The Course of the War

Frederica Eugenie de la Fontaine, Princess of Normandie, stood in front of the map on the sitting room wall.

She was not presently in Normandie, a land which she had not graced with her presence for over a year now. Rather, she was where she had been for over a year: in Armorique, in the house in Brest which she had rented, and continued to rent, and considered herself likely to continue to rent for the foreseeable future.

After all, here was where Cinderella was.

And it wasn't as though there was much waiting for her back in Normandie: a cold father, the latest in a line of stepmothers, each as short-lived and unpleasant as the last, a brother who was… a frown flitted across Frederica's face as she recalled that she didn't really know her brother all that well, for all that he was her future king and, well, her brother. Their father had kept them apart, just as he had kept his son apart from mother. He hadn't wanted the heir to Normandie to grow up weak and womanish.

Still, that lack of connection between the two of them was scarcely to go home. Quite the opposite, in fact.

No, she would not go home. She had been commanded to go home, once, and the command to do so could return at any time; any task which she had been set to perform in Armorique had been done with a long time ago. But Father had not called her home, nor sent any instructions at all; she had not heard from him since Normandie's intervention into Armorique's American war and the subsequent handover of Saint Domingue. There had been no commands, and no recall either.

It seemed that the King of Normandie had no more need of her services, not even as a prize to be offered up in marriage for some short-lived gain.

Frederica was content with that. In fact she welcomed it. Let him hate her, let him despise her, let him think her worthless and good for nothing, let him ignore her, let him do as he pleased so long as he left her in peace.

She did not wish to leave this land. She did not wish to leave this city. She did not wish to leave the first true friend that she had ever had.

The first person with whom she could both speak as equals and at the same time be sure, be absolutely sure, would not betray her.

Of course, I thought that before.

But this time it felt different. This time it was different. It was impossible imagine Cinderella deceiving her or using her; Frederica was uncomfortably aware that she herself had deceived and used Cinderella more than once in the early days of their acquaintance – and later on, but with far more benevolent motives – but Cinderella herself was so liberatingly genuine. She was as she presented herself to the world, exactly as she presented herself. There was nothing hidden, nothing feigned, nothing glossed over. She was herself, and her self was kind and caring.

Too much so for her own good, sometimes.

Frederica feared that now was one of those times. King Louis doubtless thought it was a fine idea to get Armorique involved in this squabble between Aquitaine and the Holy Roman Empire, he thought – from what Frederica heard out of the palace, anyway – that if he could resolve this war then the prestige of the nation would be enhanced, and his own personal reputation along with it. But in order to play the arbiter of Europe he had placed himself Eleanor of Aquitaine and Maria Theresa of the Holy Roman Empire.

And that was not a comfortable place to be standing, especially not when you had young grandchildren and a heartbreakingly naïve daughter in law.

Prince Eugene, at least, was not naïve, but nor was he politically experienced; he suffered, as far as Frederica could tell, from a degree of disinterest; there was nothing wrong with wanting a quiet, peaceful life and not being inclined to look too closely at anything that might disturb that, but once you were the heir apparent of a kingdom it behoved you to take some care against unnecessary surprises. Perhaps the fact that he was in charge of Armorique's military preparations against the war spilling over their borders ought to have given Frederica some comfort, but although the prince had a great military reputation, that reputation had been won in the colonies, and reputations won in America, it was said, rarely stood up to a volley in Europe.

And against the power of the Empire… she feared that Armorique would be hard pressed if it came to it.

Which, she would concede, was perhaps reason to try and find a peaceful solution. If only she trusted either side to negotiate in good faith.

Mind you, the Aquitainians could do with a negotiated settlement at this point.

Frederica had not, she admitted, paid too much attention to the course of the war when it had first begun; but in her defence she had been a little preoccupied at the time and, as much to the point… she hadn't liked the fact that Eleanor appeared to be winning. Paying too much attention had felt like having her face rubbed in Eleanor's good fortune. Her spies in Aquitaine and in the Empire, the informants she paid to keep her appraised of events, had sent her their reports, but she had only given them the most cursory attention.

Aquitaine was not winning now.

And Frederica was definitely paying attention.

Hence the map which she had hung upon the wall of the sitting room, and which was marked not only with the place names of all the cities, the major towns, and the fortresses of Gallia, but also with the details of the military units that she could place at their last positions known to her. It was not an up to date picture of the war, but then she doubted that anyone, not even the generals commanding the armies, certainly not the princes in whose names the armies marched and countermarched and bled and died, could truly be said to possess that. Events moved too swiftly for such a thing. But it was a reasonable picture, and she trusted the inferences that she could draw from it.

"Tea, your highness?" Anton said.

