A Brother in Faith
Johan did not refuse the bishop's embrace; he accepted it, arms open.
Despite the rumors of his greasy, corrupt soul, the bishop's outward appearance was convincing enough to fool even Johan.
True to his ram beastfolk blood, two magnificently groomed horns curved from his head, his face bore the slight gauntness of a priest given to ascetic discipline, and his voice and eyes carried a restrained power.
He'd be good at preaching, that's for sure.
It was clear that not just anyone became a bishop. Granted, one needed a family backing him from behind, but the man himself had to have ability as well.
Once the greetings were done, Bishop Biagione launched into praise, reciting how Johan had captured a troll and swept away the den of heretics. Clapping his hands and stamping his feet in fervent admiration, the man was a practiced performer indeed.
Even a knight who had heard the bishop's rumors and kept his distance would find himself swayed by that reputation and radiance once they stood face to face like this. And hearing such words spoken directly to him? All the more so.
Then again, how did he learn all the details?
Of course, Johan was half-listening to the bishop while thinking about what to have for dinner. What struck him as curious was how thoroughly the bishop seemed to know the particulars of events that had happened so far away.
Which meant the correspondence flowing between church orders was that detailed.
Come to think of it, there was nothing to be surprised about. Even now, most of the record-keeping and administration in noble territories was handled by the church...
Johan waited a moment, then bowed his head and covered his face with his hands. To any observer, it looked exactly like a man overwhelmed with emotion, struggling to hold back tears.
"Oh dear. What's the matter?"
"I never dreamed I would meet His Grace the Bishop in person like this..."
"There's no need to be so humble! This Biagione is merely God's lowly servant."
Karamaf, prostrate nearby, let out a bored growl. Biagione flinched. Karamaf's size was intimidating enough on its own, but the bishop seemed genuinely afraid of wolves.
"We are all equal souls before God. This Biagione regards you as a brother in faith, so you in turn must regard this Biagione as your brother in faith."
Once the mutually embarrassing moment had passed, the bishop began easing into the real business.
He praised the valor of the mercenaries and warriors under Johan's command, then, since the fighting in the city was over, asked where Johan intended to go next.
"I haven't decided yet."
"Then fight for faith and belief, brother."
For a moment Johan thought the man was proposing an actual crusade, but the bishop wasn't quite that mad.
It was merely a flattering package around the plain fact that Johan would be fighting under the bishop's name for pay.
And here I was getting alarmed for nothing.
Everyone in this age had many enemies, but the powers bordering the Edene Sea had more than most. The Venedo Republic, for instance, fought other city-states in the west, petty kingdoms in the east, and the heathen empire and pirates in the southern waters.
By that measure, the band of several hundred fierce, valorous warriors Johan led was worth paying attention to. Hadn't they distinguished themselves in the recent siege?
"Will you be fighting for the city, then?"
"No. You will be fighting for this Biagione. The two are slightly different, so bear that in mind. Should the city's people try to corrupt you, brother, you must not be swayed."
The bishop stated it flatly.
Johan found it odd. Wouldn't most men at least claim they were fighting for the city?
"The path a faithful man walks is ever a lonely one. Many have their eyes on this Biagione. That holds true inside the city as much as outside it. Will you guard this Biagione with your well-honed blade and burning faith, brother?"
"Of course."
He intended, of course, to first sound out how much the man was willing to pay before committing to any fight, but Johan agreed for now. Refusal could always come later, with an excuse attached.
He wouldn't try to haggle with empty hands, surely.
The bishop, however, turned out to be surprisingly generous.
He had a servant bring out a chest brimming with imperial gold coins and made Johan scoop his own share out with his hands. It was an effective bit of theater. That much gold would comfortably hire the company for a year and leave plenty to spare.
"I do not doubt your piety, brother, but the men under your command will need gold. What do you make of this amount?"
"It is more than enough—more than I deserve."
What?
Johan felt a flicker of embarrassment as his calculations missed their mark. He had assumed the bishop's friendliness and appeals to faith were a scheme to hire them cheap.
