Dietrich hadn’t beeninterested. A swift backhand to the mouth had been enough to silence the man’s whining.
The very reason you were unhorsed and beaten by a lone man with a stick
, Dietrich had explained very precisely,
was because you failed to properly equip yourself
.
Tomas had not been at Schaulen. Had he been, Dietrich was fairly certain he would have been killed in the enemy’s first sortie. Probably while looking for his shield.
And the priest—Father Pius—appeared to have grown a backbone in the interim. In contrast to his obsequiousness prior to the skirmish, he had become taciturn and closemouthed—as if the Livonian Grandmaster’s foul mood no longer frightened him. Pius remembered more of the incident than he let on, but the priest was only too quick to lay hands on his cross when faced with Dietrich’s ire.
Qui custodit mandatum custodit animam suam
, the priest had said, pointing to the same symbol on Dietrich’s surcoat. A man’s soul was only secure as long as he observed the commandments of the Lord.
Testis falsus non erit impunitus.
There had been some satisfaction in watching the priest’s reaction when he had quoted the other half of that biblical proverb—
he that speaks falsely imperils his soul
—but the implied threat hadn’t loosened the man’s tongue.
Dietrich knew he should have taken the first note from the priest, and some of the fury directed at his defeated knights stemmed from his own failure. Still, the more he thought about the situation, a process assisted by several flagons of beer, the more he started to see how both notes falling into the hands of the Shield-Brethren might be less of a catastrophe than it seemed. The conflicting notes, should God deem it so, might even be an opportunity.
Discord and confusion among one’s enemies was always a primary goal of any successful strategy, and if the
Ordo Militum Vindicis Intactae
had managed to get their hands on both letters, it was very likely they suffered more confusion than insight from these missives.The Korean’s letter was innocent enough—nothing more than a request for a meeting—but the false letter claimed that the Mongols had killed their missing champion.
Dietrich knew the Shield-Brethren weren’t fools—unlike some of his men. They would see the second letter as the inflammatory lie that it was, but it would cast doubt on the first one, simply because it offered so little. Even if they wanted to ignore both, they could not afford to. After the First Crusade, they had retreated to their remote fortress—like a mortally wounded animal that crawls off to die. Cutting themselves off from the civilized world, they became more and more insular, fading into dusty obscurity. Even here, they set themselves apart from the rest of Christendom, hiding out in the ruined monastery north of Legnica.
Like lepers
.
The confusion of the letters would only serve to remind them of their self-imposed exile. They didn’t know what was going on in the camp around Hünern. They had no tactical advantage; their actions were going to be
reactions
, and while their martial art may be wound around ideals of humility and patience, they had fought in enough battles to know the army that was always on the defensive was rarely the victor.
Once, the slightest mention of the Shield-Brethren had been enough to cause a commander to reconsider his plan of attack. The sight of an armored troop of knights had sent more than one army fleeing. A single warrior would have been more than a match for a barbarous stick wielder; attacking two would have been a fool’s errand.
Dietrich chuckled as he regarded the few sips left in his tankard.
That’s what they’ve become—diseased lepers, hiding out in the shadows, afraid to show their faces.
Mollified, he finished his beer and banged his tankard on the table.
One more
, he decided,
and the woman too.
4
Prisons within Prisons
A S HE APPROACHED the
Khagan
’s private quarters,
The very reason you were unhorsed and beaten by a lone man with a stick
, Dietrich had explained very precisely,
was because you failed to properly equip yourself
.
Tomas had not been at Schaulen. Had he been, Dietrich was fairly certain he would have been killed in the enemy’s first sortie. Probably while looking for his shield.
And the priest—Father Pius—appeared to have grown a backbone in the interim. In contrast to his obsequiousness prior to the skirmish, he had become taciturn and closemouthed—as if the Livonian Grandmaster’s foul mood no longer frightened him. Pius remembered more of the incident than he let on, but the priest was only too quick to lay hands on his cross when faced with Dietrich’s ire.
Qui custodit mandatum custodit animam suam
, the priest had said, pointing to the same symbol on Dietrich’s surcoat. A man’s soul was only secure as long as he observed the commandments of the Lord.
Testis falsus non erit impunitus.
There had been some satisfaction in watching the priest’s reaction when he had quoted the other half of that biblical proverb—
he that speaks falsely imperils his soul
—but the implied threat hadn’t loosened the man’s tongue.
Dietrich knew he should have taken the first note from the priest, and some of the fury directed at his defeated knights stemmed from his own failure. Still, the more he thought about the situation, a process assisted by several flagons of beer, the more he started to see how both notes falling into the hands of the Shield-Brethren might be less of a catastrophe than it seemed. The conflicting notes, should God deem it so, might even be an opportunity.
Discord and confusion among one’s enemies was always a primary goal of any successful strategy, and if the
Ordo Militum Vindicis Intactae
had managed to get their hands on both letters, it was very likely they suffered more confusion than insight from these missives.The Korean’s letter was innocent enough—nothing more than a request for a meeting—but the false letter claimed that the Mongols had killed their missing champion.
Dietrich knew the Shield-Brethren weren’t fools—unlike some of his men. They would see the second letter as the inflammatory lie that it was, but it would cast doubt on the first one, simply because it offered so little. Even if they wanted to ignore both, they could not afford to. After the First Crusade, they had retreated to their remote fortress—like a mortally wounded animal that crawls off to die. Cutting themselves off from the civilized world, they became more and more insular, fading into dusty obscurity. Even here, they set themselves apart from the rest of Christendom, hiding out in the ruined monastery north of Legnica.
Like lepers
.
The confusion of the letters would only serve to remind them of their self-imposed exile. They didn’t know what was going on in the camp around Hünern. They had no tactical advantage; their actions were going to be
reactions
, and while their martial art may be wound around ideals of humility and patience, they had fought in enough battles to know the army that was always on the defensive was rarely the victor.
Once, the slightest mention of the Shield-Brethren had been enough to cause a commander to reconsider his plan of attack. The sight of an armored troop of knights had sent more than one army fleeing. A single warrior would have been more than a match for a barbarous stick wielder; attacking two would have been a fool’s errand.
Dietrich chuckled as he regarded the few sips left in his tankard.
That’s what they’ve become—diseased lepers, hiding out in the shadows, afraid to show their faces.
Mollified, he finished his beer and banged his tankard on the table.
One more
, he decided,
and the woman too.
4
Prisons within Prisons
A S HE APPROACHED the
Khagan
’s private quarters,
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