Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Ituralde]

The scruffy man looked expectantly up to his master from his make-shift wooden stool. He despised being here in the countryside, but travelling with Duke Leopold had carried him to far worse places in the past. As a writer it had been hard enough to make a living, so he had used the fact that his father was one of the more influential persons in the Austrian court, to persuade Leopold that he needed a biographer that would mark down all his achievements for the ages to come. It had come as a surprise how happily Leopold had accepted the offer, if he had only committed half the atrocities of his master he would not want any of them to be known. What made his job worse was the fact that Leopold insisted on reading bits of his biography, to find errors in them or to bask in it, he could only guess.


Leopold turned to walk up and down again, still studying the parchment in his hand, before finally turning to the man sitting in front of him. While Leopold had never been interested in reading much, he had obtained a level of literacy that was useful for his everyday affairs in governing the Duchy. He never read for pure enjoyment, but he understood the importance of a legacy. That's why he decided to read what his biographer wrote from time to time, lest the man proclaim him mad or worse to the afterworld.

"'Thus he swung down mightily with his sword, decapitating fifty of the prisoners with his own hands, that the blood flowed in rivers upon the green meadows.'"

Leopold had read a small excerpt aloud and now looked at the man.

"So I personally executed fifty unarmed prisoners? Is that what you are saying?"

The scribe was taken aback by the harshness in his masters words, but tried to keep his composure while answering. "Well, that is what they say at least... " he stammered nervously.

"That is what the say? Well maybe you would not have to rely on hearsay if you hadn't spent the time after the battle, retching your guts out. Personally decapitated. How does that make me look. The Venetians had to be killed, there's no use in letting them go and having to fight them over and over again. I fear that's not something you understand though."

He tossed the piece of parchment away and the scribe hurried to catch the piece, before it drifted into the mud. He should make a habit out of copying the stuff he gave the Duke to read. "I am sorry your Highness. I write down what I see and for those parts I don't see I have to rely on other sources. I will change the passage immediately."

"No, no. Leave it be. It's not that big of a difference anyways, don't you think. I killed them alright."

Leopold waved at the man dismissively, his concentration had already shifted to the rider approaching his little encampment. Building watchtowers, especially overseeing it was an ordous job, but he had to make sure that the border with the Hungarians was secure. And more importantly he had to be seen by the newly claimed Hungarian subjects. While Budapest was under his firm control the peasants living out here seemed to care little who was in charge in the far away city.

The rider halted his horse, jumped down and walked over to Leopold, casting a quick salute. His manner made it clear that he was used to talk to Leopold and although there was quite a difference between them in rank and formalities had to be observed he knew the Duke like few other men did.

"Rainer, what brings you here so early? Surely arranging a marriage should take longer than that, shouldn't it?"

"My lord, I am sorry to be back this early, but... well... Permission to speak honest my Lord?"

Leopold smiled and gave a brief nod: "When have you ever not been honest to me, hm?"

"The truth is, that although you sent me out to arrange a suitor for your daughter, I am afraid there is none who will marry her. Well none that you would approve of that is."

Leopold looked at his retainer in disbelief: "What do you mean man? Speak clearly. I know I refused to hear from all those high-nosed arrogant fools from the court in Vienna, but didn't we settle on young... young what was his name again?"

"Markus, my Lord!"

"Yes, Markus. Decent lad I heard, good family from Friaul. Can hold a sword and has shown some aptitude in the late campaigns. Wasn't he the one to lead that charge against those Croatian rebels? I thought it was settled?"

"Well, you see it's not quite as easy as that, my Lord."

"But of course it's easy. You take them, you marry them. Finished. What's there to worry about. I hear Meckil is a docile young woman, that Markus has nothing to fear of her."

Rainer coughed uneasily: "Well I don't think it's her that he's afraid of." he cast an uneasy glance sideways then rushed on quickly to get it all out: "He is more afraid of you my Lord. The men are talking and word goes round, fact is that most people are afraid of having you as their father-in-law, it gives them nightmares my Lord. That's why no officers have come forward. They know how you fight and they're afraid of ever having to fight you."

Leopold casts an angry towards the scribe, who is still busy gathering up all his papers, before he looks back at Rainer. "So they're afraid, ey? Afraid of me?" He looks at Rainer intently.

"Last I heard they call you 'the Mean' my Lord, no disrespect intended."

Leopold looks past Rainer, his thoughts taking over. "No, no. I'm sure there is no disrespect intended. Leopold the Mean. Well I can't say there's no reason, but war is war and someone has to do it." Leopolds look trails further off.

"Well, if you want I could put a stop to it. They respect you, it's just that tales go round and some things get a little exaggerated in the process."

Leopold focuses once again on Rainer, this time wearing a knowing smile. "No don't. Leopold the Mean, I rather like the sound of that, let's just see what it takes for them to call me the Cruel or the Gruesome shall we." He turns a finger towards the scribe who flinches under the sudden attention. "And you! Be sure to write it all down will you. Just listen to what the people tell you and write it down."

Leopold's smile broadens has he returns his gaze to Rainer. They called him Leopold the Mean now, well he would show them just how mean he could be.

[econ21]

South-east of Antioch, 1200

The Teuton watched a dishevelled and exhausted Duke Ulrich enter the Kaiser’s headquarters.

“Do you think the Kaiser is punishing Swabia?” the Teuton asked.

Kurt Altman, veteran warrior and the Kaiser’s new confidante on military matters, looked thoughtfully at the Teuton, who continued:

“I mean, Duke Ulrich made landfall with over 600 crusaders; he now as only 200. At least Chancellor Otto reinforced him with my regiment. The Kaiser made him attack the Egyptian siege train without reinforcements.”

Kurt laughed at the tall young Rhinelander: “You do not know your Duke, son. No one can “make” him do anything. And the one thing no one need “make” him do is attack the enemy.”

The Teuton smiled. “I suppose you are right. But I cannot help wondering, not after Swabia was so short-changed at the recent Diet. Every House received more provinces, except the Kaiser’s own.”

“The Kaiser has no house now. But still, he would not seek to punish his old friends. No, if the Kaiser is guilty of anything, it is over-optimism. He should have seen the mauling Ulrich took in his first battle and not sent him off in that weakened state for a second one, whatever the Duke’s enthusiasm.”

“And he is guilty of it again, bringing us outside Antioch?” the Teuton probed.

Kurt looked away. It was undeniable. The Kaiser had marched into a lion’s den: three strong Egyptian armies were gathering around Antioch and now were poised to strike. Henry had ordered a band of Turcopoles to interdict supplies going into the great city. It was like kicking a bee’s nest. Soon all three Egyptian armies in the province would soon be roused and marching together on the Kaiser’s position. Kurt spat on the ground. What was the Kaiser thinking?

A tall figure in a black cloak stormed out of the Kaiser’s Headquarters. The hairs on Kurt’s back prickled and his hand reached for his sword hilt. Yet inside, the Kaiser could still be heard talking to Duke Ulrich. Kurt relaxed and Dusan Kolar met his gaze.

“Chivalry gone mad.” the pagan magician exclaimed and then slipped outside into the night.

[FactionHeir]

