Archbishop of Berlin Gaiulius couldn't sit still, he had already sent out a lot of money to buy several cardinals in the Vatican, full of confidence and thought that his position was stable, but he didn't expect to kill halfway to bite the gold, cutting off his own way to promotion, so that he had to win over a few nobles who could speak well within the empire, so as to ensure that he could have enough say and not be hacked from behind when the battle for clergy became increasingly fierce.

Pick and choose, the Grand Duke of Swabia is undoubtedly the best choice!

The old guy is gradually declining, but he is unwilling to withdraw from the stage of history, and a few sons who are not successful will only fight in the nest without a sense of worry, and every day they will fight for the demarcation of the territory and the flight of serfs, such trivial things are inseparable.

Even more excessively, even the brothers fought against the wall, causing the strength of the principality, which was not weak, to form gangs and factions, and the small and medium-sized nobles trembled and self-preservation, for fear that they would stand on the wrong side and be settled after the autumn, who knows which son will inherit the family business after the old duke's life?

In order to maintain the unity and stability of the principality, the old duke rearranged a marriage for the eldest son of the widowed wife, the second daughter of the Grand Duke of Bohemia, the fourth nominal nobleman of the nominal empire.

And Swabian got more, the woman brought the land in the dowry, so that her eldest son could exceed the area actually controlled by her younger brothers in the territory area, further strengthen the status and voice of her heir, and more or less remind those wavering wall grasses who should be loyal to them.

Invited to Berlin this time, two old men with their own ghosts, ready to get together to discuss the current situation, to see what the other party has to invest in their own weight, and then get a return.

Obviously, the Archbishop of Berlin needs a strong German ally, and the Archduke of Swabia also needs to give his eldest son a backer in terms of clerical authority before he enters the soil.

As I rode back to Leonardo, I thought back to the things that Leonardo had introduced to myself, not noticing that we had entered the church grounds, and that the dirt roads under our feet were no longer difficult to walk, but into neat and clean stone paths, and that several clergymen in cloaks, with their heads bowed in their thick parchments, hurried by, and the church spires were clouded with clouds, which looked like a sign of a heavy rain.

"My lord, it's almost time to dismount."

The attendants had long since stood still on the left and right, pulling the reins of my horse back to reality from my contemplation.

I looked up at the tall Romanesque columns and the open cloister of the church, the lifeless stones, once the proud civilization of the Romans, but after the collapse of the behemoth empire, they were scattered to the capital of the nascent barbarian empire, and sometimes the fate was so incredible.

I carefully dismounted from my horse, and Dr. Saracen, whom Leonardo had brought, was indeed very clever, and used something similar to a Chinese plaster to cover the wound, which had a noticeable effect on relieving the pain in my lower back, so that I could ride on the horse for a little longer, and not be carried into Berlin by the servants, which would be too much of a knight's price.

"You go and tell me the Count of Nijmegen, and ask to see the Bishop."

I ordered one of my attendants, and then led the rest of the men into the church, which was bright on the outside but dark and damp on the inside, and a few clergymen politely led me to the hall to rest, and raised the brazier in the room for us to bake our clothes.

As I warmed myself up with a glass of wine from the priest, I looked at the small confessional like a cage at the edge of the hall, admiring in the pervasiveness of religion's control over thought.

"Thank God, and behold who the warm spring breeze brings to me, isn't this the Count of Nijmegen, who is famous in Italy? Welcome, my child. ”

The Archbishop of Berlin, Gaiullius, was a spirited old man who was stationed in Germany all the year round, which made him closer to the Germans in terms of behavior and lifestyle, but I think he still missed his hometown far away in Italy, at least the silk underwear that showed a corner of his robe showed his nostalgia and yearning for a prosperous city life.

"May the Lord bless you, Your Excellency Bishop."

I bowed my head reverently, and the archbishop held up the cross hanging from his chest, slowly circled my head to bless, and then ushered me into my seat.

"I have heard what happened in Nijmegen, and it is very regrettable that those heinous thugs should have torn off the skin of the back of the Duchess de Crescenty, and God will never forgive their filthy souls, and they will fall into purgatory and suffer forever!"

The archbishop cursed with indignation, and I sat on the side and watched his hard work with cold eyes, trying to make an expression of approval, and both of them were hypocritical and wronged, knowing that what the other party said was not the point, but they still had to echo and give them enough face.

