Swiss Arms - Chapter 90-95

Swiss Arms

Chapter 90

-VB-

 

Isabella von Fluelaberg

Trouble after trouble. It seemed to be the story of Chur.

A baron defying the prince-bishop. It led to a battle where the prince-bishop lost too much of his levies and man-at-arms, including several ordained knights. Neighboring lords saw this as chance and pounced, leading to the Unruly Year. It was during this time that Chur’s former territories lost a tenth of its people through famine, war, and migration. It was also during this time that her husband secured his valley for mutual protection.

It was almost as if his rise had been at the cost of Chur. The once capital of the Prince-Bishopric was now a mere member of a defense pact filled with peasants and merchants.

How the mighty have fallen.

 

And now, just as they secured safety and security, the prince-bishop was dead.

‘And that’s the problem for the people and powermongers of Chur Diocese, isn’t it?’ she thought to herself as she greeted another priest from far away lands.

The Prince-Bishop was, of course, a bishop first and foremost. This meant that he was supposed to put the wellbeing of the Diocese before his secular holdings. This was what Prince-Bishop Siegfried did for the most part, but his alignment with the Compact also made his other priorities clear not just to his people but also other bishops and priests outside of Chur.

After all, the Compact had gone to war with its neighbors before, and denizens of those neighboring states also included the catholics under the Diocese of Chur.

It was a criss-cross of responsibilities and duties that would make the election of the next Prince-Bishop fiercely competitive.

Why?

Because in the founding document of the Compact, the membership of Chur was not “city of Chur and its surrounding dependencies” but “Prince-Bishop of Chur.” For the city of Chur, this was now a matter of survival and prosperity while for other priests and bishops, it was a chance to become something more not just in the eyes of secular lords that bullied churches whenever it suited them but also in the eyes of God.

Was it not the Prince-Bishop who was blessed by God to have come in contact with a talented commoner like Baron Hans? Was it not God’s blessing that allowed the city of Chur to prosper?

Isabella also wondered if all of this had been part of God’s plan, but she was neither a priest nor a pious woman. She could only guess and seek council.

And speaking of which…

“It certainly is a mess, isn’t it?”

She glanced to her left and looked at Deacon Benjamin, the one and only ordained minister in all of Davos and Fluelaberg. The recently portly man looked happy at the sight of all of the higher-ups of the dioceses coming to compete for the seat of the Prince-Bishop.

“It is,” she replied.

“I am most worried about Lozarn*.”

“Why?”

He glanced at her. “The priest of Lozarn is an ambitious man. Unlike the city’s people who dislike the Habsburgs and their overarching influence, he seeks to aid them. If he were to get elected, then it is clear that he will use his influence within the Compact to isolate the Forest Cantons from the east, which would make it easier for the Habsburgs to continue their plan of taking over that region of the Alps.”

Isabella hummed but she was thinking what that would mean for her and Hans. With her cousin being married to the Habsburg emperor, it could be said that she should be convincing Hans to join hands with the Lozarn priest.

But she also knew that Hans’s family lived in the Canton of Uri.

She glanced at the deacon. “You are very well informed, Deacon Benjamin.”

He merely smiled. “I am just a fat man who likes his rumors and gossips a little bit too much,” he chuckled as he slapped his belly.

She rolled her eyes. “My thanks.”

“Of course. My responsibility is to the people of Davos and Fluelaberg, and that includes the interest of you and the baron, milady.”

—

“Really?”

“Yes,” she replied as she covered her nude body with the bedsheet. Now that she told him about it, she found herself regretting her words.

Hans had started another passionate night, but only after three rounds, she blurted out words she heard to him when he asked why she looked distracted.

Ad now, it was going to be over when she knew that he could have gone another five rounds easily.

Yes, she kind of regretted telling him what she thought about this entire situation. She could have been enjoying another hour of sex but nooo she had to bring up politics.

Ugh.

She was her worst enemy sometimes.

“What do you think?” she asked him as she rolled over and cuddled up to Hans’s chest. Sturdy and muscular chest she could run her hand over all day.

He hummed, making his chest vibrate pleasantly. “I think it’ll be best if we sit this one out.”

“You think?” she asked in surprise.

“I do. As great as our tie with the emperor is, I am also wary about letting him have more power in the Alps.”

“Why not?”

“… Alright, you may not know, but I have been gathering reports from afar. Merchants and spies alike. And what I found in Habsburg lands is … not great.”

“How so?”

“For one, Habsburgs allow their middlemen too much power. Corruption and abuse of power is all too common where they rule, especially here in the main domains of their house in the Swabian lands. Their hold over Austria and Styria is too new for them to have done much over there, but it looks like they want to make those lands their main holdings if the rapid constructions of forts say anything.”

She didn’t know about this.

She pouted.

He noticed her pouting after moment. “What? Did I say something?”

“Why are you so good at everything?”

“… But I’m not?”

She mock-glared up at him.

He stared back for a bit before rolling his eyes. “Fine. Be playful all you want… but right now, I want to touch you more,” he grinned as he rolled her over and pulled her legs apart.

“Eep!”

And that squeak turned into moans of pleasure as he made love to her again.

-VB-

Hans von Fluelaberg

For me, this whole election of the Prince-Bishop was turning into one fortune after another.

