Der Gute Landgraf

In the Year of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ 1191, Reinhart of Felszackeburg, a wealthy nobleman, was appointed by Henry VI, King of the Romans, and soon to be Holy Roman Emperor, to rule as the Landgrave of Thuringia. This was in the wake of many things, such as the death of the previous Landgrave, Louis III of the Ludovingians, and the death of Frederick Barbarossa, the previous Holy Roman Emperor. Reinhart was excited to be awarded such a prestigious position, particularly because he could use it to accumulate more wealth via taxes and send the money to the Crusaders in the Holy Land. An ardent supporter of the Crusaders, Reinhart prayed every night for the Lord to slowly and brutally smite every single Saracen in the Orient, the wicked Mahometans they were.

Despite his noble pedigree, Reinhart had the misfortune of a deformed appearance. This was due to the excessive inbreeding within House Felszackeburg. He was of extremely short stature, as well as morbidly obese. His skin was jaundiced to an unnatural hue of chartreuse (green and yellow for those uneducated in the tinctures of the color wheel), and his skin was littered with warts and pustules. Due to his appearance, he was known as Herr Kröte (Sir Toad for those not fluent in the German language), as he resembled the amphibian. However, for what he lacked in attractiveness and physical strength, he made up for in acumen and, of course, extreme wealth.

It was morning at Reinhart’s castle in Thuringia. He woke up in his luxurious king-sized bed. Sleeping next to him was his beautiful wife, Catherine of Staufer, Henry VI’s distant cousin who had been arranged to marry Reinhart. Though Reinhart wished to procreate with one of his sisters or cousins, he was happy to have a spouse whose bloodline was connected to the imperial throne, as well as a woman who was youthful and attractive.

Servants were called in to bathe and dress the landgrave and his wife. Catherine’s bath went without difficulty, but Reinhart’s bath took much longer, as the servants required scalding hot water and several medicinal oils to wash his rough and inflamed skin. A team of ten servants were sent in to administer the landgrave’s bath, as opposed to the single handmaid who bathed Catherine. One servant had to be escorted to a doctor after a pustule burst open and sprayed toxic pus all over his face. The remaining nine servants drew sticks to determine who would be tasked with the Herculean labor of peeling back and cleaning under the landgrave’s prepuce. The poor servant who drew the short stick reached into the tub and performed the vile deed. When he finished, his hand turned deathly black, shriveled up, and crumbled into ash.

After their baths, they were dressed. Reinhart was fitted with a capacious scarlet tunic, a snug crimson doublet, and a white mantle made from ermine fur that was draped over his shoulders. Catherine was fitted with a violet dress, a bliaut that hugged her curvaceous figure. Today, Reinhart planned to go to his court, and start another day of ruling Thuringia. Catherine was scheduled to have her portrait taken by Vincenzo di Castello, an artist of Tuscan extraction. Vincenzo was young, handsome, and roguish, traits that Reinhart found amusing. Catherine was also very fond of his talents, and he was hired as the official painter of the landgrave’s court on her behalf.

Reinhart and Catherine were escorted out of their bedchambers by armored guards. They stopped by Vincenzo’s study, where he was preparing a canvas and his paints.

“Ciao, milord, milady,” Vincenzo greeted, bowing before the landgrave and his wife. He then grabbed the landgravine and amorously kissed her on the mouth, with his left hand firmly grasping her posterior and his right hand squeezing her ample breasts. Vincenzo ensured that this was a traditional greeting in the Italian peninsula, done with completely platonic intentions. Reinhart was inclined to believe him, as he knew those of Latin descent tended to be more hospitable in their interactions.

“Good morning, Vincenzo,” Reinhart smiled. “Ready to paint? Do take care to capture all of her beauty.”

“Oh, milord, it is impossible to make her look anything less than gorgeous. Now, I will begin, so I require total privacy. Cannot have any distractions while I’m painting.”

