Warrior Knight

by Paul J Bennett

  “Are you a diplomat now?”

  “No," said Ludwig, "but I'm now familiar with both sides, and I have the advantage of being an outsider, which gives me an unbiased view of things.”

  “Unbiased? I doubt that. The same mercenaries you serve are under the employ of Lord Gebhard, are they not?”

  “They are,” Ludwig confessed, “yet I’ve always felt apart from them in some way.”

  “That’s your noble upbringing. It’s to be expected.”

  “No, it’s more than that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made friends, but I’m beginning to feel the mercenary life is not for me.”

  “Look here,” said Lord Wulfram. “I know we captured you, but that’s no reason to go all morose on me.”

  Ludwig chuckled. “I promise you, I’m not sad. No, it’s more a dawning realization I have yet to find my path in this life.”

  “I sense you’ve been speaking to a Holy Father. They’ll talk your ear off if you’re not careful. A ‘path’ as you put it, is nothing more than a series of choices, choices that you yourself have taken. There's no such thing as predestination.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If such a thing as fate exists, then what is the purpose of life? Are we merely the playthings of the Saints, to wander this mortal realm and carry out their will?”

  “No,” said Ludwig. “A wise woman once told me the Saints offer us guidance in our daily lives, allowing us to live life to its fullest.”

  “It amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it?” said Ludwig. “The nice thing with advice is you can choose to ignore it. Do we not already benefit from the advice of those older than ourselves?”

  “Most do,” said the baron. “Does this mean you’ve decided to join the Church now?”

  “No,” said Ludwig. “Though at one time, the notion of being a Temple Knight appealed to me. Now, I’m content to remain outside the direct control of the Church.”

  “And all this is because some woman spouted off the teachings of Saint Mathew?"

  “Actually, it was Saint Agnes,” said Ludwig, “although I imagine the teachings of Mathew are similar. I understand the two orders work together often.”

  “I would have taken you for a follower of Saint Cunar,” said Lord Wulfram. “After all, he’s the patron saint of warriors.”

  “What can I say,” said Ludwig, grinning. “The Saints move in mysterious ways.”

  22

  Comfort

  Spring 1095 SR

  * * *

  The lone window became Ludwig’s link to the outside world. He would stand there, gazing out to the east, wondering what Sigwulf and Cyn were up to. He knew they would attack again, but not before the catapults began their incessant pummelling of the walls.

  He turned to his bed, picking up a book entitled Honour to the Brave that the baron had left for him. He wondered if it were meant as some type of hidden message, but then his thoughts were interrupted by Rosalyn's entry.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m fully recovered, as you well know,” said Ludwig. “What I don’t understand is why I’m still here, in this room, instead of back down in the dungeon?”

  “My father has sent me to make you an offer,” she said. “One that he hopes you will find satisfactory.”

  Ludwig tried hard to think what that offer might be but came up empty. “Please continue,” he prompted.

  “He believes you to be a man of honour, and so extends to you the freedom of the keep, provided you promise not to escape, nor interfere with its defence in any way.”

  “And if I choose not to accept?”

  “Then you shall remain here, in this room, as a prisoner.”

  “Then I accept.”

  Rosalyn smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I am to give you a tour of the keep, modest as it is.”

  “Modest it may be, but it’s still larger than Verfeld where I grew up.”

  “In that case,” she said, “will you follow me?”

  “Most certainly, fair lady.”

  She led him out into the hallway. It wasn’t much to look at, but to Ludwig’s mind, it represented freedom.

  “How old is the keep?” he asked.

  “It was built by my great grandfather. Of course, back then, they didn’t have the curtain wall or the outer courtyard; those were added by my grandfather.”

  “And did your father expand on the defences?”

  “He did,” she replied. “He was the one who added the moat and drawbridge.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Ludwig, “and that was my undoing. If it hadn’t been for the gatehouse, we wouldn’t have attempted the magical attack.”

  “I’m not sure I follow. Wouldn't the drawbridge have the opposite effect?”

  “No, for you see there was a weakness. We gained entry where the gatehouse poked out from the curtain wall—it created a blind spot.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?" said Rosalyn. "Is that not counterproductive to the plans of your allies?”

  “Not at all. The attack failed, so they won’t try it again.”

  “You have a lot of faith in your friends.”

  “It’s not only that,” said Ludwig. “Your father’s men killed the Earth Mage, remember? I doubt they’ll find another, and even if they did, what Druid in his right mind would attempt something that’s already failed?”

  “I suppose you have a valid point.” Rosalyn began leading him upstairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought we might start at the top. The roof gives a commanding view of the countryside.”

  She took him up the spiral staircase, emerging onto the flat roof. A pair of archers noted their arrival but said nothing. Instead, their attention remained to the south, towards the army of Lord Gebhard. Their gaze immediately drew Ludwig’s attention, and he moved closer, peering through the crenellation to the fields beyond. Rosalyn came up behind him, the scent of her perfume wafting towards him.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Lord Gebhard has been busy,” said Ludwig. “He’s put up stakes to prevent your father from sending out a sortie.”

