1635- the Wars for the Rhine (ARC)

by Anette Pedersen

  “And you are waiting like a cat outside a mouse hole for him to stick out his nose?” Eleonore frowned at her friend.

  “Fairly much so,” answered Amalie, quite unruffled. “My husband is going south to rattle his saber at the archbishop in the Wildenburg-Schönstein area. The branches of the Hatzfeldt family have long been divided between those looking towards Hessen and those owing alliance to Cologne or Mainz, but we hope to persuade that entire area to join the new Hesse-Kassel province.”

  “The newly elected Prince-Bishop of Würzburg, who went into exile when the Protestant army conquered that town, was a Hatzfeldt.” Eleonore mused. “Would it help if he had his diocese back?”

  “Could be. Prince-Bishop Franz von Hatzfeldt is the younger brother of General Melchior von Hatzfeldt, whose second-in-command is his cousin, Wolf, who is one of the Wildenburg Hatzfeldts.” Amalie smiled. “My father knew old Sebastian, the father of Franz and Melchior, quite well, and I met the boys several times as a girl. Sebastian had five sons, but was the ward of several more, and usually had the three Wildenburger boys in tow as well. He was a very caring man, who loved children. He was very bookish too, and whenever he visited Hanau, he’d sit in the evening and tell stories.”

  Amalie shook her head. “I’d be hard pressed to put a name to any of the boys I remember, except for Melchior, whom I saw in uniform just before my marriage.”

  “I’ve heard that he is quite handsome.” The abbess held out her cup for a fresh cup of tea. “Have you been carrying a torch, my dear?”

  “Of course not,” Amalie answered, refilling their cups. “Melchior wasn’t ennobled at the time and a Catholic as well. It was just a girlish fancy.” She shrugged. “I’m quite satisfied with Wilhelm. We want the same and work well together.”

  “Hm. I realize that you cannot permit small enclaves in the new province that is under control of someone else, especially not Archbishop Ferdinand. But why not try for a deal?” the abbess asked.

  Amalie sighed. “I expect you have both studied the American books just as closely as I have. Do you remember what they said about Hessen?”

  “Actually, not very much,” said the abbess, frowning, while Eleonore looked thoughtful.

  “Exactly. A minor industrial area with Kassel as the only town with slightly more than local importance.” Amalie’s eyes suddenly glittered in anger and determination. “That is not acceptable.”

  “The proposed province of Hesse-Kassel is quite a lot larger than Hessen was in the American world,” said Eleonore mildly, “and your husband is going to be its representative in the Chamber of Princes.”

  “Larger, yes.” Amalie looked cross. “But mountainous and rural except for the north-western part of Mark, and Gustavus Adolphus might end up selling that to De Geer in Essen.”

  “I see,” said Eleonore. “So, are you planning to expand all the way to the Rhine? The Rhine trade is valuable and likely to grow even more so.”

  “Yes.” Amalie shrugged. “We would have preferred Essen, but Gustavus Adolphus apparently prefer De Geer to my husband, and expansion in that direction would be too costly, at least while De Geer is in power.”

  “Any indications that De Geer is falling? I’ve got quite a lot of investments in Essen.” The abbess put down her cup.

  “No. But the favors of princes are fickle—and that goes double for kings and triple for emperors. Wilhelm was once Gustavus’ most favored ally, now he is apparently to be reduced to just another provincial governor. Sooner or later De Geer’s star is bound to drop as well.”

  “How about the Düsseldorf area?” Eleonore asked, “It was as important as Essen to the Americans. And while Duke Wolfgang’s second wife, Katharina Charlotte, is Gustavus’ cousin by marriage, Wolfgang has made himself so unpopular with absolutely everyone within the last few years, that I cannot imagine much opposition to taking him down. Especially since Wolfgang’s heir is by his Bavarian first wife.”

  “Hesse mentioned the possibility in passing to Chancellor Oxenstierna after Brandenburg’s betrayal, and the answer was a clear refusal. Princess Katharina of Sweden is Gustavus’ favorite sister, and she is very fond of her niece and namesake. Unless Wolfgang does something very stupid, taking Berg from him is not an option. That Archbishop Ferdinand has sent his pet-torturer to talk to Wolfgang in secret seems promising, but I need more details. What do you know, Eleonore?”