“Of course. I shall leave you to it.” Vincenzo gave a devilish grin and closed the doors to his study. Reinhart smiled contently and carried on, making his way to his court. He was excited to enact new policies to empower the Crusaders that were abroad in the Holy Land. Maybe he would draft a new round of young and able-bodied men to be sent overseas, or perhaps he would commission an expensive and worldly statue to commemorate Frederick Barbarossa, who in his eyes was a venerable Christian martyr. He wholeheartedly believed those damned Saracens had used their paynim sorcery to command the waters of the Saleph River to drown the noble emperor as he swam in his full set of armor. A true war hero if there ever was one.

Reinhart was a rotund man who was extremely out of shape, so the walk from his bedchambers to his court was a daunting odyssey that lasted several hours. From Vincenzo’s study, the landgrave could hear his wife squealing with euphoria, and he imagined that her portrait was coming along quite beautifully. As he continued his trek, he thought more of the ever-going battle between the Crusaders and the Saracens. It was a war not only to liberate Jerusalem from the Mahometans, but to ensure European security. He thought especially of that evil Kurd, the treacherous Sultan Saladin. While he respected and adored Richard of England and Philip II of France, he could not understand how they held such respect for their foe. He understood respecting your fellow European foes as chivalrous knights, but surely chivalry and generosity were virtues alien to the wicked and vile minds of Saracens. He got so angry thinking about this contradiction that another pustule popped, spilling pus into the air like champagne.

After what took the entire morning, the landgrave made it to his court. Reinhart’s court factor, an Ashkenazi Jew named Mordechai Gantz, sat by his throne, reading through scrolls of paper.

“Milord,” Mordechai began, his brow furled with concern. “You send 5,000 groschens to the Crusaders every month. Forgive me for speaking out of place, but have you maybe considered investing that money in more domestic projects? It’s no secret that Thuringia has some of the worst infrastructure in the Holy Roman Empire.”

“No offense taken, Mordechai, but it is my patriotic duty to help fund the Crusaders. I mean, you’re a Jew, right? Wouldn’t you like to see the Holy Land taken back from the Saracens?”

“Well, sure, it might be nice, but it just would be a gentile Christian kingdom. Besides, Thuringia is my home.”

“Fair enough. So, what of the rest of our coin?”

“Well, there is hardly any money left in the public budget, for you spent it all to commission a golden statue of your likeness on a frog.”

“Ah yes! Der Honig Schlägt Frosch! A true work of art!”

“Yes, well, anyways, should you give me permission, I could set aside a small sum of money each month to go towards Thuringia’s internal needs.”

“Oh, nonsense, Mordechai. What doesn’t go in my pockets goes to the Crusaders. Understood?”

“Yes, milord,” the Jew sighed, signing off on a fiscal policy he did not agree with. Now finished with his policymaking for the day, Reinhart called for a horse drawn carriage to escort him around the area surrounding the castle. This was known to the people of Thuringia as Herr Kröte’s Wild Ride, for he often saw the wildlife, along with the local peasants whom he also considered to be animals. Normally, he would take Catherine with him, but as the landgravine was being painted in a manner similar to how Vincenzo depicted French women, Reinhart brought Mordechai along.

The carriage passed through the castle town, and Reinhart waved at the peasants, with tattered clothes and dirty faces. Mordechai always told him that his subjects desperately needed aid, but the landgrave knew these ungrateful villeins simply needed to toil harder in order to improve their lives. Leaving the town, the carriage headed into a wooded area, and Reinhart began to giggle with glee. This was his favorite part, for the carriage passed a pond that was teeming with frogs, a creature that the landgrave was most fond of. However, he was disappointed to find that the pond was dried up, and a large bear was sleeping in the hole that was left behind.

“What in God’s name has happened here?” Reinhart cried.

“Um, milord,” Mordechai chimed in. “I believe the pond was drained as a policy left over from the former court factor, Mikhoel Eisner.”

