by Adrienne

The British ambassador could not have been sent on a worse day to visit the palace at Hesse. The marble hall was ghostly quiet, as though the courtiers had fled for their lives. In fact, most had done just that. A violent banging- followed by a murderous roar- thundered at the door of the great hall. The ambassador quivered as he made obeisance to the prince, who regarded the outburst in the hall with white-faced indifference.

"Open this door, you royal pig, or I will cut it down!" the perpetrator bellowed, his steady blows causing the solid wooden doors to shudder on their hinges.

"God help me, Von Reiker! How many times must I turn you down?" shouted the prince, ignoring the ambassador and rising to his feet. "How many times must you cause a row in my court when you know it will serve you to no avail?"

One of the few noblemen's wives present pulled the trembling ambassador aside with delicate fingers. She whispered in his ear, "This is how it is when Jürgen walks. God save us all! If your king knew-"

"Jürgen?" whispered the ambassador incredulously, cutting her off. "The madman exists?"

"Ja," the lady confirmed gravely. "You have heard rumors?"

"Yes.... Hushed snippets on the ship during my passage across the channel, murmurs that grew louder in each town that I passed through to get here. But I do not know who he is. The commoners' opinion is that he is one of Hell's own minions bent on bringing your prince's reign to ruin."

"They are not so far from the truth," the lady said.

"How so?"

The lady drew in her breath. "Since her execution, Jürgen has not been the same."

"I do not understand. What does he want?" the ambassador asked. Before the lady could answer, the prince turned his attention back to his visitor.

"Forgive this barbaric intrusion, honored guest," said the prince, his cheeks now flushed an angry shade of scarlet. The unseen Jürgen continued his assault on the doors. The Englishman forgot his original purpose for being there.

"My liege, who is this man?"

"You mean the devil at the door?" asked the prince with a weary smile. "Quite a long story, ich denke."

"I should like to hear it, sire," replied the ambassador, curiosity eclipsing his fear.

The prince gave an impatient sigh, eager to proceed with other matters, but he did not withhold an explanation.

"He is a baron, believe it or not, whose... eccentricities we never considered a threat until of late."

"Eccentricities, my lord?" the Englishman echoed.

A nasty snarl from the corridor assured them that Jürgen was listening.

The prince gulped audibly. "Yes.... He collects weaponry. Bladed weaponry. Each variety of knife, spear, axe, and sword that he can find. The walls of his manor are festooned with them. I have stayed there on matters of business on several occasions. His servants have never been less than polite, and he is a gracious host, so I never had reason to complain. He never goes out without the serpent sword at his belt. And God knows what else hidden on his person. He never harmed anyone until..."

"Until? I mean, your grace?"

"Until put her to death."

"With all due respect, sire, who is the elusive she whose name no one dares speak?"

"His mistress," the prince said curtly, lowering his voice an octave. "It is no secret that she was unfaithful to Jürgen. She and Von Waldemar, a soldier, have been seen together on several occasions and caught on one by an unsuspecting innkeeper. Nonetheless, Jürgen seemed to forgive her. He loved her too much to lose her and chose to overlook her treachery. I assured my spies that none of this meant anything to me until a treasonous plot involving Jürgen's mistress and Von Waldemar surfaced. I executed them a fortnight ago and have had no peace since. The death of Jürgen's lover has demented him. Last week- one morning- I found..."

The prince spoke haltingly, his voice low with terror. He stared straight ahead and blinked repeatedly, as though some image that he did not wish to see lingered before his eyes. The ambassador made a gesture of sympathy. He could not lose the rest of the tale, not after hearing so much. He had begun to recall something....

"What was it that you found, sire?"

"My guards. Dead," the prince said flatly. "Lying in pools of their own blood... headless."

The Englishman's blood froze. Yes, he had heard it back in London: a girl and her lover executed- beheaded- as traitors somewhere in southern Germany, two guards found murdered shortly after.... If only he could remember the girl's name-

"Was her name Hannelore?" the ambassador blurted a bit too loudly.

Jürgen's cry of grieved rage was deafening. Wails of terror rang through the great hall at the sound of splintering wood. The Englishman could not believe his eyes. Massive splinters of wood flew inward with incredible force. The doors swung open with a final, resounding crack.

A whimpering hush fell over the court. The prince rose stiffly, his livid eyes traversing the distance between the ambassador and the nightmare of a man standing in the shattered doorway.

The ambassador stared. Jürgen was not as extraordinarily tall as he had expected, but tall enough to strike an imposing figure. Demonic blue eyes blazed in a ghastly pale face that might have been curiously attractive were it not for Jürgen's insanity. His even, faintly yellowish teeth were bared, set in a straight line of fury. His chaotic black hair stood up in all directions. No need to look fetching when your sweetheart is bloody six feet under, thought the Englishman with shock. Beneath an impressive black cloak, Jürgen wore a typical nobleman's garb, save that each garment was a shade of deep charcoal or black. A sword with a silver hilt worked into the likeness of a serpent with red gimlet eyes was fastened at his hip. A huge axe gleamed wickedly in his left hand.

"You," Jürgen rasped, advancing upon the Englishman with his axe held at arm's length, "dare to speak the name of my beloved? To make a curiosity of my poor, misfortunate, wrongly-accused Hannelore? How dare you, Engländer! Das Schwein!"

