A courier galloped into Paris, bringing the tidings that a new king had been crowned in Trier back to the court of France.
At that moment the entire French court was awash in joy; even the habitually gloomy and fearsome Louis XI seemed gentle and approachable in the servants' eyes.
The reason was simple: Queen Charlotte had borne Louis XI a healthy child, and—most important—it was a boy.
Previously the king had fathered three male heirs, yet none had lived past the perilous age of three, and every last physician and servant in the palace had been replaced more than once.
Louis XI hated the doctors who had failed to keep his sons alive, and suspected palace intrigues; he tortured many in the cruelest ways.
This prince, however, was said to be far hardier than his brothers, unlikely to die suddenly, and the courtiers breathed again.
For years the king had fretted over the succession, especially after the humiliation of arrest and imprisonment by Charles; he realized that with only two daughters the crown of France rocked like a boat in a storm.
Therefore, for politics rather than affection, he summoned his wife Charlotte of Savoy—kept under house-arrest at Amboise Castle—to the palace in Paris, dismissed his mistresses, and played the doting husband.
Once Savoy had been crushed by the Emperor, Charlotte's greatest worth vanished; now even her other gift—fertility—was doubted.
Not that she could not conceive, but her offspring had plainly lacked vigor.
Louis XI had even contemplated poisoning her and taking a new queen.
After all, as a court jest went, though Charlotte excelled as a princess, she was not a woman who could make a man happy.
Yet now all misunderstandings were dispelled, and no one would slander the queen again.
Louis XI cradled the sleeping infant, a soft smile on a face once cold; yet no servant dared lift his eyes, for to anger the king meant the cruel attentions of his Barber Olivier.
"Your Majesty, give the child a name."
Pale but radiant, Charlotte smiled; she cared little for Louis XI yet treasured her title as queen.
So long as this child thrived, her own place would be secure.
"Hmm… Louis, François—both met misfortune. I ask no century of life, child, only that you endure."
Those names recalled his dead sons and boded ill; he would not inflict them upon the newborn.
What remained? Was there a name that rang with stubborn life?
At once his old foe Charles came to mind—an unkillable cockroach who kept rising against him.
"Charles—I name him Charles; one day he shall inherit my throne."
"Now hail your Dauphin!"
The assembled nobles cheered and offered congratulations.
But suddenly a man burst in, shattering the joy.
All thought another fool come to taste Olivier's torments—only to see Olivier himself.
Ignoring the stares he strode to the king and whispered in his ear.
Louis XI's eyes bulged; in fury he nearly dashed the infant to the floor, yet restrained himself and handed the child to a nurse.
The court stood frozen until the Duke of Bourbon spoke for all.
"Your Majesty, what has happened?"
Louis XI, livid, hissed, "Charles—Charles of Burgundy, that oaf—has been crowned King of Burgundy in Trier, the damned Emperor himself presiding!"
An outcry erupted; they knew the Duke—now King—was ambitious, yet none dreamt he would forsake France entirely for a crown.
"Silence! Out—wait for council. Fetch the Duke of Anjou!"
"Your Majesty, the Duke of Anjou is in Lorraine burying his son; he cannot answer your summons."
A voice reminded him.
"Then summon his daughter—and the English Earl of Warwick. Their schemes must not crawl any longer."
"Yes, Sire."
The room emptied in haste, lest lingering invite royal wrath.
Louis XI bent over his exhausted, pale queen, murmured "Rest," and left without a backward glance.
This man who had cried "I am France" at his coronation now saw Charles stride beyond the pale.
Till now their wars had been a family quarrel—Charles rallying French lords against his king was almost civil strife.
But to crown himself king and kneel to the Emperor was to quit France's circle and embrace the Empire.
How could Louis XI swallow such an insult?
His pace quickened through the corridors to the council chamber, scattering whispering courtiers, and took his throne.
All saw the king's breast heave with rage.
Unlike most men, Louis XI did not smash furniture; he eased his fury by torturing prisoners.
The chatter ceased; the ministers stood in ordered ranks, heads bowed, awaiting his word.
"Now our enemy has risen. He casts aside his ducal name, kneels to the Emperor, and buys the empty title King of Burgundy. Speak—what shall we do?"
"Your Majesty, caution," urged Cardinal La Balue, chief minister, brow furrowed. "The Duke has lately wed the Emperor's kin; their bond will tighten."