“Damn that Jew!” Reinhart screamed with fury as three more pustules exploded. Mordechai narrowly avoided getting drenched with pus, and sat in discomfort as the carriage headed back to the castle. Once the landgrave’s rage had subsided, he was requested in Vincenzo’s study, for the portrait was finished. When Reinhart arrived, he was awestruck at how the Tuscan’s brushwork had so realistically captured his wife’s beauty.

“Thank you so much,” Reinhart smiled. “You have immortalized my wife’s pulchritude.”

“It’s my pleasure, milord,” Vincenzo replied.

“Oh yes, it does look lovely,” Catherine added. Reinhart looked to his wife and noticed a white, creamy liquid on her lower lip and on her bosom.

“Catherine, what is that on your face?” Reinhart asked. Catherine felt her lip and became speechless, eyes wide open.

“Not to worry, milord!” Vincenzo shouted, stepping between the landgrave and his wife. “Lady Catherine had simply gotten hungry during the painting, so we paused so she could eat some sweets. Surely that must be from a cream pie.”

“Ah, not a problem!” Reinhart laughed. “My wife is a messy eater just like me!” He ran a finger across the cream on her bosom and licked it up. The taste was a mixture of fruity and salty, and he assumed it was an Italian recipe. He had grown so hungry himself that he left his wife and Vincenzo to retire to the banquet hall, where he consumed an exorbitant amount of food. In particular, he scarfed down an entire roasted hog, making a mess all over his robes. After this, he chugged an entire barrel of wine. After his meal, he was so full that another pustule popped, pouring out into a bowl of leftover stew. Reinhart had to sit for a while, letting his stomach break down his meal. He built up a calamitous amount of gas, and it released in an earth-shattering flatulence. A servant who walked by had the misfortune of walking through the miasma of pungent odor, and promptly died from toxic gas inhalation.

Now that he was relieved, the landgrave made his way to his court. Walking at the jolly pace of a common tortoise, Reinhart stopped as he heard laughs among the servants and courtiers. They surrounded Vincenzo. He was displaying a piece of parchment for the rest of the court to see. This display appeared to be all the rage; even Mordechai and Catherine were laughing.

“What is so funny?” Reinhart called out. The laughing immediately stopped, and Vincenzo’s eyes widened with fear. “Come on, I love a good laugh, what’s so funny?”

“It’s nothing,” Vincenzo stammered, trying to stuff the parchment away. Reinhart snatched it away. On it was a crude sketch of a toad dressed like a Saracen warrior, with a headscarf and a scimitar. The drawing was captioned “Kalif Kröte,” and Reinhart knew that it was meant to be a mockery of him.

“You Italian bastard!” the landgrave screamed, two of his pustules bursting in anger. “You drew me as a Saracen? One of the enemy?”

“It was but a jest, milord!” Vincenzo cried.

“And yet you are not a jester,” Reinhart sneered. “But you are a fool. Guards! Take this rapscallion to the dungeons at once!” He watched with contempt as his guards seized Vincenzo and threw him into jail without trial. Catherine begged for her husband to let him go, and Mordechai believed that it was an overreaction, but Reinhart did not care. He was the landgrave, and it was his authority to do as he pleased. Later that night, as the landgrave and his wife went to bed, Catherine wept the whole night. Perhaps she had appreciated the Tuscan’s talent more than Reinhart realized. But alas, this sadness would soon come to pass, as one day, Catherine discovered she was pregnant. The landgrave and his wife were ecstatic. Catherine was excited to be a mother, and Reinhart was happy that he was finally going to have an heir. However, little did the landgrave know that the child in Catherine’s womb was of a more…italic persuasion, to be obtuse. Nevertheless, it would not matter, for Reinhart would run the rest of his wealth into the ground donating to the crusaders, and Reinhart lost the landgraviate as Hermann I, brother of Louis III, seized power. And thus, was the end of the Felszackeburg rule.