5

"Damned fools!"

The old and sharp-looking man with a carefully kept moustache rose with feline grace from his seat, managing, despite the advanced age, to powerfully slap the two man stood before him, and who remained immobile at attention, their gazes on the floor.

"We're mortified, sir."

"You were played like fools by two girls! You shame the Austrian army!"

The effort, though, coupled with his wrath, proved too much for that seasoned soldier, who brought a hand to his chest and took some deep breaths to try and calm down a little, forcing another one of the many youths that roamed through that nameless estate to rush at his side to help him sit down again.

"Be thankful I still need you, otherwise I'd have you shot."

"Now what is going to be our next move, sir?" asked the young man who had helped him. "The information is confirmed. One of the girls is the daughter of Tsar Nicholas."

"Bastards." growled the old man through his teeth. "I thought they'd find a way to make their couriers untouchable, but I never thought they'd dare so much."

"We could try and reach them if we hurry."

"It would be pointless. The contact will already have been informed about their identity. Moreover, we only know that the meeting should take place somewhere just the other side of the border. If we don't know where it is, there is no way to intercept it."

"Do you wish for me to send out more me to try and track them down?"

The old man pondered, closing his bony yet still strong hands around the armrests.

"What do we know about the other girl?"

"She's Grazia Orsini, the only child of Count Prospero Orsini of Bologna. Her father is one of the closest advisors of the Pope, but she has been flagged several times as a Piedmontese sympathizer."

"They chose the best courier that there is, truly. Damn them; if we touch such a person, the Emperor would have our heads."

Then, after hesitating a little bit more, the old man rose, as everyone else stood at attention.

"We go south."

To that, everybody gazed around, surprised.

"Sir..."

"We do not know where they're going, but now they know we are on to them. It means we'll use that knowledge to our advantage."

After the shortest possible rest, as the sun came down Olga and Grazia had immediately resumed their voyage, taking care in watching their backs all the time now.

Luckily, there were no more surprises for them; either their stalkers had taken the bait and lost their tracks in the valley, or they had simply given up, but in the end for the rest of the road the girls almost didn't meet a soul.

They rode without a pause throughout the night, also because the rest had helped their horses quite a bit, and before the sun had touched the horizon they had already reached the other end of the valley.

At that point, on Grazia's advice (whose ability to read a map at lantern light betrayed the fact that she had never seen those places before), they turned northeast, keeping on the Via Salaria, before steering clear of Ascoli at the last moment and making a sharp turn to the south, following what looked like an old transhumance road that tagged along the main road, straight as an arrow but little frequented in that time of the year.

As it had happened when they had entered the valley, very soon the rocky mountains (sometimes even capped by a timid layer of snow) were replaced by lush, green hills and plains full of wheat fields, marked here and there by some woods.

And so it went, until, as the next day broke, they reached the foot of a small mountain, on the top of which the Grand Duchess was able to see a small fortress, on which the flag of the Papal States flew proudly.

Grazia then brought her companion along the dirt road that led from the foot to the stronghold, stopping when they had covered a third of the distance; then, Olga noticed that before them stood a large plain, and on the exact opposite side of it another fortress on a rocky ridge, much larger and stronger, surrounded by a small town.

"There." said the young Orsini, pointing her finger. "That's Civitella."

"It's really nice." said the Grand Duchess, admiring the imposing shape of the castle, with the houses below huddled together like several cubs around their mother.

"It's also one of the most impregnable fortresses around here. Bonaparte himself had to smash his head quite a bit before she surrendered."

"Then let's go. Now we have less than twenty-four hours to complete our task."

"Calm down. It's not that easy."

"What do you mean?"

As an answer Grazia pointed to a small hamlet in the middle of the valley that separated the two hills, unusually lit for such an early hour.

"There's the problem."

It took but a glance for Olga to understand; it was a customs house. And well kept, too.

"We could try and sneak around it."

"Impossible. All people who enter the Kingdom receive a permit. If you are found without, you end up in a cell. And since it's a border fortress, it's likely that Civitella will have quite the garrison. Damn it, couldn't they find a more suitable place?"

The young Orsini fell silent for a moment, almost as if deep in thought.

"But even if they had, considering what's in store for us, it's a risk we can't run."

"What should that even mean?"

"Those Austrians are out there, and are surely looking for us. It would be dangerous for us to follow the same road we came from. The best solution, once we get into the Kingdom of Naples, would be to stay within and follow the Royal Road till Avezzano, and from there pass the border once more and get into the Papal States. From there to Anzio the distance is short."