The Habsburgs growing strong… it didn’t benefit me, but it also didn’t bother me. As I was right now, they weren’t strong enough nor focused on their currently main domain here in Southern Swabia (Northern and Central Swiss) and Transjurania (Upper Burgundy/Western Swiss). I knew that whatever strength they gained would be usurped by the Forest Cantons in the years to come, so I wasn’t going to side with the power that wouldn’t stay in these lands for long.

I was, however, more interested in the two abbots that have come to meet me.

To my left was the representatives of the Abbot of Disentis and to my right across the table was the Abbot of St. Gallens.

The Abbot of St. Gallens, Heinrich von Ramstein, was an elderly man in his mid seventies. He didn’t look as frail as his age and there was a sharp glint in his eyes that told me that he was here to gain something.

On the other hand, the representative of the Abbot of Disentis, Gion the Priest**, a homely-looking priest who looked very uncomfortable being with me and the Abbot.

“Speak first, abbot,” I urged the elderly man.

He nodded after a moment.

“I wish for the Abbey of Saint Gall to join your Compact.”

My back straightened in surprise. “I … am surprised that you want that, abbot. Are you aware of what it means to be a member of the Compact?”

“I do,” he replied. “It is a mutual defense and trade pact with limited political integration, is it not?”

I nodded slowly. “It is.”

“But I have a condition for Saint Gallens, both the city and the abbey, joining your Compact.”

I leaned back slighty. “And what would that be?”

Finally, the abbot looked a little uncomfortable. “I only became the abbot of Saint Gallens through some financial compensation to my rivals, and even before that, the abbey itself took on a lot of debt for a number of projects, including the reconstruction of devastated areas of Saint Gallens the city.”

I nodded slowly.

“I wish for the Compact to pay off half of that debt. In exchange, I will waive the right to leave the Compact.”

Okay. Well.

Saint Gallens was a big city with around two thousand people. Sure, it was only about the same size as Chur and Fleulaberg, but Saint Gallens was also an established city like Chur. Having another established city would be … beneficial, especially since the city, the abbey, and its surrounding territories would give us direct access to the Bodensee. Sure, it would be a round about way to access it instead of going straight through the Werdenberg and Heiligenberg lands.

“And how much would that be…?”

“…”

“Abbot?”

He whispered something.

“Pardon?”

“Three hundred guelders.”

Suddenly, I felt the back of my neck pull at the sudden shock.

Three hundred guelders? Brother in Christ, that’s a literal king’s ransom! How the hell did you and your predecessor get into that much debt?!

“We… We’ll talk later.”

“I understand.”

I turned to the pale as a sheet Gion the Priest.

“And you, oh priest of Disentis?”

“W-We also seek to enter the Compact.”

“Oh. Are you are war with anyone right now?”

“N-No?”

“Do you have anything against commoners gaining wealth and status?”

“No?”

“Priests and deacons doing trade jobs on the side?”

“No?”

“Will you fight to defend your brothers and sisters of the Compact?”

“N- I mean yes.”

“Wonderful,” I said as I pulled out a piece of paper, wrote out a few sentences. “This is your application to join the Compact. I will gather representatives of the Compact and set up a vote to see if we want you in the Compact. Please sign here as the representative of Disentis and the Abbey of Disentis…”

He did.

With that done, I thanked him for coming and asked him to leave so that I may discuss sensitive topic with the Abbot of St. Gallen who didn’t ask others to leave before blurting something so big.

I turned back to face the abbot.

“Alright. Let’s discuss how we might be able to handle that tidbit…”

-VB-

A/N: *Lozarn is High Alemannic for Lucerne

**Gion II, future Abbot of Disentis Abbey. It is under him that Disentis Abbey became an influential member of the Grey League.

-VB-

Swiss Arms

Chapter 91

-VB-

 

Count John of Toggenburg-Sargans

The life of a count differed greatly than his life as Hans’s ward nor was it as busy as he expected it to be after looking at Hans lived everyday.

Hans was busy. If he wasn’t working with people, then he was working on his own projects. When he wasn’t doing either of those, then he was down in the mines or spending time with his wife. Whenever a dispute broke out, he was at the forefront of it to solve and write out more rules and laws so that the people wouldn’t need him to intervene for every little land dispute or whatever else. If that wasn’t enough, then he was training with the rangers and militiamen. He inspected mines. Inspected the workshops. Talked with the foreigners that settled in his lands.

Always doing something, Hans was.

John felt like a clown next to what he saw and now expect from his own station. He was a count, someone who stood two ranks above his foster father.

He trained with his men-at-arms (they were weaker than the Fluelaberg militiamen), solved disputes in his lands (they were far simpler), negotiated with the neighboring lords (it wasn’t even challenging compared to what IsaBitch made him do), and spent time with his family (mother disapproved of him for not wanting revenge against Hans; that would be “stupid as fuck” and why would he want to fight the man who was more of a father to him than his own blood father ever was?).

But what he did was not even a quarter of what Hans did every day. It made him ask why he didn’t. It made him question why everyone did anything they did the way they did ever.

It was a rabbit hole that ended with him sending a letter to Hans.

And Hans’s response?

‘You’re thinking too much.’

The letter explained far more in-depth what Hans meant by the one-liner he started the letter off with, not even a “hi.”

