1635- the Wars for the Rhine (ARC)

by Anette Pedersen

  * * *

  “So, after I fried that fucking little frog-eater I went to Gustav—that’s Emperor Gustavus Adolphus to you, my young friend, only he wasn’t an emperor yet in those days—and said . . .”

  Well, Simon had certainly found a major willing to talk. The problem was that what the man wanted to talk about was limited to how he had won every major battle in Europe during the past ten years. He had said a bit about the political situation along the Rhine, so the morning hadn’t been entirely wasted, but Simon was still more than happy to see Allenberg hurry towards him.

  “Please come. Quick.” Allenberg had already passed the table by the inn, where Simon was sitting and hurried on down the street, as some kind of disturbance broke out up by the garrison’s storehouses.

  “Excuse me, major.” Something was obviously seriously wrong, so Simon threw some coins at the table and set off after Allenberg.

  “What’s wrong?” Simon caught up with Allenberg just as they turned the last corner towards the stable where they had left the cart and the horses.

  “My past caught up with me.” Allenberg said curtly, and pulled Simon into a gateway as horses thundered down the street they had just left.

  Allenberg took a deep breath and looked at Simon through slightly narrowed eyes. “It has nothing to do with the company or the General, so you could just play it cool, and pretend to know nothing. Rosy and Schaden should be with the horses by now. There’s no reason for Tapic to connect the three of you with me. You get the horses and get out. I’ll leave once Tapic has stopped watching the gate. Those horses would have been him going to the gate with extra guards, but he’s the only one knowing me well enough to recognize me if I find something else to wear.”

  “I do know nothing—and want to change that. Both the major and the quartermaster saw the two of us together. And can you imagine what the Wolf—and the General—would say if I just left you behind?”

  “The General, yes. The Wolf, no. But it would probably be inventive.” Allenberg leaned back against the wall, and relaxed a little. “Do you remember the big scandal in Metz two years ago? The one where a mob broke into the prison and hanged the lawyer responsible for setting up the American pyramid game?”

  “Sure.”

  “That lawyer was my father.”

  “Ah. And did you have anything to do with the scheme?”

  “Colonel Tapic and his family lost ten thousand thalers all together.”

  “I see. So your guilt would be irrelevant. Well.” Simon looked at the smooth cheeks and solid figure of the forger. “We should be able to get away with Rosy’s favorite ploy and get you out dressed up as a female.”

  “Simon.” Allenberg gave a sigh. “I am a female. And Tapic know this.”

  “Oh,. shit.”

  * * *

  “That was the most hare-brained scheme I’ve ever been a part of.” Rosy pulled off his dropping hat and threw it on the ground. “And I’ve damned well taken part in some beauties. Mind telling me, my fair-haired boy, just where you acquired that talent of yours for pulling tricks?” Rosy stuck his hands in his side and glared up at Simon.

  Simon wondered if a quelling stare would be enough to make Rosy back down, but as usually his boyish face spoiled any attempt to look threatening. And instead he looked around at his most irregular irregulars. They had trusted him enough to follow him—not into the ordinary danger of a battle—but into a situation where Simon’s ability to talk his way out of trouble was all that stood between them and getting hanged as spies. Perhaps he should let trust run both ways—at least a little.

  “Learned it at my mother’s knees.” Simon dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Schaden.

  “Literally or figuratively?” Allenberg calmly looked over his—no her—shoulder at Simon, while continuing to unfasten the wine bag from her saddle.

  “Literally.” Simon took a drink from the bag Allenberg handed him before passing it on to Rosy, and starting rummaging for food in his own saddle bags.

  “Huh! I thought your old man was a very respectable silversmith in Hamburg?” Rosy took a drink without removing his gaze from Simon.

  “He was.”

  “And your mother, I believe Dehn mentioned, was a very beautiful, French noblewoman.” Allenberg took the food from Simon, and squatted down to cut the dried meat against a flat rock.

  “Very beautiful, very French, and certainly high class.”

  “Yes, but high class what?” Rosy relaxed and started laughing. “You know, it’s really starting to look as if Schaden is the most respectable person among us.”

