1635- the Wars for the Rhine (ARC)

by Anette Pedersen

  Melchior, the ruddy and most handsome second brother, had planned to become a Knight of St. John on Malta, but broke off his studies after several years in Fulda, Würzburg and France to become a soldier. As such he had made a very fast career to general under Wallenstein, and had since gathered a sizable fortune during his campaigns. Before going to Cologne Father Johannes had searched the library in Grantville for information about the Hatzfeldts, and in the Americans’ world Melchior had—in 1635—become an Imperial Count, Field-Marshall and Imperial Councillor as a reward for remaining loyal to the Emperor during Wallenstein’s intrigues. Now Melchior was an Imperial Count a year early, but just that, none of the other titles. And rather than fighting against Wallenstein’s rebellion in Bohemia—or against one of the Protestant armies elsewhere—he had been given furlough to visit his family. He had, of course, left behind his regiments in Linz, and he wasn’t as famous as Tilly and Wallenstein, but he was still the highest ranking and most respected Catholic war-leader now in the West. Sending him to lead an attempt to push back the USE occupation along the Rhine, would make sense; but was that the plan? A messenger from Don Francisco had come to Cologne a few days after Melchior’s arrival: Count Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel was most alarmed by General Melchior von Hatzfeldt’s presence so near his border, and any sign of military mobilization would be viewed as intended aggression. Any information from Father Johannes would be appreciated!

  The Fleckenbuehl cousins—with estates in Hesse and a long history of service to the ruling family there—repeatedly tried to corner Melchior for a private discussion, so after a few days Melchior took to spending all his afternoons with the ladies and Father Johannes in the muniment room. And to his great mortification Father Johannes found himself jealous of the other man’s easy relationship with his ladies. It was of course an unworthy feeling. Illogical. Ridiculous. And all together to be ignored. And beside Melchior’s presence in the muniment room might provide some insights in what dastardly deeds were going on in Bonn. That Father Johannes liked—really liked—the two ladies didn’t mean their male relatives weren’t both ambitious and ruthless. Father Johannes really should spend as much time as possible with the ladies. Eh! With Melchior. He owed it to ... To his American friends. And the chance for a better world that they represented. And as a priest he should certainly try to prevent a renewal of the fighting in this part of Germany. Eh! As a Catholic priest he should prevent a Catholic Archbishop from using this Catholic Imperial General to re-take areas presently occupied by the Protestant? Argh! What a bloody mess. Father Johannes stopped to rest his head against the door before entering the muniment room.

  Inside the two ladies and Melchior were laughing at two cats sitting on each end of the table and alternately hissing at each other and ignoring each other with contempt. “Come in Father Johannes,” said Lucie smiling up at Father Johannes, “two new toms have been added to the household and they are being absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Yes,” said Maxie leaning back in her chair and smiling wryly at Father Johannes, “and their names are Melchior and Father Johannes.”

  Melchior stopped laughing and stared at Maxie, while Father Johannes sank down on a chair and kept his eyes on the cats. The silence stretched for a while, then Melchior started chuckling. “I didn’t think we were being that obvious, Father Johannes.”

  Father Johannes sighed and looked at the other man; when he dropped the harsh authority of an officer and his smile reached his eyes, Melchior really looked like a male version of Lucie. Kindness and humor at least somewhat included. “If my behavior has been offensive or in any way improper, I most humbly apologize,” said Father Johannes with a bow towards the other man.

  “Don’t be silly, Father Johannes,” once again Lucie made Father Johannes feel like a school boy, “compared to most of the clerics I know, you are an absolute pattern-card of moral rectitude and proper behavior. But you and my dear brother have so much in common, that it’s silly so formal you both have been. Why don’t you start by telling Melchior about the Americans notion of Democracy? Papa studied for years in Strasbourg, and was most interested in Philosophy; Melchior has inherited this interest.”