  “You’re going to owe me for this, Amalie.” Eleonore gazed sternly at her friend. “This information only arrived last night, and even the government hasn’t yet been told.”

  “I see.” Amalie smiled. “From Moses Abrabanel, then. Well, I don’t want to go try to squeeze it out of him, so: debt accepted with the abbess as witness, for one political favor of your choice.”

  “Archbishop Ferdinand has hired four regiments of cavalry with money received from Richelieu. It seems to be related to those French military movements south of Trier that been worrying the government lately.”

  “And their target?” Amalie leaned forward.

  “Unknown. But if some kind of a deal has been struck between Richelieu and Archbishop Ferdinand, then there is nothing capable of stopping a French army from striking north and taking Jülich from a base within the diocese.”

  “How about Báner?” the abbess interrupted.

  “He cannot move that far west unless it’s in response to an attack. The situation to the east and south is simply too unstable.” Amalie shook her head and tapped her fingernail on her teacup again.

  “And with an alliance with Don Fernando in the Low Countries they would be able to take Rheinland Pfalz at their leisure and make everything west of the Rhine Catholic.” The abbess sighed. “Most of the USE regiments are already occupied far to the east and north. Any information about timing?”

  “No. But Don Francisco Nasi put another interpretation on the news last night.” Eleonore leaned back, her stomach every bit as round as Amalie’s. “That Felix Gruyard has been visiting Wolfgang may suggest that there is an alliance there as well. And that puts the combined forces in position to attack Essen.”

  “Yes. Or Hesse-Kassel.” Amalie suddenly looked very alert, and put down her cup hard enough to chip the saucer.

  “No offence intended my dear,” the abbess smiled, “but Essen is actually the more valuable area.”

  “Yes.” Amalie leaned back again and smiled at the abbess. “But not even Oxenstierna could blame us for defending our land against a Catholic conspiracy.”

  Bonn, Archbishop’s Palace

  “Ah! Please come in, Father Johannes. Did you have a pleasant journey here from Grantville?” Prince-Bishop Franz von Hatzfeldt of Würzburg rose from his desk, and greeted the tall ascetic looking priest with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Yes, thank you. The roads have dried out nicely, and I even had the opportunity to ride the new railroad for a short stretch. A most comfortable way of travelling once you get used to the speed.” Father Johannes gave a quick look around the room, while sitting down on the chair his new patron indicated. Dark oak panels, dark oak furniture, dark and slightly shabby velvet upholstery, all in all a quite depressive room for a man in exile.

  Father Johannes had met Bishop Franz while doing some paintings in Bamberg several years ago. At the time Franz von Hatzfeldt had been a diplomat in the service of the Prince-Bishop Johan Georg of Bamberg, and a full member of the Church administration in both Bamberg and Würzburg. Father Johannes remembered him as a calm and likeable man with a keen eye for beauty. Now, however, the man fiddling with his pen on the other side of the desk seemed filled with a kind of restless worry that made Father Johannes wondered if Francisco Nasi was right, and there was more going on in Cologne than a group of exiled clerics wanting their bishoprics back. Franz von Hatzfeldt had proved himself an excellent diplomat in negotiations with Tilly, and had slowly gained more and more influence until he was elected Bishop of Würzburg just a few months before the Protestant conquest of
that diocese. Surely the loss of land and power should not mean that much of a setback to a competent diplomat with proven skills and contacts that would make anyone with ambitions want to hire him?

  “I have the pardon signed by Archbishop Ferdinand for your behavior against your superiors after the sack of Magdeburg. As I believe my secretary Otto Tweimal explained to you: the pardon will officially be a part of your payment for your work on my family’s property in Cologne. The property is several old houses—all of which are worn and drab—so officially I’m hiring you to paint murals for the ladies, and advise on the restoration and decorations. I know of old that your taste is unerring.” Bishop Franz took a deep breath and forced another smile. “Unofficially I want you to tell me all that you can about the Americans and how they are likely to affect the political situation. You are not to mention the unofficial part of your duties to anyone without my permission. I’ll be coming to Cologne from time to time, to see my family and to follow your progress with the house.”

