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have the same problem with their peasants?"

    "They did. But mostly it is Danish settlers there now."

    "Ah," said Manfred and they rode on in silence.

    Erik knew the explosion was merely being delayed. That night they were once again ensconced in a wooden fortress chapter house, on the edge of the Småland hills. As soon as they were in the privacy of their assigned chamber, Manfred allowed himself to erupt. "Stupid goddamned Prussians! They're running a private little land grab here, and turning this frontier into a war zone. No wonder the Danes are furious with them."

    Erik shook his head. "It's not just a problem of the Prussians. After all, we served with a couple of good ones in Italy. Men like Falkenberg. It's a rot in the Knights of the Holy Trinity. The Knights are supposed to be an arm of the church. To help the spread of the word of Christ. To defend the people of the Holy Roman Empire against the pagans. Here they have become oppressors. They have become a force which drives people away from the church. If the rumor is true—a force motivated by monies paid to the order for seized lands."

    "And Charles Fredrik has given me this mess to sort out," said Manfred sourly. "Maybe staying in Mainz would not have been so bad after all."

    Erik stood up. "Come. Bring your quilted jacket and the rapier. Let's go and put in some practice in the lower hall."

    "I've spent the whole day in the saddle and the mad Icelander wants to go and fence . . ." said Manfred grumbling on principle, digging in his saddlebag.

    Erik shook his head. "I don't. Or at least that is not my first purpose. You're going to need to sort the wheat from the chaff here. Let's see whose minds are not too set in stone to try a bout or two with a rapier instead of a broadsword."

    "Ah." Manfred nodded, taking the round-edged and buttoned blade from his gear. "Well. Get your winnow then. Let's go and bruise some wheat."

    Within the bounds of the Holy Roman Empire, in the Italian states, Aquitaine and the Celtic League of Armagh, gunpowder weapons were becoming increasingly commonplace, and the heavy plate-armor was far less used. The rapier had largely superceded the broadsword, and the style of warfare, too, was changing. But in the pagan northlands, and on the eastern frontier, times had not yet moved onward. Steel plate, spiky and angular to deflect pagan magics, the broadsword and the lance, the mounted knight and the massed charge were still effective against the undisciplined waves of largely unarmored and unmounted barbarians with throwing axes and greatswords. At least . . . on the flatlands.

    In the lower hall a number of knights were working at pells and a knight-proctor was drilling an unfortunate group of squires. There was a sudden drop in the clangor when two unarmored knights entered the hall. Then, with ostentatious effort, the drill noises resumed as Manfred and Erik went through a series of stretches and then lunges.

    "Why do you bring these little willow wands here? Have you not the thews to wield a true knight's weapon?" sneered one of the knights at last, taking a break from hewing a defenseless hardwood pell into kindling.

    Manfred looked at Erik and raised an eyebrow. Erik nodded almost imperceptibly. This one would do. He was older than most of those here, and obviously a pack leader. Erik had noticed him conferring with Von Tiblaut earlier. "I don't suppose," asked Manfred in a diffident tone, "that the good Ritter would care to try a bout?"

    The heavy-browed knight snorted. "Me? Von Mell prance around like some ponce of a southern dancing master? No, thank you. Why don't you try a man's weapon instead?" He held up his broadsword.

    "Why," said Manfred easily. "I believe I would like to." He stepped over to the Ritter and examined the sword with all the appearance of interest. "Which is supposed to be the sharp end, Ritter?" Smothered snorts and chuckles competed with the all but stilled noises of training.

    The