The sea, 1214

Hans leaned his arms against the massive railing of the holk that was to transport him to Constantinople. It was not going to be a friendly trip to the eastern Christian allies as one would have thought, as the city had recently fallen to the invading Magyar hordes.
Magyar. Barbarians. thought Hans. He remembered only too well his last encounter with these Barabarian turned Christian horse lovers back when he traversed their lands to join the crusade to Jerusalem. He had been travelling with only a small entourage selected by his now close assoiate Adalberth and the Hungarians managed to find their camp after a blunder one of his men made.
It cost him dearly. Even to this date, Hans remembered the young soldiers who fought to the last breath to help him fight a way through the vast lines of spears and horses and reach Byzantine territory safely. Every single one of them died, save Adalberth who was severely wounded, and Hans also took away some marks of battle. Subconsciously, Hans rubbed one of the scars that a bolt inflicted on his arm.
He knew that he couldn't keep thinking back to this grim day where he was responsible for the men he was leading and failed. He had to be optimistic, look towards the future and prepare a battle plan for the upcoming siege of Constantinople. Yet it was difficult. He would face his old foes again, this time with an army of his own, but would he succeed? He didn't know, but deep inside, he could feel a burning hatred towards these Hungarians.
They weren't fit to breathe the same air as honest Germans and one day the empire would make them its servants...one day. But until then, much would have to be done. He thought back to the days in the outremer, crusading with his father and uncles, the first victory he savored and how he felt ill afterwards spilling so much blood. It was nothing but heathen blood, he corrected himself, but he knew it was blood nonetheless, and spilling it was an offence.
Some less pious men would say that it is necessary and it was done to establish god's peace, but he was not sure whether this was true. He had left not a single survivor, not a single prisoner then, but at his second battle north of Adana, Hans had more mercy with the heathens. He actually captured over three hundred of them, yet all for naught. The Turks would not pay and he knew he could not let them live. Not after what they had done to his men. His soldiers who lost a father, brother or friend would not look kindly upon a man who lets a heathen go so he could string his bow anew and spit more venom.
He looked away when they were executed and had one of his subordinates give the order to perform the grisly work, for he could not let the dark curse Altman spoke of get the better of him. That was before the conversation at Acre. Yet even then Hans knew that being chivalrous would not be easy yet would be necessary. And now ... Hans looked over to the bear of a man to his left. Dirk Freihafen was his name. Once his father's loyal bodyguard and now his own.
Hans wondered what compelled him to join him on this quest or even for the rest of his life. The man had not spoken much and was one of few words even when spoken to. A mysterium and maybe better so. Talkative subordinates would only spell doom for their masters he noted, but could he be sure of Dirk's loyalty without knowing anything about him?
He was about to find out. "Dirk" Hans opened, getting the man's attention. "How is it you joined me?" but there came no answer, just a grimace. "And why is it that you and Altman seemed rather...spooked at the docks?" Another grimace. Hans was determined to get his answers and so he dug further, "What did you mean when you said that someone woke up with a headache after giving me this...grail?" At the mention of grail, Dirk seemed somewhat uneasy and slowly, with Hans' gaze prodding him, began to speak.
"Well, your ... highness, let's just say I had to do something necessary so the empire would not succumb to the corruption of its emperor." Hans, becoming both nervous and curious certainly was not satisfied with that answer, and inquired "And why would I not have you hung for saying such things about my father?" Dirk did not seem all too disturbed by Hans' threat, thinking that he was but a young and inexperienced man, yet replied in earnest "You know of Kolar?" Hans nodded "Altman said he was controlling the emperor and corrupting his personality to take Jerusalem for himself. The emperor has recently acted increasingly strange and improper"
Hans raised an eyebrow. That cannot be true can it? If this is true, we shall set sail and return immediately so I can see my father and slay this snake. "Nnn..no, you must not your highness, it must be taken far away from him, it must not go back!" Dirk exclaimed, showing signs of worry on his rugged face. "And why is that? Do you not know that this chalice is the holy grail the books of old tell about? How can such a holy object be abused for an act this perverse?" Hans grew restless. Could this grail really be corrupted and even change him for the worse after all he had been through? "This magician has powers my lord, only after your father had the chalice in his posession did he grow darker!"
"If that is the case, maybe we should throw it overboard now." Hans noted. "I ...I don't know if that would be wise young sir. Maybe it was only the magicians influence?" Hans had to agree. he did not know what this object was capable of and how it could be abused, but throwing a holy object of Christianity overboard certainly could be a sin Slowly Hans nodded, "Maybe...for now I shall hold onto it and see what happens, but I still do not know how it got into your posession" Dirk became somewhat embarassed at the last few words and quietly responded how he had drugged the teuton guarding the chalice using Otto's wine and stole it the very night to bring it to Acre.
Hans was surprised. How could Otto know about all this and not tell me? Am I really this unwanted as Altman said, being passed over at all times such as when Henry chose his heir or when he chose the Duke of Swabia? He had not told him too much about his ambitions either. "This story Altman spoke of, of this dark curse on the family, is it true? Am I as accursed as my father and grandfather? Am I destined to be like them? Or will I break the curse but be forgotten, passed over, ignored?" Dirk did not know what to say. In fact, he was not sure if anything he said would or could be positive and whether this young noble, who suddenly seemed much more dangerous than he had initially estimated would have his head for an inappropriate remark.
Nevertheless, he knew he had to say something, and maybe Hans would appreciate an honest opinion? "Uhh... well that was Altman who said it. I don't know much about politics but if you asked him..." "I want to know what you think." Hans quickly countered. "Well...um... I think Altman is probably right. He is much closer to the Duke of Kassel and your father than I am, and he knows many things....I mean he even planned this heist" Hans nodded again, confirmed in what he had thought. "Then maybe I will need to prove that I can both break the curse and not be forgotten", speaking more to himself than to Dirk, "maybe, if I can take Constantinople back, it is time for me to enter politics proper. May this be a test of both my faith and my fate."

~~~

Later that night, as Hans lay on his makeshift bed, he wondered to himself whether it was not his father and his legacy that was to blame but himself. Had he not alienated the other nobles by his actions? Afterall, he disobeyed his dear uncle Leopold by joining him at Budapest and 'abducting' the teutons that were supposed to escort him to his father's crusading army and then shows disloyalty towards Leopold by leaving him during the night when he had told him he would stay in the empire proper. He had also not supported Hümmel actively during the diet and voted against him as chancellor and even been more of a rogue player in Swabian politics, in an effort to stay more neutral, for better or worse. He had acted as if he was the prince and not Jobst and dreamed of becoming emperor one day, he thought. In those few years however, he had managed to alienate Leopold, his house and the crusaders, and he could feel the disdain the older men felt for him when he finally joined them, even though they were rather merry after the victory against the heathen army. Before the taking of Acre, he could feel how they had all allied against him and it was only for Otto's kindness that he was allowed to take Acre while Otto battled the hordes to the south. Maybe it was time to set things right...to atone for his young pride and hunger for adventure. Maybe...it was time he apologized and worked towards the future of the empire...not as emperor, but maybe as chancellor? It would certainly be a test of whether anyone still had some faith in him or not. But what if they don't? he prodded himself. Then I will just have to do what I feel is in the empire's best interest and be a good servant and just have to hope I do break this curse Altman spoke of. The curse. Maybe he should also write his father about it? Confront him? Hans pondered. The time for that was maybe not yet. But can I really leave this thought to plague me, to influence me and to eat away at my soul? Infused with new will, Hans jumped out of bed and walked over to the small desk. It would be a long night...

[FactionHeir]

Western coast of Smyrna, Winter 1219

Hans had planned to disembark this year still off Constantinople so he could engage the Hungarians forces guarding it. That plan had been delayed by his father's orders to have his fleet wait off Iraklion for the merchant expedition to join his. He shook his head at this move. How could my father delay a mission of such importance only to merge these fleets? Either was large enough to not have to fear the pirates that scoured these waters and the Byzantine navy that was guarding the passages around Greece would come to our aid if someone were so bold as to attack us.

It would certainly delay his plans and he could only hope that the Byzantines were on schedule, for when he docked near Smyrna a week back, he had forged a new plan with the Imperial allies for taking back Constantinople. A cunning plan indeed.