  “What are they building?”

  “Catapults. Half a dozen of them, from the look of it.”

  “One of them"—she pointed—"appears to be much larger than the rest.”

  Ludwig paled. “That’s no catapult. That’s a trebuchet.”

  “What’s a trebuchet?”

  “A heavy engine of war. It uses a counterweight to hurl large objects over great distances.”

  “Large objects?”

  “Yes," said Ludwig. "Primarily rocks or collections of stones, although they can also hurl flaming bundles as well. I’ve read their range can reach several hundred yards, well beyond that of your archers.”

  “How long will it take them to complete it, do you think?”

  Ludwig strained to make out as much detail as he could. “Hard to say for sure, but my guess would be at least another week or so.”

  “Will they target the keep?”

  “I doubt it. They’ll be more interested in bringing down the curtain wall.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He turned to face Rosalyn. “A weapon like that is stationary, which means they’ll have to launch their stones from their present position. They are positioned to the south of us while the keep resides in the curtain wall's northeast corner, making it an improbable target. I suspect they’ll bring down the south wall to allow them entry to the courtyard, then ask for your father’s surrender.”

  “And the trebuchet can do that?”

  “It will certainly help. The problem with that monstrosity is it takes forever to reload. Catapults, on the other hand, can discharge their smaller stones at a much faster rate.”

  “I suppose that means we're doomed,” said Rosalyn.

  “P
erhaps I could negotiate a peace?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’ve seen both sides of this conflict,” said Ludwig. “I would hope that Lord Gebhard could be made to see reason.”

  “I fear there's no reason in the man. If there was, he’d have halted this assault some time ago. Instead, he has kept us bottled up here in hopes of starving us out.”

  “Yes, but now he’s eager to see an end to it, hence the catapults. Something’s changed.”

  “Like what?”

  Ludwig returned his gaze to the field below. Something to the southeast caught his attention. “Those tents,” he said as he pointed.

  Rosalyn moved closer, pressing against him to see through the embrasure. “What of them?”

  “There’s a standard there. See it?”

  “I do," she said. "What does it mean?”

  “Can you make out what’s on it?”

  She leaned out farther until he was sure she would topple over. Instinctively, he reached out, grabbing her by the waist. If she took offence, she made no mention of it, instead merely speculating on the flag.

  “It looks like a sword,” she said. “Is that your mercenary company?”

  “No,” said Ludwig. “I think Lord Gebhard may have hired another group. Unless I miss my guess, it'll be the Blades of Vengeance. I know they were spotted in Torburg right before the tournament started.”

  “What do you think that means?”

  “Baron Stein has obviously decided an assault is the only way to go. Why else hire more men?”

  “We should tell my father,” insisted Rosalyn.

  “I’m sure he already knows,” said Ludwig, “but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “What if you could suggest the idea of negotiating?”

  “I thought you said Lord Gebhard wouldn’t see reason?”

  “I did,” she confessed, “but all these engines of war have driven home the hopeless nature of our predicament. Lord Gebhard may be difficult for my father to talk to, but you… you might be able to make the man see reason.”

  “I’d certainly be willing to give it a try.”

  She climbed back down off the embrasure. “Come then, let’s see what my father thinks of the idea.”

  * * *

  Lord Wulfram Haas was in the great hall, poring over a map of the environs, and looked up as they approached, a smile creasing his lips, if only for a moment.

  “I presume Ludwig has agreed to our terms?” he said.

  “He has,” replied Rosalyn.

  “I see. And to what do I owe this visit?”

  “Ludwig has an idea, Father. I think you should hear him out.”

  “Has he now? I don’t suppose that would involve him being released, would it?”

  Ludwig quickly intervened. “I assure you, my lord, I have no intention of escaping. I gave my word, and I intend to keep it.”

  “Excellent,” said the baron. “Then come, explain this idea of yours to me.”

  Ludwig stepped closer, keenly aware of Rosalyn’s presence beside him. “It seems to me this feud between you and Lord Gebhard has been taken to extremes.”

  “Clearly, but the man will see no reason.”

  “I thought he might be persuaded to give up his fascination with your destruction.”

  “I hardly think we’re in a position to make demands,” said Lord Wulfram. “He holds all the cards. From what position would we negotiate?”

  “I think him a reasonable man,” offered Ludwig, “but I fear the two of you are destined to butt heads.”

  “Then how would we arrive at a solution?”

  “I would volunteer my own services to act as a negotiator, my lord.”

  “What makes you think you could do any better than I?”

  “I was the one who proposed the last assault on this very keep,” said Ludwig. “It also occurs to me it was Lord Gebhard’s idea to wed his son to your daughter. Perhaps, if I can convince his son, Hagan, to argue the point, he might see fit to dismiss the suit.”

  “That’s an awfully big if," said Baron Haas.

  “Still, under the circumstances, what have you to lose?”

  “And how would we arrange something like this?”

  “I propose you lower me down from the wall. I shall carry a note, handwritten by you. At the very least, it would buy us some time.”

