Wolfbreed (11 page)

It was signed “Hochmeister Conrad of Thuringia.”

Conrad’s predecessor, Hermann von Salza, had elevated Erhard to Landkomtur in Jerusalem. Conrad had only borne the title of Hochmeister for a few weeks. Now, abruptly, he was in Prûsa, commanding an audience.

Erhard had briefly contemplated taking Lilly, but despite her training and her human appearance, she was still a grave secret. A convent of knights accompanied by a maiden bound by a silver
chain would raise questions that would be unwelcome to Erhard, his Order, and his mission.

Fortunately, Johannisburg was small and now had a keep equipped to keep Lilly safe and unobserved while Erhard met with the new Hochmeister. Erhard was unconcerned about the limited springtime garrison at the keep. In a decade of service, no one but Erhard had ever had to lay a hand on Lilly. Of all her siblings, she had always been the most obedient, the most intelligent, and the most accepting of the missions given to her. She was the one ultimate expression of Brother Semyon’s plans for the wolfbreed, and trained so, Lilly was only a threat to enemies of God and the Order.

When he had taken Lilly to Johannisburg, she had walked meekly into her cell to await her master’s return.

That was almost a week ago.

Landkomtur Erhard von Stendal now rode the streets of Marienwerder, his mount slogging through a mixture of mud, slush, and manure that stank despite the cold.

The buildings leaned over the streets, crowding between the city walls and the shoulders of the castle. The bishopric here had been founded less than a decade ago, yet the gates Erhard had just ridden through led into the most important city in Christian Prûsa—a city as populous and diverse as any in northern Christendom. Around him, Erhard heard German, French, and Italian, and even the broad-nosed men of Prûsan heritage were speaking some more civilized tongue.

The castle here was three times the size of the keep at Johannisburg, and was a hive of activity, almost more crowded than the city below it. Grooms took their horses, and servants led them to a barracks that could easily hold twoscore knights.

Erhard and his men took the evening meal with the resident brothers, more than two dozen men, enough for two full convents of brethren. They ate in silence as scripture was read, and after
the clerks read the concluding prayers and the servants took the remaining bread for alms, one of the lay brothers came to Erhard and said, “They will see you now.”

hey” were several of the highest-ranking members of the Teutonic Order in Prûsa. It included the Landmeister of all Prûsa as well as the new Hochmeister, Conrad of Thuringia himself. To Conrad’s right sat an unfamiliar man in a bishop’s robes. The brothers of the Order were all plainly dressed in white or somber-hued linens decorated only by the black cross of their Order. The only departures from the ascetic dress of the knights were the rings worn by Hochmeister Conrad as a token of his rank.

In contrast, the bishop was as out of place as a peacock within a murder of crows. The man’s hands glittered with rings, and his cloak had obscenely voluminous velvet sleeves trimmed in fur. He wore a heavy gold cross on a chain. The bishop was heavy as well, and the chain for his cross disappeared into the folds around his neck, which were nearly as full as the folds in his robe.

To Erhard’s surprise, the bishop was the first to speak.

“You are Landkomtur Erhard von Stendal?” The bishop’s German was heavily accented.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The bishop nodded. “You have the title of province commander, but you have no province. Can you tell me how you came by this title?”

Erhard narrowed his eyes and looked at Hochmeister Conrad. The grand master’s expression was grave. “Please do well to answer Bishop Cecilio’s question.”

“It was granted to me by Hochmeister Hermann von Salza when I served in Jerusalem.”

The bishop grunted something in Italian. Erhard didn’t know the language well enough to understand much of what the man said, but what he did hear sounded something like,
“stupid diversion of resources.”

Erhard stood a little straighter, steeling himself against the unchristian resentment building in his breast. He knew that there was no shortage of men in the Church who questioned the priorities of the Order’s mission in the north. There were those who believed that any and all forces of Christendom should be directed to supporting and defending the Holy Land. To them, the fact that the Baltic was home to tribes of heathen barbarians was almost irrelevant.

Such men were also concerned with how quickly the Order had grown here, and how many more secular crusaders were being recruited for the campaigns in Prûsa than for the support of the Church’s tenuous hold against the Infidel in Jerusalem. Men like the bishop didn’t account for the fact that the crusaders to Prûsa had a much shorter and easier journey, and could travel home at the end of a campaign in a matter of a month. To men like the bishop, every sword in Prûsa was one less sword in the Holy Land.

Erhard thanked God that it wasn’t his place to make that argument here. He waited for the bishop to continue his questioning. Instead, the bishop addressed Hochmeister Conrad in a tone that Erhard thought bordered on disrespect. “Is this kind of elevation a common practice in the German Order?”

Who is this odious man?
Erhard thought.

Hochmeister Conrad educated the bishop on the normal course of affairs in the Order as far as the brethren rising in ranks. Erhard watched the bishop gesture as he spoke with the grand master. In the flashes of glittering jewels on the bishop’s fingers, Erhard saw an explanation, and it was a grave one.

In the midst of the jewelry was a papal signet.

