The Epic [Closed] [Latica]

[Il Magnifico]

The Epic: Revolutions, Assassinations, Diplomacy & Empire – Latica does Imperial World History

(Closed Epic RP for the two remaining members of the Latican Protectorate – Now Latican Confederacy.)

Disclaimer: This RP may at point contain mature themes including violence, language and references to sex, we seek actively to keep this RP in line with the rules of NS regarding such, and will attempt to give warnings for when posts contain any such content.

The world is slowly waking from a dreamy slumber: for centuries, monarchs have ruled with iron fists in the name of god, in the name of their realms and in the name of their whims. The year is 1783, in America a revolutionary government committed to democracy and the rights of a new middle class elite has achieved victory against the largest and most powerful Empire on the planet – Great Britain. The American Revolutionaries fought for what they referred to as ‘freedom’, for ‘liberty’ and for ‘democracy’, notions that any right minded citizen of Europe would shudder at, surely? Or so says the old order, desperate to cling to power through the only means it knows: Through the unbending authority of monarchs, through the construction of Imperial dominions, through instilling a fear of the church and indeed through facilitating slavery, serfdom and worse upon the unsuspecting poor. Without such methods, carried out for the good of the realm, a civilised people would surely fall into the pit of chaos and anarchy!

However a new order is rising. Slowly but surely, men of this ‘enlightenment’ age are beginning to realise that there are other ways to do things. Not only men fighting for freedom and democracy but those who fight for themselves. Men who have realised that chaos is inevitable at this critical moment in history, and who also realise what might be the most important truth of all: Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given the chance to climb; they cling to illusions; to the realm or to god or to democracy. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is...

Introducing:

- Greater Latica as The Austrian Empire
&
- Il Magnifico as The Most Serene Republic of Venice

A map of these two nations in 1783:

A map of Europe in 1783:

...Who will climb the ladder?

[Il Magnifico]

November 1783 - Venice, The Most Serene Republic

Three gondolas, black as the night that engulfed them, made their way down the Grand Canal. Sat comfortably in the lead gondola was a man in his thirties wearing the white uniform with the blue trim of a Venetian soldier, however a gold braid and shoulder straps marked him out as an officer. He had a stern masculine face, was well shaven and had his long blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail. He turned to the other man sat with him in the gondola, an older gentlemen who concealed himself under a black hooded cloak.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, cautiously, the Italian language of his birth fluent.

The hooded figure turned to meet his gaze. His dark eyes glowing under the hood. “Look around you Olivero, what do you see?” He asked opaquely.

“Venezia… The jewel of our Republic, signore?”

“Yes, perhaps once Olivero, but no longer…. This lagoon is a stench-ridden pit of a city basking in an unearned glory. Venice is no longer the centre of trade in this ever-larger world. No Olivero, Venice is forgotten… Our fleet, once the envy of Europe is now made up of tired old row-boats. Our Republic, once known for its fairness and checks on the power of our elected despots has become a centre of aristocratic foppery, completely disconnected from the affairs of its citizens. The Major Council is as bloated as the swamps on which it sits. Doge Reiner is powerless to provide direction due to the Council of Ten, dominated by the Loreti’s and their sympathisers. It sickens me to think that we have allowed ourselves to reach this point unchallenged, unblinking…. That is why we do what we must Olivero, do you understand?”

The officer who was evidently called Olivero turned to ensure their gondolier was not eavesdropping, before replying to his elder accomplice. “I understand. It is as you have said all along. Doge Reiner is a puppet, but to think that we counted on the support of his predecessor.”

“Indeed. If Mocenigo was still the Doge, our job tonight would be much easier. However we have not deliberated in silence these last few years for nothing. If we succeed, we will change history my friend. If we fail… God bless Venezia.” The hooded conspirator finished as their gondola reached its destination.

The gondolier moored them up by a jetty off of the Piazza San Marco, the large public square that stood before the Doge’s Palace and the recognisable Basilica of St Mark. The pair disembarked. The two other gondolas also pulled in and Olivero extended a hand to help another accomplice ashore.

“Thank you Major.” The accomplice nodded as he stepped onto the jetty. He was a plump middle aged man who wore the fine cut clothes of a gentleman of the upper-middle classes.

“It is no problem Cassio.” Major Olivero replied, extending his arm for the other man in the second gondola. “Gianni?”

Gianni smiled up at the Major before taking his hand and stepping out of the boat. Gianni was the youngest member of their group, in his mid-twenties, he wore a stylish blue cloak over his finery.

Two more associates emerged separately from the final gondola that had docked up behind Cassio and Gianni. A middle-aged man who wore the uniform of the French Army complete with tricorn hat approached, followed by an older man wearing a traditional aristocratic silk robe.

Their hooded leader turned to address the assembled conspirators. “Gianni, Francois and signore Severino, excellent, we are all present and correct. Gentlemen, our time has come… Does everybody know their responsibilities?”

“I believe we do signore.” The aristocrat, Severino replied.

“Good. In a minute my men will give the signal and we will be allowed to pass unchallenged through the gates of the Palazzo Ducale. Once inside we will detain our glorious pretender and summon the Council of Ten.” Their leader, who they had only referred to as signore instructed, revising their long-thought out plan.

“At which point, I will send word to Leonardo at the Arsenale to give the signal.” Gianni interrupted, coolly going over his role in the scheme.

“Indeed, then our French associates will bring up their ships, swatting away any loyalist resistance.” Their leader said gesturing to the French officer who he had previously called Francois.

“My men will then deploy from the French vessels to take control of the major garrisons.” Olivero recounted without hesitation.

“Meanwhile we will ‘dispose of’ the Council and you will be named Commander-in-Chief of the Venetian Military, and instruct the remaining loyalist troops to stand down.” The signore nodded respectfully to Olivero. “Cassio will depart for the Major Council Meeting in the morning, while The Minor Council is summoned, they will be persuaded by Augusto Severino here, to accept me as their new Doge. At which point, Cassio will dissolve the Major Council with my authority and assume his place as Secretary of State, calling for an end to any political resistance. Our new Republic will then be born!” As the hooded leader finished he raised his arms dramatically.


The Piazza San Marco by daylight (The Palazzo Ducale can be seen on the right, behind the bell tower.)

Across the square, as if perfectly timed, the four soldiers guarding the palace gate moved from their positions, standing aside from the gate as it conveniently creaked open. The six conspirators made their way across the square and their signore led the way towards the complex.

“You men, with me.” Olivero commanded and the soldiers followed the strange collection of men into the palace courtyard.

What they found on the other side unnerved them. The hooded figure that led their way came to a sharp halt as he saw the collection of Venetian soldiers on the other side, muskets loaded, bayonets fixed, all pointed at the conspirators. The moonlight shining off of their white uniforms.

“So it is true.” A voice rang out from the top of a staircase that led to the ducal quarters. The voice was that of Paolo Renier, Doge of Venice. “You wish to overthrow me.” He laughed. “The holder of the most sacred office in our glorious republic!?”

“There’s nothing glorious about the swamp-town we’ve become!” Cassio shouted crudely.

“Perhaps… But I have been chosen by Venezia… I am Venezia, to act against me is treason. You will all hang for this.”


The interior courtyard of the Palazzo in warmer times.

“Run you fools!” The signore commanded, as he realised the gate behind them had not been closed. He drew a pistol from inside his cloak and raised it… In the whirlwind of action that followed all hell broke loose. The soldiers who had followed them in surged forwards to protect their true employers.

Gianni, Severino and Francois all dived for the gate and fled. Olivero drew his officer’s sabre and Cassio stepped back in shock. Their leader fired, although his gun was pointed at the Doge, he had drawn it too quickly and the shot misfired. He had barely time to register this before the line of infantry in front of him riddled him and two of the traitor soldiers with bullets. The remaining two soldiers loyal to the conspirators thrust their bayonets into the line, stabbing brutally at the Doge’s men, but they were swiftly cut down.

Watching his men die, Olivero did the only rational thing he could and fled out of the gate after the others. Cassio too turned to escape but he was too late, the soldiers surrounded him, he raised his hands in an act of surrender and he looked up to the Doge. A man in red finery was whispering into the Doge’s ear.

