The Black Chalice (44 page)

Reinhard responded the only way he could. He began to walk again, and directed the conversation to practical matters.

“So what’s your next move, then? We can’t take Stavoren with just the men we have here.”

“No. But we can isolate it. With this castle as a base, we can take every outpost and fortress Gottfried has between Ravensbruck and the mountains, and persuade the good burghers of Karn that Gottfried’s wars will be bad for trade. We’ll gather more men as we go.”

“And the margravate of Dorn? Your brother has sworn allegiance to the villain.”

“My brother would swear allegiance to the devil’s painted arse, if he thought he would profit by it. And unswear himself again, just as easily. When we start rattling the walls of Stavoren, he’ll go over to Konrad without blinking an eye.”

They went down into the courtyard. Now that the siege was broken, and everything would be plentiful again, there was an air of exuberant activity: wagons and men coming and going, cook-houses pouring out rich smells, and clothing being scrubbed in great tubs of long-rationed water. He wandered among the guardsmen and servants, feeling very lordly and good about himself. Everyone was happy, most of all the children. The older ones worked; the younger ones played and harassed their elders for treats. But they all knew enough to bow to his lordship, and wish him good morning, and stand politely aside until he had passed them by.

Except one, who was scrambling across the cobblestones on all fours, right into the path of the count. A child of about a year, with black hair, and garments much too fine for any servant’s child.

“Wulfi! Wulfi, you little wretch, come back here this minute!”

One of Adelaide’s young women was running to snatch the child away. There was a distinct note of alarm in her voice. The youngster was too quick; he reached Karelian before the woman reached him. He stopped about a foot from the count’s feet, and sat, and looked up. Here was someone the child had never seen before, someone quite magnificent- looking; he was intrigued.

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” the young woman said desperately. “I only turned my back on him for a moment.” She bent, reaching for the child. No doubt she had been cautioned many times to be careful: the youngster must never be a burden or an embarrassment to Karelian; he were best kept out of Karelian’s way….

“Wulfi, come!”

Karelian motioned her to be silent, to let the child be. He knew the whole of Schildberge castle was watching him. The cooking and the scrubbing and the loading of carts went carefully on — one did not stop working to stare at his lordship — but they were staring at him nonetheless.

At first he was angry about it, and then he wanted to laugh. It didn’t take much, did it, to make the world stare?

He dropped to one knee. The child was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. And bright, too. His quick eyes were taking in everything. He scrambled closer, tugged briefly at the lacings of Karelian’s boot, and then looked up and grinned.

All of the count’s peers believed he should send this child away. Give him to the nuns to raise, or to the monks. They would feed him out of their Christian goodness… and they would put him to work in their vineyards or their stables or their sculleries, ten or fifteen hours of every day except the Lord’s. They would fill his head with shame for being a bastard. And if he was bright — more importantly, if he was obedient — they would let him study just enough so he could be a monk himself.

Two thoughts collided in Karelian’s mind at the same instant. The first was of Wulfstan and Rudi Selven; of the tales and legends and whisperings. Perhaps they were true; perhaps they were not. But if they were, then this child might have as high a claim on the name and honors of Brandeis as Karelian did himself. The second thought was that it didn’t matter anyway. He was done being ruled by the judgments of the world.

I had a father; he gave me his seed, for which I suppose I should be grateful. He gave me nothing else, not even his arm between myself and the rest of his savage get.

So be damned to them all. I like the look of you, little Wolfram, and I’m keeping you, and men can make of it what they will.

He brushed the back of his hand lightly across the boy’s face, and then kissed him. His cheek was soft as a petal. Then slowly, the count got to his feet. The nurse was rooted to the stones, her eyes as big as saucers.

“Take good care of him, Magda,” he said. “He will be lord here one day.”

Then, with the greatest air of insouciance he could manage, he turned back to Reinhard, and went on evaluating the condition of his fortress.

THIRTY-FOUR

The Walls of Stavoren

The demons are attempting to destroy the kingdom of God, and by means of false miracles and lying oracles are
assuming the appearance of real gods.

Lactantius

* * *

Only one other time in my life had I been so happy to see battlements— four years earlier, crossing the last sun-baked ridge of an unending desert world, and looking finally upon the storied walls of Jerusalem. I did not weep this time, looking on Stavoren, but I did thank God almost as fervently.

The castle was not a warrior fort like Schildberge, aloof and inaccessible. It was the regal dwelling of a prince, lodged in the very heart of the land. But it was nonetheless massive and secure, dominating everything around it.

We could see it for hours before we reached it. We rode past scattered villages and flourishing farms, finally past the broad fields below the castle, where the flower of warrior Germany had gathered just one year ago, at Ehrenfried’s last
Königsritt.

I remembered it all now: the vast army of tents, the feasting and the revelry. The tournament. Karelian and Konrad meeting in the final combat, and Karelian winning.

No one believed he would win— not even me, when I was being honest with myself. But he won beautifully, magnificently. The Reinmark soared in triumph over the Salian princeling, there before the whole world. And there, before the whole world, Karelian bent, and picked Konrad’s sword out of the trampled grass, and gave it back to him….

