“My lord, Captain Jacob with your orders.” The Captain held out a scrolled document and bowed before Johann. Looking beyond the Captain down the hill was an entourage of Knights on horsed waiting.

“What orders!? From who and what for…” Has he grabbed the document he saw the Chancellor’s Seal. Looking back at the Captain, “How did you find me? There hasn’t been anyone traveling these roads. I have resorted to sleeping out in the country to avoid the sickness and besides its almost impossible now to even find lodgings.”

The Captain smiled “The Reich has her agents still at work it took some time and Duke Arnold held no expense it was a priority. There wasn’t an agent who was not going to report back to the Duke that you could not be found.” The Captain thought it was not much of a noble to be found in this condition but like his unit the young noble was healthy and that was a good thing.

Johann,

I am most annoyed at your disappearance but have trusted it kept you healthy? We are in dire straits, the Hungarians have launched an offensive that has Vienna besieged and even Zagreb in danger.
I am ordering you to Vienna with the plague and all. It has been total incompetence of command with the city defenses. I want that siege broken and safety returned to the city.
Succeed and I will grant you your late father’s lands and title. You will be officially the Count of Zagreb. You will also have to go and relieve that city too!
I am counting on you make haste to Vienna!

Chancellor Arnold Duke of Austria

Johann folded up the document and put it in his breast pocket. Looking at the Captain he ordered “We ride to Vienna!”

[econ21]

Staufen province, 1352


Welf von Luxemburg's ersatz force of militia and professionals was making good time marching on Staufen. But he hurried and chided them on, nonetheless, keen to link up with his Duke and the Swabian Household Army.

The spread of the plague had overturned all of Swabia's plans. So far Welf's force itself had been kept clean but all around it, the Black Death was causing havoc with Swabia's defences. The Teutons that Welf thought he was to be escorting from Frankfurt to Bruges had been infected and so had been ordered towards poxed Magdeburg where a few more sick men would scarcely been noticed.

More importantly, the Swabian Household Army had been contaminated. As a precaution, Duke von Salza and some apparently clean mercenaries had kept themselves aside from the main formation, setting up a separate camp, but keeping close enough for mutual support.

Welf had volunteered to take command of the plague ridden army. He had expected some resistance from Eue, but his wife had merely said indifferently: "But of course you must." The cold demeanour of his young wife drove Welf on and the laggards in his force were lashed by the icy harshness it engendered in their general.

Welf's offer to brave certain infection and personally lead the SHA had not been taken up by the Duke, but regardless, Welf was hurrying to link up with them. The general had been shamed to realise that his force was incapable of even holding the bridge to Frankfurt against a determined French advance. However, the plight of the SHA made him realise he could make a bigger contribution acting in support of the main Swabian force than impotently cowering outside Frankfurt.

As his force approached Staufen, Welf made contact with a patrol from the Citadel:

"Is the Duke camped outside the Citadel? Or has he taken up position on the bridge?" he inquired of the lieutenant of the patrol.

These were the two options that Welf had discussed with the Chancellor's staff. They were both defensive moves, designed to avoid provoking the French armies milling around Metz from marching east. Just as Welf had advised the Chancellor not to try to hold the bridge near Frankfurt, so he had sought to keep the SHA out of reach of their foes. With Swabia's forces so vastly outmatched by the French, her only hope was to avoid conflict on all but the most advantageous terms. She must endure until the Kaiser's army and the Bavarians were able to come riding to her rescue.

"Sire, the Duke has crossed the river and is marching towards Dijon."

"What?" gawped Welf "He is marching into French held territory?! Has he united his force with the Household Army?"

"His mercenaries are forming an advance guard."

Welf bit his tongue - to criticise his Duke in front of one of the Duke's own men would be a gross breach of the protocol and army discipline. But this move by the Duke seemed rash in the extreme. Three full strength French armies stood within range of the SHA's route of advance.

Welf looked up to the heavens, agitated.

"Then we must pray for their success in this bold venture." he said solemnly to the lieutenant.

But inwardly, the young general could not help but fear that he had arrived in Staufen only to witness the destruction of the Swabian Household Army.

[AussieGiant]

1360: A Service Rendered

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showp...&postcount=378

[gibsonsg91921]

1360: In the Middle of Nowhere

Good job, Péter, he thought sarcastically. What did he do during this chancellorship? Fight one battle for Milan? Submit more to his enemy, Lothar?

You are a weak Kaiser. Your legacy will be no different from your brother's.

"That's not true!" Péter shouted at the night. He trembled, realizing he was talking to himself.

My poor brother, he thought. A fool, yet an honest fool.

"He did not deserve to die!"

Hearing the ruckus, Péter's shieldbearer Lars came tumbling into the Imperial tent.

"Sire, are you well?"

"Nay, Lars, I am discontent. I am weary of idleness. For the past twenty years, I have marched back and forth and fought only one battle under the command of the young one, Herrmann Steffen."

"He is a noble man."

"Aye, yet he is still his father's son. I know not if I can trust him as my tribune."

"What do you mean to do?"

"He can go to Swabia as planned. Swabia needs commanders."

"And you?"

"Build me an army. I'm going back to Bavaria."

[Warluster]

Staufen

None knew of the Duke's condition except his most trusted. The city and many remained woefully uninformed of the scene transforming into a problem in the Duke's chambers. A handful of experienced veterans loyal to the Duke stood somberly outside his bedroom door. The Duke lay fast asleep on a bed while a darkness pitched the skies. A doctor sat on a rickety chair next to the Duke and wielded a quill and parchment. A steel clad man stood like a stone tower on the opposite of the bed and wiped a trickle of sweat of the Duke's forehead.

The doctor stood suddenly, and the knight glanced at him. The doctor went outside to the balcony and was joined by the Knight. it was daytime and very hot.
"What's wrong with him?" asked the Knight quietly, as if a dying person lay in the room. The doctor scanned his notes before speaking in a fatherly voice.
"He's sick. Very sick obviously." rumbled the smaller man. He adjusted his glasses and wiped a shade of sweat from the lenses.
"I figured that. Did it affect him in any way?" asked the Knight. The DUke had been riding back from Nuremburg after a short Diet session. He had not being looking forward to returning to his Duchy. it lay in trouble and he had been stuck in Staufen for a long time while his comrades fought. He had suffered a major dose of sun and soon collasped as he reached Staufen.
"It might make no difference... he has been stuck in this city for some time now..." started the Doctor. The Knight thudded a armored hand next to the doctor's.
"Get to it!" he growled threateningly. The doctor looked no different.
"It may have affected his brain. We can't be sure until time tells us." He infomred rushingly. The Knight stared out into the horizon.
"How the hell can time tell us!?" He demanded.
"Goddamit man! It can'rt bloody well do so, its a phrase!" said the doctor angrily, as his face reddended and he seemed to bottle up in anger.
"You're dismissed. I'll pay you later." said the Knight and sat beside the Swabian Duke. This could be dangerous... very dangerous indeed. he couldn't let word get out... If people found out the Duke of Swabia was indeed.. there was no other word for it, mad. The Knight screwed up his face. Then no one would believe a word he said. And he definitely couldn't let the DUke out of control, he was going to have to keep a very close eye on him from now on...