Frederica looked to her left, to see her faithful retainer standing by her side, a cup of tea resting in a china saucer in her hand. "Anton," she said. "Thank you." She took the cup and saucer from his unprotesting hand. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Of course not, your highness," Anton replied. He looked at the map. "Any insights?"

Frederica sipped her tea. "She's made a mistake."

"Who? Princess Eleanor?"

"Well, you could say that she made a mistake starting this war," Frederica replied dryly. "But no, Queen Maria Theresa, or her generals. See, to the north, they have begun to denude their Army of Flanders of troops, pulling units out and having them march south to reinforce the thrust on Bordeaux: the Fifth Reserve Corps; the Twentieth Corps, the Saxon army; the Austrian Seventh and Twelfth Corps; the Teutonic heavy cavalry, they have all marched south from Flanders, leaving Frisian and Polish-Lithuanian units to hold the line."

"But everyone says the Flemish are on the verge of collapse," Anton pointed out. "So why station troops at a front where the victory has been won."

"Because the victory is not yet won, Anton," Frederica declared. "Yes, the Flemish have been badly beaten, their forces currently equate to just five division equivalents, but they haven't surrendered yet, and I do not believe that de Broqueville wishes to do so; if the Imperial troops pressed home the attack then he would have little choice, but they have given him breathing room. Room to reorganise his forces, room to recruit fresh troops and rally deserters back to the colours, and… and I must credit Eleanor with this, the Aquitainian Rhineland troops were taken off from Dunkirk in expectation that the Flemish would surrender, but, I wouldn't be surprised if they landed back in Flanders to stiffen any Flemish counterattack."

"Will it succeed?" Anton asked. "The Polish forces are great fighters."

"Their cavalry have that reputation, but in the main the Polish-Lithuanians are reluctant soldiers, just as they are reluctant subjects of the Empire," Frederica said. "That is why they have been left at the rear to guard what is now considered a sideshow while the best Imperial forces, the Austrian, Hungarian and Bavarian units, are pulled south for the decisive battle." It was not just in Flanders that that position held; the forces covering the Norman border were men from Nassau and Hesse-Kassel, while the troops driving the Aquitainian refugees north into Armorique were mostly Westphalians and Wurttemburgers. Frederica would not go so far as to call them all 'untrustworthy', but they were not the elite troops of the Empire, neither the Kaiserlich und Koniglich forces of Imperial Austria, nor Maria Theresa's beloved, faithful Bavarians. Those were the units that had been at the frontline of this war, the units that had driven the Aquitaians and their allies back in disarray, and the units that were being concentrated for what was anticipated to be the decisive campaign around Aquitaine's capital. "But if the Flemish do rebound, especially with Aquitainian support, then I think those Polish and Lithuanian units will prove less than sturdy in the face of an attack, at which point those units moving south, see how the different corps and divisions are spread out along the road, inviting defeat in detail by an attack from the rear."

"At which point they will turn on the Flemish in a fury, and they will not have the numbers to withstand it," Anton said.

"Perhaps," Frederica conceded. "Or perhaps not. What do you think the Aquitainians are doing?"

Anton studied the map. "Bunching up their forces to defend Bordeaux."

"They're certainly building up a grand army of their own to hold it," Frederica allowed. She had tracked units coming in from fortresses and garrisons along the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts, as well as units from their army fighting in the Alps against the Imperial southern thrust. "But their armies in the centre have ceased retreating, and in fact have been reinforced to a small degree. I do not think they mean to accept a battle of posts."

Anton raised an eyebrow. "You think they mean to go on the offensive again?"

"I know that Eleanor has sacked General Marsan and appointed Tallard," Frederica said. "And Tallard… Tallard has the manners of a gentleman, but he is a feral dog underneath, and he will want to rip into the enemy." She shook her head. "The Imperial forces risk being assailed from front and rear. This war is not over yet."

"Hmm," Anton murmured. "If you're correct, your highness, then it may be that the Empire will have reason to accept Armorique's arbitration yet."

Frederica made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. "Yes, indeed, Anton. You make an excellent point. A point so excellent that I now find myself wishing that I am completely wrong and that the Empire blows away the last of Aquitaine's resistance with their artillery in a few weeks."

"We can only hope for your revenge, your highness."

"Revenge?" Frederica repeated. "This is not about revenge, Anton, this is about…" she sighed. "Do you really think this royal family is equipped to play a leading role in the affairs of Europe?"

"I think that people have underestimated Princess Cinderella in the past, your highness," Anton said, "to their downfall."

Frederica drank some more of her tea. "This is not a question of underestimating anyone," she declared. "Or… well, perhaps it is. But those you speak of underestimated Cinderella out of snobbery, and for their own advantage. I… I rate her because I know her well, and out of fear that comes from love. You know what happened to me when I got involved with Eleanor."

