Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (5 page)

Sleep finally overtook Thomas, for Oppid did not
howl again. Nor did any wolf answer his calls.

The meeting chamber was on the uppermost floor of
Salzburg Castle. It was a long, rectangular room with high ceilings
and smooth leather over the lower half of the walls. Wooden panels
with intricately carved golden rosettes covered the wall’s upper
reaches. At one end of the room, upholstered benches lined the
three walls. At the moment, a half-dozen men sat on them, doing
their best to appear comfortable and relaxed.

The architect had had a good sense of court
politics, and Leopold appreciated the irony of the room. The
horseshoe seating arrangement allowed no obvious head of the table
position and every person in the room was able to press his back up
against a wall. The design was meant to put members at ease, but
Leopold thought everyone looked small and feral the way their eyes
darted around at one another when he entered the room. One by one
they slid themselves up their respective walls and stood to greet
the Duke.

There was not a prince among them, Leopold noted.
They had all sent stewards or marshals on their behalf, as was the
minimum requirement when summoned to a war council by another
prince. Leopold had expected as much. The other princes had no love
for Leopold, or loyalty for that matter. But they would obey the
King’s Law. However, there was one man present Leopold had not
expected to see: Sir Henri of Hunenberg.

Only one person remained seated: a portly man of
late middle years, but with the powder-gray hair of someone much
older. His deep red robes splayed onto the bench on either side and
contrasted with the dark leather of the walls. He made no effort to
leave his seat in the center of the horseshoe.

Leopold briefly acknowledged the greetings of the
other men then strode directly to the Archbishop.

“Duke Leopold,” he said holding out a hand bearing
only one single ring of gold, but mounted with an almond-sized
gem.

Leopold dropped to one knee and kissed the ring. “My
dear Archbishop,” Leopold said, raising his head. He seemed to
notice the red robes for the first time. “What is this, your
lordship? Has the Pope finally welcomed you into his house and
promoted you to a cardinal?”

The Archbishop eventually smiled at Leopold, but it
took some time to appear on his lips, and there it died without
ever reaching his eyes. The Arse-bishop of Salzburg, as Leopold
liked to call him, held the position of
Legatus Natus
. It
permitted him to wear red, although a different shade than that of
a cardinal, even in the presence of the Pope.

“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.