The Black Chalice (55 page)

“Consider who accuses me. Karelian Brandeis. A mercenary knight who all his life never cared if he served evil men or good, as long as they paid him well. A man who betrayed his liege lord, and gave his allegiance to a witch; who conjured the hounds of hell to escape from my justice, and conjured the very dead out of their graves to slaughter my son and his bride on their wedding day. Do you believe him?

“And then there is the man he serves. The man he would make king, so he can be underking and royal sorcerer. A man who murdered his own father because he grew tired of waiting for the crown. Do you believe
him?
A violent, vicious boy? A catamite?”

“I never killed my father!” Konrad’s face was twisted with fury. “God damn you for a liar, Gottfried von Heyden! I never killed him! You arranged for it yourself, you bloody villain, like you’ve arranged for all of this, and I’ll cut your dog’s throat for it! By God, I will!”

More than once, during the meetings in Mainz, the assembly came close to erupting into violence. After a year, each side had hardened its position. Battles had been fought and men were dead; the possibility of total collapse was likelier now than ever.

The archbishop succeeded in restoring order, however, and made a plea for keeping it.

“If we cannot maintain peace within this room,” he said, “even in so vital a matter as this, even for a day or two, what hope is there for the empire?”

That silenced everyone, even Konrad.

The archbishop began again; this time he spoke what was really on his mind.

“My lords of Germany.” He fussed a little with his robes and with his ring. “We are a kingdom divided. We have no sovereign. We have no peace. We have neither legitimacy nor order in the land. One man follows his liege in the face of judgment, and says he obeys his conscience. Another abandons and betrays, and says the same. The people are bewildered and in despair. They look to us for leadership, and we give them chaos. If ever there was a time for the Church to speak, for its leaders to judge and act decisively, the time is now.”

He had every man’s absolute attention. This was what all of us had been longing to hear.

“His eminence the papal legate, my brother the archbishop of Cologne, the most Christian prince of Bavaria, along with myself and many other men, have given much thought and many hours of prayer to finding a solution for our unhappy kingdom. We are all agreed on this: both men who seek the crown have been accused of abominable crimes, and neither seems able to exonerate himself. We don’t say they are guilty; but we do say they are irredeemably compromised. We are not satisfied as to what manner of man Lord Gottfried is, or what his purposes are in seeking kingship. As for Prince Konrad, even if he is not a parricide, his worthiness to rule has been called into question by other accusations, and by his alliance with Karelian Brandeis.”

Outrage was coming at the archbishop from all directions, but he overrode it.

“We ask, therefore, that the electors reject both claimants to the throne, and choose another— a man whose integrity is questioned by no one, a man whom we all can willingly honor and serve. There is no worthier man in the empire than Duke Ludwig of Bavaria. We ask you to accept him as your king. Let us unite in this, my lords, and put an end to this futile and unconscionable war!”

I, like most everyone there, felt my stomach turn to water, and the bottom sink out of the world.

I will not recount what else was said that morning. Some of it I could not hear in the din of argument, and some I truly did not listen to. At one point Ludwig of Bavaria was asked if he was, in fact, a party to this clerical absurdity, and he said he was, and all of Gottfried’s allies shouted him down for a traitor and a fool. He was the man who first put Gottfried’s name forward for the kingship. He was the empire’s most devout and Christian prince.

How could this be happening? It was Gottfried who was the best and worthiest lord, Gottfried whom the Church should be supporting. How could they reject him?

But even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. And he knew it, too. He sat in the center of the tumult, and said very little, the understanding of betrayal cold and ancient in his eyes. He was too good for them: too close to God, too pure, and too demanding. They did not want him for their king, any more than the Pharisees had wanted Jesus. They wanted an ordinary, malleable princeling of the ordinary world.

The meeting was adjourned. The archbishop asked the electors to take counsel with their allies and their supporters, and return to the hall at nones.

The mood of the afternoon was ugly. Men filed into the chamber in small, sullen groups, and spoke in low voices among themselves until they were convened. On almost every face was the same bitterness I myself was feeling, best described as the look of a man who has just been knifed by a friend.