But with gold on this scale, no such maneuvering was necessary.
Had it all just been talk to build rapport?
"By the way, Your Grace. I am the Duke's knight, and at the same time, as a banneret—"
"Ah, ah. Don't worry yourself over that, brother. I have no intention whatsoever of quarreling with His Grace the Duke, and even if I did, I would never send you into such a confrontation. Do you feel easier in mind now?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"I said he was greedy. I never said he was stupid," Kaenerna remarked, as if it were obvious. Skimping on gold while trying to borrow military force was something only a fool would do. If the bishop had been that kind of man, he would have died long ago.
Every tyrant, no matter how cruel, at least lavished rewards on his own followers.
"The gold he hands you is hardly a great expense to a man like him. If he put his mind to it, he could rake in as much as he pleased."
Imperial silver, iron, and wool flowed down from the north; olive oil, dyes, glass, and worked jewels came up from the south; silk and spices poured in from the eastern seas. There was no better place in the world to pile up wealth.
And a bishop holding a diocese here was as good as wearing an overflowing money pouch at his belt.
"Then all this friendliness is because of the betrayal accusations, I take it?"
Kaenerna smiled faintly. Johan was a pleasure to converse with—a noble who actually listened and didn't try to steamroll you with his own opinions was a rare thing.
"I suppose so. The Republic's politics are a bit... barbaric, after all."
Isn't feudalism not exactly a refined system itself...?
From Kaenerna's perspective as a typical imperial citizen, the city-states' arrangement—power parceled out among a handful of great families—looked like nothing but anxiety waiting to happen.
Even a man elected podestà could be swept out of office over a few mistakes.
Suetlg chimed in with his agreement.
"Venedo has more than enough men who could offer you more gold than the bishop did. From his position, the anxiety must be unbearable. Mercenaries are reliable when things go well, but the moment they turn bad, they become suspicious."
Hiring mercenaries was always a dilemma. Even paying a steep price bought no certainty that they wouldn't turn traitor.
And soldiers led by a knight weren't much different. Knights were people too. If every knight had been loyal and noble, the phrase "robber knight" would never have been coined.
"Guarding a bishop sounds like easy money to me..."
"Whether you can call it a business I don't know, but I agree it's a good opportunity."
Biagione wore the expression of a thoroughly satisfied man. He had spoken not only with Lord Lepiata but with Count Ganelwood as well, conveying his sincere assurance that the Republic had no intention of fighting the Duke.
But that was not what pleased him so. His satisfaction came from the several hundred soldiers trailing behind.
Johan, of course, and Gerdolf and Marco too—and the warriors like Aclada, whose appearance was a touch suspect but whose muscle was unquestionable.
"Are there truly men who dare threaten Your Grace?"
"Ah, brother. The world is full of the immoral and the corrupt."
The bishop said it with a sorrowful face.
"Among the families seated on the city council, there are those who envy and resent this Biagione. To think they would dare threaten me within my own diocese—and issue open threats, no less!"
"How dreadful. Men who deserve far worse than divine punishment."
For a place calling itself a republic, Venedo's council was better understood as a collection of near-aristocratic houses. The families hired mercenaries and used them like private soldiers, each ruling over its own slice of the Republic's far-flung territory.
When disputes arose, bloody attacks back and forth were an everyday affair.
"...!"
Over a hill blanketed in grass, a company of more than a few dozen men appeared. Marco's eyes went wide at the sight of the family banner. It belonged to one of the southern houses of Catalia.
"L-Lord. That is the banner of House Orlon."
"Should that matter to me?"
"Well, that house is a southern house, and the southern houses..."
Marco hesitated. It was a little awkward for a former prisoner of war to say it aloud.
"Imperialist houses?"
"...Yes. Likely vassals of the Emperor."
"Thank you for telling me. Good news, that."
Johan surveyed the knights and soldiers loyal to the Emperor. Despite the fact that the bishop had a force of this size behind him, they showed not a shred of fear.
Are they close with the bishop?
They were not, of course. The men brought their horses up in front of the bishop, halted, and raised their heads arrogantly. The courtesy was present; the expressions were not.
