Sturm line musket men bo.., p.11
Sturm Line (Musket Men Book 5), page 11
An awkward chuckle reverberated throughout the church until Minister Bramwell Brandt spoke again. “That, my fellow worshippers, is an amazing example of the Second Pillar of the Rule of Wotan. A man is loyal. Marshal Sturm may be young, but his accomplishments are already legend. The high king consults with him. He is the seventh peer of this realm. And yet, when push comes to shove, his loyalty to his beloved grandmother is such that he puts aside his personal discomfort to spare her any cause of unhappiness. That is loyalty, my people. And that is a man of Wotan.”
To Sturm’s ever-growing embarrassment someone in the congregation began to clap and soon the whole church was thundering with applause. He knew that his face must be flushed as red as a strawberry, but he relied on his military discipline to continue sitting ramrod straight and staring directly ahead toward the far wall behind the altar.
“Now, I want to point out,” Brandt continued, “that I could have built my whole sermon around Mrs. Aleit Sturm.”
“You will not!” Sturm’s grandmother ordered in what Sturm, himself, thought was a clear example of utter hypocrisy.
“No, ma’am,” Brandt assured her, “I will not, other than to say that even though the Rule clearly says that it applies to men, every woman present can aspire to these virtues as well. But let me return to Sir Marshal. He is, I think you will agree, the very epitome of a man of Wotan. His bravery, the First Pillar of the Rule, is beyond question. He and a couple of handfuls of men held Steil Pass against thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers. In fact, three of those soldiers are with us today—every bit as brave, and clearly immensely loyal—as the earl himself.
Sturm had to resist smiling when Brandt added, “Stand up, soldiers, let the congregation see what kind of men have the courage to do Wotan’s bidding even at the risk of their own lives.”
Caldor and Ruus, sitting in the next pew over with Sturm’s other friends, stood immediately. Gunner only rose when Ruus pulled on his arm.
“Pretty ordinary looking, aren’t they?” Brandt observed. “I’m not saying they aren’t special. I’m saying that they look like you and me. Any one of us could find ourselves in that circumstance, and like them, any one of us could be inspired by Wotan to find the courage to stand strong.” He paused another moment, before adding, “Thank you, soldiers, both for standing today and for standing for Kriegsturm and Wotan.”
He resumed his sermon as the three men sat. “Loyalty, I have already referred to. I’m just going to add that loyalty inspires courage. Whether it be the high king, your earl, or your brothers-in-arms, never underestimate the power of loyalty. It will drive you to do what is right.”
He took a breath, glanced at Sturm, saw his frown, and quickly looked away again. “A man must be trustworthy. Do you see how the virtues of the Rule are intertwined? A loyal man will be brave in adversity, and that means that his friends or his family or his lord can trust him. If you talk to the three soldiers I just had stand up after this service, I am certain that they would all agree that one of the crucial things that helped them do their duty at both Steil Pass and in the liberation of Hekt, was that they trusted Marshal Sturm. He wasn’t a knight yet. He was just a captain—and later a major—but they believed he knew what he was doing and that he wouldn’t risk them lightly. And they stayed, and they fought, and they persevered as their numbers declined under the brutality of the thousands of Angevin soldiers striving against them until they won.”
He looked about him again, at the congregation, judging the effect of his words as if the complete and respectful silence didn’t tell him enough.
“A man is strong,” he reminded everyone. “And no, we are not talking about physical strength. We are talking about spiritual power, the ability to press forward no matter how great the pressure brought to bear against you. I’m certain at Steil Pass, every one of those men wanted to retreat and seek help in fighting our foes, but they found the strength of will to press forward instead.”
“The flipside of this is that a man must be steadfast. He cannot be turned from the righteous path no matter what temptations, no matter how much he fears—and never make the mistake of thinking that a brave man cannot feel fear. It is in overcoming his fear that he proves that he is brave. But I am talking about steadfast. A man must stay true and not be diverted from the righteous road.”
