Chapter 45: An uneasy peace
January 1691, under Florence
It had been a difficult year and a half for the Society of Cincinnatus, but with the beginning of a new year, they were whole once again. The Child, although only 15, had proven worthy to accept his new place as Number Five. With five members again, the Society finally thought that they might be able to act again. The Emperor had been strangely calm since his victory over Austria, and some Italians thought that his madness had passed. The Brothers knew better. They still got reports from Number Four that Peter and Charlotte still entertained all manner of wild notions in private. However, they refused to act. That was the most troubling thing of all. When a child is quiet, he is most likely misbehaving; when an Emperor is quiet, that could only mean bad things for the Society. Sforza Maria di Farnese had even tracked down the woman who'd raised the Child; thankfully, she discovered his plot and committed suicide rather than be taken into custody. She'd had just enough time to destroy the child's birth certificate. A copy, of course, existed in Rome, but there was absolutely no clue to the young man's identity anywhere in the home on Malta.
The Elder considered his resources. Two of the Brothers were close to the Chancellery; one was close to the Foreign Ministry, and the fourth had a fantastic connection to the palace itself, somehow. He frowned. They'd never replaced the connection to the army that Alessandre Tullius Cicero had provided. Even better would be somebody who could inform upon the Interior Minister. The Child knew his role, that his own career would be determined by the other four men. Upon reaching 16, he'd have to make some concrete decision, or he would be of no use to the Society. The other four figures looked to him for leadership. They would all follow his lead.
"Number Five, what proficiencies do you have?"
Five's voice was clearly a man's, although from time to time it cracked. "Elder, the woman who raised me taught me languages, how to work with figures, and some hand-to-hand combat."
Two seemed surprised. "A woman taught you hand-to-hand combat?"
"Yes. She said it was part of my legacy."
Three spoke next. "Did she reveal your father to you?"
Five nodded. "I will not read it here, but I was given a letter as I escaped from Malta. It should be a name sufficient to get me into any school I wish."
Four pursed his lips. "Do you think could be an effective policeman?"
Five shrugged. "Possibly. I do not know how would I could attain that office, however. di Farnese is exceptionally shrewd when reviewing applicants, and I do not know how well suited I would be. I, of course, will abide by your decision."
With that statement, the Elder finally had a reasonable solution. "I believe your place should be the Germanicus Academy. That training would be useful in either circumstance. Brothers?"
The other three agreed. Five bowed. "I shall apply for entrance as soon I can, then."
As the other four left, the Elder reached into his robe for a handkerchief to wipe his brow. It was good that his Brothers were all relatively young. He felt the ravages of age already striking him, or perhaps it was the stress of leading this double life.
He could only pray that this peace, this unnerving silence by the Emperor, would continue.
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5 January 1693, Foreign Minister's office, Rome
Lan Zhu looked over his desk one last time and smiled. He'd held his office for nearly twenty years, and had been
de facto Foreign Minister for longer than that. He'd certainly done very well for himself since arriving in the Empire of Italy. He could still remember arriving that day in 1653 as a young man. The unfortunate exile turned self-made man. He hoped his memoirs would sell well. It wasn't that he needed the money -- Dukes do not want for very much. However, he was still interested to see what his legacy would be. Would history remember him kindly, or would it forget him? Some scholarswould probably remove his name entirely from the history books as a foreign barbarian, if they had their way.
He'd arrived quite early, as he normally did. The only other people up at 5 AM were the cadets at the Germanicus Academy. One new graduate in particular was on his mind. Ettore di Medici, the son of the late Field Marshal Vittorio di Medici, was already well over 6 feet tall, and surprisingly well spoken. He cut an exceptionally dashing figure on a horse, which suited a cavalryman well. The new Lieutenant was assigned to the Thirtieth Legion under the command of another interesting youngster, Centurion Jean-Louis Lafayette. Field Marshal Germanicus had engineered a bit of a revival in cavalry with a French design, in large part provided by Lafayette.
