Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [28]
“Yes, and Roman Kaiser, too. We were still in Picardy when the news reached us. Well, half the Electors had voted Karl anti-king while Ludwig was still alive, so I don’t suppose they were seized by any great hesitation once he was dead. Poor old Ludwig—to survive all those wars with Hapsburg, and then fall off his horse while hunting. I suppose old Graf Rudolf—no, it’s Friedrich now, I’ve heard—and Duke Albrecht have sworn their oaths, so that settles matters for me. Do you know why Karl did not die with John at Crécy?”
“Were I to guess,” Dietrich said, “I would say he had no ties to his father.”
Manfred snorted. “Or a rope uncommonly long. When the French chivalry charged the English longbows, Karl von Luxemburg charged in the other direction.”
“Then he was a wise man, or a coward.”
“Wise men often are.” The Herr’s lips twitched. “It’s all that reading that does it, Dietrich. It takes a man out of the world and pushes him inside his own head, and there is nothing there but spooks. I hear Karl is a learned man, which is the one sin that Ludwig never committed.”
Dietrich made no reply. Kaisers, like Popes, came in diverse sorts. He wondered what would happen now to those Franciscans who had fled to Munich.
Manfred rose and walked to the lance window and stared out. Dietrich watched him brush idly at the grit of the window stone. The evening sun bathed the lord’s face, giving his skin a ruddy cast. After a silence, he said, “You haven’t asked why it’s taken me two years to return.”
“I imagined you had difficulties,” Dietrich said with care.
“You imagined I was dead.” Manfred turned away from the window. “Assumption’s natural when you think how thick the dead lie between here and Picardy. Night’s coming on,” he added, inclining his head toward the sky outside. “You’ll want a torch to see you safely back.” Dietrich made no response, and after another moment, Manfred continued.
“The French-Reich is in chaos. The King was wounded; his brother killed. The Count of Flanders, the Duke of Lorraine, the King of Majorca … And the fool King of Bohemia, as I’ve said … All dead. The Estates have met and scolded Philip handsomely for losing the battle—and four thousand knights with it. They voted him new monies, of course, but fifteen deniers will not buy what three once did. It was a close thing, our returning. Knights are selling their lances to whoever will hire them. It was … a temptation, to throw off all responsibility and seize whatever a strong right arm might seize. When princes flee battle, and knights turn freelance, and barons rob pilgrims, what value has honor?”
“Why, all the more, seeing how rare it has become.”
Manfred laughed without humor, then resumed his study of the sunset. “The pest reached Paris this past June,” he said quietly.
Dietrich started. “The pest!”
“Yes.” Manfred crossed his arms and seemed to become smaller. “They say half the city lies dead, and I think it but plain fact. We saw … things no man should see. Corpses left to rot in the street. Strangers denied hospice. Bishops and lords in flight, leaving Paris to fend for herself. And the church bells tolling funeral upon funeral until the town council bade them stop. Worst, I think, were the children—abandoned by their parents, dying alone and uncomprehending.”
Dietrich crossed himself three times. “Dear God have mercy on them. As bad as Italy, then? Did they wall up families into their houses, as the Visconti did in Milan? No? Then some shred of charity remained.”
“Ja. I was told the sisters in the Hospital stayed at their posts. They died, but so fast as they died, others took up their place.”
“A miracle!”
Manfred grunted. “You have a grim taste in miracles, my friend. The English fare no better in Bordeaux. And it reached Avignon in May, though the worst was over by the time we passed there. Don’t worry, Dietrich. Your Pope survived. His Jew physicians bade him sit between two fires and he never even fell sick.” The Herr paused. “I met a brave man there. Perhaps the bravest man I shall ever meet. Guy de Chauliac. Do you know him?