The minister took a deep breath. “And finally, a man must be zealous. He must never forget Wotan and what he requires of us. He must hold his faith in front of him like a shield and wield it like a sword, as Sir Marshal did when he charged into Hekt and drove out the heretics ruling it.”
That was a complete misunderstanding of what had happened in Hekt, Sturm knew. He had worked hard to minimize religious differences and focus on the parts of the Kriegsturm and Angevin religions that united the peoples. But this was not the time to debate politics, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Those are the easy virtues,” the minister said, before trying a little joke. “No, I did not say they are people of easy virtue, I said they are virtues that it is easy for most people to understand. But what about the seventh one? What about, A man is right? What does that mean?”
He paused but no one answered his question.
“Obviously, it does not mean that a man is always correct. As I’m certain the women in this congregation could attest, we men are far from infallible.” He finally got the titter of amusement that his first joke had failed to generate. “We make mistakes. We err. Sometimes these are simple failings—we say that the time is ten o’clock when it is really ten thirty. Sometimes they are gravely serious errors. We say that the musket in the corner is unloaded when it is in fact ready for action.”
Brandt had the congregation again, if he had in fact ever actually lost it. To his left, Sturm could see his Uncle Carsten leaning forward to listen.
“And yet,” the minister continued, “many men—some of whom are in this congregation right now—insist that the rule means that they—as men—cannot be wrong. They use this ridiculous interpretation to resist compromise and to justify foolish fighting. But I ask you to consider a very subtle change in the way we think of the rule. I suggest that the rule is what a man strives to be. He strives to be brave, he strives to be steadfast, he strives to be right. Think about it for a moment, if a man’s courage breaks one time, does that mean he is not a man anymore? What if he rediscovers his backbone and risks or gives his life to defend his friends? Is he brave or is he a coward?”
That was what had happened to Lieutenant Wiebe, Sturm remembered. The poor man had been so terrified at the prospect of fighting their way up Steil Pass that he had insubordinately called Sturm out. But in the end, he had found his nerve and volunteered to explode the kegs of powder at the height of the final battle even though he knew that doing so would cost him his life.
“No!” Brandt thundered. “A man strives to be brave, he strives to by loyal, he gives his all to be trustworthy, strong, steadfast, and zealous. But above all other things, he must strive to be right, always to be on Wotan’s side. And he must do that even if new information tells him he must change his opinions and join the other side of an argument or a fight.”
He paused one last time. “That is what it means for a man to be right.”
Chapter Nineteen: The Graf of Tief Graben
Tief Graben, Eisenland, Kriegsturm
The Cold Moon, Day 20, Year 1196
Sturm stepped past the servant through the door to a lavishly decorated sitting room in the graf’s residence in Tief Graben. Everything here spoke of wealth from the carpets on the floor, to the curtains framing the windows, to the plush seat cushions on the wooden chairs, to the crystal glasses set out before the bottles of alcohol in equally fine crystal decanters, to the choice little cuts of meat, cheese, and bread on the silver platter waiting to be eaten.
Yet, on second examination, much of the wealth was old. The carpet was worn, the curtains frayed and faded, and the seat cushions depressed from many sittings. The graf and his line had wealth but perhaps they were not rich by the standards of the high kingdom.
The graf rose to greet him offering his hand as Sturm approached him. He stood about two inches shorter than Sturm but had the same blonde hair and blue eyes that marked both of their origins in Sturmkuste. He had visited this house before with his parents when he was a child. His mother’s connections to an earl had garnered her the occasional invitation—invites that had become far less frequent as the family wealth had declined. Thinking back now, he did not believe that he had ever previously shaken the graf’s hand.
Like Sturm, the graf wore clothes suitable for Church Day—in his case a fine suit with nothing old or tattered about it, and in Sturm’s one of his military uniforms without the major decorations. His grip was firm and his eyes—Sturm had seen gazes like that before. They happened when a man was trying to figure something out.
