Chapter 6: The ducat and the dagger
7 March 1452, Schwaben
Maximillian III, König von Bayern, did his very best to look interested at the proceedings below him. While his wife, Brünnhilde, looked with rapt attention at the spectacles of the tournament, her husband's mind wandered. Maximillian had spent the last two years investing money into his kingdom; he'd spent countless ducats on workshops to help bolster the economy, while simultaneously eliminating the "gifts" previous rulers had given to the lords of Bayern.
When the
Reichsrat had tried to demand "fair compensation" for the "injustice" of providing greater freedom to the subjects of Bayern, all Maximillian did was laugh. The Kaiser's decision to remove the Imperial Ban on the people of Schwyz did much to mitigate the damage of the nobles' revolt, of course.
Yet the years of peace had left the army soft, in the eyes of some of observers. The decision to hold a glorious tournament, reminiscent of the days of old, was inspired, and went a long way toward patching the egos of his noblemen as well as providing a recruiting tool for army officers.
All of this made sound fiscal and practical sense. Maximillian understood that. That did not change his opinion of the foolishness of the event. While everybody else watched the competition, Maximillian noticed a curious looking man who had approached every single nobleman who entered the tournament, whether they won or lost. He motioned to a courtier, who did his best to conceal his disappointment at being torn away from the festivities. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Who is he?" Maximillian pointed right at the gentleman. He was dressed very oddly -- clearly a foreigner of some kind -- yet even for a foreigner he was odd. His clothing had outrageous colors that no self-respecting German would ever dream of wearing, and the amount of jewelry he wore nearly doubled him over. The courtier shrugged his shoulders, then at a nod from the König, ran down to bring him before the König. Up close, he was even more ridiculous, and his hat seemed to almost completely cover his entire head, not just the top. Maximillian repeated his question before the foreigner.
"My name, Your Highness, is de Vries. Frans de Vries. It is a great honor to be brought before such an august personage, particularly on this, the day of..." De Vries trailed off as he saw Maximillian spin his finger in a circle impatiently. "I, Lord and Master of All You Survey, am an international financier of the very highest order. I could have bought the Colossus of Rhodes for a
pfennig and sold the moon to a drowning lamb." De Vries went on like this for some time.
Maximillian interrupted him with a cough. "Why are you here, bothering me and my lords?"
"I wish to interest you in an opportunity. None of your subjects have been interested in what I have to offer but you, you are much wiser than any mortal man."
"The offer?"
"A new world." For once, de Vries was not overly verbose.
"We have but one world, Dutchman. What nonsense are you spelling?"
"The lands across the ocean, König. They could all be yours, if you would but invest in my company."
"Lands across...? Are you out of your mind, man?" Maximillian laughed in derision.
"Not at all, sir. I have seen it for myself, with my own two eyes!"
Maximillian listened for a few more moments, then dismissed him. Frans de Vries, if nothing else, was persistent, and immediately buttonholed the next man he saw. Since that man was Stefan Urkelopopoulos, de Vries found himself in a much more wide ranging conversation. For the König, he glanced back at the tournament, applauded for a moment, then turned his thoughts back to improving his kingdom.
1 July 1454, Nürnberg
Ultimately, nobody bought into Frans de Vries' proposition, which was about as fraudulent as he was. No person of intelligence would ever dream there were lands across the ocean, and it was Frans's bad luck to end up in a place where stupid people were a scarce commodity. (Or, at least, stupid wealthy people.) He'd even found himself propositioned by Urkelopopoulos, who wanted de Vries to underwrite a gunpowder company. It was Frans's turn to laugh hysterically, but Stefan took it all in stride. Frans was about to leave Bayern for somewhere more stupid when he lucked into an even better position: the President of Bayern's National Bank died unexpectedly in late 1453. Frans talked his way into the position by playing up his non-existent banking background. (His actual experience consisted of knowing where the present bank was located, knowledge that was surprisingly rare.) As President of the Bank, de Vries literally sat on a gold mine, or at least the depository for a gold mine, and it was no great trouble to... expropriate more funding than was actually loaned out.
Othon de Châteaugris, Chancellor of the kingdom, approached de Vries's office with trepidation. He knew that accusing de Vries of fraud would be nearly impossible, but it was his job as Chancellor to at least investigate the claims. De Châteaugris had tremendous cachet with his brilliant diplomatic maneuvering, turning an insult into an easing of tensions throughout the region.
Especially important was the neighboring kingdom of Bohemia. Their heir had died in a horrible accident, and most of the kings of Europe had sent many a messenger in hopes of marrying the king's daughter and thus gaining control of the kingdom. Maximillian himself had tried to marry the young Princess to his son Theodor, but to no avail. Still, in a period of quiet and minimal glory, Othon was the closest thing Bayern had to a triumphant general. That meant he got difficult assignments like de Vries. After a few minutes of waiting, de Vries opened the door to his office and gestured Othon in.
