Chapter 97: People of Savoy
"We found this fat rat hiding under the altar, Marshal," one of the Reiters sneered, kicking the Count in the ribs to keep him down.
"...he was clutching a golden chalice and crying for the saints to save him."
Count Philibert gasped for air, his face pale as he looked up at the blood-soaked figures of Eckhard and Ragnar.
"Please!" Philibert begged, holding his hands up. "I surrender! I yield the keep! I hold noble rank! I demand to be ransomed according to the laws of the Holy Roman Empire!"
Eckhard stared down at the lord.
"You forfeit the protections of the Empire the moment you steal from the von Frundsberg house," "Where is it? Where is the Fugger silver your men dragged out of my wagons last week?"
Count Philibert swallowed hard, "It... it is safe! I swear it! We haven’t spent a single coin! It is all sitting in the deep vaults below the keep!"
"Go check," Eckhard ordered Ragnar.
Ragnar nodded and quickly marched toward the lower cellars with a squad of gunners.
Eckhard looked back down at the Count. The man was completely pathetic, but he was also the highest-ranking noble they had captured so far.
Lord Konrad would want to interrogate him to find out exactly how much communication he had with the Pope’s spies and Friedrich’s mercenary captains.
"You are going to tell me everything, Philibert," Eckhard said, "You are going to tell me how you knew we were marching, and who told you to ambush the fake convoy."
Philibert shook his head frantically, "It was just a letter from the east" the Count wailed, "A simple merchant’s tip! I swear on the holy cross, we thought the Swabian wagons were abandoned in the snow! We just wanted the silver! I didn’t know your army was waiting!"
Marshal Eckhard kept the barrel of his wheellock pistol pressed firmly against the weeping lord’s sweaty forehead for five long, agonizing seconds.
He watched the man shake... he watched the lack of dignity, the absence of noble courage.
Then, with a sigh, Eckhard slowly uncocked the hammer and holstered the weapon at his hip.
Thus, the theatrical display came to an end.
Eckhard had only pushed the fat lord to the brink of death just to see if he was a real man, or if he was hiding a deeper web of lies.
Clearly, the Count of this border town was nothing but a greedy coward.
Eckhard already knew why the heavy wooden crates down in the vaults were filled with cheap river stones instead of Fugger silver.
He knew that Lady Isolde’s elite shadow-walkers were the ones who had intentionally leaked the ’merchant tip’ to the Savoyard border guards a week ago.
Lord Konrad had orchestrated the entire fake convoy to create the perfect casus belli... a legally binding excuse to unleash his industrialized war machine upon the Duchy of Savoy without the Swabian Diet interfering.
Count Philibert was just a rat who had taken the cheese.
"Get up off the mud, you fucking pig," Eckhard ordered.
Philibert scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he wiped the wet dirt from his face.
He looked around the ruined courtyard, seeing the black-armored Swabian mercenaries securing the battlements and ignoring his authority.
After hearing such words from the Marshal, Captain Ragnar let out a laugh.
The mercenary leaned his sword against a cart.
"Look at him, Marshal. He thought he was a cunning wolf stealing from the Swabian sheep. He doesn’t even realize he was dancing on Lord Konrad’s strings the entire time."
"Shut your mouth and listen to me, Philibert," Eckhard interrupted, stepping closer to the Count.
"I don’t care about the rocks in your vault. I care about the seven thousand Bohemians sitting in the eastern tree line. I care about Friedrich von Frundsberg."
Philibert flinched at the name, his eyes darting toward the shattered main gates.
"What is your Duke’s relationship with Friedrich?" Eckhard demanded.
"Duke Charles of Savoy is supposed to be marching west... why did he allow a massive holy crusade to cross his borders and hide in his forests?"
However, Count Philibert hesitated.
"I... I cannot speak of Duke Charles’s royal decrees... it is treason..."
Eckhard gestured to Ragnar.
The mercenary stepped forward, grabbing Philibert by the throat with one hand and lifting the fat lord onto his toes.
"Treason is a problem for men who are going to live until tomorrow," Ragnar growled, tightening his grip just enough to cut off the Count’s air. "Start talking, little lord. Or I will cut off your fingers and feed them to the camp dogs."
Even so, it didn’t take much more to break him... Philibert tapped Ragnar’s armored wrist, gasping for breath.
Ragnar dropped him back into the mud.
"Vatican gold." Philibert choked out, rubbing his bruised throat. "It was Vatican gold... A month ago, a holy envoy arrived at our capital from the north! The Pope’s champion... Friedrich... he offered Duke Charles an absolute fortune in holy silver if Savoy would grant his Bohemians safe passage through the eastern valleys!"
