Chapter 50: The trial of the century
7 November 1712, the Temple of Justice, Rome
Francis III, Emperor of Italy, banged his gavel repeatedly upon the podium. Three of Ettore di Medici's men had agreed to testify against their former master; however, two did not. Claudius Germanicus, as Praetor for Aegyptus
provincia and the son of the current Proconsul, had been given the unenviable task of defending the three miscreants. Although nobody in the courtroom had any illusions about the final verdict -- the Emperor, under Imperial law, was the ultimate source of all legal decisions in the Empire -- many were curious to see how this young man would perform. Italian justice, at the local level, was often crippled by parochial interests and uneven educational standards. Only nobles were considered "worthy" of dispensing justice. Some Praetors went their entire lives without seeing a single court case; they would delegate them to subordinates whenever possible.
Claudius Germanicus was very different. First, although he was of noble birth, he'd attended the University of Constantinople to gain a training in the law. Second, he embraced his profession, and had already won multiple high-profile trials. In a land where most trials were carried out by one party's musket and the rest by a few well placed coins, that was more than a little strange. And yet, he was respected for it. Even the Emperor liked him and had offered him positions multiple times, which he'd thus far not accepted.
"Praetor Germanicus, have your men anything to say in their defense?"
Claudius checked his notes. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he was good at his job and left no stone unturned.
"Yes, Emperor. Colonel di Medici insists that the only reason that Napoleone di Farnese passed from this mortal coil is that you, the Emperor, refused to admit the truth.
YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!"
There was absolute pandemonium. Interior Minister, Marshal, and Foreign Minister all looked worriedly at one another. Even the Emperor looked, for a split second, a little guilty. Unfortunately for young Germanicus, one person could not sit still.
"Sir! You defame my family's honor with such wild accusations!"
Antonio di Farnese had hoped to live a quiet life. After his father's death, he'd slipped away to England, even changed his last name to di Ferrari, probably the last name anybody would associate with a Farnese. [1] Until this trial, he'd intended to stay there. Alas, it was not to be. Shortly after his return to Rome for the trial, the Emperor had convinced him to assume his father's old post. "I will not have you make your reputation on lies, Praetor, especially at my family's expense."
Claudius sneered. "You are one to talk, Chancellor. You would not even accept your own name a few short weeks ago!"
That was too much. Antonio charged at the lawyer for the defense, who narrowly avoided being tackled. Ettore di Medici, who had never expected any of this to work, attempted to use the opportunity to escape. He was not successful, and by the time order was restored, even Claudius Germanicus could not save his clients. All three were executed the next day, and the name "Ettore" was forbidden to any child ever again. A name once seen by the Romans as heroic was now one of its most reviled. A few souls in Burgas attempted to revolt at the news of Ettore's guilt, but they were quickly dispatched. Life began to return to normal.
At least for a while.
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12 August 1713, Achaea, Greece
Isidoro della Torre, the conqueror of Achaea, had a new assignment. His part was small, but the impact mighty. He was told to subdue the lowly nation of Morea.
The Empire was already at war, in truth. The barbarian capital of Fars had accepted Imperial rule, but the proud natives of Nova Italia -- they called themselves "Shawnee" -- were not so easily dissuaded from conquest.
della Torre was a traditional Italian general, in that he planned to use the military to earn himself a more prominent role in the Empire. He'd last been placed in charge of building the new weapons manufactory in Britannia, a task so crucial that the Emperor had called it "the will of God." Another victory might just seal his promotion to Chief of the General Staff; maybe even Marshal!
Benedetto Visconti, the current Field Marshal, was given the more difficult task; defeating the Bohemian army, should everything come to blows; back in Florence, the key figure in the war was Brutus Contadino, who was busy planning that invasion. Isidoro's role was less risky than either of theirs, but that was the way he preferred it. He was a man of calculated gambles, and the chances of so insignificant army causing even the slightest threat to his plans were trivial. He smiled as his men planned their own attacks.
Glory to the Empire? Glory to della Torre!
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29 December 1713, Office of the Chief of the General Staff, Germanicus Academy, Florence
Brutus Contadino, unlike his subordinate, was anxious, not ambitious. The Emperor had made his task even more challenging by ordering an assault on the island of Crete.
The increasingly popular opinion of many a soldier was that Francis III wasn't as different from Peter I as he claimed. The wars were smaller, for the most part, but Bohemia was a much tougher opponent than any Emperor had faced in a long time. They had a powerful army and skilled trainers, just as Italy did. Italy's army might have been larger, but it also had half a world to cover.
Brutus' plan was simple. della Torre had already done his part, defeating the Morean army and annexing the formerly independent kingdom.
Brutus, thanks to shrewd diplomacy by Foreign Minister Malaspina, had gathered a sizable force in Schwaben with the cooperation of the Bavarians.
Bohemian Hungary -- the Emperor's ultimate objective -- would be invaded by one legion.
However, his plan was already going wrong. He'd ordered the troops to the wrong place, as Minister de Neuchâtel's skilled spy network uncovered.
The General slammed his fist in frustration.
Only della Torre's legion could support the Ninth Legion, and he's got a long walk ahead of him. Nobody else would get there in time. Only our allies can save this legion now! He'd briefly considered writing to his father, but the elder Contadino was enjoying retirement too much to come back so soon. Brutus steeled his nerve.
I must take down Bohemia as quickly as possible; that is the only thing that will save us.
A daring strike into Sudety was his new plan. That would divert Bohemian attention from Hungary, or at least slow them down.
With the cooperation of Ansbach, Thuringia and Dresden would also be targeted. It was a bold and cunning plan, but if it worked, victory was certain.
Unless, of course, Africa became a problem.
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31 December 1713, Tuskegee, Shawnee nation
Napoleone Montefeltro, Governor-General of Nova Italia, was the last person on anybody's mind. His physical distance made him very forgettable, which was exactly the way the ex-criminal liked it. He hadn't done anything serious -- a bit of smuggling here, some creative accounting there -- but to some in the Empire, he was still a threat. He was offered the chance to settle in Nova Italia in lieu of a lengthy prison stay, which was why he was already across the Atlantic when the job came up for grabs. He cultivated a very rough image, always chewing on cigars. Tobacco was much more common overseas than back in Italy, another little gift to himself. Many of his more colorful exploits were entirely fabricated. However, he now had a real victory, one that might secure a lasting peace.
The Cherokee agreed to patrol the border between Shawnee and Italy as long as they were given land. Hands were shaken and deals were struck, and without any red tape or bureaucrats in a thousand miles or so, a potentially troublesome area was now as secure as Rome itself. Maybe more, if the rumors of Bohemian hordes pouring across the Alps were true! Napoleone, despite his pride in his new home, couldn't help but think about Rome. He'd never met the new Emperor, but he seemed a fair sort, and might even pardon the General. Montefeltro laughed to himself as he considered the ludicrous idea of an Emperor crossing the Atlantic Ocean just to talk some old swindler.
Napoleone's aide rode up and saluted. "It's a nice night, General."
"That it is, my friend. What do you suppose they're up to back home?"
"Couldn't say. I was in Rome during the last war with Castille; I met Marshal de Ruyter when I was sick. He's a good man, and he'll get the job done."
Napoleone spit on the ground in agreement. "I expect you're right. Of course, there is one thing I don't envy him."
"What's that?"
"Those Bohemians. They're not like the Shawnee; they'll listen to sense. They know when they're beat. Those stiff necked Germans? I've got a feeling we're in for a fight."
Of course, the coming days would prove the General right.
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Another short one, but hopefully this weekend I'll have a nice long war for you all to discuss
