1636: The Saxon Uprising-ARC (44 page)

A rare combination, that. He’d thought he’d found it once before with Axel Oxenstierna. Being fair—to himself as well as his former chancellor—that productive relationship has lasted for a quarter of a century and might well have lasted for another, had Gustav Adolf not been struck down at Lake Bledno. Oxenstierna was hardly the first man to succumb to great temptation. Had the temptation never arisen, he probably would have remained faithful to his dying day.

Now, the emperor needed to find a replacement for Oxenstierna. And by great good fortune, he thought he’d found three: a son, a cousin and a brother of sorts. Perhaps the Lutheran pastors were correct and God did favor Sweden. It was tempting to think so, certainly. But temptation was ever Satan’s favored tool.

Gustav Adolf had already had one long private talk with Ulrik since his arrival in Magdeburg. Two things had come out of it; one specific, one general.

The specific result had been that he’d decided to accept Ulrik’s judgment that there had been something hidden in the murder of his wife. Some dark scheme that lay behind it, quite different from the conclusions one might draw from the superficial evidence. So, he’d put Ulrik in charge of ferreting out the truth.

Or rather, overseeing the ferret—that Norwegian of his, whose mechanical talents were but a veneer over more ancient and grimmer skills.

The general result had been the first step in a long journey they would take together. A king needed an heir, and an emperor needed one even more. A male heir, if at all possible. Women
could
rule, and sometimes even effectively—witness the great English queen of the past century. But in the nature of things their position was always a bit tenuous. Far better if their reign could be buttressed by a consort who could double as a king-in-all-but-name.

So, as time passed, a son-in-law would eventually become a son. As close to it as possible, at any rate.

As for the cousin, Gustav Adolf’s trust and confidence in Erik Haakanson Hand had proven to be fully justified.

That left the brother of sorts. In the long and often bloody history of monarchy, nothing posed so great a threat to a king as his brothers—yet, at times, could be his greatest strength.

The first outcome was by far the most likely, of course. The Ottomans had made a veritable heathen cult of imperial fratricide. But you didn’t need to venture into exotic lands to find the same phenomenon. Next door in France, Monsieur Gaston had been plotting ceaselessly for years against his brother Louis XIII, the rightful king. And while the plots of the newly crowned Fernando I in the Netherlands against his brother Philip III of Spain were not—yet, at least—of such deadly intent, they had still ripped Philip’s realm in half.

Still, it wasn’t always so. In his long struggle to retain his throne during the English civil wars of the fifteenth century, Edward IV’s staunchest supporter had been his brother Richard, the duke of Gloucester. (His other brother George, however, betrayed him as royal brothers more commonly did.) It was true that after Edward’s death his brother Richard was accused of having murdered the two legitimate heirs in order to take the throne himself. But Gustav Adolf was skeptical of that claim, given that it was advanced by the man who had overthrown Richard himself.

Even if the tale were true, however, it simply reinforced the lesson. More than anything, a crippled king needed men close to the throne he could rely upon—but not so close that they could succeed to the throne themselves. Princes, as it were, forever barred from becoming kings in their own name.

One other thing was obvious. Gustav Adolf and Mike Stearns would no doubt clash until one or the other fell into his grave. But there were very few men in the world he now trusted as much. His daughter might very well owe her life to the man. She certainly owed him her inheritance. Without Stearns, there would be no United States of Europe. And when the crisis came, he had placed its survival above any ambitions of his own.

Few kings in history had had more faithful brothers. Precious few.

By their nature, of course, princes worthy of the name had goals and demands of their own. It was just silly to think otherwise. But so long as they could be trusted, acceptable solutions could always be found.

So. Once more, it was time to negotiate. The Golden King would struggle again with the Prince of Germany. With him, certainly, but…not exactly against him. It would almost be a like a family reunion. In a manner of speaking.

Chapter 55

The United States of Europe

All of the major newspapers in the country and many of the smaller ones came out with the story the next morning. It didn’t matter what day of the week they normally published. It didn’t matter whether they were morning papers or evening papers. Even if the edition was just a one-page special edition, nothing more than a glorified leaflet, they all published something.