“Welcome, Earl Fortaleza, it is kind of you to make time to meet with me during your visit home.”
“It was generous of you to extend an invitation on such short notice,” Sturm responded. Else and Henna had prepared him for this meeting. He really wasn’t at his best playing the refined nobleman.
“Not, at all,” the graf answered. “I would have invited you out to the house even if you hadn’t become an earl. Two krieg stars. It’s unheard of! I can’t begin to express how proud you made all of us here in Tief Graben when you stood up and showed the world what an Eisenlander can do.”
Sturm knew that the graf was speaking of Eisenlanders in the larger way that the rest of the high kingdom thought of them—not the narrow divisions that divided them into Settlers, Old Eisenlanders, and Eisenlanders.
“That is also kind of you to say, graf. I was just doing my duty, as were the men under my command.”
The graf smiled. “But doing it so much better than everyone else does.”
He gestured at the little table with the food on it. “Please, sit, let’s eat a little while we talk.”
Sturm did as he was asked, sitting and sampling a bit of the beef and the good old Eisenland cheese that he had grown up with. “I’m going to miss repasts like this when I get to Al-Andalus,” he announced.
“How so?” the graf asked. “I would think you have the money now to enjoy any delicacy that strikes your fancy.”
“I would have thought so too,” Sturm told him, “but apparently fresh beef is a problem. You’ve heard of the axe beak?”
The graf searched his memory for a moment as he poured them both a glass of whiskey. Sturm didn’t want whiskey but he permitted diplomacy to win out and said nothing.
“I believe I have,” the graf finally said. “Some kind of big bird, right? It’s supposed to be as tall as a man.”
“That’s correct,” Strum complimented him. “They come from the veldt in the southern continent where they are apparently a delicacy much in demand by lions. But some sheik or sultan brought a few up here for his zoo and now they are all over Al Andalus.”
“What’s this have to do with beef?” the graf asked.
“The axe beaks hate cows,” Sturm told him. He kept his face straight even though the whole situation struck him as vaguely ridiculous. “Apparently they go into a rage when they see them and their beak is so strong that when they swing their heads down like an axe, they can fracture a cow’s skull.”
If Sturm had finished his tale two seconds later, the graf probably would have spit a mouthful of whiskey out onto the table so sudden and forceful was his laughter. “You made that up!”
“I wish I had,” Sturm told him. “Chickens are another thing they have trouble breeding down south. There’s some sort of lizard, I forget the name.”
“It sounds positively barbaric,” the graf observed.
“I whole-heartedly agree,” Sturm said. “But it’s where my earldom is and the high king has asked me to go take possession of it.”
“And you want a bring a thousand men with you,” the graf noted, probably getting to the actual purpose of his invitation to meet with him.
“At least a thousand,” Sturm corrected him.
“That’s going to cut into the labor market around here and cause trouble,” the graf made his concern known.
“I doubt it,” Sturm argued. “I have actually given a lot of thought to the impact of doing all my recruiting in this area and I think it will help you far more than it hurts you. Lots of men are unemployed around here.”
“But you’re not just taking them,” the graf protested.
“No, I’m trying to take the men who would make the best soldiers,” Sturm explained. “But those I am recruiting who have jobs will give them up to come south with me, and that will provide jobs for unemployed men I don’t hire.”
“It’s going to cause a lot of disruption,” the graf complained.
“It’s also going to bring a lot of money into Tief Graben which is going to let families pay off their debts and buy things they need,” Sturm argued. “That’s going to make your store keepers very happy.”
“But I don't think you're legally permitted to raise a militia of this size. I know I, myself, am limited to fifty armed retainers,” the graf protested.
Sturm was glad that they had finally gotten to the crux of the graf’s concern. He sat back in his chair, thoughtfully swishing the whiskey about in his glass. “May I ask you a question before I answer yours?”