  Hessian camp outside the town of Frankenberg

  Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel had been commanding troops since he was a teenager, including several years of learning everything he could from Gustavus Adolphus, and now every bit of experience he had told him that this campaign was getting too complex. His wife Amalie took the greatest delight in political intrigues, and the more complex the better. But while he had the greatest respect for her brain and knowledge, she didn’t really understand military realities in the field.

  He had perfectly agreed with her that the new province of Hesse-Kassel needed a major center for industry and trading, preferably on the Rhine. With Gustavus Adolphus blocking both Essen and Düsseldorf, the only possibility left was Cologne. So, he’d made plans for a feint towards Wildenburg and Schönstein followed by a quick raid across the mountains south-west of Hessen to take first Bonn and then Cologne before the summer was over. That Archbishop Ferdinand had been hiring some of Wallenstein’s old colonels was not a problem, especially since the names mentioned were definitely second-rate. It made a somewhat plausible excuse for those excessively nervous types in the government who insisted that armies should only be used for defense. The French had been sniffing around the area all spring, but Richelieu liked to have a finger in all pies, and the French troops south of Trier had not been reported moving north, so that was fairly much business as usual too.

  That General Melchior von Hatzfeldt had suddenly shown up in Bonn a few weeks ago was slightly more worrying, but since he came without his regiments, it was probably just some kind of scouting mission for the HRE. But now! Hesse sighed and looked down on the telegram in his hand. A special courier from Amalie had arrived only a week ago with a letter saying that Wolfgang of Jülich-Berg was in league with the archbishop and Richelieu in planning an attack on Hesse-Kassel, and that the plans should be changed to head due west for Mark and Düsseldorf. Today she had sent a telegram using the radio between Magdeburg and Kassel to get the message to him faster, if less secretly, saying that the Catholic Alliance had already attacked Essen, and that he should head north-west towards Paderborn and Dortmund to hit them from the rear!

  Both changes made sense on the basis of the information, but what Amalie really didn’t understand was that you could not keep changing where your army was going and still expect it to get anywhere. Doing so undermined the men’s confidence in the leaders, and backtracking on roads already churned by a passing army meant that the cannons and supply wagons were almost guaranteed to get stuck. He could recall the cavalry and send them north to Paderborn, or he could let them take the mountain paths to the road past Plettenberg, but the cannons and the infantry were already strung out along the southern route, and there was no way he could turn them north before Siegen.

  In the meantime he needed to leave the army and go see old Ludwig of Sayn-Wittgenstein. That stubborn old fool was almost on his deathbed, but still determined to make troubles. His heir, Johannes, was a sensible young man, who had almost immediately seen the benefits in having his small mountain realm incorporated in the USE province of Hesse-Kassel. But the old man had flat out refused to even discuss it; declaring in the most pompous phrases that he would see every mountain stream run red with the blood of both his own people and any invaders before he gave up the land built on the bones of his ancestors.

  The army Wittgenstein could field wasn’t even a single regiment, so it was of course possible to simply ignore the old man and press ahead. But since the old man’s daughter-in-law was the sister to Hesse’s sister-in-law, it might be better to try diplomacy once more. Hesse’s brother Herman really doted on his new bride, and if Hesse—even by accident—made Juliane’s sister a widow, there really would be trouble when he returned to Magdeburg.

  Chapter 4

  Düsseldorf, The Castl
e

  June 24, 1634

  “My Lady? Pardon me for disturbing your vigil.”

  Charlotte turned her head at the voice of General Merode, and rose stiffly from the pad where she had been kneeling. She had gone along with her sister’s suggestion that they would keep the old custom of holding a vigil, praying in the chapel on Saint John’s Night, hoping that the quiet of the night would enable her to put her options in order and make some plans for the future.

  “My Lady?” Merode reached out to touch her sleeve. “Are you unwell?”

  Charlotte shrugged and tried to smile. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. Holding a vigil while short of sleep and more than seven months pregnant had probably not been very wise. “You bring news, General Merode?” The man looked as worn-out as she felt, but she couldn’t read the emotions in his weathered face.

