Six years out of the twenty I spent in Burgundy, fighting under the banner of Duke Philip the Good, father to Charles the Rash.

My mother was a Burgundian--a Walloon--and to her love for things German I owe my name, Karl.

During my service under Duke Philip I met my Lord d'Hymbercourt, and won that most valuable of all prizes, a trusted friend.
Fifteen years before the opening of this story I grew tired of fighting.
How I drifted, a sort of human flotsam, against the crags of Styria would be a long, uninteresting story.

By a curious combination of events I assumed the duties of tutor to the small count, Maximilian of Hapsburg, then a flaxen-haired little beauty of three summers.

I taught him all that was needful from books, and grounded him fairly well in church lore, but gave my best efforts to his education in arms.
Aside from my duties as instructor to the young count, I was useful in many ways about the castle.