Chapter 6 of 6·5 min read·Six days on the road, then one evening at Selbrun
A Door Kept Shut
The road to Selbrun took Friedel six days, and the last two were made worse by rain. His horses came into the city with mud to their knees. He had brought only four riders, which looked like prudence until he saw the armed men waiting beneath the palace gate. Then it looked like something else.
A clerk asked for his name and the purpose of his visit. Friedel gave both. The clerk checked a list and sent a boy running ahead. No one offered to take his horse. At length a palace servant led him through the outer court to a small chamber where a brazier smoked and a board had been set with bread, cheese and watered wine.
Wierach came before Friedel had finished removing his gloves. He was dressed plainly, in dark wool with the imperial seal hanging from a cord at his belt. He looked as if the road had not touched him.
“My lord Count. I am glad you came.”
“You summoned me.”
“I did.” Wierach glanced at the untouched food. “The journey is poor in this weather.”
“It was passable.”
“Then we have begun well.” Wierach took the chair opposite him. “You have received Hartwig’s letter.”
“I have.”
“And asked him for his argument.”
“I have.”
“Good. The question deserves an argument, not a quarrel.”
Friedel warmed his hands over the brazier. He had expected Wierach to press him at once for a signature. The courtesy made him wary. “Then let me hear yours.”
Wierach folded his hands on the table. “The Emperor acknowledged his elder son as heir. That son’s death did not make his line cease to exist. Prince Ottokar stands in it. The realm has had enough changes of course. A child’s death, a hunting accident, a prince’s marriage—each cannot cause the succession to begin again from the nearest branch.”
“And if the Emperor’s son is alive?”
“Then the electors must consider the Charter and the precedents.”
“The Charter says they choose.”
“It does. It also leaves room for the house whose name they choose.”
“Could a son be set aside for a grandson?”
“Could an acknowledged heir’s son be passed over because a younger branch has a living child? The question cuts both ways.” Wierach’s voice stayed level. “That is why the Emperor’s intention matters.”
Friedel looked at the seal at Wierach’s belt. “And you know it?”
“I know what the Emperor established before his health failed.”
Next
At dawn, Fleck must decide whether Friedel will be brought to a sick Emperor—or be turned away again.
“That is not the same as knowing what he intends now.”
For a moment Wierach’s eyes rested on him without warmth or anger. “No. It is not.”
A bell rang somewhere in the palace. Wierach rose. “The council is assembled. You should hear the physician’s report before we continue.”
The council chamber held more people than Friedel had expected. Clerks sat along the walls with their tablets. Archbishop Hartwig was not there, but a letter from Ammerau lay on the table beside Wierach. Prince Ottokar sat in a chair too high for him, his feet not quite reaching the floor. He watched the door as Friedel entered, then looked down at his hands.
Master Fleck stood by the table with a paper in his fingers. He was pale and held himself very still. Friedel had seen physicians at his father’s bedside; most of them had kept their eyes on the patient. Fleck looked at Wierach.
“Read it,” said the Arch-Steward.
Fleck began. The Emperor had slept poorly. His appetite had improved. He had asked for broth and had taken several spoonfuls. The fever had diminished. There had been, the physician wrote, small signs of recovery. Nothing in the report spoke of succession, the Charter or the Emperor’s wishes.
When Fleck finished, Wierach turned to the assembled men. “His Majesty remains too weak to receive visitors. We will not trouble him for the sake of ceremony.”
Friedel kept his hands on the table. “But the report says he is improving.”
“In small ways.”
“Could he speak?”
Fleck’s fingers tightened on the paper. “At times, my lord.”
“Could he hear a question?”
“His strength varies.”
Wierach intervened before Friedel could ask more. “The physician will not be made to guess at what the Emperor can endure. You have heard the report. What else would you ask of him?”
Friedel looked at Ottokar. “I would ask what the boy has heard.”
The room went quiet. Ottokar raised his eyes.
Wierach said, “Prince Ottokar has spoken to the Archbishop already.”
“I know what he told Hartwig.” Friedel kept his voice low. “I am asking him.”
Ottokar glanced at Wierach, then back at Friedel. “I have not been brought to my grandfather.”
“Has he told you whom he wants to succeed him?”
“No.”
“Has he told you that you should succeed him?”
Ottokar hesitated. “Not to me.”
Wierach’s fingers tapped once against the table. He stopped them. “The Prince has answered. Do not ask him to carry a burden that belongs to the electors.”
Friedel had wanted an answer that would make the matter easy. Ottokar had not given him one. The boy’s careful words left open every path Wierach had described, and made each path harder to walk.
“Then I ask for an audience with the Emperor,” Friedel said.
“No,” Wierach replied. “You ask for one. I have not refused it.”
“When will I be permitted to see him?”
“I will speak with Master Fleck. If the Emperor can receive you, you will be brought to him.”
“And if he cannot?”
“Then you will have to judge the report, the law and the conduct of those who claim to speak for him.” Wierach’s gaze moved to the document before Friedel. “No one can make that judgment for you.”
The council ended without a vote or a signature. Wierach’s clerk offered Friedel the same narrow statement he had refused at home: the Emperor had recognized the elder line and it ought to be confirmed. Friedel read the wording, then set the page aside.
“I will not put my seal to this,” he said. “Not before I have heard the Emperor, or at least received Hartwig’s account of the Charter.”
“You may read his account here,” Wierach said. “The letter is in my keeping.”
“I would rather read it in his hand.”
“Then I will send for a copy.” Wierach spoke as if Friedel had asked for fresh water. “You should remain in the palace until we know whether the audience can be arranged.”
Friedel looked toward the high windows. Rain blurred the courtyard beyond them. His horses needed rest. The road back would be worse than the road in, and a refusal to stay could be made to look like fear of the Emperor’s answer.
“I will stay until morning,” he said.
“Good.” Wierach nodded to a servant. “Show the Count to his rooms. I will speak to Fleck tonight.”
As Friedel left, he caught Ottokar looking at him. The boy did not smile or ask for help. He only held his gaze for a moment, then turned toward the door Wierach had taken.
Friedel’s chamber was clean and narrow, with a writing desk set under a shuttered window. He had not unpacked when a servant brought him a small tray and a message from the Arch-Steward: the physician would judge the Emperor’s strength at dawn. If the condition allowed it, Friedel would be admitted.
He read the message twice. Wierach had not promised him the audience. He had promised a decision about whether to allow it.
Friedel took out Hartwig’s letter and placed it beside the note. One man asked him to wait for the law. Another asked him to wait for the Emperor. Both had brought him to the same closed door, and only one of them held the key.