“I agree.” Replied Renier to whatever he had whispered. Before addressing Cassio. “Well it is your lucky day, Alvise Loreti thinks I should spare you the indecency of a public hanging. He doesn’t want word to get out that our Republic faced such internal turmoil. I’m inclined to agree, the history books will never know of tonight. Men take this worm and lock him in the darkest, dampest cell we have!” The Doge commanded and Cassio de Castinous was dragged away.

[Greater Latica]

Zagreb, January 1784

Metin Solak ran faster than he’d ever run before, his sandaled feet slapping on the damp Cobblestones. His heart was pounding like a drum. He ducked into an alleyway in between two buildings, breathing heavily. He looked down at his side, his wound throbbed, and the blood had seeped through his clothes staining them. Thoughts raced through his head, how could he have missed that shot? He missed the duke of Zagreb, and hit the Austrian Emperor! The rain had forced them to change plans, he’d stacked the attack, and now half the Austrian army was hunting him down!

He paused, listening. Waiting. He could hear his heart pounding in his head. The adrenalin coursing through his body. He couldn’t feel his wound anymore. He slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow. He could hear the heavy thundering boot steps of the Austrian troops chasing him. The shrill whistle blast cut through the silence. He peered around the corner. There were four soldiers standing in the street. One of them was holding a small red object in their hands. Metin gasped, and ran his hand over his head, slicking blood through it. He cursed, his fez! It must have fallen off whilst he was running. One of the Austrian soldiers pointed, his white gloved hand gesturing to a blood trail. Clamping his whistle firmly in his teeth the Austrian soldier blew, three shrill blasts. More Austrian soldiers arrived, their boots pounding on the cobbles. One of them began shouting orders in German, Metin, couldn’t understand him. He knew very little outside of his native Turkish, just a little bit of sketchy Greek. Regardless Metin knew he must be an officer, judging by the gold braid and the shininess of his breastplate.

One of the soldiers was following the blood trail, gesturing the direction of Metin’s travel with his hand. Metin had to think fast, within seconds those guards would be all over him. He had no weapons, his pistol was useless, and his small dagger was no match for the sword bayonets carried by the Austrians. He looked around him, looking desperately for something that he could use to get himself out of this predicament. An idea flashed to mind. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed for the drain pipe and began to climb, placing his feet either side and wrapping his belt around it. He winced with pain at every movement.

Slowly he reached the top, and peered down. Two soldiers ran into the alley, just in time to see his feet vanish over the top of the tiled roof. Smoke erupted from one of the Austrian flintlock rifles, and a tile exploded at his feet. He began to run again, but now he was tired, the wound was taking its toll. His head was swimming and he was starting to find it hard to stay in a straight line. Another cloud of smoke and a bullet struck the ground by his feet. He looked to his left and saw more Soldiers, on the roof top opposite. Their rifles fired, and bullets just missed him. A third bullet struck another tile, causing a whole row to slide, pulling him with it, and taking him off the edge of the building. Momentarily he was weightless, irrelevant things passed through his mind as he fell, all culminating in this. He writhed in pain as he hit the ground.

He looked up, and his vision was blocked out by the looming head of an Austrian Soldier. The soldier raised his rifle butt.
“Ave, Imperator!” The soldier shouted, as the rifle butt impacted and Metin’s world went black.

Vienna January 1784

The young Prince Maximillian, sat on a chair in his room, head buried in a book. Strewn on the floor were piles of small metal soldiers. He had spent all morning arranging them based on strategy books he had ‘acquired’ from the chief of the Guard’s study. After that it had taken mere moments for the small pewter Austrians to overwhelm and destroy the disorganised lead Turks. He was just beginning to set up a new battle, brushing the Turks aside to make room for his model Russians, when the door to his room opened. In stepped a forlorn looking military officer. Maximillian looked the man up and down, noticing his rank.

The officer began to speak, “Your royal highness, I’m not sure how to break this to you but, your Uncle Joseph is now dead.”
“What!? How? Where?”
“He was assassinated, shot, at distance with a pistol.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“A Turk, we don’t know who he represents, he was killed as he attempted to flee.”
“Who is going to succeed him?”
“My belief is that you are.”
“What me? I’m only Fifteen!”
“Both you and your Uncle Leopold have equal claim to the throne, but it is to the Knowledge of myself, and the other staff here, he intended to name you his successor.”
“But uncle Leopold is much better suited than I am!”
“He will likely try to reverse much of the progressive changes Emperor Joseph made. Besides you’re the closest he’s had to a son. I trust I don’t have to remind you that he volunteered to look after you when your parents died.”
“Please don’t remind me, today has been ruined enough as it is.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“Don’t apologise. You realise Uncle Leopold isn’t going to like this…”
“I know.”
“And he has the backing of the Hungarian nobility.”
“And who do I have backing me?”
“Those who benefited from Joseph’s social advancements.”
“Oh great, the lower classes. How am I to beat my uncle without an equivalent powerbase?”
“By being smart. Much of the Army is Austrian, and will pledge it support to you. Swords are better weapons than coins.”
“Are you proposing a war?”
“No, Leopold is.”
“A war against my Uncle, what I always wanted.” Maximillian, said sarcastically, trying to hide the fact his voice was beginning to tremble. “Very well, do what you need to do. You are dismissed”
“Right you are.” The Officer saluted, “Ave Imperator.”
“Ave Imperator.”

The door clicked closed. Maximillian could hardly contain his feelings, turned and collapsing onto his bed, face pressed into his pillow, trying to conceal his sobbing. He was fifteen! Fifteen year olds don’t cry. At least that’s what his Uncle Joseph told him. Had told him, he corrected himself.

Now he just needed to over throw his other Uncle, and the Imperial Throne would be his.

[Il Magnifico]

January 1784 – Corfu, The Most Serene Republic

Captain Francois Baudouin, The Marquis de Morlaix was a well-established French Diplomat operating in the Italian Peninsular, on sanctioned leave from the army, on behalf of the French crown. He was from aristocratic stock and had inherited his title and the rank that came with it young. Now in his late forties, he couldn't help but wonder where life would take him next. Austria perhaps? He had heard recent events were not suited to his employers plans. In the meantime however it had descended into a boring pattern of meeting and greeting travelling nobles and diplomats who were undoubtedly useless to him by day and erasing any record of his presence in Venice in the previous months by night.

He knew all he had to do was pay the right people and write the right letters and his role in what had become known, in the circles fortunate enough to know of the events that had taken place at the Doge’s palace on that fateful November night, as ‘Il Signore’s Conspiracy’ would fade from history and absolve France of any connection to Venice’s internal affairs.

The French aristocrat-turned-soldier-turned-diplomat arose from the stiff armchair he sat in, in his room at the well-reputed inn on the island of Corfu that was conveniently located exactly half way between the garrison fort and the docks. The architecture was Italian, in the style of a villa and his room boasted a south-facing balcony complete with sea view. He walked out onto it, adjusting his pale blue uniform as he did so. Hide his involvement in the conspiracy he could do, hide his pride at being a member of the French Army he could not.

He leant against the ornately crafted beam that served as a barrier and lapped up the golden sunlight that engulfed him. He remained still for several minutes, allowing his thoughts to drift away with the sea air, however he was interrupted by the sight of a man beneath him, in a dishevelled white Venetian uniform staggering up the sandy path towards the inn. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the man’s unkempt beard and greasy blonde hair, he was clearly a deserter of some variety… Then the man looked up at the balcony and instantly Francois recognised him, it was Major Olivero Selvo. His co-conspirator.

Francois immediately called out to him. “Major Selvo! Is that you?”

The scruffy soldier gazed up at him, quietly trying to work out exactly who the figure on the balcony was. “…. Morlaix!?” I’ve found you!” Olivero shouted.

“Indeed you have, you, what is it you say in Italy? You lucky bastardo!” The Frenchman shouted. Francois’s mind was ticking however, this couldn’t have been a coincidence; he had gone to great lengths to ensure nobody knew of his whereabouts.

Olivero laughed. “Are you going to invite me up? I have important information.”

“Yeah… In your state… I doubt they’ll let you in here!” The Frenchman jibed.

Olivero shook his head. “Say what you will, you haven’t spent the last four days in a rat filled cargo hold, after weeks of living on the run in a cess-pit the size of a city!” The Major shouted cheekily.

