Chapter 8: The Widow and the Empress
In the blink of an eye, Lothar had closed the distance to the enemy to fifty meters. He could even clearly see the man's face: filthy, covered in grime, with a beard as wild and unkempt as tangled grass.
Dark eyes, dark hair, and a dark beard. 'Are these Hungarians?'
He squeezed his mount's flanks hard, and the warhorse transitioned from a trot to a furious gallop. The wind howled in his ears, and an honor guard of thundering hooves accompanied him.
The instant he was about to pass the enemy, his lance shot out. The sharp tip pierced straight through the chest of the rider to his left, sending him flying violently from his horse. The tremendous impact sent a numbing shock up Lothar's arm.
But inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. This light cavalryman, clad only in a padded jacket, was not only far worse equipped than him, but his combat skills were also quite mediocre. It seemed they weren't formidable opponents.
Blood streamed down the shaft of his lance. Lothar casually discarded it, letting it fall to the ground with the dead rider's body, and drew the arming sword from his saddle, swinging it at the other cavalryman.
'Clang!'
The enemy's saber struck his shield, leaving only a shallow scratch. The two riders galloped past each other.
Lothar wheeled his horse around and charged at the cavalryman again. But the man, having seen his companion die in an instant, had a look of terror on his face. He only dared to skirmish from the side, not brave enough to charge in and engage in close combat.
Lothar had no intention of pursuing him either. Even with a heavier load, his warhorse was still slightly faster than the enemy's mount, but chasing him down would still consume a great deal of stamina. And with Banu guarding his rear, he wasn't worried about a sneak attack on their base.
So, he retrieved the lance that had impaled the enemy rider and, ignoring the fleeing cavalryman, slowly rode towards the horsemen besieging the convoy.
The enemy's blood didn't make Lothar feel nervous or uneasy. Nor did he experience the fear or an urge to vomit that novels often described for a first kill. Instead, he felt a surge of profound excitement!
'Could it be that I'm actually a psychopath and sadist at heart?'
Before he even got close, the enemy detached two riders who galloped towards Lothar. Lothar's eyes were fixed on the rapidly approaching enemy, his mount accelerating from a trot.
Finally, the two sides met!
'Crack!'
With a deafening noise, the lance punched straight through his opponent's shield. The man was thrown from his horse by the overwhelming force, like a mountain crashing down. At the same time, the shaft of the white beechwood lance snapped.
Lothar tossed the broken lance aside and switched to his arming sword.
By now, the other cavalryman's attack had arrived – a two-handed cavalry spear. He parried it with his shield, the impact jarring his wrist. He countered with a sword strike, cleaving into the man's leather-covered round shield. Both riders reined in their horses, falling into a close-quarters brawl.
Lothar surpassed his opponent in both strength and stamina. He soon spotted an opening and pierced the man's wrist with his sword tip, forcing him to drop his shield. With a swift backhand stroke, he sliced open the man's waist. Blood and viscera erupted, dyeing the brown coat of the horse beneath him crimson.
A feeling of exhilarating release washed over Lothar, making him want to let out a long, triumphant roar. For the first time, he realized: 'So, I'm actually this formidable!?'
In the distance, the leader of the cavalry troop watched this scene coldly. He muttered a command, and four more riders, covering each other, advanced towards Lothar.
Lothar, undaunted, raised his sword and shield and met the enemy head-on.
***
The convoy's resistance was stubborn. The six knights and squires at the head of the column, led by the Peacock Knight, launched an effective counterattack. However, the enemy outnumbered the knights several times over. In such open terrain, the foot soldiers could only provide limited fire support and dared not charge out of their wagon formation to engage the enemy.
A large, bearded knight shouted, "Look! It's that righteous warrior who came to support us! He's like a black thunderbolt! He's cutting through them! Those four bastards can't stop him!"
Another knight showed a look of admiration. "Truly impressive. In my opinion, this knight's skill could have easily won him first place at the last Vienna Tournament."
A hint of joy appeared on the Peacock Knight's face. "Men, it's time we launched our counteroffensive! Let these horsemen learn the difference between a knight and mere cavalry!"
The six knights and squires formed up, charging at the enemy like a steel blade. Three heavily armored knights formed the center, with three lightly armored squires providing cover on the flanks. They couched and put their lances under their arms, employing a standard couched lance charge.
The cavalrymen blocking their path were instantly shattered as if by an irresistible force, a gap torn open in their ranks. Even the squires were professional soldiers with years of training, and their coordination with their respective masters was exceptional.
The cavalry leader glanced back at Lothar. Of the four horsemen sent to surround him, two had already been dispatched in the blink of an eye. 'Where the hell did this bastard come from?'
He weighed his options and finally gave the order to retreat. The cavalrymen withdrew as swiftly as a receding tide, leaving behind more than a dozen corpses and riderless mounts pacing back and forth on the grassland.
The system's notification sound chimed:
[Congratulations on completing your first milestone: First Blood.]
[You have received: Normal-Quality Card Draw x1.]
Lothar let out a long breath, having no intention of pursuing them. These cavalrymen seemed more like a band of mongol-wannabe nomads – their equipment was old, and their tactics were outdated. In every aspect, they could hardly compare to knights who had undergone rigorous military training from a young age. But enough ants could devour an elephant.
A large, bearded knight crouched on the ground, carefully examining the corpse of a dead cavalryman. "Magyars," he said grimly. "Most likely marauders from the border marches."
The Peacock Knight roared in fury, "Damn that Daschelmeier! Hiring a band of Magyars to attack the Countess! We will go before the Emperor himself and denounce his crimes!"
