The road to Hamburg stretched north like a scar across the land—muddy, rutted, lined with leafless trees that clawed at the gray sky. Duke Henry X the Proud rode at the head of his retinue: twenty knights in blue and black, banners of the Welf lion snapping in the cold wind, horses steaming in the chill. The journey from Bavaria had taken nine hard days—rain, swollen rivers, and rumors of unrest in the north. Henry’s mind was heavy. Lothair III’s throne was new and fragile; the Hohenstaufens and Wettins were circling. He needed allies. Hamburg—rich, strategic, ruled by Duke Dieter—could tip the balance.
They crested the final rise at dusk. The city walls rose ahead, stone and timber, towers lit by torches. But something was wrong.
Boundary stones lined the road—tall, rough-hewn pillars, each carved with a crude cross. Guards at the gate wore chest plates marked with the same cross, etched deep into the metal. No lions, no eagles—just crosses. Henry reined in his horse.
Henry:
(quiet, to his captain)
Crosses. Everywhere.
Captain Marcel:
(low)
Lord Dieter was never devout, my lord. Something’s changed.
Henry sent his charioteer forward—a young man in Welf colors.
Charioteer:
(shouting)
Duke Henry the Proud of Bavaria seeks entry! He comes in peace to speak with Lord Dieter!
The guards conferred. After a moment, the gates creaked open.
Henry rode in.
Altstadt—the old town—felt different. Streets were quieter than he remembered. No merchants hawking wares, no children running. Instead, nuns in black habits walked in pairs, heads bowed. Torches burned with steady flames; crosses hung on every door. People stared—some with fear, some with reverence.
A group of nuns approached—six, led by an older woman with a stern face.
Nun:
Duke Henry. The Archbishop awaits you. Come.
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Henry dismounted. His knights followed, hands near swords. They were led through winding streets to the great cathedral—stone soaring, windows glowing with candlelight.
Inside, the Archbishop waited.
Adalbert was tall, thin, nearly forty-nine, with a narrow face, graying hair cropped short, and eyes that seemed to weigh everything they saw. He wore rich vestments—purple and gold—but the cross on his chest was plain iron, almost severe.
A feast was laid out: roasted pheasant, fresh bread, wine in silver cups. Servants stood silent.
Adalbert:
(smiling thinly)
Duke Henry of Bavaria. Acting Duke of Saxony. An honor to finally meet you.
Henry did not sit.
Henry:
Where is Dieter?
Adalbert:
Duke Dieter… has given his lands to the Church. He came to me one night, knelt, and said God had spoken to him. He wished to enlighten his people. The Church has taken Hamburg into its care.
Henry’s eyes narrowed.
Henry:
Dieter was no monk. He loved wine, women, war. He would not give up his duchy so easily.
Adalbert:
(soft)
God moves in mysterious ways. I was as surprised as you. But he was… certain. The people are content. The crosses protect them now.
Henry looked around—at the silent servants, the nuns watching from the shadows. Adalbert’s smile never wavered, but something in his eyes felt… off. Cunning. Hungry.
Henry:
(quiet)
You’re forty-nine. Suddenly you hold a rich city-state. No blood shed. No battle. Convenient.
Adalbert:
God’s will is not always convenient, my lord. But it is always true.
Henry stepped closer.
Henry:
Introduce me to your people.
Adalbert gestured. Four priests stepped forward.
- Adal — oldest, thirty-nine, broad and quiet, eyes downcast.
- George — thirty-eight, sharp-featured, hands clasped tight.
- Emil — thirty-two, nervous, fidgeting.
- Albert — youngest, thirty, pale and intense, eyes bright with something like zeal.
Then an Abbess—Felixia—stepped forward, tall, stern, gray hair under her veil.
Felixia:
I am Abbess Felixia. We serve the Church and the people.
Henry studied them. Adalbert dismissed them with a wave. They left.
Adalbert:
Why have you come, Duke Henry?
Henry:
Alliance. Strengthen the borders. Help Emperor Lothair claim his throne with iron, not just parchment.
Adalbert:
(smiling)
This land belongs to the Church now. We do not follow bloodshed or war. We follow peace.
Henry’s jaw tightened.
Henry:
Then we hope you will not take sides in the future.
Adalbert:
God does not take sides, my lord. He judges.
Henry turned to leave.
Henry:
We’ll see.
He strode out, knights at his back. The cathedral doors closed behind him.
Outside, the crosses on the walls seemed to watch.
Henry mounted his horse.
Henry:
(to captain Marcel)
We ride for Bavaria. Tonight.
Captain Marcel:
My lord… what did you see?
Henry:
(quiet)
Something fishy.
They rode into the night—toward home, toward war, toward whatever shadows Adalbert was hiding.
:To Be Continued