Eifelheim

Ockham rested his chin on his palm and curled one finger by his ear. “Mine Herr,” he said after a moment. “Marsiglio wrote that no one could gainsay the prince in his own land. Of course, he meant that ‘Jacques de Cahors’ could not gainsay Ludwig — which pleased Ludwig greatly. And what he really meant was that he was a Ghibelline, and blamed the Pope for every ill in Italy.”

“’Ghibelline’,” said Einhardt. “Why ca

Manfred studied the back of his hand. “And you did not agree…?”

Ockham spoke cautiously. “I argued that, in extremis, and if the prince is become a tyrant, then it is legitimate for another prince- even a pope — to invade his country and overthrow him.”

Einhardt expelled his breath and Thierry stiffened. Even Manfred grew still.

“As the Breisgau lords,” Dietrich interjected quickly, “overthrew von Falkenstein.”

Einhardt grunted. “Outlaws, doch.” The sudden tension eased.

Manfred cast Dietrich an amused glance. He tossed the bone of his venison to the floor and turned again to Ockham. “And how are we to know when the prince is become a tyrant?”

Ockham’s page refilled the Englishman’s krautstrunk and Ockham took a swallow before answering. “You have heard the maxim, ‘What has pleased the prince has the force of law.’ But I glossed that, ‘What pleases the prince reasonably and justly for the sake of the common good has the force of law.’”

Manfred studied his guest carefully and rubbed his cheek. “The prince,” he said, “has always in mind the common good.”

Ockham nodded. “Naturally, a prince who rules with God’s law in his heart will do so; but men are si

Eugen gestured with his knife. “But he may be murdered by an enemy, or fall to the pest or other injury. What right to life has a man drowning in a river?”

Ockham raised his forefinger. “That a man possesses a natural right to his own life means only that his defense of that life is legitimate, not that his defense will be successful.” He spread his hands. “As for other natural rights, I number the right to freedom against tyra

Thierry laughed. “Good. That leaves more for the rest of us.”

Ockham waved a dismissal. “But with Ludwig dead, every man must look to himself, so I am for Avignon to make my peace with Clement. This really is a most excellent sausage.”

Einhardt slapped the table. “You are thin for a monk, but I see you have a monk’s appetite.” Then, turning to Eugen he said, “Tell me how you won that scar,” and, flushing, the young Ritter recounted his deeds at Burg Falkenstein. At the tale’s conclusion, the imperial knight raised a cup to him, “Old strokes, worn with honor!” he cried.

He and Manfred then refought the battle of Mühldorf, where Einhardt had ridden for Ludwig Wittelsbach and Manfred for Friedrich Hapsburg, each of whom had sought the imperial crown.

“Ludwig cut a fine figure,” Einhardt wheezed, “You must’ve remarked it, Ockham. You knew him. Very striking body, tall and slender. How he loved to dance and hunt stags!”

“For which reason,” Manfred countered, “the imperial dignity sat lightly upon him.”

“No gravitas?” Einhardt swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Well, your Hapsburgs are grave. I’ll give you that. Old Albrecht couldn’t pass the table salt without pondering the political implications. Hah! Before your time, I think. I was only a junker, myself. ‘Hard as diamond,’ that’s what folks said about him.”

“Yes,” said Manfred. “Look at what he did in Italy.”

Einhardt blinked. “Albrecht did nothing in Italy.”

Manfred laughed and slapped the table. “Just so. He once said, ‘Italy’s a lion’s den. Many tracks go in; none come out.’” The table broke out in laughter.

The older knight shook his head. “Never understood why Ludwig went in there. Nothing south of the Alps but Italians. Can’t turn your back on ’em.”

“It was at Marsiglio’s urging,” Ockham said. “He hoped the emperor would settle the civil wars there.”

Manfred plucked a fig from the bowl and caught it in his mouth. “Why shed German blood to settle Italy’s quarrels?”

Einhardt said, “Now, the Luxemburgers are the sort the mi

“Yes,” said Manfred, “as simple as that sausage.”

Einhardt smiled. “Well, they’d have to be fools to want the crown at all.” He frowned over a dish of blancmange the servant set before him. “This, I must say, is more like a Luxemburger.”

Thierry said, “Speaking of all that, what’s become of old ‘Pocket Mouth’?”

Malachai the Jew answered. “We heard in Regensburg that Grafin Margaret remains loyal to her new husband and the Tyrolean revolt is over.”

“No blame to her,” said Thierry. “Her first husband was both stupid and impotent. A wife might endure one or the other, but not both.”

“Hah!” said Manfred raising a cup. “Well said!”

“Marriage is a sacrament,” Dietrich objected. “I know you defended Ludwig on this, Will, but not even an emperor may a

Einhardt leaned past his lady and shook a fork at Dietrich. “No, a marriage is an alliance. The Great Houses,” he said, tapping his temple, “they are pla

“For so clever a move,” Thierry said, “it proved a bit too obvious.”

“So,” said Einhardt, “Ludwig makes a second chess-move. He holds Bavaria, and his son holds now the Tyrol and the Brandenburg Mark, which neatly surrounds Bohemia — in case Luxemburg makes the trouble, ja? So when the other Houses complain of the nepotism, he takes Carinthia from the Tyrol, which changes nothing but makes everyone happy.”

“And you’ll notice,” added Manfred, “that Hapsburg gained Carinthia — without the need to kiss the Ugly Duchess.”

More laughter. Einhardt shrugged. “What matter? Luxemburg rules Europe now. You’ll not see a Hapsburg again on the imperial throne.”

Manfred smiled at his own blancmange. “Perhaps not.”

“Three votes sit in Luxemburg’s pocket.”

“With four needed,” Thierry said. “Have they resolved the dispute in Mainz?”

Einhardt shook his head. “The Pope’s new lapdog — who is it?” He snapped his fingers.

“Gerlach of Nassau,” Ockham told him.

“The very man. He’s tells everyone he’s the new archbishop, but Heinrich won’t surrender his See. You see how clever all this is? Gerlach is nobody. Who fears House Nassau holding Mainz?”

“If he can oust Count Heinrich,” said Thierry.

“So.” Einhardt counted off on his fingers. “Karl holds the Bohemian vote himself, and his brother Baldwin is archbishop of Trier. That’s two. And when House Luxemburg says, ‘frog,’ Archbishop Waldrich asks how high he should jump. Except he thinks he is King of Frogs. Hahah! So Köln’s vote makes three. As for the Wittelsbachs… Well, little Ludwig holds Brandenburg, as I’ve said; and his brother Rudolf is Count Palatine, which makes two votes. With Mainz uncertain, both families play court to the other Rudolf, the Duke of Saxe-Wittenburg. Hah! House Welfen holds the balance!”