  “Yes, My Lady. And I’m afraid it’s very bad news.” The general bowed. “Your husband and his son were both killed yesterday afternoon, and the troops suffered heavy casualties. The army of Essen may be expected to reach Düsseldorf either today or tomorrow, and I think you had better flee. The battles have been unusually bloody, and unless the Essen command is able to re-establish discipline very quickly, things could get badly out of hand. I’ve got only a few hundred men, but I believe our best option is to head for Jülich.”

  “Thank you, general.” Charlotte pulled herself together and ignored the agitated babbling of her sister and the other people around her. “But I would like for you to try organizing some kind of defensive lines stopping Essen from taking more of Berg than the area here around Düsseldorf. The sack of the town should buy you some time, and heaven knows the mountains form their own defenses. I shall travel up the Rhine to Cologne. Archbishop Ferdinand is an old friend of my mother. Stop wailing, Elisabeth, and go pack.”

  Cologne, Hatzfeldt house

  On the evening of Hermann’s wedding Father Johannes sat sketching lamps for the new library on a piece of scrap-paper when Maxie and Lucie came into the muniment room. He had received an invitation to join the celebrating in the palace, but though the invitation had come from Melchior, and had no other motive than their fast growing friendship, Father Johannes had not wanted to catch the attention of the Archbishop—nor of Felix Gruyard.

  “Back so early, ladies?” Father Johannes rose with a slight bow and helped Lucie to her chair.

  “We used Lucie’s leg as an excuse, and borrowed Peter von Hardenrat’s carriage,” said Maxie with a frown. “Neither of us liked it there. No one talked about anything but that mess with Essen and Wolfgang of Jülich-Berg except Cousin Ferdinand, who would not talk to me about anything except the food—which he didn’t touch. And everyone who came with him from Bonn drank too much and their smiles never reached their eyes. I wish my brother had come with the archbishop, but Franz Wilhelm remained in Bonn. And immediately after the banquet Ferdinand and some of his friends pulled Melchior aside and withdrew from the hall; such rudeness towards the mayors and the city councilors worries me. Ferdinand is the son of a Duke, he cannot just sit waiting for his land and power to be eroded; it’s totally against his nature and upbringing. But if Melchior is more important than the support of the Council of Cologne .... Damned.” Maxie’s striding up and down the floor came to an abrupt end when her thin embroidered slipper connected hard with a crate.

  “Do sit down Maxie,” Lucie tilted her head a bit and looked at her friend. “Melchior will tell us something when he comes back. Like you, I favour negotiations, but I cannot blame Archbishop Ferdinand and Franz for wanting to negotiate from a position of power. We’ve all heard how Schweinsberg’s doing in Fulda after simply going back to his diocese. Franz would hate to be so powerless. He might do it if he thought the people of Würzburg were being badly mistreated, but Father Johannes has made it clear that this is unlikely.”

  “Actually, your brother has shown far more interest in the conditions in Fulda than in Würzburg,” said Father Johannes.

  “Fulda? Why Fulda? I think my toe is broken.” Maxie winced as she eased off her shoe and moved her foot. “Help me get my stocking off, Father Johannes. I want to take a look.” Maxie leaned back on the big table and pulled up her skirts to show her pink embroidered stocking tied with a matching garter above her knee.

  “Maximiliane!”

  “Oh, bother Lucie. I cannot bend down in this boned stomacher, and you are in pain already. Besides, if Father Johannes hasn’t untied a lady’s garter before, then it’s high time he did.”

  Knowing his face would be beet-red, Father Johannes knelt down in front of Maxie, and was trying to figure out which ribbon to pull when the door to the room opened.

  * * *

  Melchior walked slowly from the archbishop’s palace back to Hatzfeldt House. There was something seriously wrong. Archbishop Ferdinand was up to something that he wasn’t willing to talk openly about—and he was involving Franz in the intrigue. That would not necessarily have been a problem if Melchior had any confidence in the archbishop’s ability to succeed, but every bit of military experience Melchior had gathered during almost twenty years as a mercenary officer told him not to rely on Archbishop Ferdinand as a leader.

