by J. K. Swift
Otto openly stared at Frederick, demanding a response, but before Frederick could say anything, Leopold spoke up. “I am afraid that is impossible, Lord Otto. The Sturmritter are suppressing a revolt in Schwabia at the moment.”
Otto eyed Leopold with an odd mix of loathing and pride. “A peasant revolt. Hardly a situation to warrant the use of the Sturmritter.”
“But a strategic location that is crucial to Austria. When they are finished their work in Schwabia I am sure my brother will make them available to your cause, if they are still required. In the meantime, surely all the soldiers of Austria, under your unfailing leadership, shall be sufficient to deal with Louis the Bavarian.”
Leopold turned quickly from Otto before he could reply and addressed his brother directly. “Frederick, I need to speak with you on a topic of the utmost importance. Family matters.”
Frederick caught Leopold’s hidden meaning, and ignoring the frustrated looks of the nobles in the room, gestured for his brother to follow him out the door. “Of course. Let us take a recess. Gentlemen, excuse us if you would.”
They walked down the stone corridor to a smaller receiving room at the end of the hall. Fresh rushes covered the stone floor and a fire burned in the hearth, while a thick layer of smoke hovered, trapped near the top of the twelve-foot ceiling. Leopold reached to close the heavy door behind them, and was startled to see the Fool about to follow them in.
Leopold held out his arm. “You can stay out there. I’ve seen enough of your painted face for one day,” he said and threw the door shut before the smiling little man could set even one of his pointed shoes over the threshold.
“You have news of the assassin? Has he been found?” Frederick asked, unable to contain himself a second more.
“I do have news of our cousin’s whereabouts, but it is only a tip—nothing more. I was on my way to investigate when I heard you were to meet with the nobles alone.”
Frederick placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder and let out a long breath. The tension in him eased somewhat.
“And I am thankful you are here. Word is the German Princes are favoring Louis for the throne and our supporters are calling for an immediate show of force. But how can I march on Louis? He has been our friend since childhood.”
“It is not Louis, but the Princes who are behind this. They fear Habsburg power—it has always been so. It was the same when our father came to power. He was not given the kingship, but had to take it, and now brother, you must do the same.”
Frederick dropped into one of the intricately carved wooden chairs in front of the fire. “How goes work on the Altdorf citadel?”
Leopold grunted. “It is little more than a mound of rubble at the moment. Certainly not a citadel. I need more workers. Speaking of which, I do not suppose…”
“If I had men to spare they would be readying for battle, I am afraid,” Frederick said. “Not playing with stone and mallet.”
Leopold’s jaw clenched, starting a tremor in the muscles under his cheekbones.
“Traffic over the Gotthard Pass doubles every month with the recent improvements the Milanese have made on the Devil’s bridge over the Reuss. The Gotthard is now the fastest way for all Mediterranean merchants to traverse the Alps and trade with the Hanseatic League. Both the King of France and the Duke of Milan are scheming for its control. Protecting Habsburg land from their hungry eyes is hardly playing, brother.”
Frederick let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He let his chin momentarily dip to his chest.
“Forgive me, Leo. I am tired. I do not have the patience for these games. You should have been born the elder.”
Leopold forced a laugh, but in truth a chill went through him at the thought of being King of the Holy Roman Empire. Having to deal with advisers and petty petitions from nobles and commoners alike, always in the midst of the conniving German princes. No, that was not a position to covet. “Nonsense. I work better behind the lines. You know that.”
“I wish father were still alive. I can understand our cousin for feeling slighted, deprived even, of his inheritance, but to go so far as to plan the assassination of the King? For the love of Christ I cannot see what drove him to it.”
“Evil can be found in all men’s hearts if you look deep enough,” Leopold said.
“Father was a great man. Even the Jews would admit as much. But something in him changed when Rudolph died. I know you felt it too.”
Leopold knew exactly what Frederick meant. King Albrecht had had three sons. The oldest was Rudolph and it had been no secret that he was the King’s favorite. After many years of scheming and brilliant politics, Albrecht had secured the throne of Bohemia for his son Rudolph. Unfortunately, barely a year into his reign, Rudolph succumbed to a fever and died.
With the death of his eldest son, the aging Albrecht’s mind had come unhinged. Not all at once, in an obvious way, but to those closest to him, especially his sons Frederick and Leopold, the changes were readily apparent. He became forgetful, drank wine in the evenings, something he had forbidden his own sons to do, and appeared less frequently at the local courts he had fought so hard to establish during his reign.
Near the end, he would not be seen for days, and when he did appear, he was frequently in his cups. And then, one afternoon while crossing the Reuss River, he was attacked and killed by his nephew John and three fellow conspirators. The bloated bodies of John’s accomplices were found days later miles downstream but somehow John ‘the Parricide’ managed to escape the wrath of Albrecht’s sons and fled into hiding. Claiming Frederick had enough to worry about with being the head of the Habsburg family, and potentially the new Emperor of the Germans, Leopold had declared he would take it upon himself to find John and bring him to justice.
