Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights)

by J. K. Swift

  “Your eyes deceive you,” the Archbishop said. He held one arm out to the side. “This is not the scarlet of a cardinal. Merely the red vesture of my station.”

  Leopold squinted. “Ah, so it is. Now that I look more closely I see that it is a much deeper shade. My mistake. Still, I am sure your time must be near. Frankly, I do not know how you do it.”

  “Do what, exactly?” the Archbishop asked.

  “Labor in the shadows of the church, of course. I should think it would drive most men to the brink of insanity to devote one’s life to a cause and never be justly recognized for it.”

  “On the contrary. I am the First Bishop of all German lands. His Eminence has entrusted me to preside over the Princes of the Holy Roman Empire. I imagine you, better than most, can appreciate the significance of this.”

  “It seems you have lost half your flock, then. For half of the princes side with Louis the Bavarian,” Leopold said.

  “For the time being, perhaps. But they will come to reason, for Frederich is the rightful King. I have the utmost confidence that, with our help,” the Archbishop made a grand sweeping gesture around the room, “your brother will prevail.”

  “I am sure he will,” Leopold said. “But that could be years in the making. In the meantime, we have a responsibility to our future King to ensure he has a kingdom left to rule once Louis is defeated.”

  “Of course, Duke Leopold. Is that not why all of us are here today? Come, take your seats councilors.”

  There was a commotion on the other side of the heavy chamber door. Words in raised voices were exchanged, followed by a short period of silence. Then someone eased the door open. The Archbishop’s Chief Steward, the man who had met Leopold and Klaus at the entrance to High-town, stepped into the room.

  Every man in the room stared at him. To his credit, he stood at attention, unflinching, looking straight ahead, and waited to be acknowledged.

  “Well,” the Archbishop said. “What is it?”

  “A messenger, my lord, he—”

  The Archbishop waved him away. “I will see him after we are done here.”

  “He is a King’s Eagle, my lord.”

  The room went from quiet to complete silence.

  “Show him in, of course,” the Archbishop said.

  The steward had just enough time to open the door, before a bearded man garbed all in black, with a huge yellow eagle emblazoned on his chest strode through. His hair and face were coated in dust from the road, and streaked darker in places wet from sweat. He took two steps into the room; large clumps of mud fell from his boots. He dropped to one knee, and locked his eyes on the floor. The only thing about him that moved, were the saddlebags that swayed off one shoulder. As was the custom of all King’s Eagles, he kept his messages, and anything else of value, in two small bags joined together with a flat piece of leather. That way, when he changed horses at an outpost, no time was wasted in transferring his supplies to a fresh mount. If his horse died from exhaustion, the Eagle was expected to take his saddlebags and continue on foot until he could expropriate a horse from someone. And if he should ever lose his bags, well, there was a reason for the saying ‘a bagless King’s Eagle, shall fly no more.’

  “You bring the King’s word?” the Archbishop asked.

  The man reached into one of his saddlebags and produced a small scroll. He stood, asking permission of no one, and stretched out the roll between his hands. In a strong, clear voice, he began to read.

  Princes of the Realm and Loyalists of the Holy Roman Empire:

  We are beset by dark times, for treachery approaches from all sides. Pretenders threaten to usurp our Divine Right to Rule.

  I am forced to take up arms against my own cousin, who I am convinced, acts upon misinformation supplied by unscrupulous advisers. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Empire, in Further Austria, you are faced with your own challenge; an open rebellion by the peasants of the Forest Regions.

  You may be tempted to consider your situation less grand, or not as worthy, as my own. However, if this were truly so, I would not have taken the time to send this decree.

  On the surface, this rebellion appears to be nothing more than mountain peasants laying claim to Habsburg lands and defiling property of the monks at Einsiedeln. But this is no benign threat and I urge you, do not take it lightly. Much is at risk.

