"His term?" asked Koniecpolski. "Destroyed?"
"One of his terms. Others were ‘eradicated,' ‘crushed,' and ‘scrubbed from existence.' He is quite serious about it, Uncle. He believes the great evils that afflicted the world he came from were caused, in large part, by the ever-widening divergence between the western and eastern parts of Europe. This, he claims, is what underlay the two great world wars that were fought in the century from which he came, in the course of which tens of millions of people died. And he lays the blame for that divergence upon the fact that, where serfdom vanished in western Europe, it had a resurgence in the eastern lands."
"He's no longer the prime minister of the USE, however," pointed out Lukasz.
"Yes—but that's beside the point. We were talking about the Americans, not the USE. Whether Mike Stearns is the prime minister or not, he still retains the personal allegiance of the big majority of Americans. That even includes Admiral Simpson now, who was once his most prominent opponent among the up-timers." Jozef finished his own glass of wine and set it down on a side table. "Besides, while he is no longer prime minister, he is now one of the three divisional commanders in Torstensson's army. The same army, I remind you, that crushed the French at Ahrensbök. So it's hardly the case that he's vanished from the scene."
The hetman shifted his massive shoulders. The gesture was not quite a shrug. "I may not even disagree with you, Jozef. But it doesn't matter. I am the grand hetman of Poland, not its king. Nor, perhaps more importantly, am I the Sejm. They will make the decision, not me—but I must tell you that King Wladyslaw is strongly inclined to intervene."
Lukasz sniffed. "Of course he is. He's a Vasa himself and thinks he's the rightful king of Sweden, not Gustav Adolf." A bit angrily, he added, "Which is the reason he's constantly embroiling Poland and Lithuania in things we should be staying out of."
Again, Koniecpolski shifted his shoulders. "I may not disagree with you, either, young Opalinski. But—again—I am simply the grand hetman. Whatever decision the Sejm and the king make, I will obey."
Jozef knew there was no point in pursuing the matter. It was odd, in a way. When it came to martial matters, Stanislaw Koniecpolski had a supple and flexible mind. For all the man's personal devotion to ancient methods of warfare—he probably was the greatest archer in Poland; certainly the greatest mounted archer—he'd proven quite capable all his life of adapting to new realities. He knew how to use modern infantry, artillery and fortifications; the so-called "Dutch style" of warfare. He had proven to be skilled at combining land and naval operations, too, although he was not a naval commander himself. Yet that same adaptability ended abruptly whenever Koniecpolski confronted a problem of a social or political rather than strictly military nature.
Koniecpolski now looked to Lukasz. "I could very much use some more up-to-date and accurate military information. My iconoclastic young nephew here has proven to be a superb spymaster. Alas, his knowledge of purely military matters is not what it could be. You, on the other hand—as one might expect from an Opalinski—have already made a reputation for yourself as a hussar."
Lukasz made humble noises. Jozef was rather amused. In point of simple fact, despite his youth, Lukasz was a noted hussar. A good thing, too. The Opalinski family produced a high number of free-thinkers and heretics. Lukasz's younger brother Krzysztof, for instance, was already a notorious radical, who was accused of advocating the overthrow of serfdom and the monarchy—even the nobility to which he himself belonged. The accusation was probably true.
Fortunately, Opalinskis also tended to be skilled at arms. Certainly, Lukasz was.
"How may I be of service?" he asked.
"I do not expect Poland will be fielding any sizeable forces in the opening stages of the coming war, even assuming the Sejm decides to intervene. You know how it is."
Lukasz nodded, wincing a little. Jozef was wincing himself.
You know how it is. In the long and often inglorious annals of the human race, Jozef thought the Polish Sejm was probably the worst example at any place or any time of all the vices of parliaments and none of their virtues. It was more riddled with factionalism than the ancient Greek city-states—and then added to the mix the absurdity of the individual veto, which even the cantankerous Greeks had had enough sense to eschew. The famous—notorious—Polish Sejm's liberum veto required a unanimous decision before anything could be done. The result was that making any decision, even a minor one much less a decision to go to war, invariably required weeks of wrangling. Often enough, months of wrangling.
