Swiss Arms 67 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 67

-VB-

Hans von Fluelaberg

The Count of Sargans’ sudden ambush aimed at John’s life and John’s decision to take the matter into his own hand was an issue I needed to take of when I had the time.

Because right now…

The emperor was here.

His arrival wasn’t even noticed by anyone else. The man had traveled quickly across the empire. While his travel hadn’t been covert, it had been quiet enough that I hadn’t heard anything about it until he was right at my proverbial doorstep at Chur.

As the emperor’s elaborately decorated and gilded carriage came to a stop, I nudged Bishop Siegfried.

“How do you think he’ll respond to our latest issue?”

The old man sighed. He just seemed tired of it all. “Well, he was a belligerent of the last war, and he was caught and killed trying to kill his peer. So at the very least, he can’t condemn us.”

“That’s good,” I mumbled.

And then a herald stepped forth. Dressed in fineries that only the bishop and the richest merchant of the Compact might wear, he looked both imposing and lacking.

“Presenting His Majesty Albert, by the grace of God, the King of the Romans, the King of the Germans, the King of Italians, the Duke of Austria, the Duke of Styria, Count of Habsburg and Kyburg, and Langrave of Alsace!”

One of the servants opened the door to the carriage and a man walked out.

… and he was dressed in the silk dyed with my blue dyes.

The emperor showed off wealth beyond comparison simply by taking a step outside his carriage, and everyone saw it.

His short blonde hair tussled in the winds and around his chiseled jaws briefly before he focused his gaze on the bishop and me.

I immediately knelt on one knee as was the custom.

The emperor walked over to us.

“Rise, Baron Fluelaberg.”

I guessed that made my position unambiguous. He called me a baron and not a landholder or something like that. I rose in time to watch the emperor bow to the bishop and kiss the old man’s ring. The emperor then straightened his back and looked at me.

“So you are the one who’s been causing a ruckus in these mountains.”

“... Perhaps, Your Majesty,” I replied with a small bow. “Though I can assure you that I am not the one causing them.”

He sniffed before nodding in acknowledgment. “Yes, I have heard plenty about the aggressors of the last war.”

“And one of them, Your Majesty, has defied you no less than a week ago.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Explain yourself.”

“I will, Your Majesty. However, discussing the matters of state publicly is …”

He sniffed again. “You are no fool. Very well, show me the accommodations you have prepared for me.”

-VB-

Emperor Albert I of Habsburg

This was his first time visiting the Prince-Bishopric of Chur. It was pitiful to see a prince-bishop of the realm consorting with peasants to stay relevant in the great game of the states, but knowing what he did about this place and the bishop himself, he was not too surprised. The bishop was known for being too kind. Too weak. And the Alps had no place for the weak.

That was why his house has been losing land, generation after generation, to the locals. Even an iota of attention pulled away from this place was a hundred pairs of gazes and mouths looking to take a bite out of his ancestral lands.

Another group of commoners to the west fought against the natural order of kings and men. It was one of the reasons why he was here. To see if this group of commoners would be another annoyance that would wear away at his control over the Swabian Alps.

“Ambushed, huh?” Albert muttered.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the baron of the rumors replied while bowing. “It happened in the lands surrounding the village of Maienfelds, a signatory of the Compact.”

“Not only did he attack you, he attacked you in your own lands.”

“Yes, imperator.”

He paused and glanced at the baron.

Imperator was not a term used by most. It was an old term. A Latin word. It was also a title that was not used in these lands, despite their close proximity to Italy. Last he heard, only the King of Castile still used that term, though he didn’t know everything. For all he knew, some petty tyrant in the eastern plains beyond Carpathia might use that title!

“Well? Continue.”

“Count John of Toggenburg has seen to this backstabbing attack as casus belli to deprive the House of Werdenberg of the County of Sargans, the lords and men who attack bishops backed by a flimsy excuse and their neighbors for no reason.”

“... No reason, you say?” Albert looked at the baron skeptically.

“Plenty of trade that benefited me passed through his land as well, Your Majesty,” the baron replied. “In fact, he was poised to benefit more because he stood between us and Zurich, which is a much more prosperous city to sell to than the Imperial City of Lindau or the Abbey of Saint Gallen.”

True enough. However…

“It is neither the privilege nor the right course of action for a count to simply decide on the fate of territories not his own.”

“It is not, Your Majesty. I agree with you.”

“Hoh?”

“It is might that determines it. The ambush at Maienfeld is a declaration of war, Your Majesty, and the Count of Toggenburg is the aggrieved party. While it is true that it is not the count’s right to dictate the future of the County of Sargans, it is his right to use his might to stake his claim.”

Look at this peasant saying something like that. He was basically telling him, the emperor, to leave it be.

“And what if I decide to enforce the imperial peace?”

The baron dared to smile.

“You have already, Your Majesty.”

“... What?”

“When you sent me that letter, you have enforced the imperial peace upon these valleys, and it was the Count of Sargans that broke your command.” The baron then paused. “Unless you mean to force the victim, the target of assassination, a young count, to simply let this matter go?”

Albert decided he didn’t like this baron.

“Watch your tone,” he snapped. And then he remembered that the prince-bishop was in the room as well, and glanced to see the old bishop’s reaction. When he didn’t see anything overt, he quickly straightened his back and turned away. “It is the emperor’s duty to see his vassals make peace.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You are absolutely correct,” the baron smiled like he knew something Albert didn’t. Albert did not like that smile. “However, will your other vassals accept this?”

He paused.

“This is a clear-cut case of assassination by a count upon another count. If there is to be peace without recompense, then would other vassals across the empire not feel safe? After all… It would imply that you were fine with Sargans killing his neighbors. And this would not be the first time he initiated such actions.”