We sat; we offered prayers. Then, before the lord of Mainz could speak again — which he was clearly preparing to do — the duke of Thuringia rose clumsily to his feet.

“My lords, I want to speak.”

He was leaning on the arm of one of his men. His left eye and most of the left side of his face were wrapped in bandages. He spoke harshly; he was obviously in a good deal of pain.

“My grandfather came to Christianity late in life. When he was young, he used to say: There is no situation so awful that a priest of the One-god cannot make it worse. I’m a Christian as you know, my lords. But today I agree with my grandfather.”

“This is insupportable!” cried Ludwig of Bavaria. “You will not insult our holy bishops—!”

“Be quiet, old man, and sit down. You’re nothing but a prayer mat; you bend whichever way you’re folded. I’m tired of listening to you. I’m tired of listening to all of you.”

“If you do not respect this assembly,” Mainz suggested coldly, “you are free to leave it.”

“We heard your arguments, my lord,” Karelian snapped. “We heard Gottfried’s. Now by God we’ll hear his!”

“Thuringia is raped and plundered,” the duke went on. “The harvests are stolen, the villages burned. A usurper sits in the manor I built for my sons. I am a warrior; I can look upon both victory and defeat as fortunes of war. I will fight for land, I will fight for my king, I will fight for revenge. But I will not fight so the popes and cardinals of Rome can come after, when the warriors of both sides are dead, and lord it over us!”

He bent, and slammed his fist down on the council table.

“I say enough!”

He was unsteady on his feet, but his voice was rivetingly sure. His wounds seemed to make him not less but more formidable.

“Are none of you men any more? Are none of you Germans? We had two kings, and that was not enough to divide us; now we have three. We can tear ourselves to pieces between them, and when we are done, Rome will rule. Or we can take this bread and water duke of Bavaria for our sovereign lord — a man who’s never had an idea of his own since the day he was born — and again it is Rome who will rule.

“And again I say enough! The lord of Mainz tells us we must put an end to this futile and unconscionable war. That is true. He tells us Gottfried and my lord Konrad are both tainted with infamy, and neither can exonerate himself. That is not true.

“There is a way one of them can be exonerated— an ancient and honorable way. Let them go to the hazelstangs, and let God choose between them there.”

He paused, and finished in a silence where even breathing seemed to be suspended:

“Let them fight!”

To my astonishment — and quite possibly to his — men from both camps leapt to their feet and shouted:
Yes! Let them fight! Let it be settled! Let them fight!
They did not wait for their liege lords to speak, or for their neighbors. It was an utterly spontaneous outburst, made without a moment’s thought. Just as men in a burning building will turn and run wildly after anyone who shouts:
This way! This way!
so did they leap to approve the suggestion of Thuringia.

Konrad too. “Yes, by God, let it be settled! This very day if you will! What do you say, von Heyden, will you fight me? Have you the nerve to face God with your lies?”

“My lords, my lords, in God’s name, my good lords…!” Mainz was waving his hands and shouting for attention; it was some time before he received it.

“Trial by battle is a barbaric and heathen custom, my lords,” he said. “It is tempting God, and we can’t possibly consent to it!”

“You can’t consent to it, perhaps,” the landgrave of Franconia said flatly. “But this is a matter for the princes of Germany to decide— and especially, for the principals themselves. My lord Gottfried, you’ve said nothing yet. What is your answer to his majesty’s challenge?”

Gottfried looked up. “His majesty hasn’t challenged anybody yet,” he said.

“God’s teeth, this is too much!” Thuringia roared. He flung his arms out in gesture of frustration, and then almost crumpled in pain. His comrade helped him into his chair, and joined the debate himself.

“We know you don’t acknowledge my lord Konrad as your king. The question is: will you fight him?”

“We’re all Christian men,” Gottfried said. “We can’t embark on such a course of action — nor will I do so — until we have considered it, and sought the guidance of God in our decision. I don’t refuse Konrad’s challenge, and I don’t accept it. Let’s meet again tomorrow.”

