Marienburg, The Teutonic State

Friedrich von Frundsberg, cast out from his Swabian lands by his half-brother Konrad, stood in the mud of the yard. He was trapped in the slow drills of the Order’s common footmen.

The Order fought a long war with the Polish king. The Grand Master’s clinging to heavy horse and untrained spearmen brought endless death and stripped the fields of the men needed to work them.

During a drill with the pikes, the peasant to Friedrich’s left stumbled, breaking the tight square.

Using the iron butt of his pike, Friedrich struck the man’s knee with a sharp blow!

The bone shattered. The peasant fell into the mud, his screams ruining the quiet order of the drill.

"Hold the line!" a harsh voice barked.

The master of the yard, an old captain in rusted chainmail showing the Order’s failing arms, marched through the broken ranks.

"You have crippled a worker, Brother," the captain declared, "That serf meant thirty bushels of winter wheat for the harvest. You shall work the dung pits for a fortnight to pay for the grain you have cost us. Get to the trenches at once."

"..." Friedrich did not argue.

For the rest of the day, Friedrich toiled in the filth, drawing powder from the dung of men and beasts.

As Friedrich sealed a barrel of the raw powder, two armored guards stepped into the yard.

"The Grand Master calls you to the main hall," the lead guard stated, "Leave your work."

Friedrich went to the well, washing the foulness from his coarse tunic.

The Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, Albrecht of Brandenburg-Ansbach, was a desperate lord ruling a broken realm.

To be called before him meant a sudden turn in the tides of war.

Friedrich entered the drafty, echoing space of the Great Hall.

Grand Master Albrecht stood beside a great table strewn with Hanseatic trade books and the Pope’s writs.

The Grand Master wore a black doublet under his white tabard bearing the black cross.

Albrecht stared at Friedrich, "The tidings from the Swabian Circle bring dark news, Friedrich," Albrecht stated, "Your half-brother has grown his iron realm with terrifying speed. I hold a writ from the Pope himself, commanding the Teutonic Order to march upon the von Frundsberg lands with fire and sword."

Friedrich held himself stiffly, checking a sudden spark of interest. "Speak of the deeds that have incurred the Pope’s wrath..."

Albrecht picked up a vellum ledger, reading the ruinous tally aloud.

"Konrad has not merely turned away the inquisitors. He slew them in his own hall. He then brought hunger to the Rechberg lands, took the whole realm by a clerk’s writ, and used twelve-pounder great guns to batter Baron von Rechberg’s keep to dust in less than a day. Konrad has choked the eastern roads and taken all the raw powder meant for the Bishop of Augsburg."

The Grand Master threw the ledger onto the table.

"The Pope bids me gather our heavy horse and march south to take back the stolen lands," Albrecht went on, "The holy fathers do not grasp that a Pope’s blessing buys no Fugger silver. I cannot pay the sell-swords I have in Pomerania.

My harvests are less than half of what they were... if I march a host to Swabia, my men will starve before they cross into Bavaria, and Konrad’s gunners will shoot my remaining knights to pieces."

"To fight a true war of powder against the Swabian forges demands deep chests of silver and endless wagons of shot... the Teutonic Order has neither." Friedrich confirmed

Albrecht’s jaw tightened, "I know the depth of my ruin, Brother," Albrecht said. "And that is why you are here. You are a despised lord who knows your brother’s secrets. Konrad’s cannons and gunners have one great weakness. They must be fed with an endless river of Baltic saltpeter to make their powder.

That powder sails through the Hanseatic ports, right past our own northern shores..."

"You mean to cut his supply lines..?" Friedrich asked.

"I mean to see this season out," Albrecht corrected, "If I can cut Konrad’s powder roads, I can use the stolen powder to wring a great ransom in silver from the Bishop of Augsburg, paying my own men to hold the Poles at bay. But I need a master to watch the shores and read the smugglers’ books." Albrecht corrected,

Albrecht pointed a finger straight at Friedrich’s chest. "I offer you a true seat of power," Albrecht declared. "You may stay in the dung pits, nursing a foolish, weeping heart for revenge.

Or, you may cast aside your lost Swabian pride, take a place in my council, and use your sharp wits as a weapon. You shall hunt down every Hanseatic smuggler feeding your brother’s guns."

"Weeping for revenge is a fool’s waste of breath, Grand Master," Friedrich answered, "My only goal is the ruin of Konrad’s realm. I must have full sight of the Order’s spy ledgers on the coast, and total command over the shore guards."

"You have it," Albrecht agreed, "See that you bring me silver, Friedrich."

Friedrich gave a sharp nod. He turned and left the Great Hall.

...

The von Frundsberg Keep, One week later.

Konrad sat stiffly behind his table, reckoning a heavy toll of sickness and death.

The swift growth of the Swabian forges, joined with the taking of the Rechberg peasants, had brought too many souls into too small a space...

A foul sickness was now taking the lives of fourteen in every hundred men each season.

To mend this failing, Konrad was drawing up plans to rebuild the shape of their dwelling places.

He meant to forge an ordered, clean camp to keep the men strong and free from the wasting sickness.

The chief part of this plan was a hidden system to wash away the filth.

The old way of casting slops into the muddy streets poisoned the drinking water.

Konrad drew plans for sloped, iron pipes that would carry the foulness straight to the saltpeter pits. This would end the plague and greatly swell the harvest of powder for his guns.

Next, he planned to tear down the rotting wooden huts that housed the men. They were poor shields against the cold.

Konrad drew plans for sturdy, matching longhouses built of baked clay brick.

These houses would hold the heat of a small fire, keeping the men warm through the freezing Swabian winter, ensuring they kept their strength for their long toil at the forges.

The last and most costly step was the building of new walls... the taking of the Rechberg lands meant the Swabian League would surely strike back.

Tall, straight stone walls were useless against modern cannons... Konrad planned to build the first star-fort in the land!