Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [153]
“Yes,” said Manfred. “Look at what he did in Italy.”
Einhardt blinked. “Albrecht did nothing in Italy.”
Manfred laughed and slapped the table. “Just so. He once said, ‘Italy’s a lion’s den. Many tracks go in; none come out.’” The table broke out in laughter.
The older knight shook his head. “Never understood why Ludwig went in there. Nothing south of the Alps but Italians. Can’t turn your back on ’em.”
“It was at Marsiglio’s urging,” Ockham said. “He hoped the emperor would settle the civil wars there.”
Manfred plucked a fig from the bowl and caught it in his mouth. “Why shed German blood to settle Italy’s quarrels?”
Einhardt said, “Now, the Luxemburgers are the sort the minnesingers warble over. Karl keeps his purse open for ’em, so I suppose they’ll sing about him, too. That’s why I followed Ludwig. Between your dour Hapsburgers and the flighty Luxemburgers, the Wittelsbachs are plain-spoken, beer-drinking German folk, as simple as this sausage.”
“Yes,” said Manfred, “as simple as that sausage.”
Einhardt smiled. “Well, they’d have to be fools to want the crown at all.” He frowned over a dish of blancmange the servant set before him. “This, I must say, is more like a Luxemburger.”
Thierry said, “Speaking of all that, what’s become of old ‘Pocket Mouth’?”
Malachai the Jew answered. “We heard in Regensburg that Gräfin Margaret remains loyal to her new husband and the Tyrolean revolt is over.”
“No blame to her,” said Thierry. “Her first husband was both stupid and impotent. A wife might endure one or the other, but not both.”
“Hah!” said Manfred, raising a cup. “Well said!”
“Marriage is a sacrament,” Dietrich objected. “I know you defended Ludwig on this, Will, but not even an emperor may annul a marriage.”
Einhardt leaned past his lady and shook a fork at Dietrich. “No, a marriage is an alliance. The Great Houses,” he said, tapping his temple, “they are planning decades ahead—decades!—shoving their children like chess pieces into the marriage beds of the Empire. But that is where Ludwig was so clever—for a sausage-head. ‘Pocket-Mouth’ detested Hans-Heinrich, but she would not discard a marriage-alliance with Luxemburg without obtaining another of equal value. So, Ludwig gives her a divorce—and then marries her to his own son!” He smacked the table with his palm so that the cups danced. “So, pfft! Luxemburg loses the Tyrol to Wittelsbach.”
“For so clever a move,” Thierry said, “it proved a bit too obvious.”
“So,” said Einhardt, “Ludwig makes a second chess-move. He holds Bavaria, and his son holds now the Tyrol and the Brandenburg Mark, which neatly surrounds Bohemia—in case Luxemburg makes the trouble, ja? So when the other Houses complain of the nepotism, he takes Carinthia from the Tyrol, which changes nothing but makes everyone happy.”
“And you’ll notice,” added Manfred, “that Hapsburg gained Carinthia—without the need to kiss the Ugly Duchess.”
More laughter. Einhardt shrugged. “What matter? Luxemburg rules Europe now. You’ll not see a Hapsburg again on the imperial throne.”
Manfred smiled at his own blancmange. “Perhaps not.”
“Three votes sit in Luxemburg’s pocket.”
“With four needed,” Thierry said. “Have they resolved the dispute in Mainz?”
Einhardt shook his head. “The Pope’s new lapdog—who is it?” He snapped his fingers.
“Gerlach of Nassau,” Ockham told him.
“The very man. He’s tells everyone he’s the new archbishop, but Heinrich won’t surrender his See. You see how clever all this is? Gerlach is nobody. Who fears House Nassau holding Mainz?”
“If he can oust Count Heinrich,” said Thierry.
“So.” Einhardt counted off on his fingers. “Karl holds the Bohemian vote himself, and his brother Baldwin is archbishop of Trier. That’s two. And when House Luxemburg says, ‘frog,’ Archbishop Waldrich asks how high he should jump. Except