  From Paris, comes word of a diseased class who call themselves “bourgeois”. Their guilds grow in power and greed everyday, threatening to topple the Divine Order, the very pillars upon which society is built. These mercers would raise themselves up and be your equals. Mark my words. This movement is a plague waiting to spread.

  If we stand by and allow the peasants of Schwyz, Uri, and Unterwalden to take even one farmer’s field, we are remiss in our duties as Lords of this Land. For, in the end, they will only succeed in abusing God’s gardens and destroying themselves while doing so. But even worse, by not acting, we are in direct defiance of God’s wishes. For, by His Word, “Kings are to rule the hands of men, and the Church, their hearts”.

  I deeply regret my absence at your council, but as you know I fight another battle. The Empire faces war on two fronts, and neither poses a more dangerous threat than the other.

  As these are my thoughts, I exert my right as your vassal lord, and call upon each and every one of you to fulfill your oaths of fealty. It is my wish that you raise from your lands the prescribed number of infantry and mounted knights as set out in your Oath to the Throne, and make them available to my brother Leopold, the Sword of Habsburg, at a place and time of his choosing.

  It may be Habsburg lands today, but mark the words of your King, if this threat is not properly addressed, tomorrow it will be yours.

  The messenger cleared his throat and looked up. He threw his shoulders back and drew himself to full height.

  “Signed and dated by his Grace, Frederich of Habsburg, King of the Germans, and Rightful Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire,” he said.

  The room was silent. The Archbishop beckoned the Eagle to him and accepted the scroll. He studied it with narrowed eyes. Eventually, he nodded.

  “It is indeed the King’s seal. I did not know your brother was capable of such eloquence, Duke Leopold.”

  Of course he is not. They are my words, and my scribe Bernard’s script. You and I both know it.

  “Unlike myself, Frederich was gifted with a golden tongue. I have always envied him that,” Leopold said.

  Even you, my Arse-bishop, cannot refute the Royal Seal. I am sure it will drive you mad wondering how I got my hands on that.

  The old cleric handed the scroll back to the Eagle. “You discredit yourself. I am sure you have your own set of talents that we have yet come to appreciate, Duke Leopold. Or, would you prefer I call you Sword of the Habsburgs?”

  One of the stewards chuckled until he saw the young Duke looking at him. It was the Count of Kyburg’s man. Leopold fixed his face in his memory.

  A deep voice broke in on the conversation. “My lords, may I have leave to speak?” Count Henri of Hunenberg asked.

  Leopold was glad the man had spoke up. A veteran of the wars in the Holy Lands, Henri was the only lord in the room, except for the Arse-bishop, who was there in person to represent his own title and lands. But, he looked uncomfortable in the council chambers. He had spent too much time in the Levant and seemed out of sorts with court politics.

  Why was he here, anyway? None of the other counts or princes had come themselves. Why should he?

  Leopold suddenly recalled that he still owed Henri partial payment for one of his estates near the Gotthard Pass. Surely the man had better sense than to come looking for a handout here. Leopold would pay him when he had the funds, and not a moment before.

  “Of course, Count. You require no man’s permission to speak in this council. We are grateful for your presence,” Leopold said. He gestured for the man to retake his seat.

  Count Henri bowed his head but remained standing.
“We all understand the King’s message. But we have not yet heard from the man who is to command this army we raise. Perhaps you could tell us what you plan, Duke Leopold.”

  “Plan? I think it should be obvious. I will march into Schwyz, punish those responsible for the attack on the Einsiedeln monastery, and rest up my men. From there, I march to Altdorf, retake the fortress, kill all who resist, and put the mountain peasants to work repairing the damage they have caused.”

  “Enslave them, you mean.”

  “Ah, Henri. I believe I know where this is headed. You knew some of the rebels in Outremer, did you not? You fought alongside them and counted them friends, I imagine.”

  “Aye. I knew both Pirmin and Thomas. But friend is not the exact word I would use to describe Thomas. Pirmin maybe, but not Thomas.”