“You must be strong in this hour,” Leopold said. “All eyes are on you now, and if the princes see weakness you will never be elected to the throne. But more importantly, you cannot trust any of those nobles in the other room. They stand with you only because they need your strength to protect their lands. Not because of any past loyalty to our father. Never for a moment forget this.” Parasites, he thought. Every last one of them.
Frederick looked up from his chair, his usually smiling eyes now dark and red-rimmed. It hurt Leopold to see him this way. His brother was a simple man, honorable and just, if not overly wise. He would make a good king. Too good—the German princes would flay him alive. It would be best for all if Frederick was not a candidate for the throne, but Leopold knew that was impossible.
Their father had built the German Empire up for one of his sons to rule, and Frederick would give his life to honor his father’s ambitions, no matter the cost to himself. Everyone knew Frederick the Handsome’s honor and sympathy for his subjects were his greatest strengths, but Leopold saw them as weaknesses that would eventually lead to his downfall. And when he fell, as he most surely would, it was Leopold’s duty to ensure the Habsburg line survived. And the longer he kept Frederick alive, the longer he would have to increase the family’s private holdings. In Leopold’s mind, the acquisition of land and estates in the Habsburg name was the key to maintaining power.
That, and of course, the Stormriders.
“Promise me something,” Leopold said.
Frederick stared into the fire. “If I can,” he said.
“You will never relinquish control of the Sturmritter to another man. Not even your military advisors.” Especially them.
“Then I would ask something of you,” Frederick said.
Leopold’s head cocked to one side. It was unlike his brother to barter with him. With a great effort Frederick pushed himself up from his warm chair like a drowning man kicking to the water’s surface.
“Take the Fool with you to Aargau. It seems he has a history with many of our father’s advisors and I fear for his life while he is here. I cannot possibly devote the time every day to keep him from harm’s path.”
Leopold took a deep
breath before he spoke. “Surely no one could gain from killing the Fool. This is his home. He would not be happy, nor comfortable, in our rustic country estates.”
“You and I know he is no threat. But some feel he was too close to father and was privy to all types of sensitive information. Please, Leo, obey me on this one thing. Father would want to see our childhood playmate taken care of as he enters his twilight years.”
Leopold forced his thin lips into something resembling a smile. “Of course. But I have business to attend before returning to Habsburg. Have him ready his belongings and send him in a few days.” Even that much of a respite would be welcome.
Frederick placed his hands on Leo’s shoulders. “Thank you brother. It may be a small thing to you, but knowing our Fool is safe in your care lessens much of the weight bearing on my mind.” He threw his arms around Leopold and they embraced.
Then holding him at arms length he looked at his brother and said, “Besides, you may find his advice intriguing. Sometimes I think he is my wisest advisor.”
Frederick broke into honest, deep-belly laughter at this, which lifted years from his face. Leopold, grateful to see the change, echoed his brother’s laughter, musing all the while whether God had a hand in inflicting this punishment.
***
The cheese hut stood alone high in the hills. To provide a level foundation in the mountainous terrain, it was built on legs of differing heights consisting of flat stones stacked upon one another. The top stone of each leg was smooth and twice the size of the others so as to create an overhang, an impossible barrier for field mice trying to climb up the legs and gain entry to the hut. A month from now, when the snow was completely gone and the grasses turned the hills green, the farmer and his wife would drive their animals up from the lowlands and live in the hut all summer long making cheese.
But for now, there was only one resident: a young man, once used to the silk and linen comforts of the noble class but now garbed in the coarse, itchy brown robe of a Dominican friar. His hair was disheveled, and dark, bloodshot eyes told of countless nights with little sleep.
As dusk approached, he stood inside the small hut with the door ajar, looking out over the hills as two riders approached. His first impulse was to flee, but he soon recognized the riders and willed himself to stay put.
Moments later, Leopold dismounted, while Klaus, a thick soldier who had been Leopold’s man for many years, remained on his horse and kept a watchful eye on the surrounding slopes.
“Cousin, I thought you had broken your word and forsaken me in this damnable place,” John said, his voice accusing and rough from lack of use.
Leopold untied a bag from his saddle and tossed it to John, who snatched it out of the air and immediately snaked his hand inside to retrieve a thin slice of dried meat and a crusty loaf. It had been three weeks since his last visit from Leopold and his desire to speak with another person was great, but so was his need to eat something other than the porridge and cheese he had been living on. He crammed the slice of meat into his mouth and bit into the loaf. Crumbs flaked off and clung to his shaggy beard.
Leopold screwed up his nose and shook his head. “I do not recall you being so uncouth at our last encounter. Perhaps you tire of this peaceful retreat in the Alps and are ready to move on?”
John ripped off another piece of bread with his teeth and spoke around it. “You know I am. Do not play games with me Leo—what news have you?”
“Good news cousin. You are free to go wherever you like now.”
John’s eyes lit up and he lowered the bag of food. “The princes will grant clemency then? I can return to Salzburg?”
“Salzburg? I suppose you could, but keep in mind you are still Wolf’s head in Austria and like the beast, your skin can be traded for coin.”