“Pah, excuses! Wait a minute, I’ll go find the proprietor, get him to run you a bath too!” Francois said, turning away from the balcony and disappearing inside. The Major walked around to the main door and entered without hesitating. If he had found the Marquis then perhaps he had some hope after all.

January 1784 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

“I do so hate being Doge!” Paolo Renier exclaimed as he walked back through the iron doors that separated his Palazzo from St Marco’s Basilica. “I mean look! It’s like being a prisoner. I can only leave this damned palazzo if I’m accompanied by my Small Council! I get hate filled letters cursing my existence from members of the nobility whom I used to call friends! My wife barely visits and to top it all off I have to stay Doge until death! What kind of system even does that to a man? It’s ridiculous!”

“Have you finished?” Alvise Loreti asked coldly as the Doge reached him.

“My point exactly, I’ll never be finished! I’m seventy-three years old! I’ll die before I’m finished!”

“My lord, whining is something I believe to be… unbecoming of a ruler.” Loreti chose his words carefully as he matched the Doge’s frightful gaze. Loreti was a young man compared to the Doge, although his hair was beginning to grey he still wore it long, and it’s darkness combined with that of his trimmed goatee, complemented his fashionable red finery nicely, giving him a fiery devilish appearance.

“Do you know what I prayed for today, Alvise?” The Doge replied calmly.

“No my lord, although I suspect you are about to tell me.” Alvise was strikingly blunt to the supreme ruler.

“I prayed for female company... I prayed for infidelity and sin… this office has turned me into a monster.” The Doge shivered uncontrollably.

Alvise stepped forward and spoke quietly. “The lord works in strange ways, your grace, you know that it is not impossible for a Doge to have comfort women brought before him… Your predecessors….” The Doge raised his hand to silence him.

“My predecessors did not place as much faith in their vows as I do.”

“No… But your predecessors did find the Palazzo more fitting than you do. It made their ‘imprisonment’ as you call it… More bearable.”

Renier stepped away from his advisor and began to pace around him, contemplating as if it were a life or death decision. Eventually he turned back to Loreti who waited patiently. “Very well Alvise, collect a few if you would and bring them here, I will wait in my quarters.” The Doge concluded and Alvise half nodded-half bowed and walked away towards the exit that led out into the city.

[Greater Latica]

February 1784

There was a tense atmosphere in the Austrian Imperial Palace. Maximillian could feel it and the goose bumps on his arms showed it. The tension wasn't just limited to the palace either, the normally humming streets were quiet and sombre. Just yesterday Leopold issued an Ultimatum, demanding that he, Prince Maximillian rescind his claim to the thrones of both Austria and Hungary, or face dire consequences. Everyone knew what that meant. Leopold was going to declare war on his nephew in the name of power. Maximillian had refused. He wasn't just going to roll over and let is Uncle take what he believed to be his.

He'd ordered the raising of more regiments, and the deployment of troops near to the Hungarian border. But what he really needed were allies, or at least fewer enemies. The more he could talk round to his side, the less that would fight against him. This war was now inevitable, it was now his task, and the task of his Generals, to win it.

March 1784

Today the Ultimatum expired, and the Invasion of Austria was due to begin. General Ludwig Helborg surveyed the border from horse back. The Austrian troops were deployed up on the slopes, looking down towards the Hungarian border. Lying in the bottom of the Valley was a small stream, that the Hungarians would have to ford. He could see in the distance the bottle green uniforms of the Royal Hungarian Army, marching in neat ranks towards the dark blue Austrian square formations. Ludwig drew his sword and raised it above his head, before lowering it quickly, the signal for the cannons to fire. The Austrian troops possessed three cannons, and these boomed, their canister shot shells ripping into the fording Hungarians. As the Hungarians crossed the river, Ludwig's infantry captains performed according the battle plan. The jaeger light infantry fired their flintlocks providing cover for their charging detachments. Austrian foot cuirassiers charged, their swords drawn. Although show to be obsolete, sword infantry given the right circumstances could still be effective, tying up Hungarian troops and preventing them from crossing.

Ludwig was watching the assault, which had now descended into a brutal anarchic melee with Hungarian Line infantry failing to defeat the dedicated Austrian assault units in close quarters. It was now Ludwig deployed his coup de grace, ordering his cannons to fire on their Hungarian equivalents. The cannons boomed again, cast iron shells flying across the battlefield. Ludwig's Reiksguard armoured cavalry charged, lances lowered, Ludwig's sword held high. They crashed through the melee at the bottom of the hill, sweeping aside Hungarian infantry. They jumped the river and stormed up the other side of the valley, scattering the Hungarian shooting units and their reserves.

The Hungarians sounded a hasty retreat, driven from the field of battle by the ferocity of the Cavalry charge, but in the end, it was just a hollow victory, the Hungarians had underestimated their Austrian adversaries. Ludwig's Army had out numbered its opponents three to one, had the high ground, and prepared defences. This was likely only a probing attack, just 'testing the waters' it wouldn't be so easy next time.

[Il Magnifico]

April 1784 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

Gianni di Venezia had come along way. He had been born twenty-seven years prior into a poor family who lived in an unimportant village in the Italian countryside. His father had died young and it was only thanks to the local clergy that he had learned to read and write. As soon as he was old enough and confident enough, he ran away from home and made his way to Venice. He had been fortunate enough to avoid being sold into slavery, a lonely boy on the streets of the city however did need money, and he ended up in the service of Niccolo de Bagnole, a brothel-proprietor turned entrepreneur who had no interest in his own merchandise.

Instead, Bagnole became attracted to the youthful, effeminate, runaway who originally sought work as a servant in one of his establishments. Bagnole, who aside from his aforementioned feelings towards the boy, was fascinated by the element of mystery attached to him, and decided to take him on as a protégé when it became clear that the boy possessed a natural intelligence and passion for learning. He taught him everything about the business-empire he was establishing in the city, showed him the secrets of the world’s oldest profession and had him tutored in the varying languages of the business’s assorted clientele. It wasn’t too soon before Bagnole found himself relying on the young man to do more than just share his bed.

It was a fatal miscalculation. Bagnole did very little to hide his disinclination towards the women who worked for him. Disinclination turned to disinterest, and it soon became clear to Gianni that his saviour had no compassion for those who served in his employ. In 1778, merchant sailors returning from the Crimea brought with them a violent bout of Chlamydia, which brutally dented Bagnole’s business interests. His response? Lay off the whores! Unwilling to pay for medical treatment for the infected, he simply fired over 180 women, many of whom were clean.

Gianni was sickened, he knew Bagnole knew that most of these women had nothing, nowhere to turn to but the streets, and Venice had strict rules regarding squalor and vagrancy, many of them would likely be arrested and killed. Gianni had confronted him about it, however the businessmen brushed his comments off and scolded him for questioning his authority. This prompted Gianni to act; with gold given to him by Bagnole, he arranged his saviour’s kidnapping. Bagnole’s body was recovered from the lagoon three months later. It is whispered on the streets that Gianni was the one who tied the anchor around his master’s waist… Gianni’s studies were then complete, he took the last thing Bagnole had left to offer him – the businesses and turned the girls and trusted clientele into his eyes and ears. It was through that vast web that Gianni had met Cassio de Castinous, an ambitious man with a useful contact book. The rest was history.


A portrait of Niccolo de Bagnole. Gianni kept a portrait of Bagnole in
his office to remind him of his predecessor's charity but also his ultimate
character flaws.

“Rumours are a beautiful thing Claudia.” The young man said as he looked up to the prostitute-turned-financier from his desk in his private office. “Did you know, for instance, that Doge Renier has slept with over fifty-seven different women in the last four months?”

“Quite a lot for an old man?” Gianni’s assistant questioned coolly.

“Indeed, while it is a wonder how he can even get it up at his age, I dare say fifty-seven is enough to harm his reputation, substantially at this stage, he’s never been popular.”

“But like you say, sir, it is only ‘rumour’?”

“No, I said rumours are wonderful, this however is currently a fact, I’ve instructed my agents to take note whenever one of Loreti’s men comes to our establishment asking for girls to accompany them to a ‘private function’. I mentioned rumours because I want you to get one of the girls to ask the Chairman of the Minor Council about it when he next comes in, no doubts the Chairman will be oblivious and start asking everyone who’s anyone about it. Before long our glorious ruler will be known as a lecherous, womanising old man who spends more time fucking than running the country.”