From Hans’s perspective, John was trying to hard when there was nothing to hold all of that effort in. He felt a need to do something but there was nothing that could satisfy that need. It was alright to want to be his equal, but everything needed to start from the ground up.

John had none of the skills, adoring populace, and need. So build the need, practice the skills, and gain the respect of the people.

“Milord, a cup of water.”

“Ah, thanks,” he replied as he took the cup of water from one of his man-at-arms/”secretary” and drank. The cup of cool water managed to satisfy him a little, and he hummed as he handed the cup back while lightly swaying atop his horse.

He didn’t know what he needed to do, so he decided that, since Hans sent a letter about staying in Churs for the election of the Prince-Bishop, he would go and seek advice personally.

Then he saw one of his horsemen riding quickly toward him. When the man rode next to him and bowed, he gestured the man to speak.

“Milord, the Baron of Maienfeld wishes to speak with you.”

The Baron of Maienfeld…? Maienfeld was a member of the Compact, but by no means did they seek independence from their liege lord. But if he remembered correctly, that baron had locked himself into his castle during the Unruly Year and did absolutely nothing while it was his peasants and merchants who rose up to fight at the time. He was an absolute disgrace of a noble of the empire.

“Did he ask why?”

“From what I understand, he wished to sell you the rights to the barony.”

That … That was interesting.

He thought about it.

Perhaps he could use this chance to gain some of what he had been seeking.

He raised a fist into the air and his secretary quickly blew his horn to call the caravan to a stop. Turning to the messenger, he nodded. “Tell him to come and meet me.”

-VB-

Yusef ibn Zallau, a Moroccan Merchant

A year ago, he’d heard rumors of a mountain city deep within Christian lands that managed to copy the Far Eastern porcelain. A rumor it may have been but Yusef came from a long lineage of merchants who made journeys to India often, and he grew up living with examples of chinas in his family’s manor.

So when he saw a china that wasn’t a china, he knew that he needed to investigate.

With blessings and support from his father, he left on a journey from his hometown in Fas. His journey first took him to the Christian trade city of Amalfi. The once great and independent city was where he met his partner of the journey, a man named Giovanni Gioia, who was extremely interested in the rumors of knowledge that the very same city that Yusef wanted to visit.

And so, they sailed from Amalfi, landed on Ancona to confirm the rumor, and finally, landed on Venezia.

There, he found hundreds of chinas that came from the mountain city. The Venezians called the origin of these not china chinas “Fluelaberg.”

Yusef pushed onward with his partner. He braved the cold winter that reminded him of winters of al-Adras. His travels took him over the foothills and through valleys made by mountains that grew taller and taller every time he looked up. The mountains of Fas could not compare to these behemoths. He braved through peaks and troughs of the mountains and finally, he arrived.

He looked down at the city further down the valley that stretched across the entire width of the valley. From afar, the city did not look like the origin of the rumors. In fact, it looked less prosperous and rich as Venezia. Looking at that city, he felt betrayed. Had he traveled so far for so little?

But he traveled with his pack mules at Giovanni’s urges, and they made their way to the gate house.

The gatehouse looked normal… until he found himself looking at an Arab man among the four guards there.

“… As-salamu ‘alaykum,” he chanced. The Arab guard noticed, and immediately, the other guards let him talk.

“Wa alaykum s-salam, brother,” the man replied with a smile of a man who found family in an unexpected place. “You are far from home!”

“So are you, and as a gate guard in Christian land!”

“Ah,” the man looked sheepish. “A lot of things happened in my life, but I am happy where I am now.” He said as he extended a hand. Yusef shook that hand in a daze. “You must be a merchant. Are you here for the chinas?”

“I am,” he replied. Was he dreaming? Why was there an Arab – a true believer – this deep within Christian lands?

“Then you will find safe refuge among our fellow believers in the Northern District. Go. Anyone in the street will happily help you, though please do not be rude.” There was a pause. “Also, I need to check your luggage.”

“Please, by all means.”

He and Giovanni went through the checkpoint easily and he found himself inside a city that was far more bustling than he originally thought. Sure, it wasn’t as packed or busy as Venezia, Ancona, Amalfi, or Fas, but for a city this high up in the mountains? It was bustling.

He kept a tight grip on his mules’ reins as he made his way through the crowd, and managed to get direction from someone along the way.

And just like the guard had assured him, he found refuge in the “Northern District,” where he found practicing brothers and sisters in Allah.

… Just what was this city?

—

“The Christian noble lord of the city does not care?” Yusef asked in disbelief.

“He does not,” the inn owner replied with a shake of his head before he gave the man the drink he recommended.

“This is very different from Aybiria…” he muttered as he raised the cup and took a sip.

And he almost slammed it down.

“Brother, why have you given me alcohol?!” he asked in shock.

The inn owner looked in surprise before bursting out in laughter.

“That is not alcohol! Smell it, friend.”

He did and blushed when the drink did not smell anything like the haram drink that the Christians always drank.

“I … I apologize. I thought it was alcohol from how it fizzled in my mouth.”

The inn owner nodded. “That is nothing to forgive, friend. That is a drink that the lord of the city made. He calls it cabona.”

“Cabona…” Yusef muttered as he took a sip. It sparkled all the way down his throat and he let out a shudder at the sensation. “It is new.”

“It is!”

Others in the tavern chuckled and laughed. Yusef gave them all and the inn owner a half-hearted glare as it became clear to him that they had a bit of fun at his expense.

