A/N: I think I've mentioned this elsewhere, but we can't have enough Evangeline stories in my humble opinion. So let me add to that slender pile. For some time now, I've wanted to do a series of stories on Evangeline through history. If we accept that she was born during the Hundred Year's War (1337 to 1453) then she's been around for over 500 years. What sort of adventures did she have before meeting Nagi, and which historical personalities did cross paths with?

I hope that this will turn into a series though I imagine each chapter will be more in the nature of a one shot. And while I strive for historical accuracy, these are meant to be stories not term papers.

Ken Akamatsu owns Evangeline, Negi and the other characters of 'Negima!'

In the Elector's Dungeon – 1519

--

Negi walked into the classroom and was greeted by his students with the traditional bow. Unlike his usually cheerful self, the boy seemed agitated while taking roll. "Evangeline McDowell," he called a second time.

"Here," a very bored sounding voice replied. Looking at her back row desk, Negi saw Evangeline hunched forward. One hand supported her chin as the other tapped the eraser end of a pencil against the table top.

Closing the class roster, his gaze swept over the class. "We will be having some guests this morning," the boy announced.

A low rumble passed through the room as surprised students hurriedly whispered to one another, but Negi continued. "The middle school is evaluating its entire teaching staff during home room," he explained. "It's my turn this morning."

Ayaka's voice carried over the increased chatter. "You're not in trouble are you Negi-sensei?"

"Of course not," he hurriedly assured the class rep. "Just show them how very well behaved you all can be and everything will be fine."

A knock on the door interrupted further discussion as the three panel members walked in. "Good morning," he nervously welcomed his co-workers. "Where would you like to sit?"

"The empty desks in the back row will be acceptable Springfield-san," Nitta replied formally. The school's chief disciplinarian led his fellow evaluators to the back of the room and sat down.

"Now class," Negi said, "who would like to volunteer to read her report first?"

"I will," he heard immediately. The teacher looked on in utter shock as Evangeline stood and walked forward. The tap, tap, tap of dainty feet filled the room and a sudden apprehension seized him in an icy grip.

The little, blonde girl stood at the front of the room, holding several sheets of paper before her. Evangeline had never volunteered to read in class before, and it bothered Negi that she chose to do so today. Quickly he spared a glanced at the three member teacher evaluation panel. Shizuna smiled while Seruhiko gave a nod he guessed was meant to be supportive. Nitta-san, nicknamed the Ogre by countless students, appeared pained and the boy hoped the grey-haired teacher was just having a bout of gas. "Proceed," he told her.

In a clear voice, she began, "My report is on the Fuggers of Augsburg."

"What?" Negi squeaked.

Evangeline looked at him with a face as innocent as an angel's, but the boy wasn't fooled by his master's appearance. He had fought her too many times to be suckered in so easily. "You're supposed to be doing a family history," he reminded her.

"Didn't you say that if we were uncomfortable writing about our own family we could choose a historical one?" she asked. Upon his nod, Evangeline continued, "The Fuggers were a prominent German family during the Renaissance, and my report is on them."

The teacher's shirt began to feel sticky as beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. "Uh, very well," Negi said, feeling that this was a bad move but unable to think of a way to escape. "Please continue."

"The first Fugger to be mentioned in the city rolls was Hans Fugger, who arrived in Augsburg during the year 1357," Evangeline recited. "After securing citizenship by marrying Klara Widolf, Hans joined the weaver's guild and numbered among the highest of tax payers by the end of the 14th century."

"Han's eldest son, Andreas, followed in his father's footsteps as a textile merchant and amassed enough wealth to be the first member of the family called 'the Rich Fugger'." Negi made a strangled sound that Evangeline ignored. "This branch of the family was granted a coat of arms featuring a golden deer, and was often referred to as the Fuggers of the Deer."

Negi's face had begun turning a vivid red as both necktie and collar seemed to tighten about his throat, but everyone else in the room was paying attention to the girl's report. "Andreas' son, Lucas, was an ambitious man and his schemes soon bankrupted the Deer Fuggers."

"The other branch of the family, through Han's younger son Jakob, enjoyed far greater success," she continued. "Called the Lily Fuggers, due to their use of a flowering lily for identification, they expanded into banking and other businesses, becoming very prominent in both imperial and international politics."

"Jakob Fugger married Barbara Basinger, the daughter of a goldsmith and a woman popular in the city for her many acts of charity. Her contributions to the needy endeared her to all and every citizen blessed their saintly Mother Fugger."

Evangeline stopped as a loud thump echoed. Instantly, a dozen girls in tartan skits were gathered about the spot where Negi lay unconscious. "What happened to Negi-kun?" Makie asked.