Frenchman and Dutchman stared at each other, each trying to figure out what the other was hiding. Frans, with one of his immensely phony smiles, tried to break the ice. "Chancellor Othon, what a delightful and entirely unexpected surprise! It is not often that a man so prestigious as you visit my humble establishment!"
Othon couldn't help but notice the ever so slight emphasis on "unexpected." The Chancellor, seeing through Frans's bluster with ease, imperiously threw the latest economic reports in front of the bank's President. "Frans de Vries, might you explain these discrepancies in your bank's records?"
Frans de Vries made a great show of carefully studying the records presented in front of them, then turned a brilliant shade of red. "Why, of all people, you have the audacity to accuse me of fiduciary misconduct? This is the greatest miscarriage of justice that has ever occurred, and I will swear to that before God!"
Othon was not impressed. "De Vries, hundreds of ducats have disappeared since your Presidency began. You're either a fool or a criminal."
Frans thought about getting even angrier, but instead, sat back in his chair with a smirk. "Well, Othon, I'm no fool."
The elderly French Chancellor sputtered in rage. "So you admit your wrongdoing!"
"Oh, drop your act. It's my bank, and if you don't like what I'm doing, I hope to God that the König doesn't need a loan to fight Tirol."
De Châteaugris's mouth fell open. "You would blackmail Bayern?"
"No. I would blackmail you, my friend."
Othon gritted his teeth. This was not how he'd expected his investigation to go, not in the least. Yet Othon was in a very tough predicament, as he had borrowed money from the bank himself in an effort to build a nice home in München without his wife's knowledge. "What do you want?"
"Why, I want to get the bottom of this horrible crime as much as you do!"
"Try again, Frans."
"Very well. I propose that neither one of us wants word of this crime to get out."
"No."
"Then I offer you two alternatives. Give me the official approval to print money to cover the shortfall. That would increase inflation by about 5%."
"Or?"
"Give me 200 ducats right now."
Othon swore. When de Vries asked for money, that meant that Othon would have to disguise the payment as one from the crown to the bank, and there wasn't that much in the treasury. Frans knew that. In effect, Othon had no choice, and agreed to write a decree ordering the printing of money.
Othon did not look forward to telling the König, but he had to. Perhaps the knowledge of the kingdom's progress forward in technology would ease the pain.
7 October 1456, Württemburg, Tirol
Otakar von Erz was more frightened than he'd ever been in all the years he was persecuted. He trusted General Riedesel, to be sure, but he'd seen precious few battlefields in his life. When Schwaben was formally incorporated into the Kingdom of Bayern, Riedesel was the most prominent citizen from Memmingen, Schwaben's provincial capital. He'd served in the Kaiser's army for most of his life, and when the Kaiser lifted the ban on Schwaben, it was on condition that Riedesel be named Graf von Schwaben. For most people, such a politically motivated promotion would lead to ruin, but not for Riedesel. Schwaben quickly proved to be stable and profitable, and when the Marshal required a General, Riedesel was the first name on the list.
A war against Tirol was Riedesel's chance to prove his appointment was no mistake.
But for Otakar von Erz, the war was terribly inconvenient. All Otakar wanted to do was accomplish his own mission; to serve as envoy to Köln in an attempt to convince the Elector to vote for Bayern as the new Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire.
Without eroding Bohemia's support, Bayern could never take its place at the head of the Empire. Köln was the friendliest Elector to Bayern apart from Österreich. Some gifts might convince the Elector to support Bayern instead of Bohemia. Yet the Archbishop there was a very difficult man to negotiate with. Every envoy the König had sent there before had returned empty-handed, when Maximillian III got the idea to send a fellow man of the cloth. The Archbishop agreed to meet with Otakar, but to get to Köln, Otakar had to follow the army. Now, instead of treating with an Archbishop, he was cowering for his life as the two armies clashed. He prayed to God every minute, hoping for deliverance in any possible way.
The General planned to oblige Otakar.
28 February 1458, Alzey, former Kingdom of Tirol
General Riedesel quickly proved himself the equal of any other General in the history of Bayern. He routed the entire Tyrolian army in two dramatic battles, culminating in the Battle of Fürstenburg.
Although it took a few months to capture all of the Tyrolian fortresses, Riedesel did exactly that, and a harsh peace was exacted upon Tirol.
The new county of Alzey gratefully accepted their inclusion in the Kingdom of Bayern -- as if they had much choice. Othon de Châteaugris's victory at the diplomatic tables was just as impressive, effectively isolating Tirol from the rest of the Empire, preventing them from ever being a true threat again. According to the König, the next target was Cleves: not because of any strategic value, but because Odo Askanien had been spotted there, and the ruler of Cleves had refused even to speak with anybody who wanted to arrest him. The only way to get that information, it would seem, was by force.
