1637 The Polish Maelstrom Page 51

  The men who’d taken him from the battlefield found a bed for Janusz Łohojski in a village whose name they didn’t know. There was no one to ask because the villagers had all fled two days before the battle.

  It wasn’t much of a bed, as you’d expect in a hut that belonged to a poor peasant. Just a straw pallet raised no more than eight inches off the dirt floor.

  It had bugs in it, needless to say. Some of them were drawn to the blood that had seeped through his bandages. The blood had dried by now, but the insects didn’t care. Scavengers of any size are not fussy.

  The voivode of Kiev never regained consciousness. He died just before midnight.

  Epilogue:

  The Anaconda Prospect

  April 1637

  Prague, capital of Bohemia

  “It was such a strange feeling,” said Morris Roth, who was sitting next to his wife Judith on a divan. “I was standing by the bed with Pappenheim. Edith was on the other side of the bed with the queen, monitoring Wallenstein’s vital signs. Both of them were crying. And then…”

  He looked away for a moment, as if composing himself.

  “Then Edith looked up and told us that Wallenstein had died. And I felt a great sadness wash over me.” He barked a little laugh. “Sadness, Judith! For Wallenstein! The same monster who tried to murder all of the children at the high school. Hundreds of them.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “People are complicated, Morris. That man may also have saved tens of thousands of children in the ghettos and shtetls of Poland and Ruthenia. Made it possible, anyway.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s why we moved here, after all. I still never would have expected myself to have that strong a reaction to his passing.”

  He got up and went to one of the windows. They were on the upper floor of the mansion, and that window provided him with a good view of Prague’s ghetto. It was probably the largest Jewish community in the world.

  Most of the wall that separated it from the rest of the city was still there. Not because Wallenstein had insisted on it—to the contrary; the new Bohemian king had given permission to tear it down—but because most of the city’s rabbis insisted on keeping it in place.

  The sight of that wall usually angered Morris, but today he was in a more contemplative mood. The two rabbis that he and Judith were closest to, Mordecai Levi and Isaac Gans, had approached him right after his return from Poland. They asked him—for the first time—if he might have some reading material relevant to what Morris called “Reform Judaism.”

  He lent them the Gates of Prayer as well as Rabbi Abraham Geiger’s two volumes, written in the middle of the nineteenth century, Judaism and Its History and Judaism and Islam.

  Whether anything would come of that, he didn’t know. But he was hopeful. Just as he was hopeful that Wallenstein’s “Anaconda Project” might eventually achieve the goal Morris had set for it. That goal had grown more ambitious as time passed. He no longer sought simply to save the lives of eastern Europe’s Jews, he thought there was a good chance those lives could be improved in the doing—maybe even greatly improved.

  “Have you spoken to Pappenheim?” Judith asked.

  He turned away from the window. “Yes. Briefly, after the king died. I don’t foresee any problems. His sole concern is to protect Wallenstein’s legacy—which, for him, means ensuring that the regency succeeds in its purpose.”

  “And the Anaconda Project?”

  “He had little to say about that—but what he did say was significant. His exact words were: ‘I don’t care what you do in the east, Morris. That was Wallenstein’s ambition, which I always thought was probably a fantasy, at least for the most part.’ So I asked him if he wanted me to bring the Grand Army of the Sunrise back to Bohemia.”

  He sat back down next to Judith. “His answer was…interesting. Let’s call it that. He’d prefer for Bohemia to have only one army in it, which was his—or rather, the troops he left behind when he took the Black Cuirassiers to Linz.”

  “And you’re supposed to do what, with your own army?”

  “He said that as far as he was concerned, that was my affair. So long as the regency was not disrupted, I could do whatever I wanted—except bring the Grand Army of the Sunrise any farther west than Brno.”