“Isn’t that treason sir?” The girl asked, her eyes widening.

“….Yes… I suppose it is.” Gianni smiled up at her, and they both laughed. Gianni liked Claudia, she was too bright to be a whore, and he had paid to have her educated so she could run the business’s accounts for him, mathematics bored him.

Suddenly there came a knock at the door. "Enter.” He commanded, straightening his face.

Gianni’s Bavarian ‘enforcer’, Manfred entered. He wore a long black coat which swung through the doorway behind him dramatically. “Mr di Venezia sir, we have a problem.” The bouncer sighed.

“Oh?” Gianni asked, rising from his seat and adjusting his finery.

“Yes sir, Vittoria’s customer is refusing to pay.” Manfred said in shaky Italian.

“Oh, Manfred, if a cook spots a cockroach in the kitchens of the Doge’s Palazzo, does the Doge ever know?” Gianni berated him, choosing a line he had once heard Bagnole use.

“Er…Sir?”

“Of course not, the cook just stamps on the cockroach and cleans it away!” Gianni grinned, approaching the enforcer.

“Sir?” Manfred hesitated. “The ‘cockroach’ in question is calling himself the Marquis de Morlaix? Apparently he said the visit was ‘on you’?”

“Never mind then Manfred.” Gianni tensed, and walked past him towards the door. “Which room is he in?” Gianni asked, his mind racing as he realised what Morlaix’s presence meant for him...

...The conspirators had returned…. And were already under his roof without one of his spies even notifying him. This could only mean one thing – They had travelled undercover, and Gianni speculated, that meant that they were planning another attempt at seizing power. If they were, he might soon be in deep trouble. He wanted to know why and how though… He had been led to understand that only the man he knew only as Il Signore was in direct contact with the ‘employers’ or ‘masters’ who had helped to fund and organise their first attempt on the city. If there was another link to these dangerous, anonymous individuals who clearly had a penchant for changing the course of global politics, he simply had to learn more. Gianni stormed down the corridor, not even registering Manfred’s answer…

[Greater Latica]

May 1784

Prince Maximillian had difficulty constraining his excitement. Austria might have found an ally at last! Representatives from the great and mighty Russian empire were arriving at his palace this very afternoon. He had dressed up in a military dress uniform, and his advisors had dressed up in their finest clothes as well, trying to make a good impression on their guests.

Maximillian waited, sat at the table, staring at the clock on the other side of the room watching the hour creep by. He was running through his head what he would say, and taking in all of the advice imparted on him by his advisors. He was nervous and his hands were sweating. He had never done anything like this before and now he was expected to broker a new alliance between Austria and Russia. He'd never met a Russian before, and the only words of Russian he knew was what the translator had taught him, not more than ten minutes ago.

The doors opened and the Russian delegation walked in. Maximillian jumped to his feet beckoning for the Russian representatives to take their seats.
Maximillian attempted to greet his visitors in extremely broken Russian, attempting to copy what the translator was mouthing.
The Russian diplomat smiled, "Do not worry yourself, I am very fluent in German myself, and so for ease, I believe the discussions should be conducted accordingly."
Maximillian let out a sigh of relief.
"Now first Introductions, your majesty. I know you as the teenage king that everyone is talking about, but I doubt you will have heard of me. I am Prince Peter, Duke of Tsaritsyn."
"It is an honour to meet you Prince Peter."
"Likewise, as I said, I have heard all about you. You are all that everyone is talking about, This is why I volunteered to come here, see if you live up to the hype."
"I trust that I do not disappoint"
"Some how I imagined you'd be taller!" Prince Peter joked, "but on a more serious note we shall see."
"Yes, we'll both find out sooner or later" Replied Maximillian, a smile on his face.
"Yes. Now doubt we will. Now, I hear you've got a minor problem with Hungarians."
"Yes, My Uncle has been stubborn. So far we have bested them in combat, however I fear that we may not always be able to do so at our current strength."
"Yes, it's a pity that it had to turn out this way, but this is Austria's trial by fire. If you can survive this, your legitimacy as a nation is assured."
"I know. But my Uncle has more troops and money, and that is why I seek the assistance of the All Powerful Russian Empire."
"And what of us do you require? and more importantly, what do we get in return?" questioned Peter.
"What we need is money, and weapons. Our calls for aid have been rejected by the Prussians and the Polish so far."
"Easy enough to provide, but what is in it for us? You said it yourself, Austria isn't blessed by vast quantities of money."
"We offer in return to withdraw our objections to Russia's expansion against the Ottoman Empire and the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth."
"That is all well and good, but are you able to offer something more tangible?"
"Anything particular you had in mind?"
"Normally Gold or money is the accepted sweetener, but Austria is short on both."
"Sweetener... hmmm, let me think. My Uncle has a wonderful summer house on the Adriatic coast, I don't think he is going to be using it all that often...." Maximillian suggested, making exaggerated hand gestures.
"I'm interested, go on."
"It could possibly be gifted to the Russian Royal family, or possibly be passed onto a certain duke who could lease it out..."
"So you'll remove all objections to Russia's expansion in the Ottoman Empire and in Poland," Prince Peter spoke theatrically, slightly raising his voice. He lowered it to just above a whisper and leant forwards, "And I get the Summer house?"
"Yes, Staff included."
Prince Peter rubbed his hands together, "Remember for the ownership documents, it's Peter Orlov, O-R-L-O-V."
"Duly noted. I look forwards to working with our new Russian Comrades."
"Excellent. I shall see to it that any weapons you desire are delivered, and that if the Hungarians overpower you, the Russian Army will be sent to your aid."
"My advisors have a draft document for you to sign, to make it all official, pending the signature from the Empress."
The document was spread out on the table, Peter gave it a quick scan, before writing his signature underneath, before turning it to Prince Maximillian to sign, which he duly did.

Prince Peter stood, bowing his head, "It has been a pleasure meeting with you Prince Maximillian. I hope all of your future endeavours are as successful as today." He turned and left the room, his advisors following him out.

Prince Maximillian took several slow deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. The discussion had been over extremely quickly, but the document in front of him proved that Austria was no longer alone, one of the great powers was on his side. It was likely that his Uncle also had the backing of other powers, possibly the French or the Prussians. Austria now had the capability to win, if not at least force a draw.

[Il Magnifico]

May 1784 - Venice, The Most Serene Republic

The sound of clashing swords was carried on the afternoon wind that gently blew over the waterways and streets of Venice. Venetian soldiers, clutching rifles with bayonets, in their glistening white uniforms, jogged towards the commotion taking place outside the Villa Francesco, the townhouse residence of General Enrico Francesco, one of Venice’s finest military leaders.

As the soldiers neared the villa, the sound of fighting dissipated and as they rounded a corner they were greeted by the corpses of their comrades; between seven to ten men in uniform lay dead around the entrance to the General’s home. The reinforcements surrounded the entrance to the villa’s courtyard, fixing their guns on the only gate that led inside the residence. For a moment they waited silently, before their Captain, Rigi Monti emerged from behind them, adjusted his tricorn hat and drew his sabre calmly.

“In the name of the Most Serene Republic, I command the intruders and murderers that have entered this estate emerge at once or face death!” He shouted without hesitation.
Several seconds passed before a loud male voice floated from one the villa’s windows. “Are we surrounded?”
“You are.” The Captain replied confidently, he waved his sword triumphantly.
“Alright, one of a number is wounded! Can we send him out first? Promise you will not harm him?” The voice asked, seemingly hesitant and distraught.
“As long as he emerges calmly and without threatening us, we promise we will not shoot.” Monti replied diplomatically.
“Very well, calmly and without threatening….” The voice trailed off.

Over a minute passed before the gate to the courtyard opened. The soldiers fixed their aim upon it, holding their breath as the figure of an older man with a bloodied face stepped forward, emerging swiftly. Suddenly he screamed and ran towards the soldiers, reaching for something concealed in the back of his trousers.
The Captain went without acting, some of his men looked to him for leadership, but he was trying to make sense of a situation that was out of his control. The man continued screaming, as he neared them. This unnerved several of the men and they fired. A bullet penetrated the man’s stomach, sending blood spraying out of him, he stopped screaming but didn’t stop running, as a second shot ripped through his collar. The third gunshot that pierced his thigh was the one that dropped him…

As the soldiers surrounded the wounded man and lowered their bayonets to his face, Monti slowly approached, still trying to make sense of the situation. “You’ve killed me?” The wounded man gasped, his head spinning… “Captain Monti?” He asked; his eyes widening as the Captain appeared over him.

