The Causes of Separation
Sorry for the short chapter- I hope the two of them I'm posting will make up for it. ( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)
With a bit of careful coaching, Euphemia had descended upon the Senate, determined to push for change. Just as Lelouch had hoped, she had already started to charm of the Senators- she was just very hard to dislike, even though Lelouch was suddenly reminded of… another issue. If Lelouch thought soldiers gawping at Cornelia was bad… well at least some of the politicians were a little more subtle, not that it resolved the root issue.
As grating as Lelouch found it, he realized that from time to time a more hands off approach was required, so he let Euphemia officiate, and left the protective glaring (and security) to Jeremiah. Having someone to sit in for him and handle day to day business was nice- it let Lelouch focus on other things while Euphemia pushed for the reforms- her zeal was obvious.
One of those things included a potential war with the Empire of the Danube or France- that was supposed to be Cornelia's job here, after all, along with asserting discipline in the ranks and all that. So they spoke of military matters: hardware like rifles and cannon, fortifications and trenches, and what going up against their northern neighbors might be like. Perhaps a less pleasant subject matter than normal sibling conversations, but it was something they enjoyed discussing.
Uhlans from the East, perhaps, or French Gendarmes riding in from the West? They both agreed that staying on the defensive, at least at first, was probably a good idea- they had rifles, trenches, and a healthy ridge of mountains to their North- it wasn't Britannia's wooden wall, but it was something, not to mention the defense they could hold on the banks of the Piave. His older sister was a font of practical military knowledge, even if she hadn't seen much fighting in Europe.
Of course, the three of them did their best to keep Nunnally up to date with everything- Euphemia would happily chatter about business in the Senate, debates over pieces of legislation, or the cliques and parties which had slowly begun to form. Sometimes, Cornelia would launch into tales of India or Asia, weaving tales of splendid forts, temples, and mosques, and the people who inhabited them.
It wasn't quite a full parliament, but the four of them could handle more than Lelouch ever could alone. Of course, they also lacked some of the procedure and protocol of the Senate- as far as Lelouch knew, the senators didn't read letters concerning matters of state over lunch.
Emperor Charles probably wouldn't have been happy to see Lelouch opening his letters with a butter knife (a clean one, of course, he wasn't stupid) but what the Emperor didn't know couldn't hurt him. Admittedly, Lelouch wasn't entirely sure what to expect from the letter- would he be marching north to do battle against the Empire's enemies for the sake of Belgium? Was the Emperor visiting? Of course, the former was worse, but Lelouch couldn't help but feel a little dread opening the letter.
Of course, his sisters noticed his anticipation, as slight as it was. "A letter from Father- perhaps about Belgium? I'm not sure."
His sisters had fallen silent at that, as Lelouch carefully pulled the letter out of the fine envelope it was in. To satisfy his sister's curiosity, he read the letter out loud. "My dutiful Viceroy and son…" Lelouch resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he continued, "The business in Belgium has come to a close- the other powers ruled in favor of a free Belgium."
Lelouch let out a soft sigh of relief and continued reading, his sisters listening silently. "For now, Britannia will not talk any hostile action against the other powers, but economic sanctions will put in place." His relief had rapidly faded, but he didn't stop reading. "Disregarding the Kingdoms of Portugal and Belgium, and the Tsardom of Russia, a European embargo will be put in place."
"Oh dear, that's going to cause some problems, isn't it?" Euphemia sighed.
"Yes- it's going to hit our exports hard. We can barely sell to Russia at all, unless we're willing to take whatever tolls the Sultan sets on the Bosphorus."
"There's still Portugal and Belgium, right?"
"Sure, but Portugal's been selling wine to Britannia for decades- I suppose we'll just have to sell the rest to Britannia.
Still, that wasn't the end of the letter. "In order to protect Italy from any foreign powers who take issue with Britannia's foreign policy, ten regiments of foot and two of horse will be sent to reinforce the Italian crown against invasion." Lelouch schooled his expression, careful not to show any emotions. This was supposed to be a good thing, after all.
"That's… how many people, again?" Nunnally asked.
