1634: The Bavarian Crisis

Chapter 30

Conjurationes Atque Consilia

Besancon, The Franche-Comte

Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar smiled at Friedrich Kanoffski von Langendorff. "Not only has Cardinal Richelieu formally accepted my explanation that recent troop movements on the part of General Baner in Swabia made it impossible for me to send any significant forces as far north as Holstein-and no matter how furious he is after the catastrophe at Ahrensbok-he will have to acknowledge that it would have had no effect at all for me to send them, anyway. Not given that d'Angouleme had overall command."

Kanoffski shook his head. "The cardinal will eventually have to acknowledge it. That doesn't mean he is doing so right now, Your Grace. He is also, very soon, going to realize that aside from Turenne's cavalry, which is tied down in Paris, your troops in Alsace are the only intact body of effective soldiers under French command. Nominally under French command. He will have to wonder how long that will last."

Bernard tapped his fingers on the table. "In regard to de Guebriant. I think that we can go beyond making it clear to him that my offer of employment still stands. I think that we can afford to pay his ransom-anonymously, of course-without jeopardizing any of our other projects." Bernhard raised his eyebrows. Impressive, thick, bushy, eyebrows. "Don't you?"

"I'm sure of it. It would certainly be a pity for him to languish in USE captivity for years." Kanoffski rubbed his cheek. "Do you suppose that anyone has mentioned to Werth just how long the Imperials left him to languish in French captivity in that other world?"

"I doubt it. But there's no reason that someone shouldn't mention it to him. Just in passing, of course. And leaving out the fact that I'm the one who captured him in the first place."

"Of course."

Bernhard was still tapping his fingers on the table. "The fact that we have some more time, however, requires us to consider some possible future problems. I'm thinking in particular of the plague that is 'scheduled' for next year."

Kanoffski nodded, immediately understanding the reference. The previous winter, Duke Bernhard had sent a recruiter to Tuebingen, in hopes of acquiring the services of the mathematics professor, Schickard, for his projects in Besancon. After all, Schickard's father had been, and his brother was, public works director. The dukes of Wurttemberg were not, at present, in any position to construct public works and the university was not holding sessions.

Unfortunately, Schickard had gone off to work for the landgraves of Hesse. However, the recruiter had spoken to one of the other professors who had commented a little pompously, "Well, at least, since he's in Landgrave Hermann's castle in Rotenberg, Wilhelm won't die prematurely in the great plague epidemic that will sweep Alsace, Swabia, and Wurttemberg in 1635. That's a blessing, since we expect many great things from that brilliant mind."

The recruiter had come home talking plague. A quick examination of the up-time encyclopedia possessed by the duke revealed that the good professors at Tuebingen had the right of it. If all went as it did in that other universe, they would be faced with a major outbreak of the plague next year.

Duke Bernhard had perceived that such a medical emergency-right in his area of interest-might well have disastrous consequences for his plans. He had also heard that the up-timers had methods for combating plague that were measurably more effective than simple quarantine and movement restriction. He had been agreeable to Kanoffski's suggestion of attempting to hire an expert. The recruiter went to Grantville.

"We've gotten a response to our discreet queries in Grantville, Your Grace," said Kanoffski. "Do you recall the 'Suhl Incident' in January of last year?"

Duke Bernhard frowned. "Yes, although I can't recall many of the details. A mutiny by the local garrison, suppressed by the up-timers in alliance with the gun merchants of the city."

Kanoffski issued a soft, somewhat sarcastic grunt. "Whether it was a 'mutiny' or not could be debated. Indeed, it has been debated, and by the up-timers themselves. But the relevant item, from our point of view, is that one of the ringleaders of the so-called mutiny was himself an up-timer. A certain Lt. Johnny Lee Horton, who was killed in the course of the affair-and reportedly at the direct order of the American officer who led the suppression of the garrison."