"What are those warriors of yours, Your Grace the Bishop?"
"Men who will help this Biagione root out the bandits infesting the diocese and deal with the monsters."
"For such work, aren't they rather... rough and untamed?"
The Orlon knight scowled at the eastern tribal warriors. The nobles of the southern peninsula felt the Empire's influence strongly, and to these men, the eastern nomadic tribes were hardly better than savages.
Aclada was grinning, but there was frost in his eyes. Given the word, he'd have an arrow nocked in an instant. Johan signaled him to hold back with a gesture.
"Better than borrowing strength from the Emperor, wouldn't you say? Your master still acts like the Emperor's faithful hound, does he?"
"That is going too far, Your Grace."
The knight glared at the bishop as he spoke. Since no swordplay was actually going to break out here, it was clear both sides simply meant to vent their sharpest insults while they had the chance.
"There are rumors, Your Grace, that the irregularities you committed have reached the Holy See. I pray they are false."
"And you believe such rumors. I swear before God that this Biagione has never once harbored a dishonest thought."
The knights snorted at the bishop's words. Anyone who had spent time in the Republic knew the bishop was a greedy man.
Moreover, the irregularities he'd committed had been reported up the church hierarchy, and he was taking considerable flak for it. No one feared a power-holder who might collapse with one more push.
Despite insults that would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances, the bishop did not waver. There were times to endure.
And now that he had brought soldiers like this, the other side wouldn't dare move against him for a while.
"Well now, who's going to believe that..."
While the two sides exchanged empty bluster, Johan finished his calculations.
Thinking on it, being hired like this was an opportunity—and not merely in the sense of collecting the bishop's gold.
An opportunity to rampage under the bishop's name!
There was no reason to sit quietly and take only the coins handed over. What could be seized, when it could be seized, ought to be seized—all of it.
The justification is ours, the responsibility falls on the bishop, and the profit goes to us. Excellent.
"Prepare to attack!"
"?"
"I am Johan of Yeats. Banneret of Brudhe and knight of the Duke. Declare your names!"
At Johan's sudden declaration of attack, the enemy knights reeled in shock.
"What nonsense is this? You said you were hired by His Grace the Bishop!"
"You act on your own without the Bishop's orders? While His Grace is—"
The knights had been able to act so confident despite their far smaller numbers precisely because of the bishop. Biagione, under fire for his many irregularities, was in no position to escalate anything. Striking first was beyond his wildest dreams.
But Johan was no docile, obedient sellsword. And thanks to the enemies' failure to grasp the situation and their jeering taunts, his justification was airtight.
A knight risen in fury, unable to bear the insult against his bishop!
"The insult to His Grace the Bishop, I shall wash away with this sword. If you are knights, give your names and face me!"
"W-wait a moment—"
The bishop cried out in horror and tried to stop him. He had hired Johan and the warriors purely as a show of force, not to launch an attack.
If they flew into a rampage like this at their own whim, what would make them any different from common mercenaries!
"Attack them! Capture every last one—not a single man escapes!"
"We've been waiting for those words, milord!"
Aclada whooped and began swiftly circling wide to the rear with the tribal warriors—a movement aimed at cutting off the enemy's line of retreat.
Gerdolf and Marco split to the left and right and charged, while Johan drove straight up the middle.
"Seize that one! That man must be taken alive, no matter what!"
At Johan's shout, the warriors grinned. Judging by how he called for that one, their leader had to be worth a handsome price.
The battle was short but violent. The men with any fight in them took arrows and were beaten down first, and the rest surrendered on the spot. The difference in numbers had simply been too great.
"I... I surrender."
The surviving knights and soldiers gave themselves up with faces that said they could not believe what had happened. They couldn't fathom what the bishop thought he was doing, pulling a stunt like this.
Had he truly resolved to lose his bishopric?
"Your Grace. We'll be taking those prisoners, per custom."
"N-no! Brother! What is the meaning of this! What am I to do if you act on your own like this?!"
"But didn't they insult Your Grace?"