The ambassador moved his lips, but no sound issued from them. The blade of Jürgen's axe was at his throat, a cool streak of pain biting into his flesh.

"Baron von Reiker," said the prince tensely, "this is no way to treat King George's man."

"Was it any way to treat my only love?" Jürgen hissed pathetically. The axe bit more firmly into the ambassador's skin. He dared not move. He heard the lady who had spoken to him earlier say something in a transparent whisper.

"It is the executioner's axe," she breathed. "The one that took her life."

Jürgen's eyes flared. "I will spare this stranger, sire," he offered icily, "if you will grant my request."

"Absolutely not!" bellowed the prince.

"If I m-may ask," the Englishman stammered, his tongue feeling thick, "what is it that Baron von Reiker wishes of you, my lord, to have asked and been turned down so many times?" He felt the axe's pressure lessen slightly. Jürgen answered for the prince.

"All that I ask is a place in the Jäger Corps, that I might go to the new world and fight the rebels who threaten your king's empire," Jürgen explained coolly. "But my liege refuses-"

"A man such as you would disgrace the good name of my ranks!" raged the prince. Suddenly, the Englishman saw a glimmer of hope.

"Baron," he said respectfully to his bloodthirsty captor, "if you would release me, I believe that I might present a solution to both your troubles. After all, I have not yet said why I have been sent. I have not had the chance."

The prince looked as though he almost wished Jürgen would dispose of the ambassador, but Jürgen exhaled sharply and backed down. The Englishman fell to his knees, fingering the thin streak of blood at his throat.

"Speak swiftly, Briton," Jürgen growled.

"Sire," the ambassador began, prostrate before the prince, "I come to tell you that we are in desperate need of more men. The rebels are gaining a foothold. They are confident, and we greatly underestimated their ability. Such a man as this, Your Majesty, such a man as this..." said the ambassador, rising to his feet and sweeping an arm at Jürgen, "would strike terror into the very hearts of those upstart revolutionaries! He is exactly what we need to ensure our victory. It is hard," warned the ambassador, "to pay those who have aided you with their manpower when one has lost a war."

Jürgen lowered the axe, blinking in disbelief. The prince's shoulders slumped as the full force of the Englishman's words hit. It was a logical proposition. Jürgen was the first to speak.

"That's right, Your Grace," he taunted insolently, "consider it. Not only will you have me off your hands, but the rebels will run scared. You'll be paid your due. Think about it. For you, money is at stake. All I want is blood."

The prince's mouth twitched, but he did not reply.

"I have nothing left here to live for!" Jürgen roared. "Send me to fight! I will contrive to set heads rolling here on home soil if you refuse me again... and yours will be first on my list."

The courtesans gasped. The threat was direct and audacious. Jürgen raised the axe and recovered the step he had taken away from the British ambassador.

"Send him to fight, sire," the Englishman pleaded for his own sake and- he was surprised to find- for the sake if the madman before him. He felt a bizarre, contorted sense of pity for the depraved baron. The ambassador remembered something else. And embellished it..

"Your Majesty, it is rumored even as far as London that he rides like Hell on horseback."

"You mean that word of this lunatic has spread that far in less than a month?"

"Yes, sire. Everyone is restless and gossip-hungry. Please, consider what I have said. We will pay double for him!" I do not want to die, thought the ambassador, and neither do you, sire, so accept and save both our necks... and grant this man's twisted wish, if it will give him peace!

The prince sat and closed his eyes. "Baron von Reiker will be on the next ship of mercenaries that I send to the Colonies. Tell King George that he is fortunate I assented to send any more men at all. Messenger, return to London. And should your king send word in the future, tell him that I recommend he send it with you. You are the only ambassador from across the channel that I have encountered who can actually speak German."

This sent a ripple of nervous laughter through the small crowd. Jürgen drew the attention back to himself with a low warning growl, sheathing the axe in his belt alongside the sword. He made a mock obeisance.

"So kind of you, Wilhelm, to honor the wishes of the bereaved."

"Never use my name to address me again, you dog! Get out of my sight and be ready to cross the Atlantic in two weeks' time. And mark my words: if so much as one more head is parted from its person during that time, yours will be parted from its in compensation!"

"Words marked," said Jürgen with satisfaction. The madman's eyes rested upon the British ambassador a second longer before he spun on his black-booted heel and departed.

The Englishman said his formal farewells and followed a safe distance on silent feet, wanting to avoid and at the same time observe Baron von Reiker's departure. He lingered just behind the palace door, watching Jürgen march down the stairs into the cool evening.

The demoniac Hessian approached a huge black horse tethered near his own smaller steed. He was startled to hear Jürgen speak in heavily accented English as he caressed his stallion's shining mane.

"He say, that Briton, we ride like Hell, Daredevil. You and me, we give those rebels Hell for him and Hannelore, nicht?"

Jürgen swung into the saddle, borne away seconds later on the wings of the approaching night. The Englishman emerged from hiding then and watched Jürgen von Reiker ride away. He was certain that the butchered English had been meant for his ears only. The madman had known he was listening. And had thanked him.

The British ambassador touched the cut on his neck. It would heal with little to no scar, he knew. But the heart of the man who had delivered it would not.

"God help you and the Devil take you," he said to the dark horse and rider as they vanished into the blood-glow of the autumn sunset.