At 7 AM, the usual working hour for most government offices, Duke Lan heard that same timid knock he'd heard for the last ten years.
"Come in, Francesco!"
Young Count Malaspina entered with the day's mail. Francesco Malaspina came from an old Florentine family. He was, in a very odd way, related to Andreas Germanicus, who had used a version of the family name when he first served the Empire almost two hundred years ago. The Malaspini had spent most of their lives in government service; unusually for such an old family, Francesco had been the first to attend college. He'd graduated the University of Florence at 18 and attracted the attention of Lan Zhu when he proved to be one of the few students capable of mastering Mandarin Chinese, something that very few men in the Empire spoke. He was almost immediately hired as a translator and archivist after graduating. He was the Foreign Minister's personal clerk and archivist by age 20, and was now 30 and Deputy Foreign Minister for five years.
"Good afternoon, Minister."
"And to you, Francesco. How are you this day?"
Francesco smiled. "Just fine, sir. And you?"
Lan Zhu rose and stared out the window for just a moment. "I am ready to finally be done with this job. I leave for Constantinople at the end of the day; the Emperor has asked me to look after Prince Francesco while he acts as Proconsul."
Francesco's smile was a bit more nervous this time. "I wish you'd reconsider. I really don't think I'm ready for this job."
The Manchurian, with mock anger, swatted his young Deputy on the head. "You foolish boy! You've been the real minister for months now!"
Francesco chuckled. "Of course not, sir. Anyway, Aragon has been saying some pretty bold things about our new focus on Bearn."
"I very much doubt anything will come of it. The Emperor's been itching for a fight for a while; it would be suicidal to attack us now."
Francesco's head bobbed in agreement, then he moved onto the next item. "Bohemia has formed a Personal Union with Saxony; this might have been significant in the past, but Saxony is no longer an elector. More importantly, it looks like the Ambassador to Vienna thinks that Holland will be the new Holy Roman Emperor."
"Holland, eh? I wonder why Bohemia hasn't gotten more support?"
Francesco looked at another sheaf of paper. "They're Calvinist, sir. With Austria Protestant, the most significant Catholic power they can turn to is Holland."
"See? You're already catching an old man's mistakes."
"Lastly, Centurion Lafayette showed me some papers that prove that Maine is still technically a part of the Roman Empire. They appear to be legitimate, sir."
"The French won't like that very much."
"I've been providing... gifts... to the right individuals, sir. I don't think their opinion will decline."
"Good lad! Anything else?"
Francesco shook his head. "No sir, another quiet day. Pleasant day for your journey east, if I do say so, Duke."
Lan Zhu reached into his drawer and handed the Count the keys to the office and his appointment paper.
"Good luck, Francesco. If you're ever near Thrace, I'd love to have you over for dinner."
"Thank you very much. Godspeed!"
As Lan Zhu left his office, he smiled, confident that it was in good hands. All in all, the Empire was very well run. Under any other Emperor, it might even be called Italy's "Golden Age", but with Peter's unpredictability, that could change in a heart beat.
The now ex-Foreign Minister wondered what kind of man the Prince was. He'd only formally met Prince Francesco a handful of times, even exchanged a few words, but nothing too substantive. He'd heard that Francesco had been something of a hell-raiser in his youth, but had matured a great deal as Peter grew older.
Lan Zhu put his trust in the name "Francis." After all, all three had been great for the Empire, and surely Francis IV would be just as worthy.
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16 September 1696, office of the Chancellor, Rome
Napoleone di Farnese was pleased that Peter had finally let his son take up the role of Prince. He was almost thirty; surely he was finally ready to handle some responsibility. The request for a new grain depot in Thrace demonstrated some wisdom; it would serve as a central logistical point for any operations in Anatolia or Egypt.
The main embassy was also being relocated to Khuzestan. Peter had already pledged no further expansion to the East, which suited Napoleone just fine. The Chancellor consulted a stack of documents, thankfully already initialed by David O'Connor, most of which discussed more cores in Jerusalem and North Africa
provincia. He briefly looked at the appointment papers for a new General, Benedetto Visconti, who joined his older brothers.