"Around eight thousand infantry and two thousand cavalrymen- about a sixth of the size of the Italian army?" Lelouch said, before looking back to the letter. "And father says that more regiments are being raised- tens of thousands of men."
Lelouch quickly scanned through the rest of the letter. "The rest is mostly just talking about about the men- they'll be under the command of a Kewell Soresi, paid by the crown, supplied and housed by us." Seeing an expectant look on Cornelia's face, he passed the letter to her.
"Did father ask about our health, or anything?"
Lelouch didn't want to crush Euphemia's hopes, but he certainly wasn't going to lie to his sister. "Nothing- it's possible he just forgot." Lelouch had a feeling Charles didn't.
"Well, I suppose it's fortunate that father is taking steps to help protect Italy- protect us." Lelouch honestly thought that was too optimistic of a take, and it seemed like Euphemia knew it, considering the mild frown on her face- a frown that Nunnally couldn't notice.
"Well I suppose we'll have more wheat and wine for the soldiers, at least." That was the sort of thing they sold to their northerly neighbors, along with some manufactured goods like cloth and such.
It felt a little on the nose- literally feeding and housing their occupiers, but it wasn't exactly the sort of thing that Lelouch could refuse to do. Even massively boosting the size of the Italian army might just end up making the Emperor uncomfortable and paranoid instead of assuring him that they could hold their own.
In fact, the situation in Belgium was not completely solved- yes, the powers of Europe had ruled in favor of the young state, but the Dutch were willing to take a shot at crushing the Belgians. The revolter state was young and disorganized- they might just have a chance, even knowing about the general revolutionary zeal infecting the people.
At the same time, this strategy was mostly dependent on no one swooping in to save the Belgians- which was up in the air, but at the same time the Dutch were willing to take that bet, considering how much of their colonial empire they had already lost. So they started on the attack, sending in their own fairly green army against the Belgians- burgesses, craftsmen, and all the radicals of Brussels, which was the epicenter of the revolution.
Taking Brussels back would be a serious victory against the new Belgian state- it would cut the head off the snake. Of course, there was also the question of the Belgian crown, and who would end up taking it, and more importantly… their family. Picking a German might provoke the Confederation into action, not to mention what would happen if they picked a Britannian dynast.
So they needed to strike hard and strike fast, crippling the enemy government before they had the time to crown someone. How hard could it possibly be?
While Euphemia might have been working towards social reform, she still had time to spare for a bit of relaxation, and occasionally Lelouch would join her in a garden or courtyard- it brought back bittersweet memories, surely, but Lelouch couldn't spend his life living in the past.
"So how was the senate today, Euphemia?" Carefully, Lelouch sat down next to her, carefully not to disturb any of the flowers around them, which filled the air with a sweet scent.
"Fine enough- your speech really got them talking- it seems like it might take a bit for the kinks to get worked out, but the broad strokes are pretty much done- among other things, we'll be keeping young children out of factories and mines altogether- maybe we could arrange proper schooling for them next?
Lelouch smiled. "The first of many such laws, hopefully."
"Here's hoping." Euphemia giggled, miming a toast.
They fell silent for a few moments. "Do you think this is something new?" Euphemia questioned- it seemed like she was going to continue, so Lelouch stayed silent. "I mean- this idea that the future will just keep on getting better? That we'll keep on growing, keep on improving?"
"Maybe- I think everyone works towards that in some small way. Like all those bold pioneers who explored the new world and settled there- they were searching for a brighter future for themselves, for their children."
Euphemia's nose wrinkled. "Well, the future certainly wasn't better for the natives, was it?"
"Good point," Lelouch hummed, "Well I suppose all we can hope to do is make a better future while harming as few people as possible."
"I suppose it's too much to hope that no one would ever be harmed at all." Euphemia's fingers carefully brushed a rose's stem, her fingers tracing up to the petals while deftly avoiding the thorns.
"We can wish for it, can't we?"
"Jeremiah, have you ever heard of a… Kewell Soresi?" Lelouch queried.
"Soresi? I believe I met him while undergoing my military education."
"Well you're about to meet him again- he's being set as leader of a reinforcing army."
Jeremiah blinked. "The emperor is sending an army?"