“YOU IDIOTS!” Captain Monti yelled, as the man died beneath him. He had recognised the man as soon as he had gotten close enough to see through the blood. “That is General Francesco!...”

July 1784 – Romagna, The Most Serene Republic

The brutal assassination of General Francesco had been a huge bonus to the conspirators. Now Olivero Selvo was reaping the rewards that came from killing off the armchair General. His replacement, General Mario Rosso was an old associate of Il Signore, in contact with the ‘employers’ with whom Olivero now too had contact. As a result of his new position, Rosso had been able to secure the Major a pardon and a promotion without alerting the powers that be, and had named him his Aide-de-Camp. Effectively allowing Olivero to lie low, as his co-conspirators had been, giving them enough time to plan another attempt at seizing power.

Olivero emerged from the command tent, tricorn hat tucked under his arm. He now sported the gold shoulder straps of a Brigadier-General. As the sun set, he walked across the military encampment that sat atop one of the many hills surrounding the town of Forli. He reached the edge of the camp, and found himself atop an overlook that looked out over the Venetian countryside. He breathed in the fresh air and rested himself casually upon a large rock as he looked upon the beautiful sunset.

The sun slowly went down and Olivero couldn’t help but think this particular sunset marked the end of more than just a day. The sun was setting on the old schemes, on Il Signore’s plot, on the incompetent armchair Generals who did nothing to stop the plight of Venice, and on the corruption and repugnancy of the city-state that gave birth to them. A new sun would rise, a new plot, a new Venice, it would be the creation of a different calibre of military man, one who had known betrayal, had spent months on the run and had gone through hell to reunite his allies. It would be his Venice and he would make it glorious once again as he had always dreamed of. He felt some sadness, he knew that the world would not accept it if he chose to share it with one who he loved; but he had no time for the opinion of fanatics and fools. They weren’t so worried about the release of the sins of freedom in America where they had overthrown a traditionalist regime. He wouldn’t worry either, for his love of the country he would create would be far greater than that he could ever have for any man alive. As the night sky darkened Olivero closed his eyes, he knew in his heart, he was the master of his own destiny, and that destiny was linked to his Most Serene Republic…

[Greater Latica]

August 1874

As summer drew to a close it marked the last of Hungary's summer offensives. After the setbacks for their army in the opening phase of the war in the spring, their fortunes had changed. The June offensives had been successful, in both occasions forcing the Austrian army from the field. Now Leopold had ordered a final series of offensives, before the autumn rains, and more importantly before Austria's new found allies could intervene. The meddling of Russia had been a major problem, as scared of confronting the Russians over a 'minor issue' the Prussians had withdrawn their support, Leopold hoped he could win them back over with his string of victories.

With drilled precision the Hungarians began their attack, beginning with a line infantry advance against the Austrian left flank. The Austrians once again had the favourable terrain. The flank charge had worked. The Austrian Cavalry charged pre-emptively, trying to wipe out a significant portion of the Hungarian infantry, and expose their vulnerable rear guard. As the Austrian Hussars crashed into the Hungarian infantry, the Hungarian Cavalry deployed, their lances lowered piling into the brutal close combat.

The Austrian cavalry were routed, and attempted to withdraw, the Lances causing significant casualties. The Lancers consolidated and launched a sweeping advance, running down the entire length of the Austrian line, scattering Austrian infantry units one by one. By the time the Austrian sergeants rallied their formations the Hungarian line infantry were upon them, firing point blank and charging with bayonets. The disruption caused by the cavalry negated the organisation of the Austrian Army, their foot cuirassiers couldn't find their parent units to protect them from the charge.

The Austrian Army's commander had been over confident in his abilities, and now the Austrian army had paid for it. However the September rain was coming, so the Hungarians couldn't exploit their victory to its fullest extent. However, once Russia began making good on their half of the alliance these defeats would become a thing of the past.

[Il Magnifico]

August 1784 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

Gianni di Venezia emerged from the Palazzo smiling blissfully. It wasn’t often in history that the poor orphan boy ended up being the one dictating terms to the head of state, but it had just happened. He passed Alvise Loreti in the courtyard and watched as the senior adviser’s jaw dropped. Gianni fought off a smile and the soldiers guarding the entrance parted for him and he made his getaway.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT FILTHY SODOMITE DOING HERE!?” Alvise shouted loudly, storming through the doors into the Ducale Apartments from which the young conspirator had just emerged. He found Doge Renier sat hunched over a copy of the latest edition of one of the vulgar print newspapers that were taking Europe by storm.

The Doge looked up at him, seemingly blissfully unaware as to the cause of Loreti’s concern. “Signore di Venezia was simply helping me devise a plan to deal with this.” Reiner replied after a moment of intense silence, he threw the newspaper down at Alvise’s feet.

“Signore di Venezia is a whore-mongering wretch not fit to grace these sacred halls!” Alvise spat. “Have you forgotten that it hasn’t even been a year since he threw his lot in with those mad fools who tried to murder you!?”

“I have not forgotten… But the stories are getting worse! The people are questioning Ducale authority… They call me a corrupt hedonist today!”

“They may be questioning you; but nobody is questioning the Major Council, your rule is stable, my lord.” Alvise replied confidently.

“I don’t know Alvise… There are musings in those papers that your family possess the real power behind the Major Council and by extension the Minor Council… It does not bode well.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with you letting that walking monstrosity into your apartments without first counselling me?”

“I may be a hedonist with no power but I’m not out of touch, my friend, everyone in Venice knows di Venezia can pull the right strings… Stop the people talking about me, and make sure the women are smuggled in more discreetly. I offered him the chance to become an ally, I don’t know why he conspired against me but I don’t care, if I can use him and his influence, then I can regain my own and salvage the crisis that has befallen my reputation.” Reiner concluded, attempting reason.

“What did he ask for in return?” Alvise asked nonchalantly, in truth the Loreti was getting tired with the way Reiner was so obsessed with his own reputation, if Gianni di Venezia was definitely no threat, then it might ease his headache if the negative stories disappeared.

“The release of Cassio de Castinous. A reasonable request.”

“DEAR GOD!” Alvise exclaimed. “You are mental! If they are both pardoned and set loose they will surely return for your head!”

“But as long as I remain a popular ruler, they will have no reason to want my head!”

“This isn’t America! This isn’t Britain! The office of Doge is granted by the divine consent of the Major Council, not by popularity! Not by the permission of sodomites!” Alvise was literally foaming at the mouth.

“I have already given Gianni my word. I am confident I will rise from this unscathed….”

October 1784 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

A huge crowd had gathered at the entrance to the Arsenale – Venice’s once legendary shipyard. Soldiers in unrecognisable uniforms of burgundy and gold formed a wall of bodies that stopped anyone approaching from interfering as the large metal gates were shut. Olivero Selvo, his white uniform glistening, accompanied by the now released and considerably thinner Cassio de Castinous, stood atop the large stone walls that separated the dock from the rest of the city.

“Our men are creating quite a stir.” Olivero commented, leaning over the edge of the palisade to look below.
“Indeed they have. Their Captain told me to tell you that Cardinal Jacques sends his regards.” Cassio replied sighing. “What that’s supposed to mean?…”
“All will be revealed in due course.” Olivero cut him off authoritatively.

At the gate below, Captain Rigi Monti, who had been returning from duty when he had heard of a commotion at the Arsenale surveyed the red coated men with a look of concern. He shouted to the line of soldiers. “Who are you? On whose authority has the Arsenale been sealed?” However the soldiers simply ignored him, either oblivious or uncaring to the fact they were being addressed by a uniformed officer of Venice.

Rigi stepped back and looked up at the imposing walls, he saw two figures stood atop the ramparts, watching the crowd. He couldn’t make them out, but he did recognise the uniform that one of them wore and it unnerved him to think that the military in which he served could be involved in whatever scheme was taking place.