  Chapter 30

  The road between Bonn and Mainz

  December 15, 1634

  “Do you think we got away?” Prince-Bishop Franz von Hatzfeldt of Würzburg, pulled the reins to stop his horse beside his friend.

  “Yes. Few military troops are eager to chase down two armed men on fast horses, but with no visible luggage to loot. Let us stop and rest the horses.” Bishop Franz Wilhelm von Wartenberg of Minden turned his horse into the shadows between the trees along the road. The rain had finally let up earlier that evening, tempting the two men into leaving their hiding place, but then the sky had cleared completely, and the light of the almost full moon had made it easy for the dragoon patrol to spot them.

  “I cannot believe Archbishop Ferdinand would just let us get away. He must have people searching for us. Perhaps even that creepy Felix Gruyard. He could have gotten in front of us, while we laid low in Rheinbach.” Franz fumbled with his reins, making his horse dance nervously even after the hard ride on the muddy road. “Even if the archbishop hates our guts, getting the support of our families is the only chance he has left.”

  “There is no chance.” Franz Wilhelm’s face looked grim in the moonlight streaming through the half-bare branches. “There never was. The archbishop’s plan to drive in a wedge between the Americans and the German princes, and then grab back the conquered bishoprics along the Rhine in the confusion, could not work without the full support of Bavaria. And he didn’t have that.”

  “Duke Maximillian of Bavaria would have joined his brother once the initial step of taking Fulda had succeeded. The initial plan wasn’t that foolish. It was only when Hesse got involved that everything went to pieces.” Franz got off his horse, and started walking it around to cool it down.

  Franz Wilhelm shook his head, and got off his horse as well. “No, my friend, he would not. Even if Hesse had stayed at home. You haven’t seen Duke Maximillian since his Duchess died. He doesn’t really care about anything but his grief, and what is worse is that he has shown more and more signs of focusing on a few specific ideas to the exclusion of all rational thought and reason.”

  “Idiosyncrasies and monomania.” Franz sighed. “That’s what Father Father Johannes told me the Americans call it. Only he was talking about Archbishop Ferdinand and his plans for the Americans in Fulda.”

  Franz Wilhelm nodded. “It’s probably a family trait. Their father had the same tendencies. Perhaps the new American teachings are right, and to keep marrying back and forth in the same families is not such a good idea. I’m certainly very, very happy about my low-born—but very sensible—mother.”

  “Well, at least he cannot send the Irish colonels after us.” Franz’s mind kept returning to worrying about the powerful archbishop, whose aid he had sought three years ago, when the protestant armies had conquered his bishopric in Würzburg. “Even if you are wrong about them going to defect with all their men, Archbishop Ferdinand is going to need them to keep Hesse a bay.” Franz cast a last glance over his shoulder, and started walking his horse down the road into the next valley.

  “I’m not wrong.” Franz Wilhelm was the oldest son in the morganatic marriage of the archbishop’s uncle, and his upbringing in the ducal family of Bavaria combined with his Jesuit and military schooling gave him a firm grasp of the overall strategic situation. Franz, on the other hand, was the son of a Knight of only local
importance, and had been a diplomat working for the bishops of Bamberg before being elected to Bishop of Würzburg, so while he knew just about every clerical person worth knowing in western Germany, his knowledge about military matters was close to nil.

  Franz Wilhelm continued. “The Irish colonels haven’t got an especially firm grip on their men, and cannot make them go on fighting a losing battle against Hesse. Especially with no loot and bad camps. And even if Irish & co manages to make them do so, they’ll all stop the moment the archbishop’s money runs out.”

  “I know how much he took from the treasury at Bonn,” said Franz, “and that’ll run out in another month or so, but he might also have managed to get something from the palace in Cologne before Hesse’s siege closed off the town.”

  “In any case we should be safe from pursuit now.” Franz Wilhelm looked up at the sky. “We are unlikely to reach the town of Mayen before morning, and the clouds are moving in. Do you know of any place where we can stop?”

