I shall give you here ten lines concerning myself. I am Italian by
birth--a younger son of the noble House of Pitti. I left home when but
little more than a boy. Journeying to the East, I became Sir Karl de
Pitti, Knight of the Holy Order of St. John, and in consequence I am
half priest, half soldier. My order and my type are rapidly passing
away. I fought and prayed in many lands during twenty years. To be
frank, I fought a great deal more than I prayed. 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. By reason of the half of me that was
priestly, I could, upon occasion, hear confession, administer the holy
sacrament, and shrive a sinner as effectively as the laziest priest in
Christendom. I could also set a broken bone, and could mix as bitter a
draught as any Jew out of Judea. So, you will see, I was a useful member
of a household wherein ancestry took the place of wealth, and pride was
made to stand for ready cash.