The headline varied from city to city and province to province, but the gist was essentially the same:

the prince arrives in magdeburg

summoned to the palace by the emperor

Darmstadt, Province of the Main

After everyone on the city council finished reading the news report, the major cleared his throat.

“We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

The militia commander shook his head. “We’re fucked is what’s going to happen.”

One of the city council members made a face. “You can’t say that for sure, Gerlach.”

“You watch,” said the militia commander. “The emperor will be putty in the Prince’s hands. He’ll cave in across the board.”

Nobody said anything. In their heart of hearts, they were pretty sure he was right.

Augsburg, one of the USE’s seven independent imperial cities

The commander of Augsburg’s militia, Ruprecht Amsel, was in a good mood. He’d reached the point where he didn’t much care any longer how the citizenship question got resolved. If he’d had his own preferences, the requirements would be fairly stringent. A man would have to own at least a reasonable amount of property—and women wouldn’t have the vote at all.

But he’d come to appreciate something far more than he had before. He’d never heard of Dr. Johnson and never would, but his thought processes over the past few months had been a perfect illustration of Johnson’s quip that the prospect of being hanged concentrates the mind wonderfully.

Apprentices with uppity attitudes were annoying. So were indigents who thought they should have the same rights as solid men.

Maximilian of Bavaria, on the other hand, was not annoying. He was downright awful.

A tavern in Melsungen, in the province of Hesse-Kassel

“Here’s to the health of our landgravine!” shouted one of the revelers, holding up his stein of beer. “Long may she reign!”

The tavern was full, as it often was on a winter’s eve. Not a single stein failed to come up to join the toast.

Another reveler stood up, hoisting his stein. “And here’s to the emperor! May he drive a hard bargain!”

Not a single stein came up to join that toast. Confused, the reveler looked around. Then, realizing his error, hoisted his stein again.

“But not too hard!”

Now the steins came up to join him.

A tavern on the coast of the Pomeranian Bay

The fisherman squinted at the newssheet. “D’you think they’ll be able to reach an agreement?”

“Is the sea wet?” asked one of his companions.

“Is the sea salty?” asked the other.

Paris, capital of France

After he finished reading the copies of the intercepted radio messages that Servien had given him, Richelieu rose from his desk and went over to one of the window in his palace.

“What do you think will come out of it, Your Grace?” asked Servien.

“Nothing good for France,” was the cardinal’s reply.

Madrid, capital of Spain

There was no reaction to the upcoming meeting in the court of Spain.

They had no radio. They wouldn’t receive the news for days yet.

Brussels, capital of the Netherlands

Fernando I looked around the conference table at his closest advisers.

“We’re all agreed, then?” said the king in the Netherlands. “We will make no further effort to improve our position?”

“Not with the Swede and Stearns about to reach an agreement,” said Rubens. “We’d just be wasting our time.”

“Can we be so sure of that?” wondered Scaglia. “They haven’t reached an agreement yet. Maybe they won’t be able to.”

Archduchess Isabella sniffed. “And maybe horses will learn to sing. But I’m still not wasting my time by going to the stables and sitting around in the hopes it might happen.”

Poznan, Poland

“The king refuses to accept the Swede’s offer of a truce,” said Stanislaw Koniecpolski. “As I expected.”

Lukasz Opalinski’s had expected exactly the same thing. Wladyslaw IV was as predictable as the Sejm. Given a choice between two options, you could always rely on them to choose the wrong one.

“Still no word from Jozef?”

Lukasz shook his head. “He must not have found any new batteries yet.”

Dresden, capital of Saxony

Actually, Jozef had found new batteries. When Eddie Junker had returned, he’d flown in some emergency supplies. They’d all been high-value and low-weight, of course. Among them had been some batteries.

Unfortunately, Gretchen Richter had placed them under lock and key and he had no legitimate reason he could simply ask for some. So he’d been trying to figure out how he might steal a few.

