This Rough Magic

things they won't tell us; they'll do things for her they would not consider doing for us for any amount of money. They'll go to great lengths to help her.'

'They reduce us to the level of Aquitaine, Your Majesty,' said the baron, sulkily.

The Emperor pulled a wry face. 'Which is why our officials fail so dismally when we have to deal with the Aquitaine. I'm almost tempted to send you to Francesca for lessons, Hans.'

Charles Fredrik saw the look of trepidation on the old Ritter's face. He smiled reassuringly at the older man. 'Not you, Eberhard. You would enjoy her intellect and company, though, I can assure you of that. Baron Trolliger here finds her physically threatening—or her breasts, anyway. He fears they will cast a fascination over him and, like Samson, leave him helpless to resist the lady's whims.'

Eberhard of Brunswick shook his head. 'It is not the company of an intelligent woman that I fear, Your Majesty. It is rather that I am concerned that you'll send me to Aquitaine. I was hoping to spend some time in Swabia with my family.' He touched his silver hair. 'I'm not getting any younger, Your Majesty. Especially for Aquitaine, you need younger men. '

The Emperor gave a small snort of wry laughter. 'The last thing I need in Aquitaine is younger men, Eberhard. But relax, I am not going to send you there. However, I'm afraid I can't let you go home to pasture either. Men like you are too few on the ground. The Holy Roman Empire still needs you. I still need you.'

The older Ritter shrugged. ' Well, I just hope it's somewhere warm this time, Your Majesty. This winter seems colder than last winter. Or maybe I'm just older. At least Mainz is not as damp as Ireland was.'

Charles Fredrik allowed the corners of his mouth to ease into a smile. 'Would the Holy Land be warm enough and dry enough for you?'

'A pilgrimage for my soul has always been one my desires,' said the old Ritter quietly. Eberhard of Brunswick was one of the best and most reliable of officials in the States General. He was an adept politician and diplomat, but at the core, he was a pious man. His soul might need cleansing of what he'd done for the Empire, but not for himself, Charles Fredrik knew.

'It's more for my soul than yours, old friend,' the Emperor said equally quietly. 'I don't know how many more of these winters I can take, either.' He smiled wryly. 'No mosaics this time though, Eberhard. Perhaps some churches in places that need them. I haven't lived your life and I have a feeling I'll need a good many prayers to get me away from hellfire, as well as a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. But I can't go; you will have to go for me.'

He lifted a heavy eyebrow. 'Of course there are some small tasks you can do for the Holy Roman Empire while you're there. And along the way.'

Eberhard nodded. He understood politics thoroughly enough to know precisely whom, in that part of the world, a 'small task' might be directed towards. 'The Ilkhan?'

Charles Fredrik nodded. 'We've had tentative feelers from them. Baron Trolliger had a long discussion with a visiting Jew from Damascus, during the months he remained behind in Italy. The man was there strictly on family business, of course, but—as they often do—the Mongols were using the Jewish merchant as an informal emissary.'

The Ilkhan Mongol Empire stretched from Egypt to the Black Sea and no one really knew just how far into the Asian hinterland. The Ilkhan were themselves pagan, but had no qualms about their subject peoples worshiping gods of their choice. Christians, Muslims, Jews—many religions—all prospered in the Mongol realm. They enforced a degree of tolerance that the fiery Christian Metropolitan of Alexandria might find irksome, but it did make things peaceful in their dominions.

Eberhard's eyes narrowed. 'They won't like that in Alexandria.'

The Emperor shrugged. 'Politics and war make for strange bedfellows, Eberhard. And it all comes down to Grand Duke Jagiellon trying to flank me, or force me to fight on two fronts, and the Holy Roman Empire trying to flank him. The Grand Duke is building up quite a fleet in Odessa. Then, too, there's this: The news Hans brings back from his long stay in Italy leaves me concerned that the Hungarians are up to no good, either.'

The Ritter nodded. 'The Ilkhan could at least bottle them up in the Black Sea. But surely Emperor Alexius VI can do that just as well from Constantinople?'

Baron Trolliger coughed. 'We have a treaty with him, yes. But we've had word that a few ships—which are definitely not from Odessa—have been discharging visitors, who have gone on to visit the Imperial palace.'

The old Ritter nodded slowly. 'I see. That would indeed leave our flank wide open. Very well, Your Majesty, when do I leave?'

'Not until spring, Eberhard,' said the Emperor. 'Even if you left today, getting passage to Acre or Ascalon before spring would be impossible. You can have a few winter months to spend cooped up with your grandchildren. By the time spring comes, even the muddy road will probably look appealing.'

Eberhard smiled. 'There is some merit in what you say, Your Majesty. The last time I was home my daughter's youngest was teething. Yes, by spring it may even be good to be on the road without children.'

Charles Fredrik coughed. 'Well. Not strictly without. He's a bit old to be called a child, these days. But he is one of my heirs.'

A look of horror came across the old statesman's face. 'Not Manfred? Sire, I'm an old man!'

The Emperor nodded, ruefully. 'It's a symbol of great trust, Eberhard of Brunswick. I am feeling my age, and my wound troubles me. I may not survive another winter and such a trip will take the boy a long way from the intriguers of court. If I die, the succession must be a simple matter of Conrad being the only candidate at hand. Not that I have the least fears about Manfred wanting the throne, but that has never stopped factions in the past. On the other hand, if by any evil chance Conrad and I are killed—as happened to the Emperor Maximilian and his son—I want Manfred safe and ready, where no one can get to him easily. Besides, you're the leading statesman of my Empire. I want him to learn from you. If there is time I'll send the boy to Ferrara to Duke Enrico Dell'este to see if he can learn strategy and tactics from the Old Fox, but statecraft needs to come first. And you'll find he's improved a great deal. Circumstances, Erik and Francesca have made him grow up a great deal.'

But all the old man said was 'Manfred!' with a face full of woe.

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