“You made two mistakes, Von Stublau. The first one is that bell. You see, that isn’t the one from Saint Mark’s Square. That’s the Marangona, the bell they ring every morning at the Arsenal. It goes on for half an hour every morning, so you should know it. As this isn’t morning, and as the Arsenal is working right now, I imagine someone has found out about your plot.”
The knight-proctor looked startled. Then, began to pale.
“And the second one is that you shouldn’t assume everyone is as stupid as you are.”
He raised his voice. “Prince Manfred, Earl of Carnac, your uncle His Imperial Highness, Charles Fredrik, Holy Roman Emperor, has given me orders to kill any man who threatens your life.” Erik grabbed the lower edge of Von Stublau’s helmet and jerked him forward, kicking the knight-proctor’s legs out from under him and driving him back down. The Prussian grunted with pain as his knees smashed into the floor.
“Kneel, traitor. May he be shriven first, My Lord Earl?”
Everything was moving too fast for the remaining knights to understand what was happening. Most of them were still slack-jawed with surprise. But at least two thirds of them, out of training if nothing else, had drawn their broadswords.
The doors at the back of the salon opened. The entry of soldiers or other knights might have simply made the situation explode into violence. Outnumbered sixteen to two, Erik and Manfred would have been hard-pressed to survive long enough for any kind of rescue.
Except . . . by an unarmed, haughty, imperially-dressed woman, accompanied by an elderly gentleman in court clothes. The woman looked like a princess. She certainly wore enough jewels.
Francesca smiled at them from under her tiara. The knights parted like the Red Sea before Moses, opening up to allow her and Count Von Stemitz to walk through.
She curtsied to Manfred. The count bowed low.
Manfred behaved as if he had, not a few moments back, been in a fight for his life, and didn’t have a bloody sword in his hand. “Princess.” His mind raced for a suitable address. Well. There were enough little principalities in the Empire. Let the Knots guess. “How may we assist?”
She smiled regally. “Your imperial uncle has asked me to deliver certain warrants to you.” She handed him the sheaf of parchments he’d left with her not an hour before.
Manfred took them and leafed through them, as if he hadn’t written them himself. “Count Von Stemitz,” he said calmly, “Who am I? Please explain that to these assembled Knights.”
Von Stemitz bowed again. “You are Prince Manfred, Earl of Carnac, Marquis of Rennes, Baron of Ravensburg. You are also Privy Emissary Plenipotentiary for his Imperial Highness Charles Fredrik of Mainz. He has invested you with the full and independent power to act for the imperial throne.”
Manfred cleared his throat. “I have a message from Emperor Charles Fredrik to read to all of you. He says to remind the Knots that he holds their charter, the deeds to all their monasteries—and that they are perilously close to his displeasure. And that he has more than sufficient military forces to crush the entire order of the Knights of the Holy Trinity, should they persist in defying him. And to remind any confrere knights that he is their sovereign and their estates are his to dispose of.”
The salon seemed to chill by many degrees of temperature. Charles Fredrik was known to be reluctant to use military force except when he felt it was necessary. He was also known to use it with utter ruthlessness when he did so.
The threat was particularly shaking, obviously enough, to the confrere knights who made up perhaps half of the force assembled in the salon. Not one of the confrere knights in the salon doubted for an instant that the old Emperor would make good his threat to kill all of them—and expropriate their families in the bargain. As surely as a farmer will butcher a hog for a feast.
Erik cast quick eyes around the salon. He could see at least four—no, five; then six—of the confrere knights start shifting their stance. Moving, now—and none too subtly—to be prepared to subdue the two regular knights who were most prone to religious fanaticism. And then saw the other regular knights sidling away from the two zealots. The sudden shift in the balance of forces was as palpable as a lead weight.