‘This is a letter from the Reiksmarshal!’ Baron Thornig exclaimed. His outburst brought the other conspirators rushing to his side, eager to see what little there was of the missive. It wasn’t a large group; only Palatine Mihail Kretzulescu and Count van Sauckelhof were present. Prince Sigdan was busy trying to get Lady Mirella out of Altdorf. Princess Erna was busy experiencing the nuptial bliss of her new life as wife to Adolf Kreyssig.
Erich pulled the scrap away from Kretzulescu’s bony grip and studied the jagged tear, trying to judge how much of the letter was missing. The Kaiserjaeger dagger made it clear who had the rest of the letter. If they had enough of it…
‘Two days ago a troop of Kaiserjaeger rode out from Altdorf,’ Baron Thornig said. ‘They might have been going to Talabecland. They might be looking for Reiksmarshal Boeckenfoerde.’
Erich crushed the remnant of the letter and stared down at Konreid’s corpse. ‘We have to assume they have. And depending on what was written on the rest of this letter, Kreyssig might know exactly who is conspiring against Boris.’
‘What do we do?’ Count van Sauckelhof asked, panic written across his face.
Erich stepped around the table, wondering if he had the authority to make such a decision. By rights, it was Prince Sigdan’s prerogative to sound the call to arms. To take that responsibility would be to flout the prince’s position and leadership. At the same time, to delay might be to give Kreyssig the time he needed to smash their uprising before it could even start.
‘We have to put our plans into action at once,’ Erich decided. ‘Have Aldo’s people get word to Prince Sigdan and the others. Meisel, you will muster as many of your Bread Marchers as you can reach. If we wait, we play right into Kreyssig’s hands. So we won’t wait. We’ll seize the Imperial Palace tonight!’
The declaration seemed to terrify the other conspirators. For as long as they had talked about it, the magnitude of their plot, the fact that they were really going to storm the Imperial Palace, had never really sunk in. Now, faced with the imminence of history, their courage began to falter.
Erich gestured down at the body of Konreid. First the execution of Arch-Lector Hartwich, now the murder of the old Reiksknecht veteran. How much blood would it take to stop a tyrant’s outrages? ‘It is too late to back out now. Too many people have sacrificed their lives and their honour to bring us this far. We will not fail them now. And if that isn’t enough, consider this. Right now, Kreyssig is reading the other half of this letter. He might be reading each of your names. If the thought of saving the Empire from a tyrant isn’t enough to make you commit to this cause, then fear for your own lives is!’
Baron Thornig leaned against the wall, his eyes haunted, his breath coming in frightened gasps. ‘There’s another way. Erna is with that monster right now. If I told her to, she could eliminate any threat from Kreyssig.’
Erich rounded upon the baron, grabbing him by his tunic and hoisting him to his feet. ‘We’re not using your daughter as a murderess!’ the knight snarled. ‘All of us are committed to this cause! We won’t back out now!’
‘But we’re not ready,’ protested Count van Sauckelhof.
‘Then we’d better get ready,’ Erich snapped, releasing his hold on Baron Thornig and turning his ire on the Westerlander. ‘Because time is running out. Not only for us, but for the whole Empire.’
Chapter XV
Altdorf
Vorhexen, 1111
In twos and threes, grim-faced men began to gather in the streets and alleyways bordering the Widows’ Plaza. They came with clubs and knives; hammers and axes; swords of every size, shape and condition; home-made spears and curved bows of Reikland elm wood. Muffled in fur cloaks and wool coats, the men braved the bite of a mid-afternoon snow flurry, using the falling snow to mask their approach and hide their numbers.
Meisel had drawn upon some three hundred survivors of Engel’s Bread March and to this core of experienced warriors he had added as many of Altdorf’s disaffected peasantry as he could muster. It was a considerable mob that moved against the Courts of Justice. Rumours that the popular Arch-Lector Hartwich had been executed on orders from Emperor Boris had found fertile soil among Altdorf’s suffering masses. Men who had silently endured all of the Emperor’s other diktats and abuses had found this last one insufferable. Now, it seemed, the Emperor was trying to extend his tyranny into the realm of the gods and that the commoners would not allow.
The watchmen high atop the Tower of Altdorf didn’t notice the approaching mob until packs of armed men emerged from the drifting snow and began marching into the Widows’ Plaza. At once they sounded the alarm bells, nocking arrows to bows. The officer in command of the archers hesitated, however, as the numbers of men in the square continued to increase. He didn’t want to make the decision to provoke the unrest further by shooting into the crowd. Precious minutes were lost as he awaited orders from his superiors to tell him what to do.
By then, the choice of drawing first blood was taken from the soldiers in the tower. Bowmen among the mob took aim and loosed arrows at the watchmen patrolling the walls of the Imperial Courthouse. Most of the soldiers had already taken shelter behind the battlements on the fortress walls, but their adversaries down in the square included men who had stalked the borders of the Laurelorn Forest and who had hunted through the wilds of the Drakwald, men who had honed their aim and their eye to a degree never imagined by the martial schools of Altdorf. A half-dozen soldiers were struck down by the precision shooting, many of them pitching into the fortress courtyard, as lifeless as the flagstones they smashed against.
When the command to loose arrows was finally given, the archers in the Tower of Altdorf found that their enemies were prepared for them. The mob hefted crude palisades crafted from doors and shutters, many of them bearing the chalk-mark warning against plague scrawled across their faces. The arrows slammed into these wooden panels, but were unable to pierce the men sheltering behind them. The vengeful marksmanship of hunters and targeteers sent a pair of the tower’s bowmen slumping against the narrow embrasures, arrows transfixing their bodies.
A great cry rose from the mob as a swarm of enraged humanity converged upon the scaffold at the centre of the square. Like a pack of rabid wolves, the rebels tore down the hateful platform, smashing it to splinters with their boots and bare hands when no other weapon was available. Perched atop the scaffold steps, Meisel shouted direction to his followers, ordering them to drag down the gibbet. Armed with the thick oak post that supported the gibbet, the mob swung back around and rushed at the massive gates of the Imperial Courthouse.
Alarm bells clattered, horns and trumpets blared as the besieged garrison announced its plight to the city. Drawn down to provide troops for Reiksmarshal Boeckenfoerde’s march against Talabheim, the garrison commander knew he didn’t have enough men to defend the fortress if the rebels should get inside. For the moment, the fools seemed content to use their improvised battering ram against the gates, but soon one of them would get the idea to employ ladders. When that happened, the Courthouse would be overrun. There weren’t enough soldiers to protect the walls.
The defenders of the Courts of Justice cast frantic eyes towards the nearby bulk of the Imperial Palace. There were hundreds of soldiers inside the palace, the Emperor’s own bodyguard and the elite Kaiserknecht. If those warriors would sally forth and break the revolt, then the Courthouse could be saved. Otherwise, Altdorf would play host to its second great massacre of the season.