Chapter 100: A Good Wife
The shadow-walker gave a nod, adjusting the silver pitcher of spiced wine before melting back into the bustling crowd of kitchen servants.
Konrad set his silver goblet down on the table and turned his head slightly,
Lady Katarina was laughing softly at a mundane joke told by one of her father’s royal guards.
She looked immaculate in her deep crimson silk gown, her dark hair pinned up with intricate silver combs.
However, Konrad knew the intellect hiding behind that beautiful smile.
His mind drifted back to exactly 5 days ago.
Konrad had been locked in his study, staring at a map of the western mountain passes, his mind consumed by the fact that his army was marching through the mud.
Katarina had slipped into his study unannounced.
She had bypassed his guards with a simple flash of her royal Wittelsbach smile.
She had walked right up to his drafting table, looked at the map, and then looked him dead in the eye.
"You cannot hide 4,000 men forever, Konrad," she had said softly, "My father is blind, but he is not stupid. The barracks are empty. The armories are quiet. Where exactly did you send them?"
After hearing such words, Konrad had felt a rare wave of sheer exhaustion wash over him.
He could have lied.
He could have told her they were on a prolonged winter patrol, or securing the northern star-forts against Friedrich’s approaching crusade.
But as he had looked at her standing there in the dim candlelight, a sudden realization had settled into his bones.
She was going to be his wife.
This wasn’t just a temporary political alliance; they were going to be bound by the Church and by iron.
If he was going to survive the bloody reality of 1526 AD, he couldn’t just treat her like a decorative broodmare or a hostile spy. He needed a partner.
Thus, he had let out a long sigh, tossed his charcoal onto the desk, and told her the absolute truth.
He told her about the fake Fugger silver convoy. He told her about the stolen crates of river rocks, the casus belli, and Marshal Eckhard marching the 21 twelve-pounder cannons directly into the heart of Savoy.
Katarina hadn’t panicked.
She hadn’t screamed about the Pope or the laws of the Holy Roman Empire. Instead, her dark eyes had widened in genuine awe.
She had started asking about the supply lines and how long the artillery could sustain a siege.
She was smart. She was exactly the kind of woman who could help him govern an industrial empire.
She had promised him, right there in the dimly lit study, that she would not breathe a single word of his invasion to anyone.
Not even to her father.
Even so, it had been a dangerous gamble.
For the last 5 days, Konrad had watched Duke Wilhelm like a hawk.
He had waited for the Bavarian lord to suddenly pack his treasury wagons and flee the keep in terror, screaming that the Swabian Viscount was a rogue warlord.
But it never happened...
Duke Wilhelm remained blissfully ignorant, arguing with Bishop Tomas over theology and drinking entirely too much wine.
Katarina had kept her word.
The silence had proven her loyalty, and this deeply stressful situation had made her involvement absolutely necessary.
Clearly, their relationship was forging into something way more strong than a simple political contract.
"Katarina," Konrad murmured, leaning just a fraction closer to her.
His voice was low, masked by the cheerful plucking of the lute players in the upper gallery.
Katarina turned her head toward him, keeping a pleasant smile on her face for the benefit of the watching nobles.
"Yes, My Lord? Have you finally decided to stop scowling at the roasted pheasant?"
"I need you to do something for me," Konrad whispered, his eyes serious. "
Katarina picked up her delicate glass of wine, taking a tiny sip to cover the movement of her lips. "I am listening."
"A Swabian scout just arrived from the west," Konrad explained quietly, pretending to adjust the silver cutlery on his plate.
"Marshal Eckhard has sent a heavily armored dispatch rider named Klaus. He is carrying the absolute final report from the Savoyard border.
He is waiting in the thick pine forest, roughly 2 miles beyond the eastern ridge."
Katarina’s breath hitched slightly.
The war news...
The outcome of the entire invasion was sitting in the dark just outside the castle walls.
"Why is he waiting in the trees?" Katarina whispered back. "Why doesn’t he just ride into the courtyard and hand you the letter?"
