Cardinal Vices

Cardinal Benes stalked through the gilded corridors of Neuwanschtein, casting a long shadow as he did so.

The Prince of the Church – and of much else besides – was a tall man, as tall as any of the King's grenadiers who stood on guard in the corridors he walked down, or before the doors he passed. He was dressed in flowing scarlet robes which billowed out around him as he swept through the palace, and atop his head, resting upon his long, flowing dark hair, sat a red skull cap. An ornate golden cross hung from his neck, suspended by a thick ribbon of blue silk, although an observer might have noticed that the cross hung upside down – but it would be a brave soul who dared to inform the Cardinal himself of this. His features were sharp, but in a way that was handsome rather than being rat-like or unsightly; his eyes were green, and a moustache ending in two sharp points just beyond the edge of his mouth colonised his upper lip, while the goatee that clung to his chin was beginning to fleck with a distinguished grey.

He walked through the corridors of the palace, and no man dared to stay him, for he was the Minister-President of Bavaria, Queen Maria Theresa's chief and most trusted minister, and there were those who whispered that it was he, not the Dowager Queen, who was the guiding mind of Bavaria and Austria and all of her imperial dominions, and that it was his policy that had set the Gallic powers on the run.

Cardinal Benes did nothing to dispel such whispers. In fact he welcomed them, false though they were. In truth, he would have very much preferred if he had been the architect and guiding mind of policy in the Holy Roman Empire. He was not, but he made discreet efforts to present himself as though he was: when Her Majesty cut taxes, he put out word that this was really his doing; when a victory was won he made it known that it was his sagacious strategy that had enabled the masterstroke; conversely, when their forces were defeated it was because Her Majesty had ignored his wise council; when the harvest failed, it was he who had pleaded most eloquently for aid to the poor, impoverished peasants.

It wasn't having as great an effect on his prestige as he might have hoped; in part because he was forced to be discreet about it, lest he incur Queen Maria Theresa's wrath at his impertinence – she could not remove him from his position in the church, but she could dismiss him from his temporal office – and partly because she was rather good at publicising her own deeds, and had no shame in doing so.

Cardinal Benes found it strange, bordering upon absurd, that people should love their widowed queen and their little king so. He had been born a butcher's son in Bohemia, he had worked hard to attend a Grammar School in Prague, and then studied Theology at the University of Vienna, where he had been initiated into more mysteries than those of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. He had been born with nothing, yet with his wit, his intellect, his ambition and his drive to work hard he had made himself a Prince of the Church, the Cardinal Archbishop of Munich, Minister-President of Bavaria… and yet not only was he the subject of scorn and mockery from the nobility, who called him a butcher's son as though that was something to be ashamed of, who looked at his wealth and his power with envy and suspicion, but he also had to suffer the distrust and dislike of the poor who ought to have respected his accomplishments and looked to him to be their champion. Meanwhile they fawned upon a daughter of the House of Habsburg, a son of the Houses of Habsburg and Wittelsbach, and cheered for her even as she held them in contempt, and gleefully enlisted in the army, risked their lives, to add another crown to the Empire's sprawling possessions.

It was inexplicable to him. Even with his knowledge of the arts worldly and arcane he still could not explain it. There was no magic that could produce such feelings.

No matter. If he could not rule over the Empire from behind the scenes, if he could not be the grey eminence that he would have wished, then he would at least leave behind something for his successors to build upon until one day they would rule.

Maria Theresa was the past, and even she was aware of the fact, much though she tried to fight against it. Cardinal Benes was fighting too, and he would win.

The future belonged to him and his.

The dog might not have its day, but it would leave bones behind for those who came after.

As if summoned by his thoughts, those same thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a dog barking. Cardinal Benes came to a halt as a Great Pyrenees bounded around the corner to come face to face with the cardinal. Not quite face to face, the dog was a monster but not quite that big, thank God and the Devil, but close enough; too close for the liking of Cardinal Benes.

He had been bitten by a mastiff when he was a small boy, and been unable to abide dogs since.

It didn't help that this particular dog disliked him intensely.

It's name was Alexander, and it stood almost to his waist and seemed wider than he was thanks to the exceeding fluffiness of its fur. It if stood on its hind legs it would have been able to lick his face, although it would have been more likely to bite his face with the way that it was growling at him, baring its teeth in his direction.