Well, the first drink was free on the house for all newcomers, so he couldn’t be too upset about it.

And this … cabona.

It was unique.

It was a drink of sensation that did not affect the mind.

It and the chinas he saw on the market could be profitable.

-VB-

A/N: a bit of worldbuilding.

-VB-

Swiss Arms

Chapter 92

-VB-

 

Hans von Fluelaberg

As much as I wanted to keep an eye out on the election conference of the new prince-bishop, something else quickly caught my attention, and I could not let it go.

Earlier this year, I sent out of a call for a professional army to all members of the Compact. Due to travel distances, time it takes for people to come to a decision, and more, I hadn’t received any word back from the majority of the Compact members.

The only ones to have given me a quick reply had been Davos and Kloister, but that was because both of them were close to me and relied heavily on my city for too many things. There was actually a very good chance that I can get Davos to become part of my city, partially because my city and their village was creeping toward each other along the road that I’ve built, but that’s besides the point.

And I finally got the replies while waiting in Chur.

“So everyone accepted it except for St. Peters and Langweis,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the letters of acceptance of a “professional” army. Of course, they all had their reasons for why they accepted. In the case of Maienfeld, they have been at the center of conflict the Compact has been involved in every single time due to their position as a crossroad from Bodensee to Chur and Walensee to Davos. They had every reason to be the foremost supporter of a professional army.

In contrast, Langweis and St. Peters were safe in valleys and mountains behind Chur. Throughout the years, Chur has had fights break out at their doorstep and even within their city limits, but the two aforementioned members of the Compact never saw the fight nor did they have to fight. Also, as the two smallest members of the Compact in size, population, and wealth, they had the most to lose.

Why would they lose something? Unlike larger members that could field both a small militia and support the professional army, the geopolitical status of the two members meant that their expansion was capped, their income limited, and their population stagnant.

And honestly, I was kind of done with dealing with them, too.

This call for a professional army was essentially another call to arms, just in a roundabout way. They have been recalcitrant and objected to everything anyone did in the Compact. They complained when someone got richer. They complained when someone got close. They complained when things didn’t go their way, which was no way because they never said about what or why they wanted something. Even when I got rid of bandits, they complained about not doing it fast enough!

Yeah, I think it was time that I did something about them.

Knock knock.

I paused in my rumination and looked up toward the door of the small manor I rented in Chur. “Come in,” I said loudly and the door opened to reveal. My eyebrows rose up and I stood up from my chair. “John! Why didn’t you send me a message or something?” I said with a smile as I approached my former ward and gave him a bear hug. John hugged me back, and we parted after only a moment. It was only then that I noticed the other man who had followed in with John. He looked familiar.

“I just wanted to surprise you,” he replied with a boyish grin and I rolled my eyes. He noticed that I saw the other man and stepped aside. “Right. Hans, this is Mayor Antoni of Chur. He’s here to ask you a few things.”

“Welcome mayor,” I said as the man bowed briefly. He was, after all, a commoner and I a baron. “What is it that you want to discuss with me?”

“I… I understand that Chur has been a member of the Compact so far because it was the Prince-Bishop of Chur who was in the Compact.”

“It is,” I said before I made the cross. “May Bishop Siegfried rest in peace by God’s side.”

Both John and the mayor followed suit. After a moment of pause, the mayor spoke up.

“I would like for Chur to join not as a fief under the Prince-Bishop of Chur but as its own town.”

… I kind of saw this coming when I realized that Chur’s position was tied to the Prince-Bishop of Chur, but for them to outright come out and say it…

What’s worse was that I did have a precedent for this.

Legally speaking for the empire, Maienfeld was supposed to be Toggenburg’s vassal, but they were accepted before Toggenburg’s inclusion into the Compact. On top of that, even after Toggenburg’s inclusion, I didn’t let John take Maienfeld back into his fold. The issue slid past us because it never became a problem in the first place.

But if I choose to let Chur in while there was an election for the prince-bishop, then it would be seen both as a direct insult to the church and an illegal act of stealing a lord’s vassal from underneath him without just cause.

Which would be enough for the next prince-bishop to petition the emperor, and the emperor will most likely have to fine heavily at best while resetting everything or strip me of my title for breaking the Emperor’s Truce.

At the same time, I couldn’t just ignore Chur because it was troublesome. Chur was the main political center of the Compact. Hell, it could be said that a good third to half of our authority and legitimacy in these valleys derived from the Prince-Bishop of Chur’s inclusion. Giving the next prince-bishop reason to leave the Compact would weaken us that much.

… but not if I get permission from the congregation of the diocese’s clerics.

“Don’t tell anyone else that you asked that here,” I told him and then meaningfully looked at John. “I’ll need to do some work… but before we go there, I want to talk about what the town of Chur can do for the Compact.” ‘And me.’

“I don’t understand…” the mayor muttered.

“What happens if I just accept your offer to join us? On the surface, Chur is being divided religiously and secularly when we didn’t get an agreement from them or the emperor. You know as well as I do that -.”

“I- I would have thought that you wanted Chur in the Compact.”

I stopped when I saw the outraged look on the mayor.

“We fought with you, baron, and now you’re just going to abandon us because it’s inconvenient?!”

I glared at him. “I never said I’ll abandon you or the like. Don’t put words in my mouth, mayor.”