By now, the Ottoman Empire had lost the strength to resist or threaten the Emperor, which meant he could throw every elite regiment he possessed into the Western theatre.
If we rashly open hostilities with Burgundy, we will probably have to face the Burgundian–Imperial alliance alone—and victory will be anything but easy…"
Military affairs were beyond Rabatillé, yet if you stopped any passer-by and asked who was stronger, the Emperor or the King of France, the answer would be unanimous.
And so the minister—who had risen under Louis XI precisely for preaching a pacific statecraft—resolved, under immense pressure, to remonstrate with his sovereign in hope of averting a dreadful war.
"Bishop Rabatillé, our army is not as frail as you imagine; if our soldiers cannot defend the realm's soil, what purpose is served by the vast sums they consume each year?"
At the cardinal's side, Jean II, Duke of Bourbon and core commander of the French Army, drew himself up proudly, vowing to defend his king's honour and lands.
In years past he had fought beside the brightest stars of that generation to drive the English from the continent, earning the sobriquet 'Scourge of the Englishmen'.
Through long service he had outlived Jean Bureau, outlived Jean de Dunois, and most of the other veteran captains of the Hundred Years' War; at last he had broken the curse of the eternal deputy and become France's premier soldier, burning to win battlefield glory in return for Louis XI's favour.
Though he and King Charles of Burgundy were on excellent terms as cousins—indeed, they had stood together in the first League of Public Weal—this time he would have to stand against Charles.
During that first War of the Public Weal, Louis XI had courted disaffected grandees with rich gifts; Jean II had been the very first noble he won over.
Louis XI showered Jean II with every grace Paris could offer—honours, favours, pardons, and a host of great court offices.
Thereafter the Duke of Bourbon, long adrift in the perilous tides of French politics, steadied his course and declared for the King.
He commanded twenty-two ordonnance companies plus Italian and other mercenaries—about fifteen thousand men in all.
The King also had the Scots Guard, a remnant of Swiss Guards, and the artillery train; with levies and feudal contingents another twenty thousand could still be mustered.
With such forces at his disposal the King of France could hardly be worsted; earlier lacklustre records were due to a medley of adverse factors.
On the long Italian expedition supply had been difficult and numbers inferior, while a pack of witless allies collapsed on two fronts, forcing a humiliating withdrawal from Italy.
As for the wars after Louis XI's accession, his own want of martial talent—and his distaste for settling disputes by arms—left him discomfited each time he took the field.
Yet if the Emperor now dared set foot on French soil, the Duke of Bourbon was confident of crushing him.
But when he turned eagerly to Louis XI he saw that his sovereign, clearly shaken by Bishop Rabatillé's words, still wavered over whether to strike.
"Sire, Burgundy, Nevers, Artois and Picardy—all these lands were once royal gifts to the House of Burgundy; will you let them go without a fight?"
Since the King still hesitated, the Duke of Bourbon pressed him further.
The other lords present—among them the Count of Foix and the King's brother, the Duke of Berry—kept their own counsel.
Though the Duke of Berry feared Charles's ambition, it was Charles who, in his hour of need, had helped him wrest lands from his brother Louis XI as compensation for the loss of Normandy.
Now, faced with Charles's usurpation of the title of king, the Duke of Berry felt little stir; in his eyes Charles had long been an independent sovereign, merely lacking the name.
He no longer wished to joust with such mighty princes: he could not defeat his own brother, nor the Charles who had long upheld him, so he might as well stay quietly on his estates.
The Count of Foix, for his part, dreaded a new war because affairs in Iberia were sliding out of control.
Princess Isabella of Castile had slipped King Henry IV's surveillance under pretext of mourning her brother Alfonso, then secretly wed Prince Ferdinando of Aragon.
King Alfonso V of Portugal, who should have married Isabella and smoothly inherited the Castilian crown, saw his prize snatched away and flew into a rage.
He at once pressured the Pope, and through the Emperor's influence, so that the close-kin marriage never received papal recognition or blessing.
The widower-king of more than a dozen years then cast his eye upon his own niece—Princess Joanna, Henry IV's only daughter—hoping by this match to seize another chance at the Castilian succession.
Any observer could see that war between the kingdoms of Portugal and Aragon for the crown of Castile was inevitable.
Meanwhile King Henry IV of Castile had forfeited almost all authority; he spent his days agonising over the succession, yet his decisions won scant support from Castile's unruly nobles.
