east and west, and carts were heading to market.
The lower he got, the less he saw, and soon he was down among the houses on the Carinthian side. The bridge buttresses were ahead, their deep-set incantations shining faintly against the black rock.
Up in the mountains, where the border was less defined and held more in common than in law, he’d sometimes come across a group of soldiers or hunters from a neighbouring palatinate, and they’d share news and swap stories. Down here, in the lowlands where rivers and roads marked the beginning and end of territories, it was different. He was a prince’s man on the prince’s land. Outside it, he could only rely on Carinthia’s reputation and his own right arm, and he’d never liked issuing threats.
“Don’t be such a woman,” he growled, and tapped the horse’s flanks with his heel. “Get.”
The crossing was as long as the river was wide, across the arch of stone that carried him over the water.
“Hey,” said a voice, and Büber looked down to see four men, three of them holding spears, blocking his way.
“What?” He started paying attention. The unarmed man was better dressed than his companions, with a floppy hat perched on his head. The others were just townsmen, older, grey haired, but lean and competent enough. “What is this?”
“Toll.”
“Fuck off.” He said it more out of surprise than belligerence. “Since when did I have to pay to use a Carinthian bridge?”
“Everyone has to pay,” said the man, ostentatiously adjusting his clothing to show the painted wooden plaque hung around his neck. “Earl’s orders.”
“Does Leopold know about this? More to the point, does the prince know you’re taxing his subjects?” Not for the first time, Büber wished he could make a horse walk backwards. He was too close. Yes, of course he could afford a toll: he had money, but didn’t see why he should part with a single red penny.
“Are you refusing to pay?”
Büber looked down at the men. “What’re you going to do if I don’t?”
From the look of confusion on the spear-carriers’ faces, the question hadn’t arisen before. They looked at each other, then to the man with the hat.
“We … will …” he started, and finally an idea came to him, “…take you before the earl.”
“Good,” said Büber. “Lead on.”
“What?”
“Take me to this earl of yours.” He leant back in his saddle and felt for his own royal seal. “I can find out why he’s charging for something we provided for nothing.”
He held up the token long enough for the man to inspect it, but not for so long that it was still there when a hand came up to take it from him.
The man wearing the plaque shrugged. “Show him the way.”
“Why don’t
you
show me the way?” asked Büber pointedly. “That way you won’t tax anyone crossing our bridge.”
“You’re not in Carinthia, I’m not a Carinthian.” He jerked his head in the vague direction of the town. “You arrogant bastards need to be taken down a peg or two. Now go and have it out with Fuchs.”
One of the spearmen rolled his eyes and started walking up the street, and Büber followed slowly behind on the horse.
“I said it was a stupid idea,” said the man over his shoulder, and Büber stopped his mount, swung himself off and took hold of the reins.
“What do you mean?”
“That. Charging a toll. Stupid. Gerhard was going to find out sooner or later.”
“So why is your earl doing it? Did Leopold tell him to?”
The man spat on the ground and looked around for eavesdroppers. There were enough people around to suggest he shouldn’t be so free with his words, but he decided he didn’t care. “Leopold’s an inbred, web-toed, six-fingered mouth-breather, and Fuchs is just cruel and spiteful. But they’re both broke. Neither have a penny to their names.”
Bavaria should be rich. It had farms and pastures and forests – all of it lowlands, not like Carinthia that was half
The lower he got, the less he saw, and soon he was down among the houses on the Carinthian side. The bridge buttresses were ahead, their deep-set incantations shining faintly against the black rock.
Up in the mountains, where the border was less defined and held more in common than in law, he’d sometimes come across a group of soldiers or hunters from a neighbouring palatinate, and they’d share news and swap stories. Down here, in the lowlands where rivers and roads marked the beginning and end of territories, it was different. He was a prince’s man on the prince’s land. Outside it, he could only rely on Carinthia’s reputation and his own right arm, and he’d never liked issuing threats.
“Don’t be such a woman,” he growled, and tapped the horse’s flanks with his heel. “Get.”
The crossing was as long as the river was wide, across the arch of stone that carried him over the water.
“Hey,” said a voice, and Büber looked down to see four men, three of them holding spears, blocking his way.
“What?” He started paying attention. The unarmed man was better dressed than his companions, with a floppy hat perched on his head. The others were just townsmen, older, grey haired, but lean and competent enough. “What is this?”
“Toll.”
“Fuck off.” He said it more out of surprise than belligerence. “Since when did I have to pay to use a Carinthian bridge?”
“Everyone has to pay,” said the man, ostentatiously adjusting his clothing to show the painted wooden plaque hung around his neck. “Earl’s orders.”
“Does Leopold know about this? More to the point, does the prince know you’re taxing his subjects?” Not for the first time, Büber wished he could make a horse walk backwards. He was too close. Yes, of course he could afford a toll: he had money, but didn’t see why he should part with a single red penny.
“Are you refusing to pay?”
Büber looked down at the men. “What’re you going to do if I don’t?”
From the look of confusion on the spear-carriers’ faces, the question hadn’t arisen before. They looked at each other, then to the man with the hat.
“We … will …” he started, and finally an idea came to him, “…take you before the earl.”
“Good,” said Büber. “Lead on.”
“What?”
“Take me to this earl of yours.” He leant back in his saddle and felt for his own royal seal. “I can find out why he’s charging for something we provided for nothing.”
He held up the token long enough for the man to inspect it, but not for so long that it was still there when a hand came up to take it from him.
The man wearing the plaque shrugged. “Show him the way.”
“Why don’t
you
show me the way?” asked Büber pointedly. “That way you won’t tax anyone crossing our bridge.”
“You’re not in Carinthia, I’m not a Carinthian.” He jerked his head in the vague direction of the town. “You arrogant bastards need to be taken down a peg or two. Now go and have it out with Fuchs.”
One of the spearmen rolled his eyes and started walking up the street, and Büber followed slowly behind on the horse.
“I said it was a stupid idea,” said the man over his shoulder, and Büber stopped his mount, swung himself off and took hold of the reins.
“What do you mean?”
“That. Charging a toll. Stupid. Gerhard was going to find out sooner or later.”
“So why is your earl doing it? Did Leopold tell him to?”
The man spat on the ground and looked around for eavesdroppers. There were enough people around to suggest he shouldn’t be so free with his words, but he decided he didn’t care. “Leopold’s an inbred, web-toed, six-fingered mouth-breather, and Fuchs is just cruel and spiteful. But they’re both broke. Neither have a penny to their names.”
Bavaria should be rich. It had farms and pastures and forests – all of it lowlands, not like Carinthia that was half