John looked like he was regretting bringing in the mayor to meet me.

Obviously, the mayor had wanted this and he was reacting aggressively since he didn’t feel like he was getting what he needed. Or wanted.

“Why come to me?” I asked him. “The Prince-Bishop would have been a member of the Compact anyway, so it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Because the town doesn’t want to gamble our lives and livelihood every ten or twenty years,” he replied with a grimace. “Bishop Siegfried was a good man of God, even if he wasn’t the best commander of men. What guarantee do we have that the next prince-bishop will be the same? Or that we will even have someone who won’t abuse us? I’ve read the charter of the Compact, Your Lordship. I saw how brilliantly it was designed to protect its members from each other as well as from outside threats. But what about internal ones? You can’t interfere if the bishop abuses his power within Chur, you know this to be true.”

I rolled my jaws before nodding. Abuse of power within a small place like Chur or any of the village and town members of the Compact had never been the focus or even something I thought about.

“Just … give me a week. It will be before the election comes to an end, and I’ll have something, probably.”

The mayor hesitated before ultimately bowing and leaving us two alone.

“… Hans, I’m sorry about that,” John spoke up. “I didn’t think that the mayor would be so bold as to accuse you of negligence.”

“You aren’t the one who said it and you don’t share his feelings. It’s not your responsibility to apologize on the mayor’s behalf,” I replied with a huff as I stepped back around the table and sat down on the ornate wooden chair. I gestured for him to sit and he did so on the sofa nearby. “By the way, if you wanted to surprise me, then you did it on at least two account, so kudos to you.”

He chuckled nervously.

“… Actually, I want to get your opinion on something. Maienfeld.”

“Ah, that? Yes, it … used to belong to the Barony of Brandis, but, well, the Unruly Year happened.”

I nodded. “Would you say that it still belongs to you?” I asked. “Since it is a village that is within the lands of your vassal. Speaking of which, who is the Baron of Brandis now?”

“No one. You may have, ahem, killed off their line.”

“… Wait, I did?”

“Yes. My mother told me that since there was no more eligible member of their household fit to take the title of Baron of Brandis, we regained the land in that area aside from Maienfeld for obvious reasons.”

“So you more or less gave up your authority over the village.”

“Yes, unintentionally.”

I hummed. “Do you think something like that could happen here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hear me out…”

-VB-

Swiss Arms

Chapter 93

-VB-

 

Hans von Fluelaberg

I thought everyone had gathered when all of the important abbots, abbesses, priests, archdeacons, and bishops had shown up, but no, I was wrong.

In the week I had given myself with the mayor, more people showed up to partake in the election and throw their names in the lot, and the situation grew proportionally out of control for me when I realized that there were other lords here hedging their bets.

Baron of Hewen, Prince-Bishop of Konstanz, distant Habsburg cousins and relations, and even some Wittelsbachs from the Palatinate showed up. It was almost like if they had the means and political motivation, then they were here. On top of that, there were cathedrals, abbeys, and churches that were part of the Diocese of Chur but were in the middle of Diocese of Konstanz…

Yeah, Roman Catholic dioceses at the time was as patchy as the Holy Roman Empire it was part of.

And I didn’t know what to do.

It was one thing to sway the local priests to my side with gifts, pledges of protection, outright bribes, and promises of future entry into the Compact.

It was another to ask someone with more power than the entirety of the Compact to let go of their ambitions for a title that would give them even more political power.

What’s worse, I couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer for the mayor of Chur, who was rather upset at my inability to come up with a solution.

Bitch, I’m not a handyman who could solve ALL problems!

The point remained. The election of the Prince-Bishop of Chur now involved people who I had little to no political, social, or financial leverage over.

But I stil wanted to give it a try.

It was why I was back in talks with the Abbot of Saint Galls.

“You wish for me to throw my support behind your candidate.”

“I do, Your Excellency,” I replied while sitting across from Abbot Heinreich von Ramstein. The elderly priest had come in with the Abbot of Disantis, and while the latter had joined the Compact, he had yet to because I couldn’t just pay his huge debt without a better excuse than just “because he wants to join the Compact.” Aside from setting a potentially disasterous precedent of paying people off when they might not even provide military support (cough*Langweis*cough), I personally didn’t just want to without getting something more out of it. Abbot von Ramstein had political power I could use, either in ensuring who got to be the Prince-Bishop or in ensuring that Chur became an entity separate from the Prince-Bishop.

Unfortunately for Chur, there wasn’t enough political or financial power with them or the Compact to ensure it. I could steer who could become the next bishop, though, even if it was just a little. And maybe, just maybe, if I got a person who felt like they owed it to me, I can potentially get them to agree to separate Chur off from the prince-bishopric.

The elderly priest hummed. “That can easily be done. I probably would have done it for a third of my debt.”

I smiled as I shook hands with him.

One vote down. Many more to go.

—

“Y-You want me to become the Prince-Bishop…?” Abbot Gion of Disentis, and also a member of the Compact now, stuttered as he looked at me in shock.

I nodded. “I will give you every help you need, abbot, but if we allow someone else who has even an iota of hostility toward us, then they can break us from the inside,” I replied. “I can’t allow that to happen. Surely, you wouldn’t want your new friends to lose out because you did not want to rise to the occasion?”

My words momentarily incensed the man but he calmed down.

