Chapter 103: The Empty Barrels -2
A\N: DON’T OPEN (WRONG Chapter )
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The fever was fighting an infection inside the body. He needed the chemical compound that would tell the brain to lower the internal thermostat.
He racked his brain, digging into the medical trivia he had learned before this miserable reality.
Aspirin. Salicylic acid.
Where could he find salicylic acid in a medieval castle?
"Willow," Konrad whispered to himself, his eyes widening. "White willow bark."
He spun around to face his mother.
The Dowager Baroness was staring at him like he was possessed by a demon.
"Mother," Konrad said, gripping her gray sleeves. "The apothecary in the lower town. Does he keep dried willow bark for joint pain?"
"I... I do not know your heathen herbs, Konrad!" Mathilda cried out.
"Think!" Konrad pressed. "When your knees ache in the winter, what does the herbalist give you to chew on?"
Mathilda blinked, flustered by the questioning. "The... the bitter white bark. Yes. He keeps a jar of it. But it is for old bones, not for a baby’s fever!"
"It’s the exact same math," Konrad muttered, turning toward the open doorway. "Guards!"
Two heavily armored Swabian Reiters, who had been stationed in the hallway, stepped into the room, snapping to attention.
"Run to the lower town," Konrad ordered, "Kick the apothecary’s door down. Take every single strip of dried white willow bark he has. If he argues, pay him with silver. If he resists, shoot him. Bring it back here in five minutes."
The Reiters saluted and sprinted down the stone corridor.
Konrad turned back to the crib. Albrecht was still whining, a weak sound that shattered Konrad’s hardened heart.
He gently picked the infant up, cradling the burning hot body against his velvet doublet.
"Hold on, little one..." Konrad whispered, pacing the floor. "Just hold on. The ice is coming."
Within moments, Isolde burst back into the room, followed by two shadow-walkers carrying a bucket filled with chipped winter ice and freezing well water.
"I have it," Isolde panted, rushing over.
"Good," Konrad said. "Maids, soak the linen cloths in the ice water. Wring them out so they are damp, not dripping. Place them on his forehead, under his arms, and on the back of his neck."
The maids, terrified of Konrad’s wrath, quickly obeyed.
As the cloths touched Albrecht’s burning skin, the baby let out a sharp cry, twisting in Konrad’s arms.
"I know, it hurts, but we have to pull the heat out of the core," Konrad murmured, rocking the child.
Thus, the agonizing wait began...
Five minutes later, the breathless Reiters returned, handing Konrad a small leather pouch filled with bitter, dried white bark.
Konrad walked over to the hearth, where a small iron pot of water was keeping warm.
He crushed the bark in his soot-stained hands, grinding it as fine as he could, and dumped it into the hot water.
He let it steep for a few agonizing minutes, creating a crude willow tea.
"It is too strong for a baby..." Mathilda whispered from the corner, watching him pour the tea into a small clay cup. "It will poison his stomach."
"It is exactly what he needs," Konrad replied.
He was flying blind... he knew the chemical theory, but he wasn’t a modern doctor, and he certainly didn’t know the exact dosage for a six-month-old infant in 1526 AD.
If he gave Albrecht too much, the salicylic acid could cause catastrophic internal bleeding or completely shut down his tiny kidneys.
Isolde stepped up beside him, looking at the dark, bitter liquid in the cup. "Will it work, Konrad?"
Konrad looked at the pale face of his spymaster, and then down at the struggling baby in his arms.
The fever was spiking again...
The ice was only holding the heat at bay, not killing the source.
He dipped a clean piece of linen into the bitter tea, letting the fabric soak up the medicine.
He gently brought the damp cloth to Albrecht’s tiny lips, squeezing a few small drops of the liquid directly into the baby’s mouth.
Albrecht grimaced at the bitter taste, swallowing weakly.
Konrad gave him three drops.
Even so, as he stared down at the small, fragile life resting in his hands, a disturbing question pierced through his mind.
As Albrecht’s breathing suddenly hitched, his tiny chest stilling for one second...
"Wait..." Konrad whispered to himself, his blood running cold. "Did I just give him too much?"
"Isolde," Konrad ordered, "Bring me clean linen. Soak it in the cold water from the basin."
The spymaster nodded quickly, her usual cold demeanor completely shattered by the sheer relief of seeing Albrecht breathe easily.
She brought the wet cloth. Konrad took it and wiped the sweat from the baby’s pale neck and forehead.
Even so, the danger wasn’t gone.
"He might vomit," Konrad warned, looking at Katarina. "If he does, you have to turn him on his side immediately so he doesn’t choke. Can you do that?"
"I have handled sick hounds and drunken brothers," Katarina replied, "I can handle a baby."
Konrad let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Good. Keep him warm, but not suffocating."