War was certain, and as husband to the Queen of Navarre and son-in-law to the King of Aragon, the Count of Foix had to turn his chief attention southward; he had no surplus energy for a clash between the King of France and the Emperor.
"My mind is made up: I shall reclaim the lands that rightfully belong to the crown of France; neither Burgundy nor Flanders should be torn away."
"Duke of Bourbon, issue the summons—muster and train our host; I will wrest France's soil from the Burgundian traitor!"
"Yes, Sire."
Hardly had Louis XI spoken than the Earl of Warwick, George Duke of Clarence, and Marie arrived at court.
Until now Louis XI had withheld sufficient funds, so Warwick, working with meagre resources, had secretly nurtured rebellion in northern England.
This time the King lavishly provided ten thousand florins; Warwick, purse in hand, resolved to cross the sea himself and raise a rebel force against Edward IV.
Once Edward's troops marched to crush the rising, George, with a thousand French mercenaries, would sail from Normandy, land in England and strike for London, toppling Edward IV in a single blow.
When every arrangement was set, Louis XI dismissed his council and sat alone upon his throne, lost in long reflection.
After the coronation ceremony in Trier, Charles set off for Brussels with his queen, while Laszlo led his travelling court back along the Rhine.
Mary, now a new member of the Habsburg Family, was left in the Emperor's court, so Laszlo entrusted her to Joanna's care.
Before parting, Charles had tried to foist a dozen attendants—maids, guards, tutors—on his daughter, but after Laszlo's personal selection only two maids remained; the rest were sent back to the Burgundian court.
Two special travellers, however, stayed: the Archbishop of Besançon and a Burgundian commander named Peter von Hagenbach.
The Archbishop of Besançon, sixth seat in the College of Prince-Prelates, had crossed paths with Laszlo before.
Peter was an Alsatian noble born and bred, once a Habsburg vassal who had served as a centurion under Independent Army officer Gunter, famed for his savage, head-long style.
Later, for ignoring orders during the war and letting his men massacre and plunder civilians, Laszlo dismissed him.
The man promptly won Charles's favour and soon became a leading Burgundian general—something Laszlo could well understand.
After all, Charles also loved turning his troops loose to sack and slaughter, never sparing rebellious cities even inside the Duchy of Burgundy itself.
During his ten years in command he had razed three wealthy Low Countries towns to the ground, then paid to rebuild them, all to assert his authority.
Truly birds of a feather… for these reasons Laszlo heartily disliked Peter.
If memory served, after Charles bought the County of Ferrette in Alsace from Austria's Sigismund for 40,000 florins and grabbed the whole Habsburg province by fair means and foul, this same Peter von Hagenbach was made its bailiff.
He ruled Alsace with an iron fist, bleeding and brutalising the people until Sigismund, forced to join his old Swiss foes, smashed the Burgundian garrison and had Peter hanged for war crimes by the Imperial court at Rottweil—perhaps the first time military law was so strictly enforced.
The pair were pieces Charles had planted: in name Mary's aides, with the Archbishop of Besançon as civil governor of Franche-Comté and Peter its military commander.
Their arrival marked fulfilment of the second dowry promise: handing Franche-Comté, the Burgundian County, to Austria.
Normally Laszlo should have received the province's estates and struck new oaths of fealty, but as the land came by marriage the usual rites were waived.
The county was now held by Burgundian Countess Mary and her husband, Imperial Prince Christopher, so the couple themselves ruled Franche-Comté directly.
This was no trick of Charles's; even though Constantinople had twice fallen, the Middle Ages did not end overnight, and old customs still held sway.
The land that had followed the bride was now genuine joint marital property, with Laszlo the overlord above them.
For now Charles could still plant his agents; once Mary and Christopher's marriage was solid, Laszlo could set about true integration.
He could, of course, cashier Charles's chosen officials in his son's name and install his own, but that would look unseemly and leave poor Mary—still en route to Vienna—stripped of her dowry by her father-in-law.
In the end Laszlo let the Archbishop of Besançon and Peter assist the young couple for the moment, placing Franche-Comté under Outer Austria as a semi-autonomous county.
With Franche-Comté settled, word arrived that the 400,000-florin dowry had reached Innsbruck and been locked in the Emperor's privy purse against a rainy day.
In excellent spirits at the windfall, Laszlo and his travelling court reached the left-bank city of Mainz and decided to rest for the night.
As the Imperial Guard marched beneath eagle standards, ready to hold back the welcoming crowds, they found Mainz's streets deserted—an unheard-of sight.
