Margrave von Kaltenbach - an embittered noble

“How was the ride, my lord?” Sefu asked between sips of wine.

“One of the beaters somehow got in the line of fire and the fox escaped. The boy wasn’t hurt, fortunately, but I made sure his stupidity won’t spoil another hunt.” The grey-haired man took off his coat and walked over to his castellan. “I hope there were no complications with the guests and the staff.”

“None at all, sir” the black man answered with a smile. “In fact, I’m quite sure you will be very pleased with what I’ve prepared.”

For a minute or two the margrave was pacing up and down the room seemingly lost in his thoughts. He was a tall man, a figure that was bound to inspire courage in his troops and fear in his enemies, still in good shape, although his best years were long past. His short ponytail and well-trimmed mustache were an odd combination, but they matched his general appearance well.

“Is that so, Sefu?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh yes, my lord. Belive me when I say that this castle was never at one time home to so many beauties. You’ve got plenty to choose from.”

“And you have certainly picked your playthings by now, I’m sure.” It wasn’t a question. They have known each other for too long.

“Indeed, I have. Still, you are sovereign, my lord. Jus primae noctis!” the castellan exclaimed and with a wide grin he raised his goblet in a toast.

“The right of the first night. Ha, I’d never thought you would say that.” Christoph smiled and poured wine into another goblet.

Sefu knew that smile, though. It was merely a mask hiding a man who had lost the purpose of his existence, his loving young wife. The margrave was too strong to commit suicide, yet not strong enough to bear this loss. The castellan feared that Christoph von Kaltenbach was slowly losing the will to live so for the last couple of years he had been trying to ease his friend’s suffering. Only a few months ago did he find a cure for the disease of his lord’s heart but it quickly turned out to be nothing more than a painkiller, a temporary medicine. This cure was nothing new to the Negro. He had seen many battles when he was a young warlord in his motherland and the spoils of war were widely known to strengthen the spirits of men. "Why not?" Sefu thought. "He needs to vent his ire and is he not the lord of these parts? Is each and every soul of this land not his to command by divine right? When he tells them to suffer, they have **** but to obey." Then the castellan thought about his own status with elation. With the exception of Christoph, Sefu answered to no man.

“What are we waiting for then, my friend?” asked Christoph when both of them finished their drinks. “Show them to me.”

Every room in the guests’ quarters had a secret entrance and a couple of spyholes that were hidden to the eye when one was inside the room, therefore when the two men returned from their stroll through the secret tunnels the forty seven year-old noble already made up his mind.

“After the banquet have them brought to the dungeon. I’ll decide later which will entertain me first” he said quietly.

“It will be as you wish, my lord” master Sefu answered.