  Judith pursed her lips. “That…is interesting.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Kraków, official capital of Poland

  Actual capital of Lesser Poland

  “I didn’t really do anything in the battle,” Jakub told Judy, “except have my men round up a lot of prisoners—which included Prince Zasławski—and tend to the wounded. All the fighting was done by the men in the APC and the Galician cavalry.”

  “Has anything been decided about Zasławski?”

  “His ransom, you mean?” Jakub shook his head, without lifting it from the pillow. To do that, he would have had to dislodge Judy, which he was not in the least bit inclined to do.

  “No. We have some time, though, since there’s no point starting a big fight over the ransom if there isn’t one. There’s no better than a fifty-fifty chance that Zasławski will survive. His injuries are pretty terrible. If he doesn’t, we squeeze what we can out of his heirs for his body. If he does survive…”

  “Is he really the richest magnate in the Commonwealth?”

  “Who knows? It’s not as if the magnates provide any public information on the subject of their wealth. He’s certainly one of the richest. If he survives, his ransom will be huge.”

  “Do you really think it will be a big fight?”

  “Oh, yes. The half-dozen militiamen who actually seized the prince are having visions of being wealthy themselves—and they have tradition on their side. The moment I propose establishing a widows’ and orphans’ fund like the one the Hangmen have, they will be furious with me.”

  Judy raised her head from his shoulder, which she could do without dislodging him. “I predict a lot of that in your future. Near future. When are you going to tell Red and Krzysztof what you plan to do?”

  “Soon,” he said.

  “You’re stalling.”

  “Very soon,” he insisted.

  Linz airfield

  Linz, provisional capital of Austria-Hungary

  Mike Stearns got out of the State Department’s Dragonfly after the other passengers had already done so. Julie Sims had been waiting for him.

  Impatiently.

  “You gotta do something, Mike! You’re the top USE commander here.”

  “No, I’m not. That would be Gustav Adolf you’re looking for.”

  “I already talked to him. He thinks it’s a good idea himself, if you can believe it. So it’s up to you to put a stop to it!”

  By then, his wife was at his side. “Put a stop to what?” Rebecca asked.

  “What I’m calling Mailey’s Madness. Do you know what that crazy woman is doing now? For Chrissake, she already got me a stupid medal—”

  She broke off, seeing that Laura Goss was joining them.

  “You’re getting one, too.”

  “Getting ‘one’ what?”

  “They’re calling it—brace yourself—the ‘Military Order of Mariana.’ You and I are the first and only members. Talk about stupid!”

  “For what?” Laura asked, frowning.

  “Exactly what I said! It’s ridiculous. We didn’t do anything tougher than shooting fish in a barrel. Well, not much tougher, anyway.”

  She turned back to Mike. “I can’t stop that because it was already a done deal by the time I found out about it. But there’s still time to torpedo Melissa’s latest crazy idea.”

  “Which is…?”

  The next words were practically wailed. “The fucking maniac wants to have a statue put up! Of me and Laura—right in the middle of one of the city’s squares! Can you believe it?”

  Mike took off his hat and ran fingers through his hair, while he pondered the problem. Which took possibly two seconds.

  “Da
mn, that’s a great idea,” he said.

  “Mike!”

  “Oh, wow,” said Captain Goss. “Just think of the party we could throw, unveiling something like that…”

  “Laura!”

  Kraków, official capital of Poland

  Actual capital of Lesser Poland

  Lukasz Opalinski stared at Jakub Zaborowski for a few seconds.

  Then, issued a mighty snort. “That’s utterly insane!”

  He looked at the third person in the room, who was standing by one of the Cloth Hall’s many windows. “Can you believe this silliness, Jozef?”

  Wojtowicz kept looking out of the window for a few seconds. Then, turned to face the two men seated in the center of the room.

  “Actually…I can see a lot of advantages.”

  Lukasz was practically ogling him, now. His jaw had sagged open as well.

  Jozef looked at Jakub. “You’ll want something in exchange, of course. What is it?”