That situation would only get worse, too, as time went on. The Americans hadn't brought very much in the way of Poland history with them. Most of what Jozef had been able to discover he'd put together piecemeal, usually from encyclopedia entries. But the liberum veto would become so notorious that it had made the passage through the Ring of Fire—more than four centuries after the absurd practice was instituted. In that other universe, by the middle of the next century, it would completely paralyze the Polish state.
The hetman continued. "But I do have the authority, I feel, to send a small unit to fight alongside the Saxons and Brandenburgers. They will be pleased by the gesture, especially with an Opalinski in command." He wagged a large, thick finger. "But don't do anything reckless! From my viewpoint, yours will be simply a scouting mission. I've fought the Swedes before. I've even fought Gustav Adolf himself. But I've never encountered these Americans and their mechanical marvels. I've heard tales of their war machines, but I'd like to get your firsthand impression."
Lukasz nodded. "I understand."
The hetman rose. "And now, I must leave to deal with some other business. Unlike you youngsters, who have the luxury of obsessing over single matters, we men of maturity and substance must deal with many."
Jozef smiled. "Ah, yes. What the Americans call ‘multitasking.' But they say only women are really good at it. So perhaps women should be put in charge of the Commonwealth's affairs."
For the first time that day, a trace of alarm came to the hetman's face. "What a dreadful idea!"
Chapter 6
Vienna, Austria
"Yes, I know you're against it," Ferdinand said. The young emperor of Austria settled back in his chair and gave Janos Drugeth a look from under lowered brows that fell short of favorable. Quite a ways short, in fact. "What I wonder is how much of your opposition is based on your attachment to the American woman."
Janos managed not to clench his teeth. For all that he generally approved of Ferdinand III—he even counted himself one of the emperor's few close friends—there were times the man reminded him of his narrow-minded and pigheaded father. Once the emperor made up his mind about something, he could be very hard to dislodge, no matter how foolish the decision might be.
Still, Janos reminded himself, the emperor was only "very hard" to persuade he was wrong. His predecessor, Ferdinand II, had been impossible.
"To begin with," he said mildly, "I am not ‘attached' to Noelle Stull. We have exchanged letters, that's all."
"Gifts too."
Drugeth nodded. "Yes, gifts too. But you know perfectly well, Ferdinand, that Americans do not see such exchanges the same way we do. Even between a young man and a young woman."
He was one of the very few people allowed to address the emperor informally, as long as they were speaking in private. Normally, that absence of protocol allowed for considerable ease and warmth in their relationship. On this occasion, Drugeth found himself regretting it. It was easier to oppose such a friend on an important issue when you could call him what he actually was—"Your Majesty," the ruler of the land.
Ferdinand grunted. The noise had a vaguely sour tone. It had more than a vaguely childish tone, as well.
But Drugeth managed not to laugh. On most occasions, he would have been at liberty to disparage his good friend Ferdinand. But with a dispute like this between them, such derision would be unwise. It would certainly be counterproductive. Whatever else they were, Ha
bsburg monarchs were self-assured. They had not become Europe's premier dynasty and held that position for so many centuries because they were given to doubt and uncertainty.
As a rule, that was a good trait. Here, unfortunately, it was not.
Janos was silent for a moment, gauging the emperor's mood. He decided that it would be pointless to continue the line of argument he'd been pursuing so far this morning—to wit, that getting into a war with the USE over the fate of John George and his Brandenburg counterpart George William would be pointless, foolish and shortsighted.
Pointless, because Drugeth had no doubt whatever that the electors of Saxony and Brandenburg were doomed to defeat. Their armies were not ranked among the best in Europe and would be hopelessly outclassed by Gustav Adolf's forces. The contrast in the quality of military leadership was probably just as severe. The Swedish king was recognized as one of the great captains of the world, and his young lieutenant Torstensson—the same man who had crushed the French at Ahrensbök—ranked not much below him. In contrast, the Brandenburg commanders were mediocre. The Saxon general von Arnim was competent, but some of the Saxon officers—the brute Holk, for instance—had no business being placed in charge of an army.
