Re: Steel and Gunpowder

Chapter 86: The Papal Clerk

A slender hand reached out and rested on Konrad’s shoulder.

"Konrad."

The voice was soft, but held a playful, jabbering undertone.

Lady Katarina of Bavaria was sitting on the very edge of his mattress.

She was fully dressed in a blue velvet gown, her dark hair braided and pinned.

She looked immaculate, leaning slightly over him with a sharp smile playing on her lips.

Konrad pushed himself up onto his elbows, his hand instinctively shot toward the steel dagger he always kept hidden under his pillow.

"What are you doing in my private chambers?" Konrad demanded.

Katarina reached out, her fingers tapping the side of his cheek. "You are an heavy sleeper for a man who claims to be surrounded by enemies, Lord Konrad, and you really shouldn’t be so angry with me. I am doing you a favor by waking you up."

Konrad lowered the dagger slightly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He glanced past her, noticing that his bedchamber door was firmly closed and locked from the inside.

"A favor?" Konrad repeated, "Is your father already complaining about the temperature of his guest room?"

"Oh, my father is drinking a nice cup of your smuggled Ottoman coffee in the main hall," Katarina chuckled softly. "He is quite relaxed, actually. He even looked out the window and noticed that your courtyard is empty. Not a single marching boot or shouting sergeant to be seen."

"The men are... patrolling the outer star-forts," Konrad lied, "It is a standard winter drill."

"Is it?" Katarina leaned in closer.

She knew... she didn’t know exactly where the army was, but she knew he was lying right to her face.

However, she didn’t accuse him. Instead, she placed her hand over his, slowly pushing the dagger back down onto the mattress.

"You can hide your little army wherever you like, I won’t tell my father a single word," Katarina whispered softly, "But you need to get out of this bed right now, and you need to put on your best armor."

Konrad frowned, "Why?"

"...the very first wedding guest has just arrived at your front gates," Katarina said, "And he is flying the personal banner of the Pope."

"The banner of the Pope?" Konrad repeated.

Clearly, things were getting worse. Much, much worse.

He had just printed ten thousand copies of a highly heretical book... he had armed peasants with modern wheellocks, stripped local Catholic lords of their ancient lands, and essentially declared open, undeniable rebellion against the Vatican’s financial grip on the Swabian valley.

The Pope had literally just given his brother Friedrich a castle and a bottomless chest of Fugger silver to wage a holy crusade against him!

Are they forgetting what he did? Are they coming to make diplomatic relations now?

Will they just conveniently forget the religious schism he started simply because Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria invited them to a royal wedding?

After all, the banner of the Pope was no small thing... In the political landscape of the Holy Roman Empire, that golden crossed-keys symbol flew just as high and mighty as the double-headed eagle of the Emperor himself. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

It carried the absolute weight of God, the threat of eternal damnation, and usually, a massive army of heavily armored zealots!

Katarina let out a small, almost dismissive sigh, smoothing the blue velvet of her gown.

"You are overthinking it," Katarina said, "It is not Cardinal Morone, and it certainly isn’t a high inquisitor with an army of templars at his back."

Konrad frowned, "Then who is flying the crossed keys at my gates at this ungodly hour?"

After hearing such words, Katarina shrugged her elegant shoulders, "He is a small man. A minor bishop from a lesser diocese, or perhaps a senior clerk of the papal treasury. My father invited him purely as a political formality, to show that Bavaria still respects the Church’s authority in matters of matrimony. He clearly has authority of some point to carry the banner, but a man like this is not a thing to worry about."

"A man like this is exactly what we need to worry about," Konrad snapped.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the fact that he was only wearing his sleep trousers and a loose linen shirt. "He isn’t here to bless our union. He is here to spy. The Pope sent a clerk because clerks know exactly how to count."

Katarina tilted her head, "Count what? Your Fugger silver?"

"My men," Konrad said flatly.

He walked over to his heavy wardrobe, yanking the doors open. He grabbed a clean black leather doublet and began pulling it over his shoulders.

"If a papal clerk walks into my courtyard right now and notices that I only have a few hundred green farm boys drilling, he will do the math. He will look at the empty stables. He will look at the quiet armories. He will realize my main host of four thousand veterans is missing."

"...If he realizes they are missing, he won’t care about a royal wedding. He will send a fast rider back to Rome, or worse, directly to the Savoyard border."

Katarina stood up from the bed, "Then we blind him. We keep him confined to the main hall and the guest wing. We drown him in wedding details, fine wine, and endless theological debates with my father."

"That is a start..." Konrad agreed, strapping his wheellock dag to his belt. "Keep your father occupied. If Duke Wilhelm starts boasting to this papal envoy about the strength of the Swabian army, the envoy will ask to see it. I cannot have them inspecting my walls today."

"I will manage the Duke," Katarina promised, offering him a sharp smile. "Just make sure you play the gracious, completely harmless groom. The Church loves a repentant sinner."

"I am not repenting for a thing," Konrad shot back. He turned on his heel and marched out of his private bedchamber.

The keep felt terrifyingly empty... with Marshal Eckhard and the vast majority of the veteran gunners currently sitting in a hidden ravine miles away, the fortress was guarded by a skeleton crew of raw recruits and a handful of loyal sergeants.

He turned the corner and nearly collided with Lady Isolde.

The spymaster was already awake, dressed in her usual dark silk.

She was holding a small stack of deciphered Hanseatic merchant letters, but her face was pulled into a deep scowl.

"I see the bride-to-be already woke you," Isolde noted quietly, falling into step beside him as he marched toward the Great Hall. "I assume she told you about our uninvited holy guest?"

"She did," Konrad said, "A minor clerk with a papal banner. Tell me your shadow-walkers already have eyes on him."

"They do," Isolde confirmed, matching his fast pace. "He arrived in a modest wooden carriage, accompanied by only six Swiss guards. He is a fat, sweaty little man named Bishop Tomas. He has spent the last twenty minutes standing in the receiving hall, loudly complaining about the freezing Swabian wind and demanding a cup of hot spiced wine."

"Did he see the empty courtyard?" Konrad pressed, his jaw tightening.

"No," Isolde shook her head. "It was still mostly dark when his carriage rolled through the front gates. I ordered the gate guards to usher him inside the keep. He hasn’t seen the barracks, and he hasn’t seen the armory. But Konrad... he says he carries a direct, highly sensitive message from the Vatican regarding the upcoming nuptials."

"A message from the Vatican," Konrad scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "They want to probe my defenses and see if I am weak enough to be crushed by Friedrich’s Bohemian mercenaries."

Thus, the strategy was set... he had to play the part of a busy lord who simply had no time for military matters because he was consumed by the logistics of a royal wedding.

"Where is he now?" Konrad asked as they approached the double doors of the Great Hall.

"Sitting by the main hearth, warming his fat hands," Isolde replied. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Konrad pushed the doors open, stepping into the Great Hall.

The room was mostly empty, save for a few servants quietly sweeping the stone floors.

Near the roaring fire of the main hearth, surrounded by six incredibly tense-looking Swiss guards in their colorful, slashed uniforms, sat Bishop Tomas.

The man was exactly as Isolde had described... he was a short, incredibly round man wrapped in layers of fine crimson wool and thick furs.

However, as Konrad’s boots echoed across the floor, the Bishop stopped yelling. He turned his watery eyes toward the Viscount of Swabia.

Konrad simply stopped a few paces away, resting his hand on the steel grip of his wheellock dag.

"Bishop Tomas, I presume," Konrad said.

The Bishop slowly stood up, "Viscount von Frundsberg. The Holy Father sends his... regards."