"Yes- to keep the other powers at bay, because the Emperor plans on placing several economic sanctions on many other European princes." Lelouch sighed.
Jeremiah blinked. "That's… unfortunate. Although I feel sorry for all the Europeans who will unable to meet their tobacco fix. And their sugar fix, I suppose. And chocolate…" Jeremiah chuckled.
Kewell Soresi had spent quite a lot of time on the Empire's military frontiers- he had ridden down peasant rabble all across the Americas, driving sabers into infantry and watching lances splinter into shards and occasionally using pistols on the charge. Admittedly, that was part of the reason he disliked the prospect of fighting in Italy- the terrain was rugged, hilled, and not quite as good for running men down.
Of course, Soresi knew that cavalry had limited applications- they had trouble holding ground like infantry could- not to mention the differences between light cavalry and heavy cavalry. The latter would break lines apart, leaving them splintered for infantry to push back and light cavalry to pursue. Light cavalry had a number of roles- raiding, reconnaissance, harrying the foe, even just communications- but both were united by the horse, a fearful weapon indeed.
A full grown horse charging at speed was a weapon, plain and simple. If a lone man stood against them, they would surely be run down, killed by saber, lance, or shot if they were lucky- and crushed under hooves if not. Of course, well organized square formations could bring cavalry to a stop, or massed fire, but if infantry was left exposed in the field- they were at the cavalry's mercy.
Still, Europe was a very different theater from the Americas- the men were well drilled, the cities dense, the land thick with people. You wouldn't exactly find uhlans or gendarmes hiding away in the flat plains of America- native cavalry? Sure, but nothing quite like the armies of Europe.
So Soresi felt antsy- would there be war in Europe? Well, more war, but whatever. The Britannian Empire had put sanctions in place, and they were pushing for increased respect and dignity on the international stage, with the Belgian crown as a potential prize for one of the Emperor's many children.
Unfortunately any potential glory, titles, or prizes were dependent on a war that might never come- so he was stuck in Italy. Thankfully there were more than enough castles and palaces in the country for him to take his residence in- at least when Parliaments weren't being held in them.
The journey to Italy had been fairly quick- but Soresi couldn't help but wonder when he would be able to leave- and whether he'd be leaving the country over the Alps or in a boat destined for the green shores of Britannia.
Discussions with Soresi left Lelouch with a bitter taste in his mouth. Other than usual noble arrogance and general disdain for the republic's institutions, the data Lelouch was given made him rather… worried.
Of course, Lelouch couldn't audibly complain about receiving reinforcements, but he noticed something about the sort of men that had been gathered up to go to Italy- or rather, where the men came from. The regiments were largely composed of three main groups: Englishmen, Scotsmen, and Ulstermen- that was, Irishmen from the northern, mostly Protestant, portion of Ireland called Ulster.
So that meant that the thousands of men sent to Italy were going to be primarily Protestant- not that Lelouch felt like getting into a theological argument with the common footsoldier. The problem was that they were going to be much harder to sway to his side, if he could manage to do so at all. His father had basically planted a garrison in Italy, and there was nothing he could do about it, until war started.
Perhaps he could sway Soresi over to his side- but at the same time, it was very possible that he couldn't. Jeremiah was very much a special case- Lelouch was confident he could leverage the latter's loyalty to get him on Italy's side, but Soresi? Perhaps bribery was possible, but Lelouch didn't like the idea of bringing the old institution of noble land holders back into Italy, even for the sake of independence.
They could certainly just stomp the reinforcements flat, but Lelouch was curious if he could leverage the situation. He would have to think on it- hopefully, they wouldn't be causing trouble immediately. At the very least, it would probably be best to gather the Italian army up in one place- the cholera epidemic had seemed to calm down quite a bit, so the garrisons could probably be withdrawn without issue.
He even had an excuse to get them all in one place- say that the Britannian forces needed to drill with the Italians to increase cooperation between the two groups, pick somewhere in Lombardy so the army could react quickly to a threat from either direction… it was workable.