Behind the gatehouse, out of the sight of the crowd, Gianni di Venezia and Francois Baudouin stood flanked by more of the unrecognisably dressed infantrymen, they were facing away from the gatehouse, looking at the building that served as a house for the shipyard’s chief engineer, Leonardo Ercole, who had consented the previous November to allow French ships to dock in the Arsenale for use in Il Signore’s coup de ’tat. Ecole’s co-operation had not been voluntary however, Il Signore had blackmailed him into co-operation after finding out about his secret gambling debts and in possession of that knowledge Gianni was now going to attempt to get the engineer back on side.

Two of the red-coated soldiers emerged from the house, dragging between the half-dressed Ercole.
“Gianni di Venezia! Please, I thought you were all dead! I didn’t tell them anything! They threatened my family!” The engineer shouted, tears pouring from his face as the soldiers threw him down at the conspirators’ feet.

“Pick an excuse before you open your mouth!” The Marquis spat, his French accent emphasised as he lectured the cowering engineer.

“My apolodies Signore Morlaix!” Leonardo rose to his knees. “I… I don’t want any part of your schemes though! I know your leader is gone! You can’t make me help you!”

“Actually we can. You see, the men in Florence, who want you dead… We can make
them disappear, we will help you, if you help us.” Gianni stated, stepping forward and extending a hand.

“There are French troops coming here again?” Leonardo looked up, questioningly.

“No, we tried that plan and it failed, the French monarchy began to suspect…” Gianni paused. “We want you to do something far more useful for Venice…” He concluded, meeting the engineer’s gaze.

As Leonardo took Gianni’s hand, Olivero grinned. He had watched the whole exchange from atop the wall. He turned to Cassio. “Call a meeting… The time has come for us to start the fight-back my friend.” The Brigadier-General ran a hand through his hair and nodded to himself...

[Il Magnifico]

November 1784 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

It had been exactly a year to the day since Il Signore’s failed attempt at seizing power. Olivero had chosen this day specifically to hold the secret meeting in order to honour Il Signore and to demonstrate how no abstract amount of time passing could kill their ambition. Waiting until the third week of November also helped give Olivero time to contact Cardinal Jacques, who was for all intents and purposes one of their ‘employers’ or ‘masters’ as far as other members of the group were concerned. Jacques, in his role as a Swiss Cardinal was travelling from Rome to Austria, to ‘give winter sermons’ to the poor Catholics caught up in the war there and was staying in Venice before departing, he had responded to Olivero’s invitation to the meeting positively.

The five conspirators, plus two guests sat around the large round table in the plush palatial room that Augusto Severino, their aristocratic and somewhat less significant member had provided for them, at his countryside villa, located just across the lagoon from Venice itself. The city could be seen on the horizon through the large south-facing French windows that lit the room by day; however it was fast disappearing as the sun fell ever lower into the evening.

Wine had been provided for all and Severino had ensured that his wife and most of his servants were spending the night at a friend’s, giving the conspirators relative privacy. Aside from the Cardinal, they had been joined by a young woman whom he had brought with him and introduced only as Lilianna. Perhaps in most circles at this period in history she would have been an unwelcome addition, however this wasn’t most circles, the tolerance and acceptance prevalent among the groups core ideology meant that she was treated with respect.

“So gentlemen I trust you have good news for me?” Cardinal Jacques asked once the pleasantries had been concluded and everyone was sat waiting, his black robes made his face seem starkly pale, lit as it was by the candles that flickered around them and the remaining specks of sunlight flitting through the windows.

“Yes signore…” Cassio began, eager to gain the admiration of a man whom he now knew had more power than any other in Venice or even in Italy at large.

“No don’t call me that!” The Cardinal sneered, immediately chastising him. “Sig-nor-e… that silent ‘g’ makes me very uncomfortable. You Italians! Eh? I’m not Il Signore either, don’t make that mistake. No it’s Cardinal or simply Pierre, no fluffy Italian nonsense, understand?”

There was silence around the table. Cassio looked distraught, the other conspirators gave each other telling looks. The Cardinal took it all in before smiling and chuckling faintly. He was joined by their leader Olivero who clapped his hands together before speaking. “Cardinal, we have very good news. Construction of war-ships has begun at the Arsenale and Gianni here has successfully infiltrated the Council of Ten, posing as an advisor to the Doge regarding his reputation crisis, naturally infuriating Alvise Loreti.”

The Cardinal nodded. “Good. It is vital that you draw a line between Loreti and Renier if your plan is going to succeed.”

“I am also much closer involved with the running of the army of our mutual friend General Rosso.” Olivero said, referring to the General to whom he had been assigned following the assassination of Francesco back in July. “Hopefully the French troops we lost with the death of Il Signore can be replaced by his men.”

“Ah yes, the infamous General Rosso, Commander of the… 2nd Guards Army and notorious glutton, you’ll have no problem using his troops when the time comes.” The Cardinal gave a toothy grin. “So everything is… fine?” He asked, his eyes menacingly staring into Olivero’s.


Cardinal Pierre Jacques seemed to be the
very embodiment of a 'master' to the
assembled conspirators.

“It wouldn’t be fine or they wouldn’t have called a meeting.” Lilianna interjected. She was a dark Italian woman with eyes like fire, Olivero was already wary of her presence. “I’m guessing that now they’ve got the influence with the Doge, the Arsenale under their thumb and the army backing them up, they don’t know coherently how to put them all together?” She questioned, her sweet voice trailing off.

“On the contrary, we know that we can get the men in the city via the Arsenale as we were planning too with my compatriots last year….” The Marquis de Morliax interjected but was cut off by the Cardinal.

“Of course you can… But what would be the point?” The Cardinal replied, “You’ve already got your access to the Doge, who is ridiculously unpopular, you’re a stones-throw away.”

“We just need to legitimise disposing of him.” Gianni chirped.

“Exactly… If the people despise Renier, get them to vent their frustrations; a riot in St Mark’s Square would do the trick. The entire 1st Guards, their the one in the city right?... Would be mobilised against the mob, at which point, Olivero brings a handful of his men through to the Palazzo on Rosso’s orders, The Doge is unfortunately ‘wounded’ by the rioters and with his last breath he orders you to impose a military administration until order can be restored. If it all goes belly up, my men at the Arsenale will make sure it remains closed so you have a fall back point.” The Cardinal concluded.

“The chaos from the riot would overshadow the chaos of the coup.” Olivero mused.

“If you would allow me to say so Cardinal, you have a wicked mind.” Severino said chuckling.

“Augusto, you flatter me.” Jacques nodded respectfully.

“They just need to implement it now…” Lilianna said softly.

“Gianni can you continue to stoke the fire in the press until spring? That will give us time to make sure we get the right men together. In the mean time we will all continue to remain out of public light, attend to our duties and families and so on.” Olivero ordered.

Gianni nodded and the conspirators all murmured, seemingly in agreement. Cardinal Jacques rose from the table swiftly, said his goodbyes and left, he was followed by Lilianna who said nothing to the group. Severino rose and shut the door after they had gone.

“I’m not sure about this!” Cassio hissed. “This isn’t our original plan… starting a riot… a lot could go wrong!”
“I agree… All it takes is a bright officer somewhere to see through the whole thing and we’re done, we need more men.” The Marquis de Morlaix interjected.

“Listen, I might be close to the General but I can’t justify moving an entire army into Venezia! If we can do it with a handful of men, I say why not use the people to our advantage?” Olivero said, slamming a hand down on the table.

“Gentlemen, please, we’ll make sure I’m inside the Palazzo on the day, I am already networking amongst the Council of Ten, on which sits Admiral Vincenzo who we know is our biggest threat. If I am there to back up Olivero’s claim then the Council will fall in line and we can dissolve the Major and Minor Council’s without opposition.” Gianni said, eagerly supporting Olivero.

“What of Alvise Loreti?” Cassio asked nervously.

“He can suffer the same fate as the Doge, he is disliked by the rest of the Ten anyway who see him as an up-jumped usurper.” Gianni replied nonchalantly.

“It’ll have to do.” Olivero concluded, smiling intently at Gianni who had come to his aid when the others were questioning him. “In the mean-time we wait….”

[Greater Latica]

January 1785

There was a thin layer of snow on the ground and the air was crisp and cold as the Austrian Troops marched, marking the first stages of Austria's daring winter campaign. Hoping to encircle Hungarian units when they least expected it, and aiming to cut them off from their supply lines when they needed them most. This plan was intended to write off Hungarian units, destroying them or wiping out their morale and increasing the number of desertions.