  “Nothing personal. Politically?” Jakub’s grin, as was often true, had an edge to it. “Oh, yes. I’ll want a lot. We can start with the right of the congress—let’s call it that, instead of the Sejm—to overrule any decision by the king.”

  “No liberum veto!” Jozef said.

  “No, of course not. Majority vote.”

  Lukasz was looking back and forth between them. Finally, he clapped his mouth shut.

  “That’s nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Some decisions—military ones, especially—have to be made immediately. D’you know how long it would take to get a bunch of politicians assembled? Call it a congress, call it a Sejm, call it a flock of geese—it doesn’t matter. You might as well call it whatever the name is for a herd of tortoises.”

  Jakub and Jozef looked at each other.

  “He’s got a point,” Jozef said.

  Scowling a bit, Jakub scratched his jaw. “Yes, I know. But I think… Yes, this would do…”

  Imperial Palace (provisional)

  Linz, provisional capital of Austria-Hungary

  Emperor Ferdinand III glared at his two younger siblings, who were seated next to each other facing him. They were in a small chamber, not one of the big ones Ferdinand used for public occasions—which this was certainly not.

  “I’m trying to decide which of you is the more insane,” he said. “My sister, who wants to marry a rebel—”

  “I’m just raising the idea,” interrupted Cecilia Renata. “I have no idea if the man involved would be in the least bit interested. Yet.”

  Ferdinand ignored that in order to concentrate his ire on Leopold. “And you! Wanting me to have you confirmed as a bishop—even take holy vows—so you can keep that one-eyed woman of yours as your open mistress.”

  He didn’t bother to point out that doing any such thing would be explicitly forbidden by those same holy vows he proposed to take. Everyone in the room was of royal blood. For such as them, “holy vows” was a very elastic term.

  The emperor’s scowl was…imperial. “I’m sure the slut herself put you up to this.”

  For the first time, his younger brother glared back. “Minnie is not a slut!” snapped Leopold.

  “No, she’s not,” chimed in Cecilia Renata. “Actually, she thinks Leopold is being silly. Minnie’s perfectly content to have Leopold take on whatever spouse he might need to, eventually, so long as she and the child are provided for—and she doesn’t even ask for much in that regard.”

  Ferdinand looked back at Leopold, who was still glaring at him. Then, back at Cecilia Renata, who was looking rather serene.

  “Let’s have the woman brought here, then,” said the emperor. “So the sane aren’t outnumbered by the lunatics.”

  Kraków, official capital of Poland

  Actual capital of Lesser Poland

  “You treacherous son of a bitch,” said Red Sybolt. If he’d been a snake, he would have hissed the words. His shoulders were hunched like a cobra’s hood.

  He turned his angry eyes toward Krzysztof Opalinski. “Are you in on this, too?”

  Krzysztof shook his head. His expression was more one of distress than fury. “No, of course not. I remain a dedicated republican.”

  “All right, then!” Red turned back to Jakub. “I’m warning you. If you go ahead with this goddam monarchy scheme, me and Krzysztof will immediately forge an opposition party and fight you tooth and nail.”

  Zaborowsky leaned back in his chair, with his hands planted on his thighs. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’m counting on it.”

  Linz, provisional capital of Austria-Hungary

  Minnie looked around the small room. Her friend Denise would have called it a “living room” and immediately derided its skimpy dimensions.

  It was small, by American standards. But Minnie was satisfied with it. The apartment was clean and well furbished and had a nice kitchen. Best of all, Linz was a city under siege, jammed with people, and Minnie would have the place to herself. And Leopold, of course, when he came to visit.

  And the baby, when he or she arrived. But by the time the baby could start toddling around, many things could have changed.

  The siege could have been won. The siege could have been lost. Her employer might have summoned her back to Prague.

  That had been one of the two conditions Minnie had insisted upon. She really enjoyed working for Francisco Nasi. The other condition was that she and Denise got to visit each other whenever they chose.

