Re: The Ultimate Betrayal
Milan, 1364
The city gate was well-guarded by the militia. Within the walls, and without, there was little security beyond private guards. Milan, like so many other cities in the Reich, controlled its population by policing choke-points such as this one. Unsavory activity was easy to commit, so long as you did not have to pass through such a place. Yet there was no other way out of the city. A tunnel could be dug, but that required time and men. He did not have the former and could not risk the latter.
Behind him, the mercenary Stoyan stood, staring at the sky, oblivious to all else around him. The man was almost certainly insane. Thus, the satchel of documents that the man carried with him. The perfect evidence to incriminate the Duke of Bavaria. Documents signed in his own hand, sealed with his own ring, and bearing words too damning to be ignored.
He walked back to Jacobus, and whispered into his ear. “The city gate is ahead and guarded, and we must pass through. Beyond is your freedom, but you must do exactly as I say or you will never see it.”
The emaciated fool jerked his head in what must have been a nod. The man did his best not to gag at the smell emanating from the husk that remained of the mercenary’s body.
“Good. Keep your head down and do not speak. Stay right behind me.”
He walked forward, openly and with a spring in his step, directly towards the militia guarding the gate. Jacobus shuffled along behind him.
He nodded at the captain of the watch. “Evening, Mikeus.”
The guard arched an eyebrow, silently questioning how the hooded man knew his name. He grunted and spat, then replied, “A bit late for a walk, ain’t it?”
The man put on his broadest grin. “It’s never too late for a whore, Mikeus.”
The imbecile captain eyed him again and then pointed towards Jacobus. “And him?”
This game was already growing tiresome. It was late already and there was work to be done. He shrugged and walked into the gateway. “The son of a client. His father wants him ‘educated’ in the ways of the world.”
At that, Captain Mikeus’ mouth lit up. “Ah! Taking him to Emilia’s then? Or Old Prath’s? If it’s Prath, let ‘em know I sent ya.” The guard winked. “He’ll give you a discount, and I get a florin for each patron I pass their way.”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but Jacobus chose that moment to experiment with true madness. An ungodly banshee wail came from the man’s lips. The guards were drunkards and louts, but they were still Bavarians and they knew their duty. Light burst forth from half a dozen torches, revealing the desiccated face of the former prisoner.
“This is a client’s SON?!” shouted Mikeus.
The man sighed. There were always complications; nothing was ever simple. Jacobus was screaming again, when the man turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He thrust the bag into his arms and shouted into his ear.
“Take that to the Kaiser, you bloody fool! If not him, then the Chancellor! Get it to someone who can damn well read! Franconia! Go to Franconia!” There was no intelligence on the mercenary’s face at all. It was a good thing he had forged those documents; there was no way that any man would believe this lunatic’s story without hard evidence. He just hoped no one would realize that the Duke of Bavaria was not stupid enough to ever put such incriminating evidence on parchment. “Go, you idiot! Run!”
Finally, understanding bloomed on Jacobus’ face and he turned to flee. The man knew he would run until he fell from total fatigue. As long as the guards could be delayed until he was gone, his work would be done. He turned and drew his sword, the cold steel glittering on the night sky.
He parried the guards’ first, clumsy blows with ease. He had been trained well, and it would take more than a few fattened militiamen to best him in battle. Yet victory was not what he desired. He swung wide in a flourish intended to drive the guards back, then cried out in mock pain, tinged with just a hint of fear. The guards hesitated at this unexpected and unexplained sound. The brief interval was long enough for the man to turn and see that Jacobus had vanished into the night, undoubtedly propelled by the thought of death behind him. With him went the dogs of war.
The man turned back towards the guards, and lowered his sword. They advanced warily, weapons held high to strike. “Stay where you are, you are under arrest!”
“Now, now, Captain Mikeus,” the man said, “is that any way to speak to one of your betters?”
For a moment, it seemed as if the guard would strike him, then the man pulled back his hood and exposed his face. Every watchman took a step back and lowered their weapons. Mikeus, stood wide-eyed, staring at the man in front of him.
He gestured to Mikeus’ sword. “Were you planning on using that, Captain?”
The guard blinked and dropped his sword, before collapsing to the floor in a full bow. “I… I’m sorry m’lord. I didn’t know…”
“Now, now, no need to grovel, Captain. You were just doing your duty, and no one can fault you for that; not even me. We must all do our duty to Bavaria and the Reich, isn’t that so?”
Mikeus nodded slightly without lifting his eyes from the cobblestones.
The man sheathed his sword. “Let’s just forget all about this little incident, shall we?” No one replied.
He smirked as he walked back into Milan. The die was cast and the game was about to begin. It was a game he had played more times than he could remember, and he had never lost. What better way to ensure victory, than to control both sides in a battle? Lothar Steffen bit back a laugh as he disappeared into the dark of the Bavarian night.
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