Kriegsritter Johannes Braun – Imperial Knight
Copyright© 2026 by Vonalt
Chapter 1: Happenings in Trier
This time, he had done it: his rebellious spirit and sense of justice had finally led him to ruin.
Johannes Braun, Knappe (squire) to Ritter (knight) Wilkin Faust, had been summoned to Trier to face his accuser, the monk inquisitor. His crime: defying the order to carry out the sentence of death by fire upon an old, feeble-minded woman condemned as a witch by her neighbors.
Ritter Wilkin Faust exercised his right to refuse the duty, and the burden fell to Johannes—but when he, too, refused, the inquisitor’s fury knew no bounds.
The monk had sworn vengeance, declaring that he would see the young squire broken for his disobedience. Now Johannes had been summoned to Trier to stand before the court of his lord, the Archbishop of Trier, His Excellency Hillin of Falmagne, and be judged.
Johannes would not be the only one summoned to Trier. His father, Wilhelm Braun, Ministerialis (administrator) of Aussen, would stand as his defender alongside his lord, Count Simon I of Saarbrücken, vogt (imperial steward) and protector of the Saar River valley. Opposite them stood his accuser: the Abbot of Tholey, whose monk inquisitor Johannes had defied.
In the meantime, misfortune struck: Johannes’s Ritter, Wilkin Faust, fell from his horse while fording a tributary of the Saar and, drunk, drowned—leaving Johannes to face judgment alone.
Johannes already knew what the judgment would be when he reached Trier: it had already been decided. He would be stripped of his status as a Knappe (squire), along with his armor, and forced to join the monks at the Abbey of Tholey. No longer allowed to wear the garb of a squire, he would instead be scourged and made to don the coarse robe of a lowly monk. He would labor long hours in silence, tending the abbey’s fields and livestock, and attend long, solemn masses several times each day. The food would be plain—what little there was of it. He would sleep on a hard bench, and even then only for a few hours, for he would be awakened in the middle of the night to attend Mass. All these hardships would shorten his life. This was the abbot’s intention: to make Johannes an example to the aristocracy and warn them against defying the authority of the Church.
As Johannes made his way north toward Trier from Limbach, the German king, Frederick I, likewise journeyed there from his imperial palace at Aachen, en route to Rome, where he would be crowned Holy Roman Emperor by Pope Adrian IV. Frederick had been elected King of the Romans by the prince-electors following the death of his uncle, King Konrad III.
Neither Johannes nor King Frederick I could have foreseen that their paths would soon cross at Trier.
King Frederick and his traveling party would stop at Trier Castle to rest and take a meal before continuing their journey south to Rome. The journey would take several weeks and promised to be long and potentially perilous. Not all among the powerful were pleased with his election by the prince-electors, particularly among the leadership of the Church.
The king arrived at Trier Castle before Johannes and was shown to the archbishop’s guest chambers, where he and his party would take their meal and rest before being granted an audience with the archbishop.
King Frederick and his party had rested and eaten their fill—much to the distress of the archbishop’s steward. In a single meal, the king’s companions consumed what the entire contingent of monks and servants at Trier Castle would normally eat in a week. The archbishop would surely blame him for such excess. The steward could only hope he would not be held responsible; after all, under no circumstances would he dare tell the king what he was permitted to take from the castle’s stores.
Johannes finally arrived at Trier Castle, already regretting his decision to obey the archbishop’s summons presenting himself for judgment. He could have fled to France or England, but doing so would have brought dishonor upon his family and might have cost his father both property and position. After all, his father served as protector of Aussen-Schmelz under Count Simon, lord of the Saar Valley, a territory jointly administered with the Archbishop of Trier. The count acted as secular ruler, while the archbishop served as its spiritual authority. The count collected taxes and tithes from the people of the Saar region and forwarding the Church’s share to Trier.
Johannes was immediately stripped of his armor, horse, and weapons on the orders of the Abbot of Tholey and brought before the archbishop for judgment. The Abbot of Tholey acted as prosecutor, assisted by the monk inquisitor who served as his aide. Johannes’ refusal to burn the accused witch, as ordered, was regarded as open defiance of Church law. The abbot demanded that Johannes be stripped of his position and forced to join the Benedictine Order, where he would spend the remainder of his life in humility and service to the Church.
In the eyes of the abbot and his monk inquisitor, it was a fitting punishment—and a warning to other young nobles of what would happen to those who dared defy the authority of the Church. The monk inquisitor seemed almost giddy at the thought of the punishment soon to be inflicted upon the arrogant young squire. He intended to show Johannes exactly what he thought of those of noble birth.
Johannes’ father and Count Simon were not permitted to speak, as the matter was not a civil dispute but one solely under ecclesiastical authority. They stood silently to the side, helplessly watching the son and loyal Knappe being condemned to a lifetime of monastic servitude.
Before the archbishop could pronounce his judgment, a disturbance erupted at the door of the hall where the trial was being held. Several monks rushed to bar the entrance, struggling to prevent whoever was demanding entry from coming inside. For a moment, it appeared the Benedictine monks obstructing the doorway were on the verge of facing the drawn swords of would be rescuers.
When the archbishop realized who was insisting on entry, he immediately called off the monks. A few were slow to respond and received sharp cuffs to the side of their heads as the king’s guards forced their way into the hall.
King Frederick addressed the archbishop sharply. “So, Archbishop, is this how you greet your king and soon-to-be Holy Roman Emperor?”
The archbishop, struggling to conceal his embarrassment, bowed his head slightly. “Forgive me, my king. My steward failed to inform me of your arrival. Had I known, I would have met you at the gate myself to offer food and quarters for your rest.”
“I accept your apology, Archbishop. I do not take your ignorance of my arrival as a slight,” the king replied. “My men and I have already made full use of your hospitality and eaten well from your stores. Your steward provided a generous spread that has satisfied us. We are quite content and look forward to breaking our fast again in the morning before we depart.”
The king noted that his entrance had interrupted a trial and that the defendant was a squire. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to discover why a squire was facing an ecclesiastical trial.
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