"Do you think we can make it?"

"In all honesty, I wouldn't know. We'd have to run with hardly a stop. But it's better than risking getting intercepted when we go back."

The issue, and both were acutely aware of that, was that their very rank could spell trouble. How could they justify their presence there, two young ladies of such lofty position, alone in that forgotten corner of the world, and anxious to pass the border, without raising suspicion?

They could get through in any case, but the risk was to get some really undesired attention.

Luckily, for the first time since that unexpected adventure had began, fate stepped in to patch things up.

"I can't believe it." said a shocked Grazia a few minutes later, staring at a luxurious carriage slowly descending on the road to the fortress, with a very visible family crest on the sides. "This is some luck."

"I must admit I am quite impressed." said Countess Serbelloni, hiding between her fan her crimson red lips (courtesy of lip gloss), that themselves hid the results of a combination between old age and unrestrained passions for sweets and sugar. "I would have never thought possible to meet you here of all places, Miss Orsini."

"I am most grateful for this courtesy of yours, Countess." said Grazia politely, sitting before her with Olga at her side. "It would have been rather embarassing to explain things to the border guards."

"I did not know that your father the Duke was in the Kingdom. We had tea together this last thursday."

"He had to depart in a hurry, to solve some issues about his holdings in Irpinia. I wrote him to ask if I could join him there, and he agreed. Unfortunately, that oaf of a coachman couldn't hold his wine last evening, and he's busy regretting his choice in the police office at Ascoli. If we hadn't met you, we would have been forced to wait for him to be released."

"Nevertheless, are you sure it's enough for you to be brought to Civitella? If you like, I'd be most happy to have your company to Naples."

"Your kindness is greatly appreciated, but it won't be necessary. My father has an acquaintance at Civitella who often goes in Irpinia to look after our holdings; we will have but to ask to go with him."

Olga was unsure whether to laugh or gape at her friend; the ability with which Grazia was able to jump from a personality to another, just like that, without giving the least reason to doubt of her sincerity, was nothing short of prodigious. The Grand Duchess almost asked herself who was the true Grazia, the patriot forced by the custom to disguise herself as a princess, or a princess that took on the disguise of a patriot to look for something beyond her routine.

"If I may, though, Miss." the Countess added. "Your appearance looks rather... tried to me."

"My father asked me to keep a low profile, so we chose to dress in this simple manner. In these times, you'll surely agree with me, it's better not to draw much attention. With all those riotous anarchists!"

"Indeed, indeed, Miss. Could you even guess? Three months ago, when I came back to my residence, I found out that two of my clerks had gone and joined those rascals of Garibaldians, and this after destroying my whole reserve of champagne and then running off with two nice dresses, one of my late husband and one of my beloved son."

"This world is drowning into barbarism!"

"By all means. Had I been there, I would have let my darling Ivan to deal with them."

The eyes of both girls then turned towards the enormous Muscovite Medelyan that dozed on the floor of the coach; when they had climbed aboard he had allowed them to pet him, squeaking happily like a puppy, but Olga knew enough of that breed to know that it was the kind of dog able to jump at someone's throat on command, and tear him to pieces like a small goat.

"Your friend does not speak much." commented the noble Countess, glancing at Olga."

"You have to excuse her, she is French. She does not speak our language very well. She's a guest of my family, and she longed to see the Kingdom of Naples, so I chose to have her come with me."

"My dear, I can assure you she'll be rather disappointed; once she saw Rome, nothing in the world could be like it. And still, Naples is so chaotic, and so hot. I could go crazy!"

"She is quite right to fear the warmth." murmured Olga in Grazia's ear, confident that unlike them the Countess was completely ignorant of Polish. "If all that makeup were to run, could you guess how much those poor Neapolitans would be traumatized?"

Grazia had to make an effort not to burst out laughing, also because in the meantime they had reached the pass in the valley. Usually they would have been in for a few hours' wait, but clearly that coach was well known around there, so much that the Papal guards didn't hesitate before letting her through, avoiding the queue.

When they reached the border proper, a narrowing between two buildings that was barely enough for a single vehicle, a guard came near the coach, met with a small gesture by the aged noblewoman, and by a bow of the head of her young companions.

He didn't even ask the Countess for her papers, and just saluted her respectfully with her hand rising to her cap, and only asked those of the two young ladies; Grazia, who had kept her true ones, offered those, whereas Olga exhibited those that she had been given at the inn. Not that it mattered, as the guard only glanced at them, before slipping in the permits and giving them back.