It did not like him. The feeling was mutual. It was a sheepdog by breeding, the kind of dog bred by the shepherds of southern Aquitaine to ward their flocks and fight off wolves, and for reasons of practicality – the beast was far too big for a palace, and in any case quite unnecessary – and patriotism – it was an Aquitainian breed, and they were at war with Aquitaine – Cardinal Benes had lobbied to have it banished, if not put down. But it had been a gift to King Maximilian from Amelie the huntress, a companion and a protector for him, and the boy king could not bear to be parted from it and the Queen would not deny her son in this, and so the dog remained.

It liked him as little as she who had given the dog liked him. Amelie liked him not, although what grounds he had given her to dislike him Cardinal Benes knew not; all he knew was that she tensed in his presence, and underneath her bowing and the whispered 'your eminence' she always managed to look as though she were reaching for a knife.

It was as though she feared he might be a threat to the King.

Admittedly, that might be true, but she didn't know that. All she had were gut prejudices and base suspicion, the same suspicions that made him so little loved amongst the common rabble from which she had sprung.

He had attempted to have the huntress set away as well; it was a sign of to what extent Cardinal Benes was not the secret ruler of Bavaria that he had lost that battle as well.

"Your Majesty, I implore you-"

"You implore me, Eminence? On what grounds?" Maria Theresa demanded. "What is it to you whether the girl stays or goes?"

"I question the need for her," Cardinal Benes replied. "I do not understand Your Majesty's purpose in her presence."

"My purpose?" Maria Theresa repeated. "Must everything I do have a purpose, Cardinal? Must my every action be but one step in some Machiavellian scheme, the objects of which will only become clear as they are attained? May I not be spontaneous? May I not make small gestures? Is it not enough to say that Amelie saved my son's life and so I reward her."

"Reward her with a copper coin and then have done," the words left Cardinal Benes' mouth before he could stop them, leaving him with no choice but to regret them.

"A copper coin?" Maria Theresa snarled at him, her eyes blazing. "A copper coin!" She advanced upon him, dress rustling, hand out as though she would strike him. "Is that how much your King's life is worth to you?"

Cardinal Benes bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I misspoke; it was never my intent to disparage… I am as grateful as any man in Bavaria for His Majesty's safe return, and for that we owe this girl-"

"Her name is Amelie," Maria Theresa reminded him, turning her back on him to stalk away across the room. "And she has done me better service than you, Your Eminence."

Cardinal Benes scowled at her while she couldn't see it. "Of course, Your Majesty. Yet to take her into the King's household-"

"His Majesty has already grown very fond of her," Maria Theresa said. "For my part I find myself fond of her also. Amelie has many excellent qualities: she is brave, capable, and I believe that she is loyal to His Majesty. She seems as fond of him as he is of her."

"Some might call her a little over-fond, Your Majesty," Cardinal Benes suggested, trying a different tack.

"She carried him home upon her shoulders, it is only natural," Maria Theresa murmured. "She brought my son back to me, Cardinal, and for that I will excuse much more than a little private informality. Indeed, to retain her loyalty and her good services I will indulge."

"Protocol and tradition-"

"Are important," Maria Theresa said. "But I will bend them, in times and places, if it means His Majesty will have around him those who have the skills and the will to keep him safe from harm."

"She is-"

"Before you go down this road too far, Eminence," Maria Theresa said, in a voice as sharp as a sword, "I urge you to consider that a woman of Amelie's skills might be harder to replace than a Minster-President of Bavaria."

The memory made him scowl. This made Alexander snarl at him even more, which made Cardinal Benes take a step back, raising his hands defensively, and attempting to feign a smile to calm the monster down.

"Alexander!" cried King Maximilian as he rounded the corner in pursuit of his dog. Queen – or Princess, depending on who you listened to – Mary of Burgundy was with him, following hard upon. They both staggered to a halt on either side of Alexander, facing Cardinal Benes.

The young king of Bavaria was a little boy of… six. Cardinal Benes was fairly certain that he was six, although he could be mistaken about that, he didn't pay a great of attention to the lad. At any rate, he was a little boy of about that age, with a round face, dark hair and olive-green eyes. Women seemed to think he had a face to dote upon, although Cardinal Benes couldn't see what was so special about it. He was dressed in a little outfit that seemed to modelled upon the uniform of a Bavarian soldier: a blue jacket with a gold waistcoat, and short white trousers which did not quite descend as far as his knees, which were visible before his long white socks began the descent to his black shoes.