He also calmed down a bit. Was he that kind of person? Someone who grew colder the more they got angry?

“I…” he paused, and then swallowed before he stuttered. “I am but a man of God,” he replied. “I do not know much about politics, but if you want my participation, then I want you to promise me that you will not interfere with church matters.”

“On religious and theological matters, I will not. I can promise you that.”

He nodded.

“Very well, then, baron. You… you have my help in this.”

Alright. Things were looking up.

-VB-

Isabella von Fluelaberg nee Gorizia

She tittered with excitement.

For the past two months, she hasn’t had blood in her tampion, and considering how frequently she and Hans have been making love in bed, it could mean only one thing.

She giggled at the thought of telling him the news. At the same time, she was ready to fight him if he decided that her being pregnant would be justification to stop her from continuing her blade practices. If anything, she needed to be as healthy as possible for their baby!

So when Hans finally came back to the mansion, she greeted him with a smile.

Hans looked at her for a second before his eyes widened.

“Isabella…?”

“I’m pregnant!”

Hans stared at her for a second before he abruptly wrapped her up in a tight embrace. She squealed when he spun her around in the air for a bit before letting her down, and then kissed her.

She returned the kiss, ignoring the way there were gasps around the manor lobby from the servants.

Hans noticed it, and with a grunt, he broke the kiss and then scooped her up. And then stomped his way to their bedroom.

The door slammed close behind them…

“… Ahn~!”

-VB-

A/N: what actually happened after Siegfried died IRL was that Bishop of Constance (Konstanz) took over administration until Rudolf II von Montfort (yes, the same Montforts who control the County of Montfort but not from the direct ruling family of Montfort and a separate family in Constance), who sided with the pope during Emperor Louis the Bavarian (yes, the guy we want to deck) vs. Pope situation.

This probably got him the nomination from the pope when the election STILL couldn’t decide who to make the prince-bishop of Chur. But Rudolf II von Montfort wasn’t a clergy working within the Diocese of Chur at the time … but in Wurzburg on the

other side of Bavaria. Before this appointment, the pope also appointed a French priest to become the Prince-Bishop of Konstanz (Germany) so …

Yeah, clergy and noble randos appearing out of nowhere to contest the election or throw their own name? Perfectly valid. Frustrating to write about because I can’t find a record of WHO was at the election but still.

A/N 2: also, yay, Hans and Isabella are finally going to get a kid!

 

-VB-

Swiss Arms

Chapter 94

-VB-

 

Hans von Fluelaberg

As days passed and more and more clerics visited my manor, I found myself hosting luncheons and dinners where talks of alliances, favors, and money flowed like how the Italian wines flowed from bottle to cup to lip.

It took me just a month to determine a few things about most of the clerics.

They hated the fact that I was trying to influence the election.

Some like the Abbot of Saint Gall needed that kind of scenario for him to get his payday while others like the Abbot of Disentis saw my offer as a way to keep me out of church affairs in the future.

But most?

Even if it was the norm for interferences to be made, they saw my action as heavy handed. It also did align with how the Abbot of Disentis reacted. The main reason, as best as I could surmise, was that it was traditional for outside actors like nobles, merchants, and the like to submit their candidate. Then the priests would discuss and vote.

What I was doing, directly contacting individual priests to sway them, was being seen as “intrusive” and “threatening.”

I could understand intrusive.

Threatening, though, confused me.

“It’s because you are the closest military power.”

I looked up from where I have been writing while eating and paused when I saw John. He was eating with Isabella and I like we did before.

“Ah, was I talking out loud?” I asked and both of them nodded. “Well, alright. Why does that matter?”

Denying that I was a military powerhouse would be stupid. I had too many personal achievements on top of actions as commander in both offensive and defensive to be called anything but that. It didn’t help that my military prowess and power outsized my noble rank.

“Do you want to tell him?” John asked Isabella while glancing at her.

“You spoke up. You say it.”

John sighed before turning to me. He tried to get serious, but all I saw was the boy I trained and taught for two years. “How many rangers do you have?” he asked directly.

Normally, this wasn’t the kind of information that a ruler should share with -.

“Around four hundred now,” I replied. “Their ranks have been adding up quickly once I got my senior rangers to take on student squads to teach.”

John … let out a terrified, shuddering sigh.

“You have no idea how terrifying that is right?”

“… No?”

“Hans. One of your rangers can take on a dozen men in the forest. If they have time to set up, then a single ranger can mean the death of hundreds.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I think you are exaggerating. You know personally that they aren’t like that.”

Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Husband, while it might be an exaggeration, that is how the rest of the empire perceives your troupe of mountain warriors. Need I remind you what happened at the Battle of Lower Engandin?” she asked. “The overwhelming victory is how they see the rangers. Silent killers who cannot be seen. Warriors who weave through the mountain valleys and forests faster than horses ever could. And that is what the priests and nobles see, honey.”

John cleared his throat and glared at her, and she just stuck her tongue out at him.

I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, I can see that, but how does that relate to the priests.”

Isabella gave me a slightly sad look. “It is normal for a man with a powerful army to wield it as he pleases, and if the clerics do not answer to the man’s whims, then it is possible that the man in question may simply loot the monasteries and abbeys to fill his coffer.”

I stared at her and then at John, who nodded in begrudging agreement.

“But I wouldn’t.”

