A Succession of Questions (part 1 of 15)
Black draped everything. And white, the other Prussian state color. And red, the element added to represent Germany. But mostly black, on this day of mourning.
An ebony curtain obscured much of the archway where Rensselaer stood with the young KronPrinz. The soon-to-be Kaiser, if Rensselaer had anything to say about it. And he did! Even as he approached the middle of his 8th decade, he remained one of the most influential men in Germany.
But there were rivals buzzing around in the ether, one of whom – Old Prince Albrecht – had privately been reminding people of his rights to claim and willingness to serve.
The problem was Waldemar’s age – at 17 he was still in his minority under Prussian law and tradition.
Legally, Prince Henry, Wilhelm II’s brother, had the best rival claims, but lacked any interest in pressing them. Henry was openly supportive of his nephew, Wally.
Prince Albrecht, however, knew this was his last opportunity for power and fame. He was 96 years old. The last surviving son of Konig Friedrich Wilhelm III, the Prussian king who had fought – and surrendered to – Napoleon Bonaparte I. Albrecht’s brother Wilhelm – Wilhelm II’s grandfather – had been Germany’s first Kaiser. It was time, Albrecht felt, for him to take his place in history, too.
“Renss,” KronPrinz Waldemar asked, finally. “Do you think it is credible that my Father’s death might have been part of a plot, as some are saying?” Deputy Dempewolf, who hovered nearby, cast a worried look in his direction, his fears stoked.
Rensselaer pursed his lips and looked at his shoes. He had mentioned this before – any responsible advisor could not avoid it – but they had not discussed its likelihood. “Well. This former soldier did have a history of animosity toward his superiors. And resentment that they were putting his life in danger. Everyone who knew him… Including Krysz Skiedweza, whom you know, says they believe he was capable of this, though they say they could not have predicted it.” He paused, and the two of them together watched the spectators in the street as they passed, and the workmen as they prepared the route for the Kaiser’s funeral. The KronPrinz was sufficiently screened that no one noticed. “I have been in this business too long to discount the possibility of a plot. But I do not sense who might be responsible, if so.” He peered up at a pigeon’s roost. “It seems all this might have been avoided if someone had simply sounded the warning on this man earlier.”
The funeral was set for tomorrow, the 23rd. Hundreds of thousands… perhaps millions of Germans would crowd the streets to watch the last of their revered monarch. Rensselaer continued his counsel as Waldemar watched his people silently. Thoughtfully. “Your shortage of a few months’ maturity should be merely a technicality,” he assured. “If you had been here any sooner, there would be no question at all.” Wally had been held up by a rockslide along his path of travel, which had forced them to retrace their tracks and take a more circuitous route. It had cost more than half a day, after an already long passage by sea.
“Renss,” asked Major Adalbert Korenyi-Both, who stood nearby, closer to the open air. “Who might actually support Old Prince Albrecht?”
He almost scoffed, which had become habit at Korenyi’s questions. Why the KronPrinz liked him and kept him around, Rensselaer did not know. “No one takes a man like that seriously. And no one outside of court even knows who he is. He gets an occasional comment in the gossip columns. An infrequent conversation piece. He has no political power.”
“I wonder if that rockslide might have been engineered,” Adalbert mused absently, as if talking only to himself, which he usually was.
Rensselaer bit off a snappish reply. “The authorities are also investigating that. It is admittedly possible, though one wonders why, if they would kill the Kaiser, they would hesitate to time the rocks for better effect against his heir.”
“I will address the Reichstag,” Waldemar asserted. “and call upon them to support me. Once pressed, they can’t exactly deny me, can they?” He looked to his elderly friend and counselor.
“They can embarrass you. Turn a cold shoulder. Make a show of balking, to make you appreciate them more. Much better to lay the groundwork first, which is easier now that you are in Berlin.” Rensselaer took a deep breath again. “Your High… Majesty.” He was being intentionally generous. “I should warn you that your enemies have been holding their fire, so to speak. Waiting for the funeral to finish, lest they seem caddish. But between tomorrow afternoon and whenever your coronation shall be, you will be the target of a most vehement line of slurs. You should prepare yourself, so that you are not disheartened.”
Wally nodded. “I have endured mere words before.” His tone was wistful. His mind was far away.
“I wonder what else Albrecht might have in store for you…” Korenyi posed, incongruously. “Embarrassment or otherwise.” He was ignored.
“The conservative Junker classes of the Altmark are the most intransigent of your political opponents,” Rensselaer went on. “They live so far in the past, they don’t realize that their time is as past as Albrecht’s.”
