The weeks around Michaelmas, 1198

The letter was delivered by a lad from Liege. An Imperial messenger on his way to Bruges had left the letter with a merchant headed for Arbois, and he in turn had had his boy deliver it to Bois de Haillot when visiting the nearby manor. It was a large parchment, its wax seal as heavy as it was ornate.

Daria was uninterested, simply waving it off at Gaspard and Madeleine. “Frederick Hohenstaufen Rex Regis Sicily,” Madeleine read. “Imperator Nomine tenus Romanorum. Emperor Nominee of the Romans. It is a letter from the Frederick, the man who will be Holy Roman Emperor!” The letter, signed in his very hand, summoned Daria to Swabisch-Hall, the seat of the Hohenstaufens and the site of many of Frederick Barbarossa’s courts. “To discuss your position and that of your order in my court,” Madeleine translated.

Daria could not be convinced to make the trip, so Gaspard and Madeleine set out within the week, taking Stephan, Michi, and Celestine, along with Cyril, Gigot, and Wart. The journey to Swabia would take several weeks.

The harvest was in its latter days as they left Bois de Haillot and entered Luxembourg. The weather favoured them but the luck of the road did not, and they passed Michaelmas in a German town many days behind their intended schedule. It was just a day or two beyond that when they met the magus.

“Well met!” he greeted them when he recognized one of his own. His name was Blaise and he had come from his covenant of Hölhe Glänzend south of Munich on his way to Ghent to purchase lab supplies. He travelled alone, with just three armsmen in trail.

They shared lunch and Gaspard and the magus discussed the news of their order. Blaise had heard about Etien’s assault on the covenant and cheered them on, but warned of another visit from the Quaesitori. Blaise’s armsmen sat sullenly apart. “If he is from Germany,” Wart whispered to Gigot, “why do his men mutter to each other in Italian?”

The lunch ended and Blaise rose to continue his journey. But as he returned to his men Gigot suddenly cried out and charged, drawing his sword. The foreign armsmen had weapons at hand, and Blaise was calling up a spell as he turned on Gaspard. But they had lost their surprise, and the combined force of Gigot, Stephan, and Michi quickly forced them into a defensive knot around their magus. Blaise produced a small block of wood, ornately decorated, and cast it on the ground before him where it burst into flame. Seeing an opportunity, Wart thrust one of the armsmen into the fire. But rather than burst into flame, the man disappeared in a green flash when the fire enveloped him. “The magus seeks escape!” Michi cried, leaping forward and striking the mage before Blaise could step into the fire. The blow cleft the magus’s skull clean in two, and the treachor fell to the ground. Their master defeated, the remaining armsmen were quickly overcome.

“A black gem!” Madeleine said, “Just like the magus who attacked us at the Robber Baron’s keep.” The irregular black rock, like a small lump of coal, hung on an ornate chain around the corpse’s neck. Gaspard took it from the body and placed it in a purse. “What did he want?” Michi asked. “I’ll ask,” Gaspard answered, calling to his magic. “Spirit of this slain man, I call you across the black gate. What is your name?” “Callidus,” came the whispered answer. The spirit was evasive, but when pressed confessed the nature of the black gem. “In the East was kept the head of Saint John. This is a fraction of it, but it carries great power.”

Three days later the party reached the town of Bad Füssen, nestled tight against the wooded hills at the feet of the white wall of the Alps. The season was late, and few guides were taking parties into the passes. A Swabian named Lenhard agreed to lead them by the high road, the weather still holding clear, to save nine days over the lower pass. They spent the first evening in a monastery on the brink of sheer valley—by the next night they would gain a sheltered shrine in the pass, and would be descending into Swabia on the third day.

“Nearly there,” Lenhard told them the following afternoon, “Another two hours, maybe three.” But he kept looking over his shoulder, where dark clouds were piling up. Within an hour the storm reached them, and they were soon engulfed in blinding sheets of snow and bitter wind. The light was failing, and the way back was six hours at least along the edge of a precipitous chasm. “We go on,” Lenhard pleaded. “There is shelter and firewood at the shrine—another hour perhaps!”