“I suppose so,” the graf agreed.
“Why do you care?”
“What?” Clearly the graf hadn’t anticipated such a direct request to explain his interests in Sturm’s affairs.
“Why do you care if I have the right to do this or not?” Sturm pressed the issue. “It seems to me that my taking these men helps you. Many are unemployed or underemployed. More than half of them have serious debts that are now being repaid. And let’s be honest, many of these men are the wild ones, most likely to get into trouble.”
“Yes, they are,” the graf admitted. “And after you train them how to fight like you did in Steil Pass, they’ll be a much bigger problem than they are now.”
“Ahhhh,” Sturm smiled. “That sounds like Tarek Hart talking.”
The graf stiffened as if rebuked. “Maybe it does.”
“Hart is more trouble for you than any of the men I’m hiring,” Sturm told him. “He abuses your name and your authority and breeds you a lot of ill will among the people. The only thing keeping you from being hated is the general belief that you can’t actually control what your constable does.”
“That is a scurrilous accusation,” the graf almost rose to his feet.
“It’s an observation of what people believe, not an accusation,” Sturm corrected him. “But thank you for answering my question. The truth is that it is very possible that a lot of these men will not be coming home. If that happens, you have nothing to worry about.”
He set the glass of whiskey on the table without drinking any. “But let’s go back to whether or not it’s legal. I am not a graf. I am the seventh ranking peer in the realm and unlike every other one of them, my peerage was created to serve a military need. It is a need that wasn’t all that pressing during the tenures of the second and third earls, but unfortunately a combination of the idiocy of my predecessor and the poorly considered actions of the privy council means that the military role of the earls of Fortaleza is about to become predominant again. The short answer to your question is that there are no technical limits on how many men I can retain in my service so long as I am meeting a legitimate military threat.
“And what is that threat?” the graf almost made his question a demand. “There’s no war in Al-Andalus.”
“Is there not?” Sturm asked. “A man named Joachim Adler is claiming to be the earl of Fortaleza and his followers—his retainers, so to speak—murdered prominent bankers when they refused to recognize his claim. And they are not the only men he’s killed for standing with the high king and refusing to allow him to usurp one of the most important peerages in Kriegsturm.”
The graf figuratively backed up a step. “I, um, had heard that there was some trouble down south, but that doesn’t mean it’s a war.”
Sturm continued to press his argument. “Do you know what the governor of Al-Andalus’ response was to this usurpation of the high king’s and my authority?”
“No,” the graf admitted.
“He did nothing,” Sturm told him. “He permitted a man to murder prominent subjects of the high king and he did nothing.”
“Which encouraged this Adler fellow, didn’t it?” the graf mused.
“You know it did,” Sturm agreed. “Do you know what the privy council did to further exacerbate this situation?” He didn’t wait for the graf to answer him. “They pulled out eighty percent of the military in Al-Andalus to help drive Anjou out of Oosten Graanland. It’s a free for all down there and it’s getting worse not better. And never forget that Ahl-Alnaar is waiting just south of the border looking for an opportunity to retake Al-Andalus.”
“I admit that that sounds bad,” the graf acknowledged, “but if you go down there with all these men and you could spark a war.”
“If I go down there without these men, then I’m dead,” Sturm retorted. “Then we either get the war anyway or give up the province.”
“I can see that,” the graf agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be you.”
For the first time since shaking the graf’s hand, Sturm began to like the man. “I never asked for any of this,” he confided. “I was totally content to serve the high king in his army.”
“Wotan does not ask us what responsibilities we wish to accept,” the graf intoned with all the solemnity of a minister giving his sermon. “I’m not going to make this burden harder on you. Not only will I not try to interfere with what you are doing, I will help you if you think of something you think I can do.”
Sturm leaned closer to him. “Actually, there is something. There are several men in debtor’s prison we’d like to recruit but I’ve heard stories that the prison officials make it difficult to simply pay off a man’s debt.”