The young Queen of Burgundy – it was probably fair to give her that title, since her late father had been the king and since the Empire was currently winning the war for her to claim the throne – was even younger than the King, although not by very much – he thought. Her hair was rose pink, shoulder length, and curled at the tips, while her eyes were a bright green; Cardinal Benes had no doubt that she would be a great beauty when she grew up. She was dressed in a white sailor suit, with a blue skirt and a matching blue neckerchief tied around her neck, and a straw hat with a blue ribbon sitting on top of her head.

Both King and Queen buried their hands in Alexander's immense fur as they looked up at him.

"Alexander, stop that!" King Maximilian hissed. "Good morning, Your Eminence."

Queen Mary nodded. "Yes, good morning, your eminence."

Cardinal Benes forced himself to smile. "It is always a good morning to see your majesties happy and content," he said, "and especially when your majesty can rescue me from your ferocious guard dog."

"He doesn't mean any harm," King Maximilian said. "I'm sorry."

"Not at all, your majesty, not at all," Cardinal Benes said. "Your Majesty's safety, the safety of both your majesties, is of such great concern that if I knew it would safeguard you I would gladly endure a hundred dog bites."

"Would you like to play with us, your eminence?" asked Queen Mary.

I really would rather be bitten by the dog. "Nothing would give me greater joy, your majesty, but alas I am too old to waste the day away in childish play. If you will excuse me, I have many important matters to attend to, affairs of state, you know."

"Do you know when Mother will return, your eminence?" asked King Maximilian.

"Soon, I am sure," Cardinal Benes said. "Your mother labours hard on behalf of Bavaria, of Burgundy, and of the Empire, she has miles to go before her work is done."

"But she will come back, won't she?" Queen Mary asked, digging her hands a little deeper into Alexander's fur, pressing closer to the dog for reassurance. The dog itself seemed to sense this, because it turned its head and nuzzled at her with its snout. "She will come back, she won't-"

"Her Majesty will return, your majesty," Cardinal Benes assured her. "Hale and hearty." After all, nobody has ordered her assassinated.

Although I won't deny that it has crossed my mind.

It was a fancy. More than a fancy – he had encompassed the death of old King Maximilian, the boy's father, after all – but one that would not serve his purposes. The Old King had been a peaceful man, pleasant, jovial, a devoted father and a husband, a good king by his lights but not a man of great energies, a man who had preferred to pour oil on troubled waters. By killing him, Cardinal Benes had made the Queen anxious, fearful; she clung to her only son, her only child, the great hope of these two noble houses, determined to do anything to protect him. In such a state of mind she was more likely to throw fire upon troubled oils, and that was all to the good.

All to the good of the Black Order.

Cardinal Benes bowed his head, and tiptoed around the dog – calmed by the presence of the children, it had ceased to growl at him – until he could resume his stride through the corridors once again, his red robes once more flying around him, striding over the marble, casting his shadow over the columns and the pictures of ancient kings and queens until he came to what, to the uneducated observer, must have looked like a rather unremarkable spot. Sandwiched between a suit of armour from the 1300s on one side and a portrait of Marshal von Tilly on the other, it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary stretch of corridor: gold below, with white mottled marble above, and a thin strip of blue running in the middle of the wall between them.

Cardinal Benes looked left and right; there were no guards in attendance, nor any other servants passing by. He was alone, and unobserved.

He put his hand upon the wall, fumbling slightly in the shadow of the suit of armour, feeling the surreptitious trigger concealed there.

He pushed it.

There was a click, and a thump, and a slight grinding sound as the section of wall directly before him moved backwards ever so slightly.

Cardinal Benes smiled as he pushed at the secret door, forcing it open enough that he could step through, gathering his robes around him so that they did not get caught as he shut the door once again. From the outside, the corridor would be just as it had been before, with no sign that there had ever been an entrance, or that he had used it.

In the secret passageway he was in darkness, but that only lasted for a few moments. Cardinal Benes raised his hand, and muttered a few words in an ancient, otherwise forgotten tongue.

A ball of sickly green light rose from his fingertips to illuminate the way.

It moved just ahead of the Cardinal as he walked down the passageway.

Cardinal Benes, son of a butcher, was not even or only a churchman, or a minister; he was also a warlock, the highest of warlocks.

He had not only studied theology in Vienna. While at university he had been approached by one of his tutors, a learned doctor of the laws, one who had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge and found it, ultimately, stale and unprofitable… all save for the forbidden knowledge that was closely guarded by those who possessed it, passed on only to a few: the knowledge of magic.