But the way was blocked. A wall of darkness loomed across the path. Thorns, thickly layered in windblown snow, forming a wall five paces high and extending as far as could be seen to either side. “Is this usually here?” Madeleine asked, but Lenhard only shook his head with a worried look. “Well if we stay here we’ll quickly freeze,” Michi said, and Gaspard cast a lance of flame to burn a hole through the thorns. The path continued beyond. “A faerie realm?” Michi asked, to which Gaspard simply shrugged.

The storm quickly fell away, though the air was if anything colder. The party crunched through a thin layer of frost and snow as stars found their way through the parting clouds above. Suddenly Stephan stopped with a gasp.

Ahead, limned in frost and moonlight, the trail was straddled by a castle of gargantuan proportion.

Lammas, 1198

Lammas day dawned cloudless and hot. At Prime Michi brought his horse from the stable and saddled up for more practice at the quintain. The animal was one of several taken in the battle, and Michi had named it Etien—more accurately, he had given the name only to the animal’s hindquarters, leaving the rest of it anonymous. Michi was a poor horseman by the standards of Stephan or Johannes, and was still much more formidable on foot, but he could be no knight if he could not ride.

The castle was alive with cheerful giggles and hearty back-slaps in anticipation of the day’s events, as Madeleine made a round of the doors and windows, pouring salt and posting other wards. At Terce she sought out Michi and dragged him into the solar for a bath. Gaspard was found hiding in a tree, and it took the efforts of Stephan and several of the turb to get him out.

The household gathered in the great hall at Sext, where Michi gave his oath before Stephan: “I here swear solemnly by Almighty God and His name fealty and due homage to the Holy Roman Emperor; to ever be a good knight and true, reverent and generous, shield of the weak, obedient to my liege-lady, foremost in battle, and courteous at all times. I swear too by all that is holy and dear unto me, to aid those less fortunate than I, to relieve the distress of the world, to champion the right and good, and to fulfil my knightly obligations. Thus swear I, Michael of Bois de Haillot.” And Stephan then made him a knight, and presented him with a new shield decorated with a colourful flaming sword.

The entire household then walked the half-mile to the church, where half the village was waiting about the steps. Stephan and Pere Hugo had brief words, then Morris came forward with Celestine, blushing under a weight of summer flowers, on his arm. The wedding ceremony, held on the porch under the hot sun, was brief, then all who could crammed into the church for mass.

The wedding feast kicked off at Nones, held in the castle bailey where just five or six weeks before the feast of Saint John had led to the betrothal. Madeleine had ordered fine cakes from Liege, and there were casks of wine from the Champagne and many a butt of ale from the village. The day was still hot and clear, but towering clouds were piling up on the western horizon.

At Vespers Michi and Celestine returned to the village, trailed by a parade of onlookers, to tour five or six repaired and rebuilt homes for the luck of the households and themselves. When they returned to the castle they were called into the great hall for the presentation of the dowry and wedding gifts: a brass-bound chest from Morris and an embroidered blanket from Beatrice and the household; a fine sword belt from Hugh; a pair of gold and pearl earrings from Isabel and an illuminated book of poems by Effugio from Richildis. And from Daria a gold cross with four rubies for Celestine, blessed personally by the Cardinal Bishop of Westphalia, along with the dowry of 30 shillings.

Shortly thereafter Michi and Stephan helped Gaspard investigate a man in verdegris armour, whom the magus had seen watching the castle from the forest. They found no sign of the onlooker.

At Compline Michi and Celestine retired to their room, a tower chamber off of Gaspard’s laboratory. The room had been decked out with garlands of lavender, rosemary, and thyme. In the bailey the feast continued, with courting couples—along with a few others—jumping the bonfire. Events were brought to a premature end by a torrential thunderstorm.

Feast of Saint John, 1198

Midsummer’s night—always a time of idle plays and japes, carolings, the making of fool countenances, smiting, wrestling, dice, football, blind-man’s buff, bowling, cockfighting, and baiting. This year the villagers had spent four days burying their dead and tending their dying, repairing their homes and hedgerows, and counting their losses in the fields. Little of the village had burned, and though the crops were trampled in places the damages were slight. It might be a hard winter, but famine was unlikely. And now that the shock of battle was passing, the feast would surely be one to remember.

