Back to alternative history
Contents
1. The Spanish Match
2. A Walk in the Bohemian Forest
3. Soupe de Canard
4. A Song for Europe
5. The Imperialists Return
6. The King of Spain's Daughter
7. Never Mind the Uzkoks
8. The Day of the Dupe
9. The Black Adder
10. Every Man an Elector
11. Oliver's Army
12. I Dreamed I Saw Phil Ochs Last Night
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Just Another Thirty Years War With Steam |
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Part 9 |
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"If there is a God the Cardinal Richelieu will have much to answer for. If not... well, he had a successful life"
- Pope Urban VIII [1]
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The assassination of Cardinal Armand Jean de Plessis, Duc de Richelieu in November of 1631 saw governance of France pass to a new chief minister, Father Joseph. Father Joseph was quickly translated to the titles of Cardinal François Leclerc, Duc du Tremblay by Urban VIII and Louis XIII and just as quickly translated to heaven by a Huguenot fanatic. To lose one cardinal and chief minister by assassination might be considered unfortunate, to lose two looked like carelessness. Steps were taken to prevent subsequent Huguenot assassinations. Many of the survivors fled to England, Scotland or the Dutch Republic. Order restored, Guilio Mazarini assumed the chief ministry as Cardinal Jules Mazarin. He refused a dukedom, superstitiously reasoning it had been this title that had caused the misfortune of his predecessors.
Mazarin was assisted in his anti-Hapsburg policy by the united front of King Louis XIII and Queen Anne. The two monarchs had fought like cat and dog in the past but since the birth in 1624 of Dauphin Louis, 'the gift of God' as the doting Louis XIII called him, King and Queen were united in their efforts to bequeath a strong France to their heir. The infant Louis had been followed three years later by the equally miraculous François. While Prince Louis was handsome, amiable and vacuous; his younger brother showed early signs of a quick and agile mind. His mother insisted François should have the finest tutor in the land and Mazarin cheerfully took this rôle on in addition to his other duties.
Following the Day of the Dupe, as November 11, 1631 had become known, England found herself in the unusual circumstances of being embroiled in a war with both the Spanish Empire and the Dutch Republic. Buckingham did not believe the evidence Mazarin had proffered that the shooting of Richelieu was intended as attack on the English minister. But Buckingham did not like Ambassador Gondomar and, well, one thing led to another. The Dutch war, that could have happened to anybody. The men in the streets were yelling "Remember Ambonya!" and Buckingham reasoned that a war with Holland might be popular enough for Parliament to vote subsidies that could be redirected to fight a Spanish war. Typically, the recalled Parliament chose instead to debate its status, privileges and relationship to the Crown. It was most tiresome and King Charles was forced to dissolve Parliament.
King Charles and Buckingham, as a kitchen cabinet of two, were forced to dream up other ways of raising funds. Ship money was only a limited resource, particularly with England losing the sea war with the Netherlands. The court of wards was profitable but would not pay for an army. Charles had suggested to the Archbishop of Canterbury that every pulpit in the land preach voluntary contributions to the King but George Abbot had refused outright.
"Can an Archbishop turn down a request from his Sovereign?" asked Buckingham.
"I wouldn't have thought so George[2], there's the precedent of Emperor Constantine," said the King, who knew these things. "Of course Constantine had his legions to back him up on the fine points of ecclesiastical law. I can't find an army at the moment."
"Are you sure, your majesty?" Buckingham inquired. "You are King of the Scots too."
"A Scottish army could be raised," Charles conceded, "if there were something to motivate the Lairds. But why would they raise a finger against my Prelates who are their fellow puritans?"
A slow smile oozed across Buckingham's face, as if an idea had been cracked like an egg on his head. "There are puritans and puritans, your Majesty. The Scots are Presbyterians. They suffer bishops most unwillingly."
Charles repeated the words of his late father, "No bishop, no King. If we abolish prelates, don't we abolish kingship?"
"By no wise, your majesty. The Kings of England will endure, unbroken, for all time. I have a cunning plan."
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[From the diary of Captain Rudolf von Goisern]
The Feast Day of St John the Baptist, the Year of Our Lord Sixteen-hundred and thirty-nine.
Our regiment is nowhere to be seen. Some Bavarian stragglers say it may have marched to Kötzschenbroda, others, Dresden.
There is nothing for it, I tell my lieutenant, George. We must make camp here until we have better directions.