  “The old man in Rheinbach said that between all the skirmishing, and unregulated looting by the dragoons from both sides, fairly much all the farms and small villages have been abandoned. With the archbishop now being pressed west towards Aachen, people might be coming back, but the best we can do is probably to find a house or a stable, and just sleep rolled up in our cloaks. There never were that many inns on this side of the river, and we cannot depend on finding one before Koblenz.” Franz hesitated. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but do you think we are doing the right thing?”

  “My dear friend,” said Franz Wilhelm sighing as they both climbed back on their horses, “we’re both competent men of proven abilities, and—if we didn’t want to just retire to our personal estates—I’m sure either the Church or the soon-to-be new emperor could find something useful for us to do. But if we want our bishoprics back, we must negotiate and compromise for them. And the longer we stay away, the firmer any arrangements made in our absence are going to become.”

  “I’m not sure I could accept being as powerless as Schweinsberg in Fulda was,” said Franz kicking his horse into a slow walk. “I have no problem with prince-prelates with the power of kings being a thing of the past, and I could probably get along with a Lutheran—if not a Calvinist—co-bishop. But there is just so much beyond the spiritual care that I had planned to do in Würzburg: schools, agricultural improvements, new villages for refugees to settle in and start new lives. I must have some resources for starting these plans. To go back to Würzburg with only the resources of my estate at Crottorf at my disposal would be unbearable.”

  “Yes, you have told me all about your plans for your precious “Kingdom”, but do consider this my friend: Archbishop Anselm of Mainz has managed to keep most of the old church estates in his area. Surely we two old diplomatic rats should do no worse.” Franz Wilhelm’s strong white teeth showed as he grinned at his friend.

  “My brother, Heinrich, remained in Mainz during Anselm’s exile, and fought with all the lawyers and records at his disposal against any attempt to remove property from the Church.” Franz’s voice was still morose, but he held his head a little higher. “He lost a few battles with the new bureaucracy when something had a fuzzy provenance, and of course all the removable valuables were looted earlier, but Anselm could still go back to a fairly complete property. You left your people in Minden with the same resources, but I was newly elected in Würzburg, and the records are scattered all over the place.”

  “You are being too pessimistic, my friend. Probably lack of sleep. That always makes you cranky. You sent young Schönborn to deal with the new USE people in Bamberg, he got us the safe-conducts, and once you’re back in Würzburg and thing have quieted down, you can send for the records you brought to Cologne, and start doing battle. Win or lose you’ll still be better off fighting for your own kingdom than following my crazy uncle Ferdinand around. Let us pick up some speed.”

  Chapter 31

  Bonn, Eigenhause House

  December 21, 1634

  To General Melchior von Hatzfeldt, Bonn

  From Lucie von Hatzfeldt, Hatzfeldt House, Cologne

  Dearest Melchior

  First let me offer you a belayed congratulation on your marriage. I never met the Countess Palatine Charlotte while she stayed in the Beguine of Mercy, but Uncle Georg assure me that she is a very nice young woman, and nowhere near as hen-witted as her older sister, Elisabeth, whom I had the dubious pleasure of meeting in Nancy. Please assure your wife of the family’s full support, but try to overcome your dislike of tale-bearing, and warn her against Margaretha. Our stepmother considers the entire mess with Hesse and the USE a personal affront directed at her. Fortunately there has been a minor raid at Castle Schönstein by what turned out to be some of the archbishop’s mercenaries, so Margaretha is presently occupied with her “grave disappointment in her dear friend Archbishop Ferdinand of Cologne, son of Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria, you know, such a pious man and a dear friend of my father”. As usually her complaints get rather boring, but at least this subject is not disrupting the family.

  I know you and Charlotte must have all sorts of things to take care of—with Bonn, her lands and your regiments—but I hope to see both of you here as soon as possible. Hatzfeldt House is still standing, and the deal with Hesse was finally signed today, so the siege is being raised and we can get new supplies. In my opinion just having the cannons stop is worth more than the council agreed to pay, but now we must just pick up the pieces and try to get back in shape.