The festivities began in the afternoon after mass. The bailey rang with shouts and laughter throughout the afternoon, with events moving to the village green for the evening bonfire. Stephan beat all comers—even Michi—at arm-wrestling, while Michi took honours at the footrace. Madeleine spent the first half of the day attempting to interest Celestine in Gigot. Gaspard set to entertaining children with stories of their exploits, augmented by his illusions, but the imagery frightened the smaller children and the effort soon failed.

Michi was comforting Gaspard when an idea struck him. “Why don’t you make me up ta look like the lady, there, and I’ll tell a few stories!” Gaspard complied, and Michi immediately set about the tables, mimicking Lady Madeleine’s voice as best he was able to any who would hear him. His comments and propositions hardly befit the lady, though, and it wasn’t long before Madeleine found him out. She marched him back to Gaspard. “You change him back this minute!” But Gaspard became confused, and soon it was Madeleine looking like Michi, and the latter still like the lady. Even more confused now over who was whom, Gaspard plied his magic once more and gave each the voice of the other.

Much bickering ensued, to the further confusion of Gaspard and great amusement of a somewhat tipsy Stephan. The spells would defuse by daybreak, but until then it was agreed that laying low would best serve everyone.

A tearful Celestine, her tongue perhaps a bit ale-loosened, found the ostensible Lady Madeleine in the library. “Why does Michi claim to be married?” she asked. “Everyone knows no faerie can enter a church—so how could he really be married to a Fey lady?” Michi, in Madeleine’s guise, could only dissemble in horror. “You don’t think—“ Celestine’s tears ran heavier. “You don’t think he prefers the company of boys?” The false Madeleine was rescued by the false Michi, who suggested it might be time for Celestine to retire. But that brought up a conundrum: Like most servants, Celestine slept in her mistress’s bed. Would she go to bed with Madeleine and wake up with Michi, or go to bed with Michi and wake up with Madeleine?

When the erstwhile Michi made another attempt to steer Celestine toward Gigot, Stephan intervened. “Why are you so concerned to see her into a man’s bed?” The false Michi was taken aback, but eventually, out of Celestine’s earshot, confessed her agenda: “Celestine’s abduction at Vikten was no coincidence. When we returned, Lady Daria told me that Celestine’s father belonged to a black mass. He conceived her under infernal guidance—for no other reason than to be murdered in a ritual. But her mother sent the infant away in secret with her maid, and they ended up here. Now it seems they know who and where she is!” The others were shocked, but Stephan pressed: “What does that have to do with Gigot?” “Celestine is of use only as a child—an innocent. Once she is married and no longer a maiden, they will not come after her. So we believe. Daria commanded me to arrange her marriage—and quickly.” The false Michi seemed close to despair. “But Cyril is too young and Johannes is too old. She has no eye for Stephan, and I cannot get Gigot to even see her.” Madeleine spoke next: “Why just those few—surely she could have her choice of the manor’s young men?” There was a lengthy pause. “Because her father was Robert of Poitiers. A nephew of Eleanor. Of Aquitaine. She is a bastard, got on Robert’s mistress, but she is of the blood of Richard Coeur de Lion. Daria will not have her marry a village boy, and neither will I.”

There was quite a silence. Then Stephan said, “And her eyes are only on Michi. The one she always goes to when she needs a cask lifted or a horse brought out. The one who cut her from the cross in the pit at Vikten.” He crossed himself as all eyes turned toward the false Madeleine.

“Michi is an accomplished warrior and a hero of Etien’s attack,” Stephan said after a moment. “With Daria’s blessing I could make him a knight, and no man could say I was wrong to do so.”

The false Madeleine looked over her shoulder, as if Fey spies might be about them even then. “Have you forgotten that I am already married?” But the actual Madeleine turned to Gaspard. “What of this faerie marriage? Is it real?” Gaspard shrugged. “There was a feast of some kind. It might have been a wedding. Somebody’s, I suppose.” “There you have it,” the false Michi said. “For no comprehensible reason the girl is in love with you, despite your faerie delusions. I know you have eyes for her. And now Stephan will make you a knight. What of it?”