Reluctantly. He felt like a dwarf of legend trying to figure out how to steal part of a dragon’s treasure. A blonde and good-looking dragon. But still a dragon.

True, the dragon had been pre-occupied of late with her husband. People had been making jokes about it.

But that was not particularly comforting. Not when the husband commanded a regiment called the Hangman and was said to have cut off a general’s head with his own volley gun company.

Chapter 56

Magdeburg, capital of the United States of Europe

After the servant ushered Mike into Gustav Adolf’s chamber, he left, closing the door behind him. Mike watched him go, with a slight smile on his smile.

“Yes, yes,” said Gustav Adolf. “As you can see, I am adopting an up-time custom. We will actually have a private meeting.”

The emperor was sitting in a very large and very comfortable-looking armchair. Another one, equally large and comfortable-looking, was positioned a few feet away, angled toward his own. A low table sat between them, with a pot and two cups on it. There was also a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of cream.

“Your preference is coffee, if I recall correctly. Black, no cream or sugar.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Gustav Adolf lifted the pot and poured them both a cup. As he did so, he waved his hand. “Please, Michael. I think we would do better to keep this informal. Call me Gustav, if you would.”

Mike nodded and sat down. This was…interesting. Also unexpected. His relations with the king of Sweden had always been cordial, except in the heat of negotiations, but never what you’d call intimate. They’d been friendly but not friends. Was Gustav Adolf seeking to change that?

If so, Mike was certainly willing—provided the change didn’t come at too high a price. The emperor would want something in return, of course. Mike didn’t fault him for that. It was a given that an emperor wants something, unless he’s incompetent.

He decided the best tactic was to cut right to the chase.

“Why don’t we begin by you telling the thing you want most from me that you think I’m most likely to object to, Gustav.” He picked up his cup and took a sip. The coffee was superb, as you’d expect.

The emperor smiled, as he stirred some sugar into his own cup and added some cream. “Very well. We’re going to need a new election soon, obviously. The existing parliament has lost all credibility with the nation.” His pleasant expression darkened for a moment. “It has certainly lost it with me.”

“Until he loses a vote of confidence, Wilhelm is under no legal obligation to call for new elections,” Mike pointed out. “And he can stall holding a new session of parliament for some time, given the current…ah, chaos.”

His own expression darkened a little. “If for no other reason, he can argue that your disqualification of dozens of Crown Loyalist MPs requires that special elections be held in those districts to elect new representatives before any full session of parliament can be called. And I’d have to say I’d agree with him. Before we go any further, by the way, I’m giving you notice that I plan to contest that issue with you very strenuously. Privately, I’ll agree that those people are worthless bums and had it coming. But I can’t agree to allowing the emperor the right to unilaterally declare any MP to be disqualified from office. That power needs to be reserved for the parliament alone.”

Before the emperor could respond, Mike raised his hand. “I don’t ask that you do it immediately. That would make it seem as if you were caving in from pressure coming from me. By all means, wait a week or two. Wait a month, if need be. But I want those disqualifications rescinded.”

In times past that would probably have led to one of their frequent clashes. A bit to Mike’s surprise, after an initial stiffening of his back, Gustav Adolf visibly made himself relax. He even took another sip of coffee before replying.

“Let us leave that aside for the moment. In terms of what we were discussing, it’s not relevant. I’ve already spoken to Wilhelm—just two days ago, in this very room—and he assured me he plans to call for new elections before the month is over.”

Mike took a sip from his own coffee, while he thought that over. No one in the Fourth of July Party had known that Wettin planned such early elections. Mike knew that for a certainty because he had come here from his own house, which doubled as FoJP headquarters, after spending the first two hours of the morning discussing the political situation with his wife and several other leading figures in the party.

Interesting. Among other things, it indicated that Wilhelm Wettin was going to take the high road, so to speak, rather than engage in maneuvers that might be tactically effective in the short run but would be deleterious in the long run. Perhaps he’d learned something from the whole experience.

“Very well. What do you want from me, then?”

“I want you to step down as leader of your party. I do not want you to run for prime minister again. Let someone else take your place. I want you to stay in the army.”