He chuckled at the sheer arrogance of the Pope's most recent bull, and put that one into the file as well.
He checked his pocket watch; 7 PM.
Wow! I've been here a lot later than normal. Usually David tells me it's time to go. I wonder where he is?
Napoleone closed the door to his office and stepped into David's office. He found his deputy fast asleep on his desk.
"David! It's time to go!"
O'Connor awoke with a start and gave the Chancellor a sheepish grin. He yawned and stretched. "Sorry, boss. Elizabeth is teething now, and Michael still hasn't figured out how to sleep through the night."
Napoleone chuckled. "I remember those days; thankfully Stefano is past that. He's in school most days. I have to say that I'm pretty pleased with his marks, too."
"Good to hear, sir. Oh, I finished the paperwork for Provence. It just needs your signature."
"Thanks, David. Peter's been bothering me about that. I suppose I should be happy; his obsession with getting this done has kept him out of trouble."
David knew better than to respond to that. Instead, he grabbed his coat. "See you tomorrow, sir."
"Have a good night, David. Try to get some sleep!"
"You too, Chancellor."
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2 January 1700, Palazzo di Farnese, Rome
Peter looked at the clock. 5 PM. In a couple of hours, the 300th jubilee would begin.
The Emperor marveled. 300 years, and he was the Emperor that had guided them longer than any other since Julius the Great! Surely that counted for something. Maybe the historians would allow him his indiscretions and portray him a positive light.
He glanced at Charlotte, who was getting ready for the party next to him. She smiled, which Peter promptly returned. Killing her father had seemed to exorcise some of her demons. To a certain extent, the Emperor was disappointed. He'd rather hoped the two of them would conquer the world together, but alas, it was not to be. He didn't mind. He'd just have to conquer twice as much for her sake.
As he went over his speech, he thought about the past few years. Another new Field Marshal -- Leopoldo Visconti -- continued to make the Legions the finest army in the world, perhaps of all time. Chief of the General Staff de Ruyter finally got his naval academy, and was now the President of it. Maybe the sparkling new Academy in Rome would attract more young men to the fleet.
His soldiers trained with their new weapons and tactics. He thought fondly of the cavalryman, now Captain, Lafayette, who brought a little panache back to the legions. He'd argued to Marshal Contadino that the lad ought to be the new Chief of the General Staff, but Jacopo had noted how young and inexperienced that Lafayette was at warfare, and the Emperor had to admit he had a point. For the time being, de Ruyter was filling both roles until a suitable replacement could be found.
Peter looked into the mirror and rearranged his uniform. The one constant throughout his reign was his Commander's uniform, one of the few things he could honestly say he'd earned. He wished Francesco showed so much initiative. Constantinople was doing well, admittedly, but much of that seemed to be Lan Zhu's influence. It seemed like every time the Emperor turned around, the Prince was there. Still, Francesco was the only heir to the throne, and suitable or not, he would be Emperor.
After checking on Charlotte, who was well attended by her maids, he exited his room, where he found Napoleone waiting.
"Brother! What brings you here before the celebration?"
"The draft of the Abolition of Slavery Act; you'd said you wanted to mention it in this evening's speech."
"Ah yes! Very good."
Napoleone took a deep breath as his brother read. "Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?"
Peter, distracted by the new law, waved his brother off. "Yes, yes. Quite sure. I've waited long enough. My men are ready, willing, and able.
"After tonight's speech and festivities, we go to war."
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We get the State of the Empire next, so you can see how Italy has grown! I'm honestly not sure what I'll do next. I'm very cognizant of time running out (in EU 3), so I'm not sure where to go next. I want to have most of what I'm going to conquer conquered by 1771, which will ensure that everything is cored going into Vicky 2 (unless, of course, AHD comes out before then, in which case we'll need to wait on the converter to catch up).