In all his years on progress the Emperor had never seen the like; even war-torn Brescia had sported curious Italians lining the route.
"Strange—where are the citizens?"
Joanna peered from the carriage: only guards stood along the ways, nothing more, as though they rode through a ghost town.
They had bypassed the city on the hurried ride to Trier; this time, to speak with the archbishop, Laszlo had detoured—only to be greeted by silence.
Laszlo opened his mouth, emotions tangled, and found no words.
"Father, it must be because of that war," Christopher ventured.
"Yes… it seems I brought the people of Mainz great pain; they want no part of our visit."
His mind flew back to the savage war over the archiepiscopal succession years earlier, when every burgher had rallied to their beloved Bishop Dietrich.
Dietrich's policies clashed with Laszlo's; branded a threat to the Crown, he was deposed in favour of the present Archbishop Adolf II, backed by Laszlo, and years of war followed.
In a desperate assault Adolf led hundreds of Imperial troops to storm and break Mainz.
They sacked and slaughtered the prosperous free city, exiled a thousand burghers who had funded the rebels, and finally printed indulgences to empty every purse, while Archbishop Adolf stripped the city of its liberties and brought it under his personal rule.
In Vienna, after a brief and swift trial, the arrested Dieter was publicly executed on Laszlo's order, plunging Mainz's citizens into grief.
For years the avaricious Adolf had wrung every last coin from the people, shrinking Mainz's population by nearly forty percent since the war began.
However hard he tried to shift the blame, Laszlo had to admit that Mainz's tragedy was a sin of his own making.
Joanna soon sensed her husband's dark mood and quietly took Laszlo's hand, hoping to offer some comfort.
Laszlo quickly shook off the memories and rallied his spirits once more.
He wasted no time on pointless questions like "Did I really do wrong?" He had done the same across half the continent; if Mainz felt different, it was only because he had never set foot here yet had still all but destroyed the city—an irony that stung for a moment.
Yet he recalled Dieter's political creed: the man had inherited Archbishop Dietrich's vision of endlessly expanding the Electors' power, reducing the Emperor to a figurehead and letting the Electoral college rule the vast empire at will.
Had imperial reform gone that far, the Empire would have been finished—certainly no better off than now.
Take the very idea of imperial peace: without Laszlo holding them back, which great prince would not seize his neighbor's land? The Electors above all.
The last two Electors of Brandenburg, for instance, had spent fifty years fighting on and off for Pomerania—devastation and corpses as far as the eye could see.
As for the calamity that had befallen Mainz's citizens, Laszlo could only apologize; if hating him eased their pain, he did not particularly mind.
"The Empire needs reform, and reform brings pangs… but enough—such talk only confuses you. Barring mishaps, the Empire should enjoy the same long peace as Northern Italy. Time will heal these war-wounds."
Laszlo sighed softly, as though speaking to his wife and children, or perhaps reassuring himself.
After so many years of almost ceaseless campaigning, he too was weary.
Now, from Austria to the eastern reaches of the Empire, the wide lands lay conquered; his task hereafter was to rule them wisely and, where possible, knit them together.
That goal would be no easier than completing every imperial reform and forging the Empire anew into a single body politic.
Either way—act first, reckon the cost later.
"Your Majesty, you have shown mercy to most of your subjects; that is already enough."
Joanna comforted him gently; as a fledgling politician she could grasp the sweep of Laszlo's grand design.
She felt her understanding of her husband deepen day by day, drawing them ever closer.
Christopher listened to his parents' talk, chin in hand, the very pose Laszlo had favored in his own youth, while Mary, beside him, drowsily leaned against her brother.
At that moment the rapid beat of hooves caught their attention.
General Ester of the Imperial Guard appeared outside the carriage window and handed the Emperor a letter: "Your Majesty, urgent news from the Duke of Armagnac."
Laszlo's heart sank; he had parted from Charles only recently, and an urgent dispatch from the duke—now ambassador to Burgundy—likely meant the very worst they had foreseen had come to pass.
He broke the seal, then could not help pressing a hand to his brow in weary resignation.
Hardly had he resolved to leave war behind than war came bounding after him—utterly exasperating.
"Your Majesty, what is it?"
"War seeks me out again. Louis XI has learned of Charles's coronation at Trier and, under the banner of recovering lost lands, has declared war on the Kingdom of Burgundy."