"Because if 5 blood-soaked Reiters ride through the main gates right now, your father and the Bishop will realize I just fought a battle," Konrad stated flatly. "The cover will be completely blown. I cannot leave this table. If I stand up and walk out into the night, the Vatican spy will send his Swiss guards to follow me. I need someone who can walk out of this Great Hall without raising a single fucking suspicion."
Though the request was heavy, Katarina understood immediately.
She was a Bavarian noblewoman.
She was the pampered, highly respected daughter of a Duke.
If she decided to take a stroll, or leave the feast early, the Bavarian halberdiers wouldn’t dare question her.
The Swiss guards wouldn’t follow her...
"You want me to go into the forest in the middle of the night to meet a band of heavily armed mercenaries," Katarina clarified.
"I will have Isolde’s shadow-walkers escort you from the postern gate," Konrad assured her quickly.
"You will be safe. But you are the only one who can actually fetch that letter and bring it back inside the keep without triggering an international incident. Will you do it?"
Katarina didn’t even hesitate.
She elegantly placed her wine glass down on the table.
She smoothed the deep crimson silk of her gown, her posture straightening.
"Watch my father," Katarina whispered softly. "If he asks for more wine, make sure your stewards pour the strongest vintage you have. Keep his mind dull."
Before Konrad could say another word, Katarina pushed her chair back. The sudden movement caught the attention of the nobles sitting nearby.
Duke Wilhelm, chewing on a thick slice of venison, paused and looked over at his daughter.
His face was flushed red from the alcohol and the heat of the roaring hearth.
"Katarina, my dear?" Duke Wilhelm asked loudly, wiping grease from his thick beard.
"Where are you going? The feast has barely reached the third course!
The lute players are just getting to the good Bavarian ballads!"
Bishop Tomas also paused his rambling, his watery, highly calculating eyes locking onto the young bride-to-be.
Katarina offered them a stunning smile. She looked innocent, the very picture of a diligent, responsible noblewoman managing her new household.
"Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, Your Eminence," Katarina said smoothly, "I am simply going to see the grain fields."
Duke Wilhelm frowned, "The grain fields? In the dead of night? Damn it, girl, it is freezing outside!"
"The winter stores, Father," Katarina corrected him with a gentle sigh. "Lord Konrad is a brilliant man of the forge, but his stewards are overwhelmed by the sudden influx of our royal guests. We have hundreds of hungry men to feed this week. I simply wish to personally inspect the grain silos and the outer storehouses to ensure the bread tallies are correct for tomorrow’s breakfast. A good wife must manage the ledgers."
Duke Wilhelm puffed his chest out, proud of his daughter’s sudden display of traditional domestic responsibility.
"Ah! Excellent!" the Duke boomed, raising his goblet toward Konrad.
"You see, Viscount? Bavarian women are the hardest workers in the Empire! Go on, my dear! Ensure the Swabian bakers don’t cheat us on the flour!"
Bishop Tomas smiled thinly, nodding his head in holy approval.
"A pious and diligent bride is a blessing from the Lord. Do not catch a chill, Lady Katarina."
"I will wear my thickest furs, Your Eminence," Katarina promised sweetly.
She offered a sweeping curtsy to the high table, turned on her heel, and gracefully walked toward the doors at the far end of the Great Hall.
The Bavarian guards standing watch stepped aside to let her pass, unquestioning.
Konrad remained seated.
He smoothly engaged Duke Wilhelm in a boring conversation about the price of Baltic salt.
But as the doors clicked shut behind Katarina, his mind raced out into the night.
Katarina was smart. She was brave.
But as she slipped out of the warm keep and headed toward the dark, heavily wooded eastern ridge... Konrad suddenly realized a glaring, highly problematic variable he had forgotten to account for.
Klaus was a hardened, paranoid Swabian veteran who had just survived a massacre against 7,000 men.
When a Bavarian noblewoman wearing a crimson silk dress walked out of the dark woods demanding the most classified military dispatch in the entire Duchy... was the veteran Reiter actually going to hand it to her, or was he going to point his wheellock rifle at her chest?
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