Kriegsritter Johannes Braun – Imperial Knight
Copyright© 2026 by Vonalt
Chapter 5: Pope Adrian IV
The morning everyone had anticipated finally arrived. The future emperor’s entourage was dressed in its finest attire, the new surcoats lending the party a more regal appearance. King Frederick, soon to be crowned Holy Roman Emperor, and Sir Johannes, the Reichsritter at his side, led the procession from the pope’s summer residence toward Rome.
Commoners along the route stopped and bowed out of respect, uncertain which noble personage was passing by. It was evident to Johannes that news of King Frederick’s coronation had not spread widely among the people of the region—another slight against the king, in his opinion.
Johannes wondered how King Frederick would respond to these slights. First, there had been the food; then the incessant appointments with those seeking favor from the future emperor; and now this.
Johannes knew how he would deal with such disrespect—the axe. One clean blow, and the problem would be eliminated; then the cardinals could fight among themselves over who would become the next pope.
He was almost tempted to share his solution to the pope’s insolence. At the very least, the king would chuckle at the suggestion, Johannes thought. But then again, it was the pope—the leader of the Church—whom he imagined beneath the axe. He himself might yet feel the axe’s edge for entertaining such thoughts. Perhaps it would be best to keep that to himself.
The king’s party rode on in silence, the guards watching for would-be assassins. It was evident that the king was deep in thought, a distant look lingering in his eyes. Johannes swept his gaze over their surroundings once more and found himself similarly lost in thought, wondering what meeting the pope would be like. He decided he would remain formal and stiff, yet respectful at all times. He would be as the king had advised—silent and ever vigilant to all that transpired around him.
Their escort to the Vatican consisted of retainers from the Frangipani family, a powerful and wealthy clan that exerted great influence over both the papacy and the day-to-day affairs of the city. The Frangipani were one of the Roman families with which the future Holy Roman Emperor wished to maintain close ties. The other was the Pierleoni family, whose power stemmed from marriages and alliances that had given them considerable influence throughout Rome. From his sources, the emperor had learned that these two families wielded true power in the city and that the pope’s authority extended only as far as they permitted. Johannes was intrigued by how King Frederick intended to secure their friendship.
The road on which the king’s party rode had been built by the Romans more than a thousand years earlier. They passed the Colosseum and other ancient ruins. Johannes was overwhelmed by what he saw and could only imagine what the structures must have looked like at the height of the Roman Empire. He now rode upon the same roads that Julius Caesar and Augustus had traveled centuries before, beside the future Holy Roman Emperor. Yet this time, there were no admiring crowds.
They rode past the Colosseum and other ancient ruins on one side, while the Tiber flowed alongside them on the other. Johannes’s head was on a swivel. The buildings and monuments he had known only through his Latin readings now stood before him. He was humbled by the sight. The greatest leaders, heroes, and armies of ages past had once marched along this very route. For the first time in his life, Johannes felt insignificant.
He was no longer a Reichsritter; he was merely a bodyguard, permitted to accompany his lord and help protect him. Then, after one final turn, it came into view: the Vatican Apostolic Palace, home of the pope and seat of the Church. Ongoing renovations and new construction only enhanced its already imposing presence. Johannes felt a knot form in his stomach. Soon he would stand before the pope, head of the Church. He glanced at King Frederick and marveled at the king’s poise and self-assurance.
He kept hearing that voice in his head, repeating the same words over and over: “Never did I think I would be in Rome, let alone in the presence of the pope.” Soon, he would stand before the pope, Christendom’s spiritual leader and head of the Church. For the first time in his life, Johannes wished he were anywhere but there—or where he was soon to be.
They had to cross the Tiber River, which they did by way of an ancient Roman bridge—perhaps the very same one the Caesars and their victorious legions had crossed in triumph after returning from distant campaigns. The bridge remained in remarkable condition despite the passage of centuries. Once across, King Frederick’s party would arrive at the gates of the Vatican, home of the pope and seat of the Roman Catholic Church.
King Frederick and his entourage, accompanied by an armed escort, rode up to the Vatican, which was still under construction. The king and his companions grew increasingly wary as they found no Church officials waiting to receive them and no sign of a welcoming ceremony. The only witnesses to their arrival were tradesmen, their assistants, and bewildered monks going about their daily duties, all of whom seemed surprised by the appearance of King Frederick—the soon-to-be-crowned Holy Roman Emperor—and his retinue.
One of the escorts approached a cluster of monks gathered around a parchment, apparently trying to determine the final location of some long-dead saint’s statue. Johannes watched as the escort asked a question. One of the monks looked up and pointed into the distance.
The escort became visibly upset and began shouting at the monk. The monk replied briefly, and both men then turned to look at King Frederick, who remained seated on his horse. Fear was plain on both their faces.
The captain of the king’s guard rode up to the king and said, “I shall get to the bottom of this and find the cause of the confusion.”
The captain of the guard rode over to where the monk and the escort stood, dismounted, and spoke with them. After a brief conversation, the monk appeared less tense and began to speak more freely. He gestured wildly, pointing eastward and repeatedly crossing himself. Finally, the captain turned and walked back to his horse.
In the meantime, the monk looked relieved, as though he had gone to confession, confessed some great sin, and been absolved.
The captain rode over to King Frederick and Johannes and delivered his report.
“Sire, the Holy Father still resides at the Lateran Palace, and the Church’s official seat remains the Basilica of St. John Lateran. We were either misinformed about our destination or deliberately misled. I strongly suspect the latter.”
“We have wasted enough time. Let us be off. His Holiness the Pope has enough to answer for. I am tired of the Church’s pettiness and its silly games,” King Frederick said, speaking to no one in particular.
Once again, the column reformed, with the escorts taking up outrider positions and the king’s personal guard forming an inner ring around him. Everyone remained especially vigilant, watching for ambushes or assassins hoping to loose a crossbow bolt at the king.
“Reichsritter Johannes, this is exactly what I was describing when you asked what we should expect when we finally meet the Pope. We were directed to the wrong location and then forced to find our way to the correct one. It is nothing more than another annoyance—his way of telling me that he considers the Holy Roman Emperor a subject of the Church, and therefore of the papacy,” the king said, clearly annoyed.
“The important thing is not to let him see that it has gotten to me.”
King Frederick’s entourage had to backtrack across the Tiber and follow the ancient Roman road past the Colosseum and the scattered ruins of old Rome. If he had free time, Johannes wanted to explore them. They were not far from the pope’s residence, the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano.
It was roughly an hour before the king’s party arrived at the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano. The reception was small and understated. Prayers and blessings were offered by archbishops and cardinals. The greetings exchanged were cool and formal. The Pope’s absence was noted, and Johannes wondered how the king would respond to the personal slight.
Nothing was said, and the king kept his thoughts to himself as his party was shown to their quarters in the Apostolic Palace of the Lateran, an ancient structure dating back to the Roman Empire, later converted into a papal residence.
An arrogant representative of Pope Adrian IV entered the central hall of the rooms reserved for the future Holy Roman Emperor and his traveling companions. With visible haughtiness, he informed King Frederick that His Holiness would receive him at once.
King Frederick agreed to meet with the pope and had Johannes accompany him to the chamber where the pope would receive them. On the way there, he said, almost in a whisper, “Remember what I told you about how the pope would greet us. See if he does as I foretold. If not, tell me your observations when we return. Above all, remain silent and observe. The pope and I are about to play a game, and the loser will become the other’s vassal.”