"I hope for a good continuation of your voyage, Countess; safe travels."

The bar was then lifted, and the coach went through, with the Neapolitan guards that negligently gestured for it to go on, without having her stop for their own check.

Just a few miles after, the coach reached the outskirts of Civitella, and stopped just short of the gate.

"Are you really sure you want to be dropped here? I could have you taken to the house of that friend of yours."

"You shouldn't bother yourself with that." Grazia thanked her, climbing down last after giving a last pet to Ivan, getting a generous lick for her troubles. "Walking awhile will be nice. We couldn't be more grateful for what you did."

"Bring my best regards to your father. And pray tell him I anxiously await him in my estate at Procida."

Grazia and Olga stood still, saluting, until the coach disappeared behind a curve, and once satisfied that they were out of sight they finally dropped their masks.

"At last!" Grazia blurted out. "That harpy is dumber than the dumbest. As if we actually had any holdings in Irpinia!"

"If the Roman nobles are all like that, I'm shocked that Rome still stands to this day." was the tartly comment of the Grand Duchess.

"Countess Serbelloni Mazzanti. If you look in the books, you'll find her under 'vainglory'. Now let's go, let's find that place and be done with it."

The two girls shook a leg, and had just to ask a farmer for informations to have the place they were looking for pointed out to them.

The Oleificio Serventi was a few hundred yards away from the southern gate of the town, in a large uninhabited area surrounded by crops; it was a white, square mortar building, with a huge courtyard bounded by a low wall.

Grazia tried knocking on the large wooden gate, painted in green, but it didn't take much to notice that the place was closed and abandoned, likely since a while.

"Figures. I knew it was too easy."

"Now what?" asked the Grand Duchess.

"This is the place. Let's just hope that the contact didn't up and leave yet."

"Siete voi le due Mizie Trasvenere?" said out of the blue an incorporeal voice, surely a woman's, whose Italian was moreover noticeably stunted and accented.

The two girls jumped up, and only after turning around took notice of a figure near them, busy resting up under the shadow of the olive tree amid the courtyard. She was sharply dressed, with a brown gentleman's suit, a shirt and a tie; it was also made smarter by the large hat cocked downwards to protect the face from the sun, letting the long blonde hair free to fall all around like a harmonious net of golden threads.

"Rather, due tizie di Trastevere." [two girls from Trastevere] Grazia corrected.

"Oh, we have a little princess here." was the ironic, quick reply of the newcomer, who eventually had the grace to rise, revealing features of a young woman with a happy air and deep blue eyes, hardly coherent with her masculine garments.

"We didn't ask for it, we were dragged into this mess." pointed out once more Grazia. "Besides, you don't look that much older than us."

The youngster slowly came closer, looking over the two girls but without dropping that sly smile of hers.

"Are you British?" asked Olga.

"Must assuredly not! Do I look like somebody who likes her tea? Anyway, with whom do I have the pleasure to speak with?"

"Good thing that we were told that it's better not to ask too many questions..." Grazia grumbled.

"In a few hours' time, I'll have left this country behind me, so I don't care that much about your own issues." winked the young foreigner. "Moreover, how could I not ask the name of such beautiful ladies?"

"My name is Olga." the Grand Duchess cut to the chase.

"Mine is Grazia. What about you?"

"You can call me Kay."

"You are American." said at that Olga, that had finally recognized that curious accent. "South Carolina, I suppose."

"Good call. And just like that, I'm eager to get back there, so let's get to the point."

And with no more words Kay fished into the bag she carried around her shoulder, and took out a large envelope closed by a wax seal.

"Your friend has quite the important friends." was the cryptic comment of the young American as Grazia, almost fearfully, took the envelope. "And now I'd advise you to get rid of that thing as fast as you can, before someone finds it in your hands."

Then, Kay turned around the corner of the building, and reappeared a few moments later on a horse.

"Take care of yourselves, and farewell!" she told them, waving her hat, and then bolting towards the south.

The girls followed her with their eyes for some time, then they briefly stared at the envelope Grazia was holding.

It was huge, but not that heavy, and from the noise it made it looked like it mostly contained papers; but the thing that most impressed them was the crest on the seal, the presidential eagle with an olive branch and thirteen arrows held by her claws.

"Alright, we have what we wanted." concluded the young Orsini, trying to shut down her own curiosity. "Now let's go back."