It should be remembered that the Britannian soldiers, while technically on Britannian sod, were very much in a strange land. Of course, they probably would have had the same reaction if they had found themselves in Calicut or the Cape, but the general sentiment remained the same. They didn't speak the language, quite understandably, not to mention how Britannia viewed Catholics- most of the men had celebrated Bonfire Day at some point, burning the Catholic traitor Guy Fawkes in effigy.
Understandably, few of the soldiers, both officers and the men under them, understood Italian- perhaps a spot of Latin from some of the nobility, but that wasn't modern Italian, of course. So most of their interactions with Italy came through Prince Lelouch's soldiers, some of which knew a smattering of both Italian and English- mainly the Sicilians and the Peat Gatheres.
The Sicilians were fine enough for the average Britannian soldier- the real catch were the Peat Gatherers, who naturally rubbed the Britannian soldiery, especially the officers, the wrong way.
Pietro felt the cobbles, stiff beneath his feet, and couldn't help but smile broadly. Home. How could he not love his hometown? And of course, how could he not want to show his hometown to other people? "So Alberto, if you head down that street you'll see the Cathedral of Milan- second largest in Italy, after St. Peter's in Rome!"
"A lovely cathedral- but aren't we here to buy bread that won't break our teeth?" The man walking next to him was named Alberto, and he was a Calabrian, from southern Italy, and supposedly, the two of them were in Milan to buy some food for the boys back in camp.
Pietro had the decency to flush. "Yes- right this way."
As they kept on walking, Alberto looked at him. "So… has the city changed much since you've been gone?"
"The factories, I suppose. The smokestacks."
"Heh- not quite as charming as a cathedral, I suppose."
"I've been writing to my sisters- the markets have been flooded with cheap fabric." Pietro bit into the flesh of his cheek. "They've… they've got work at the factories, at least. I send money back."
"Were they weavers?"
"Yes."
"I'm… sorry to hear that."
"Well, it's the future, right?" Pietro hummed. "Maybe everything will be cheap one day- wouldn't that be a treat?"
They made the rest of their walk in relative silence, but even then they caught attention, in their vibrant red shirts with their rifles hanging from slings, pointing into the air like flagstaffs. There were certainly a few benefits to the uniforms, other than the pay.
Unfortunately, Pietro found himself being dragged away from the charming girl selling fruit in a stand by Alberto. "Hey- what do you think you're doing? I was busy with something!"
"Busy, sure." Alberto shot back. "You've made this trip for bread downright painful, you know that?"
"I was going to get some very cheap peaches, mind you."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you just after the fruit."
"Do you blame me? Not like we see many charming young women in the camp."
Alberto gave a wry grin. "Was the Princess Cornelia not to your taste?"
Pietro chuckled. "Charming young women I'd actually have a chance with, mind."
He was met with a sigh. "Just… try not to chase any baker's daughters, please?"
"I make no promises."
Luckily, they got their bread for pretty cheap- of course, the reason behind that wasn't quite as happy. The Britannian embargo meant that Italy couldn't go selling their grain to any of their neighbors, so there was a glut of the stuff in markets- good for Pietro and Alberto, at least.
So they got bread that wasn't hardtack or communion wafers, and started heading back in the direction of the camp- slowly, meandering through Pietro's home town.
As they were passing through a plaza, they could hear a bit of a kerfuffle. "What's that?" Pietro hummed, a basket of bread in his arms. "Is that a Britannian?" Admittedly, his eyes were drawn to the bright crimson fabric the rabblerouser was wearing- perhaps they were Italian, but his shouts seemed to be in English, at least as Pietro could tell.
Maybe they were noble, maybe they were common- perhaps if he was closer, Pietro could have picked out the more subtle cues that set them apart: posture, dress, or appearance, but for now he was just left with a feeling of… invasion. Here was this Britannian invader, causing a mess in his home town…
"Pietro?" He blinked.
"Sorry- what?" He turned in Alberto's direction.
"You just seemed a little out of it, is all."
"It's just… the nerve of that guy! Coming here and causing trouble."
"Who knows- maybe he's just having trouble with the language? You know as well as I do the problems we had talking with them." Alberto shrugged. "They're in a strange country where a majority of the people don't speak their language, probably sent here without permission… I'd be a little irritable too."