Hans had sent messengers to spread rumors that a large Imperial fleet was about to land south of Constantinople to retake the city for Christendom, hoping to prompt the Hungarians to leave their newly acquired city in a less defended state while diverted their attention southwards to fend off the invasion force. In the meantime, the Byzantines would lurk in the mountains east of Constantinople and watch the Magyar movements, striking if everything went like plan, waiting if the Hungarians were to hold on to their city so they could engage together with Hans' force. Truly a loss-loss situation for the poor barbarians, Hans smirked, finally spotting the sails of the small merchant fleet that was to merge with his, and giving orders to sail north for Constantinople.

Shores of Constantinople, Spring 1220

It seemed quite like his plan worked out. Before his fleet even disembarked onto the coast, the lookout had called down that some Hungarian banners could be spotted on a hill overlooking the coast. Good, they seem to think they can make me turn back by showing their presence. They will be disappointed, Hans thought to himself. But this also meant that the Byzantines had probably taken Constantinople or were at least laying siege to it. Hans was not too happy about this. He had hoped to claim Constantinople and give it back to the Byzantines as a show of good faith, but this would no longer be possible. However, his allies would still be just as glad about regaining their former capital, for it was only because of Hans' plan that they achieved this. Now it would be time for Hans to keep to the second part of his plan: To drive the barbarians back into their lands for good. Although the enemy host was considerably larger and better trained, he would not show cowardice and turn back now, not after reading Leopold's letter.

OOC note: It is assumed that in 1220, Hans fleet already moved north to stop just off the coast of Constantinople near the Hungarian army.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Damascus, 1228

The Second Holy Crusade had arrived in Outremer to much cheering and jubiliation. After months of hellish walking, riding, and sailing the Imperial Crusaders had finally arrived at Damascus and salvation. However, there was a slight complication:

Three large armies of the same people that the Crusade was designed to protect the Holy Land against had arrived at Damascus first.

And so, the Crusading Army was camped outside of the city, debating and deliberating on what to do. Finally, Duke Leopold, leader of the Crusade, had gotten fed up and decided to take on all three armies in the field. There was some grumbling among the soldiers, but debate was finished. Come the next morning, they would all take the field in a battle against the Horse Lords.

Conrad Salier was not particularly enthused about fighting so soon, although he would never say it out loud to the Kaiser's brother. There were other, more personal reasons why he had joined the Crusade in the first place and did desire to see certain things completed before he died in battle. He sat beside one of the many campfires burning quietly in the night, comtemplating. While his chances of entering Heaven would certainly be improved by dying while on Crusade against an unholy enemy, he wished to stick around to complete a little bit more of God's Work before he went. It would be a sleepless night for Conrad and, most likely, many others in the camp.

Leopold interrupted Conrad's meditations by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Conrad. All officers are meeting at the Command Tent for a briefing about tomorrow." Conrad nodded and departed for the Command Tent, which was the largest tent and located a few hundred yards away. When he arrived, the tent was half-full with the high-rankers in the Army. Conrad took a seat in the front (log stumps had been set up as chairs) with the other Generals. He watched in silence as the tent began to fill up.

Finally, Leopold arrived, in conversation with a big man whom Conrad had never seen before. This man was tall, clearly German, wearing a suit of battle-armor that was incredibly scratched and dented. Clearly, this man had seen some fights.

Leopold took a seat beside Karl Zirn, a fellow Austrian. The other man continued standing in front of the crowd and waited for quiet. Since this was a military crowd, he quickly received it, and began to speak.

"Welcome to Outremer, gentlemen!" he began. Conrad thought he detected a small amount of sarcasm. "You gave up the plentiful green fields of Europe and your families up for this; this stinking heap of desert that would be completely worthless if it wasn't for the fact that several important religions started here. Aren't you glad of the choice you made?"

Silence. The man chuckled.

"Sorry, forgot who was talking to. You guys are Crusaders, you still hold the higher ideals and everything. Well, a few months out here will take care of that. Heh. You're probably wondering who I am, why I'm here. My name is Kurt Altman. Some of you older folks may recognize me as part of the Kaiser's bodyguard. I'm here to teach you how to fight who you're going to fight, and I don't mean the Egyptians either."

Ah, now it made sense. Essentially this meeting was a combat seminar. A veteran who had survived the first battle with the Horse Lords was passing on information.

"These people fight hard, gentlemen," Kurt continued. "Kaiser Henry thought that it would be prudent if I imparted some of my knowledge of their forces to you officers.

"Most of you fought, what, mainly infantry back in Europe? Italians, Poles, Hungarians, the French, that lot? I guarantee you you're going to be wishing that you're fighting those guys again after your first battle against the Horse Lords. They have no infantry. None." A brief murmur went through the crowd at this. Altman acted like he didn't notice. "Instead, they focus on foot archers, horse archers, and heavy, heavy cavalry. Cavalry where one single horseman can mow down dozens if not hundreds of crossbowmen. Do not question me on this, for I have seen it happen."

Kurt's smile was now long gone. "European tactics aren't going to work out here. Your crossbows are going to have to do a lot of work in chasing their missile cavalry down with arrows. The infantry is going to have to stand firm and take whatever's delivered to them, for that's the only way the Horse Lords are going to be stopped. And our cavalry, well... I feel your pain. You guys are going to have to be everywhere. Chances are good that if you survive, you're going to be either wounded or dying of exhaustion."

The cavalrymen in the audience, Conrad included, shuddered a bit. Meanwhile, a young sergeant in the back of the tent raised his hand.

"Sir, with all due respect, what makes these people different? Every nation we fight uses different tactics, and we've adjusted to all of them. Why should we be more scared of these people?"

Kurt's gaze now turned to stone. It was impossible to believe that he had been smiling, even sarcastically, a few minutes ago. In silence, he took out a wrinkled piece of parchment and began to read it in a monotone.

"Baghdad

They are here. They have come from the East, where the ground was flatter and lands more open. We thought the desert and our walls would stop them. They did not.

They have taken the city through strange rocket launchers and sophisticated siege equipment. We placed our best infantry on the walls, knowing they had little good foot soldiers, but it had no effect. And then the gate burst, and the soldiers in front of it were subject to a terrible thunder, simply trampled alive, the Horse Lords not even bothering to hack them down.

A more efficient taking of the city I have never seen or heard of. A more efficient sacking of the city I have never seen or heard of. Baghdad is no longer recognizable. Everything of moderate worth has been looted; half of the city's buildings are destroyed. The stench of blood and sight of corpses rendered unrecognizable are now common.

There is no hope of renewal, even for those who survive. Our city is now just a giant slum. There is no hope. The only good thing that comes out of this is that the whirlwind of destruction is quickly gone, off to ravage another target. There is no hope."

Kurt sighed. "This was taken from a Mongol soldier during Kaiser Henry's battle with them. That Mongol most likely took it from the inhabitant of Baghdad who wrote the entry. It is a miracle that I am reading it to you now, for the original, non-translated copy was so bloodstained that it was almost illegible.

"Why, you ask?" Kurt pointed to the diary entry. "This is why. The fact that Kaiser Henry got into open-field combat with these people with a numerical advantage and lost his entire army is why. Most of you came here with the purpose of salvation in mind, correct? Good. Use it. You need to use whatever you can to gain an advantage when fighting these people. Killing the Horse Lords is your new career, gentlemen, secondary to everything else. You had better get good at it."

Kurt departed, and slowly the occupants of the tent shuffled out. Conrad thought to himself: Well, if anyone was going to get any sleep this night, after that little speech, nobody is now. Tomorrow would be an interesting day, to say the least.

[Ituralde]

Constantinople

"So the Dukes were already resenting, the young fool was about to give up, and the support was wavering. And then he marches back into the Diet, backs up his choice and promises, promises that he will do anything it takes to let people go there? To support this forlorn cause in the future? You said you had this man in your hand!"

Theodora taps her chin thoughtfully: "It's not as easy as you make it look, father. I have full control over the situation, I assure you. He listens to me, he listens well. But you can't forget that he is an Emperor. He has visions, and plans of his own."

"Well, see to it that they are replaced by yours!" Emperor Comenus snaps indignantly, before snorting in contempt. How could the fool dare to let himself be called an Emperor.

"They will be in time. But until then I need Outremere as the carrot on a stick to guide him. To give him hope. He truly believes that he can make something grand and right now he believes Outremere to be part of this."

The Emperor shakes his head: "This place has to go, you know it. We can't be surrounded by those Christians!"

Theodora smiles slightly: "Oh it will go, father. Eventually it'll cease to exist. The rift between the Crusaders and the Reich is quite deep already. Just trust your daughter, will you? Besides, you should be happy, those vile Mongols give the Empire quite a beating. You would not want to be facing them along with the Turks, now would you?"