The next day, flowers in hand, a restored Michi stumbled through his first day of courtship with a delighted Celestine.

Friday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

Vraagen’s visage was a death mask, but more than just the way he moved with a semblance of life, a great fear seemed to flow from him like a miasma. Madeleine swooned, and Gaspard fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming. The creature commanded Daria to be still, but it had no hold on her, and with a blaze of fire the maga scorched a broad circle into the floor. But Vraagen had been a magus once, and he rushed the circle before Daria could cast a ward upon it.

Stephan, bruised and cut, threw himself in the creature’s path before it reached the prima, while Michi blocked the course of the lesser creatures. The things fought with strength they had never had in life, but Vraagen’s power was not in melee, and Daria’s spells leached the force from its attacks. Soon the creature fell to its knees, and the fighters moved in quickly, dismembering the corpse. Daria stepped over and pulled the aegis token from its crumbling neck.

“He made me do it!” Gaspard cried, arms around his knees. Cyril tearfully relayed how he had met the creature in the hog wood on one of his pre-attack errands, and it had taken control of his mind. He had fetched Gasard to Bar du Sud under false pretences, all the while knowing what he was doing, but all the while unable to stop himself. There the creature had made the magus his thrall. “I stole the aegis token, and awaited his further commands,” Gaspard said. “He bade me hide my role from everyone, and I could not but comply!” “But why? What did it want?” Michi asked. “Vengeance upon those who interred it?” Madeleine responded. “He was of Daria’s house. The better question is why the Count’s soldier dug him up.”

In the hall, Juliana begged to be sent back. “If I stay, the Count will not have to trump up grievance against you. And if I do not return soon to the camp soon, I will be missed. Let me return with him—but we will meet again!”

Etien had lost three knights and dozens of men; those remaining were dissipating into the night, chased by mobs of villagers, and could not be rallied. By the time dawn arrived the Count’s camp was broken and his train headed for Arbois and back to Frois Pont. “He underestimated us and did not plan a sufficient assault,” Johannes assessed the situation. “He won’t do so again, but I doubt he’ll be able to raise a large enough force to return before the end of summer.”

End of Chapter Three

Friday before the Feast of St. John, 1198

“Who else has committed high treason against the Holy Roman Emperor and his rightful vassal in this manor? Who else has bargained the lives of his comrades for a handful of the Count’s silver?” Daria stared at the two cotters. The great hall was silent; even the mice in the rushes had gone still.

Diederick, one of the village yeomen, had brought in Staas. “I caught him in the forest with three of the Count’s soldiers,” he had explained. “He was guiding as they marked a path. The soldiers fled, but this one was not so fleet of foot.” Staas’s cousin Erich was also brought in. He confessed to taking silver to sour the castle well, but found he didn’t have the stomach to complete the task.

“The punishment for high treason, by the immutable laws of the Holy Roman Empire, is dispossession, torture, and dismemberment,” Daria continued, her voice low. “By right I should have your eyes gouged, your tongue rent from your throat, and every bone in your feet broken one by one before I have you drawn and quartered. But there is not time.” She turned to other business, waving dismissively. “Hang him. Not here—down in the village.”

A crowd had gathered by the time Staas was dragged behind Stephan’s great destrier to the old oak by the green. Staas had lain at the center of many a village dispute over the years, and traitors are hated by all. But troubled times breed troubled minds, and the Count had worked hard to sway the villagers’ loyalties. “The Count is strong, and they say he will bring a real army,” Erich had said, before Daria dispossessed and exiled him. “He tells everyone he will put a new lord in the castle, and many believe him!” Indeed, a furtive mumble passed through the assembled villagers, and many a brow was creased.