"This…"
Joanna was speechless; the Emperor had just been lamenting war's aftermath, and now another conflict sprang up at once.
Little Mary, half-asleep, caught the word "Burgundy" and instantly perked up.
Once she grasped that her father would soon be fighting that hateful King of France again, the girl at once began pleading with Laszlo.
"Your Majesty, I… I beg you to help my father."
She had no idea whether her father could win, but asking the Emperor for aid could only be right.
Laszlo was her husband's father and her own uncle; surely he would not coldly refuse?
"Rest easy; I will not abandon Burgundy. And you children need not fret—Charles and I have our plans."
Mary was clever, and Laszlo could only hope Christopher would not let his sister lead him by the nose in years to come.
As for the war Louis XI had launched in pique, Laszlo would have to watch it closely; his trip to Rome and much else might now be delayed—an irritating thought.
Charles had merely amused himself by taking a royal title; did he truly see himself as part of the Empire? Probably not.
Yet Louis XI had let that sting drive him to fury, launching a war regardless of cost.
Barely two years had passed since the Second Treaty of Conflans when Louis, breaking his word, reopened hostilities; Burgundy and France had fought on and off until peace returned a year ago.
Now they were at war again, and this time it would not be the small border clashes of a year ago but a full struggle for vast stretches of territory.
This time Charles would probably be unable to hold out.
The Duke of Berry was already out of the League of Public Weal; the Duke of Brittany, cowed by the French king; and the Kingdom of England likely to waver—leaving Charles to pit Burgundy alone against a France at the height of her power. Just imagining it was thrilling.
When Charles inevitably begged for aid, Laszlo intended to secure greater say in the alliance—perhaps even seize overall command of the war.
At that moment, however, the carriage halted before the Electoral Palace, interrupting his calculations.
Stepping down, Laszlo saw the Archbishop of Mainz waiting with due deference at the gate, and his thoughts turned at once to another weighty matter.
Next, he must speak frankly with Adolf about nominating a "King of the Romans" at the coming Imperial Diet.
After the Mainz talks produced a satisfying outcome, Laszlo departed the deeply unwelcoming city with his court in tow.
The itinerant entourage soon returned to Innsbruck. According to plan, Laszlo should have hurried south with his two Ottoman captives to Rome, to flaunt his triumph before the Curia and harvest another wave of prestige.
Yet with war erupting anew, he had to linger in Innsbruck a little longer.
During this interval he gained more opportunities to study and resolve Austria's domestic affairs, while dispatching departments of the Court Military Council to coordinate pre-war preparations.
Because intelligence in this era rarely reached headquarters in time to be useful, the staff officers who had now hastily converged on Innsbruck possessed a fair grasp of Burgundy's strength but only a rough estimate of the French Army's power.
One thing, however, was certain: France's forces were presently stronger than Burgundy's, so Austrian intervention was all but unavoidable.
The question was how much strength the Emperor should commit.
To discuss this, Laszlo summoned everyone remotely connected to the war and convened an emergency council of war.
"Gentlemen, you have doubtless received the latest news: after barely a year of quiet, the King of France can restrain himself no longer and has declared war on our most faithful ally, the Kingdom of Burgundy."
Laszlo thus introduced the topic of the council.
The attendees could only be described as a motley crowd.
Representing the centre were the Minister of War, Baron Grafenegg, and the Minister of Finance, Ulrich Fugger;
representing the provinces, the Governor of Tyrol, John von Montfort, and the Governor of Outer Austria, Hunyadi Matthias;
representing the army, the hurriedly recalled Commander of the Independent Army, Gunter, and the Commander of the Imperial Guard, Ester.
Besides them came a bevy of staff officers accompanying Baron Grafenegg, plus the advisory corps that travelled with Laszlo.
With so many minds to advise him, Laszlo felt confident of weathering this crisis—strictly speaking, not his crisis but Burgundy's.
Yet should the King of France crush Burgundy, his own power would swell, posing an even greater threat to the Emperor; hence it could also be viewed as a crisis for the Habsburg Dynasty.
"Your Majesty, as before, could we not dispatch a contingent as foreign mercenaries to Burgundy to aid King Charles?"
Baron Grafenegg was first to offer a proposal.
Current analysis suggested that while France slightly outmatched Burgundy, the gap was not as wide as many imagined.
Burgundy's territory and population were barely half those of France, yet its revenues were not far behind, and King Charles was a celebrated military reformer.