Smiling ever broader Empress Theodora leaves her father standing alone in the vast chamber.
She would help build an Empire, no matter which faith!

[OverKnight]

Rome, 1290

His head hurt. The room was no longer spinning, but his mouth was dry and gritty as if he was still on campaign in Anatolia.

"This why I don't drink, usually", croaked the Chancellor of the Reich to himself.

The door to his bed chamber opened, letting in a blinding, to his eyes, stream of light. A figure stood in the door way.

"Leave me in peace," Matthias rasped, "If there are letters, dump them in the pile with the others."

The figure spoke with a familiar voice, "This is not a way for a Chancellor to be conducting himself. Did you learn nothing from me?"

Matthias snorted ruefully, "Ah. . .Elsebeth. I fear you catch me at a. . .poor moment."

The Queen sat on the edge of the bed and surveyed him with a critical eye. The years had been kinder to her than Matthias. The travails of two terms had left him prematurely grey, the unrelenting sun of many campaigns in Outremer had etched lines into his face, and the marks of war had left scars on his body.

Elsebeth gently moved a stray lock of hair from Matthias's face and spoke, "I have heard of your recent outbursts. It was so unlike you, I was concerned. You have ruled with subtlety and vision, until now, what has changed?"

Matthias closed his eyes and sighed, "I have sought to rebuild the Reich in my tenure. I have tried to rule impartially, mostly, and avoid the dramatics of the previous Chancellors. I thought I had succeeded, but. . ."

"But what? Matthias, you have done well. You were the youngest man to be elected Chancellor, much less for two terms. There has been little complaint from the Electors."

Matthias grimaced and sat up to look Elsebeth in the face. He swayed a bit but spoke in steady voice.

"This isn't about me, so much. Yes, the books are balanced, cities have been conquered, old enemies defeated, but there's something lacking. Lately, I've gotten the feeling that I haven't restored the Reich, but merely delayed the inevitable rot."

Elsebeth raised an eyebrow, "Rot? The Empire is more powerful than ever. There are no enemies that can match us. Even the Mongols, whose Empire stretches to Cathay, were defeated."

"No, you're right, but I'm not talking about external enemies. A rot from the inside. We have become complacent and decadent. The Electors seem resigned to squabble about family politics or points of order. Each House seems cut off from the other, turned inward on their own pet causes. Their seems to be no esprit de corps that marked, for example, the First Crusade. The Kaiser. . .the Kaiser provides no focus. He seems to be disinterested in ruling, leaving many tasks to me, the Prinz, or his wife."

Elsebeth smiled slyly, "And you object to this? An active Kaiser can have an interesting effect on the course of the Reich."

Matthias shook his head, "Yes, but the Kaiser should be the hub of the wheel, with the houses as the spokes, and the lords of the realm as the rim. Without any of these components, the wheel collapses, the wagon does not move forward. The Reich isn't moving forward. I studied the proceedings of the Diet before running for Chancellor. The dynamic tension between the Houses and the Kaiser, and the Diet and Chancellor that fueled our progress, that elevated us above the simple monarchies of our neighbors, now seems lacking."

Elsebeth pursed her lips, "The past often seems more ideal than the present Matthias. Memories and histories are kind to our ancestors. Nostalgia can be a trap."

Matthias frowned, "Perhaps. I worry though. I worry that for all I have done, all I have tried to do, it won't be enough. Siegfried will come along and take what I have done, what I have accomplished, and fritter it away. And the Electors, focused on their petty chimeras, won't lift a finger."

Elsebeth chuckled and patted the Chancellor's hand. "Ah, so it is not so much the great tide of history that worries you, but the fact that you will have to give up the power you have held for so long."

The Chancellor grunted and his eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps, but there's more to it than that. Empires rise and Empires fall. I'd rather my term be remembered as the start of a golden age, rather than the last glimmer of light before the darkness."

Elsebeth rose and moved to the door.

"Such grim thoughts for a young man. You do have a few years left in power. Try to enjoy them. And if this is the last glimmer the light, it should be savored, not wasted hung over in the dark."

The Queen paused before leaving the room, her face in profile in the light streaming in behind her.

"Of course, Matthias, this doesn't have to be your last term. A two thirds majority in the Diet would ensure that. Think about it."

She left him to his thoughts.

[Warluster]

The surrounding Dijon, 1292 AD

Athalwolf had his leg propped up on a rock, he let his hair blow in the breeze. His sweat was cooled as a eagle circled overhead, cawing. He was sitting upon the top of a large mountain, a rocky road layed down behind him. At the bottom of it rested his soldiers.

He was standing in the same spot, where his father some 120 Years earlier had stood and talked with Lukas about his happiness of being made Count of Dijon. The place where he devoted half his life to, where he time after time beat back the French. And now the Empire was clawing at the Western Borders of France, the lands of Dijon were beggining to drain of the blood so mercilessly spilt for many,many years.

Athalfwolf sorely wished he now lived in those times, The Diet was more established, there was no Outremer, the lands beyond theres were a threat. Armies were setting out to conquer new places.

Now they lived in a world where one wrong move, all goes wrong. Where they own foreign lands where the very pages of history do not record. They fought with Horse Lords from far away lands, they owned old English Settlements, once even lands in Northern Scotland! He buried his face in his hands, all these things about his Father, being Kaiser, the Defender of Dijon, once even the last general in Swabia! Why had he not travelled the waters and joined the sun burtn lands of Outremer! Not this politicial madhouse.

"Do not worry young Athalwolf." spoke a voice from behind, he started and jumped up from his rock, straying close to the edge. Athalwolf drew his sword, the ring echoing.
"Who goes there?" cried he, more as a warning then quedtion. The man came into the light, revealing his face. It was warm and kind. Athalwolf dropped his sword.
"Would you really kill a old friend of your Fathers?" asked Lukas. He was aged, at least 70 Years old now and showing signs of stress afther the case some years before. He sat, drinking in the sight of the lands before him. Athalwolf stood, and Lukas fought the tears as the exact same image was burnt in his mind from so many years before.
"I have come, my friend, to warn you." muttered Lukas, making sure they were indeed alone. Athalwolf was still staring at Dijon.
"You may know, from your familys past, of a man called Dieter." He nodded, to show he understood. Lukas pressed on, "I believe he was a traitor to your father. He bretrayed him in the thick forests north of Frankfurt, and set up a ambush for him in the plains north of Metz. he is a traitor, and wanted the Kaiser dead. And there is a chance,my friend, you may become the next in line." said Lukas, eyeing him to see his reaction. Athalwolf though, had merely moved his gaze to Staufen.
"Dieter wants you dead. And he is hunting you down." finished Lukas simply, relief etched over his face. he stood next to Athalwolf now, looking at metz instead and murmuring "Ah, the fields of Sigismund..."

"So Dieter, is coming for me, and will kill me for being a von Salza?" asked Athalwolf, his voice strained.
"Yes, that is the basic idea." eplied Lukas, watching the Fields of France beyond the rivers of Dijon.
"Well I will wait for the bastard, won't I? Meanwhile, I shall go to Spain, Yes, I shall propose iot to the Diet..." thought Athalwolf seamlessly. Lukas sighed and closed his eyes.
"I am honored to meet you, Knight to Knight Count Athalwolf. You are everything your Father was, and I know you shall be more. King of COnquering Armies I say. For now, I say goodbye cruel world." And with that, Lukas jumped.

Athalwolf didn't stop him, he knew he meant that the whole time. He knew Lukas owed one last favor to the man he worshipped. And now, he was to join him on his Masters beloved fields. Athalwolf let a few tears follow Lukas, then turned and walk back to camp.

The Second Lot were going.

[Privateerkev]

Antioch 1293

King Jan was back in the library. It was late and near closing time. The robed figure was off around a corner at a table. Far enough to not be noticed but close enough to hear the King talk to Gunther about the legislation he was planning for the next Diet.

"It looks like things are looking good for this CA! I've got the Kaiser's blessing. Arnold is very much for it. Lothar approves of it. I haven't told Ansehelm yet but he is open to talking about it once I get it more polished up which is much more than I expected from him. Since this so obviously favors the Dukes, I just need to get them on board. They'll hopefully make their own people support it. Outremer will become the responsibility of the whole Reich. The Dukes will become real partners in the project. As it should be. Without them, its just a matter of time before people call for us to end this experiment and come home."

The robed figure grew more alarmed at what he was hearing. He thought to himself, I knew my boss was a fool to ignore my warnings about King Jan. If the Dukes are truly this close to getting on board with his plan, our plans are in peril. I need to report in at once! The man got up to leave. As he rounded the corner, he ran straight into Max who stood squarely in his way.

"Ah, our friend took the bait", the robed figure heard behind him. He turned and saw the King standing there with Gunther at his side. He was trapped. The King looked at him and said, "its time you and I had a little chat." The three men led the robed figure around the library and down into the basement. They all arrived in a small room with a table and two chairs. The King sat in one chair and motioned for the robed man to sit in the other. Gunther stood by the door and leaned against it. Max stood behind the King.