  Melchior nodded to the servant by the entrance, and went down the steps to the muniment room where the candles still burned along that passage. He opened the door and stopped in surprise at the sight of Maxie with her skirt drawn up to show her legs leaning against the table with Father Johannes beetroot red in the face kneeling before her—and with Lucie broadly grinning in her chair.

  “Oh my God!” After a surprised stop Melchior collapsed in a chair and bend over with laughter.

  Father Johannes totally by chance pulled the right end and eased off the stocking by touching only the heel and toes. Then he returned to his chair scowling at the still laughing Melchior—and carefully avoiding the eyes of either lady.

  “Will you stop laughing, Melchior. It’s not that funny. And that toe will certainly be blue and black in the morning.” Maxie frowned at her toes before dropping her skirts and sitting down. “I said stop it!”

  Melchior dried his eyes, but kept smiling. “I really needed that dear Maxie. It was such an antidote to the poison I’ve inhaled tonight.”

  “Glad to be of service,” Father Johannes half snarled, “but could you possibly explain what going on with the archbishop; because the rest of us haven’t got a clue.”

  Melchior leaned back in his chair and looked far more sombrely at Father Johannes. “No offence intended Father Johannes, but though you are a Catholic priest—a Jesuit of all things—I need to ask if your primary loyalty is to the Catholic Church or to the Americans.”

  “The Americans are Catholics,” Father Johannes shrugged, “at least some of them. They have sent a delegation to the Pope to clarify their status within the Church, and I refuse to consider it a problem until and unless it becomes one. Also, I’ve never given any kind of oath to the Americans; they never asked for one or even mentioned the idea. What I give to them I give freely, without pressure or obligation, based only on my own judgement. As for the Church?” Father Johannes sighed. “I broke my vow of obedience towards my superiors at Magdeburg, and I’m totally certain I never did anything more right. Your brother arranged a pardon for this from Archbishop Ferdinand, but no one has asked me to renew my broken oath. And I’d much prefer no one did. I serve God to the best of my abilities, but there are things I’d never again do for the Church: making propaganda for a “holy” war is one, attempting to stop the American ideas from spreading is another. I really do believe they’ll do more good than harm.”

  Melchior nodded. “My own oath of loyalty is, of course, to the Emperor I serve, and the most important part of “Holy Roman Empire” is first, last and always: Empire. I was sent here partly to evaluate the military situation in the West, partly for an irrelevant personal reason, and I’m far from certain that the archbishop’s plans are in the Emperor’s best interest. Maxie, are you quite
certain your cousin is of a sound mind?”

  “Ambitions are encouraged in the ducal family, especially for the boys.” Maxie looked down on her hands, fingers twisting her shining rings. “The only subject where I have known Ferdinand to be lost to reason concerns his older brother Philipp. There was only a year between them, and they were as close as twins, played together, studied together in Ingolstadt, and went to Rome together when Philipp became a bishop at the age of sixteen. Philipp was a Cardinal when he was killed by a fall from a horse only six years later. That was more than thirty years ago, but Ferdinand still wants to become a Cardinal like Philipp. He really has neither Philipp’s brilliant flair for theology nor his genuine interest in spiritual matters and charity. So for thirty years Ferdinand has slowly been building a power base.” She looked up at Melchior and Father Johannes. “You should understand, that for Ferdinand it is not the land, the people, the wealth or the fame, it is influence in clerical circles that has his main interest. This is illogical as he doesn’t really want to be a Cardinal for any purpose; it’s just a goal. But watching that power base erode, seeing that dream fade, feeling he failed his dead brother ... Despite his long experience and political acumen, he could be making decisions based on other than logic.“

  “Sorry, Maxie, but I do not think logic or reason has any part in his decisions anymore.” Melchior started twining his goatee between his fingers, a sure sign he was thinking hard. “Father Johannes, how would you estimate the chances of winning against the USE here in the West—providing the Americans remain in alliance with the Swedes?”