  That very nice young courier of yours reached Hatzfeldt House yesterday with a letter from Wolf, and he has brought your three oldest regiments plus something he call—I think—the Cherry-Brushers and the Wild Oafs. Really, Wolf’s handwriting is atrocious. Reading—to the best of my abilities—between the lines, it seems he lied his way through Bavaria, while breaking most of the Ten Commandments and generally having the time of his life. Melchior, are you quite sure you knew what you were doing, when you made him your second-in-command? And thank God that Wolf made contact with Old Nic at Godesberg before he broke the armistice by hitting Hesse in the rear. Still, I suppose Wolf’s presence contributed to Hesse finally signing the deal, and having a nice little army of your own should make establishing order in Jülich much easier. Wolf will contact you as soon as the siege on Bonn is lifted, but he sent the letter to Uncle Georg here in Hatzfeldt House, since the Hessian ring around Bonn was so much tighter than around Cologne. Just what did you do to make Hesse so mad at you? Wolf also inquired about the whereabouts of Archbishop Ferdinand’s Irish mercenaries, but I could truthfully reply that I didn’t know. Didn’t you mention some kind of bad blood between Wolf and at least one of them? Still, not even Wolf can go harrying after the archbishop to settle an old score, as long as he is leading your army. Probably. I hope.

  Anyway, Hermann came back from Mainz—smuggled along the river by night and he has the most horrid tales about it—with a thick letter from Franz that I was to pass on to Father Johannes! For the family there was just a brief note saying that his traveling papers were now in order, and he would leave for Würzburg. And would I please send him copies of Hermann’s correspondence with Steve Salatto as soon as possible. That was all! No explanation, no nothing. And after all our worries about him. He was no more forthcoming to Hermann and Heinrich when they met in Mainz; just said that he had had enough of Archbishop Ferdinand, and was going back to Würzburg with Maxie’s brother, Bishop Franz Wilhelm of Minden. Our darling brother is driving me crazy!

  Our oldest brother, Heinrich, was offered the possession as Archdeacon of Mainz by Archbishop Anselm in gratitude for Heinrich’s work to keep the land and possessions of the church together during Anselm‘s exile, but Heinrich wants to get back to his music, so he plans to decline the offer. We’ll see what happens.

  Hermann, on the other hand, has made new contacts in Mainz, and goes north to Magdeburg, as soon as our affairs here are in order. Trinket is sulking, and complains t
hat as his wife she should go to Magdeburg and meet the Emperor too. Sigh!

  Father Johannes found his missing painter friend, and is now in Magdeburg. I plan to join him and Maxie there sometimes next spring. Maxie is buying a House.

  Your loving sister

  Lucie

  Hessian Field Headquarters, Archdiocese of Cologne

  December 26, 1634

  Hesse looked up from the two dispatches on the table before him. One was an old-fashioned parchment with Gustavus Adolphus’ seal and signature, the other a stained and crumpled radio transcript signed and sealed in Mainz. Together they made him wonder if God had for some reason turned against him, and he was no longer among His chosen.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He nodded at the mud-splashed courier wearing the emperor’s colors. “Lieutenant von Rutger will show you a billet, and I’ll have an answer ready for you in the morning.”

  Hesse went to the open window of the small manor house he was using as his headquarters, and looked at the setting sun. The rain, which had slowed down every movement he had made since crossing the Rhine, had stopped for a while and the clouds parted to make way for a glorious sunset. When the orders he had expected after his talk with General von Hatzfeldt had failed to arrive, he had hoped it was a sign of the emperor’s favor, and while it annoyed him that he had let Melchior von Hatzfeldt trick him, Bonn really wasn’t that important in the grander scheme. Instead the emperor had sent him the expected order to stop, but the courier from Mainz had been killed on the road outside Koblenz, where the rain had created a mudslide. It had been a trading caravan from Mainz to Aachen led by Moses Abrabanel, which had come across the corpse and retrieved the metal cylinder with its official order. The Jew had personally brought him the still sealed cylinder two days ago, and since Hesse had dutifully stopped the bombarding after having read the order, Gustavus Adolphus couldn’t blame him for disobedience. But “couldn’t blame” was not the same as favor.