Taking advantage of the mild weather of the previous December, Austrian winter raids had already been successful, light cavalry staging attacks on baggage trains, liberating weapons and supplies to be used by Austrian troops, whilst the Hungarians had hunkered down for the winter. Their camps dotted the occupied territory, and already preparations were being made for another round of attacks after the thaw in March.

Expecting the mild weather to continue the Austrian Generals made the decision to stage a large attack, aiming to punch into the enemy rear lines, eliminating the threat to Austria's Northern flank in the Summer, and possibly seize some of the Hungarian occupied mountain forts and turn them against their former owners.

However the mild weather was not set to continue. The coldest winter for more than two decades hit the Austrian troops, and without the relative warmth and comfort of the Hungarian camps and fortresses, the ensuing blizzards and heavy snow hit them hard. The Austrians were forced to retreat due to the weather, many soldiers suffered from frostbite and other conditions from sleeping out in inadequate tents in makeshift camps.

Hundreds of soldiers were killed and maimed, without even a shot being fired. This defeat, loosing to 'General Winter' would have been embarrassing, if the Winter offensive was public knowledge. Regardless the cost had been high for no gain whatsoever. Austria's next move, like Hungary's was forced to wait until after the spring thaws.

[Il Magnifico]

January 1785 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

Doge Renier sighed, it was a lovely day… Too lovely for politics. He had had servants move a large oak table out into the courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale for his meeting with the Council of Ten, who formed the advisory arm of the Venetian government. Renier sat at the head of the table, as befit the Head of State; Alvise Loreti sat on the Doge’s right and Admiral Vincenzo, spokesman for The Most Serene Republic’s military sat on his left.

Gianni di Venezia found himself sat halfway down the table, sandwiched between two irrelevant advisors whose names he couldn’t remember. His integration into the Council, as proposed by Renier had taken a considerable amount of time to be accepted by the others, clearly under the influence of Alvise Loreti, however the Doge had personally appealed to the Major Council to approve the appointment and it had gone without a hitch. It was only now that he was formally on the Council however that he could see why Venice was in such a bleak state compared to the rest of Europe.

“If the Tolomeo family does not back down, we will be forced to avenge our honour in the eyes of god!” One of the Councillors declared, slamming a hand down on the table.

Gianni, like Doge Renier couldn’t give a damn about the family feuds and church demands that dominated most of their meetings. He watched as Alvise Loreti whispered into Renier’s ear, as always, and the Doge speaking flatly gave his full support to the Councillor whose family felt threatened. This was all that politics in Venice involved, anything serious, like the sudden closure of the Arsenale, went undiscussed. On this occasion that suited Gianni and the conspirators, however the young social climber could see how such governance was flawed in the long term.

Yes, Gianni thought to himself, Venice needed a different kind of leadership, one not subservient to the whims of the aristocracy and the church. Venice needed a young, handsome Prince to sweep away the old and take the city-state into the present day world of empire and prosperity. Venice needed Olivero Selvo and Gianni was going to make sure he was right there at his side when that time came…

February 1785 – Vienna, The Habsburg Empire

Cardinal Jacques, who had finally concluded his business in Austria walked around the Imperial Palace in the company of a native diplomat who was attempting to paint a glorious picture of Habsburg history by showing off the range of fine art and exaggerating stories from the War of Austrian Succession forty years prior to stories of Charles V and the Holy Roman Empire of centuries past. Now Austria was in a war to assert its own nationhood and the Cardinal could detect no sign of insubordination from the diplomat as he told him of the bravery of Austria’s new ruler, Prince Maximillian.

The pair reached a hallway outside the throne room, Lilianna, the Cardinal’s Italian assistant waited patiently outside, in the company of a servant who was supposed to be running errands. “You there back to work!” The diplomat scolded, as they walked down the corridor. Lilianna shot him a glare as the young servant girl nodded respectfully and hastily disappeared.

“Are we meeting with the Prince now?” Lilianna asked, her eyes fixed on the Cardinal as he approached.
“Very shortly, the doors will be opened for you.” The diplomat replied.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Lilianna responded coolly.
“Excuse me!”
“My apologies.” Cardinal Jacques said, calmly turning to face the man as the pair reached the door. “Lilianna is not used to the manners expected of a lady in high society.”
“Well she better get used to them, especially if you intend on her accompanying you during your audience with the Prince!”
“My apologies….sir.” Lilianna retorted, looking at her feet. Her crimson dress was cut tightly, accentuating her delicate femininity and emphasising her curves.

One long look at the woman and the diplomat immediately regretted scolding her etiquette. “Do not worry, I am sure you meant no offense.” He bowed to her. “I shall take my leave, Prince Maximillian will see you shortly…”

[Greater Latica]

February 1785

Prince Maximillian once again donned his royal blue military dress uniform, and prepared to entertain his new guests. The state room was beautifully decorated, the floor was polished and the walls painted a vibrant red, portraits of previous Habsburg rulers, including one of Maximillian's late Uncle Joseph.

A table had been brought into the room and several chairs had been set out in the centre of the room, each decorated with a golden inlay. Standing in guard positions around the room were units of the Austrian Household guards, wearing royal blue dress uniforms, less ornate versions of the uniform Maximillian had donned. Each one had a flintlock in their hands, stock resting on the floor, and at their hip a Austrian sabre, with black shagreen hilts and decorative hand guards. From the decoration and positive atmosphere it would have been difficult to tell that there was currently a war being fought for Austria's very survival.

Maximillian stood in the centre of the room, hands behind his back, taking in what the Russian Prince had said, and was stretching himself to his full height, and he'd had his boot soles thickened to make him appear taller. The doors opened, and the diplomat led in the Cardinal and his assistant.

Prince Maximillian bowed his head to the Cardinal, catching sight of Lilianna's dress as he did so. He opened his mouth to speak, having to consciously avert his gaze from her, "Good day, your Eminence. It is always a pleasure to welcome the representatives of God into our great city. Please take a seat." he gestured to the chairs.

[Il Magnifico]

February 1785 – Vienna, The Habsburg Empire

Pierre Jacques appeared to glide into the room, Lilianna followed him cautiously, she had never met a Prince before, let alone one who was preoccupied with the thought of becoming an Emperor. The pair descended upon the Prince who made his introduction first without waiting for his visitors to bow, an act which the Cardinal instantly identified as a sign of the young ruler’s inexperience. However he did not let this realisation show, and instead bowed respectfully low.

“Your Grace...” He said solemnly, before lowering his voice so only the Prince could hear. “…Or soon to be Imperial Majesty, I understand? It is an honour.” The Cardinal smiled, before gliding over to the chairs that the Prince had directed him towards.

Lilianna curtseyed awkwardly, however to distract from the poor curtsey she batted her brown eyes and looked softly up at the Prince, catching his eye before rising. The Cardinal spoke again. “This is my assistant, Lilianna of Verona, you’ll have to forgive her decorum, my Prince, her elevation was only recent.” Lilianna turned and followed her master to the chairs, where they stood waiting for the Prince to follow. He did so and the three of them sat down.

“I have spent the last few months in Austria your grace. You command a pleasant nation. Before we get down to business, might I ask you… How goes the war?” The Cardinal spoke effortlessly, he was used to talking to rulers; in contrast to his companion. As he finished speaking he looked deep into the eyes of the young Prince, his mind racing as he pondered how easy the Austrian ruler would be to manipulate…

[Greater Latica]

February 1785- Vienna

Maximillian made a conceited effort to try and hide his nervousness, this was only his second diplomatic experience. His hands trembled as he drew out a chair for his female guest as per the strict Austrian dining etiquette rigorously drilled into his head throughout his childhood. A servant had done the same for the Cardinal. Maximillian then took his own seat.

“I have spent the last few months in Austria your grace. You command a pleasant nation. Before we get down to business, might I ask you… How goes the war?” The Cardinal spoke effortlessly, he was used to talking to rulers; in contrast to his companion.

Maximillian had wondered how long it would take for the war to come up. The Prince's vivid jade green eyes met the Cardinal's gaze, and took a deep breath, formulating his response:
"Not as well as I would have hoped. The winter is taking a heavy toll on our forces. However this recent string of defeats shouldn't last for too long, Our Russian allies have sent advisors, some are Veteran commanders of their wars with Poland and against the Ottoman Empire. Better training might be able to offset the Hungarian numbers," he recited from memory. Another thing that had been drummed into his head by his commanders.

