Founding Greatness

Part 1

1175, Blumhöring
Hermann tapped his heel against the lion statue. His eyes were clear and attentive as he glanced around the Blumhöring Cathedral’s ancient courtyard littered with the towns leading bourgeoise and Gentry discussing matters of ‘importance’. Children were playing amongst themselves and hemming their mothers courting as they had during the service. A group of young men ogled at a few women who had decided to fight the heat of mid-summer by not wearing underclothes.

But this was of no importance to Hermann. He walked through the crowd with ease as he was well known for being the bishop’s son and also for acting like his father. He was even related by law to the bastard son of the Emperor Manuel Komenos by his Aunt’s marriage. He had no shortage of women in his live.
He wiped beads of sweat from his low hairline with a shaking hand, assured that the sweat wasn’t from the heat and hoped no one would notice such.

Strapped to he waist above his underclothes was a sharp jeweled short sword, and a letter from the newly coronated Emperor Otto the IV. Hermann was part of the court of Emperor Otto’s predecessor and he had been dismissed. He reached for the letter that had ended his career in the royal court. He walked through the nave, pushing away the silk lining of his tunic which he would have otherwise flaunted to those who pass by to remind them of his class. But today he had lost that class and there was no reason to gloat at loss.
There were still a few people left in the Cathedral, mostly adults conversing and a few peasants alongside recently destitute, trying to persuade the men-at-arms (looking rather disinterested) guarding the door to the bishop’s office to most likely wishing for blessings, holy water, or such.

With a courteous nod to the 2 men-at-arms he walked in as a few of the petitioners tried grabbing at the hem of his skirt calling for his favor. He quickly brushed them off shutting the door behind himself and proceeds to dust the filth of their simplicity of himself.

“HERMANN…” said His father in a tense loud and angry whisper, which was disturbing as his fathers deep booming voice was one of a man of conversation. “What were you THINKING! Four years of my life I have helped you to achieve your ambitions and you REPAY ME LIKE THIS!!” His father’s peaceful nature forced him to temper his anger but Hermann could still sense the rise in Bishop Franz’s whisper. The Bishop walked across the room towering Hermann, with a pale face and shaking hands making his purple and gold robes more striking.

The Bishop had a rather weird aura usually. A peaceful but dominating man who would strike out in a room. His face was not remarkable however, but is regular features had aged well giving him a wizened look. It was complimented by his Slightly grayed shoulder length hair and heavy beard and appeared to make his face sag, masking his emotions. He was often found at his brothers, the Count of Blumhöring’s court appeasing and convincing his frequent visitors creating powerful friends which in turn, increased his own political means and power. The Bishop was an important and powerful man and important men did not like being outsmarted.

Hermann was not afraid of his father but the Bishop’s quiet rage gave him the fear of a man who knew he had wronged and could do nothing to fix it. However, the rage seemed slightly falsified.

“F-Father please reconsider the Emperor, it would be for your betterment,”
“To hell with the Emperor!” He shook his fist in the air. “My son will to be NO pawn in a game of diplomacy which hopes for war. My name will not be tainted by such filth!”
Hermann’s eyes widened in shock and fear. Even though he was well known as the bishop’s son but to acknowledge it would be a complete rejection of his vows. Hermann’s fear vanished and replaced by a cold anger to his distant father who dared to call him his son.
“Father Listen,” He replied in a harsh loud whisper.
“I will not hear of it,”
“I will never get such an opportunity. After a few years I will have maneuvered to have gained the Duke’s trust and would have gained a secure post in his court. We could—"
“NO!”
His father’s yell silenced the room and the cathedral. One of the men-at-arms opened the door a crack to check on the Bishop and quickly shut it realizing it was a private matter. Quiet murmurs from people inside the cathedral rose gradually questioning the reason for the yell.
A glaring contest between the two of them lasted a few seconds. Hermann saw in his father’s eyes he would not be reasoned with and a cloud of annoyance came over him. This was unusual behavior for his father which was extremely aggravating. His father was a man of words. Not anger.
“Then I will simply go alone,”
“If you go I will disown you,” the Bishop spat with contempt.
Hermann laughed. “I'm your bastard. You already disowned me.”

An expression of cool acceptance
passed over his father’s face as Hermann turned on his heel and stormed out of the Bishop’s office. He slammed the door open, hitting the guard’s nose who screamed a curse in anger but restrained himself restraining himself after remembering who Hermann was.
Herman’s cold fury ross over quickly, he was annoyed and shaking with anger by his father’s behavior. His by that his father, did not see the Emperor’s perspective. He planned to return the union of Germanic states to a time of great unity and strength not seen since Charlemagne. He did not understand the strength of the united German’s.

He stormed sullenly out of the cathedral thinking over his future political engagements when one of the doormen to hurriedly slammed the door shut, catching his tunic.
This was too much to bear. After a month of embarrassment and the disownment of his father he could take no more embarrassment. And this guard had just torn his richly embraided tunic revealing his undershirt.

Hermann leapt at the doorman.
He yelled as his vision was clouded by an unfamiliar rage, tearing, punching, and pulling at the flesh of the poor unfortunate man.
The other doorman and the shocked onlookers in the courtyard shared a shock that a man of such respect would reduce his dignity to the point of fighting over a torn tunic. After the initial shock, a few men rushed over to drag him away from his victim.
As 2 burly men lifted him from the doorman, he pulled his short sword from his scabbard and struck at the door man. His hand was pulled back by one of his restrainers, but he managed to inflict a deep gash between his collar bone and his neck. 

Hermann struggled to free himself. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and gasped as one of his father’s men-at-arms struck his arm with the hilt of his sword to disarm him. He then repeated to strike his shoulder twice more and heard a sharp crack. He looked up at the man and saw a broken nose and malice in his eye. He had just slammed the door on to this man’s face. Hermann collapsed onto the floor in pain, his right arm now useless lay in a disturbing orientation on the floor. His anger subdued and he glanced in horror at the man in front of him. The man was pale, his simple garments were being torn away by an old barber who had experience with such injuries from previous wars and strapped around the gash to meet at his back to be tied. The man was silent, pale and sweating. He screamed and tears left his eyes, but not a single tear escaped his eyes.

The cathedral door was still open ajar and Hermann could see the bishop storming down the aisle. A second later, his father materialized. HE glanced at him, and then at the door man and looked back at him aghast.
His face went dark with fury. “YOU ATTACK MY DOORMAN IN COLDBLOOD,” He yelled, “WHERE IN GODS HOME, YOU ATTEMPTING TO KILL HIM!?!” He turned and faced the guards who were unnerved at their timid boss’s second unusual outburst in a day. “Take this man to the sheriff’s prison where he will receive what is due…” he ordered through tight teeth “Standard procedure”. The guards looked at one another and the one with the broken nose smiled and struck Hermann’s head with the hilt of his sword.