  “And you, your freedom.”

  “I can assure you I would return,” said Ludwig. “For how else would I bring Baron Stein's reply?”

  Lord Wulfram frowned. “I think you underestimate Gebhard’s determination.”

  “You have nothing to lose. What’s the worst thing that can result from this?”

  “He could have you killed.”

  “Then you would be no worse off. In fact, you’d have one less mouth to feed. I urge you to let me try, my lord. Even if there’s only a small chance of success, you must agree it’s worthwhile? Think of your daughter. Would you have her killed in the siege?”

  “Lord Gebhard would not kill Rosalyn,” said the baron. “He wants her alive, remember? He can’t very well marry his son off to a corpse.” He turned to his daughter. “Sorry, my dear, I know how upsetting this must all be.”

  “Please, Father,” she pleaded. “Listen to Ludwig.”

  “You may think your daughter safe,” continued Ludwig, “but the truth is when those catapults begin bombarding, you’ll have no control over who gets killed or injured. Do you care so little for Rosalyn that you would put her in harm's way?”

  “Do not lecture me on my daughter!” shouted the baron. “She means everything to me. How dare you insinuate I would intentionally risk her life.”

  “And yet isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” said Rosalyn. “I know you mean well, Father, I truly do, but when they start hurling stones at us, everyone is a target, including me.”

  “I understand, my dear, but you're asking me to trust the word of a stranger in our home.”

  “A stranger I may be,” said Ludwig, “but I would have this conflict settled, and peace returned to the land.”

  Lord Wulfram stared at him. Ludwig felt the penetrating gaze boring into him as if examining his very soul.

  “Fair enough,” the baron finally said. “We shall try it your way. I'll write a letter. No, let’s call it an invitation to Lord Gebhard proposing we meet to settle our differences. Do you suppose that will do the trick?”

  “It would think so, my lord. I shall deliver it directly into his hands.”

  “I hope this works,” said Lord Wulfram. “I would hate to meet him for a parley, only to find I’ve walked into a trap.”

  “I shall do all I can to prevent that,” promised Ludwig. “And in any event, I'll return, whether he agrees to a parley or not.”

  “I wish you well, my young friend, but I fear you have a difficult task before you.”

  * * *

  The next day saw Ludwig standing on the battlements while two of Lord Wulfram’s men stood by with a rope. The plan was to lower him down to the ground and let him wade across the moat, the message in hand. To do this unhindered, they needed to make sure none of the besiegers were going to fill him with arrows, and so to this end, they stood by with a white flag.

  The three of them watched the enemy lines for any signs of movement. The morning wore on until finally, a trio of individuals came forth, one of them towering over the others while a second was much shorter. Ludwig smiled, recognizing Sigwulf and Cyn. The third, however, astounded him, for it was none other than Hagan Stein.

  Ludwig turned to face Wulfram’s men and then backed out over the parapet, the end of the rope tied securely around his waist. They lowered him at a slow pace while his observers stood on the opposite side of the moat. Once he touched down, he untied the rope and watched as it was pulled back up the wall, then turned to greet his friends.

  “You’re alive, I see,” called out Sigwulf.

  “So it would appear,” Ludwig replied.
“I don’t suppose you’ve had time to fill in the moat?”

  Cyn chuckled. “You’ll have to get your feet wet, and the rest of you as well.”

  Ludwig shrugged. “At least it’s warmer today than the last time."

  He pulled the note from his belt, holding it in the air to avoid getting it wet. He dipped his toe in, and then, content it wasn’t freezing cold, the rest of him followed, taking his time to ensure his footing. It was still chest-high at its deepest, and he struggled to keep the letter safe, but as the water became more shallow, a large hand reached out, pulling him onto the other bank.

  Sigwulf pounded him on the back. “By the Saints," the big man said, “we thought you dead. You gave us quite the scare.”

  Cyn punched him on the shoulder. “Yes, don’t do that again.”

  Ludwig was smiling like an idiot, pleased to be amongst friends once more. His attitude soon disappeared, however, as his eyes took in Hagan Stein.

  “You have a message?” pressed the baron’s son.

  “I do, Master Stein,” said Ludwig, “but it's for your father.”

  “Then let us waste no further time,” said Hagan. He pivoted abruptly and began making his way towards the village of Regnitz. Sigwulf followed, but Cyn, more interested in what had transpired, lagged behind, keeping pace with Ludwig.

  “What happened?” she asked. “The last we heard, you’d been lost in the attack.”

  “You remember the Earth Mage?”

  “Linden Herzog?”

  “Yes," said Ludwig. "He opened up a small hole in the wall, and I had barely squeezed through when the defenders counterattacked and overwhelmed me. I’m afraid Linden perished in the attempt.”

  “We knew he was killed,” said Cyn, “but heard naught of you. Lord Wulfram looks to have treated you well.”

  “He did, all things considered, but it was very nearly the death of me.”

  “Were you injured?”

  “No," said Ludwig, "at least not seriously.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I fell ill. They threw me in the dungeon, and the cold almost did me in.”