At university he had been admitted into the higher mysteries, the darker mysteries; he had left university not only a member of the church, but also of the Black Order, the secret society of magicians that burrowed itself into the heart of Europe, woven itself into the fabric of Christendom, that sought to control the destiny of kingdoms and the hearts and minds and souls of all who dwelt within them.

Such was the ambition, at least; yet when he had joined their number that ambition had been more honoured in the breach than in the observation. Yet now… yet now…

Now he felt as if they stood on the edge of a golden world.

There had been setbacks, to be sure, since he assumed the leadership of the Order; he had not been able to achieve the ascendancy here in Bavaria that he might have wished, he did not rule – nor could he; even if the Dowager Queen were to perish, the nobility who despised him for his crude origins would turn on him in an instant – and of course there was that business in Armorique, but at the same time Benes felt as though he could take pride in his successes. He was Minister President of Bavaria, right hand of the woman who ruled the Holy Roman Empire; he had killed the King of Bavaria, using a simple spell to spook his horse – a very useful spell that, when accomplishing death; so many rode horses, or rode in horse-drawn carriages, putting themselves at the mercy of unpredictable animals – so that it threw him to bash his head upon a rock, and with the King's death the Dowager Queen had become of a mind to start a war.

Magic was at risk in this changing world. Industry and progress threatened its power, liberal ideas and modern though threatened its hold upon hearts and minds, as the very idea of magic became more ridiculous it became harder to find new initiates for the order. Many of the things that Queen Maria Theresa felt threatened her and her system also threatened the Black Order.

Maria Theresa had killed the King and Queen of Burgundy in order to take their power for herself, and then had gone to war with Aquitaine to break their power and the ideas that spawned within the factories and counting houses.

Benes… he would go further still.

He walked through the secret passages, his footfalls echoing in the otherwise silent tunnel, the way ahead illuminated by the sickly green light, until at last he reached a chamber, hidden deep within the bowels and recesses of the castle, which was illuminated by candles mounted in sconces upon every wall. A couple of imps, grey skinned little creatures standing about knee height, one with the face of a pig and the other with the beak of a bird, swept and dusted unobtrusively in the corners.

The room was a spacious place, and much of the space was occupied: shelf after shelf of magic books, his staff of sorcery, his apothecary ingredients and crystal ball and other accoutrements of his art. A table sat in the centre of the room, and at the table, looking into the crystal ball that rested upon it, sat Desiree de Villeneuve.

She was a young girl, only sixteen or seventeen, but already a pretty thing, with golden hair and turquoise eyes and skin as mild as mother's milk. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes were ragged, but her beauty – her outer beauty, at any rate – shone regardless.

The de Villeneuve family had a long tradition of magic, and Desiree's elder sister, Grace, had been one of Cardinal Benes' most talented acolytes, his chief agent in the Kingdom of Armorique. It had been Benes' plan – eagerly endorsed by Grace herself – for her to win, by any means necessary, the heart of Prince Eugene of Armorique, only son of the king and heir to the throne. It would have been the first time that a witch had ascended to one of Europe's great thrones since Queen Grimhilde of Bohemia in the twelfth century. It would have been Benes' triumph, the undeniable sign that he had revitalised the Black Order and secured it a position of safety from whence it could build its domination into the future.

But it was not to be. Grace had failed, had overreached and, in the overreaching, lost her life. Her family's lands had been confiscated, her family had been forced to flee. Benes knew not where most of them where now, if they yet lived, but young Desiree had made it all the way to Bavaria, to the Neuwanschtein, to him. He was keeping her hidden here – she slept in the bed in the corner of the chamber – while he decided what to do with her.

Truth to tell, he rather liked having her alone like this.

She glanced at him as he came in. "How goes it in the world, master?"

"Tiresome as usual," Cardinal Benes replied. "How now, my lady, how fare you today?" He glanced at the crystal ball, and sighed at what he saw there.

Of course, she was looking at Princess Cinderella of Armorique. The girl who had bested Grace to the royal marriage, and who had been the cause of Grace's death and downfall.

Well, Grace's inability to let it go had been the cause of Grace's death and downfall, but Desiree didn't see it that way, for understandable reasons.

She was a beauty, Princess Cinderella; whether she was as beautiful as Grace was an almost academic questions, but Cardinal Benes could well see how she had become a royal bride. They said she came from humble origins, that she had been a servant girl prior to her marriage.

