Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[deguerra]

(to be distributed in the County of Bruges)

"AN MEIN VOLK:

People of Bruges,

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

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

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

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

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

Ludwig von Böhmen, Graf von Brugge"

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1332

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

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

As the massive barbarian approached the Duke looked up.

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

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

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

"Here," the Duke handed Grom a letter.

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

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

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

That is all."

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

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

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

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

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1334

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Ramses II CP]

Stettin, 1334

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[OverKnight]

Antioch, 1334

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[econ21]

Somewhere in the Eastern Med, 1334


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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

“Well, I would trust Captain Jan with…”

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

“All right, Mein Herr then.”

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

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

Please, mum, please - stop him!

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

“All right, Mein Herr it is.”

NO! Eue screamed in her head.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do they call you Mein Herr?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you fought a joust?”

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

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

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

“And the fourth joust?” pressed Eue.

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

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

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

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

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

Eue’s eyes were bulging and Mein Herr smiled.

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

Mein Herr remained impassive.

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

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

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

Mein Herr remained impassive.

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

[Ignoramus]

Staufen, 1334

Wolfgang smiled as he went to address his men.

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

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

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

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

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