This baron could not be a commoner before. This was too eloquent. Too aware. Too clever.

“Then what would you do?”

“Let Sargans and Toggenburg fight. If Toggenburg wins, then the county that has caused conflict and strife year after year will cease to exist. If Sargans wins, then they have proven their right to exist by might. Though they would still be under your purview as to what punishment they should suffer for annoying Your Majesty.”

The baron spoke too many truths.

“And in that vein, there is another that has caused problems,” he added before producing a letter. “One that even the new troublemaker’s neighbors have begun to notice.”

Albert warily took the letter, opened it, and read it.

And read it again.

The seal was correct. This letter was real and not a flimsy attempt to gain casus belli.

“A duke sending his men-at-arms out, to dress and act as bandits, in harassing his neighbors,” he grunted. “What a shameful lord.”

“I agree, Your Majesty! And I have a solution.”

“... Speak.”

“Give me the chance to humiliate the dukes, whose house has been at competition with yours. You know of the Hungarians and their attempts to put one of the Wittelbachs upon their throne.”

Who the hel-?

How does this peasant even know that?! That was not something whispered even among the ducal courts! In fact, Albert himself only learned of the Hungarian court’s offer to Otto III of Lower Bavaria!

“How do you know this?”

The baron smiled.

It was that damnable smile.

“Trade is a wonderful thing, Your Majesty. It brings news from afar for even the highest of nobles are prone to gossiping carelessly in the presence of those who are their lessers.”

Albert was going to watch what he said around his servants after he left this place.

“... You want to offer yourself up as a friend of my House.”

“Yes. If I defeat your electoral rivals for your house’s continued ascension upon the Roman Throne, then why, is that not a wonderful ally to have? And I am a man with … significant military experience.”

He side-glared at the slimy baron before nodding.

“You have my permission. Should you fail, however, I will see you suffer for your arrogance for daring to think you were worthy of my house’s attention.”

“Of course…”

-VB-

Hans (after the meeting)

“God, I feel so slimy,” I shuddered as the imperial procession left the Compact’s lands. The carriage swayed a little, laden with gifts we offered to the emperor, who’d “graciously” accepted the fine porcelain, deep blue-dyed bolts of cloth, and sweet snacks.

“You owe me for those snacks, by the way,” the bishop grunted as he turned away.

“I’ll make sure to send you over a lot.”

“I want more of those orange and lemon-flavored ones,” he pointed out over his shoulders.

I chuckled before glancing back at the emperor’s carriage.

It was a surprise visit but one that had been long time coming and one that gave me what I needed.

A casus belli and permission to finally put down the Bavarian dukes in their places for daring to touch me and mine.

But before I went to actual war, I needed to fix something first.

-VB-

Hans (not von Fluelaberg)

Hans stood at attention along with the rest of the rangers because they all knew that they were all about to get a reaming for their failure at Maienfeld.

Because he and his four groups of five were supposed to be the guards that kept enemies from sneaking up on their lord.

They failed that task so badly that a pair of arrows had nearly struck the lady-to-be.

He did not turn to look at their lord as he walked into the open field that they took up for the upcoming ass beating while they stayed the night at the town of Schiers.

“So,” Lord Hans - officially recognized by the emperor himself - grunted once he stood at the head of their formation. “Does anyone have any explanation as to how the Count of Sargans managed to ambush us without any one of you noticing?”

Hans knew why but he was reluctant to speak up.

He tried not to glance around but did because he couldn’t help it, and looked like the other rangers sort of knew the answer, too. He also realized that if there was no good explanation for their failure, then they might get punished anyway.

Or dismissed from service.

“Milord,” he spoke up weakly. “I think there is an issue with our formation.”

Instead of growing angry, his lord turned to him.

“Explain.”

“... We cannot cover all of the sights effectively with our numbers.”

He frowned at him. “Continue.”

Hans licked his lips. “Milord, we would need at least triple our numbers for the wide net of surveillance you request of us. At best, each of us can see half a dozen yards, and that’s because you have trained us to see through the dense forests. We can’t see as far and as detailed as you do.”

His lord stared at him and then turned to look around. “Is what he says the truth?”

There were murmurs of agreement. No one wanted to draw attention of the man who ripped someone in half with his bare hands.

“... It’s my fault,” the lord suddenly moaned. “It’s all my fault!”

“Milord?!”

“I forgot! I forgot that normal people can’t see as well as I do in the forest with all of the shades and everything!”

‘No one can,’ Hans grimaced as he remembered the grueling forest training. He and his cohort of trainees had to survive and flee from their lord as he hunted them down one by one.

It struck true fear into them all about how really capable their lord was. In the forest, nothing could save you from Hans von Fluelaberg. He sees you and you will never see him unless he lets you.

But the core issue right here was that … their lord had overestimated them. For all of the help their forest capes and repeating crossbows gave them, they were still incapable. Their lack of sight in the forest, their inability to even mimic their lord, led to an ambush slipping pass them, and then nearly killing their lord’s lady-to-be.

Their lord drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Okay,” he spoke up. “This … was my fault. The deaths of the rangers are on me. I will rectify this. For now, you are all dismissed back to your duties.”

-VB-

A/N:

Random historical tidbit of the chapter: Eltz Castle near the city of Trier in Rhineland-Palatinate has been owned and lived in by the same family, the House of Eltz (nobles, yes, until the dissolution of the Second Reich), for over 800 years and over 33 generations and some (Kempenich Branch) still lives there to this day.

Lemons and oranges were grown in Italy as far back as the 9th century, and being very bitter fruits at the time, their dried forms weren’t exactly expensive to import in Swabian Alps that was right next to Italy.