As someone who had risen up from humble stock himself, Benes felt a certain kinship with her, she must endure all manner of snobbery at the hands of the aristocracy.

Of course, he had risen on his wits and his ambition, he hadn't simply charmed his way into a position of power and influence like Cinderella had.

Nevertheless, despite the way that she had ruined his plans, there was a part of Benes that felt more sympathy for her than for the late lamented Grace. Grace had been unable to forgive a mere peasant for besting her, but speaking for the peasants… sometimes it was good for these proud nobles to be reminded that they did not, contrary to all expectations, control the world and all things in it.

It was just a pity their noses couldn't have been put out of joint in a way that did not inconvenience him.

Cardinal Benes' gaze flickered between Desiree on one hand and the image of Princess Cinderella in the crystal ball in the other. The princess was smiling, laughing, although the view was too tight upon her to say for sure what she was laughing or smiling at.

"She is with her children," Desiree muttered, as though she could guess Benes' thoughts.

Benes sighed. "How long have you been watching her?"

"Long enough."

Cardinal Benes walked towards her. "How long will you-"

"Until my sister is avenged!" Desiree cried, turning to face him, leaping off the wooden stool on which she had been sitting up until now. "Until Grace's bones ceased to cry out for bloody retribution! Until her spirit ceases to haunt me, demanding to know why I sit idly here while her murderer dwells in luxury and contentment in her palace! In the palace that was my sister's by right!" Her shoulders slumped, her whole body slouched forward a little bit, and a sniff escaped from Desiree. "My sister," she murmured. "Oh, my sister." She looked up into his face, her eyes beginning to well with tears. "Grace served you well," she said, accusingly.

"Grace served me poorly," Cardinal Benes answered coldly.

Desiree gasped. "She… she-"

"Failed in her task," Cardinal Benes reminded her. "And then became consumed by her need for retribution. If it were not so, then we would not be here."

Desiree's mouth hung open. Her lower lip trembled. "How… how can you-"

"Say such things to a de Villneuve?" Cardinal Benes demanded. "Or of a de Villeneuve? Very easily, my lady. You are not in your family home any more, you are not even in Armorique, you are my guest, in my chamber, and if you find the courtesy a little cold I pray you remember how few other places you have to go." He smiled, and softened his tone to soften the blow of his words. "And yet be comforted, my lady, my child; humiliation can be a hard teacher, I know, yet out of humility can come great wisdom. A lesson that Grace, for all her brilliance in the magical arts, never learned, to her sorrow. I would not have you end as she did."

"Please," Desiree squeaked. "Please, don't talk about Grace like that I… she was my sister, I-"

"Loved her?"

"She was everything I wanted to be."

"You have it in you to be more by far," Cardinal Benes said. "But not if you continue the same obsession with Princess Cinderella that destroyed your sister."

"Should I not seek vengeance?" Desiree demanded, wiping her eyes with one hand. "Is it not my duty to avenge Grace's death? Is it not our duty, yours as much as mine, for she was your servant as she was my sister?"

"Not at the expense of our greater plans," Cardinal Benes replied. For all that he felt a certain sympathy with Princess Cinderella, on account of their shared humble origins, he would not mind if she were to perish. Liberal thought, and liberal ideologies, were a threat to magic as much as to absolutism, and it seemed that Princess Cinderella was a great supporter of them.

But not yet. Not yet.

"Plans?" Desiree asked. "What plans?"

"I wish for this peace conference to go ahead," Cardinal Benes explained. "Would you deem that likely if the palace is in mourning for the death of their princess?"

Desiree hesitated for a moment. "No," she admitted. "She has more brains than Prince Eugene, for one. Without her there… they will be in no position to host the congress. But why do you wish for there to be peace talks, the war-"

"Will result in the downfall of Aquitaine, at most," Cardinal Benes interrupted. "That is not nothing, but nor is it everything. Attempting to put your sister upon the throne of Armorique, moving in one kingdom, or another, it is so slow, so haphazard. But if all the crowned heads of Europe are brought together, Armorique and Normandie, Aquitaine and the Empire, Albion, Naples, the Iberian kingdoms, if they all come together in one place…" he raised his hand, and clenched it into a fist. "We will bring them all beneath our power, or dispose of them. That is why your vengeance must wait, my lady, because Princess Cinderella is at this moment our most indispensable ally.

"For she will deliver unto us our ultimate victory."