Bernhard was still frowning. "And your point is…"

"Lt. Horton left behind a widow-also an up-timer, by the name of Kamala Horton-and their children. What's relevant is that, first, Frau Horton is quietly seething over the matter; secondly, she is now in straightened financial circumstances; and last but not least, she is herself a trained medical expert. What the up-timers call a 'nurse,' although the term has little in common with our own notions of such persons. She will have more medical knowledge than almost any doctor we could find, anywhere in Europe."

Bernhard's expression cleared, replaced by a thin smile. "In other words, by their treatment of this mutineer's widow, the up-timers in Grantville have created their own willing defector."

"Precisely. Our recruiting agent has spoken with her at some length, and she has agreed to move to Besancon and transfer her services-and her allegiance-to Your Grace. She and her children are expected to arrive here sometime next month. 'After school is out,' Mrs. Horton told our recruiter. 'I want them to finish up the spring semester.'"

Bernhard rose, clapping his hands. "Well, that's splendid. Well done, Friedrich."

Kanoffski nodded solemnly, being careful to hide any trace of a smile. There was an added benefit to the matter, but not one that he could raise directly with the duke. Bernhard's pride was even more sensitive than his stomach, and he would take offense at any suggestion that he was less than completely hale and hearty. But the fact remained that his health was not and never had been as good as he liked to think. So…

If Wallenstein could have an up-time nurse watching over his health, why not Duke Bernhard? Particularly if the duke did not have to publicly acknowledge-or even acknowledge to himself-that watching over him would be one of the Horton woman's other responsibilities.

Kanoffski was rather pleased with himself. After all, when a man has decided to hitch his wagon to a star, it behooves him to make sure that the star continues to shine.

Amberg, Upper Palatinate

"You don't expect General Baner to make any serious protest at all ?" asked Duke Ernst, his eyebrows raised. "Not even when he learns that some of the reinforcements the emperor has agreed to send him to reduce Ingolstadt will be regiments from Torstensson's army? Which is to say, CoC regiments, for all practical purposes."

The duke's eyebrows climbed still further. "Erik, I must point out that Johan's expressed opinion of the Committees of Correspondence-very pungently and profanely expressed, I might add, right here in my office, and on more than one occasion-can be boiled down to the proposition that the most suitable use for a CoC agitator's head is to serve as an adornment for a pike head."

"Oh, he'll issue a squawk or two, certainly. But I don't expect any worse than that." Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand grinned. "Ernst, I'm afraid your own modest degree of ambition-a very admirable personal trait, I'll be the first to say it-blinds you to certain realities. Johan Baner was already deeply jealous of General Torstensson's triumph at Ahrensbok. The news that recently arrived concerning General Brahe's successes have him positively spitting with fury."

Ernst frowned, trying to make sense of the matter. Gustav Adolf's commander in charge of the Swedish forces near Lorraine was Nils Brahe. He was not a general to miss an advantageous opportunity. Once the news arrived of the French defeat at Ahrensbok, he'd placed his forces on full alert. Then-probably as he'd expected, since Brahe was quite shrewd enough to gauge the complicated politics that fractured the French enemy-no sooner did he learn that Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar had withdrawn his forces facing Mainz back into Alsace and the Breisgau, than he'd made a dash to the border of Lorraine. Grabbing, in the process, much of the region that would now be incorporated into the expanding United States of Europe as the new Upper Rhenish Province.

But why-

"Oh," he said. Then, shook his head at the mentality involved. Leave it to Johan Baner to react with greater spite at a success by his own side in a war, than he would to one gained by the enemy-provided, of course, the enemy's triumph came at the expense of a different general than him.

There were at least three of the seven deadly sins at work here-Wrath, Pride and Envy. A good case could be made for adding Greed to the list, for that matter. Duke Ernst would fear greatly for Baner's soul, if he hadn't pretty much concluded that the general's incessant blasphemy had already condemned him.

