The Empire of Romania in 1589
The map hung on the wall behind one long side of the table. The regional commanders, Hitchcock included, sat on the other side facing the map. Beneath the map were the Warmaster and Chancellor, flanking a more ornate seat left vacant for the Emperor. On their right and left respectively were seated senior aides. To Hitchcock’s left sat the chiefs of the armies of the east, and to his right the Admiral and the Prince who commanded the Army of Hungary. Representatives of the rulers of Croatia and Serbia had been invited, but after the opening sessions had abandoned themselves to the rich living of the City and were no longer seen in the mornings, if at all. Junior officers and aides occupied chairs behind their principals.
“Austria has made peace with Spain, extracting the provinces of Bearn, Rousillon and Gerona as the price. This not only allows Austria to meddle directly in the affairs of Spain should their brother Hapsburgs deviate from Austrian policy, it also allows Austria to apply pressure to the French minor states and to France itself.” The Chancellor’s voice husked on the last word, and he stopped for a sip of whatever beverage was in his cup.
“We are blessed, for 1583 was in every way an exceptional year, and so was 1585. Our system of tax collections is going into effect throughout the Regained Lands with fine results for the treasury and little complaint from the people of the region. Our thanks are due to the army commanders who have ensured the peace. His Majesty’s policies will continue to stress the expenditure of funds for the repair and construction of public works in the Regained provinces, for the improvement of all who live there. As a result of this peace and prosperity, our currency has actually gained value.” He smiled thinly. “This is of little concern to our generals, but of great concern in regards to the supply and equipping of our forces, which is thus made easier.” Smiles and nods all around at that.
“Returning to the diplomatic front, Poland has become engaged in alliance with Sweden and the Protestant states. The Rus, unfortunately, have signed a pact with the Austrians.”
“This is why we must have reinforcements in the West. My army is much reduced, and I need another army as strong as mine to guard the juncture of the Polish-Russian border with our own.” The voice was a gravelly baritone, the speaker the swarthy, black-haired man of middling age who sat down the table to the right: the Prince Mihail, known as Viteazul for his bravery.
Count Vlad looked at the Chancellor and took what he saw as an invitation to speak. “The risk of war from Poland is always present. We have not forgotten their provovation of 1581. And if Austria were to war upon us, Russia might well be drawn in, as we all know they covet Moldavia. But Austria is preoccupied with the properties they seized from Naples in 1585. Rich lands in Italy, true, but lands accustomed to ruling themselves. And lands the Pope has long claimed.“
“The Austrians always snatch prizes away for themselves,” the Chancellor grumbled, and Vlad laughed. “Let them! If it drives another wedge between the Hapsburgs and the old Dragon Gregorius in Rome, let them!”
“It’s Pope Sixtus, now, I hear. Or some such name,” the Chancellor mentioned, and Vlad nodded in appreciation before going on. “We are rebuilding the strength of the armies of the east first because we believe the greatest threat is there,” Vlad continued. “Not from foreign powers but from rebellion, such as broke out in Konya a few years ago. I agree that your army has been given short shrift these past years, and I pledge to make up your legions. As for the other,” his voice darkened, deepened, “we will authorize a new legion soon, but it will be deployed in Thrace, or in Macedonia to guard this region against the civil unrests that so recently troubled Albania. For your ears only,” his gaze swept the room, commanding, “the plague of 1586 has reduced the population available for military service and recruitments are running a bit low.” Mihail’s face drew down as he clearly did not like that answer, but he said nothing more.
“General Heinrich, would you advise us on the hiring of the soldier and condottieri Giaccomo Bocanegra?”
“I advise against it, milord Warmaster. He has refused to make any demonstration to me of any knowledge he might have of drill, firearms or fortification that we do not already possess. He has also refused to adjust his contract price, which remains at 400 ducats.”
Vlad’s eyebrows flew up and the Chancellor drew back in shock. “Milord Warmaster, unless your need is acute I cannot countenance the disbursement of such a sum to a single man! Our expenses for civil administration remain so heavy…”
“I trust the assessment of our good General Heinrich,” Vlad intoned. “As Warmaster I must of course argue for the security of the throne but I fail to see how such an expense would materially aid us.”
“I thank you, milord Warmaster. The extension of civil administration in the Regained Lands and the spread of chief magistracies such as we now employ in Thrace and Smyrna will, I think, greatly strengthen our ability to support your efforts.”
Artfully phrased, Hitchcock thought. The Chancellor was a young man when we began the war against the Turks, but he has certainly grown into the office.
Another look passed between the Warmaster and the Chancellor. The latter sipped again from his goblet and turned over several pages. “I have recently learned from our ambassadors at the various courts that our exposure to Austrian interference should be much lessened, at least for a time. The Principality of Savoy, allied with France and Venice, have decided to make war on the Catholic coalition of Austria, the Papal States, Russia, Genoa, Cologne and Sicily. Against Austria’s great strength must be balanced the effect of their many commitments. Officially, His Majesty has no opinion in this matter save to call upon both sides for peace.”
The Chancellor coughed again. “Milords and generals, I suggest we adjourn this session until the early hours after noon.”
Everyone rose and Prince Mihail lifted his goblet. “Gentlemen! I give you His Majesty Mihnea, Second of His Name, Sole Autokrator, Imperator, King of Wallachia, Transylvania and Moldavia, Restorer of the Eastern Lands! To Her Serene Highness Lucia, and to their firstborn, our new Prince of Hungary, Radu! May the Royal House be blessed with long life, good health and many children in the future!”
All cheered and toasted, but Hitchcock found himself left strangely cold. As discreetly as possible he studied the Prince, fiddling pointlessly with papers as the Prince made his way through the bustle of courtiers and well-wishers to the exit. There was something in the face beyond the black beard, prow-like nose and deep-set eyes of the Basarabs. Something cold, that looked out and saw only victims.
Something predatory.