I was exhausted, and maybe a little feverish— why else would I have remembered that moment with such an icy shiver of dismay?

I was grateful then for Wilhelm’s chattering, for the nearness of the gates, for the sight of Gottfried’s banners snapping in the wind. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I had barely crawled off my horse before a page boy came to fetch me. I was to attend the empress Radegund at once.

“The empress?”

I looked at the page boy, who nodded, and then at Wilhelm, who shrugged.

“Are you sure it wasn’t someone else she wanted?” I asked.

“You’re Paul von Ardiun, aren’t you?” the boy said. He spoke scornfully, as if to remind me that he knew my name, even if I was too stupid to remember it.

I went to see the empress. She was waiting for me in the great hall, accompanied only by a pair of servants, and by her son Theodoric. I was exhausted and filthy. I almost stumbled as I knelt to her.

She saw my weariness, and ordered me to sit, and sent for wine.

“Have you been wounded, Sir Paul?” she asked. Her voice was kind.

“No, my lady. I’m a little weary, that is all.”

“My son Armund and his men speak well of you,” she said. “They say you fought bravely, and fled only when nothing else was possible.”

A servant brought me a tankard. The queen insisted that I drink, and take a moment to collect my thoughts.

“There are some things I would like to ask you,” she said then. “You were Lord Karelian’s squire, I believe? You were with him in Ravensbruck?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You realize, I’m sure, the whole of the Reinmark is in danger from his rebellion. We must move quickly to defend ourselves. We need help, and the first place we would like to seek it is the march of Ravensbruck.”

She was watching me carefully as she spoke.

“Count Arnulf of Ravensbruck has always enjoyed a good relationship with us,” she went on. “My lord Gottfried speaks of him as the worthiest of his vassals. Not the best man, perhaps, as a Christian, but the most loyal ally.”

She paused, very briefly. “He is now Karelian’s father-in-law, which could dampen his loyalty towards us. On the other hand, we have heard certain… rumors. It is said Count Arnulf holds a bitter grudge against the lord of Lys. Perhaps you have some knowledge of this, Paul von Ardiun?”

Before I could think about how I might answer, she added sternly:

“Only facts, I caution you. Gossip we have in plenty, and speculation in cartloads. Tell us nothing but what you saw with your own eyes, and heard with your own ears.”

I looked at her. She was a magnificent woman, not especially beautiful, but very regal. Though she dressed splendidly, as befitted her rank, there was no vanity about her, and not a trace of lewdness. Her gown was high-necked and heavy; her hair was coiffed with a splendid veil.

I honored her, and I wanted to be of use, but I hated talking about my time with Karelian. I wished the world would forget I had ever known him.

“When we first came to Ravensbruck,” I said, “everything was fine. They got on very well. Though I don’t think Karelian liked Count Arnulf very much.”

“Really?” she murmured. “And why not?”

“Even before the wedding, he said he regretted the alliance. He said he wished he’d gone home to Lys and married a widow with a tavern instead.”

The empress said nothing, but looked at her son as if she could not quite believe this of any highborn man, even Karelian.

“They were married nonetheless— my lord and Count Arnulf’s daughter. And then, as I think you know, my lady, Adelaide was found with her lover, Rudolf of Selven, only a few weeks later.”

“The whole of Germany knows about it. We want to know what happened afterwards. Selven was killed, was he not? By Count Arnulf’s men?”

“Yes, my lady. We had all been out hunting when it happened. Count Arnulf put his daughter in the dungeon until we got back. He thought Karelian would want to punish her himself. But Karelian didn’t. He said she was just a child. Arnulf was furious about it. He’d been shamed in his own house. And it’s well known, lady, he is a harsh man. He kills… very easily. I thought more than once he would kill the lot of us, just to avenge himself on her. She was his favorite daughter, they say, so he took it very ill.”

“So what passed between him and Karelian?”

“I don’t know what passed, my lady. The only time they spoke, it was in private, and afterwards Count Arnulf would sit for hours in his chair, ignoring everyone. But when we left he spoke. He told us he would honor his alliance with Karelian for the sake of the duke— I mean his majesty Lord Gottfried. And then he gave a warning to Karelian I’ll never forget, for it made my blood run cold. Never, he said,
never
fall out of favor with the duke.”

The empress and her son exchanged another look.

For the first time, Theodoric questioned me, too. “Count Arnulf hates him, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, my lord,” I said. “And it isn’t just because of the lady Adelaide, it’s—”

I faltered, realizing I had begun to speculate.

“Go on,” the empress said.

“Karelian outfaced him in his own house, in front of his own vassals. Arnulf’s men baited him. At the very end, Arnulf baited him, too. He even tried to stage another marriage, to his younger daughter Helga. But he couldn’t get the better of Karelian, no matter what he did.”

“But he was injured, wasn’t he?” the empress protested. “We’ve been told he could hardly walk.”

“Yes, lady, but he had his men there. He could have done anything to us he wanted. But Karelian was… Karelian controlled the situation from the first. He was utterly in the wrong, and he had only a handful of men, and still he controlled it. As though he only needed to decide how things would be, and they were so.”