“You are known for killing a lot of people, not for the genorsity that you show the commoners. And generosity to commoners does not equate to fairness or righteousness toward the clerics,” she replied with a shake of her head.

That … made sense.

“Wait, so they think I’m threatening them?” I asked, more than a little aghast. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t my intention but if the Papacy decided to get involved because they were told I was threatening the priests…!

“Well, no, not quite,” John replied. “But there is the implication that they should not displease you. You are closer to them than anyone else of noteworthy power are. Even my mother’s side, the Habsburgs, are far away. And unlikely to help since he is now busy trying to interfere with the Hungarian succession. That and the Compact’s growth will be seen as an extension of my growth and thus the Habsburg influence through my mother, meaning that he will be more than happy to let some abbeys suffer if they don’t fall in line with his indirect influence.”

“So to summarize, you are the strongest military power who is not known for genorsity to the priests. You can blame the priest in Langweis for that,” Isabella sighed.

“… Excuse me?” I asked with a frown.

“The ordained monk who serves the flock in Langweis has been the one to speak out against you among the clerics. You didn’t know?”

“No… Since when did their priest get involved in politics?”

She looked off to the side before sighing. “I wanted to be sure before I told you this, husband, but it seems that Langweis’s problem with you is actually the priest working from behind the scenes on its village mayor and people. He and the mayor of Son Peder* have been working together on that.”

“… Alright. I’m kicking them out of the Compact,” I grunted as I set my fork down. “I am done with their shit. They can either beg Chur to let them join or something because I am not dealing with them any longer.”

—

The following morning, I left the manor, accompanied only by a pair of rangers. Isabella had opted to not come with me but John did. As the other military power of the Compact, his presence would act as a support for what I was about to do.

We made our way toward where most of the priests were staying … and then veered off.

While most of the priests who came to the election of the prince-bishop were fine with staying in the best houses and rooms that Chur could provide, there were a few who were not happy with such an arrangement. Unlike most of the priests who were okay with some luxuries, the group of priests that I was looking for – including the Langweis monk – chose humbler places to inhabit.

And I knew where they were because there was at least one of them always shouting at the top of his lungs during the day against the “sinful trade and luxuries” that seemed to overflow Chur in his eyes.

I arrived at a small collection of houses closer toward the side of the valley, and saw that there were priests already waiting for me.

I came to a stop some ten yards from the closest member of their ranks and looked around.

“Where is the monk of Langweis?” I demanded.

“I am here,” a man said from the back and made his way around the group presenting a united front to me. It was a young man, probably around the same age as I was, and he glared at me.

Like straight up glared at me.

Now. I might not think like a baron like i should most of the time, but even I knew that the monk in front of me was acting way out of line with none of the respect someone of his station should show to a man of my position.

“Good,” I grunted. “I wish to speak to you on matters of the Compact. I have been led to believe that you are Langweis’s best representative.”

“And if I am?”

“I would like to talk with you in private.”

He scoffed. “Anything you can say in privacy can be said in front of my brothers here,” he said while gesturing to the … I would say Franciscan priests, but vow of poverty wasn’t their thing anymore. So what were these monks and priests?

I gestured for one of the rangers to bring out the letter I had handed to him before this visit, and he walked over and handed the letter over with both of his hands. The monk snatched it out of the ranger’s hands and then tore it open, littering the ground with the envelope.

He read the first few lines before his head snapped up toward me.

“This is an outrage!” he roared.

“What is an outrage is a member of the Compact openly denying help, openly working against its siblings, and then advocating for the reduction of trade that has enriched all of our lives. With the support of the Count of Toggenburg, Mayor of Maienfeld, and Mayor of Davos, I proclaim that Langweis and Son Peder* are expelled from the Compact. Unless this decision is reversed in the future by two-thirds majority of the Compact’s members, this will remain so.”

“… Heretic loving bastard!” he hissed.

I snorted. In any other place in the empire, he would have been killed for his remark. But this was the Compact; we don’t go around killing people unless they start it first.

No, even if I did want to kill him (I didn’t. I just wanted to punch him a little “gently”), I did not want to give the other priests even more reason to distrust me.

Instead, I turned to my rangers. “Spread the news. Langweis and Son Peder are no longer protected by the Compact. This means they now fall back under the Prince-Bishopric of Chur.”

The rangers saluted and ran off – with paper pamphlets – to spread the news.

I turned back to the seething man playing at poverty. “At the very least, I am a man of God who loves his neighbors like Jesus Christ asks of me while you play at poverty with none of the love Christ has for God’s children. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

With that last remark, I left.

—

Of course, there were consequences to my action. Or rather refusal to take the Compact’s matter into a more private setting.

First off, I did not know but the Langweis monk had been some sort of an influential member of the local poverty-priests, but my public expulsion of his village from the Compact cut down on that influence.

Second, there were priests who were happy with what I did. Even the clerics had power struggles and rivals…

The third, and the most important to me, was that a good portion of the priests and clerics who had been hesitant to vote for the Abbot of Disentis (my candidate) … chose to vote for him.

It turned out that there was an issue that I didn’t even know about, and that the Compact had been unknowingly harboring fraticelli priests, namely the Langweis monk and his cohort. They had been quiet while Prince-Bishop Siegfried was reigning over Chur, but now, they were out in force to try to get one of their own on the position. This had made quite a few of the priests wary that the Abbot of Disentis, my candidate, was also a fraticelli because I was somehow a supporter of fraticelli due to Langweis monk’s presence and thus my candidate also had to be fraticelli regardless of what the man himself said?

