Re: Blood and Iron - Chapter 876: The Spiritual Center

Chapter 876: The Spiritual Center

The first snow had not yet fallen, but winter had already made its intentions known.

Bruno stood at the tall windows of his study, hands folded behind his back, watching the gardens below settle into their late autumn stillness.

The leaves had long since fallen from the old oaks, raked into careful piles by the groundskeepers before being carted away. What remained was structure; paths, hedges, stonework; revealed now that ornament had been stripped away.

It was a season he understood well.

Behind him, the room was alive with quiet motion. A fire burned low in the hearth. Trunks had been brought in and arranged with careful precision along the far wall, their brass fittings gleaming softly in the lamplight. A valet moved in practiced silence, folding garments with reverence rather than haste.

Bruno turned from the window and surveyed the scene.

“I still find it amusing,” he said at last, “that preparing for peace requires more logistics than preparing for war ever did.”

Heidi, seated at the writing desk with a stack of correspondence neatly arranged before her, smiled without looking up.

“That’s because war never required you to think about what you wanted,” she replied. “Only what was necessary.”

She sealed a letter with practiced efficiency and set it aside before finally turning her chair to face him.

“And this,” she added, gesturing to the trunks, “is very much about what you want.”

Bruno exhaled softly through his nose, a faint amusement passing across his expression. He stepped away from the window and crossed the room, his boots echoing gently against the polished floor.

“What I want,” he said, “is to travel lightly.”

The valet paused for half a heartbeat, then continued folding as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Heidi rose from her chair and approached Bruno, resting a hand against his chest.

“You say that every time,” she said. “And every time, you pack as though you expect to negotiate treaties, attend services, and command an army all in the same afternoon.”

Bruno’s gaze softened as he looked down at her.

“Old habits die hard… Especially when they have kept me alive for fifty years….”

She nodded, accepting that truth without argument. There were some things that did not need correcting.

The door opened quietly, and one of the younger aides stepped inside, carrying a leather portfolio clasped tightly against his chest.

“Your highness,” the man said, bowing slightly. “The itinerary has been finalized. Travel arrangements are confirmed, and the Patriarch has sent his formal greetings.”

Bruno accepted the portfolio and flipped it open, scanning the contents with a practiced eye. Routes, schedules, contingencies;everything accounted for.

“Efficient,” he murmured. “Tell the staff they’ve done well.”

The aide hesitated, then spoke again.

“There is… one matter,” he said carefully. “Security has raised a concern regarding the service at the Hagia Sophia. Attendance will be significant. Symbolic.”

Bruno closed the portfolio and handed it back.

“I’m aware,” he said. “That is precisely why I’m going.”

The aide nodded and withdrew without further comment. When the door closed, Heidi studied her husband’s expression.

“You’re not going there as a conqueror,” she said quietly. “You know that.”

“Please… If I managed to conquer Constantinople twice in one life, they’d start giving me new nicknames and I have enough of those already.”

Heidi laughed softly at the remark. It was true enough… He had earned many nicknames in this life, usually from his enemies as a mark of respect, or fear, or both.

The Wolf of Prussia had been given to him by the French when he was a young junior officer during his deployment to the Orient.

Mamushi had been earned for his decisive seizure of command over the Siege of Port Arthur. One that ended swiftly in favor for the Empire of Japan.

He had been awarded an Order of the Rising Sun for the actions he had taken during that Battle. One that hung in his office, solitary and removed from the other medals and orders of merit he had been granted by three separate nations.

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the words settling between them.

Later that evening, after the trunks had been sealed and the staff dismissed, Bruno found himself alone in the adjoining chamber. He opened a smaller case; one he had packed himself.

Inside lay objects that had survived every campaign, every move, every change of title. A cross of darkened wood, worn smooth by time and touch.

A ribboned medal, its edges dulled, never displayed, and folded piece of cloth bearing old stains that had long since resisted every attempt at cleaning.

He lifted the cross and turned it slowly in his hands.

Of all of his conquests in this life. Of ever battle waged, every city taken or laid to waste. Every campaign won, and region conquered.

Constantinople meant something unique to him. He had achieved greater strategic and tactical victories during his history as a military commander.

But Constantinople represented a spiritual victory. Not just for him, but the entire Christian faith. It was a city reclaimed from the Islamic world.

It was the final time he had believed, truly believed, that violence could restore something sacred rather than simply replace one ruin with another.

He remembered the echo beneath the great dome. The way the air had felt heavier there, charged with memory older than any empire he had known. The prayers whispered in a dozen languages, all converging on the same hope.

He closed the case gently and returned it to its place among the trunks.

Elsewhere in the estate, Heidi prepared in her own way.

She stood before a mirror, holding up two dresses, one austere, one ornate, and weighing them with a critical eye.

“Which one do you think he’ll pretend not to notice?” she asked aloud.

Her maid, a woman who had served her for decades, smiled faintly.

“The simpler one,” she replied. “Which is why you’ll choose the other.”

Heidi laughed softly and set the ornate dress aside.

“No,” she said. “Not this time.”

She selected the plainer garment and laid it carefully atop the others.

Constantinople was not a place for vanity, she decided. Not for her. Not now.

That night, Bruno and Heidi shared a quiet meal together, unaccompanied by family or guests. Candles burned low between them, their flames steady.

“You don’t talk about it much,” Heidi said at last. “The city.”

Bruno considered his answer carefully.

“Because when I do,” he said, “I’m never sure whether I’m remembering the truth; or the man I was when I stood there.”

“And which one frightens you more?” she asked.

Bruno smiled faintly.

“The difference between them.”

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“It’s hard to explain… When I marched on that city, I had killed a million men just outside its gates a few days prior. And the city surrendered willingly when I applied the right amount of pressure. I took Constantinople without firing a shot, and in doing so preserved its history, and its spirit.”

He paused for a moment, almost as if searching for the proper words to explain himself.

“I had never been so sure of anything in my life as the moment I walked into the Hagia Sophia, laid down my arms, and knelt before its cross. To witness the minarets come down, that had tainted the Cathedral for so many centuries, to personally command their defilement erased. It felt right….”

Heidi squeezed his hand gently.

“If that’s the case… Then why does it haunt you so?”

Bruno did not hesitate to respond, but there was a certain depth to his tone that sent chills down Heidi’s spine.

“Because I stood there wondering if Christ would have felt the same….”

Heidi didn’t know how to respond to this statement. She had known for many yeas that Bruno was a man who never wore his faith on his sleeve.

To many they might consider him agnostic, or even an atheist. With the way he spoke of the world, and the acts he had committed. This was not the behavior of a godly man. At least not in the cartoonish state many people imagined in this day and age.

But Heidi had known Bruno had silently endured a great burden, one he believed he had been tasked with by God to fulfill. One he dared not utter was God’s will because how could he truly know such a thing?

For him to speak so openly about his faith, here and now as they discussed Constantinople. It revealed to her how much the city truly meant to him. In ways she had never imagined before.

They continued to discuss these matters in great depth. And as the hour grew late, they retired together, the estate settling into its familiar rhythms around them.

Beyond the walls, the world continued to shift; empires withdrawing, borders dissolving, history rearranging itself in quieter ways than before.

But for now, Bruno allowed himself a rare indulgence.

Anticipation not of power, but of return. Not to reclaim, but to witness. Not to command, but to kneel.

Winter would come soon. And with it, Constantinople.