"He's fainted," Ayaka wailed and then, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Well I heard you have to loosen a person's clothing when they faint," Misa replied.

"But isn't that supposed to be their shirt?" Yuna asked.

"It is?"

--

Jakob settled into the padded chair and stretched his legs in front of the fire, grateful for its warmth. Family and servants were in other parts of the wealthy merchant's home this evening, leaving the room quiet save for an occasional crackle or pop of the blazing logs.

In his sixty years, the Weaver of Augsburg had amassed a considerable fortune and become the financier of kings and popes. One last goal remained, hanging just tantalizingly out of reach. For all of his riches, Jakob Fugger was still a commoner in the eyes of the world. But that would change should his plan be successful.

Nobility once depended on the ability to maintain arms and a warhorse in a lord's service. Pike, crossbow and firearms were rendering the mounted knight a charming fiction on the battlefield as armies of common men fought one another. Modern armies took gold to run, and merchants such as himself were the access to gold. Slowly the princes were recognizing that fact, but still there was nothing wrong with a prod in the proper direction.

A draft of air brushed against him, causing the merchant to shiver in response. A window that had been shuttered stood open to the night. A strange voice, high pitched and melodious, called him from the shadows. "Good evening" he heard. A short, cloaked figure stepped into the fire's feeble light.

"You are the merchant Jakob Fugger?" the voice asked. "The one called the rich Fugger?"

"I am he, but I am not the rich Fugger" he answered as a grin spread across his face. "I am the richest Fugger."

"I've heard word that you require someone with very special skills," the stranger remarked as the hood slipped backwards. Golden tresses framed the pale face of ten-year-old girl. Her lips parted and the merchant noted a pair of fangs that gleamed in the firelight. "I believe I have the skills you are searching for."

Jakob felt a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. "Perhaps," he replied thoughtfully. "What do you know of the electors?"

"The electors are a group of seven nobles with the privilege of selecting the emperor," the girl replied. "They will meet to choose between the Spanish and French Kings to succeed the Emperor Maximilian, who died two months ago."

"You are correct," Jakob replied. "Over the years, I have lent vast sums to six of the seven electors. I have suggested to them who the best candidate might be and they seem receptive to the idea."

"However, the Elector of Saxony had retained his own council in this matter," the merchant continued. "I would not worry about a lone vote save that this man enjoys the Pope's backing to become emperor himself."

"If something were to happen to Duke Frederick, then not only would there be no one to gainsay the proper candidate," he said, "but a dangerous rival for the throne would be removed."

"And what sort of reward might be forthcoming?" the waif-like creature asked. "Your coin is of little use to me."

"But if my words had influence in the emperor's ears, what then?" he countered. "Might that not be of value even to one such as you?"

"When is the election?"

"Not till this summer," Jakob answered. "I am heading to Wittenberg next week on a business venture. It would be best if the matter were settled before I arrive."

"You have nothing to worry about," she responded as white hands pulled the hood back in place, "oh, richest of the Fuggers." The child stepped back into the shadows and was gone.

Jakob rose from his chair, walked over to the window and shuttered it tightly. From behind him, the merchant heard a door creak open. A gaunt looking man swaggered into the room. Ashen skin contrasted sharply with the blue velvet cape thrown haphazardly around the newcomer's shoulders. Eyes shone with reflected firelight, like an animal's.

"Very well done," the caped man remarked. "I think you missed your true calling; you should have been an actor."

The merchant frowned as his guest poured himself a goblet of wine and took a deep drink. "I understand you hold a grudge against her, but I dislike involving such a creature in my affairs," Jakob said. "Are you certain you can deal with her Herr Reinhard?"

"She and I are well acquainted," the man answered then wiped a sleeve across his mouth. "I know her weaknesses."

"Still, consorting with such wickedness can only imperil my soul."

"Does not the archbishop say that 'as soon as the coin in the coffer rings, a soul from purgatory springs'," Reinhard replied. "You've nothing to worry over. The meek may inherit the Earth, but the rich can purchase Heaven itself."

---

Dressed in a ragged tunic, the girl darted furtively through the darkening streets of Wittenberg. Streets packed by farmers returning from market, house wives to their homes, apprentices to their dingy garrets and their masters to an alehouse. None gave a second glance to yet another dirty urchin, though more than a few groped for their wallets after she passed by. Secure in their wealth's safety, they continued on their way.

Evangeline dodged and weaved her way through the throng on her way to the Schlosskirche where her victim would be leaving mass soon. Unerringly she raced down the blocks of building. Once she would have been impressed by their size, but now the girl scarce paid them attention. Besides, compared to the cosmopolitans of their Mediterranean neighbors, these northern cities were mean hovels built of mud and straw.