So be it. He and Colonel Hand had decided to support Baner in his determination to seize Ingolstadt. Whatever this latest development might portend for the Swedish general's eternal fate, it boded well for the immediate future. At the very least, Ernst wouldn't be constantly distracted from his own duties by the need to play peace-maker between Baner and the reinforcements that would soon be arriving.

Ingolstadt

And now this insult!

Johann Philipp Cratz von Scharffenstein barely managed to keep from snarling openly at the insufferable man standing before his desk in the commandant's office, smiling down upon him.

The smile was perhaps the most insufferable thing about Colonel Wolmar von Farensbach, too, outside of the so-obviously-false "von" he was now adding to his name. The smile exuded a certain sort of smug condescension, barely this side of derision.

Still not confident of his ability to speak in a normal tone of voice, the commandant of the Ingolstadt garrison spent a few more seconds in a pointless study of the document Farensbach had handed to him upon being ushered into the office.

Document. Document. Cratz von Scharffenstein forced himself to use the simple and neutral term, in his own mind. Far better that, than to use any one of several other phrases which might have been equally well applied to the damned thing. Such as "veiled reprimand" or "insinuation of incompetence-possibly even disloyalty."

"I see." He finally managed that much. Then, waited a new more seconds before adding, "Well, then." A few more seconds, before adding: "Welcome to Ingolstadt, Colonel von Farensbach. I'm sure our officers will be glad to assist you in your… ah. Project."

The insufferable smile thinned, just slightly. Farensbach leaned over the desk and retrieved the document from Cratz's loose grip. "I don't object to 'project,' commander-so long as it is clearly understood that my authorization comes from Duke Maximilian himself. Make sure your subordinates understand that they will co-operate with my investigations."

With every stressed word, the bastard's smile flickered just that little bit more insufferably. Farensbach straightened up and looked down his nose at the garrison commander. "The duke was most emphatic in his orders. Which he gave to me personally, you understand, not simply in written form. Ingolstadt must not fall into the hands of the heretics-and I was the one he charged with the responsibility to see to it that all necessary security precautions have been taken."

He bowed, if such a miniscule movement of the head and shoulders could be graced with the term. "And now I'll be off. I must see to my duties immediately, you understand."

After he left, Cratz von Scharffenstein spent several minutes muttering curses, as many of them heaped upon Maximilian of Bavaria as his Farensbach creature. The duke's discourtesy to his loyal subordinates was positively outrageous!

Once he left the commandant's office, the smile vanished from Farensbach's face. True, the interview just passed had gone quite well. And, true also-his new commission from the duke himself as the chief of Ingolstadt's security was certain proof of it-Farensbach's embezzlements from certain of the Bavarian military accounts had gone undetected.

Well… embezzlements was an absurd way to put it, really. Farensbach had simply lent himself money, unofficially, from accounts under his immediate control. With the full intention of paying them back, soon enough. Unfortunately, "soon enough" had not allowed for the possibility that the duke might send him out of Munich on this fool's errand to Ingolstadt.

Undetected-so far. But that wouldn't last, not with Farensbach no longer on the scene to oversee the keeping of the books. If he could return within a month, perhaps even two, things would work out well enough. But given the tense situation at Ingolstadt, with that maniac Swedish general Baner so obviously determined to press the siege, Farensbach might be stuck here for months and months. Eventually, the discrepancies were bound to turn up.

He'd have to think of something. If he didn't, the day would come when new soldiers would arrive at Ingolstadt bearing new orders-and that fat swine Cratz von Scharffenstein would be smiling evilly at him instead of the other way around. When he was led back to Munich in chains.

As he paced down the hall of the military headquarters, Farensbach's scowl was enough to keep anyone from approaching him while he chewed on the problem. Word had gotten out, obviously, concerning the nature of his assignment-and no garrison soldier in his right mind wanted to draw attention to himself.

All the better, all the better. No one, and certainly not the lazy garrison commandant, would be paying much attention to Farensbach's movements. More precisely, they'd be paying attention-but only from a distance. That would probably give Farensbach the leeway he needed, no matter what he decided to do.