Yeah, something like that.

By expelling Langweis – and thus the monk – from the Compact in such a public manner with vitriol response from the monk, many priests were assuaged of their fears. Between the newly approving priests and the ones who I had “bought off,” when the next voting session came within a week, Abbot Gion of Disentis became the Prince-Bishop Gion of Chur.

Gion did as he promised and granted the city of Chur independence from the Prince-Bishopric of Chur, and the mayor apologized for his rudeness as the City of Chur became a new member of the Compact (with all of the members agreeing to let them in).

And with that, I could finally move on from the Compact’s matters and continue my tour of the Compact.

-VB-

A/N:

And that is the end of the Prince-Bishop Election Mini-Arc.

Next: The Tour pt. 2

Son Peder*: St Peter, Switzerland.

-VB-

Swiss Arms

Chapter 95

-VB-

 

Isabella von Fluelaberg

As their convoy made its way out of Chur, Isballea considered the events that unfolded here over the course of two months. She had thought that she could use this opportunity to show Hans just how useful she was. That she could be more than an administrator or just a steward for him.

Unfortunately, the matters of the priesthood was something the priests loved to keep women out unless the women in question were nuns. It took time for her to get a feel for each priest and spark up conversation with them over who they might be voting for and for what reason. She carefully constructed a network of priests who seemed to like her enough to tell her what was going on internally within the election…

And then her husband came around and convinced so many priests to do his bidding in the same period of time she took to set up a rudimentary network. And then wined, dined, and gifted the priests until they were singing his praises and voting for whoever he wanted.

She was able to give him some advice and information that he didn’t manage to catch, but in the end, her participation in selecting a bishop favorable to the Compact had been minimal.

And it made her feel useless.

The help she provided were efforts that Hans could have bulldozed over or swayed people with his speeches and gifts so that things would go his way. Even though she had a head start in negotiations and networking, she found herself left wanting.

It didn’t matter that the priests liked her more than Hans now. At the end of the day, what mattered was results like her dad always taught her brothers, and she didn’t even get close to the results she wanted.

Administration and stewardship were things that could be fixed. The election of the Prince-Bishop of Chur, on the other hand, was potentially once in a lifetime event. Yes, there will be other elections, selections, and whatever else but this was the one event that was close to the Compact’s “infancy,” as it were, and would have the biggest impact out of them all! What use was influencing the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg going to do twenty years from now?

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up and looked at her husband’s worried look. He sat with his back to the front of the carriage while she faced the front.

“… I feel I haven’t done enough to help you during our stay at Chur, husband,” she replied as she looked away.

“Huh?”

Blinking in surprise at his surprise, she looked back up and saw Hans giving her a quizzical look. Well, quizzical would be an understatement because he looked shocked at what she said.

“I wasn’t of any significant help,” she told him. “I told you a little bit about the priests and where they were, but by the time I was able to hold friendly conversation with the priests in general, you were already persuading them to vote for the Prince-Bishop.” Then she sighed. “On top of that, you knew who to talk to. You kept finding people who you could use to further your – our – interest, and all I did was set up the table.”

“Honey, you know that isn’t true,” he began but she glared at him, telling him to stop talking but he didn’t. “Some of the priests and monks I’ve talked to were fine with approaching me because they met with you first. So your efforts were not wasted or insignificant. Do you remember the Abbot of Wessobrunn Abbey? According to the Abbot, you said how the Compact – and specifically I – will most likely help him with some of the reconstruction of the abbey’s still untouched ruins if he were to just talk to me. I’d been trying to talk to him for almost a week at the point but he never responded. He only came to talk to me after he talked with you.”

“He… he said that?” she asked, feeling a little better.

“Yes. Sure, it still cost me a pretty penny to pay him off, as it were, to ensure his support, because monasteries are no small expenditure, but I wouldn’t have been able to convince him to see me for at least another week. You helped reduce my workload. So thank you and don’t talk yourself down.”

She stared at him a little bit more as she felt her eyes watering a little before turning away with a half-hearted huff.

“Thank you, too,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled.

—

The thanks did not extend to their training.

Because it would be seen as unsightly in front of so many priests, many of whom would disapprove, Isabella hadn’t been able to continue her sword training for some time.

So when she got back into it, Hans had been understanding … and thus proclaimed that they would need to put twice as much effort into their training as before.

But also because she was pregnant, he wasn’t alright with her getting hit with a sword, wooden or not, and thus her main training was …

“God help me…!” she hissed as she dragged herself forward with a small backpack and a longsword.

Yes, Hans was making her walk alongside the caravan.

“God can’t save you here, honey,” her husband taunted from next to her, carrying thrice her load along with all of his armor, the giant slab of steel he called a sword, and the thick bear cape. “Not when you asked this yourself.”

“I … did not … ask to carry … all of our food…!”

“Honey, you’re only carrying the blankets. I’m carrying all of our food,” he chuckled as did some of the rangers and soldiers behind them. She didn’t have the energy to throw a glare at the commoners. Instead, she trudged forward, begging for the next open field to be their resting spot.

She’d rather be swinging her sword!