  “Are you considering approaching somebody in Magdeburg about a wish to return to you bishopric?” Johannes asked. “I have no interest in politics, but I have heard mentions of people of importance in the new administrations. Even met a few during my stay in Grantville.”

  Bishop Franz sat for a while without answering. “I make no secret of my wish to return to Würzburg, but there are various ways in which that can be accomplished. Some naturally more attractive to me than others.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll ride with you to Cologne, and introduce you to Sister Maximilane. She is Archbishop Ferdinand’s cousin, originally Countess Maria Maximilane von Wartenberg, and she is to take up residence in my house along with most of the women in my family. Your luggage can follow in a wagon. Otto Tweimal mentioned that you were involved in developing a European porcelain industry. Perhaps you would tell me more about this. Würzburg and Bamberg are traditionally winemaking areas, but it might be an idea to diversify a little.”

  Chapter 2

  Cologne, Hatzfeldt House

  May, 1634

  Hiding behind the curtains in a noble lady’s bedroom while she was undressing! Father Johannes bit his lip to keep back a totally inappropriate giggle. During his stay in Grantville he had read a few of the so called “Romances” the Americans had brought with them, and this was straight out of one of them. There were differences: he was not a young nobleman in trouble, but a middle-age priest and painter in trouble. And the lady in question was not a beautiful and willful young virgin, but a very competent spinster his own age. A very handsome spinster in Father Johannes’ opinion, but there really wasn’t that much similarity between the adorable Annabella of Love Conquers All and Sister Maximiliane, former Countess von Wartenberg.

  Sister Maximiliane had come from Bavaria to Bonn the previous winter to nurse her cousin, Archbishop Ferdinand of Cologne, during an illness, and she had accepted an offer to stay and take charge of the Hatzfeldt household in Cologne, as the four Hatzfeldt brother’s feud with their step-mother, Margaretha von Backenfoerde, had left them with no one presently capable of the task. The house was an old and worn complex of buildings acquired from the Nassau family by the brothers’ father, Imperial Knight Sebastian von Hatzfeldt, and left in his will to his third son, Franz. It was a shabby residence for such a prominent family, but after Crottorf, the main castle of the Hatzfeldt family, had been invaded by the Swedes in 1631, causing the death of old Sebastian, it had been decided to shelter as many family members as possible behind the defenses of Cologne. Bishop Franz had for that—and other—reasons contacted Father Johannes in Grantville the previous autumn, and hired him to transform the old Nassauer Hof into something worthy of the name Hatzfeldt House.

  At the moment only Sister Maximiliane and a few servants had arrived in Cologne, and all in all it should have been the best time for Father Johannes to do a bit of snooping around. Not that he wasn’t free to enter any room during the daytime, but what possible reason could he give for taking down a picture in Sister Maximiliane’s bedroom, and searching both front and back through a lens? Only—time had slipped away from him, and Sister Maximiliane had come back from Evening Mass before he’d had the time to get out. Now all he could do was to wait for the maid to leave and Sister Maximiliane to go to sleep.

  “I wish thee would come forth.” Sister Maximiliane’s voice was sharp and firm.

  But the maid had just left! She could not have seen him. He had not left open a hole to peek through. Or moved.

  “It is thee behind the curtain I’m talking to. If I shall have to leave my bed to come pull thee forth, I shall be most annoyed.”

  Father Johannes moved the curtain slightly to the side and saw Sister Maximiliane sitting in the bed staring straight at him.

  “Well?”

  “It’s only me, Sister Maximiliane.” Father Johannes took a few steps forward and bowed. “I most humbly apologize for intruding on your privacy, but assure you that I intend you neither harm nor disrespect.”

  “Hmpf! Father Johannes.” Sister Maximiliane frowned. “I’m not in the habit of holding evening levees, but come sit on the bed and give me an explanation.”

  Father Johannes sat as he was told. “I just wanted to study the painting on the wall. The Heavenly Madonna. I believe it’s by Paul Moreau. Do you know him?”

  “You put it back upside down.”

  “Oh!” Father Johannes half-rose to turn the picture.

  ”Never mind that. Just what are you up to with that young whipper-snapper Franz von Hatzfeldt?”