After using up almost all the money Grazia still had to buy the least worst horses they could find in a nearby horse farm and something to eat, the two girls went south at first, then after an hour, just before they could spot Teramo in the distance, turned west, and by noon they were already gazing at the Gran Sasso, one of the highest peaks of the central Appennines, grey and thick like the tooth of an enormous giant asleep in the depths of the earth.

The voyage, as opposed to what Grazia herself had feared, was incredibly calm and without any issues of note. After all, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies was still recovering from the failed insurrection of Palermo, some two years before, and considering the largely positive relationship with the Papal States had chosen to redeploy most of its forces in Sicily, to keep the order.

The situation therefore went on smoothly, so smoothly that as the Gran Sasso disappeared behind them and the boundless Thyrrenian plains were opening up before them, the girls decided to have a breather on the shore of a small lake, to let the horses rest up a bit and take a bit of bread, cheese and olives.

"I would've never believed it, but we might be somewhat ahead of schedule." said the young Orsini, checking her pocket watch. "If we keep going at this pace, we'll reach Anzio before four o'clock of tomorrow."

Olga's train of thought however went elsewhere, and the Grand Duchess, looking around, felt a sense of fulfillment like nothing she had ever proved before: she would have never guessed in such a circumstance, but she had never felt more free. For her whole life she had been educated to live and act as pertaining to her role, independently of the context or the situation she may be in.

And that without mentioning the few number of occasions in which she had been able to spend some time completely on her own, or even together with somebody not belonging to her assigned aristocratic circle.

Well, look at her now; lost in the middle of nowhere, in a remote corner of the Italian peninsula, together with a girl she had met for the first time just twenty-four hours before, drinking the fresh water of a creek and with her mouth full of simple yet priceless tastes. She almost began to laugh again, as she thought of that enormous cheese-maker who, while selling her cheese to them, had insisted on gifting them with half a loaf of mozzarella, declaring (laughing the whole time) that at their age it was good to eat up to properly develop that balcony that was a guarantee of a nice catch.

She would have given up some ten or twenty years of her life just for that moment, if she had been able to, especially if she thought about what awaited her when, sooner or later, she would have had to return to her true, old life.

"A good omen." she said all of a sudden, gazing with some mild surprise and wonder before her.

Intrigued, Grazia copied her, and saw a family of wolves, father, mother and two pups, drinking up on the other side of the small lake.

"I don't see how meeting some wolves may be an omen."

"You should be one to talk." laughed the Grand Duchess. "Wasn't your city founded by a prince raised by wolves?"

"It's just an old wives' tale that we tell just to make our history more romantic."

"In some parts of the world wolves are considered sacred animals, did you know? In Japan, for example. Or even in Ireland."

"Here they are considered at best mobile targets from the shepherds, or by some amateur hunter looking for some trophy."

"I can understand that. It's the same in my place. My father has had a whole room carpeted with their skins; and the worst thing is that he's convinced I like it."

The time to finish up the last of the cheese, drink up half a canteen apiece, and they were ready to ride on.

"C'mon, let's go. We have a long way to go still."

Rested and fed, the girls rode on, going faster and, incredibly, more relaxed than before.

After such an animated and complicated first leg, now everything seemed to go smoothly.

Although they had been forced to take a longer route, they were still following the schedule to bring their task to a satisfactory end within the time frame; according to Grazia, they would get through the border at Avezzano, and then straight ahead towards Anzio.

Despite a further, small deviation caused by news of bandits on the main road, as relayed by a farmer, they reached Avezzano when the sun hadn't yet crossed the horizon, and with no issue at all they managed to get through the border post and finally getting back into the Papal States.

Unfortunately, in a short while luck decided to turn the other way.

Olga and Grazia had just left behind the steepest part of the appennine range, slipping in the valleys of the small hills between Rome and Frosinone, when all of a sudden, perhaps because of a hole in the road or something, Grazia's horse at full gallop stumbled and had a bad fall, throwing the young Orsini right into the side ditch.

"Grazia!" let out Olga, seeing her friend disappear among the reeds.

She was about to jump down and help her out, when the girl reappeared from the ground, still moist from the recent rains, dirty and wet, but with nothing to show worse than a few scratches.

"Just what we needed." she protested, shaking her hair to get out all the leaves and small twigs. "Of course, everything was going just too well."

The horse, in the meantime, was clearly struggling to get back to his feet, and it took but a moment to verify that he had a sprained leg. Walking may still be possible, but a gallop was out of the question.

"Nothing to do, this poor fellow won't run for quite a long while." said Olga, looking at the wound. "We'll have to make do with just one horse."

"That's impossible. There's too much road still to get to Anzio. If we both use the same horse, we risk not making it in time."