His army blended the finest mercenaries from across Europe and fielded the most advanced weapons—matchlocks from Austria and field artillery cast in Burgundy.
"If we merely help Charles hold Burgundian soil and repel the French invasion, that would suffice," Laszlo said, tapping the map. "But can we go further?"
Everyone leaned in and saw where the Emperor's finger rested—Paris, the heart of France.
"Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness: you have just obtained four hundred thousand florins. Surely that fortune has worthier uses?"
You could build palaces, churches, invest in workshops or estates—surely not pour it all into war?"
Ulrich interjected, brows knitted.
He had no inkling of the Emperor's wild dream of winning everything in one throw, but the financier felt bound to curb such extravagance.
Previously, Charles had waged an offensive war, so when borrowing troops he bore most of their cost.
This time Burgundy was the victim; as a signatory to the mutual-defence treaty, Austria should send aid. The Emperor might ask Charles for funds, but not much—after all, he had just pocketed a fortune from the Burgundian king.
In short, Austria would likely end up paying to fight Burgundy's war.
After victory, could Austria expect a slice of French soil?
And reparations? Forget it—given Louis XI's credit, even Jews hesitated to lend him much.
Besides, Ulrich had his own view of the conflict.
"Your Majesty, only months ago you led the army back from the East. Apart from the Independent Army, every regiment is still refilling its ranks and is not ready for immediate deployment."
Burgundy and France have only just ended their last war. Thanks to Louis XI's ruse they avoided a blood-soaked showdown, yet both must have suffered economic harm.
"In my judgement this war will not last long; if neither side wishes to bleed money and men in a drawn-out struggle, they may choose a swifter way to settle the quarrel."
"True—if a great battle drains the blood of Frenchmen and Burgundians alike, that would hardly displease us,"
Laszlo replied, sensibly abandoning his plan to rush Paris. As sovereign of Austria, he would achieve that feat in due time; there was no need for haste.
"In that case, we need not commit large forces."
"Gunter, you have experience cooperating with Burgundian troops; your regiment will again serve as reinforcements to help Burgundy hold off the French."
"Grafenegg, you will coordinate logistics, and expedite the refilling of the other regiments."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Your Majesty, will three thousand men suffice?"
Count Grafenegg sounded anxious: Burgundy could field at most twenty thousand, whereas French numbers might reach thirty thousand or more.
Last time the King of France had declined battle partly because some troops were tied down in Brittany and partly because Louis XI lacked absolute confidence of victory and wished to spare his army, so he went to the Burgundian camp to negotiate.
His ploy succeeded: Charles was duped into withdrawing and virtually lost any chance of again marching on Paris.
Now, having dismantled most of Burgundy's allies and fought two defensive battles for Paris, Louis XI was shifting to the offensive, and Burgundy's disadvantage was growing.
"Indeed, this time France will field its best; insufficient reinforcements could tip the balance against us."
Laszlo pondered, wondering what other strength he could still summon.
The legions stationed across the realm are busy replenishing their ranks and drilling new recruits; that does not mean these troops cannot be marched to war, only that their combat effectiveness will inevitably decline.
Moreover, mobilizing a legion means a colossal jump in military expenditure—the supplies and money a garrison consumes are a different world from those an army on campaign burns through.
Guided by the principle of saving wherever possible, Laszlo turned his gaze to John and Matthias; the two governors of the western provinces ought to solve his problem.
"Then Tyrol and Outer Austria shall each levy six hundred men and march with the Independent Army to reinforce Burgundy."
In addition, instruct the military commander of Franche-Comté to recruit as many men as possible for the Outer Austrian force; those troops will serve as the vanguard."
Laszlo, his mind made up, issued the order to the two governors.
"Your Majesty, the estates… will probably not consent to this arrangement lightly."
John's face was troubled: if the Emperor wanted to lead Tyrolean militia against the Swiss, there would be no problem—the Swiss were a grave threat to every Tyrolean.
But if the mountain folk of Tyrol were asked to fight in Burgundy, they would be far from eager.
Outer Austria was a special case: though its border-margravate status had been revoked, the Emperor, driven to distraction by this patchwork land, had for the moment preserved the old style of rule, merely lightening the military obligations of the local nobility and shifting more of the fiscal burden onto them.
Even so, after the Swabian War the number of military fief-holding nobles had soared, making the province the most martially vigorous of all the Austrian lands.
Thus Matthias felt confident of fulfilling the Emperor's commission—in fact six hundred seemed rather few, for Outer Austria, though fragmented on the map, was in reality neither small in area nor scant in population.