“What do you mean? You said I had to but wait for the princes to assemble and vote. Surely they see what a madman the King had become. I have served the German Empire and yet I hide in these hills cowering like a common criminal! You swore to me—”
Leopold cut him off by grabbing the front of his robe and pulling him close. “You are far worse than a common criminal,” he said, and then disgusted by the stench of the man, pushed him stumbling back into the cheese hut’s wall. “The Pope has placed you under the Holy Ban.”
The effect of the words was instantaneous. Horrified, John’s legs went slack and he slid down the wall to sit on the ground. Leopold rubbed his hands together and then wiped them on one of Klaus’s legs. The veteran soldier kept his eyes locked on the horizon.
“Apparently I underestimated how much the Pope respected my father.”
John sat on the ground hugging his knees. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally found his voice. “No, it cannot be. I will flee to Spain. No Italia. I must go to Rome and buy indulgence…”
“Fool. How far do you think you will get when every man, child, and woman has the right to beat, rob, and kill you on sight? Under threat of excommunication, no one is allowed to aid you. I have wasted the past few months of my life building discreet relations with your connections at court. And for what? Nothing. You are useless to me now.”
John shook his head slowly from side to side. “No—this is not what you promised. You said I would be granted lands and titles when Frederick became King.” He pointed his finger up at Leopold. “You gave your word!”
Leopold rolled his eyes and walked over to his horse. “My word was it?”
He pulled himself up into the saddle and said, “Sorry cousin. I can deal with princes and kings, but a Papal Ban is beyond even me.”
John stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to the two mounted men. Klaus grabbed the pommel of his sword, but Leo held up a restraining hand as John wrapped himself around the young Duke’s boot and pleaded.
“No, do not go Leo. Please, I am sorry I accused you. I have been alone too long…my mind is not right. Surely there is something we can do. I will stay in hiding and when Frederick becomes king he can beseech the Pope…”
Leopold gently placed his hand on John’s head and leaned over him. “My dear cousin, can you not see I have no choice?” One corner of his thin lips turned up in a smirk. “And besides…you did kill my father. Why would I assist the likes of you?”
Leopold pushed John away by his head, turned his horse, and jammed his heels into its side. He held up a hand in parting and called out, “Good luck on the road cousin. Beware old ladies and children trying to kill you in your sleep.”
He left John the Parricide, slack-legged and hunched in front of the age-blackened shack, a man with no country and no god.
Chapter 3
WHEN THEY CAME to Altdorf, a town near the southern end of the Great Lake, Ruedi abruptly announced he would separate from the party.
Altdorf was a thriving town for these parts. Almost a city, Thomas thought. Easily the largest settlement they had seen since coming over the Gotthard Pass. On a rise in the distance he could even see new construction under way. It appeared to be a large stone keep beginning to take shape.
“Heard a rumor about five years back I have a sister in these parts,” Ruedi said. “Course it came from a drunken Norseman, and he was not sure if he was in Burglen or Altdorf at the time. Still, nothing better to do. Might as well check it out.”
“Best of luck finding her. I swear, this town has tripled in size since I saw it last. It was nothing more than a few farmer’s huts clustered together from what I remember,” Anton said.
“Well that is no farmer’s hut,” Pirmin said pointing at the keep on the hill.
Thomas remembered the Norseman Ruedi talked about. The Wyvern had been patrolling the waters off the coast of Turkey and they came across the remains of a burned out merchant knarr floating dead in the water. Only one man remained alive, though he hovered precariously close to death.
Thomas ordered him to be taken to the Hospital in Rhodes, where to everyone’s amazement and thanks in no small part to the ski
ll of the Order’s doctors, the man had survived and spent almost two months amongst the Hospitallers. He was well traveled and a tireless storyteller, provided he was kept in his cups, and told endless tales of the far North and how most people there still believed not in one god, but in many, similar to the Greeks of old.
The seven men dismounted in front of a church, which, though small, was still the most impressive building in sight. Next to it was a recently constructed barracks, with three Austrian soldiers standing about eyeing the travelers. It was midday, the street quiet as most people were at work.
Each man said some parting words to Ruedi and embraced him in the quick emotional manner of men who had forged a bond of incredible strength over the years. As a parting gift Thomas gave him a dozen crossbow quarrels.
“You will make better use of these than I ever could,” Thomas said.
“Aye. You never had much of an eye, Cap’n. I will come find you sometime—maybe take you hunting. Try not to starve before then.” His voice broke slightly and the forks of his mahogany beard twitched as he clamped his mouth shut.
Thomas mounted up and the men rode out of Altdorf, leaving Ruedi standing alone in the middle of the road, the occasional townsman scurrying past, pretending not to stare.
***
It was already dark when they rode into Schwyz, but they had no trouble finding a large inn. The village was a common stopping point for travelers who had made it over the Alps and the inn’s business seemed good. The high-ceilinged common room held a dozen tables, half of them filled with patrons, when Thomas’s party entered. A staircase, with sturdy treads formed from split logs, led up to several rooms on the second floor.
