Re: Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM
Croatia, 1170
Prince Henry walked through the camp at night. The dark air was chill, but the many fires provided convenient refuges of warmth and light during his wanderings.
The crusade was getting off to a slow start. The rearguard, which Duke Otto and Henry commanded, was still near Zagreb - waiting for the arrival of Henry’s son, Hans. Aside from one of the priests going wild and turning heretic, there had been little incident or excitement. It was as if the nearby hostile Venetian and Hungarian armies respected the crusaders zeal. Or more likely, thought Henry cynically, they were only too happy to see the better part of Germany’s armies march away as they, the invaders, marched in.
For if the crusade’s progress had been slow and calm, all hell had broken lose back home. Enemies without count, settlements besieged. And yet the Chancellor and the Emperor seemed to be holding up well enough so far. Henry smiled and shook his head as he recalled the account of his father’s most recent battle: another Pope slain; was there no stopping the man?
Henry looked up and saw a lone figure watching him by a tent. The figure was unarmed and apparently without armour, but was staring boldly at the Prince. Henry was disconcerted by this lack of etiquette - no man was supposed to meet the gaze of the Prince without bowing. Henry raised his shoulders, puffed out his chest and strode towards the figure.
“You there, who are you, Sir?” Henry demanded.
Only then did the lone figure bow, an extravagant low bow, with a flourish of his black cape:
“Dusan Kolar, your Highness. It is an honour to meet you.”
Etiquette re-established, Henry visibly deflated and had to struggle to find something meaningful to say:
“Ahh, good, a local I take it? What brings you here? Come to join the crusade, what? You don’t look much like a soldier or a camp follower. Not one of those monks or fanatics are you?”
The man smiled knowingly:
“The world is too full of monks and fanatics, is it not?”
Henry smiled back, conspiratorially. A year or two, he might have taken umbridge at such a lack of piety. He had prayed by the body of the murdered Pope Gregory, sought to nurture his own faith - to turn from an opportunistic supporter of peace with the Papacy to a position of principled devout support. He had sought to follow Maximillan Mandorf, in the Bavarian’s spiritual conversion. But what had it got him? Trial by inquisition, within months of arranging the burial of Gregory. Even his father Heinrich’s disposal of the latest Pope had stirred little inside Henry. All this, he thought, but dared not speak.
The man was watching Henry intently, as if understanding and then looked up at the stars.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Sire. I respect the spirituality of the monks and the fanatics. But their understanding is so … limited. They speak of heaven and foreswear worldly goods, but their vision is blinkered and their preoccupations are often with things of this earth. A crown, a mitre, an Empire, a Holy City… They do not take the time to stop and look up, to see how small they and their concerns are.”
Henry stared at the man. What the hell was the fellow doing, blathering on like this to him, the Prince? As if I don’t have better things to do! But the man continued, oblivious to the incredulity on Henry’s face:
“But you, your Highness, you are finally free, are you not?”
Free? What on God’s earth was this nutter talking about? Henry stared harshly at the man, who merely registered the Prince’s look and gave another extravagant bow:
“I see I have taken up too much of your time. Until we meet again, your Highness.”
Henry watched the man leave and then heard a commotion in the camp. Guards were rushing around until they spotted the Prince. A Bavarian knight ran forward to Henry and fell onto one knee, whispering in mournful reverence and profound awe:
“Grave news, your Highness: your father has passed away. The Emperor is dead, long live the Emperor!”
Henry felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and took a deep breath. Flustered, he looked around. The camp was awake and humming with excitement. Already he could see Duke Otto rushing to approach him. Henry tried to compose himself, a million things crowding in his mind at once. And yet one thing stood out above the rest: you are finally free, are you not?. Henry turned to the Bavarian knight:
“I have a special duty for you: there was a man here, just now. Dusan… Kolar, I think his name was. Find him and bring him to me. However, hard it is - just do it.”
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