Waldemar looked over his shoulder at the aged Rensselaer with a very slight, wry smile, but chose to let the irony pass. “Who is the most dangerous to me, Pietr? Who does have the power to hurt me badly?”
“Von Grolitz,” Korenyi murmered under his breath.
Rensselaer, whose reply had been arrested by Al’s comment, scowled over his shoulder in crotchety irritation. “Adalbert,” he said firmly. “Stop babbling about frivolous hypotheticals!”
The major turned around with an undescipherable expression, probably wondering what a hypothetical was, but he had no reply.
Belatedly, Rensselaer admitted to himself that Korenyi-Both had a point. “Your Majesty, if Grolitz chose to involve himself, he could hurt you. Badly, in fact…” He frowned, distractedly, as he considered this.
Finally entering the conversation, Dempewolf interjected, “Your Majesty, please do not dismiss Albrecht so lightly. He can capture the imagination of the ultra-conservatives. Every wrinkle in the man’s face is a point in his favor to them.”
Anders Asche, a tall, middle-aged man who was Rensselaer’s top contact at the Foreign Ministry, appeared in the doorway just then. He wrinkled his own face at Dempewolf’s partially heard comment, and looked around to see what he could be talking about. Taking note of something out in the street, he nodded, everything seeming to make sense. “Ahh, Renss, when you have a chance I am ready to brief the…” he looked nervously at Wally, his new sovereign. “His Majesty.” He bowed, slightly, to Waldemar.
Dempewolf, scowling in thought, advanced to stand next to Korenyi at the opening to the curtained area. He grunted. Rensselaer looked over his shoulder at him. Dempewolf turned. “Grolitz is talking with Kalkhorst!”
Rensselaer’s blood chilled, and he peered out into the stands being set up for the procession. Truly, Kaiser Wilhelm’s dismissed War Minister was holding a conversation with the Kaiser’s feared and hated Inspector General. Rensselaer added to Dempewolf’s comment. “…who will talk to Holstein… Who is probably stage managing Albrecht’s campaign!” It all seemed suddenly obvious.
Major Korenyi turned to face them from the opening, not looking startled in the least. He had been staring at them the whole time.
“Al,” Wally admonished, “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What did you think I’d been talking about for the past fifteen minutes?”
Black draped everything. And white, the other Prussian state color. And red, the element added to represent Germany. But mostly black, on this day of mourning.
An ebony curtain obscured much of the archway where Rensselaer stood with the young KronPrinz. The soon-to-be Kaiser, if Rensselaer had anything to say about it. And he did! Even as he approached the middle of his 8th decade, he remained one of the most influential men in Germany.
But there were rivals buzzing around in the ether, one of whom – Old Prince Albrecht – had privately been reminding people of his rights to claim and willingness to serve.
The problem was Waldemar’s age – at 17 he was still in his minority under Prussian law and tradition.
Legally, Prince Henry, Wilhelm II’s brother, had the best rival claims, but lacked any interest in pressing them. Henry was openly supportive of his nephew, Wally.
Prince Albrecht, however, knew this was his last opportunity for power and fame. He was 96 years old. The last surviving son of Konig Friedrich Wilhelm III, the Prussian king who had fought – and surrendered to – Napoleon Bonaparte I. Albrecht’s brother Wilhelm – Wilhelm II’s grandfather – had been Germany’s first Kaiser. It was time, Albrecht felt, for him to take his place in history, too.
“Renss,” KronPrinz Waldemar asked, finally. “Do you think it is credible that my Father’s death might have been part of a plot, as some are saying?” Deputy Dempewolf, who hovered nearby, cast a worried look in his direction, his fears stoked.
Rensselaer pursed his lips and looked at his shoes. He had mentioned this before – any responsible advisor could not avoid it – but they had not discussed its likelihood. “Well. This former soldier did have a history of animosity toward his superiors. And resentment that they were putting his life in danger. Everyone who knew him… Including Krysz Skiedweza, whom you know, says they believe he was capable of this, though they say they could not have predicted it.” He paused, and the two of them together watched the spectators in the street as they passed, and the workmen as they prepared the route for the Kaiser’s funeral. The KronPrinz was sufficiently screened that no one noticed. “I have been in this business too long to discount the possibility of a plot. But I do not sense who might be responsible, if so.” He peered up at a pigeon’s roost. “It seems all this might have been avoided if someone had simply sounded the warning on this man earlier.”