"First off, whats your name son?", the King started off.

"R-R-r-robert!", the spy rambled off. He was new and inexperienced. He was caught off-guard with the turn of events.

"Ok, Robert. Here is what is going to happen. I'm going to explain what I know. Then your going to fill me in on what I don't know. Then, your going to leave here alive. Clear?", the King said evenly and with confidence.

"Um...I don't know anything. I was just sitting at the table reading. You must have me mixed up with someone else.", Robert stammered off.

"I'm disappointed in you Robert. Larisa implied you guys were incompetent but I didn't think they would send someone so inexperienced to trail me. It was probably because I am not considered to be much of a threat. Elberhard and Matthias probably have the experienced spies trailing them. Its nice to be underestimated... ," said Jan as he watched carefully for Robert's reaction.

"I don't know anyone named Larisa," shot back Robert but his face had quickly betrayed surprise at the mention of a name he recognized.

"Yes, Larisa. Her and I had a little talk. She told me much about your group. She told me that King Salier was poisoned and your group had a role in it. She knew because she worked for you. She also told me that your group had targeted Hans next but she tipped him off. Since she told me, I have been digging into things. I have researched into Salier's last battle and he behaved quite strangely as a general before he fell. I had Salier's body exhumed in order to look for poison but I couldn't find a trace. I was however able to start noticing that I have been followed where ever I go. So, here we are." The King concluded the story and did not add the rest. But he thought to himself, At the end of that meeting Larisa offered to whore herself to me but got a pistol pointed at her for her troubles. She was partly responsible for Salier's death and I should have killed her then and there. But, that would have been no way to honor Salier's name. Maybe by using her information to catch his killers, I can bring some good out of her evil past.

Through all of this, Robert was silent. "I don't know what your talking about," he said indignantly.

Jan sighed and reached into his cloak. He pulled out a box and set it on the table. He opened the box and Robert saw a bramble of twigs that formed a circle. Being Catholic, Robert knew what he was looking at. "Are you a religious man?", the King asked.

"Um...I haven't been to church in years," stammered Robert as Jan handed the Crown of Thorns off to Max.

"God remembers you," Jan said as Max walked over to Robert. "This belonged to my predecessor. Salier was a good and decent man. I believe you know something about his murder. Salier was also a very holy man. He was better than you or I. But, we get chances in life to atone. To repent our sins. Jesus died for our sins.", with that, Max set the Crown upon Robert's head. Robert just sat there as still as a statue.

Robert thought all about what Jan had just said to him. All about his life. All about what sat on his head. His head itched yet he dared not move. Robert silently started to cry. Tears ran down his cheeks. Jan nodded to Max who carefully took the Crown off of Roberts head and put it back in the box. Robert told the King everything he knew which wasn't much. But, he did give the King the address and details of the den that he reported to.

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

A few days later

Jan walked down the streets of Antioch with Max, Gunther, and a company of Teutonic Knights. Jan didn't know how much the criminal gang had infiltrated Imperial bureaucracy and didn't want to tip them off by calling up army units. Jan and the Teutonic Knights in this area had a long past and they gladly formed up when Max went to the Order House in Aleppo with the King's request.

The large burly man guarding the door to the gang's den heard the knocks come in the right place in the right order. He opened the door and was knocked aside by large Teutonic Knights.

The same older man from before was sitting in the den counting stacks of money per usual. He heard the knocks and thought that Robert had finally come to report in. Good, I was wondering when he would finally show up. He's late and I think I'll dock him some pay.

In the den, at least a dozen men were sitting at tables drinking and smoking hashish. As they heard the commotion up front, they all clambered up from their tables. The knights ran down the hallway and entered the den. The front rank kneeled and put their shields out as the second rank leveled crossbows over their shoulders. Bolts shot out and found their marks. Five of the criminals fell instantly. As the second rank reloaded, the front rank got up and moved forward as one, slicing through their adversaries. Through the commotion, the older man ran to the secret exit as his men bought him a few precious seconds. He opened the spot in the wall that was really a door and came face to face with the King of Outremer. After taking heavy losses and seeing they were surrounded, the rest of the criminals dropped their weapons. The King looked at the older man and said, "please have a seat. We are going to have a little chat."

The older man gave up. Gunther and Max appeared from behind the King and expertly frisked the older gentleman. After being frisked, he turned around and sat at the table. The King took a seat across from him with Max and Gunther standing behind him. The knights gathered their prisoners and marched them out leaving the four men alone to talk.

"Whats your name?", asked the King. He was met with silence. "Are you a religious man?", the King asked as he took out the box from his cloak.

Finally the older man spoke. "Save your piety for someone who gives a damn Jan. You have my attention. What do you want?"

Jan looked at the man sizing him up. "Well, the Lord cares about you regardless of how you feel. But, your right, lets get to the point. I want information on your group's involvement with the murder of King Salier. You might not care about what God thinks. And you might be gambling that I won't kill you since you undoubtedly know my reputation. But, I imagine that you don't want to spend your remaining years in a cell. If you tell me what you know, and leave Outremer for good, you will walk out of here. If you don't, I will see that you rot in prison for the rest of your life for your crimes. Don't test me on this. Salier was like a father to me."

The older man sat and thought for a moment. "Very well, it seems you have me in a tight spot my King. We're a cell. There are many of us and we're set up to be independent of the other cells. We deal in criminal rackets and what-not. We were tapped to provide support in Antioch for whatever the higher-ups have planned. Having you followed was one example. We also followed Salier. We helped trail him and set up logistical support for a couple of attempts on his life. But, both attacks on him occurred outside of Antioch so we had nothing to do with it beyond what information we gathered here. In the meantime, we busy ourselves with the usual criminal enterprises."

The King sat back as he took everything in. "So, if your all cells, who is coordinating all of this?"

The older man shrugged. "I don't know. Thats why they use cells. The Holy Roman Empire has many enemies. Take your pick. Sure, I know some rumors here and there but I don't really know what is going on."

Jan replied, "Like what rumors? Surely you report your information to someone."

"We use dead-drops. I don't know who acts on our information. I've only heard a name. Supposedly he is one of the people coordinating things in Outremer but I don't think he is in charge. He used to be on Kaiser Henry's staff and they had a falling out," said the older man calmly.

The King stared right at the older man and said with a deadly seriousness, "give me the name."

The older man replied, "Dusan."

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Dusan used with Econ's permission.

[econ21]

A Dialogue on the Great Schism, Acre, 1294


“I had a very interesting meeting with Empress Theodora.” declared Linyeve.

“Did you love? How nice.” said Elberhard, distractedly.

“Yes, there is more to her than meets the eye. You could say we hit it off.”

Elberhard looked up, surprised, from his reading (Linyeve noticed with condescension that it was a book with very large illustrations of knights and fantastical creatures).

“Theodora is very knowledgable about scripture, you know.” Linyeve said.

“Oh really, how nice.” said Elberhard, flatly, returning to his book.

“Yes, she told me all about the Orthodox church. And, to be honest, I think she knew more about the Catholic church than I do.”

“Shocking.” said Elberhard. Then he glanced up, with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you have a Catholic church in England? Or do you still dance naked around big @#$%^&!!!ing stones with blue woad painted on your faces?”

Linyeve playfully whacked the Prinz over the ears with her fan: “No, we only dance naked around big stones on the Winter Solstice. And it’s not blue woad, it’s just that it's @#$%^&!!!ing freezing!” she said, playing along.

Elberhard roared with laughter.

“But seriously…” Linyeve persisted

Elberhard groaned, then yawned, scratched his crotch and looked around in an exagerated manner for a means of escape.

Linyeve sat down on the Prinz’s lap. He smiled and she traced a finger over his lips. She had his complete attention.

“You do know about the Great Schism of 1054, don’t you?” Linyeve asked.

“Err, sure, let me see … wasn’t that when Pope Gregory and the Kaiser had a falling out?”

“No, you dolt! That was the Investiture Crisis! That came later.” scolded Linyeve.

“Oh, ok then. No, I don’t have a @#$%^&!!!ing idea what the @#$%^&!!! you are talking about then.” said Elberhard angrily.

“Well, if you are sitting comfortably, then I will begin…” said Linyeve.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East-West_Schism

*****

“Wake up, you @#$%^&!!!” chided Linyeve.

“Sorry, love, did I nod off?” said Elberhard sheepishly. “You were saying …?”

“Yes, I was saying how ridiculous it is that the Catholic Church remains split from the Orthodox Church. Almost nothing divides us!”

“Almost nothing…?” probed Elberhard sceptically.