"The freemen of Tyrol owe six weeks of service each year; beyond that period I shall pay their wages."
"John, the vast majority of Tyrol's peasants and miners live on my own estates, and they are braver and more warlike than the common folk of any other province; in every war I have need of their strength."
"If you cannot make them set aside this narrow, self-protective attitude and obey my orders, I may have to reconsider whether your talents are equal to the post you now hold."
Laszlo frowned and spoke in a tone that could only be called severe.
This Governor John, a scion of the Montfort Family, had become—after inheriting his cousin's estates—one of the richest landlords in Tyrol.
He was not lacking in the talent to manage land; unfortunately he was somewhat weak of character and his relations with the provincial estates were murky, which sowed doubts in Laszlo's mind.
By contrast, Matthias—dispatched as the Emperor's trusted agent to that other backward western province—had carried out every task Laszlo required to the last detail in Outer Austria, tamed the local nobility, and even kept trying to expand Austrian influence within the Swabian Imperial Circle.
A simple comparison made the gap between the two men glaringly obvious.
The Emperor's words made John blanch; he at once pledged to carry out the imperial command.
In truth, raising six hundred men from Tyrol's manpower would not be hard.
Around the Schwaz Mines alone more than forty thousand miners were gathered, and there were numerous villages and free communities scattered through the valleys; these tough commoners were prime recruiting stock, and every legion gave priority to Tyrolean new blood when filling its ranks.
Only, the folk here disliked fighting wars that had nothing to do with them—even though they were obliged to serve the Emperor… In the end John resolved to obey; after all, his family had already lost Bregenz and the title of Imperial Count, and his present power rested entirely on the Emperor's trust and favour.
"Matthias, you shall command the contingents of these two provinces together with those of Franche-Comté; march with Gunter to Burgundy to aid Charles."
"Leave it to me, Your Majesty."
A flicker of excitement crossed Matthias's eyes; he had spent six or seven years in Outer Austria. Being a Border Captain was not bad, yet if he could return to Vienna the horizon would surely be wider.
Once again the Emperor was entrusting him with an army—this might be the chance to return to the centre of power.
Laszlo did not avoid the longing in Matthias's gaze; he did indeed intend to bring this trump card back into his hand, though he had not yet decided where next to play it.
When the council ended, Gunter set out that same night for Graz, accompanied by two ministers; with the army now to be moved, pay and supplies would have to be coordinated by the Vienna government, and they would be busy for quite a while.
The levies of the two western provinces, on the other hand, were to be handled locally—a welcome lightening of the Vienna government's burden.
Before any firm word arrived from France, part of the Independent Army had already set out for Franche-Comté.
It may sound odd, yet Austria's army was indeed the fastest among the expected belligerents; even before the French forces had finished assembling, the Emperor's men were advancing toward the border between Austria and Burgundy.
Of all this Louis XI was, of course, entirely unaware.
In Paris he was mustering troops on a grand scale, keeping an eye on England while sending envoys to placate the Duke of Brittany and handing back to Duke François certain lands previously promised to Brittany, so as to secure the duchy's neutrality in the coming war.
In the last War of the Public Weal the Duke of Brittany had withstood the main French assault alone for months; though he had preserved his domain, the land and its people had paid a heavy price.
Thus, this time voices opposing the King of France had almost vanished from the Breton court; the courtiers long since bought by Louis XI eventually persuaded the Duke to accept the French king's terms.
As for the other nobles—some, like the Count of Foix and the Duke of Berry, were unwilling to meddle in the war, while others, like the Duke of Bourbon and the Duke of Anjou, actively supported the king—allowing Louis XI to concentrate a huge force for Burgundy; within a month of the summons the army gathered at Paris had swollen past thirty thousand.
Such a host was beyond even Louis XI's deep purse to maintain for long, so before setting out he issued a shameless but useful decree: on Burgundian soil his French soldiers were to be free to plunder without restraint, thereby offsetting part of the war's cost.
Soon these fully armed freebooters, under the Duke of Bourbon's command, left Paris and advanced fiercely upon the Kingdom of Burgundy.
As for Louis XI himself, he had recognised his own shortcomings in military matters and therefore abandoned any thought of leading the army in person, entrusting every aspect of the campaign to the Duke of Bourbon—veteran of decades of war—a decision that, paradoxically, raised French morale higher than before.