Re: Steel and Gunpowder

Chapter 91: The Silver Vial

Spandau Castle, Margraviate of Brandenburg.

The howling winds of the northern marshlands battered the walls of the keep.

The Pope had gifted this fortress to Friedrich von Frundsberg, crowning him the holy champion of the Catholic Church.

It was meant to be a grand symbol of divine authority... right now, however, it just felt like a crowded tavern.

Friedrich stood at the head of a table in the center of the Great Hall.

On the left side of the table stood the high-ranking officers of the Teutonic Order, clad in their pristine white mantles with heavy black crosses.

On the right side stood the Church men - papal clerks, minor bishops, and treasury coin-counters draped in rich crimson and gold robes.

They had been arguing over grain tallies for three hours.

"The Bohemians are fully bought and currently massing on the Saxon borders, Lord Friedrich," stated Commander Wolfram, a bearded veteran of the Teutonic knights. "Eight thousand hardened mercenary halberdiers.."

"Eight thousand Bohemians do not march on empty stomachs, Wolfram," Friedrich replied, tracing the long supply routes down the map with his finger.

"...If we march them south right now, through the mud of the spring thaws, they will starve before they even reach the Swabian border."

"We have the backing of the Vatican treasury!" Father Thomas, the lead papal clerk, chimed in indignantly.

He adjusted his collar, looking offended. "The Holy Father has opened the deepest vaults of Rome to fund this righteous endeavor. Silver is not an issue."

"You can throw a chest of Fugger coins at a starving Bohemian, and he will just use it to bludgeon you to death and steal your boots. We need grain... we need supply wagons. And we need a secure route that my brother’s new weapons cannot ambush." Friedrich snapped.

After hearing such words, Commander Wolfram let out a mocking laugh. "You fear the Viscount’s little metal toys too much, Friedrich. We have heard the wild tales of his steam demons and his fire-breathing sticks. But gunpowder is slow, and Swabian peasants are cowards. When a wall of three thousand Teutonic warhorses hits their lines, they will break and run."

Friedrich glared at the Teutonic knight. "My brother is many things," Friedrich said, "He is a heretic. He is a traitor to his own blood. But he is not a fool, and his weapons are not toys. I watched his cannons tear through the Bavarian vanguard from miles away. If you charge blindly at his walls, Wolfram, you will die."

Friedrich wanted to save the von Frundsberg name from eternal damnation... he loved his brother, in his own twisted way, but Konrad was tearing the Holy Roman Empire apart with his printed books and his industrial blasphemy.

Friedrich had to put the rabid dog down before the whole world caught the madness.

Just as Father Thomas opened his mouth to complain about the grain prices again, the doors at the back of the Great Hall creaked open.

A man wrapped in a traveling cloak slipped into the room... he was one of Friedrich’s personal border scouts, a man dedicated to watching the southern passes.

"My Lord," the spy said, approaching the table. "I rode ahead of the main courier. I bring urgent whispers from the Swabian valley."

Friedrich pushed away from the map. "Speak. What is he doing? Has he moved his black-armored gunners to the northern star-forts?"

"No, Lord Friedrich," the spy answered, looking slightly confused himself. "The Swabian borders are quiet. In fact, our whisperers report that your brother is consumed with a different matter. He is hosting a wedding."

"A wedding? Who the is he marrying?"

"Lady Katarina, My Lord," the spy reported clearly. "The daughter of Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria. The Duke himself is currently residing inside the von Frundsberg keep. He brought his royal retinue and his treasury wagons."

The Teutonic knights cursed loudly, and the Church men began whispering to one another.

"The Duke of Bavaria?" Father Thomas gasped, "Duke Wilhelm is a staunch traditionalist. He pays his tithes. Why would he openly bind his royal bloodline to the Heretic of Swabia?"

"Because my brother has the biggest guns in the south, and Wilhelm is a coward looking for a shield," Friedrich deduced.

If Bavaria allied with Swabia, Konrad wouldn’t just have an army; he would have the elite Bavarian halberdiers to protect his flanks.

"There is more, My Lord," the spy added nervously, keeping his head bowed.

"The wedding is drawing the attention of the Empire. The exiled Duke of Württemberg has arrived at the keep.

And... we also received reports that a minor Bishop carrying the Pope’s own banner is sitting in Konrad’s Great Hall."

Friedrich turned toward Father Thomas, "A papal banner? You told me the Vatican was dedicated to my crusade. Why the did the Pope send an envoy to legitimize my brother’s wedding?"

However, before the papal clerk could stammer out an excuse, the doors at the entrance were thrown wide open, slamming against the walls.

The six armed guards stationed at the door dropped to their knees, bowing their heads in submission.

The loud arguments around the table died.

A man walked into the Great Hall... he wore flowing, tailored robes of the richest purple velvet, trimmed with white ermine fur.

The rings on his fingers gleamed with rubies the size of quail eggs... his face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp, and his dark eyes burned with authority that made even Commander Wolfram take a step backward.

He was one of the pillars of the Vatican’s inner circle.

"Father Thomas is not to blame for the envoy in Swabia, Lord Friedrich," the man said, "The Holy Father plays many games. Some with swords, and some with smiles."

Friedrich swallowed hard, straightening his posture... he recognized the man from the holy summits in Vienna.

"Cardinal Morone..." Friedrich whispered, shocked. "What is a High Inquisitor of the Vatican doing in the Brandenburg?"

Cardinal Morone slowly walked toward the table, he reached into his velvet robes and pulled out a silver vial filled with a swirling liquid.

"I am here because your brother is no longer just a local heretic playing with metal toys, the Vatican has received whispers from the west. Your brother’s army is not sitting idle for a wedding, we know exactly where his guns are marching."

Friedrich frowned in confusion. "Marching?"

Cardinal Morone placed the small silver vial onto the center of the map, resting it over the Duchy of Savoy.

He offered Friedrich a smile.