Mike hesitated. It was so tempting…

But, no. He’d be making that same mistake. Undoubtedly the oldest mistake in the political book and probably the most destructive. You always needed to think in the long term. Stabilizing and strengthening the new relationship that Gustav Adolf was seeking with him was more important than gaining a temporary advantage in negotiations.

“Ask for something else, Gustav. That one’s a freebie. Ah, ‘freebie’ means—”

“I know what it means.” The emperor cocked his head quizzically. “But I’m not sure I understand the term in this context.”

“I was not planning to run for prime minister anyway. I made that decision before I even got here. Since I arrived, I’ve spent several hours discussing it with my wife and several other close political associates. We’re all agreed it would be best if I didn’t run again.”

Clearly, the emperor had not anticipated that answer. He took a moment to finish his coffee.

“I am surprised,” he said, after setting down the cup. “You could win, you know. Quite easily, I think. Your popularity is at an all-time high in the nation.” He chuckled. “It’s that ‘Prince of Germany’ business.”

Mike shrugged. “Yes, I know—but that’s also the problem. I’ve become too…what’s the word? ‘Princely,’ I guess. I make too many people nervous, on the one hand. And on the other—which I think may be worse—I make too many other people too ambitious.”

“ ‘Too ambitious’? What do you mean?”

He gave Gustav Adolf a level stare. “You know perfectly damn well what I mean. A prime minister had a clearly delineated position within the law. Powerful, but limited. A prince…has no clear limits. He might be capable of anything. What produces fear in some quarters can produce delusions of grandeur in another. Well, not that, exactly. I’d have to be the one with delusions of grandeur, and while I have my faults, that’s just not one of them. But some of my supporters would get too…enthusiastic, let’s say.”

Neither one of them said anything for perhaps half a minute. Then Gustav Adolf sighed softly and slumped a bit in his chair.

“Thank you for that, Michael. Yes, that is exactly where my fears lay.” He took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “Who would you run then?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Either Strigel or Piazza. But since Ed isn’t here yet, we can’t make any final decision.”

The emperor smiled a bit crookedly. “My own preference would be your wife, actually. But I suppose that’s impractical.”

Mike’s smile was not crooked at all. “Leaving aside the fact that the Germanies are not ready for a Jewess as prime minister, Becky would have a fit if anyone proposed it. She doesn’t like being in the limelight.”

He finished his own coffee. “And it wouldn’t be a good idea anyway—although I agree with you that she’d be superb in the office. The problem is that prince business again. Too many people—both those overly fearful as well as those overly rambunctious—would assume that she was simply my surrogate.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s got to be either Matthias or Ed.”

“Of the two, my own recommendation would be Piazza.”

“Privately, I agree. I’m curious though, Gustav. What’s your reasoning?”

“Two factors are critical, I think. The first is that I believe the nation would find it a bit reassuring to have an up-timer in the position of prime minister. In a peculiar sort of way, you provide the same sort of…call it ‘distance,’ that a royal family provides. You came from so far away that people think—not entirely foolishly, either—that you are a bit removed from the petty factionalism of everyday politics.”

Mike thought about it. “There’s possibly some truth to that. I agree that people tend to react to us that way. At least a bit. And your second reason?”

“Strigel is from Magdeburg province, Piazza from Thuringia-Franconia. The second is the one that more closely reflects the nation as a whole. I think he’d bring a wider experience to the position than Strigel would. Between the two of us, I also think he’s more capable. But that speaks more to Piazza’s strengths than to any real weakness on Strigel’s part. I’d certainly be comfortable enough with Strigel as prime minister.”

Mike’s private assessment was the same, but he saw no purpose in stating it aloud.

“To go back to the beginning, Gustav, ask me for something else.”

“A compromise, then. Something—it has to be of real substance, Michael—that your party will be willing to cede to the Crown Loyalists. Or whoever winds up being your principal opponent in the election. I suspect the Crown Loyalists are on the verge of collapse as a single and unitary party.”