The bishop was a representative of the pope, and one that seemed hostile to the Order. That wasn’t a good sign. The Teutonic Order had prospered in the last decade because of the dual patronage of both Frederick II of the Holy Roman Empire and Pope Gregory IX. Both rulers, spiritual and secular, had granted the Teutonic Order domain over Prûsa. Support for the Order was one of few spots of common ground ever found between the two. The hostility between Gregory and Frederick was epic and long-lived, escalating to the point where the pope had actually invaded the emperor’s lands when the emperor had gone to the Holy Land to fulfill his vows in a crusade.

Relative peace had reigned between the two for the past decade mainly because of the diplomatic intercession of Hochmeister Hermann von Salza, who had maintained close and friendly relations with both. His abilities had not only helped to secure peace between the Papal States and the Empire, but had managed to increase the Order’s temporal power to the point where it was a near autonomous force in the north of Europe. Within the confines of Prûsa, the Teutonic Order was legally answerable only to the pope, but in effect, answerable only to God.

Since the recent death of Hermann von Salza, however, Erhard had heard that the tenuous peace between pope and emperor was crumbling. Now it seemed the unquestioned favor granted to the Order was beginning to crumble as well.

When Hochmeister Conrad completed his explanation of the normal process of ascension in the ranks of the Order, Bishop Cecilio shifted his massive bulk forward to peer at Erhard from deep-set eyes. “This is not your story, is it?”

“No, Your Grace, it isn’t.” Erhard looked back at the bishop’s face, and he could tell that this was a man for whom simple respect was not satisfactory. Bishop Cecilio was a man who was accustomed to command through fear. The sense of entitlement Erhard felt from the man was in stark contrast to Hochmeister Conrad,
who had several years ago abrogated a noble birth and title to join the Order as a simple knight.

“Perhaps you can explain your position and how you came by it.”

Erhard did not like the sound of where this was going. What he did for the Order was a secret of monumental significance. He looked directly to Hochmeister Conrad for guidance. “With my master’s leave, Your Grace.”

“Do not try my patience, Brother Erhard. I come here with full papal authority to review this matter.”

Erhard nodded to the bishop. “To whom I owe fealty and obedience. I serve at the pleasure of His Holiness first of all.” He turned back to Hochmeister Conrad. “But of those present in this room, after God, my duty is to my master.”

“Such insolence,” the bishop muttered. Erhard was prepared for more of an outburst, but it didn’t happen. Bishop Cecilio seemed to defer ever so slightly to Conrad. It seemed the Order still reigned here, although the balance was more precarious than Erhard would have liked.

Hochmeister Conrad steepled his fingers. “There are no secrets in this room. Speak freely and enlighten Bishop Cecilio on how it is you have served God, the Church, and our Order these past ten years.”

Erhard nodded and silently prayed for strength. Then he raised his head and spoke. “In the year of our Lord twelve hundred and twenty-nine, in Jerusalem, I was called to an audience before Hochmeister Hermann von Salza …”

Erhard told the bishop of the young wolfbreed children trained by Brother Semyon in his half-ruined monastery. He told him of the first use of the trained beasts, to spread superstitious panic and confusion in the villages harboring bands of tribesmen that troubled the movements of Christian soldiers and tradesmen. He told them that, based on those successes in the first year, they were able to use one wolfbreed child to break a siege of a Prûsan fort that had been resisting for nearly a year.

He told him of the greatest success, when they used the monsters’ human appearance to slip them into villages before a siege began. One creature alone could decimate the leadership, shatter morale, and panic the population in the space of a night or two. Once the Order had adopted the tactic, it wasn’t unusual to have the villagers open the city gates to the invaders. They believed that their old gods had come to punish them, and the Order was happy to bring the power of Christ to their rescue.

“Because of these animals,” Erhard said, “we have grown the borders of Christendom farther into Prûsa than anyone before us, with fewer men lost and many more converts gained.” Erhard didn’t mention the losses among the wolfbreed themselves. Most hadn’t been as adept as Lilly at learning the basics of tactics, and had fallen to wounds too great to heal from.

The bishop nodded, leaning back in his chair. “I see. Do you have any more to say?”

“Only that it was the providence of our Lord God that brought us possession of these remarkable creatures, and it is His continued providence that allows for our continued successes in this heathen land.”

The bishop nodded and brought his sausagelike fingers up to rub the bridge of his nose. Lamplight glistened off the skin of his face, which was oily with sweat. Erhard had thought it chilly in the stone halls here, but then he was not covered in heavy robes, or grotesquely obese.

“This is obscene,” the bishop said finally.

“Your Grace—” Erhard began.

“No,” the bishop snapped, “your statement is complete. It is clear from your own testimony that you have engaged in offenses against God and Nature that are nearly beyond credibility. You walk into my presence and have the temerity to speak of the providence of our Lord.”

Erhard stepped back and shook his head. He cast a pleading glance at Conrad. “But—”

The bishop cast an accusing jeweled finger at Erhard. “Silence, or I will have you silenced.”

When Conrad didn’t intervene, Erhard stood mute.

“I have had leave to investigate what has transpired under the auspices of the Order, and what has occurred at your hands, and at the hands of Brother Semyon von Kassel. I have heard testimony in regard to the monstrous wretches in your care, and of their fates. Three supposedly died at the hands of the pagan tribes they were set upon.” He cocked his head and his next words dripped with derision. “Surely a sign of our Lord’s providence.”

Erhard strained against the impulse to speak out, to explain, but to do so now would only worsen his case—a case he now feared had been lost long before he ever set foot in Marienwerder.