Foolish, because Austria couldn't intervene directly, in any event. Bohemia stood in the way, and Bohemia was allied to the USE. So, should Austria leap into the fray on the side of Saxony and Brandenburg, it would have only two options: Send an army against Wallenstein, which would reopen a war that Janos believed—and so did Emperor Ferdinand III himself, in his more honest moments—should be ended. Or, send Austrian forces on a long and roundabout march through Poland. That would require bypassing Silesia, which was now also in Wallenstein's possession. The end result would be to leave Austria largely defenseless should Wallenstein decide to reopen the war himself. Janos advocated peace with Bohemia, not because he trusted Wallenstein but because he didn't. A peace settlement would have the great virtue of directing Wallenstein's ambitions to the east instead of southward.
Such a risky gambit would also leave Austria open to attack from the Turk, which was something Drugeth feared quite a bit more than he feared an attack by Bohemia. The young sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Murad IV, was every bit as ambitious as Wallenstein but he commanded a far more powerful realm than Bohemia.
Finally, it would be shortsighted. Ferdinand's desire to intervene in the coming war was nothing more intelligent or sublime than the instinctive reaction of a dynast to the imminent destruction of two dynasties by a nation that bordered on an outright republic. What made Ferdinand's reaction particularly shortsighted was the fact that one of those dynasties—the Hohenzollerns of Brandenburg—would become the most bitter enemies of the Habsburgs a century hence. That assumed, of course, that the history of this world followed that of the universe the Americans came from, which was now most unlikely.
Janos had spent hours discussing the history of that other universe with the emperor. Grantville's records concerning the Austrian empire had not been as extensive as their histories of England or even France. Still, the basic outlines were clear enough; certainly the two most salient facts, from the standpoint of a Habsburg:
Fact One. Although Austria would survive, as a small landlocked nation in central Europe, all vestiges of the empire would vanish.
Fact Two. So would the Habsburg dynasty, as a ruling family. That would be true of both branches of the family. Indeed, the Spanish branch would die out at the end of this century.
Again, it was highly unlikely that the course of history in this universe would follow that in the other. It couldn't, in fact, because in this world a third branch of the Habsburg had already come into existence in the Low Countries, something which had never happened in the universe Grantville came from.
Still, the patterns were clear. Unless the rulers of Austria carried through a profound transformation of their realm, they would not survive. And it was that task which ought to be at the forefront of Ferdinand's mind, not this atavistic desire to come to the rescue of dynasticism. On some level, Janos was certain that even Ferdinand himself knew as much.
But it was probably too much to expect that a scion of the continent's oldest and most powerful family would not suffer the occasional lapse. The thing to do now was to limit the damage until Ferdinand could come to his senses.
The best way to do that was to use Austria's oldest and most powerful enemy. "Point with alarm," was the American phrase, according to Noelle in one of her letters.
Janos got up from his chair and went over to the side table to refill his glass with wine. When he and Ferdinand met privately in this small salon the emperor used for such purposes, there were no servants present. That was a practice that Ferdinand had instituted at Drugeth's insistence.
"Beyond that, Ferdinand, I am concerned about the Turks." He lifted the bottle, offering to pour for the emperor.
Ferdinand shook his head, and gave him another of those suspicious looks from under lowered brows. "You're just trying to frighten me, damn you. What your leman called ‘pointing with alarm' in one of those letters you showed me."
Alas. Janos had forgotten that he'd shown that letter of Noelle's to the emperor. Ferdinand served him as an adviser in his courtship of the American woman.
"Still." He resumed his seat and shook his head, trying to seem as firm and certain as he could. "I am worried, Ferdinand. The one thing we know for sure is that the Ottomans have purchased a prodigious number of copies of various texts from Grantville. Among them have been histories as well as technical and scientific manuals."