“They were never really that to begin with. Yes, I think you’re right. I think Amalie Elisabeth will now be the most influential figure in a new conservative movement. She won’t run for prime minister herself, of course. First, because she’s not about to relinquish her title; and second, because she’s a woman. The nation wouldn’t be much more willing to accept a gentile female prime minister than a Jewess, I think. Wilhelm will probably run again, more or less on her behalf.”

He considered the emperor’s request. Not for long, though. This didn’t really come as a big surprise.

“I am not willing to compromise on the citizenship issue, Gustav. I’d rather lose the election than retreat from our basic principles there. I would be willing, though—and I believe I can persuade the FoJP to agree—to compromise on the question of the established church.”

“The nature of the compromise being…?”

“Each province can decide for itself whether it wants an established church. But I would insist that the legal options would have to include complete separation of church and state. Without that, the Committees of Correspondence would dig in their heels.”

Gustav picked up the pot. “More coffee?”

“Please.” Mike extended his cup.

They used the brief time needed to prepare the beverages to ponder the matter silently. Or rather, the emperor did.

After he took his first sip, he set down the cup and said: “Agreed. With your permission, I will privately let the key parties on the other side know where you are prepared to compromise, and where you are not.”

Mike had lifted his cup to his lips but paused just before taking a sip. “Satisfy my own curiosity, if you would. Who are these ‘key parties,’ as you see it?”

“Wilhelm and the landgravine, of course. Also Duke George of Brunswick. Just because he’s in the siege lines around Poznan doesn’t mean he’s not a central figure in the nation’s political life. No one of any importance in Brunswick will do anything without George’s approval.”

“Who else?”

The emperor named half a dozen prominent figures. All of them were in what could be called the moderate wing of the Crown Loyalist party—and not one of them had come to Berlin in response to Oxenstierna’s summons.

“Finally…” Gustav Adolf hesitated. “I think also Ernst Wettin.”

Mike’s eyebrows raised. “He considers himself an administrator, you know. Not a politician.”

The emperor chuckled. “Yes, I know. It is time he expanded his horizons, I think.”

The next two hours went smoothly, almost effortlessly. By the end, Gustav Adolf assured Mike that he would rescind his disqualification of the Crown Loyalist MPs in a week or so.

That done, Mike stood up. “And now that we’ve agreed I won’t run again for the prime minister’s post and I’ll stay in the army, what
do
you want me to do?”

The emperor’s nostrils flared. “You need to ask?” He pointed to the south. “I have had
enough
of Duke Maximilian! Since the Poles are being pigheaded, I have to leave Lennart and his two divisions at Poznan. So I’d appreciate it if you would take your Third Division down there and crush him like a bug.”

Mike stared down at him, for a moment. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t have any doubts—”

“Michael, please!” The emperor stood up himself. “Will you allow that I know whereof I speak, when it comes to military affairs?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then here is the truth, whether you understand or accept it. You have now won three major battles. One of them included taking a well-fortified town, another resulted in the complete destruction of the enemy army. By the end, your forces were
larger
than they were when you started. Larger in numbers—and better equipped. And you managed to do all this without generating hatred among the populace as a whole. Indeed, I’m told civilians are more likely to regret seeing your soldiers leave than they are to welcome the sight.

“These are signal accomplishments, whether you realize it or not.” He raised his hand dramatically, as if to hold back the tides. “By all means, deny it! Continue to insist to any who will listen that you are a novice, a witless bumbler, and are only kept from total disaster by the desperate efforts of your staff. But please spare me the silliness. You are already one of the best generals in the continent. Still crude in some ways, but not in what really matters—you are willing to fight and you fight to win. So, as I said. Crush the Bavarian bastard for me, would you?”

There didn’t seem to be anything Mike could say to that. So, off he went.

On the way back to his townhouse, he wondered if perhaps he should put together a brass band for the Third Division. For the endless series of triumphal parades the emperor seemed certain were in his future.

When he raised it with Becky that evening, her reply was: “Of course you should.”

He raised it again several hours later, just to be sure that hadn’t been her hormones at work. By then, the hormones—his too—had been given a thorough workout.