Chapter 6
Roth town house
Prague, capital of Bohemia
Morris led Pál Rákóczi into his study. This time, the large table in the center of the room would prove quite useful.
“Have you made a decision?” Pál asked, crossing the room and taking his usual chair.
Morris did not bother sitting. He could see stress and impatience on Pál’s face. It had been nearly three weeks since the man had arrived. He’s wondering if I’ve decided, or if this is going to be another one of our pleasant “chats.”
Morris did not waste any further time. “Yes, I have,” he said, setting a manila folder, with two copies of the agreement inside, on the table. “After much consultation and consideration, I and Gottfried Heinrich Pappenheim agree to a Bohemian alliance with Transylvania.” He opened the folder, took out the documents, and pushed them across the table for Pál to review. “All agreed-upon conditions are defined in this document. General Pappenheim has already signed it. It now only requires our signatures to be official, and we consider your signature to be a procuration for your brother, George I Rákóczi, the Prince of Transylvania. If you sign it, it is as if the prince himself is signing it, and you will complete your signature with two small p’s to denote per procurationem. Do you understand?”
Pál nodded. He stood slowly, leaned over the table, and reached for the agreement. He pulled it closer and read it thoroughly, and twice. Morris found it amusing that the man’s lips moved when he read.
Pál held out his hand. “If I may have a quill, please, sir.”
Morris reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two ballpoint pens. He handed one to Pál. The man accepted it, but looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. Morris chuckled and shrugged. “It’s an up-time quill. Sign with the pointy end. It’ll work.”
Pál did so, showing surprise at how smooth and effortless it was to use. “It does not require an inkwell. What a relief.”
Morris nodded. “It carries one on its back.”
Pál signed both copies with the required “pp” at the end of his signature. Morris did the same. “We are official, Pál Rákóczi. Please present your copy to your brother upon your return to Transylvania.” Morris tucked his copy back into the manila folder. “Now, let’s get down to business.”
Morris cleared the table and then produced a large map that had been given to him by Francisco Nasi. He rolled it out onto the table and weighed down the curled ends with the lanterns.
“Impressive map,” Pál said. “Very precise.”
Morris said nothing. He was not about to reveal any of his intelligence contacts to this man. Yes, they had just signed an alliance between Bohemia and Transylvania, but there was no need to show his entire hand. Not yet, anyway.
“The Grand Army of the Sunrise is here,” Morris said, pointing to a sketched image of a sun, “at Kazimierz, south of Krakow.” He moved his hand down the map to Transylvania. “These are your cities of Kolozsvár and Gyulafehérvár, the up-time Romanian cities of Cluj and Alba Iulia, respectively. It’s a distance of over five hundred miles, assuming we take the route I consider the most viable in order to keep from running afoul of Ottomans.
“But, we’re not going to do that. We’re not going to take such a long, arduous trek and have our supply lines strung out over, potentially, hundreds of miles. As I reminded someone recently, sir, success breeds success. The Sunrise is in the middle of an expansion, a refit, and a restructuring.”
“How many men can we expect?” Pál asked.
Morris shook his head. “I cannot give you those numbers today. I’ll be leaving for Krakow soon. I’ll have a better sense of it once I’m there. But I suspect we’ll be able to field eight, maybe ten thousand, by the end of June.”
Maybe more, maybe less. “But I’m sure you know all too well that a green army is not an army for long. Before we enter Transylvania per our agreement, they require time and training.”
Pál stood and looked Morris straight in the eye. “Then what do you propose, Herr Roth?”
Morris took a step to the left, took a pen out of his pocket, and circled a city which lay near the border of Austria-Hungary.
“Kassa?”
Up-time, it was known as the Slovakian city of Košice, but like most cities and provinces in this part of seventeenth-century Europe, Kassa had been controlled by many political factions in the decades leading up to the Ring of Fire.
One of its most recent owners—and the one that interested Morris the most—was the Principality of Transylvania itself. Prince Gabriel Bethlen, with the military assistance of Pál’s brother George, had seized the city in an anti-Habsburg insurrection in 1619. Bethlen held the city until his death in 1629, when it was then returned to Habsburg control.