The emperor made a derisive sound. "Yes, they have. Despite that idiotic proclamation of the Turkish sultan that the Ring of Fire never happened, the Americans are witches, and anyone caught saying otherwise will be strangled."
Drugeth shrugged. "But I suspect the proclamation's purpose is primarily to maintain secrecy. One other thing we know for sure is that the Turks have launched some sort of technical project in a location which we haven't yet determined. The purpose is almost certainly to develop new engines of war, using American methods."
Ferdinand frowned. "Do you think they have American advisers and technicians, as we do?"
Janos shook his head. "Possible, but unlikely."
He decided to leave unspoken his growing fears about the band of Americans whom he had himself suborned and escorted into Austria after they defected. It was true that they were providing Austria with a lot of valuable advice and knowledge. But Drugeth didn't trust them. They had betrayed their own people for no more exalted motives than greed and a desire to escape prosecution for criminal activity. Why would people like that hesitate, if the Ottomans offered them still greater rewards? Which, the sultan of the Turks was certainly in a position to do, should he so choose. No realm in the world was as wealthy as the Ottoman Empire, save possibly the empire of the Mughals or that of the Ming dynasty in China. But according to the up-time texts, the Mings were on the eve of collapse at the hands of Manchu invaders. In that other universe, on the other hand, the Ottomans lasted as long as the Habsburgs themselves—and, in 1683, came very close to seizing Vienna after marching an army of 150,000 men into Austria. Like the Mughals in India, the Turks were at the height of their wealth and power.
But Janos had no proof or even solid evidence that any of the Americans now in Austrian service were planning to defect to the Ottomans. If he raised his concerns now, Ferdinand would just accuse him of being an alarmist. Again.
He kept silent, allowing the emperor to mull on the matter. There was nothing at all wrong with Ferdinand's mind, whenever he could shuffle off unthinking royal notions and attitudes. It was better to allow him to come to his own conclusions and decisions. Trying to chivvy him would be counterproductive.
After a minute or so, Ferdinand mused: "It's too late for the Turk to launch an invasion this year."
Drugeth nodded. Like many Hungarian noblemen he was an experienced soldier. The Ottomans would have to mobilize a
huge army to attack Vienna—and get that army and its equally enormous supply train through the Balkans. It was impossible to do so in winter, of course. But it was also essential that such an army not be left stranded in the middle of winter. There would be no way to keep it supplied with enough food, if it failed to seize Vienna.
The end result of these harsh logistical realities was that any attack launched by the Turks against Austria had to follow a rather fixed and rigid timetable. The invasion couldn't possibly be launched until the fresh spring grass arrived, or there wouldn't be enough grazing for the horses and oxen. There was no possibility of hauling enough fodder. Not with the immense number of livestock involved in such a campaign.
Traditionally, the Turks began their campaigning season at or near the time of the festival in honor of Hizir Hyas, the Moslem saint who protected travelers and other people in peril. That came in early May, by the Christian calendar.
Of course, the Turks wouldn't wait that long before they began moving their troops. They'd march them north to Belgrade in March and April, and launch the attack from there once the weather and grazing conditions permitted. Belgrade was roughly half the distance from Istanbul to Vienna, but the terrain over that final stretch was much more difficult for an army. Much of the terrain south of the Danube consisted of marshes and swamps.
The Turkish army was extremely well organized, true. Being honest, he acknowledged that it was better organized than the Austrian—or, indeed, most Christian armies. But it still couldn't move faster than ten or twelve miles a day. The earliest the Ottomans could reach Vienna would be late June or, more likely, sometime in July.
They couldn't afford to arrive much later than that, because once they did arrive they'd only have a few months to succeed in taking the city. If they hadn't done so by late autumn, they'd have no choice but to retreat back to Belgrade. Trying to keep an army of that size in fieldworks through winter would be almost certain disaster. Disease, exposure and hunger would slaughter far more of the sultan's soldiers than his enemy could. Such a disaster had overtaken the Ottoman army in 1529, when Suleiman the Magnificent delayed for too long before ordering a retreat, in hopes that a final assault would take Vienna.