Anton nodded gravely. "Toulouse."

"Exactly," Frederica said. "I consider myself an intelligent woman. I consider myself worldly and wise. I consider myself to have a degree of cynicism about the world, but Eleanor… she used me, Anton. She used me and betrayed me… but not before she made me betray myself."

"If I may say, your highness, the outcome was not altogether bad," Anton ventured. "It brought you here, and if His Majesty has no more use for you then it is probably in no small part because of Toulouse."

"The thought has crossed my mind," Frederica admitted. "But nevertheless, my point is that Cinderella, though she is intelligent, is not worldly wise. Certainly she is not cynical. And Maria Theresa! She killed the King and Queen of Burgundy, Anton, of that I have no doubt, no doubt at all. I cannot prove it, any more than Eleanor can, but there is no doubt in my mind; how else could she have moved so swiftly to seize the little princess? Are those really the kind of people that we want Cinderella to be tangling with? Are those the kind of people she is ready to deal with this? This sweet girl who trusts every villain who finds their way up to her door, and now she must host those pair of scoundrels?" She shook her head. "I fear for her, Anton. I fear for her, and I fear for this country too, I fear the ambition of its king outreaches the nation's grasp."

Anton was silent for a moment. "Then what will you do, your highness?"

Frederica sighed. "What can I do? I have no formal role or position here, Normandie is not aligned with Armorique in this, and as such I cannot be a party to the negotiations. What can I do? What can I do, Anton?"

I could have Eleanor killed, I suppose, that would bring the war to a swift end.

But that wasn't very likely, was it? Assassination was difficult at the best of times, moreso in the middle of a war, and it certainly not be directed from another country. She would need to go there herself, set up a ring of agents, make plans, she wasn't about to make an amateurish attempt like her father's try at killing Cinderella. Even getting to Aquitaine would be difficult in the current circumstances, and Eleanor was hardly likely to look benignly on the prospect of Frederica paying a visit. Not after what she had done.

Maria Theresa had gotten lucky with her Burgundian enemies; neither the princess nor the queen who drove this war were likely to expose themselves to such dangers.

No, that was a pipe dream. It might end the war but it wasn't likely to happen. Even putting aside the fact that Frederica disliked that kind of work, no matter how justified. She preferred to have some standards. There were people in the world who deserved death, but there was a reason she hadn't ordered any of her men to put Cinderella's ghastly stepfamily out of their misery: she didn't like getting blood on her hands.

No matter how good your reasons were, you had to answer to God for it at some point.

But what else could she do? What other options were open to her?

To warn, to advise, to counsel. That may be all I can do.

"I will give Cinderella all the advice I can," Frederica said. "Arm her against these devils, if I may. Open her eyes to them, if that is possible. And if it is not… if I cannot… I will make myself a part of this somehow. I will not stand idly by while she comes to harm. I will not. I will not allow it. On my soul, I will not."

"If I may, your highness," Anton murmured. "To try and sail between Scylla and Charybdis, as King Louis seeks to, is indeed perilous; but to declare war upon them both verges on folly."

Frederica chuckled. "Then let us hope it will not come to any kind of war, Anton. But as I do believe I told you once, someone must stand up for kind-hearted girls who dream of romance, and if that someone must be me, and if I must stand for it against Aquitaine and Die Alte Reich both then so be it."

Anton smiled thinly. "It may end in tears, your highness, but nonetheless I'm bound to say that this land has been good for you."

Frederica chuckled. "It has been good to me also, Anton. If I must repay that goodness, then I shall." She finished the rest of her tea. "I am not afraid." She paused for a moment. "My mother died a pointless death, bringing a stillborn child into the world; I have sent good men to their deaths for the glory of Normandie, or not even for that, for mere partisan advantage or to obey the commands of my father as though by obeying his commands I might somehow earn his love. To die for a friend… that would be a noble reason to set out upon a grand adventure, don't you think?"

"I would rather you didn't, your highness."

"I'm not looking for the idea, but… if it is the only choice," Frederica said. "But we are not yet come to such a final or a gloomy pass, Anton, not by a long way." She turned away from the map. "I will write to my people in Flanders and promise them more gold for the most up to date information; if I'm right, it will all start there."

There was a knock at the door. "Your Highness?"

"Yes, Adrien, come in," Frederica said.

The door into the sitting room opened, and one of her men, Adrien, bowed to her. "Begging your pardon, your highness, but Princess Cinderella is at the door, asking if she might come in."

Frederica glanced at Anton.

"Advise her, arm her, and open her eyes," he said, a slight smile pricking at the corners of his mouth.

"Indeed," Frederica said. She smiled. "Show her in, Adrien. And Anton, a fresh pot of tea, if you would be so kind."