Murder among nobles was an exceedingly common affair. The reasons were myriad, though most often related to inheritance issues. For instance, if Lothar were to murder Otto, he would become the primary heir to the County of Aargau. Few could resist such a temptation.
Lothar shook his head. "Without evidence, it will be very difficult to accuse a count with actual power, especially since he is a vassal to a duke."
Lothar knew of Daschelmeier; he was a vassal under Henry the Lion, the Duke of Saxony to the north.
Not all dukes had counts under them. Although a duke ranked higher than a count, many counts in Great Germania were independent lords who answered directly to the Emperor.
The old saying held true: "My vassal's vassal is not my vassal." If a count swore fealty to a duke, he was no longer obligated to fulfill duties to the Emperor. The Emperor could only control the duke, not bypass him to control his vassals.
The Peacock Knight approached with a smile. He removed his helmet, revealing a head of long, brilliant golden curls. "Thank you for your aid, valiant knight! You are of the Habsburg family, are you not? I've seen your coat of arms."
Lothar returned the smile. "Indeed. I am Lothar of Aargau. My father is Count Werner. I am traveling through the Austrian March, intending to sail south from the Adriatic Sea to the Holy Land to participate in this round of the Crusade."
"Ah… so you are a great Crusader!" The knights and squires immediately showed profound respect.
A servant ran from the convoy, calling out, "Brave knight, in light of your valor, please come with me. The Countess wishes to see you."
Lothar did not refuse. He leaped off his mount and said to the Peacock Knight, "My retainers are still behind. When they arrive, please have them wait here for me."
Lothar was quickly led to the central carriage. A noblewoman stood there, dressed in a white linen gown, her long hair flowing over her shoulders.
The lady smiled. "I recognize that coat of arms. I have a good relationship with Count Werner. Which of his sons are you? Otto, or Lothar?"
Lothar replied, neither servile nor overbearing, "Yes, milady. I am Count Werner's second son, Lothar von Habsburg."
The Countess's voice was alluring, and her features were quite striking, though a closer look revealed fine lines at the corners of her eyes and a dense scattering of freckles.
She smiled. "I am Marianna Calw. I am a widow. Daschelmeier wishes to seize my late husband's lands. I have no doubt this attack was orchestrated by him; only he has close ties with several Hungarian princes."
"Come back with me, Lothar. Aargau is a poor land, but its warriors are fierce. My land is wealthy, but it lacks warriors as brave as you. Our two houses should form an alliance and mutually benefit."
Lothar was somewhat puzzled. "Regarding an alliance, milady, shouldn't you approach my father?"
The Countess paused, then smiled. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough. I wish for you to be my husband, to become a Count. Frankly, this is a political marriage. I need your family's strength to support me against Daschelmeier."
Lothar frowned.
The Countess looked perplexed. "What are you hesitating about? For a second son of a noble family like yours, marrying a wealthy widow like me means immediately acquiring a substantial dowry and inheriting my lands and title. Isn't this what you've always dreamed of?"
Noble widows were indeed highly sought after on the continent. However…
Lothar chuckled lightly. "My apologies, milady, but I have no such intention. If I truly wanted to be a kept man living off a woman, I'd rather go to Constantinople and try to win the Empress's favor."
After the passing of the Eastern Empire's late Emperor, state affairs were managed by his widow. She claimed she would relinquish power once the Crown Prince came of age, but this still made her a coveted prize in the eyes of all nobles. Anyone who caught the Empress's eye could achieve instant meteoric success.
"Hmph, wishful thinking!" the Countess spat. "The number of princes, nobles, mercenary leaders, and military commanders vying for that wealthy woman's favor is simply countless. What makes you think you stand a chance?"
Lothar grinned, smiling as he said, "Ha, I have a strong stomach; I never planned on living off a woman anyway."
"Heh, you'd better think carefully. I have good relations with several Electors. The current Emperor has no heir. If you wish, I can even contend for your right to the imperial throne." The Countess's tone was somewhat unfriendly.
She had many suitors and had chosen to approach Lothar primarily for his martial prowess and striking appearance, but more so to leverage the Habsburg family's power. Although Count Werner was based in a remote fief, he was not an unknown figure within the Empire; the Emperor had personally appointed him commander of the imperial forces during the campaign against the Slavs.
"The right to the imperial throne?" Lothar fell silent.
The Great Germania Empire was this world's counterpart to the Holy Roman Empire of his previous life. Voltaire's assessment of the HRE—"Neither Holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire"—though biased, had its merits. For instance, the current ruler of Great Germania, Emperor Henry of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, had personal domains that held no significant advantage over those of several major imperial princes.
Although the Great Germania Empire of this era was vast, the Emperor's income was likely less than a tenth of the Eastern Empress's. And this was despite the Eastern Empire having declined significantly; the interior of Asia Minor was almost entirely lost, and the Bulgarians to the north alternated between rebellion and southward raids. The Peloponnesian Peninsula also frequently suffered incursions from North Africans and pirates. Even under these circumstances, the Eastern Empire was still far wealthier than Great Germania.
"Strong branches and a weak trunk" had always been a major problem plaguing Great Germania. Fortunately, Germania had not yet degenerated to the later point of issuing a Golden Bull, which explicitly stipulated that the Emperor be elected by seven Prince-Electors. Although the elective system was a tradition carried over from tribal times, it wasn't yet deeply entrenched. There was still hope for a change.
So, the question arose: should he accept and take the easy path of being a kept man or not?