  “And what of Hermann Gissler? The man this Thomas Schwyzer cut down before my very eyes. Would you count him as a friend, if he yet lived?”

  Count Henri shifted his weight and stared at the Duke. “I just think there may be a better solution to this mess than marching through those villages with a full blown army. I have seen what an army can do to a land and its people. It will take years for them to recover.”

  “I appreciate your forthrightness and will take your concerns under advisement. Now, I trust you will heed the commands of your King?”

  Henri cast his eyes downward at his hands. They were heavy, with thick digits and a crescent shape to them that looked permanent. He let them drop to his side and one slowly curled into a fist.

  “I am bound to the Crown for fifty knights and fifty infantry, and I will honor it. However, I will be commanding the men myself. As is my right,” Henri said.

  “Of course. Having a man with your experience in my army will be most welcome,” Leopold said, and he meant it. Henri may have a sentimental streak but when it came time to fight for his King, he would do what was required. His sense of honor would permit nothing less.

  He did a quick mental calculation. Adding Henri’s soldiers to those the other lords would be required to furnish, came to just shy of two thousand men. Leopold’s own force consisted of three thousand, and how many would the Archbishop be required to contribute? Another two thousand? Perhaps three? The Salzburg Barracks was home to full-time, battle-hardened soldiers, who had seen active duty all over the Empire. They would be the best trained of them all. It was shaping up to be the ultimate punitive force.

  “Archbishop. Do you recall what the size of your contributory force shall be?” Leopold asked. He kept his eyes wide and innocent, and was proud of himself for not allowing a trace of smugness to creep into his voice.

  The older man steepled his fingers in front of his face.

  Was the old goat actually hiding a smirk?

  The Archbishop opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped himself for a moment before finally continuing on. He looked like a man about to eat a roast pheasant, but could not quite decide which wing to tear off first.

  “Regrettably, all of Salzburg’s military forces are already committed to the King’s cause. I have my own writ from the King that I must follow. You see, Salzburg is to be kept as a place of strength should Frederich need to withdraw from the war with the Bavarian for a time. The King has commanded me to ensure all of Salzburg’s soldiers are available to him at a moment’s notice. All of them. God forbid that should ever happen, of course.”

  You dung-eating buggerer of….

  “So the answer to your question, Duke Leopold, is regrettably, not a one.”

  The Archbishop leaned back into the leather of his bench and crossed his arms. He shook his head in a display of regret, but the thin smile on his lips told another story entirely.

  ***

  “In all your years, have you ever known a more repugnant, holier than thou, greedy, arse licker? Have you?” Duke Leopold asked.

  “Yes, my lord. Several,” Klaus said.

  Dressed in only his nightshirt, Leopold paced laps around his assigned room. Klaus was sure it must be the smallest guest quarters in Salzburg Castle. He thought of mentioning that to the Duke, but quickly changed his mind. Klaus did not know of another man Duke Leopold hated more than the Archbishop of Salzburg, and fanning those flames would not be wise.

  Leopold puffed up his face and squinted his eyes. “So the answer, Duke Leopold, is not a one. How long did he practice to get that pompous tone just right? And what cruel bastard ever decided someone could be both a prince and a bishop?”

  “Your grandfather, I believe,” Klaus said. God rest his soul.

  “Well, that explains it. Yet another failing of dear old grand pappy that I have to live with. If I did not need the Arsebishop’s cavalry I would have spit in his face right then and there. And watched it drip down his double chin onto his precious red robes. Really, why should a cleric be in charge of some of the best soldiers in the Empire? Who decided that?”

  “Your grandfather as well,” Klaus said.

  “The man was truly an idiot.”

  Klaus said nothing. He stood ramrod straight, with his hands behind his back, and eyes in front.

  “Well, what do we do now Klaus? Go back to his holiness tomorrow and beg for his cavalry?”

  Klaus shook his head. “We do not need his soldiers, my lord.”

