Peace had always been circumstantial. In the most literal way, she felt confident that, if one looked backwards with a broad enough view, there would not be a single day which did not overlap with some conflict big or small. However, such a statement verged on dull. Conflict natural, the world vast: it was as if rolling a hundred dice and waiting for none to come up as one.

  Rather, she viewed the circumstantial nature of peace with more nuance. That, like many things in life which others viewed as discrete, she viewed it as a gradient. More accurate still, she viewed conflict as a wave. That it began in one place and spread with respect to its force.

  For example, the Poles posed no threat to her nor to her people. What made her so sensitive to their matters, then, was that they had developed such force that the effects of it would reach her lands. She had no interest in having the grain of Bavaria eaten up by grand Imperial armies, nor for her land to be swamped with peasants fleeing Bohemia.

  With this view of peace and conflict, it thus became natural to actively participate—so long as the cost of participating did not exceed the predicted distress that not participating would bring. This was, of course, an impossible comparison to know, that she could only rely on intuition.

  However, this was also only one lens through which she observed her choices. That, more than others, she keenly knew her actions—or lack thereof—created many different kinds of waves that rippled out near and far.

  “Lord Wemding, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  The man before her was older in years, albeit still with his faculties, yet that age stained him, hair grey and face wrinkled, a slump to how he stood that defied his breeding. Of those things within his control, he naturally took great care. Well-dressed, a comfortable slackness to the fit, with groomed hair and a quaint pair of eyeglasses.

  By land, he was not an impressive lord, her peer under the Crown Prince as part of the Duchy of Swabia, but a baron rather than count. However, his small land included the prosperous town that had grown around the manor, which was well fed by the surrounding villages. Something of a gem in the rough.

  Naturally, gems were coveted by thieves and scoundrels.

  “Your Royal Highnesses,” he said, his age slowing his bow, yet bow he did, his right foot scraping back as he did.

  She did not stop him, but she did not dawdle either and gestured for him to rise once he had finished. “While I may be Princess Julia, I wonder if sir is here to speak to Lady Augstadt today,” she said and she said it with a certain weight, not at all light.

  Sure enough, he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I hope Sir and Ma’am will forgive my urgency.”

  “So long as My Lord does not rush,” she replied.

  He drew his mouth into a smile. “I shall try,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Ah, if I may be so blunt, I have received word Lord Monheim is moving to take Wemding manor.”

  “My Lord does not seem surprised by this news,” she said.

  After a second’s pause, he raised his chin that little higher and met her gaze. “Nor does Ma’am.”

  With a small smile, she stretched out a hand and turned it over. “Do continue.”

  He took in a breath, his own hands still, one cupped by the other. “I have sent word to Prince Hector to ask for mediation. However, I know he holds Lord Monheim in high esteem.”

  She raised her hand and he paused there. “That is, he holds Lord Monheim’s heir in high esteem.”

  Again, he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I have been in Augstadt because I thought Lord Monheim would make such an attempt soon. If Prince Hector does not… receive my letter in due time, I worry that he would maintain the situation as it is.”

  “That is, with Lord Monheim ruling your land.”

  He did not answer easily, could not, only after a few seconds did his head, once more, dip down in acknowledgement.

  “Quite vexing.”

  Her words held an absurdity in this moment, not enough to make him laugh, yet it broke the weight of the silence. “Ma’am, I dare not say why I hope you would provide aid.”

  Only the deaf could have missed his reasoning. Regardless of what reasoning brought him before her, though, her answer would not have changed. “I decline.”

  It spoke of his bearing that, at such a curt answer, he showed no reaction. “I understand.”

  At that, she tittered, covering her mouth as she did. “Pray do not be hasty in misunderstanding. At present, this is a small matter of perhaps a hundred men on each side. If I should intrude, it would give grounds for others to intrude on Lord Monheim’s behalf, and I worry that they would do so simply to oppose me. Such escalation would weigh most heavily on Wemding.”

  “Ma’am speaks well. However, if I would lose my land, it matters little to me what state it is in.”

  Nothing about her expression changed.

  “My Lord should, however, care what state it is in if retaining it. To that end, I would provide what help does not invite scrutiny. For example, we have spare arms and armours, the cost of which may be settled later.”

  He gave half a chuckle. “Ma’am is generous,” he said, managing to convey both sarcasm and sincerity.

  To which she replied with a smile, then turned to the side. “My husband is more learned on these matters of war. Does dear have any suggestions?” she asked, a lightness to her voice.

  Rather than surprised by her sudden pivot to him, her husband found it amusing. That, even now, she would test him, as if a muscle of hers that needed constant effort to gain strength.

  “Lord Monheim wishes to control the land from the manor?” her husband asked.