  Who could say what the future would bring? It was even possible that after he became an ordained priest—which was not a requirement for being a bishop—Leopold might decide he had to respect his vows.

  That was a very remote possibility, of course. It was more likely that a horse would learn to sing.

  May 1637

  Dresden, capital of the Province of Saxony

  Mike Stearns’ eyes went around the table, taking a couple of seconds to look at each of the people gathered there.

  That done, he said: “Any hesitations? Any last thoughts?”

  No one spoke. He turned to the man sitting to his right. “Jeff?”

  “Are you kidding? I get a promotion and I get to stay with my wife.” He looked across the table at Gretchen and smiled.

  She gave him a quick smile in return, but her brow remained creased. Not with worry, though, simply with thought.

  She turned to the man sitting to her right. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Joachim? The campaign is likely to get brutal. Not because of Ernst Wettin himself, whom I’ve always gotten along with, but because every reactionary in Saxony will throw their support to him.”

  “It can’t be all that bad. Not one of those reactionaries is as ugly as I am.”

  That occasioned a little laugh at the table, in which everyone participated except Gretchen. In truth, Joachim Kappel was an extraordinarily ugly man. “Troll” was a word often used to refer to him. Fortunately, Kappel was as genial as he was ill-favored and handled his appearance by being the first to make jokes about it.

  He shrugged. “To be honest, Gretchen, I’m much more concerned about what will happen if I win the election. I’m used to having you—and Tata, after you went to Silesia—here to tell me what to do.”

  “Tata’s been gone for a while herself. You seem to have done fine.”

  “Yes, I think so. Still, becoming the chancellor of the province will be a challenge.”

  Gretchen studied him for a moment longer. Then she brought her eyes back to Mike.

  “You can tell that damned emperor of yours—”

  “Yours, too.”

  “Don’t remind me. You can tell Gustav Adolf that if, as the Lady Protector, I do what he wants and declare unilaterally that Lower Silesia is henceforth a province of the United States of Europe, I will also declare that it is to have a republican structure and there will be immediate elections. And that every one of my decrees on religious freedom will stay in place.”

  “You can’t organize elections immediately, Gretchen, as you know
perfectly well.”

  “As soon as possible, then. I’m not putting up with this ridiculous title any longer than I have to.”

  “I’ll tell him, but it’s a moot point. Who could Gustav Adolf possibly want to establish as a hereditary ruler of Lower Silesia? There’s no obvious heir apparent and he’s almost as fed up with pretentious noblemen as you are.”

  He grinned. “Look on the bright side. At least you won’t have to create your own established church the way he insisted you do in Saxony. Lower Silesia has such a jumble of denominations that even the most devoted adherent of cuius regio, eius religio would throw up his hands in despair.”

  That elicited another laugh around the table—again, participated in by everyone except Gretchen.

  * * *

  After the meeting was over, Jeff took Mike aside.

  “I’ve got to give you fair warning. Once I make the announcement, I don’t think you’re going to have much of a Hangman Regiment left.”

  “I’ll be surprised if there’s anything left at all. You’re probably the most popular regimental commander in the army, by now—and what’s just as important is that the Hangman has a higher CoC component than any other. Those men are all volunteers and they volunteered for a cause. We’ll see what happens, but I’m willing to bet at least ninety percent of them will decide they’d rather fight alongside Polish revolutionaries than Austrian mercenaries. Especially if you’re smart enough to design a nifty uniform for your new provincial army.”

  Jeff smiled. “I was thinking of adopting some of the Polish hussar notions of a proper uniform. Not the leopard skins and the ostrich plumes, though. That’s a little much.”

  “Have you chosen a name yet?”

  “You’d think a D&D aficionado would be able to come up with something dramatic, but all I’ve managed so far is ‘Silesian National Guard.’”

  Mike shook his head. “Don’t. The obvious nickname will be ‘the snuggies,’ which is just about the last thing soldiers want to be called.”