"So what's the plan?"

However, as quickly as luck had turned away, with the same urgency she turned again once more.

"Look there." the young Orsini said, pointing at a white and red dot standing out among the green fields. "A farmhouse."

"Maybe they'll have a horse for us to buy."

Grazia fished in her pocket, and took out what money she had left; not much.

"This might do, if we leave them the wounded horse. If push comes to shove, I'll tell them who I am, and they'll give me some credit."

"Didn't you say you didn't want to take advantage of your family name?" smirked the Grand Duchess.

"When there's the life of a friend of mine on the chopping block, I don't give a damn about that. Wait here; it'll be easier if they don't see a foreigner."

Taking hold by the reins of the unsteady horse, Grazia followed a narrow path that, in ten minutes, brought her near the building. It wasn't well kept, it rather seemed almost abandoned, but the presence of horses in the stable, some rather sharp-looking indeed, made it evident that somebody was there.

Nothing was to be heard, maybe because of the rather premature hour, or perhaps because the mild climate had pushed the farmhands to linger in the fields.

"Hello?" she asked, standing before the entrance. "Is there anyone here? Sorry for trespassing, but I need to buy one of your horses."

Nobody answered that.

Grazia tied the horse to a stake, and tried walking around; almost all the windows' shutters were closed, but there were lights to be seen inside.

"Do you hear me?" she tried again, reaching for the small door that likely connected the kitchen with the outside. "I have a horse to exchange. It's in a bad shape, but he can recover. I can pay well, and moreover..."

The small door burst open all of a sudden, and two cloaked men fell upon the girl as angels of death. One slipped to her back, forcing her arms behind her back and silencing her instinctual scream with a hand on her mouth; the other lifted her by the angles, dragging her inside and then immediately shutting the door.

Grazia was forced onto her knees, her wrists were tied together and then she herself was firmly bound to the leg of an old but massive wooden table.

"What are you doing?!" she shrieked, once her mouth was freed. "Let me go now! Don't you know who I am?!"

"We are perfectly aware." croaked an old voice with a sharp Austrian accent. "Miss Orsini."

Only then Grazia noticed that her two kidnappers weren't the only one present in that old and dusty room.

Sitting on the lone chair still in decent condition, surrounded by a dozen or so of youngsters cloaked in identical dark tabards,, was a man of more than venerable age, but whose eyes were still burning of the haunting light of veteran soldiers.

Grazia had never met him in person; yet, she immediately recognized him.

"Yes, miss." said the old man again. "As soon as my men gave me a description of the girls we were looking for, I immediately understood it was you they were talking about."

"Unlike me." replied the young Orsini, with a mocking smirk. "I would have never guessed that the flunkies who followed us were the henchmen of General Konstantin D'Aspre. The Butcher of Leghorn."

The old officer jumped up a bit at that, a finger running on the large white moustaches.

"I am happy you know of me. The last time I saw you, you were but a child."

"How could I not know about the man whose hands are stained by the blood of many a friend of mine?"

All the while, one of the soldiers had found Grazia's bag, and was rummaging inside.

"Mein General." he said, showing the famous sealed envelope.

"No, stop!" the girl tried to say, but she was firmly held back as the package was respectfully placed within the General's hands.

D'Aspre took a cigar from a pocket of his coat, and one of his officers was eager to lit it for him. He puffed on it for a few moments, quietly, almost preening under the hateful glare Grazia was sending him.

"I must confess I would have never expected such a lucky break. We based ourselves here with a mind to keep following you once you passed through here, but if I had known you would have fallen right into our hands, we would have taken it a bit easier, instead of getting here so early."

"How did you know we would pass through here?"

"Please. I spent fifty years of my life raising hell all over Europe. It takes more than a young city lady with the head filled with adventurous ideas to make me sweat."

After that, the General strode forwards, looking at the girl straight in the eyes.

"But did you really believe all that malarkey that goes around in the places you hang around? It's two years that this country burns. Two years in which Italy, and only Italy, is talked about. At Florence, at Venice, at Verona, at Bologna, at Rome. You all talked about Italy, you filled your mouths with this word, but even if you could you did not make it, nor did you put it into practice. Like a prayer to the Almighty, that is forgotten as soon as it has been pronounced."

"We would have made Italy, if we had had the time."