And by the time he exited the headquarters and passed into the outer fortress, the decision had already been made. It wasn't as if Farensbach really had any other workable option.

So. Hopefully, the Swedish general's mania extended to his purse, as well. Safe and financially well-off was a far better prospect than simply being safe, after all.

Brussels, Spanish Netherlands

"No problems with the cease fire, then?" asked Don Fernando. "Not even from CoC irregular units?"

The Spanish prince's chief political adviser, Pieter Paul Rubens, smiled in response to that. His chief military adviser, Miguel de Manrique, chuckled aloud.

"No, Your Highness," he said. "Not any. From all accounts, the Richter woman maintains a ferocious discipline over her people. I'm quite envious, actually. I wish my troops were that obedient."

Don Fernando was not actually that pleased by the news. True, the absence of any incidents with Dutch CoC hotheads was an immediate blessing. But he could foresee a time in the not-so-distant future when he would find that same Richterian discipline a monstrous nuisance. Even now that he'd met the woman personally, it was sometimes hard not to think of her as a she-devil. She'd almost certainly maintain the same rigorous control over the CoCs when they entered the political arena.

But, that was a problem for a later day. For now…

One of Miguel's many pleasing qualities was his ability to sense when the prince needed a private moment. He bowed and excused himself, with some vague comments about business he needed to attend to.

After he was gone, Don Fernando slouched back in his chair. "Any word yet from the pope?"

"No, Your Highness," said Rubens. "But I really didn't expect to hear anything yet. You need to keep in mind-always-that once such a missive arrives in Rome, it's impossible to keep its contents really secret. By now, any number of Urban's advisers will be aware that you have presented the pope with a petition requesting his permission to relinquish your position as a cardinal of the church. No priest stays for long in such a position in Rome if he lacks brains. They will understand immediately that there can only be one logical reason for your petition-and at least one of those priests is certain to be in the pay of the Spanish crown."

He cleared his throat. "And at least one other will be in the pay of the Holy Roman Emperor. Who is not actually stupid, once you look past his stubborn bigotry."

The prince nodded. "Yes, yes, I understand. Soon enough, my brother will be seething with fury-and Ferdinand II is likely to be congratulating himself for having already married off his oldest daughter. That only leaves the younger, Cecelia Renata, as a cause for him to be caught in a Habsburg crossfire."

"You're most likely right, Your Highness. And what's to the immediate point is that Pope Urban is bound to hesitate himself, for a time. In the end, I'm confident he'll grant the petition-at which point he will be caught in the crossfire."

The prince grunted. "Why are you so confident he will? It would seem to me that if he refused, he'd get the best bargain of all. On the one hand, he avoids bringing down enmity on his own head-but he also must know that I'll go ahead and resign the cardinalship without or without his agreement to the petition. So he gains that benefit, as well."

Don Fernando sat erect. "I don't actually need his permission, after all. I never took major vows. I am not a priest, nor even a deacon."

Rubens shook his head. "You're thinking like a prince of a realm, Your Highness, not a prince of the church. In the end, the pope's power rests on his moral authority far more than it does on the dubious merits of that small army he maintains in the papal territories. That's been true for sixteen centuries. It would be worth far more to Urban to have it known that the newest branch of the Habsburgs asked-and received-his permission to found a dynasty than whatever temporary gains he might make from evading the issue."

He shrugged. "Besides, the Spanish and Austrian Habsburgs are already angry with him for having appointed Mazzare the cardinal-protector of the USE. This way, at least he gains the friendship of a new third branch of Europe's most powerful family."

The young prince pondered the matter, for a moment, and then sighed. "Yes, of course you're right. I suppose I'm just impatient."

He sighed again. "I don't know why, really. It's not as if I'm impatient to marry! Not given the choices left. It's too bad that…"

Almost hastily, he rose from the chair. "But that's pointless. What news from Scaglia, in Copenhagen?"