Marching back home

"The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. ''

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

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Conradin and his soldiers pressed onward, riding tirelessly through the day. They paused only briefly for short rests and meals, maintaining a brisk pace on their journey back to Swabia. The soldiers' spirits were high, buoyed by the news that Ottokar had agreed to provide the loan. This support from Bohemia filled them with optimism and fueled their anticipation for the future.

As the sun began its descent, Conradin decided it was time to make camp for the night. Near a river, they halted to refill their water bottles. The river offered a serene backdrop, its waters glistening in the fading daylight.

With efficiency born of experience, they set up their camp, pitching tents, arranging bedding, and lighting torches. To determine the order of lookout duty, they drew lots, leaving it to chance.

After a hearty dinner of stew, bread, and freshly caught fish from the river, speared by skilled hands, they retired to their tents. Rest was essential, both for the men and their tired horses. They understood the importance of being well-rested , as a fatigued and weary ride could spell disaster.

Inside their tents, they settled in for the night, the soft rustling of the camp's nocturnal activity lulling them to sleep. The prospect of continuing their journey toward Germany awaited them on the morrow, and they were determined to approach it with renewed vigor after a restful night.

As darkness enveloped the camp and the night settled in, Conradin gathered his retainers around him. The crackling fire provided the only source of light, casting dancing shadows across their faces. The young king's question hung in the air, laden with curiosity and perhaps a hint of introspection.

"Talk to me about Manfred," Conradin said softly, his gaze fixed on the stick he absently moved within the fire's embrace.

Silence settled among the retainers, and uneasy glances were exchanged. Conradin's retainer had not expected such a request from their liege, and the topic was fraught with complexity.

Breaking the silence, Conradin raised his head and reassured them, "It is not a test, my opinion of you will not change from what you will say now, I just want to know about my uncle, after all, I am the last of my blood and I am merely curious about my latest dead relative."

Galvano Lancia, loyal and forthright, chose to respond first. "Even though he was a usurper, your highness, I would be remiss not to admit he had his strong qualities. He was a man of action and energy, of indomitable spirit and great courage." Galvano paused, the memories of Manfred's final moments coming to mind. "You see, your highness, during his last battle, when he was deserted by his supporters, instead of fleeing, he took off his cape and crown, gave it to one of his knights, and rode to battle himself. That was the last time I ever saw your uncle."

Galvano's face displayed a mix of emotions, ranging from reverence for his former liege to concern that he had perhaps spoken too candidly about a man whose throne had been seized by Conradin.

However, Conradin's response was unexpected. "Thanks for your honesty, Galvano. I appreciate it." With that, the young king rose from his makeshift seat and retreated into his tent, leaving his retainers exchanging puzzled looks, unable to discern the purpose behind his sudden inquiry.

Inside his tent, Conradin divested himself of his armor and sword. Before settling down to sleep, he placed a dagger beneath his pillow, a habit he had developed during his time in Bavaria, prompted by fears of assassination in the dead of night.

As he lay there, Conradin contemplated his current predicament. He possessed gold, but what he needed was an army, a formidable force to reclaim his throne. Achieving this would require diplomacy, cunning, and resourcefulness. He knew he had much work ahead, and the wheels of his mind churned with ideas and schemes aimed at achieving his ultimate goal. Conradin vowed to persist, unwavering, no matter the cost, knowing that a single misstep could prove fatal.