  “Indeed. Unfortunately, the moat has been neglected. It otherwise sits on a hill on the town’s edge, that Lord Monheim would have to strike from the farmland, and it is rather vulnerable to cannon.”

  Her husband nodded along. “This small force, it would be his knights and peasants?”

  “If only, that he should have his eleven knights along with any retinue they bring, as well as a mercenary band of mostly pikes. Altogether, I would put their size closer to one hundred than two.”

  This time, her husband hummed to himself, hand on his chin, eyes narrowed. “Perhaps they hope it is enough to turn up for the guards to surrender. They lack the numbers to lay siege, and likely lack the will for anything more than a hasty assault. However, if we presume Lord Monheim is not a fool, then I expect he either already has a traitor inside or intends to make a rather generous offer to anyone willing.”

  When her husband spoke, a certain silence always followed. This time was no different. Of course, that was for other people, not her.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “My husband sees this matter clearly. Rather than men, we should consider providing supplies that would keep My Lord’s garrison in good spirits. Of course, not too good spirits, for a drunk guard is worse than none.”

  Her joke carried little weight, enough to clear the air and nothing more. Still, her guest offered a polite chuckle, then dipped his head. “Sir certainly is learned of these matters. Yes, perhaps I have missed the forest for the trees. Even a manor as modest as mine is not a trivial obstacle. Pray forgive me, I have wasted your precious time in my panic.”

  This time, she politely laughed, her other hand gesturing out. “What waste? My Lord is near enough our neighbour and in need, that it is only right we should help him. We would send those arms and armours, and we would send food, and we would even send a letter to Lord Monheim expressing our disappointment at his actions. Such pointless war between fellow Christians and fellow Germans, it is quite unpleasant.”

  There she paused to turn and give her husband a smile before continuing.

  “Still, I worry. Lord Monheim may be more capable than we would presume. That is, his goal is perhaps not the manor, but instead My Lord…” she said, how she ended the sentence almost an address, prompting her guest to answer.

  For his part, he caught on after a moment, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. “I suppose he could expect me to rush back to defend the manor and so present him with an… opportunity.”

  She answered his smile with a polite one of her own. “There is then the possibility that, rather than those, he intends to plunder the land until My Lord brings him to battle. Of all the options, I think this the most likely given his employment of mercenaries.”

  As if not old enough, her guest seemed to age further still, these last points of hers stripping him of the confidence he had only just found. “Indeed, he is a callous man.”

  “Of course, while the mercenaries will be content as long as they are paid, his knights may be less… content to prolong this conflict. I confess, I do not know well their character. However, at least out of principle alone, I expect those landed to grow discontent if Lord Monheim keeps them in service longer than they are obliged.”

  He gently nodded, his gaze low as he thought over the matter. “I do not know either, but what I do know is that Lord Monheim and his heir spend much time in the capital, and he spends that time lavishly.”

  With silence beginning to settle, she turned to her husband once more. “Has dear any more insight to give on how to suitably resolve this matter?”

  Again, her husband found this pivot amusing, certain she already had some plan she wished to give in due time. Since asked, though, he took this matter seriously, taking into account the breadcrumbs she had left him.

  “This enemy may certainly be waited out; however, it would be a harsh dishonour, one that Lord Wemding’s son may find heavy in his time. On the other hand, to confront the enemy is costly. The mercenaries should be a tough force to break while still in the good spirits money brings them.”

  Although his pause there dragged on, no one else spoke, a dutiful silence.

  “How far is it from Wemding to Monheim?” he quietly asked.

  Without hesitation, she replied, “Under a day’s march if well organised. It is a somewhat forested area outside of the more direct path as I understand the area.”

  “Ma’am is correct. There is also a southern road which is not much longer, while the northern road would take a push to travel in a day.”

  With that input provided, her husband again fell into thought. “Being so close, he would need to camp close to Wemding to keep the mercenaries from pillaging his own lands, no? Which should make it easy to scout their movements. In the first place, the strength of the manor is precisely that one may have a central position from which to strike out at an uncoordinated enemy.”

  Her hands came together in a gentle clap. “Oh, of course. With this threat, Lord Monheim would have to keep his mercenaries in good order, which no doubt shall prove a struggle as they pillage.”

  Pausing there, her gaze settled behind her guest; after a nod, she brought it back upon her guest, a polite smile on her lips.

  “There is certainly much more to discuss. For now, though, let us enjoy a meal.”

  A long few hours then passed until the guest retired to the offered accommodation, and the husband and wife retired then too. Summer’s heat lingered into the late dusk, room warm, that she lay on the bed while her maid carefully placed a damp cloth onto her forehead.

  Once her maid left, he broke the silence that had settled. “Is there any particular reason to be this kind?”

