Chapter 107: The Viscount’s Orders
"Eckhard did the right thing," Konrad stated firmly, analyzing the situation.
"If he had engaged them, we would be fighting the entire continent by noon. How many Vatican guards are blocking the road?"
"Roughly three hundred," Ragnar reported, leaning heavily on the pommel of his broadsword.
"They are commanded by a highly arrogant bastard named Commander Orsini. They didn’t draw steel, and they didn’t attack the wagons. They just formed a solid wall of horses across the pass and demanded that we halt."
Though three hundred men was a completely insignificant force compared to the Swabian guns, their armor was impenetrable.
"What exactly do they want?" Konrad asked.
Ragnar let out a harsh laugh. "They want you, Lord Konrad. Commander Orsini rode up to the Marshal and demanded to know exactly how a small Swabian border force completely annihilated a Savoyard fortress and seven thousand Bohemian mercenaries in a single morning. They heard the rumors, and they don’t believe it."
"They want a demonstration..." Isolde’s soft voice echoed from the corridor behind them.
She looked at Konrad, her face serious.
"....."
"They use the Teutonic Knights and the Swiss Guards to enforce their will because those armies are widely considered invincible.
If a rogue Swabian Viscount has suddenly invented a weapon that can slaughter seven thousand men before breakfast, the Pope’s absolute authority is fundamentally threatened.
...they are there to interrogate your methods."
However, Konrad knew that giving the Vatican a personal tour of his Gatling carts was the last thing he wanted to do.
If Rome fully understood the mechanical, easily reproducible nature of the Swabian guns, they wouldn’t just excommunicate him; they would steal the blueprints and mass-produce the weapons themselves.
"They demanded that you ride out to the blockade personally," Ragnar added, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Commander Orsini swore on the holy cross that no Swabian wagon would take another step into this valley until the Viscount of Swabia explains his ’dark magic’ directly to the Church."
Konrad looked down at the freshly printed pamphlet in his hand... the Savoyard Treachery.
It was a brilliant piece of propaganda...
It perfectly laid out the legal justification for his invasion.
But a piece of paper meant absolutely nothing if his entire war chest was currently being held hostage by three hundred arrogant Vatican guards.
"..."
He was incredibly exhausted. His muscles ached, and his mind was strained from curing Albrecht’s fever and managing the printing presses.
"Isolde," Konrad commanded. "Take this pamphlet. Give it to Master Johannes. Tell him to start distributing the five thousand copies to the merchant guilds immediately. If the Pope’s men are already on my borders, I want my legal casus belli circulating in the streets before the sun fully rises."
"It will be done, My Lord." Isolde bowed, taking the crushed vellum from his hand.
Konrad then turned back to Ragnar.
The veteran mercenary captain looked like he was about to collapse from sheer fatigue, but there was still a loyal fire burning in his eyes.
"Go to the barracks, Ragnar," Konrad ordered. "Find Dieter and tell him to wake the reserve gunners. I want fifty heavy Reiters suited up in full black plate. I want their wheellocks primed, and I want them mounted in the courtyard in ten minutes."
Ragnar’s grin returned, wiping away his exhaustion. "We are going to break the blockade, Marshal... I mean, Lord Konrad?"
"...Commander Orsini wants to see me. I am going to give him the exact truth. I am going to politely inform him that the Savoyards stole from the Fugger banks, and I simply reclaimed my property according to the laws of the Empire."
Thus, Konrad was going to use the Pope’s own men to validate his legal defense.
If he handed the pamphlet directly to Commander Orsini, the Vatican would be forced to legally acknowledge the Savoyard theft.
"And what if the arrogant bastard refuses to move his horses?" Ragnar asked, adjusting the belt of his broadsword. "What if he demands to inspect the Gatling carts inside the wagons?"
Konrad walked past Ragnar, heading for the armory to retrieve his own steel breastplate and his riding cloak.
"Orsini is a Vatican commander," Konrad said. "If he refuses my legal explanation, and if he tries to lay a single holy finger on my silver..."
Konrad paused at the armory door, looking back over his shoulder at his captain.
"Then I guess we will just have to politely ask him how bulletproof the Pope’s blessings actually are, won’t we?"
"..."
The biting wind of the Swabian dawn howled through the open arches of the armory, merciless against the exposed skin of the soldiers.
Konrad stood in the center of the room, pulling the straps of his blackened steel breastplate tight.
He reached down to his workbench, grabbing his primary wheellock pistol.
He shoved the weapon into the belt at his waist and grabbed a fur-lined riding cloak.
"Lord Konrad!"
Konrad marched out of the armory.
Fifty of Swabia’s absolute best Reiters were already mounted on their muscled destriers.
They wore full black plate armor, their visors raised, their deadly wheellock rifles resting across the pommels of their leather saddles.
"The men are ready, My Lord." Ragnar grunted, stepping up to Konrad and handing him the reins of his own black warhorse.
The mercenary captain had washed the worst of the Savoyard mud from his face, but his eyes were still wild.
Konrad took the reins. "We are securing our silver. Keep the men disciplined. No one fires unless I personally give the command."
After hearing such words, a few of the younger Reiters exchanged nervous glances, but they quickly nodded.
They knew better than to question the Viscount’s direct orders...
"My Lord... if they touch the wagons..." Ragnar muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword.
"If they touch the wagons, I will handle it." Konrad replied. He grabbed the pommel of his saddle and hauled his body up onto the warhorse.
He settled into the leather, adjusting his fur cloak. "Open the gates!"
High above the courtyard, Lady Katarina stirred in her bed.
The clanking of steel armor and the nervous snorting of warhorses had managed to penetrate the thick stone walls of the guest wing.
She blinked slowly, pulling the covers up to her chin.
For a brief second, she thought it was just the normal morning drills of the Swabian garrison.
However, the noises were too organized, too urgent to be a simple changing of the guard... and the voices were too loud.
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