Then the Ring of Fire occurred, and who owned the city now? That was even unclear to Francisco Nasi. Certainly, there was some municipal authority that held the city together and maintained the peace, but otherwise, it was ripe for the picking, and a perfect stepping-off point for the Sunrise, and for future Bohemian and USE military operations.
“Yes, Kassa,” Morris said. “Your family is well aware of its strategic significance. Located roughly halfway between Krakow and Kolozsvár. Moving there first will allow the Sunrise to continue its refit and training before heading into Transylvania. And, it will be a useful place for the USE and its continued campaign against the Ottomans…if such a need ever arises.”
Pál piqued his interest immediately. “So, the United States of Europe will be involved in this endeavor?”
Morris smiled, stepped back from the map, and said, “Yes…with just a bit of a fig leaf. The units they will be sending are from the Silesian Guard, not the USE army proper.”
Pál shook his head and flashed confusion. “I wasn’t aware that the Silesians were capable of fielding a force of their own. How many men? Who will be in command?”
“Colonel—now Brigadier—Jeff Higgins, the former commander of the Hangman Regiment of the USE’s Third Division. You have perhaps heard of him?”
Mutely, Rákóczi nodded.
“The core of the Silesian Guard is the former Hangman Regiment. So, it’s quite a formidable force, built around veterans.”
Pál rubbed his beard and nodded again. “That would certainly be true. That regiment has a ferocious reputation.” He leaned over the map, placed his finger on Kassa, and drew an imaginary line into Transylvania all the way to their capital of Gyulafehérvár. “This would be the route that I would suggest, Herr Roth. It will keep you free from Ottoman entanglements.”
Morris nodded. “Your thinking is consistent with mine own, but I will not commit yet to an entry point. I must confer with my lieutenants first before a final decision is made on the route.” He smiled. “I’m a supply guy, Herr Rákóczi, not a field commander.”
“You have taken on quite a responsibility, then, putting yourself in charge of an entire army.”
How true that was, Morris admitted to himself. This foray into Transylvania could go south quickly in so many different ways. On paper, it made perfect sense: provide military support for Transylvania’s alliance with Bohemia and its declaration of independence, in exchange for northern territory such that Bohemia could continue its expansion into Ruthenian lands. The military support that the Grand Army of the Sunrise would provide should be relatively easy as these things went. Fighting against the vassal armies of Moldavia and Wallachia using up-time-inspired weaponry should not present much of a challenge; assuming, of course, that Sultan Murad did not turn his attention toward his vassals and engage in force himself. That, unfortunately, was entirely possible. But Francisco Nasi, Rebecca and Uriel Abrabanel, and others would begin their misinformation campaign soon. With any luck, the Sunrise’s move into Kassa would be seen as a move to bolster USE forces against Murad’s main column, or not seen at all.
With any luck…
Morris tapped a finger on Transylvania. “It is my understanding that over the years, as a vassal for the Turks, the military readiness of your country has been weakened. Murad has drawn men from your cities and towns as replacements for his own losses. How many soldiers can you put into the field, Herr Rákóczi?”
Pál considered, by again running his fingers through his beard and sighing like a bear. “As many as you can field, I suspect.”
Morris was surprised. “That many, eh?”
Pál smiled politely. “Herr Roth, when my countrymen learn of this agreement, they will understand the risk, and they will volunteer to defend their homes. The Székely, the Hajdu, even our Saxon populations, will fight like mad dogs to protect their families, their farms. We cannot hope to raise enough to stand against a combined force from Moldavia and Wallachia, however. That is why we are asking for your support.
“But we will be there, in the field, in numbers to help defend our country. That, I can promise.”
The meeting was over. There was nothing more to speak about right now. Everything else about this operation was still unclear, unsettled.
“My only concern, Herr Roth, with this entire endeavor,” Pál said as they walked out of the room and toward the foyer, “is how Sultan Murad will respond.”
Morris nodded but kept moving. His heart leapt into his throat. “Yes, Herr Rákóczi. That is everyone’s concern.”