Lending speed to her feet was a scent that lingered in the air, one she had not encountered in more than fifty years since fleeing Glasgow; the servant of the mage that had turned her into an undead. Evangeline never thought to find a trace of the old fox, but had found his spoor in Augsburg, near the old Fugger's house. Not surprisingly, his trail led to Wittenberg. Now, he was near, so near the vampire could imagine the taste of hot blood as it spurted from his throat into her waiting mouth. First, however, she would deal with the Duke.

The narrow street opened into a plaza, and a score of armed men gathered outside the church doors. Each man wore the ducal badge embroidered upon tabards and carried halberds, a wicked combination of axe and spear. The rumble of a pipe organ drifted from the church as the guards stiffened to attention. A man with iron grey hair and beard appeared in the doorway and descended. Evangeline raced forward.

A guard, more alert than his fellows, shouted in warning and the nearest man swung his halberd at her head. The vampire easily avoided the decapitating stroke and raked his throat open with a hand as she hurtled past; a score of armed men weren't a match for her. A knee jerked into the next man's crotch, sending him sprawling to the ground, retching blood and phlegm onto the cobblestones. His companion fared no better as an open hand blow shattered his jaw.

Another swung the axe head down, but Evangeline caught the shaft and lifted the warrior from his feet. Over he went as his head crashed into the street, shattering helmet and all like a fragile eggshell. Spinning the halberd about as if its weight meant nothing, the little girl thrust the spearhead into the next guard. Releasing her hold on the weapon, she leapt upon another man's shoulders and grabbed his head. Twisting it to one side, the snap of his neck echoed off the surrounding buildings.

Horses' hooves thundered from a side street as a team pulling a cart galloped into view. Foam flecked from their mouths as bridles bit cruelly. Like a madman, her enemy stood atop the cart, reins tightly wrapped about one fist while the other lashed the horses with a whip. His eyes were lit with unholy glee and lips pulled back in a fiendish grin. Reins pulled back sharply and the horses swerved in response, toppling the cart toppled and spilling its cargo of leeks over the plaza. Evangeline's eyes watered immediately and a fierce spat of sneezing shook the little vampire. A halberd's butt smashed into the back of her head and she knew no more.

--

"Damn you demon!" the man in armor roared as his hand pulled back and let fly. A mailed gauntlet struck flesh, drawing fresh spurts of blood from her cheek. "Damn you to hell!"

Evangeline stared through puffed up eyes. Her mouth hung open as she wheezed, unable to draw breath through a clogged nose. A garland of leeks encircled her neck, while piles of the noxious vegetables lay heaped about the chamber. Iron manacles chaffed the girl's wrists as chains kept her suspended so that only by standing on her tip toes could she touch the floor. Her back was rubbed raw through the ragged shift she wore by the wall's roughly dressed stones.

Vaguely, the vampire was aware of the heavy, oaken door groaning open and her tormenter addressing someone else. "What are you doing here brother?"

"His Grace has sent me to hear the condemned's confession," a new voice answered.

Eyelids screamed with the effort as Evangeline pushed them open and tried to focus on the faintly illuminated figure. A monk, robed in black, stood in the doorway. She tried to laugh through her bruised and bloody lips, but all the girl managed was to let a small bit of drool run down her lip and chin.

"You're wasting your time with that one," the man who beat her said. "It's more likely Beelzebub himself would shrive his soul."

"It is his Grace's command," the monk replied. "And should not all of the Almighty's creatures have a chance to repent and know salvation?"

"She's none of His," the other man's voice responded. "That foul beast slew a half dozen armed men in the space of a few heartbeats."

"Still, I must offer even the Devil himself the chance for contrition," the newcomer said. "Leave us good captain."

"I cannot guarantee your safety if we leave you alone with that creature," the armed man warned.

"If it is God's will I meet my end now," he replied, "there is naught you or I can do to gainsay it."

Evangeline heard the dungeon door shut and the firm tread of feet approached her. A hand grasped her by the chin, careful to avoid the worst of her bruises, and lifted her head. Tenderly, a damp cloth daubed her face, mopping blood and mucous up. Before her gaze floated two orbs that both blazed with a passion yet held gentleness she had not seen for many years. "Can you understand me?" the monk asked.

She nodded once as parched lips and tongue refused exit for any words. "Can you drink?" she was asked and again she nodded. An earthenware cup, filled with brackish water, was held to her lips and she greedily slurped it like an animal. A voice she barely recognized as her own croaked "Thank you."

The monk introduced himself as Brother Martin. "How should I call you?"

"My name is Evangeline," she wheezed like a bellows

"Have you trouble breathing?"

