A Mankind Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

adjusted. Both men wore the cross-embossed steel of the Knights of the Holy Trinity, the militant monastic arm of the Holy Roman Empire. Manfred wore armor with the appearance of negligence. A man his size was designed to carry ninety pounds of steel plate on his body. "I suppose it would be as futile to suggest that we should just stay here, warm and full of wine, as it would be to suggest we go back to Francesca in Copenhagen?"

    Erik shrugged. "I look forward to your explanation to the Emperor Charles Fredrik. He did expect you to sort out this mess, personally. But I'm sure he'll quite understand that you didn't want to get cold." He felt that he was getting better at handling Manfred. A couple of years of being the prince's bodyguard and mentor had given him enough practice. And being back in full armor made the Icelander irascible. So did the plains of Skåne. Flatness brought out the worst in him, he decided.

    Manfred grinned. "I'd let you tell Uncle. You two would have such a good time complaining about the youth of today, you'd soon forget to be mad at me. It's cold out there."

    Erik checked the Algonquin war-hatchet he insisted on carrying as well as the standard broadsword. It was the best copy he'd been able to get the imperial swordsmith at Mainz to make of the weapon he'd destroyed on the Woden, outside Venice. It wasn't as good, but short of venturing to Vinland again, it would just have to do. He shrugged again. "The palace at Mainz is just about as cold. And he'd keep you there. Last I heard he had planned to fill the place with dowagers and to move every drop of liquor out of the place, next time you were there. You were begging to get away a month ago, even without that."

    Manfred acknowledged the hit. "I was hoping to get sent to Aquitaine. Or back to Venice. Not to the frozen north," he said wryly. "And I thought I could keep Francesca with me."

    "We go to where the Empire has problems," said Erik, dryly. "Not to where we've already fixed them. The Emperor said that Francesca should stay in Copenhagen, and you should come and sort out the problems here from the other side. Besides, the cold is good for you. Gets the blood moving around the body."

    Manfred grunted. "I've got more body to move it around. And I didn't like the old lecher saying Francesca would operate better without me around."

    A tall gray-haired knight limped stiffly into the room. "We are ready to proceed, Prince. We don't keep our horses standing in the cold." Von Tiblaut did not bow. Officially, the militant holy order gave scant deference to worldly rank. And the proctor-general of Skåne was making it very clear that as far as he was concerned these were just two confrere knights, serving a three-year duty. The term "prince" was a backhanded insult. The fact that the Emperor had requested that they should be seconded here was barely acknowledged. So, it would appear, were specific instructions from the Abbot-General that Manfred's words should carry the bishop's authority. Manfred had been told that the Order, here in southern Sweden, behaved as if it was a law unto itself. He was seeing the proof of it.

    The proctor-general obviously didn't realize that he'd come to change that.

    Manfred did nothing to clarify this either. He said nothing, just docilely walked out into the courtyard. Erik, who knew his charge well, braced himself for trouble.

    Von Tiblaut hadn't yet got the measure of the prince of Brittany. Perhaps, as others had in the past, he mistook Manfred's stolidity for oxlike stupidity. "Don't keep us waiting in future," he said irritably. "You, too, Hakkonsen. And I don't want to see that pagan weapon again. Is that clear, Knight? Put it in a saddlebag or dispose of it."

    "I have no pagan weapons," said Erik, his voice icy. "All my arms are wielded in the service of Christ, and the Godar Hohenstauffen." He turned to his mount, pointedly ignoring the order. No wonder there was trouble here between the Danes and the