The nursery was stifling. The elderly physician, still cowering in the corner near his shattered jar of leeches, watched the Viscount with a mix of horror and awe.
To him, this wasn’t medicine; it was sheer witchcraft.
However, the nobles lingering in the hallway were a different problem.
Konrad could hear the frantic whispering of Duke Wilhelm and Bishop Tomas just outside the doors.
The Bavarian guards and the Swiss mercenaries were shifting restlessly, their armor clanking in the corridor.
"He cured the boy with a piece of wood..." Duke Wilhelm’s voice echoed through the oak, sounding baffled. "Tomas, did you see it? The fever simply vanished."
"It is dark magic, Your Grace!" the Bishop hissed back, his voice trembling. "We must summon an Inquisitor! He refused the leeches! He refused the prayers!"
Konrad ground his teeth together.
He placed his hand on Albrecht’s chest one last time.
The heartbeat was steady... the crude medicine had worked perfectly. His son was going to live.
Though his heart was still hammering against his ribs from the sheer terror of the fever, the warlord inside him slowly began to wake back up.
He turned away from the crib, rolling his velvet sleeves back down and fastening the silver cuffs. He looked at Isolde.
"Stay with them," Konrad commanded, "Do not let that butcher with the leeches anywhere near my son. If he tries to touch the boy, break his fingers."
Then Konrad looked at Katarina, who had arrived a few minutes earlier.
"The northern border, Konrad," she reminded him. "You have to deal with it before my father realizes what is happening."
Konrad took the parchment. The seal of Marshal Eckhard was already broken.
He didn’t read it yet... he simply tucked it inside his doublet, right over his heart.
"I will handle it," Konrad said.
He marched toward the doors of the nursery.
He pulled the doors open and stepped out into the brightly lit corridor.
The hallway was an mess of armored men and panicked nobles.
Duke Wilhelm was pacing back and forth, his robes swishing, while Bishop Tomas was clutching his golden cross and whispering Latin prayers.
"Viscount!" Duke Wilhelm shouted, rushing forward with wide eyes. "The boy! Is he...? Did your strange concoction actually?"
"My son is sleeping, Wilhelm," Konrad stated, "The fever is gone. He will recover."
Duke Wilhelm let out a sigh, wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead.
"Praise the saints! I tell you, Konrad, I thought the boy was lost! I must go in and see him! I must see this miracle for myself!"
The Duke took a step forward, reaching out to push past Konrad and enter the nursery.
But Konrad didn’t move a single inch.
Instead, he offered a nod to the shadows.
Instantly, six massive Swabian Reiters, clad entirely in blackened steel armor, stepped forward from the alcoves.
They moved with highly drilled precision. The mechanical clack of their wheellock rifles being leveled echoed sharply down the corridor.
Duke Wilhelm completely froze. He stared at the empty barrels of the rifles pointed at his chest.
"What... what is the meaning of this?!" the Duke demanded, "Viscount! I am the Duke of Bavaria! You are about to marry my daughter! Tell your dogs to lower their weapons right now!"
Bishop Tomas gasped, taking a quick step behind his Swiss guards. "This is an outrage! You draw weapons on your own guests?!"
"My guests were invited to a feast," Konrad said, "My son’s nursery is not a public tavern, and he is not a carnival attraction for you to gawk at. No one enters this room. Not you, Wilhelm. Not the Bishop. And certainly not your halberdiers."
"But I simply wish to see the child!" Duke Wilhelm protested, "And... and I wish to know what kind of wood you used! The physicians in Munich would pay a fortune for such knowledge!"
Konrad’s expression remained unyielding.
He knew exactly what the Duke was doing...
Wilhelm was trying to pry into the Swabian secrets, oblivious to the fact that his host was holding a dispatch detailing the slaughter of seven thousand men.
"The boy is resting, and the medicine is a closely guarded asset of my forges," Konrad replied. "You will not see him tonight, and you will not learn the formula. Go back to the Great Hall, Wilhelm. Drink my wine. Eat my boar. But do not take another step toward this door."
The Bavarian royal guards tensed, their hands gripping their halberds.
The tension in the narrow corridor was suffocating... a single twitch of a finger could spark a bloodbath right outside the nursery.
Duke Wilhelm looked at Konrad.
The Duke finally swallowed hard, the arrogant bluster slowly draining out of him.
He wasn’t a fool; he knew he was outgunned in this keep.
"Fine," the Duke muttered, "Keep your secrets, Viscount. Come, Bishop. Let us return to the feast. Clearly, our presence is no longer required here."
The Duke spun on his heel as he marched back toward the Great Hall, followed closely by the sweating papal envoy and their nervous guards.
Konrad watched them go until they disappeared around the corner of the corridor.
Only then did he let out a slow breath.
He reached into his doublet and pulled out the parchment Katarina had given him... he unfolded the vellum.
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