"The leeks," the girl muttered. "Can't breathe."

The garland was pulled from about her throat and again the cloth gently wiped her face. "My thanks again."

"Is it true you killed several men?" the brother asked.

"Yes." The man took a step back, surprised by the fierceness of her gaze, but then stepped forward once more.

"Do you wish to ask for God's forgiveness?"

"No."

"Does not the state of your soul or threat of eternal damnation mean anything to you?"

"No one seemed concerned about the state of my soul when I was turned into what you now see," she replied as her body began to slowly repair itself. "Least of all your God."

"He is everyone's God," the priest maintained.

"Is He?" Evangeline asked. "They why is it that forgiveness can be purchased with coin, while those who need His grace most are condemned by their poverty?"

"You speak of indulgences?" the monk responded. "I too hold them to be a great evil, but these are the invention of man, who is a fallen creature yet. Our errors do not erase God's majesty or the power of His grace."

"As long as priests whose hearts are given to Mammon control forgiveness, how do you expect any to be saved?"

"Because the priesthood is not only for a select few." The monk's face glowed with an earnestness that amazed Evangeline. "All are called by the Most High to serve as priests."

"You are a fool if you think those in power will allow such talk," she told him. "They are likely to burn you next to me."

"While I pray that won't happen," he explained, "I will proclaim this belief until the end of my days."

Again the monk's eyes looked at her tenderly though the passion of conviction still burned brightly. "If you will not accept the Almighty's forgiveness, will you at least tell me why you slew those men?"

"I was going to kill the Duke and they were in my way," Evangeline answered with a wry smile upon her lips.

"Ah, then his grace caused you some offense?"

"No, I was just going to kill him because I can," the child answered as the grin spread wider. "What justification does evil need?"

"Even the Prince of Lies justified rebellion 'gainst his sovereign Lord," the robed man replied. "Yet I wonder if even the most powerful of the fallen angels, whose list of crimes is far greater than yours, doesn't sometimes long to repent, to regain what in pride he threw aside."

The child-like face grew solemn in response. "And if so, what of it?" the vampire asked. "Neither the Devil nor I shall ever bow to another's will and beg for crumbs from a master's table."

"Perhaps you speak truly," Brother Martin told her. "But all are God's children and all share equally in His kingdom."

The man reached his hand towards her face and Evangeline felt a fingertip lightly brush her forehead, forming the shape of a cross. "You may not accept His grace now, but one day you might feel differently," the priest quietly said.

The groan of the dungeon door announced the guards' return. "It is time brother," the captain said.

Evangeline was bound to the stake and bundles of wood piled about her that reached above her head. The duke sat upon his cushioned chair, flanked by armed men, while peasants and city burgers alike crowded the square. Next to the nobleman sat her employer, the merchant from Augsburg. The little vampire smiled, realizing that she had been betrayed, but even in the midst of this unwashed horde she could smell the sickness within him.

Jakob Fugger could linger on several more years while the cancer ate away at the man's insides. He would live to collect a reward for securing his candidate's election, but his remaining days would be filled with unremitting agony. The knowledge the merchant had purchased his place in the afterlife might provide him some relief, but she doubted it.

--

"And so after concluding an alliance with Duke Frederick, the Elector of Saxony, Jakob Fugger was successful in securing the election of King Charles of Spain as the Holy Roman Emperor in the summer of 1519. In reward, Emperor Charles the First raised the family to the nobility."

A dose of smelling salts had been necessary to revive the boy teacher, who sat in silence as Evangeline continued. For once, his students quietly paid attention.

"Jakob was succeeded by his nephew Anton upon his death in 1525, just months after the Duke of Saxony passed away. Anton continued to build the family's fortune making them the premier bankers in Europe," his student continued. "Their influence is felt to this day due to the number of Fuggers still in the banking and financial industries."

"A very good job Evangeline-san," Negi said as the girl's classmates politely applauded. In response, she gave him one of those smiles normally reserved for when the undead mage announced that day's training. "Now who's next?"

"How about you Makie-san?" he asked the pink-haired gymnast.

Makie nervously shuffled her paper as she stood in the front of the room. "My report is on another historical family," she announced to the class. "It's entitled 'The Phucs of Indochina'."

--

A/N: The Fuggers were a real family who became wealthy bankers in what is now Germany. Being a German name, it is actually pronounced 'Fooger', but Evangeline used a slightly different pronunciation. Jakob Fugger did die in 1525, though not from cancer. Charles Hapsburg, aka Charles I of the Holy Roman Empire, Emperor Maximilian and Duke Frederick the Wise are all historical figures. Brother Martin is Martin Luther, architect of the Reformation, who was under the Duke's protection after publishing his 95 theses.