"I suppose." So Pietro did his best to shake off the bad feeling in his gut- it was a good day after all, he had just gotten to see his hometown, he'd be eating food that wasn't rations- even as they walked in the direction of the argument.
Kallen's father felt the need to drag her along with him to Milan- part of the reason was for business, something about that embargo that was put in place, while the rest just seemed to be about rubbing shoulders with the Prince. He and his 'court' (if such a term really applied to his sisters and his guards) jumped around the peninsula without much rhyme or reason, although Kallen supposed that it did let him grown more familiar with the people. Well, the people in the major cities, at least.
Of course, there was a perfectly rational reason for her father's interest in the Prince- it was good to be close to the government after all, and her father thought appealing to one prince would be easier than trying to win over a constantly shifting collection of senators.
Still, her father wanted to be close to the government of the Viceroyalty- very close. His pushing for closer ties with the Viceroy in other ways was quite obvious, and Kallen didn't like it. She preferred winning harts to winning hearts, thank you very much. Kallen had no delusions of a whirlwind romance in her immediate future, but certainly didn't mean she wanted to be a Viceroy's trophy wife, even if her children might stand to inherit all Italy.
Thank goodness the Viceroy didn't hold many balls or social events- it really would have driven her mad if he had. Perhaps it was just a matter of level headed frugality, but it was a nugget of proof that the Viceroy wasn't completely insufferable- just a particularly thrifty Britannian attack dog.
Sometimes she would catch hints of the army- or should it be armies?- in the area, almost all of the soldiers clad in vibrant reds. The cavalry were usually Britannian riding massive horses, although you'd catch the occasional Italian on (comparatively) small horses more adapted to the hills. She had to wonder where some of the Italians had learned to ride their horses- they seemed a little too adept at riding for them to have just started. Maybe herders or farmhands? Not particularly important.
Sometimes she would encounter the infantry as well- they were fine enough, she supposed. Sometimes she would stumble through a bit of Italian to talk with the men and explain what she was doing- the Britannians tended to be a bit more accepting of her presence though, at least once they had discovered her pedigree.
The forests were nice though, sweet relief from all the hustle and bustle of noble life- or what passed for noble life in Italy- but her trips into the forest were always destined to end. She supposed that eventually she would have to put those sorts of things on the sideline, and lead house Stadtfeld well. At least she got a fine pair of doeskin gloves out of the whole thing- and of course, a very nice rifle.
The sea journey from Britannia to Italy wasn't especially long, at least not when compared to the incredible trips to Australia or India. Still, that didn't mean that the men or their horses were very happy when they disembarked in Italy- the land was significantly less wondrous when both seasick and homesick.
Of course, the seasickness wore off with time, instead leaving the Britannian soldiers to struggle with culture shock. Of course, there was a different language, which was one hurdle, but before they could even begin to stumble over that, they found themselves facing a religion they had always been trained to dislike. Understandably, there weren't many Anglican churches around- but the churches that the Italians had…
Well, you could certainly appreciate a fine piece of architecture- and Italy had ancient buildings to spare, buildings which had been constructed when Britannia's first emperor was nothing but a quickening in his mother's womb. You didn't need to know a lick of Italian to admire a building- in fact, there were a number of Italian things you could appreciate without having to know the language.
Not knowing your potential target's language was no reason not to flirt, after all! Didn't mean you would be very successful, but it was something to do when they weren't drilling, waiting for armies to storm in from the north. The Sicilian Prince had placed them in Lombardy, near Milan, so that's where just about any Britannian interested in Italy (or the Italians) found himself heading.
In large part, the Britannians found that their Italian compatriots weren't too bad, all things considered- certainly different from home, but they had received Prince Lelouch with open arms- that was more than could be said for many of Britannia's other lands. Still, not every soldier that came to Milan to handle their business was quite so accepting- or maybe they just happened to be a lot more vocal.
Perhaps a few years ago, during the French occupation, gunshots in the city of Milan would have been… if not necessarily understandable, sort of expected. It was a city under occupation, after all- but those days were long gone. Milan was the gleaming star of Lombardy, one of Italy's crowning jewels- so the harsh retort of gunfire came as a shock, as did the chaos that followed.