“Did you hear anything I said? How long were you out for?” snapped Linyeve. “All that would be required for the Catholic and Orthodox Churches to reunite would be two small things.”

Elberhard stirred in his chair, his wife still draped over his lap. “Do they, err, have to be two small things?” he queried lewdly, staring at his wife’s bosom.

Linyeve elbowed him in the ribs and straightened herself haughtily. “First, get rid of that Filoque clause from the Nicocene Creed.”

“Get rid of the what now?” said Elberhard dumbly.

“You know, the part that says “We believe in the Holy Spirit ... who proceeds from the Father and the Son”. All we have to do is drop the "and the Son” bit."

“@#$%^&!!!, woman you are doing my head in! Three words? - we have to drop three words? Fine, sounds like @#$%^&!!!ing angels on a pin head to me. What’s the other thing?”

“Admit that the Pope is not infallible. The Orthodox Church may accept him as “First Among Equals” and may even accept Rome as a final court of appeal. But The Patriarch of Constantinople must be allowed to be “First Among Equals in the East” A unified Church must be a like a college, not a monolith”.

“Sounds reasonable.” nodded Elberhard, embracing Linyeve. “Now, how’s about the two of us make our own little union…?”

Linyeve rolled her eyes and looked at the clock - 10 minutes of semi-intelligent conversation; that had to be a record.

[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.

[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.

[Cecil XIX]

Edmund Becker scoffed as he thought to himself.

"How appropriate that the Illuminati cannot even hold their own without resorting to deceit. If Matthias doesn't show up soon they won't even be able to take the von Kastiliens with them."

He glanced at the sun, still raising in the air.

"At least there's chance they'll finish before evening."

[AussieGiant]

Trent 1380 AD

At the perimeter of Arnold's regiment there is a commotion that finally draws the attention of the Duke. As usual crossbow bolts fly through the air making most sane men cover themselves with their shields before luck would take their lives.

On the other hand, Arnold, without thought of the danger, turns to face the interruption as he speaks calmly to one of the multitude of heralds that are keeping the Republican General's in constant contact with each other.

As he turns he notices from the corner of his eye that the Great Cross has finally appeared.

There is a pause while a huge cheers erupts from the Republican forces at its appearance.

The Viceroy has finally arrived with the crack Crusader troops from Outremer Arnold thought. That £$%£ing Christ for that!!

Turning to his grizzled Military Engineer Sigfreid; “Siggy, send my compliments to the Viceroy!! Tell him to get a bloody move on!!”

With that Arnold's Military Engineer gallops off towards the Crusader forces now entering the field.

The Duke steps over the now dead messenger who reported the news of Bernhard Steffen and Count Ruppel's death. Upon seeing the livery of Hapsburg at the edge of his retinue Arnold raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Let him through!! I want to hear what The Scum has to say!”

Finally with a series of pushes and shoves a Hapsburg messenger is escorted to Duke Arnold.

It is clear that he is exhausted, and he is covered in mud.

"I apologise for mein appearence, Duke Arnold, but it was imperative for me not to be spotted by the Imperials.

I have a message from von Hapsburg for you."

The man opens a scroll and begins to read:

“I am not a fool to fight for a losing side with no prospect of reward should we overcome our obstacles and be victorious. The Kaiser is a liar, and I will not draw steel for such a treacherous dog. I will defect to you as soon as we attack again(this turn). I just ask that you pardon mein harsh words against Duke Arnold and de Cervole, confirm mein family's rights to their estates, and give me governorship of Tyrolia when this bloody battle is done. As a show of faith, I and mein knights will run through Tancred's crossbowmen, and mein crossbowmen and spearmen will dispatch von Tyrolia and von Salza before joining you.

Maximilian von Hapsburg.”

Behind Arnold his retinue minus Grom and Siegfried, can be seen fanning out either side of their master.

“Hmmm, an interesting proposition you have there my boy...it seems Hapsburg has finally seen some sense after all.”

Pausing the Duke stares into space for a few unnerving minutes. In that time another hail of bolts land around his position making the messenger whimper in response to the torment he's being put though.

Finally the Duke speak: “I tell you what, I can't make up my mind about this because Hapsburg is such a low life scum sucking sack of treacherous merde. So what I'm going to do is let Bane here make the decision.”

Without moving the Duke speaks to his Dread Knight.

“What do you think Bane, what's your opinion on this proposition?”

In a sudden and inhumanly fast action the Dread Knights sword flashes across Arnold's front.

The fine spray of blood misting in the air is the only indication that something has happened.

Another moment passes then finally, with a slow and appalling motion the assembled onlookers realise that the head of the messenger has been cut off. As if on command the head and body of the Hapsburg messenger take separate paths and fall to the ground at the feet of the Dread Duke.

Silence.

Arnold wipes a few spots of blood from his face. He then turns back to the assembled heralds who are, to a man, rooted to the spots they were standing in when the slaughter occurred.

Speaking to Bane over his should the Duke calmly says:

“Bane, I wish you wouldn't that so close to me all the time!!! Being sprayed with blood DOESN'T help me do my job.

Never the less, I like OUR response, so send that messenger back as best you can and lets get on with the job shall we!!?

An hour later:

A small object comes sailing over the Republican lines and lands in the mud between the two lines. It does not take Hapsburg long to recognise it as his messenger's head.

Apparently the Republicans did not like the offer.

[gibsonsg91921]

EDIT: not canon

[Ramses II CP]

Sic Semper Tyrannus

In front of him Fritz could see a more than a dozen companies of German soldiers battling valiantly for possession of the field near Trent. Hundreds of men were already dead as the nobles of the Reich contended against one another. After this day the Empire would never be the same, no matter which side won. And now his force, the largest Imperial army, was ready to throw it's weight into the battle. Fritz opened his mouth to give the order, and, just for a second, hesitated...

This was the moment. The true test. Over the next few hours the destiny of the Reich would be decided for the forseeable future, and it was Fritz von Kastilien whose hand once again gripped the tiller to turn the Empire itself! Not Ansehelm, the favored son, certain to inherit a Duchy on no merit but birth order. Nor was it Siegfried, fate's fortunate fool, who never fell off a horse without hitting a pot of gold and a soft blanket on the way to the ground. Nor even Peter, who combined the traits of both his brothers, certain and destined by being born third to become a soldier with little hope of power, but also in the right place at the right time to sieze power and become not only Prinz, but eventually Kaiser of the Reich.

No, it was the second son. The reserve. Not allowed to spend his youth training full time as a soldier, like Peter, nor foppishly running from one carefree pursuit to the next like Siegfried. Always held back, waiting in safety like a coward, just in case Ansehelm should fall, but never to be shown the reigns of true power either. Fritz's life had been one of buried rage and subsumed fury in the face of an incomprehensible fate. When his father had taken up religion late in life, as his strength began to fail, Fritz had taken the lesson to heart and even, in his youth, considered running off to join a monastic order. In the end all his faith had availed Gunther little in the face of age, and on his death Fritz abandoned all thought of a life devoted to the church. Their answers were for the next life, and gave little solace in this one.

As the instant drew on in his mind Fritz thought back to his childhood. His earliest memories were of chasing after Ansehelm, wearing his older brother's discarded clothes, begging to be admitted to the older boy's games. Ever the target of their pranks and cruel jokes, while little Peter was protected and watched by their Mother, until Siegfried replaced him as youngest at least. His recollection grew specific.

A moment when he was eight. He and Peter were just pretending to duel with simple wooden toys, but when Fritz struck his own head and drew blood, earning the first of the many scars his life would see, father was enraged. He lectured Fritz endlessly on his duties as second son, vowing that if Fritz could not be careful a nanny would be assigned to follow him about. Meanwhile Peter stood in the courtyard coverd in dirt and bruises, twirling his sword and grinning ear to ear at the thought of Fritz being chased by some old ninny.

A year later Fritz's first real sword, a notched and battered hand me down from Ansehelm. Peter, who was just barely a year younger, got a gleaming new sword the very same day! Father's comment was 'Can't leave my little soldier out,' as he fondly rubbed Peter's head.

Forward three years, and little Siegfried was belting out some fool song directly at Fritz while he struggled to study economic reports hastily copied from those Gunther and his advisors were even now discussing with Ansehelm. Whenever Ansehelm said something clever one of father's men would slip him a candy from his pocket while father pretended not to notice. Once in a great while Gunther would glance up to ensure Fritz was paying attention, but otherwise the men ignored him. As soon as father shifted position, Fritz turned and whispered a demand that Siegfried be silent, but the boy just made a face and cupped his hands around his mouth while he carried on. Rage burned on Fritz's face as he dashed over and struck his little brother in the stomach, to quiet him. Siegfried cried out petulantly, as Peter never would have, and father looked up in annoyance. As soon as he grasped the situation he took Fritz brutally by the hair and drug him back to his chair, shoving the illegible reports into his hands. Meanwhile out of the corner of his helplessly tearing eyes Fritz saw father's advisor slipping Siegfried one of the candies out of his pocket to quiet him.