19 May 1459, Köln
Otakar von Erz had spent just under three years in Köln, but without much success. The wars the kingdom had gotten into had prevented him from giving much in the way of gold to the Archbishop, and for most transactions, gold was the only way to get what you wanted. Two quick victories -- with new Duchies added to the Kingdom -- had done little to alleviate that problem.
A brief diversion to Pisa -- the Hohenzollerns had tried to press a claim to the Kingdom of Pisa, with no success -- did little to break up the monotony of his task. The Archbishop was very learned, and he and Otakar exchanged plenty of thoughts on various matters political and theological, but without real progress in relations. However, reports from the new Duchy of Hannover had begun to change the Archbishop's mind. Hannover had chosen to honor Cleves' call to arms, to their destruction and complete subjugation. While Köln was more formidable than Hannover and Cleves put together, the Archbishop was no fool. And so, out of the blue, the Archbishop proposed an alliance between Köln and Bayern. It wasn't enough to guarantee the vote, but it was at least enough to start moving in that direction.
Otakar von Erz certainly approved of anything that made his job easier.
24 August 1464, Nürnberg
Otakar's efforts did not go in vain, and after plenty of ducats made their way west, the Archbishop of Köln formally changed his vote to one for Bayern. The absorption of Pisa into Venice meant that Bohemia and Bayern were now tied; if Bayern could get the vote of Lorraine, they would become Kaiser after Jiri of Bohemia died.
Unfortunately, a clerk in the Chancellor's office got confused, and sent money to Alsace instead; the problem was corrected, but not until after a lot of ducats had changed hands. Another alternative -- a more violent one -- came when the Köonig found an ancient justification to create the Duchy of Baden. Baden had a powerful protector -- as one of the only Orthodox countries left in the Empire, Byzantium took a very dim view of anybody seeking to interfere with Baden's sovereignty -- and so Lorraine was considered a much safer bet. By 1463, efforts along both lines had progressed, but then the Commandant of Bayern died of a heart attack. The Master of Mint crowed a little too loudly about outliving his rival, and found himself in prison. In short order, the Kingdom had a new Steward and a new Commandant.
Ludwig Riedesel was the General's oldest son, and one of the most brilliant financiers in the world. In addition to his new title as Steward, he also took over the presidency of the Bank of Bayern from Frans de Vries. The new Commandant, Johann Pfretschner, was also the Graf von Schwyz; he was good at his job, but young, as he was born in 1438. While all of this drama continued, the Kingdom grew in power and respect. Workshops were built in every province with a Constable, the better to concentrate production in the hands of the best and brightest individuals. Venice, as a measure of Bayern's growth, now felt threatened by Bayern and embargoed the Kingdom. However, one of those merchants embargoed died fortuitously (for Bayern) and granted a generous sum to his beloved Kingdom.
Schwyz finally saw the end to her Imperial Ban, cementing Bayern's internal stability.
Everything was well prepared for Theodor's sixteenth birthday. As usual, Maximillian was not involved in the festivities, but Brünnhilde fell to the task with a will. She invited all of the Empire's most eligible bachelorettes to seek out a mate for her son. Frans de Vries served as master of ceremonies, for which he was adequately suited. (Not one single person commented on his quiet departure from his previous job, or the considerable sum he was given as a severance package.) Everything was perfect, and the delighted birthday boy had a fantastic time. He danced the night away, stuffed himself with the finest food money could buy, and yet managed to impress everybody with his erudition and charm. He was, in other words, the polar opposite of his father, who spent most of the party sitting in his office, working on reports. He was not missed.
As the evening wound down, Theodor found most of his guest disappearing. It was 10 PM, yet he wanted the party to continue, and when the Prinz wanted a party, he got one. The only other man up at that hour -- apart from the König -- was, of all people, the Chancellor. Othon de Châteaugris searched among the Prinz's gifts and came up with an extraordinary bottle of wine. Theodor, growing impatient, ripped off the card and threw it on the floor. Othon, chuckling at the impetuousness of youth, popped the cork and poured a glass for each of them. Othon raised his glass, proclaimed "To the Hohenzollerns! May they reign until Jesus returns to claim his earthly kingdom!", and quickly drank the glass. Theodor quickly followed suit, and the alcohol -- the first of his young life -- slid down his throat and warmed his belly.
Then, all of a sudden, Theodor felt very cold. As he fell to the floor, he first noticed that Othon had beat him to the floor, his eyes lifeless. The last thing Theodor spotted, as his soul departed for its heavenly reward, was the card he so eagerly threw on the ground:
To the Hohenzollerns. May you rot in Hell as you deserve.
It was signed "Odo III Askanien."
Feels good to update again! I'm going to try to update at least once a week, as I said earlier, and I vow to continue to do that until I finish the AAR (unless something unforeseen happens, of course).