No one knew how exactly it started, but a there a few details are fairly concrete. It's universally agreed that whoever fired the first shot was a soldier, and that once the chaos broke out, many other shots followed. The bullets pulled from the bodies were of both normal, spherical make and the more tapered Asplund balls fired from Italian rifles.
Still, the lack of a concrete answer didn't mean much- the bodies in the streets demanded answers, even if they couldn't be provided easily. And of course, what sort of good, upstanding Italian would believe that one of their boys had started the fight when those Anglican ruffians were in the area, causing a ruckus?
Among the many industries that Milan hosted, one of them was a number of printers, who spent their days printing a number of things. Books of course, but all matter of ephemera, the sort of things you might call street literature: broadsides, chapbooks, pamphlets, proclamations, tracts, etc… To put it one way, they lacked some of the depth and research that might be put into books- they tended to be much shorter, with even long chapbooks only coming up to a couple dozen pages. Said another way, they were trite- the sort of thing hawked on street corners.
Newspapers were nice, but sometimes you needed an immediate, hot off the press sort of thing to spread news far and wide- whether you wanted to spread that news out of genuine journalistic integrity or to make some quick money selling broadsides was up in the air. Especially with such a hot piece of news, how could you not sensationalize things?
Almost immediately, the city was a massive hotbed of unrest, the news of a murder at Britannian hands spreading like wildfire even as the bodies cooled. Any animosity bubbling just under the surface began to surface- a concern that was fairly common. They could accept that they were living under the rule of a foreign emperor, if barely, but having a foreign army breathing down their necks was a little too far, especially once they started stomping around in flagrant displays of power.
The local Parliament in Milan was quite understandably worried about the whole situation- and who better to handle it than the Prince and his army? (Well, hopefully he'd be conscious enough to leave the Britannian regiments behind) So they found a rider, informed him of the situation to the best of their ability, and sent him off.
Jeremiah and Soresi were bickering over something inconsequential, and Lelouch vaguely wondered if they squabbled like this in school, or if that sort of thing wasn't allowed in the halls which produced Britannia's finest. Either way, Lelouch figured that he was probably supposed to stop such things- but it wasn't in front of the men, so Lelouch was willing to spectate. Minor pleasures and all that- not to mention that it might make a good story to tell his sisters over dinner.
Of course, the mysterious figure bursting into the tent immediately sucked any levity out of the tent, leaving dead seriousness. Lelouch was slightly embarrassed to say he was still scrambling with his pistol when Jeremiah and Soresi had both drawn swords and rushed to keep the man from getting any closer- but he didn't seem to be a threat, considering the way he jumped back in fright.
"Your highness." He squeaked out, looking quite uncomfortable with the blades pointed at him. "I beg your pardon, but I bring news from Milan."
Lelouch schooled his expression- he could tell this wasn't going to be good. "What news, messenger?"
"An… incident, your highness. Gunshots in one of the plazas, several people dead, general unrest… rode as fast I could- the Parliament would appreciate if you'd lend them a helping hand."
Lelouch stood up. "Thank you kindly- we'll get right to it. Soresi, Gottwald- gather some of the men. I suppose we won't have time for any exercises tonight."
The messenger gulped again. "Your highness, if I may humbly suggest… I'm not sure how kindly the Milanese people would take to the Britannian soldiers marching in right now- lots of people think they were involved in the chaos, after all."
Lelouch nodded. "Thank you for informing me- I suppose that you're excused, Soresi." As the man sputtered, Lelouch couldn't help but think that perhaps this was a turning point, almost like that mess in Boston before Washington's revolt. Perhaps it was just a flash in the pan- but even the briefest flash could be deadly near a powderkeg.
What happened in Milan? I was purposely light on details- imagine the mess beginning however you please. Just trying to mimic some of that historical ambivalence that appears from time to time in older sources/events, where we don't know exactly what happened. Perhaps a Britannian fired the first shot- or maybe Italian tempers flared? The writer in me likes the potential dramatic irony of the war being started by Italians, but… I'll leave it up in the air.