Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[econ21]

The Fox and the Scorpion

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

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

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

The fox was wise and merely laughed:

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

The scorpion was shocked:

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

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

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

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

The scorpion shrugged:

"This is Swabia."

[econ21]

Antioch, 1330


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do I do?" Elberhard asked pitifully.

"You use this."

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

"You use this to end this bloody war."

[FactionHeir]

Lifeline

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

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

~ *** ~

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

~ *** ~

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

~ *** ~

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Somewhere in the Swiss Alps, 1330

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[deguerra]

Ludwig von Böhmen

Somewhere near the Polish-Bohemian Border:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Zim]

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

"Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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