  “Milady?”

  “Father Johannes, Franz might be the Prince-Bishop of Würzburg these days, but I have known him all his life. He’s only seven years younger than I, a friend of my brother, Franz Wilhelm, and our families have known each other since before the Deluge. He’s up to something.” She shrugged. “So is just about everybody else these days, but in my estimate Franz would just about sell his soul to get his diocese back from the Protestant occupation. With the Americans being the blank shields in this cabal, and Franz hiring a painter straight from their town—not to mention giving you free-hands and an open purse—I would have to be dumb as a door not to suspect something. And no one has ever called me stupid, Father Johannes.”

  “N-No, Milady. Quite the opposite. S-surely.” Father Johannes swallowed and tried to gather what was left of his wits. Sister Maximiliane was unsettling enough when being the formal grand lady, but once she dropped her formality, she was absolutely terrifying. He could either try to play dumb or confess everything, and hope for her kindness. And he really wasn’t that much of an actor. And Sister Maximiliane was better known for her competence than her kindness. “My commission from the p-prince-bishop is quite genuine; a written contract filed with the authorities here in Cologne, money for my payment as well as expenses deposed with the bankers. It’s a very generous agreement, but then I am well known within clerical circles. A-as a painter, I mean. ”

  “Certainly. I cannot say I approve of all the uses you have made of your gifts, but I do not deny they are great. So, what is not in the files?”

  Father Johannes swallowed nervously. “Everybody wants to know about the Americans, Milady. My patron just wants me to tell him about them. W-when he comes here to visit his family.”

  “Father Johannes, no one is that ingenuous past the age of twenty. You are making me angry.”

  This wasn’t working. “Sister Maximiliane, I’ll be putting my life in your hands.” Father Johannes dropped his cringe and looked Sister Maximiliane straight in the eyes.

  “It is already there, Father Johannes.” Then Sister Maximiliane’s stern face eased in to a little smile, “but if it’s any consolation to you, I consider you far too talented a painter to waste.”

  “Your cousin, Archbishop Ferdinand, felt the same way about my friend Paul Moreau. So after he faked the evidence for Paul’s trial, your cousin ordered his torturer to spare Paul’s hands and arms and concentrate on the lower part of hi
s body. I do not find your words much of a consolation.” There was absolutely no answering smile on Father Johannes face.

  Sister Maximiliane gaped, then pulled herself together. “Are you absolutely sure of this? My cousin is politically ruthless, that goes with being part of the ducal family of Bavaria, but this!” Sister Maximiliane took a deep breath. “To spare the hands of a talented painter would be a kindness. If the man was guilty, the evidence genuine...”

  “Not a chance. Paul’s mother was a friend of my mother, and we have often studied and criticized each other’s paintings. Four or five years ago Paul was accused of painting votive pictures for the Black Mass. Three years ago I was in Bonn just before going to Magdeburg to paint the propaganda broad-sheets for that campaign. By accident I saw those evil pictures attributed to Paul. And he never painted those. I recognized the work of Alain van Beekx, a painter from Holland. Van Beekx is known to work for Felix Gruyard, your cousin’s torturer and executor.”

  “I’ve met Gruyard.” Sister Maximiliane looked up at the Madonna painting. “You saw the protocol as well? No chance Gruyard acted on his own? Faked the evidence without my cousin’s knowledge?”

  “The record for Gruyard’s expenses included a very large fee to van Beekx, and you cousin signed personally for full payment. Paul later managed to escape somehow and disappear.” Father Johannes looked up on the picture too. “I didn’t do or say anything at the time. Closed my eyes and told myself I could do nothing. None is so blind as him who will not see.” He looked back at Sister Maximiliane. “My stay with the Americans taught me that there is so much—even in the mortal world—that I’ll never understand. That all a man can do is to put his faith in God, and try to do what is right. I want to find my friend and help him if I can. Bishop Franz might be planning to double-cross your cousin. Or they may be up to something together. I don’t particularly care. The Madonna on your wall is painted by Paul, the greenish blue of the sky is a shade Paul was developing when I last met him, and the motive is Catholic. It is recent, but it is not something a Calvinist like Paul would ever willingly have painted.”