"Are you sure we should portray him in such a sympathetic light? He was a Nazi…"
Nath nodded firmly. "Absolutely. I've told you Opa's stories about him – Opa respected him, more than he respected anyone in the Nazi regime. I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for him. And anyways, you've met his grandson. He hasn't given us any reason to doubt his grandfather's version of events."
Marc frowned. "True… but it still feels weird."
"We won't show anything but the truth."
Salza Estate outside Berlin, March 1938
"Herr Salza? There are two men here who wish to speak to you."
Sigmund looked up from his book and hummed. The butler's eyes were wide with excitement, his back straighter than usual. Sigmund cocked his head to one side, examining Mathias carefully. Warm sunlight streamed through the floor-length windows into his study, giving the room a warm, comfortable air – the spring looked to be a warm one, though there was still a nip in the air. Mathias seemed to quiver with barely-restrained energy, standing with his hands behind his back while waiting for Sigmund's response. Something was different. Sigmund carefully marked his place in the book and set it aside before resting his elbows on the chair's armrests and folding his hands under his chin. "Visitors?" he asked, furrowing his brows. "I do not remember anyone being on my schedule."
"These men did not make an appointment."
"I see." Sigmund frowned for a long moment before letting out a sigh. "Oh, very well. Thank you for letting me know. Please, show them in."
"Yes, sir."
As the butler gave a quick bow and backed out of the room, Sigmund glanced around his study. The family estate outside of Berlin had been his home for as long as he could remember, but it had only been in the last few years that his parents had elected to move into the city, closer to the theaters and museums that they loved so much – and to the doctors and hospitals that his father had needed so badly. Now, all the books; all the awards lining the mantle and hanging on the walls; the almost-life-sized painting above the mantlepiece depicting a large, broad-chested man in a suit of full plate armor, longsword in hand and standing in front of an imposing castle; all of it was his. And with it, all the attendant responsibility.
Sigmund did not have long to wait before Mathias returned to the study and stepped aside to allow two men in long military coats to march past him. The first soldier through the doorway, bearing golden insignia of office on his collar and shoulders, held his hands behind his back, standing ramrod straight, as he strode into the center of the room and pivoted in place to look down his nose at Sigmund, his mouth set in a thin line. The second man, dark-haired, his nose long and curved, with a circlet perched on his head, wore a similar uniform, but without any visible rank insignia. Following the first officer's lead, he eyed Sigmund predatorily. Mathias stood by the study door, watching eagerly, until Sigmund gave him a sharp look. Starting in surprise, Mathias backed out, shutting the door behind him.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" asked Sigmund once they were alone, sizing them up in a quick glance. The commander's eyes narrowed, his mouth drawn into a thin line, watching Sigmund with equal intensity. Slowly, Sigmund reached for the letter opener he had placed on the end table next to his armchair; the other officer's eyes followed the movement. Sigmund pursed his lips. "What can I do for… two members of the Fuhrer's SS?"
The second officer sneered, his eyes flashing in amusement.
"Only one," the commander informed Sigmund curtly. "My… companion may wear the uniform, but only as a civilian affiliated with my department. 'Herr Wentz' acts as a consultant to the Fuhrer and myself in matters… arcane and mystical. And I trust I need no introduction."
"Even so, Reichsführer Himmler." Sigmund inclined his head, without rising, not taking his eyes off of Himmler's face. "Then to what do I owe this… honor?"
Himmler scoffed. "I would have thought it was obvious, Herr Salza. This is an auspicious week! The Fatherland has been reunited once more, brought together under the leadership of our Fuhrer as part of his vision of Greater Germany."
Sigmund arched an eyebrow. "I had heard something about that," he acknowledged. "I suppose congratulations are in order for a bloodless invasion."
"'Invasion'?" Himmler spat. "We did not invade our German brothers; we merely brought them back to their roots."
"Perhaps." Sigmund smiled thinly. "And I am certain that our Austrian brothers would agree."
"Yes. They would." Himmler's nostrils flared. "However, our vision for Greater Germany brings with it certain… issues. Our Fatherland cannot stand strong if it is weakened at its foundation through disloyalty, you understand."
Sigmund's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Please, Reichsführer," he responded acidly, "make your purpose clear."
"In recent years, there have been… questions raised. Surrounding the loyalty of certain parties to our Fuhrer and his vision for our German Aryan future. If there are groups and people within our nation loyal to others above der Fuhrer, then the Fatherland cannot be secure." Himmler stared hard at Sigmund. "I trust my meaning is clear."
Sigmund's mouth set in a thin line, and he leaned forward, the letter opener clutched tightly in both hands. "Very clear, Herr Himmler. I had… heard of those rumors. My father dismissed them as simple warmongering and fearmongering. But I assure you, you can rest easy: the loyalty of the Teutonic Order is not to the Pope. Nor is it to der Fuhrer. The loyalty of the Order–"
"If its loyalty is not to der Fuhrer," Himmler interrupted, his eyes narrowing in fury, "then the Order is a traitor to the Reich! And," he added, pointing a finger at Sigmund, "if your loyalty is not to the Reich, then you are a traitor, as well, Herr Salza," he spat. "And I think it is very clear what the penalty is for treason."