It had not, I reflected, been quite so easy or so straightforward. Control was the wrong word. Karelian had maneuvred his way through the threats of Ravensbruck, rather than controlling them. But that was, perhaps, the ultimate manifestation of control.

There was a brief silence. Then the empress rose, and spoke to her son.

“Send to Ravensbruck at once,” she said. “He gave us only a token force to send west. Well and good; he has that many more men with him now.”

She looked at me. “We are grateful, Sir Paul. For your knowledge, and for your loyalty.”

Perhaps something showed in my face then, for she stepped closer. “You find it painful, perhaps, to speak against the man who was your liege?”

I started to deny it, and then changed my mind. She would know. “Yes, my lady.”

She smiled. For the first time, I remembered she was a mother. She had borne Theodoric and Armund, two other boys who died, and three daughters.

“Any fool can run downhill,” she said. “It’s the hard, bitter climb which is pleasing to God. But if we endure, in time it won’t be hard. In time we won’t even remember why it used to be so hard.”

She was a wise lady, one of the few women in the Reinmark who were truly Christian, and truly chaste. She was a fit wife for Gottfried. Yet she was wrong in what she said. I endured, and the time she spoke of never came. I always remembered why it was so hard. I will remember till they carry me to my grave, and I greatly fear I will remember after.

* * *

Messengers hurried off to Ravensbruck to remind Count Arnulf of his feudal duties, and to summon him to the field against Karelian. On the way they would stop at the great trading city of Karn, and pass on a few reminders there as well. Like the margravate of Dorn, this city was traditionally a difficult place to deal with, not because its rulers were rash and unpredictable— quite the opposite. They were practical, canny, and pitilessly self-centered. Karn was the best place in Germany to buy anything— fine goods, weapons, mercenaries, whores. It was the worst place in Germany to find a friend.

I never learned precisely what inducements Theodoric meant to offer Karn for its continuing loyalty. But he was prepared to offer Ravensbruck a royal marriage. Arnulf had unmarried sons, and Arnulf was singularly ambitious. If he proved difficult, the princess Ludmilla, Gottfried’s youngest daughter, would be held out to him as the ultimate reward.

We waited for his answer, and watched the war unfold. From the first it went strangely. Perhaps every war does. Ordinary human daring and ordinary human stupidity can combine in infinitely unpredictable ways, all by themselves, and our situation was far from ordinary. When the archbishop of Mainz folded his hands and refused to vote, Germany was left with two leaders, and with none. Both had allies and a measure of legitimacy, but neither could wield the full, acknowledged authority of a king. Predictably, chaos followed.

Swabian barons defied their landgrave and sent knights to Prince Konrad instead. In Konrad’s heartland of Franconia, a visionary monk saw Gottfried on a mountain-top, receiving the crown from Christ himself. Peasants and tradesmen by the hundreds left their homes and followed the monk to Gottfried’s camps. There, just like the common folk who marched to Jerusalem, they ate his food and got in his way, but added nothing to his military strength. The Bavarians prayed for his victory, but they had a great deal of difficulty finding either tithes or food. Konrad’s proud warrior Thuringia swore he would drive the Reinmark usurper headlong into the realms of Hel, but when he called his vassals to arms, only half of them came.

In Stavoren, we heard these accounts one by one; our hopes rose and fell like the wind. There were battles, but they were small and they settled nothing. There were betrayals and sudden political reverses, but both sides suffered them. Uncertainty seemed to be the order of the day— uncertainty and something else, something elusive, which for months we sensed around us but could not begin to identify. A restlessness. A waiting. An uneasiness quietly mixed with anger.

Where was God in all of this?

This was his empire, his people, his king. The war was no ordinary struggle for power. There was evil in the land, a new and desperate peril, but only a handful of Germans were certain what it was, or how they might combat it, or even on which side of the quarrel it could be found. The others wanted to be told— by a miracle, or by the undivided authority of the Church, or by some kind of dazzling, absolutely conclusive victory. Unfortunately, miracles and churchmen were turning up on both sides, and victory on neither.

Where then was God?

Only in the Reinmark were matters changing decisively. Using his mountain fortress as a base, Karelian stormed over the whole interior of the duchy. He gobbled up Gottfried’s scattered holdings one by one, overwhelming three small castles and placing the last one under siege. Some twenty barons who held modest fiefs directly from the duke he came to terms with, without battle.

The duke, he told them, was no longer duke, much less emperor. He had risen against his lawful sovereign, and all his lands and rights were forfeit. He, Karelian, would act as Konrad’s agent and confirm the barons in their possessions, provided they swore allegiance and provided him with aid.

They were small nobility. They had already sent aid to Gottfried. Not one of them could have put fifty knights in the field in his own defense. They swore.

Stavoren seemed to exist in a state of permanent crisis. Theodoric wanted to attack— to lead his men across the mountains and thunder into battle like the great Teuton warlord he believed himself to be. But we could get no reliable information about Karelian’s forces. A thousand men … a few hundred … a vast, unstoppable army … everyone who saw him saw something different. As at Schildberge, his strikes were swift, sudden, and successful, and rumor raced on the heels of his victories like fear in a time of plague.