Oh come on Captain he practically shouts, adding the words: with all due respect, almost as an after thought. Can't we just march, or rather ride, to the sounds of guns?
Certainly not, I remonstrate. These are very expensive locomotives we are entrusted with. We would be failing our duty to the Emperor if we allow them to fall into the wrong hands. Besides, the young maidens [3] of Marienberg, where we have made camp, are the fairest I have seen all summer. Although I do not tell George this last thing.
Inevitably it is time for luncheon again. Švejk has managed to purchase some fine sausage and bread, white bread! from the villagers. The man is a fool of a Bohemian and not to be trusted in the front rank of fighting but he is an extraordinarily resourceful shopper.
Just as inevitably, the conversation turns to Wallenstein. Wallenstein, Wallenstein, Wallenstein! I am sick unto death of that name. A mussilman from Araby, were he to listen to soldiers' talk, might conclude that there is none but Wallenstein fighting in Christendom these days.
He is old and sick, say I, and a traitor to the Emperor to boot. He is superstitious to the point of madness and wears only funereal clothes. Neither is he even a soldier, at heart he is just an accountant.
Begging your pardon Captain pipes up Švejk, but consider you may be wrong. They say he is very good with numbers. Poor Švejk! I doubt he even knows what the word 'accountant'[4] means. Yet my manservant keeps wittering, me and my fellows, sir, we call him the Black Adder.
This of course starts George off. He speaks of all the victories Wallenstein won for the Imperialist cause. Of how Ferdinand came to mistrust his loyal servant. The secret outlawing. The attempted murder. And the miraculous escape into Saxony. And now Wallenstein, foremost of the generals of our enemies.
I tell George that Wallenstein is a pathetic figure. Distrusted by all, even his allies prefer to deal through his lieutenant, the English condottiere, whose name is a byword for honesty. His health is broken, he will die ere the year is out.
Didn't you say the same thing to me, the Michaelmass ere last? George asks. Yes, I say, yes we have had this same conversation these past two years or more. Then why isn't Wallenstein dead? he asks. Why indeed, answer back I, why aren't we all dead of terminal boredom from having this intercourse over and over again?
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The Feast Day of St Peter, Apostle and Martyr, the Year of Our Lord Sixteen-hundred and thirty-nine.
We have found the rest of our regiment. Or rather they have found us.
Colonel von Metdorf led the remains of the regiment to our campground at the Marienberg railroad siding. He is sorely displeased at my taking the initiative in not going on a wild goosechase to find him.
You cowardly pigdog, he swears at me, our regiment was nearly wiped out at Würzen.
Würzen? What had convinced our General, Count Matthias 'Insanity' Gallas, to direct von Metdorf and his regiment there? It is across both Wallenstein's and Horn's lines of communication truly but this also means that the Swedish and Saxon armies could come from either side of von Metdorf and flatten him like a Pisa tart. Which is what they have seemingly done.
I try to sooth the Colonel. If we had taken the right track and found you at Würzen then the regiment would have lost our valuable locomotives too. It is to no avail. He believes that but for our absence his regiment would have beaten Wallenstein and Horn. He is as deluded as a Calvinist and decides that there is nothing for it but to hang myself, George and the rest of my company as an example to the other men.
Fortune smiles on me. Happily at this time our camp is overrun by Wallenstein's Saxons and we are taken.
I did not think I would ever write such lines but I feel I must write them again. Happily at this time our camp is overrun by Wallenstein's Saxons and we are taken.
[To be continued]
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[1] This is the Holy Father of our timeline. Yes, tender readers, Pope Urban VIII was an agnostic. Film at 11. How unlike the Pontiffs of the last 40 or so years. There is a what-if lurking here - how to stop the question "Is the Pope catholic?" from becoming rhetorical. Obvious points of divergence would seem to involve preventing the reunification of Italy or the concordat with Germany in 1939. Both events in our timeline seem to have forced a more religious papacy on the world.
[2] That's George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, not George Abbott, Archbishop of Canterbury. Just as at this time every second Swede was called Gustav (and the other half were women) so every second Englishman seems to be called George. And not a few Germans as well.
[3] The German word Rudolf uses in his diary is 'Mädchen'. Since the arrival of Rudolf and his company the English word used in translation above is, at best, an approximation.
[4] The German word Rudolf uses is 'Buchhalter'.
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