The funeral was set for tomorrow, the 23rd. Hundreds of thousands… perhaps millions of Germans would crowd the streets to watch the last of their revered monarch. Rensselaer continued his counsel as Waldemar watched his people silently. Thoughtfully. “Your shortage of a few months’ maturity should be merely a technicality,” he assured. “If you had been here any sooner, there would be no question at all.” Wally had been held up by a rockslide along his path of travel, which had forced them to retrace their tracks and take a more circuitous route. It had cost more than half a day, after an already long passage by sea.
“Renss,” asked Major Adalbert Korenyi-Both, who stood nearby, closer to the open air. “Who might actually support Old Prince Albrecht?”
He almost scoffed, which had become habit at Korenyi’s questions. Why the KronPrinz liked him and kept him around, Rensselaer did not know. “No one takes a man like that seriously. And no one outside of court even knows who he is. He gets an occasional comment in the gossip columns. An infrequent conversation piece. He has no political power.”
“I wonder if that rockslide might have been engineered,” Adalbert mused absently, as if talking only to himself, which he usually was.
Rensselaer bit off a snappish reply. “The authorities are also investigating that. It is admittedly possible, though one wonders why, if they would kill the Kaiser, they would hesitate to time the rocks for better effect against his heir.”
“I will address the Reichstag,” Waldemar asserted. “and call upon them to support me. Once pressed, they can’t exactly deny me, can they?” He looked to his elderly friend and counselor.
“They can embarrass you. Turn a cold shoulder. Make a show of balking, to make you appreciate them more. Much better to lay the groundwork first, which is easier now that you are in Berlin.” Rensselaer took a deep breath again. “Your High… Majesty.” He was being intentionally generous. “I should warn you that your enemies have been holding their fire, so to speak. Waiting for the funeral to finish, lest they seem caddish. But between tomorrow afternoon and whenever your coronation shall be, you will be the target of a most vehement line of slurs. You should prepare yourself, so that you are not disheartened.”
Wally nodded. “I have endured mere words before.” His tone was wistful. His mind was far away.
“I wonder what else Albrecht might have in store for you…” Korenyi posed, incongruously. “Embarrassment or otherwise.” He was ignored.
“The conservative Junker classes of the Altmark are the most intransigent of your political opponents,” Rensselaer went on. “They live so far in the past, they don’t realize that their time is as past as Albrecht’s.”
Waldemar looked over his shoulder at the aged Rensselaer with a very slight, wry smile, but chose to let the irony pass. “Who is the most dangerous to me, Pietr? Who does have the power to hurt me badly?”
“Von Grolitz,” Korenyi murmered under his breath.
Rensselaer, whose reply had been arrested by Al’s comment, scowled over his shoulder in crotchety irritation. “Adalbert,” he said firmly. “Stop babbling about frivolous hypotheticals!”
The major turned around with an undescipherable expression, probably wondering what a hypothetical was, but he had no reply.
Belatedly, Rensselaer admitted to himself that Korenyi-Both had a point. “Your Majesty, if Grolitz chose to involve himself, he could hurt you. Badly, in fact…” He frowned, distractedly, as he considered this.
Finally entering the conversation, Dempewolf interjected, “Your Majesty, please do not dismiss Albrecht so lightly. He can capture the imagination of the ultra-conservatives. Every wrinkle in the man’s face is a point in his favor to them.”
Anders Asche, a tall, middle-aged man who was Rensselaer’s top contact at the Foreign Ministry, appeared in the doorway just then. He wrinkled his own face at Dempewolf’s partially heard comment, and looked around to see what he could be talking about. Taking note of something out in the street, he nodded, everything seeming to make sense. “Ahh, Renss, when you have a chance I am ready to brief the…” he looked nervously at Wally, his new sovereign. “His Majesty.” He bowed, slightly, to Waldemar.
Dempewolf, scowling in thought, advanced to stand next to Korenyi at the opening to the curtained area. He grunted. Rensselaer looked over his shoulder at him. Dempewolf turned. “Grolitz is talking with Kalkhorst!”
Rensselaer’s blood chilled, and he peered out into the stands being set up for the procession. Truly, Kaiser Wilhelm’s dismissed War Minister was holding a conversation with the Kaiser’s feared and hated Inspector General. Rensselaer added to Dempewolf’s comment. “…who will talk to Holstein… Who is probably stage managing Albrecht’s campaign!” It all seemed suddenly obvious.
Major Korenyi turned to face them from the opening, not looking startled in the least. He had been staring at them the whole time.
“Al,” Wally admonished, “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What did you think I’d been talking about for the past fifteen minutes?”
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