And then there was Etien, surrounded by his men, watching and jeering from the edge of his camp. Stephan rode calmly into the center of the green, high in his saddle, and fixed the crowd in his eye. “Villeins of Bois de Haillot! We are each of us, from your Lady Daria to the poorest cotter on this manor, and all between, vassals of the Holy Roman Emperor. We are all bound to his law, and we all owe our allegiance to him. Soon it may come to be that we will have to account for our duties with our very lives.” Here he was interrupted by hoots and cries from the Count’s camp, but a steely glare in that direction quieted them. “I will be the first to defend our homes and our honour,” Stephan continued, looking from villager to villager, then sweeping his arm back toward Gaspard and Madeleine, “as will all those from the castle. No amount of silver will sway us from our duty.” He lowered his voice. “If there are any here who would shirk from that duty, let him now speak.” The crowd was silent, then one man stepped forward and spat on Staas. Another hissed, and others scrambled for dung and stones to throw at the hapless traitor. Michi swung the rope over a branch and fixed the noose around Staas’s neck. He hoisted it with a merciful jerk.

Etien scowled as the villagers jeered the hanging man, his eye meeting Stephan’s for a moment as the knight turned back toward the castle.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation. With the Count inciting treason—even the poisoning of the well—it seemed clear he did not intend to depart without control of the castle, however gained. The levies were drawn up and armed; the remaining villagers called to the castle. After much debate, Daria agreed that their duty to hold the Emperor’s fief superseded the terms of their Imperial charter (which forbade the improvement of the castle), and raised stone along the never-finished perimeter of the bailey wall.

The Count’s attack came late, after Compline, with a hail of arrows from the dark as a ram was run up to the newly-restored gatehouse door. An intense exchange drove the attackers back with the gate unbreached, but it was a feint only, and a further assault drove at the broad flank of the bailey wall. That very morning a man might have scrambled through the gaps, but Etien had not counted on that; the attackers had ladders and soon gained the wall. They were trained men, and fierce, and eager for easy glory against a pathetic cadre of untrained and poorly armed defenders. They cut easily through the levy, slicking the wall-walk with blood, but the defenders had determination and numbers on their side.

The din of fighting was drawing down when Madeleine cocked her ear. “A woman calls out—beyond the walls!” Below, just emerged from the brush of the surrounding forest, Lady Juliana struggled against a pair of soldiers. Stephan was over the wall in an instant, Michi, Gaspard, and Madeleine just behind. They cut quickly through the attackers and pulled Juliana back to the shadows of the curtain wall. “Why are you here?” Stephan demanded. “I had to warn you,” Juliana replied. “My lord Etien has built ladders in secret—tall ladders; much bigger than these.” They scrambled back into the castle and deposited Juliana in the hall with Daria and Johannes before climbing up to the roof of the keep.

They were just in time. The keep had never been finished above the second floor, and the uncrenellated walls offered little protection against the rain of arrows decimating the small contingent of levy stationed there. But that was coming to an end, as the Count’s soldiers were planting their long ladders and beginning to climb. Michi and Stephan rushed to the wall, but the attackers were already pouring over, led by the knight Geert. Etien’s man fought like his namesake, tenaciously and with no concern for his injuries, and by the time Stephan had dropped him another dozen men had gained the wall.

It was a true melee. Men fell screaming to their death, while others met axe or sword. The rotting floorboards ran slick with blood and offal, and everywhere was the din of steel on steel, of screams and shouts. Daria appeared, and her command of the winds blasted a handful of attackers from the wall. Michi and Madeleine forced over the last of the ladders, and slowly, finally, the fight came to an end.

And in the quiet that followed there was a rasping, cough-like laugh. Everyone turned. On the wall opposite, above the cliff face looking down upon the Meuse, a figure tottered into the meagre torchlight. Like Thorold, its flesh was the colour of brick, but thin and papery, stretched taut over near fleshless bone. It was dressed ancient opulence, robes embroidered heavily in the arcane symbols of the Order of Hermes. It stepped forward, pointing at Daria, while two more creatures, red and bloated and once soldiers of the Count, crawled over the wall behind it. Around its neck, on a simple leather thong, swung a fired clay disk with the mark of Triamore--an aegis token; the same key given visiting magi so that their magics might not be hindered by the covenant's protective spells. The most closely guarded of Triamore's treasures, and the key to unlock all its defenses.