Sigmund surged to his feet, his eyes flashing with rage. Himmler glared back at him, his mouth set in a thin line. Beside him, Herr Wentz's eyes followed Sigmund, though he made no other move. "You dare come into my house and accuse me of treason? And with no evidence?" Sigmund seethed, clenching his fist around the letter opener so tightly his knuckles turned white. "My family's loyalty and honor has never been in doubt, never been questioned!"
"I do question your loyalty – yours, and that of every other traitor to the Reich who has lived off of the Reich's benevolence. But no more: those whose loyalty is in question is no longer be allowed to operate under our auspices." Himmler's nostrils flared, the hint of a smile curving up his mouth. Sigmund furrowed his brows in confusion. "Oh, yes, Herr Salza," Himmler told him softly. "Just today, the traitors have been dealt with. This… Order that you and your family have served for so long? It is no more. Its properties and assets now belong to the Reich, to see to as I see fit." Herr Wentz cleared his throat. "As we see fit," Himmler amended, not taking his eye off Sigmund's face. "As the symbols that they always have been: of the superiority of the German people and of the Aryan race."
Sigmund's jaw clenched, schooling his features to avoid giving Himmler the satisfaction of seeing the effect that his words had. His stomach churned uncomfortably. The Order, dissolved? Declared traitors to the Reich? Its assets seized by the SS? How could any of this have happened? For 900 years, his family had served the Teutonic Order, through countless wars and battles, always serving honorably, serving with distinction to held and defend the innocent, to heal those who had been harmed. Nine hundred years of history… abolished in a matter of hours. This madman that they had placed into power sought to erase the very memory of the Teutonic Order. And he would drag the Order down into his own psychotic image, using it as a puppet, a tool for his self-invented fable of an ancient German heritage? That was not what the Teutonic Order stood for!
Had the world gone mad?
"Very well," Sigmund conceded, still staring into Himmler's face, his knuckles turning white around his letter opener, his clenched jaw aching. "Then why come to me?"
Himmler sneered, his eyes flashing with amusement. "I would have thought it was obvious, Herr Ritter." Sigmund's eyes widened. "Oh, yes," Himmler continued, his voice dropping lower in volume. "We know who you are. We know what you possess. And we will have the loyalty of the German Knight."
"My loyalty," Sigmund retorted, straightening his back and bringing himself up to his full height, "is to the German people. And to the Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in–"
"Yes, yes, that old story," Herr Wentz scoffed, quirking his eyebrows at Sigmund in amusement. "Save me your sanctimonious prattle. I have seen thousands of men with your 'honor', all of whom fell into line eventually. You are a tool, a weapon. Nothing more. And you are a weapon that will be pointed in the correct direction. Or…"
Sigmund turned to face him, the letter opener held in front of his chest. "Or what?"
"Or I will find a more… worthy weapon," Himmler informed him. "I have fifty candidates back at my headquarters, all eager to serve the Fatherland as the symbol of the superiority of the Aryan race."
"No." Herr Wentz shook his head. "No, I do not think that we will replace Herr Salza," he whispered, his voice laced with venom. He stepped forward to study Sigmund more carefully, hardly paying any attention to the letter opener. His lip curled. "I would much rather… convince Herr Salza to see reason."
"Vampir, I tolerate your presence here, but I will not be countermanded!" Himmler turned on him, his eyes narrowed. "You are an advisor, nothing more. The decision is mine alone."
Vampir's eyes flashed. "Oh, but my way is so much more fun, Herr Reichsführer. You will have your symbol… one way or the other." Himmler's mouth set in a thin line. Vampir turned to study Sigmund closely. "So, which will it be, Herr Ritter?"
Sigmund looked back and forth between the two men, his mouth set in a thin line, his face shut down into a mask that would give away none of his thoughts. His jaw clenched, bile rising in his stomach. To submit to Hitler's lapdog and betray his ideals? Or to stand for his ideals and take the punishment which they threatened. His instinct was to resist, to force them to do their worst… but looking into Vampir's face, he had already read Sigmund's thoughts and anticipated that move. Did he have some weapon that could match Sigmund's own? Was that a risk he was willing to take?
Never had the letter opener in his hands felt heavier and more burdensome than at this moment.
Suddenly, the weight of the mantle that had been placed upon him came crashing down on his shoulders. His father had entrusted this to him, as his father had entrusted it to him, and on back through the generations. He had charged Sigmund with serving as a symbol of honor. "Helfen, Wehren, Heilen": "Help, Defend, Heal." That was what the Teutonic Knight stood for, what the Teutonic Order idealized. That was the charge he had been given. But if what they said was true, the Teutonic Order was no more. The Order had died, and did that death take with it the ideals for which the Order had stood?
No. Sigmund steeled himself. No, the ideals of the Order would not die with it. But if he went along with their plan, if he became their symbol, then those ideals would die, with him driving the final sword through their heart. The last Teutonic Knight, betraying his honor.
But… what other choice did he have? If he refused – if he fought them and lost – they would simply take his sword and give it to another, one who had no understanding of the history and legacy which this sword represented. And then the ideals would die with him all the same. He would retain his honor, but without accomplishing anything. While if the sword remained with him…
There was no other choice.
"Very well, Reichsführer," Sigmund told Himmler evenly, forcing himself to look the man in the eye. "I am… yours to command."
"Heil Hitler, Herr Ritter."