"The nobles who participated in the rebellion and the sneak attack have been defeated by me, and the accomplices will be released as long as the ransom is paid, and I guarantee their personal safety in the name of the Count of Nijmegen."

I said to the archbishop: "My territory has been almost destroyed, the serfs have fled in large numbers, and the crops have been trampled and destroyed, and they are not at all a holy war allowed by the Father, but an act of plundering and destruction that must be condemned and punished!" ”

The archbishop didn't seem to pay attention to my words, and lowered his head to straighten the folded hem of his luxurious robe, and only after listening to my last sentence did he slowly speak: "Punishment? Isn't the loss of honor the best punishment for them after being defeated? I don't understand what you mean, maybe I'm old and deaf and misheard, but these words are dangerous, the result of the devil's demagoguery in your heart, and it will burn you to ashes! ”

"I don't think you understand what I mean, if you don't discipline them well, it will be tantamount to stirring up beggar-thy-neighbor sentiments among the nobles, and everyone will no longer live in peace and friendship, and carefully calculate the neighbors every day, and the glory of God's mercy will be eclipsed, please forgive me for my gaffes, but your attitude is indeed disappointing." I have always changed my face and heart to beat when I make up nonsense, and I am so full of etiquette and morality that I can't go on.

The archbishop folded his hands and prayed silently, as if asking for God's forgiveness for my gaffe, and when he finished fiddling with the trick, the stylized expression of compassion returned to his face, turning faster than the pages of a book:

"Speaking of sins, my lord, although there is no evidence now, there are many rumors of grapevine that your murder of Father Djokovich is enough for the Holy See to excommunicate you and send a magistrate to try it, and that group of mysterious people dressed in black will definitely let you see what the consequences of offending God's majesty are, and at that time, even His Majesty the Emperor will not be able to exonerate you."

I have no doubt that he is alarmist, but Leonardo has already analyzed the worst outcome for me, but fortunately, the sky is high here, and hiding under the protection of the snake on the ground can somewhat stop the wrath from the Vatican.

I pretended to be frightened, sat down quietly beside the archbishop, and with a hidden look, the archbishop waved his hand in understanding, and the clergy standing on the side bowed and bowed and left the room.

"I have repented to God sincerely, and I have eyewitnesses who can testify that Father Djokovic worships heresies, was deceived by pagan gods, and secretly contacted outsiders in a vain attempt to overthrow my legitimate rule over Nijmegen, and I can swear to the Father that the above is true!"

I swore with a smile on my face, and I guess I felt that the scene was a little too much, so I seized the opportunity to hand over the golden cross encrusted with a huge ruby that I had prepared a long time ago.

"This is my determination to repent, and I ask you to trust a faithful believer."

The archbishop took the cross, admired the craftsmanship of the craftsmen, and patted his chest and said to me: "I believe that what more proof of your devotion to God is than the offering of pure gold?" ”

The evening feast was held at the place where the Grand Duke of Swabia was staying, and he invited all the nobles in the vicinity, including me, who was hanging out in Aachen, and although our relationship was not so close, the posture of the superior had to be put on display.

The banquet was set up in a very luxurious manner, most of the ingredients used were game, all the trophies of the old duke's hunting in the past few days, the wanderers and bards who had traveled here gathered in the hall to perform their stunts, the staggered lights and wine, the ladies with their reserved smiles, the men hooking their shoulders and wrestling, all in all, everything in front of me reminded me of the human flesh banquet of the barbarians, and the aristocratic shelves that usually pretend to be pretentious were all absent, and everyone showed the innate instinct in their bones, and indulged in eating, drinking, and merrymaking.

I sat at the bottom of the throne near the right, not far from the Grand Duke of Swabia, who was chatting and laughing with a few nobles around me, but he never looked at me during the banquet.

My Adam's apple was churning up and down, tasting a rare Italian wine, which was much stronger than the local church's own brewing, and even more delicious than the ale and beer we usually use to quench our thirst.

In the open space in the middle of the banquet table, a dwarf grimaced and told lame jokes, which made the nobles who usually had no means of entertainment laugh, and they all picked up the remaining chicken legs or wild boar meat and threw them into the field, rewarding the hard-working minions, and then continued to stare back and forth, and the clowns who fought for the chicken legs almost laughed out of breath.

I motioned for the attendant behind me to fill my glass, and looked coldly at the performance and the audience, knowing in my heart who the real clown was.

(End of chapter)