  “No, we do not need them, Klaus. I want them. When we march into Schwyz and Altdorf, we must do so with a full display of Habsburg might. I want drummers, trumpet men, infantry, and if I can’t have the Sturmritter, I want the next best thing. And that, sadly, is the Arsebishop’s cavalry. And now that he has told me I cannot have them I want them even more!”

  Leopold grabbed a pitcher of wine from the bedside table and filled a mug. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. He was about to take a drink and then groaned and threw it against the wall.

  “Probably poisoned,” he said. “Would that not be the perfect end to a perfect day? Or the perfect week for that matter? What do you think, Klaus?”

  Klaus paused before answering. “I think the Ars… Archbishop did not believe the messenger was a true Eagle.”

  “I could care less what he thinks, as he obviously does not spend much time catering to my wants. He does not care if Louis trounces my brother in this war. He will still be the High Bishop for the German Empire. The only person’s favor he really needs, is that of the Pope.”

  Leopold paused. He stared at Klaus and cocked his head. Klaus had seen that look many a time. He let out a deep breath, and waited.

  “The Pope…” Leopold repeated. “Klaus, why is it that I get some of my best ideas while yelling at you?”

  Klaus gave no indication that he had heard the question. But he had, in fact, heard everything. Not many men could say they had served two kings and outlived them both. Klaus suspected he knew which plan Leopold was about to hatch.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 6

  They set out mid-morning with Thomas riding on their one horse and Seraina and Gildas walking alongside. Thomas was grateful that Gildas had sent the wolf away earlier when he saw how much Oppid upset the horse, for Thomas doubted he had the strength to control a fidgety animal. And Gildas too, mumbling something about towns filled with small-minded people, seemed to relax when Oppid bolted off into the woods.

  They emerged from the trees onto a road some time later. Thomas knew it was for his sake that they avoided the forest trails but he wished Seraina would stop looking at him every time he winced or shifted to a more bearable position on his mount. He kept one arm pressed tight to his side, as it lessened the jostling of his stitches. He was weak, he knew that. But the pounding in his skull had subsided to a tolerable level and he was actually beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger.

  “Do you need to stop for a rest?” Seraina asked.

  “No.”

  “We have time. I know of a place we can spend the night and push on to Schwyz at first light.”

  “I said no. I would see us at Sutte
r’s inn before dusk.”

  “Very well. But we will stop here for a few moments. You may not be tired but your horse is. You ride with all the life of an iron anvil.”

  Thomas began to grunt back a reply but the vibration of speech sent a shiver of pain rippling up his side. He settled for a dark look.

  Gildas stopped and leaned on his staff. “A rest sounds good. You set a swifter pace than I am accustomed. Whatever happened to the little short-legged girl of yesteryear that used to have to run to keep up with me?”

  Seraina laughed. “Why I willed my legs to grow, of course, because I was sure there must be more to see in the world than thinning white hair and a crooked back.”

  “It seems that a great deal of that will was directed at your tongue as well,” Gildas said.

  Seraina was still smiling as she looked at the road before them. It rose up a steep hill and turned to the right.

  “I think there are heidelberries nearby. Gildas, help Thomas off his horse and I will be back in a few minutes.”

  She was already several strides up the road before either man had a chance to voice their thoughts. Thomas watched as her lithe legs carried her away from them. Her strides were long and graceful, and although she was no taller than an average woman, the way she moved was more feline than human. She crested the hill and, with one last glint of sunshine off her auburn hair, Seraina disappeared around the bend.

  Thomas realized he had been holding his breath. He looked down and saw Gildas staring at him. The old man shook his head.

  “She is not for you, Thomas Schwyzer.”

  “What are you talking about?” Thomas met the old man’s stare with one of his own.

  “Deny it if you will. But your eyes are the scouts of your heart, not its spies. They cannot conceal what you feel.”

  Thomas looked down at his horse’s neck. “You are full of crazy talk, old man.” He swung his right leg over and eased himself to the ground. His pulse beat at a furious pace.