Eckhard’s jaw tightened. "So Duke Charles sold his own border out just to line his pockets."
"He didn’t think you would attack us." Philibert cried. "Friedrich promised the Duke that the Swabian army was tied down in the north. He said your brother was too busy fighting the Emperor’s politics to ever march an army into our mountains. Duke Charles took the gold and marched the main army to Burgundy, leaving us here as the anvil for Friedrich’s hammer."
Friedrich had bought Savoy’s neutrality to set a trap, and Duke Charles had happily taken the Vatican’s money, convinced that Konrad’s forces would never leave their valley.
"Your Duke is idiot," Eckhard stated bluntly. "And Friedrich is even worse for trusting him. The ambush is broken, Philibert. The Bohemians are scattered, and your garrison is dead. We own this town now."
Philibert slumped his shoulders. "What... what are you going to do with us?"
"I am going to do what Lord Konrad pays me to do," Eckhard replied.
Eckhard turned away from the weeping Count and looked at Ragnar.
The mercenary captain was wiping the fresh blood from his broadsword with a piece of torn Savoyard linen.
"Captain Ragnar," Eckhard called out, "Leave a skeleton crew to hold the gates and man the walls. Gather the rest of the pike squares. We are marching out of this keep."
Ragnar frowned, pausing his work. "Marching out? Marshal, the men are exhausted. We just marched through the freezing mud for a week, blew open a stone fortress, and slaughtered a Bohemian ambush... Don’t we get to rest by the hearth fires?"
"You can sleep when you are dead, Captain." Eckhard shot back, "The keep is ours, but the town outside these walls is still chaotic. There are thousands of peasants out there who think we are holy demons sent to eat their children. If we don’t put a leash on them right now, they will start burning their own grain stores just to spite us."
"So we go knock some sense into them?" Ragnar grinned.
Eckhard nodded. He reached down, grabbing Count Philibert roughly by the collar of his velvet robes, ignoring the man’s frightened yelp.
"And we are taking the Count with us. The people need to see who holds the leash now."
Ten minutes later, the portcullis of the ruined gates was cranked upward.
Marshal Eckhard marched out of the smoking fortress, flanked by two hundred hardened Swabian Reiters and veteran halberdiers.
The black banners of the von Frundsberg house snapped aggressively in the winter wind, casting shadows over the streets.
Count Philibert stumbled along beside the Marshal, his hands bound with rope, looking miserable as the Swabian soldiers pushed him forward.
The border town surrounding the keep was a sprawling mess of thatched-roof houses, muddy market squares, and narrow, winding alleyways.
As the Swabian column marched down the main dirt road, the sheer terror of the local populace was palpable.
Doors were slammed shut. Wooden shutters were hastily bolted from the inside.
Women clutched their crying children and dragged them into the alleyways to hide from the black-armored conquerors.
The main market square was a wide opening surrounded by two-story wooden taverns and merchant stalls.
The market was abandoned, save for a few stray dogs sniffing at the overturned vegetable carts.
Eckhard stopped in the center of the square.
He shoved Count Philibert forward, forcing the captive lord to stand awkwardly in the mud in front of the Swabian soldiers.
"Form a perimeter!" Ragnar barked the order.
The Reiters fanned out, impenetrable ring around the square, their wheellock rifles resting on their shoulders.
Eckhard took a deep breath.
He knew hundreds of terrified eyes were peeking through the cracks, watching their every single move...
"People of Savoy!" Eckhard roared.
"Listen to me closely! I am Marshal Eckhard of the Swabian valley! You all know what happened today! You heard the thunder on the ridge! You saw the walls of your precious keep shatter!"
The town remained silent... not a single person dared to make a sound.
Eckhard grabbed Count Philibert by his bound wrists and roughly yanked the fat lord’s arms into the air for everyone to see.
"Your Count is a prisoner!" Eckhard continued, "Your militia is broken! The Bohemian army that was supposed to protect you has fled into the woods like beaten dogs! The Duke of Savoy sold your lives for a chest of Vatican gold, and he is not coming back to save you!"
A muffled sob echoed from one of the nearby alleyways, quickly silenced by a frantic hush.
"...open your eyes and look at the banners!" Eckhard shouted, pointing toward the black flags fluttering above his men.
"The von Frundsberg house claims this valley! Lord Konrad claims this town!"
"From this day forward, you do not pay tithes to the Pope, and you do not pay taxes to Duke Charles! You answer only to Swabian iron!"
Eckhard dropped Philibert’s arms, letting the Count sag back into the mud.
The Marshal slowly drew his broadsword, he looked around the silent square, a smile touching his lips.
"Now..." Eckhard called out, "Who among you is brave enough to step out of your houses and tell me where the local tax ledgers are hidden?"
Comments