A year later and Ansehelm was already riding with parties of soldiers to collect brigands, or joining father as he toured the countryside enforcing order. Fritz was never invited on these trips, though soon rough and tumble Peter would begin to join them. The excuse was that someone must stay behind and manage the castle. Fritz would hear that excuse for years yet, but listening to the muttered conversations between his father and the officers of his court Fritz often also heard the words 'insurance policy,' and eventually realized it referred to him.

At last when he matured Fritz was, on rare occassions, given the chance to ride to battle, but always under another's care. Never given a command himself. Never placed in the way of danger. Still an insurance policy. Thus his frustration only grew as the years went by, boiling forth in infrequent and sometimes bloody episodes of brawling and wenching in taverns. As his life neared it's peaceful end, Gunther turned increasingly away from practical concerns and bent his will more and more to improving his reputation as an honorable man. It looked like an absurd sham to Fritz, the cruel and cunning man whose youthful exploits Fritz had studied now took to releasing prisoners taken fairly in battle and showing a soft hand in dispensing justice. One part of his father's life had been a lie, and Fritz could not help but think it was this late blooming honor.

In short order then father died, leaving the Duchy of Franconia to Ansehelm. Just a few years later Kaiser Jobst was killed by a freakish catapult shot, and Fritz's unimaginably lucky, weak stomached, and carefree younger brother Siegfried was vaulted into the Emperor's seat. Peter was already a renowned general in the Reich, clearly a rising star in the field of battle and destined for greatness. And what was Fritz? Still just second son? Still following other men's lead in battle. Oh Ansehelm had promised him one of the minor Counties, and Fritz didn't doubt he would deliver in his own time, but what had Fritz done to earn it?

Into this gap stepped Lothar Steffen, Voice of the Illuminati. He seemed to know Fritz's heart better even than Fritz's own brothers. Fritz's desperate need to find meaning and order, to bring glory and triumph to the Reich and thus to himself. Lothar vowed that the Illuminati did not measure a man on the order of his birth or the luck of his stars, but by the power of his mind and the strength of his contributions to the Empire. Would Fritz join? In those glorious moments he might well have sold his soul for just the chance!

And so it was that Fritz von Kastilien, second son, destined ever to follow, became one of the secret leaders of the Reich. Reading over the Order's documents Fritz came to realize that much of Ansehelm's frustration in life came at the hands of the Illuminati, and his respect for them grew. For a time the Reich itself grew and clearly took profit from the actions of the Illuminati, but Kaiser Siegfried, Fritz's little brother, was increasingly distant from Fritz and indeed from the Reich itself. He was the first Kaiser in living memory to keep a fool always at his side, and much mocked for it. He took to wearing an absurd set of ornamental armour, and let his royal escort deal with many of the minor matters of state. At last, however, the personal accolades began to roll in as Fritz won success in the field and the political aims of the Order were achieved, but what little sentiment Fritz had for his brothers vanished.

Kaiser Siegfried, increasingly out of touch since his assumption of the throne, began to display truly unusual behavior only after spending extensive time in Byzantium. It was at this point that Fritz himself proposed to the Illuminati that a movement be created to oppose the Kaiser's will, though the purpose was to be deceptive. The Illuminati were meant to take the lead in quelling the resistance they had themselves created, thus winning favor with the Kaiser. Subsequent events made that impossible.

Fritz would eventually be passed over in the appointment of a Ducal heir to Franconia in favor of his brother, Peter, but by that point it meant far less to him than it once would have. Peter was a worthy candidate to stand in the open channels of power, but Fritz would still be one of the hands behind the Reich.

Then, near disaster! Fritz went out tavern wenching one night, though it was already rarely his custom, and told a certain young lass a rather fanciful tale of his membership in a secret order. Lothar discovered that the woman was an accomplished agent who manipulated her knowledge into a working relationship with the Order. Fritz swore off of drinking and never broke his vow. He very nearly swore off women as well, and never found himself able to trust such a creature again. His life would be wifeless and childless; all his love he would give to the Reich herself.

When Siegfried and his foreign Empress began to conspire to reshape the world, Fritz and both of his other brothers, who knew all too well Siegfried's flippant nature, stood against that act. The Illuminati too recognized the danger. They struggled to win influence with the Kaiser and break him away from Theodora, but unsuccessfully. Subsequently the Kaiser proposed a series of incredible territorial transfers to tie the Reich to the Byzantines, demanding support for them from the Illuminati; Fritz vocally expressed his disgust for his birth brother and Kaiser with his Brothers in the Order, whom he now felt closer to than his family. As Siegfried withdrew deeper and deeper into seclusion and his plans spun ever greater madness the Illuminati began to plot ways to usurp his power.

Fritz spoke openly, passionately, heatedly in the Diet about his brother, and was expelled for it. He struggled to reach the distant boy he'd once knew, and even loved, but the situation in the Reich was spinning out of control. The appointment of Emperess Theodora as co-Steward of the Reich was a hideous act of betrayal. Giving away the territories in Outremer started a furor amongst the Illuminati brothers, and indeed, all the Reich. The proposal of religious unification was the last straw. Surely God himself would oppose such a compromise of holy, sacred doctrine! A great man and powerful speaker, Father Luther, arose in this time to proclaim exactly that, and won Fritz's unwavering support. Fritz became fervently religious and tried to convince Peter that God himself opposed Siegfried. Peter was dismissive of the religious aspect, but happy to capitalize on a power base to oppose Siegfried; thus despite his disinterest matters of religion Peter declared himself the Voice of the Lutherans. That title in the hands of his brother, who had never espoused much faith, would always rankle Fritz.

Desperate measures were proposed amongst the Illuminati Brotherhood to halt the destruction of the Empire and her religion. Fritz himself was the first to, tentatively, propose regicide. It pained him to think of little Siegfried, the thoughtlessly happy boy he remembered so fondly from his own childhood, pouring out his life under an assassin's blade, but it caused him more pain and anger to watch his nation, his faith, and his whole people torn apart by an ironically named Unification plan.

Eventually, after much debate, a plan was put in place to hire mercenaries and have them ambush the Kaiser as he travelled through Bavaria. Most of the details were handled by Lothar, but Fritz compiled and assessed a listing of the available mercenary companies of Europe seeking just the right mix of loyalty to coin, gullibility, and disposability. The contacts he made in the mercenary industry would serve him well in the Cataclysmic years to come, though few would truly understand how he came by them. The black act was done. Guilt and hope gnawed at Fritz together, and for weeks he suffered blinding rage induced headaches. Would the Order's plan protect the Reich from Byzantium's blatant power grab? Alas, it was not to be. Most horrific and frustrating of all, Siegfried's death seemed purposeless. Elberhard the blowhard carried on with placing the Reich at the mercy of a nation that had manipulated Siegfried into a unimaginably poor arrangement, even to some extent expanded the trust placed in Theodora.

A plan was concocted to launch a war with Byzantium, but their illicit capture of Matthias Steffen destroyed that hope. With Fritz's none too subtle urging Peter came close to launching that war in the name of Lutherism, but failed and was imprisoned by the Reich. At last the Order voted to cause a state of war to come into being between the Papacy and the Reich, the resultant excommunication being virtually certain to break the mad unification scheme. As it happened the sack of Constantinople and the casting down of Pope Abbate were nearly simultaneous, and while they ended the political threat to the Reich, they also helped plunge it deep into the chaos of the Cataclysm when Jan von Hamburg returned to the Empire from Outremer and called up a sectarian army to oppose the Lutheran aims in Swabia. Fritz proposed that the Order try to stabilize what parts of the Empire each individual member could reach, and be prepared to pick up the pieces afterward to forge a new Reich.

The years of the Cataclysm were dark. Ansehelm died early on, victim of his youngest sibling's wild abuse of power, and Peter became Duke of Franconia in addition to declaring himself Prinz. Killing the Kaiser, his own brother, was not Fritz's blackest act during those years, though Fritz would forever feel that stain on his soul and see Siegfried's silly, childish grin in his dreams. Still, it was done in the name of God and the Reich! The name of carving order out of chaos, and preserving the light of civilization! The untamed world would not serve mankind except at the point of a sword, and once the political power of the brotherhood became less meaningful Fritz discovered a passion and ability for war. He began a vicious and very personal struggle with the Danish people that ruined his once beloved County, but ended with the utter destruction of their nation.