  Her tittering carried an unusual air, for once not muffled by her hand. “It is precisely because I am this kind that I now have this opportunity to interfere with matters I otherwise would have no place in. More to the point, it is trivial to assist him. This assistance, then, keeps our neighbours divided, that they shall continue to focus their intrigue upon each.”

  A smile came to him. His wife had a way of presenting these matters as simple, even though he felt the undercurrent of wisdom to them. This, like all things, fed into her philosophy. That goodness was good.

  “Still, I feel that you may have held back,” he said softly.

  She did not need him to explain further. “Now that I have a husband who would lead my men, it is imperative for him to grow a reputation. Even in front of those I intimately trust, this is necessary, that it would be a grave weakness if dear’s orders were only followed out of respect for me.”

  To that, he had to hang his head low with a crooked smile. What truly set his wife apart from any other was this cohesiveness of her vision. All matters were one, one matter was all.

  “Now that there is no one present whose trust I require, would you stop holding back?” he asked, softer still than before.

  Again, she tittered with the gentle notes unhindered. “But, dear, it is important that you trust yourself too.”

  Broken by that, he breathlessly laughed. “Indeed, I need to learn to trust myself,” he whispered.

  Whether or not she heard that, he couldn’t tell by what she then said. “My advice is always here. However, in matters of war, I thought myself more clever than those before me. I am grateful I did not embarrass myself more than I did. Once I had set myself to the task, I understood that, in the end, this is not a place for cleverness. One need only hold the best position available and then force the enemy to assault it. To do anything else is, in essence, a failure of strategy.”

  Truly, he could not fault that. Even that she spoke of strategic—rather than tactical—failure spoke to the nuance of her understanding. That she understood war, not through battles, but outcomes. The struggle of both sides to achieve their goals.

  At the same time, although she highlighted this through her own perspective, it was no different to what he had learned. To be on the defence was indisputably preferred unless one had significant superiority in cavalry—and an open field with which to use it.

  However, since the Wars of Heresy, armies had rather grown in size. That rulers had been shown a big enough bunch of peasants with long enough spears could pose a threat to a well-armoured knight.

  He shook his head, feeling that his thoughts were swinging back-and-forth and going nowhere.

  As if waiting for him to clear his mind, she spoke, her voice quiet. “We are approaching an age of chaos, I fear. You saw in Greece that the Poles have no qualms in slaughtering fellow Christians. What tolerance we once had for their heresy, the Church indirectly stated it no longer holds. Across the Empire, too, we echo the stories of our grandparents, of entire villages, towns, even cities slaughtered by heretic and crusader alike. The Church has struggled to rein in this violence since, that it seems mercenaries are a heretic unto themselves and many a ruler happy to wash their hands of the sins committed on their coin. I dare not make comment on the King’s impact or lack thereof on this… decline.”

  By the end, he had shrunk, head low and shoulders hunched, a hand over his face as his other hand clenched tight. After a deep breath, the weight melted and his hands settled at his side once more, loose.

  “Tell me clearly, what do you plan to do with Wemding?” he asked, a whisper, a plea.

  “I intend to ask the Bishop of Augsburg to write to the Bishops of Eichst?tt and of Mainz. It should be no surprise that the Church owns significant amounts of land, such that, if Lord Monheim is careless, we would… be justified in aiding the Church.”

  He stilled for a moment, then let out a breath, his mouth settling into a small smile. “In the end, we would send men to his aid.”

  “Not quite. We have no particular need for his involvement, enough that he would hold out long enough for Lord Monheim’s mercenaries to grow unruly. A fraction of my army would then be sufficient to compel surrender. That is, we would not actually break them, enough to strip them of loot which we would naturally return to the Church.”

  “And leave Lord Monheim with unpaid mercenaries and a stain on his honour.”

  “And leave us with the merit of upholding the Church’s honour.”

  After another deep breath, he shook his head. “I confess, darling’s plans are beyond my imagination, every plan nestled within greater plans still.”

  At that, she laughed—not just a titter, but a laugh which continued until she was breathless, only then that she settled with a sigh. “Dear is too flattering. These things, one need only learn to react appropriately. It is all too natural to focus upon the details; however, if one is not aware of one’s goals, one cannot tell which details are relevant.

  “Furthermore, one need only work towards one’s goals. Those details which contribute to plans which do not coincide with one’s goals are the worst kind of distraction. That, in all matters, the worst mistake is to produce plans which do no coincide with one’s goals.”

  “I fear darling thinks too highly of me,” he said lightly.

  “Do not fear it, embrace it,” she said, not at all lightly, nor did her words land heavily. “Dear should know better than to doubt my ability to recognise talent.”

  All he had to do was trust her, trust her once more.

  His lips moved, silently saying, “Indeed, I should.”