"Two years weren't enough to make this Italy? The truth is that everybody did his own thing, because at the end of the day, you're the very first ones not to want Italy. Because you'd have to be pals with people whose throats you cut for centuries. Piedmontese and Lombards, Florentine and Senesi. They hate each other by default. Do you really think a nation can be made out of such divisions? And if it were, are you really convinced that things will change? Nations rise and fall, but the rules are always the same. Who governs is always a bastard who commands his subjects like a shepherd his sheep, no matter what title he uses to justify his actions."

"You imprisoned, hanged and shot thousands of people, you have more Italian martyrs on your conscience than Hannibal and Attila put together." said Grazia with gritted teeth, until she exploded. "You have no right whatsoever to pronounce the word 'Italy', Austrian arsehole!"

Not even fazed by such an insult, the General let out in the air a light blue cloud, and returned his gaze towards Grazia's eyes.

"Poor girl. So young and so naive. So much that she doesn't see."

"What?" Grazia jumped up.

"The truth is that what you are doing right now is a threat towards this land more so than what I could ever hope to be."

"What does that even mean?"

The General replied raising the envelope he had hold in his hand all that time.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Some papers. Coming from the United States."

"This is an act of war. A declaration of war that the American government has shamelessly offered to all the respectable nations that carve up this hapless continent."

"And I should believe that an act of war would be delivered in an abandoned hovel, right in the middle of nowhere, by a young girl dressed like those frontiersmen that can be seen in the papers that come from beyond the ocean? Really?" Grazia shot back, trying her best to look sarcastic.

"Wars aren't just the ones that are fought between armies. Granting asylum to the wrong people could be by itself a hostile act towards another country."

"What the hell?!"

D'Aspre gestured towards one of his henchmen, who strode forwards with a metal rod, heated onto a candle. With that, the General was able to subtly melt the lower part of the seal, removing it from the envelope without breaking it.

Inside it, as predicted, there were nothing but papers, and among those the General found what looked like a letter, itself within another envelope.

He took and opened it, glancing over it, and afterwards his eyes met those of a more and more confused Grazia again.

"Here." he said, offering the letter to the young man who had stood by him all the time. "Check it out for yourself. See who you are helping out."

The letter was brought before Grazia's face, who began to read it.

It was a handwritten document, bearing the signature of the President of the United States Zachary Taylor, in which the recipient was informed of the successful conclusion of the procedure to obtain political asylum in America, and a personal invitation to the White House as a welcome guest, once reached.

Then, scrolling through the lines, Grazia read the name of the recipient himself.

"No..." she said, her voice broken and a glazed look, close to tears. "It can't be..."

The minutes went by, and Grazia was still not coming back.

After half an hour' wait, Olga was beginning to get seriously worried.

Her friend had told her to wait there, because in such a place someone who was clearly a foreigner might have drawn unwelcome attention, but the thing was beginning to get worrisome enough.

She was almost on the verge to walk to the farmhouse, when Grazia finally reappeared, together with a magnificent black horse.

"Where have you been?" she asked, unable not to notice the weird expression of her companion, darker and more melancholic than usual. "I was getting really worried."

"I found another horse." Grazia told her, in a low voice and an equally lower gaze. "Let's go, now. We lost enough time as is. Carlotta is waiting for us."

The two girls then resumed their journey, while General D'Aspre and his men watched the scene, hidden among the branches around the farmhouse.

"Should we follow them, Sir?" asked the young warrant officer.

"Five men to look over them. And this time they better not be noticed."

"What about us?"

"We'll make for Ostia, instead." the General smiled, crushing his cigar under his boot. "The trap is set and ready to be sprung. And this time, we'll make sure that our prey won't have any escape routes!"

Konstantin D'Aspre (1789 – 1850) was an Austrian soldier, who rose to the rank of Feldmarschalleutnant.

Joining the Austrian Army in 1806, he operated in Italy in the latter part of the Napoleonic Wars (in the campaign against the Napoleonic Kingdom of Italy, and against Murat's Kingdom of Naples in 1815), and participated in the crushing of the Neapolitan and Central Italian uprisings, respectively in 1821 and 1831. He commanded the 2nd Army Corps under Field Marshal Radetzky in the First Italian War of Independence (1848-9), and the subsequent operations against Tuscany and the Roman Republic; during which he commanded the siege of Leghorn, that once conquered was sacked and ravaged by the troops under his command. After the fall of the Roman Republic, he led the chase to entrap Giuseppe Garibaldi (whom he had already met in Lombardy the year before), but the patriot eventually evaded him and managed to reach safety. In all these operations, he used a firm hand and often ordered the execution of Italian patriots that were captured by his troops.

IRL, he died at Padova in 1850.