As the seemingly endless struggle against overwhelming odds and complete chaos dragged on and on Fritz dismissed politics from his mind. He gradually lost contact with the other members of the Illuminati. Fritz watched with interest Peter's ascent to power, on the basis of his more open but less effective resistance to their brother Siegfried's proposals, as carried forward by Elberhard. Prinz Peter, ever ready to call on Lutheran support, but hardly ever seen actually attending a Lutheran church. By the time the Cataclysm came to an end, Peter was fully established as Prinz and Fritz was a well known general. Shortly before the Diet reconvened and order returned to the Reich Lothar contacted Fritz to make certain he was still committed to the ideals of the Illuminati. There could be no question, Fritz was eager to return to power and restore the Reich to it's rightful place in the world.

Afterward, the Order asked him to reconcile with Elberhard and attempt to win influence with the Emperor. Fritz made the attempt, but when it failed he was secretly glad. Needling Elberhard and constantly recalling to him his failures provided Fritz with immense pleasure and a small measure of revenge for Elberhard following through with Siegfried's mad plans despite his death, though it never made up for the pain of Siegfried's murder. Elberhard's death gave Fritz no satisfaction, as he'd secretly hoped to someday face the man on the field of battle. Peter's choice of Dieter Bresch to be Duke of Franconia while he became Kaiser rankled Fritz little, as he no longer sought the open reigns of power, but despite his vow to restore Franconia to it's pre-Cataclysm prosperity Bresch did little but lay about Madgeburg seeing off Polish sieges. Year after year Fritz toiled in the field with armies of ill equipped militia while his Duke sat behind high walls with hardy professional soldiers. The uneven distribution of resources against successes began to grate, especially when Duke Dieter so loudly prattled on about his honor and his reverence for so called Saint Jan.

Fritz played many roles as the years wore on, protecting the Illuminati, running for Chancellor as a stalking horse for the Grand Master, and finally, at the moment of his destiny, taking on the Chancellorship himself to prepare the Reich for the final assumption of Illuminati power. When the time came for the Illuminati to declare themselves, Fritz was ready. While the Kaiser was relatively quiet in the Diet Fritz spoke violently and made bloodthirsty calls for vengeance, trying to drive the men who rejected those ideas towards the Order. The extermination of Stockholm and the utter destruction of the Danes was meant to goad the chivalrous subjects of the Reich to reject the power of Peter the Tyrant and his brother's bloody ways. It was a sacrifice, a sacrifice both of Danish lives and of Fritz's already black reputation, but if it put even one more hand to sword for the Illuminati, then it was a price Fritz was prepared to pay.

Abruptly snapping back to himself, Fritz grimly looked back up at the struggling Imperial soldiers who were expecting his aid. Time to settle all those old accounts. Time to tear down the old system of tyranny and inequality. In the Republic there would be no second sons. With an angry twist to his mouth he looked towards his gunners and shouted, 'Fire!'

[GeneralHankerchief]

Trent, 1380

You are Péter von Kastilien, son of Günther, brother of Ansehelm, Siegfried, and Fritz, Holy Roman Emperor. All your life, you have fought for what you believed was right. Sure, some of these opinions were in contrast with the majority’s belief, such as your arguments against Outremer when the land was in its heyday, or in conflict with each other at points, but you always did the best you could. More importantly, you never abandoned your main priorities: The advancement of your family, your House, and your Reich.

You watched as the country around you grew and shrank; all the while you were fighting to keep it great, against the Russians, Poles, Hungarians, and whoever else was stupid enough to invade Imperial territory. You wish it could always have been that simple. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The tragedy and the complexity probably began when your brother Siegfried became Kaiser through a freak accident. Everything that man ever did was controversial and contested, beginning with his very ascension to the throne. You supported him, as a good Franconian and loving brother would naturally do. Unfortunately, Siegfried did not reciprocate, as he became infatuated with the Byzantines in general and Theodora specifically.

He proposed a hare-brained reunification plan that most of the Diet, you included, saw could be catastrophic. Ansehelm and Fritz, your two older siblings, agreed with the majority opinion and did your very best to convince Siegfried to listen to reason. Instead he banned you and made Fritz apologize before he let the man back in. As reunification plans went on and the overall outcome became more and more clear, you and several people realized that they had to take things into your own hands. Deciding that a blunt, direct approach was always effective, you took a large army and drove right for Constantinople. You failed, but Tancred von Tyrolia succeeded. Reunification, however, still dragged on. And then Siegfried died, killed by the Illuminati.

You now had a new passion in life. For whatever Siegfried had done wrong, he did not deserve to die for it. You were certain that your brothers stood with you on this. Fritz did, as did Ansehelm, at least for a little while before he perished. And so, you began your slow rise to power, again killing the foreign enemies and helping restructure the Reich, but never taking that main goal out of your mind. Neither did Fritz.

It all came to a head after the new evidence surfaced that Lothar, in fact, did order Siegfried to die. Finally, you had an excuse to act. Finally, there was general outrage. You and Fritz, by this time Chancellor and pretty much second-in-command to you, despite Dieter von Kassel’s official title, declared Lothar and the rest of the Illuminati outlaws. The time had come to strike.

Instead, the Illuminati turned it all around, blaming you and Fritz for causing tyranny, blasting Fritz’s over-the-top antics as proof, declaring that the Kaisership over and proclaiming the Reich a Republic. Amazingly, it worked, with most of the defectors citing Fritz’s menacing demeanor as the chief reason why they did what they did. Still, you never told him to cool it down, to watch what he was saying. Instead, you were encouraged by his behavior and also ramped up yours. Fritz, of course, took it in stride.

You found yourself at Trent, finally ready to shape the Reich according to your beliefs, finally ready to rid the world of the evil Illuminati, after all these years. But not all went well. During the first critical moment, with the red flag waving, Max Zirn switched sides and annihilated Ehrhart Ruppel’s flank. You were surprised at this, for treachery was always in the back of your mind, but not too concerned. After all, Fritz, your brother, your last brother alive, your comrade until the end, was up and in a good position to correct the mistake. He would take up the flank and prevent the east from closing in.

With that in mind, you ordered an all-out charge for the center. It would be the glorious charge you had always hoped for, somehow righting the world. But it was different. Your horsemen were depleted, having participated in two other charges and undergoing heavy missile fire, and Tancred was off commanding in the west. Still you charged, running through Arnold’s crossbowmen whose only objective seemed to be to stand in your way. Still you charged, despite Arnold activating his dismounted Gothic Knights. Still you charged, killing quite a few of the armored terrors, because you knew that righteousness was on your side. Of course you would break through.

But what you didn’t notice is that you were the only spot where you were breaking through. To the immediate west, Jan Zirn and his horsemen were giving the same treatment to your remaining Dismounted Imperial Knights, shattering them without any thought to the cost. To the north, Dieter Bresch was closing in around you. Not betraying you, as you suspected, for the black flag was up, but trying to get a shot in at Arnold. And to the east, Ludwig von Bohmen and Max Zirn were closing in, unchecked, ready to roll over your flank.

You had put everything into the frontal attack, trusting that the flank would be safe. And it wasn’t, for here the Republicans came, the crossbowmen and Gothic Knights just holding on long enough for help to come. And then you looked north while setting up for another charge, with the handful of men left, and you realized why in an instant.

You saw Fritz’s cavalry charging at Dieter’s unsuspecting crossbowmen, killing them. You saw Fritz’s gunners getting their last shots in at Dieter’s infantry before the flank closed up. You saw Fritz’s infantry simply standing there, doing nothing as the flank closed around them.

In an instant, you realized it all. Everything. The black flag. It was all a setup, everything. Fritz had always been one of them, playing an elaborate deception game all of these years. He had dawdled getting to the battlefield, maybe not so much as to hire as many mercenaries as he could, but maybe to ensure that he was in the rear and hitting you the hardest.

How long? How long had the Illuminati been plotting this? Since Lothar revealed himself as a Brother? Since Fritz became Chancellor? Since you became Kaiser? Did they rig the Chancellor election to make it look like an Illuminati loss? Were they the ones who had brought the prisoner the new information? Was Fritz involved in the Siegfried assassination plot? Was he the one that proposed it?

In the end, it didn’t matter how they did it, only that they did do it. You realized that you had lost the war just by fighting it in the first place.

As the rest of the horsemen go down around you, you realize it’s just you left. You try to get out, but cannot. Dieter Bresch’s men are all around you, pressed by Max, Ludwig, and of course, Fritz, closing in. You have nowhere left to go.

In the distance, you see a new body of cavalry coming in, charging right for you. Their lances are drawn, ready to destroy what was left of the breakthrough. As the charge draws closer, you see that it is led by a figure, armored in black obsidian as well as the usual metal. The Grand Master has come to finish the job.

You wait for the inevitable lance blow to come, to finish the Illuminati’s plan. For while Arnold is about to end your physical life, it’s already over. Fritz von Kastilien has killed you.