“Will you answer us tomorrow?” Thuringia demanded, glaring at him.

“Yes. I will answer you.”

There was a heady excitement in the air now, equal to the anger of the early afternoon, and equally frightening. Several of the comments I heard were hostile to Gottfried:
He’s afraid. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s playing for time.
But one man seemed as uneasy about it as Gottfried himself seemed to be. As we dispersed, and the chamber gradually fell empty, Karelian sat motionless, his elbows on the table and a look of profound uncertainty on his face.

I could not decide which answer I wanted Gottfried to make. Like the others, I felt the attractiveness of the duel. It would be an awesome, public, and irreversible solution. Yet I knew it was forbidden. As Mainz said, it was a heathen custom. It was tempting God.

Nonetheless, I thought, in a certain sense we tempted God every time we made an offering, every time we asked for something and promised something in return. Was it so wrong to ask God for a mortal judgment, if in one hour it would end a war, and make Gottfried king?

It was much later — in the dead of night, I think — when I remembered Ravensbruck, and the wretched Wend woman and her babbling.
At the hazelstangs, Pauli. The wolf will open his mouth, and the hunter will thrust his hand between his teeth. And then it will be for the gods to judge between them.

She saw things, Peter told me. And many things she saw came to be.

* * *

I do not know if Gottfried discussed his decision with his allies or with his empress; certainly he did not discuss it with me. He had no blood claim to the throne— at least none which his peers would acknowledge. Without the stone he had only his charisma, only his personal moral worth; he had to restore his credibility among them somehow. The morning came, and he gave the electors the only answer I believe he could have given in the circumstances.

“My lords, I have no doubts about the rightness of my cause. I have no doubts about the guilt of the man who challenges me. Perhaps he expects me to refuse, and to discredit myself by doing so. Or perhaps he is so corrupted by his own sins that he no longer fears the hand of God. But I will fight him.”

He paused for just a breath.

“I assume the usual laws will apply. Since the crimes we are both accused of are capital, if the loser is not slain upon the field, he will be summarily executed, since his guilt will be proven. The victor will be declared guiltless, and may not be accused again. And since we are noblemen, we will fight in mail and on horseback. All of that is given, is it not?”

“All of that is given,” Thuringia said grimly.

“Then let it be, and let God’s will be done.”

Mainz began to rise, but Karelian was younger and quicker.

“There is one other thing that’s given. The life of the king belongs to the kingdom, and he can’t be compelled to wager it in a duel. Both men claim the kingship; both must be permitted the services of a champion!”

“Why so?” growled the duke of Bavaria. “If they will engage in this barbarous, unchristian ritual, let them risk their own necks! Let them stand alone before God, with no intermediaries!”

“I am willing!” Konrad said defiantly.

“No!” Karelian cried. “It’s out of the question!”

“And why is it out of the question?” Gottfried demanded. “Does it limit, perhaps, the possibilities for your sorcerous interference?”

“No,” Karelian said. “It limits the possibilities for peace in the empire.” And suddenly he was speaking with his enchanter’s voice again, a voice soft as a cat’s purr, and powerful as its claws. “This will be a bitter fight, my lords, with an empire and men’s souls at stake. Even the victor may be gravely hurt. Whoever is king after this must be whole and strong to govern, or we may find we’ve only traded one fatal crisis for another. It’s unfair to the kingdom to place the king’s life in jeopardy. They must be permitted champions. That is the law. It has always been the law!”

“He’s right,” Franconia said. “It has always been the law.”

No one contradicted him. It was indeed an ancient custom, applying not only to trial by battle but to any duel of honor, and even to challenges in war. The king’s person was privileged, and that privilege could never be denied.

The king, however, could refuse to claim it.

“I need no champion,” Gottfried said coldly, “and I will use none. If the Salian prince wants to hide behind some other man’s sword, let him do so— but let it be a soldier, not a sorcerer of hell. The law forbids perjurers to act as champions; it forbids traitors; it forbids witches and infidels. My lords, Karelian Brandeis is all of those things, and he must be banned from acting on Konrad’s behalf.”