One of his advisors gave him a nod and show of approval from behind the Cardinal, indicating he had gotten response correct. Maximillian wasn't always able to keep up with the military matters, he was only Sixteen, not even old enough to join the Royal officer academy! Much of it went over his head, but some he did understand, what he was unsure of was the military understanding of his guests.

[Il Magnifico]

February 1785 – Vienna, The Habsburg Empire

“Well if your grace is more inclined to seek the support of those who’ve earned rank from the spilling of Catholic blood; than those of the other gracious Christian nations of Europe than that is your grace’s prerogative…” The Cardinal trailed off in response, in an attempt to unnerve the young prince, an awkward but brief silence followed, before Jacques continued. “I apologise your grace, I simply possess very little respect for the Russian Empress at present, and the findings of their Orthodox Church are… How shall I put it? Insulting… To the right-thinking monarchs of Europe such as yourself…”

There was another pause, and Jacques smiled waiting for the Prince to make an excuse of some variety as to why he had joined Austria, a staunchly Catholic nation; thanks to the Habsburgs, with Russia; who had never seen eye to eye with its neighbours on Religious matters. The Cardinal knew most of it was irrelevant anyway, however it would help if he could gain some insight into the mind of the young ruler before he moved on to put forward his request.

Lilianna sat respectfully quiet as the men did the talking. She looked upon the young Prince in a seemingly enamoured manner, however beneath the doting round eyes she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy. To be thrust into the role of running a country so young was one thing, to be thrust into the plans of Cardinal Jacques and the ‘Masters’ was something else entirely…

[Greater Latica]

February 1785

"I understand your concerns, but Austria isn't in a position to pick and choose her friends. In my mind it doesn't matter whether the bullets my men fire are Catholic, Protestant or Orthodox. Sometimes dealing with unsavoury characters is necessary," Prince Maximillian retorted, defending his actions, "there are greater threats than the disagreements between the sects of Christianity. Reuniting Austria and Hungary for example, or fighting the Muslim Ottoman threat from the south east. Be assured, Austria won't be abandoning Catholicism any time soon."

This remark had come completely off the cuff, with no influence from his advisors. In his head he was struggling the decipher the relevance of the Cardinal's question to the ongoing war. It wasn't a religious conflict, both participants were Catholic nations, Russia just happened to be different. The Russians were supporting Austria for their own aims anyway, keeping the war going would weaken the eventual victor, meaning they'd have no opposition expanding into the Ottoman sphere of Influence.

[Il Magnifico]

February 1785 – Vienna, The Habsburg Empire

The Cardinal took note of the conviction inherent in the Prince’s reply. “Of course, your grace, you understand I know first-hand about the sacrifices required of ones-self when dealing with unsavoury characters. Which leads me on to my reason for paying you this visit.” The Cardinal beamed without breaking eye-contact, and the Prince motioned for him to continue. “Over the course of the last few years, I have become a sort of… spokesperson… for a group of individuals concerned with the modernisation, if you will, of European society.” The Cardinal paused, leaning back into his chair, he glanced to one of the Austrian Diplomats, whose eyebrows had creased upon hearing his words.

Lilianna also took note of Jacques’ unguarded trail of speech, she leaned forward suddenly, taking her longing eyes off the Prince to questionably examine the face of her master, who continued on unconcerned. “Now as I understand it, your grace is currently embroiled in a war that will not simply determine the future of the Habsburg Empire, not simply who is Emperor of Austria or Hungary; but will in fact determine whether the legacy of your Uncle, who was… very sympathetic to our conglomerate… is continued or not. I have been led to believe that you… your grace, are on the right side in this conflict.”

Once again, The Cardinal instigated a dramatic pause. He resumed speaking, only after Lilianna, and indeed the assembled Austrian Diplomats’ eyes were firmly back on Maximillian. “As a group, we do not win wars, your grace, else we would offer you our full support, but we can ensure that life is made much easier for the progressively minded souls who do win them.” Jacques leaned forwards, lowering his voice, enticing the Prince to edge ever closer to him in order to hear his penultimate point. “If you should ever find yourself as the Emperor of Austria and Hungary, I want you to know that you need only send out a courier with the intention of finding Lilianna of Verona and we can be put into contact to arrange anything that advances our mutual interests. I only have one request of you, your grace….”

Jacques reclined in his chair before finishing his sentence, he looked off to the corner of the room, before fixing his eyes once again firmly on the Prince. “…I would ask that when your war is won, whenever that be, that you agree to attend a meeting, in Rome, with me and my associates, along with some of our other benefactors from across Europe, so that we can show you first-hand how profitable a friendship with us can be.”

There was a silence as the churchman and the monarch locked eyes. Lilianna couldn’t tell if she found the atmosphere tense, or simply testing. She knew it was her time to speak, as the pair had rehearsed, however she almost didn’t want to interrupt the duel that appeared to be taking place only in the eyes of these two powerful men. “Your grace, forgive me for interrupting.” She began, pouting her lips. The Prince couldn’t help but take his eyes off the Cardinal as she spoke, her soft face was appealing to any man, let alone a teenage ruler. Jacques smiled to himself, he had won the stand-off, and he already knew the Prince would respond positively…. “The Cardinal speaks with truth and merit. Do you know of the plight of your Venetian neighbours? Our associates there are already beginning to turn that country from one of failure to one of greatness. You might not see it today, but you will certainly see it in the coming months. We would ask that you only think on our words and observe, before heeding the inevitably conservative advice of your ministers and rejecting our proposed meeting.” Lilianna smiled, casting a bitter glance to an advisor. She looked back at the Prince before saying suggestively, “If you require any further persuasion, your grace, I would be happy to indulge you?”

[Greater Latica]

February 1785

Maximillian reclined in his chair, considering Jacques, and Lilianna's respective offers. He leant forwards, resting his elbows on the table, completely contrary to proper etiquette. "First things first," He Began, "Lilianna, as beautiful, and as wonderful as I imagine you are, I'm going to have to decline your half of the offer, but maybe next time," Maximillian winked at her, "However, I am inclined to take up your offer, when this war ends, and when I am Emperor. Though before I fully commit, I want to know what exactly constitutes modernisation? And who exactly are these associates?"

He was feeling much more confident now than he was at the start, the trembling in his hands had now gone. Whilst he knew he wasn't exactly dictating the course of Conversation, he had felt for the most part that he'd held his own quite well, especially considering he was only Sixteen, and never supposed to be in this position.

[Il Magnifico]

February 1785 – Vienna, The Habsburg Empire

“Noble questions, your grace.” The Cardinal replied, buying himself some time to think about how best to answer them, although the Prince had followed his predicted course, the Cardinal couldn’t help but feel there something strikingly defiant about Maximilian’s response. Perhaps the young Prince would be heroic leader one day. “We are not radicals, not Republicans, nor are we criminals. We are simply an organisation committed to the freedom of thought for all mankind. We wish to see logic and reason, which are the values inherent in our changing ‘enlightened’ times, come to define the world in which we live. That is what we mean by modernisation.” The Cardinal paused, allowing his words to sink in.

The Prince nodded in understanding before Jacques continued. “As for our associates… We do not keep a named register, however I can assure you that our control in pan-European, and pan-Atlantic now, come to mention it. I don’t know if you are familiar with the writings of Benjamin Franklin of Philadelphia? Or if you know of the plight of Casimir Pulaski of Poland-Lithuania? These are but two of the most renowned names associated with our organisation. We have also boasted patronage from heads of state and government past and present. From William Pitt of Britain to your own uncle, god rest their souls. We are a very active society, your grace, and we would be honoured, if you would consider one day adding your name to that list…”

March 1785 – Lake Scutari, Albania

The attack had happened swiftly. Knowing that the Venetians could no longer directly defend their fortifications along the Albanian coast due to mounting political bureaucracy back in Venetia, the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid I acting on the advice of his ministers, had ordered an undeclared attack on the smallest of these fortifications; a palisade fort, that was home to small garrison of soldiers on the banks of Lake Scutari.

It had been a massacre, Ottoman Janissaries and local Albanian Irregulars in service to the Ottoman throne had used an inside-agent, a young, disillusioned Venetian servant to covertly use barrels of gunpowder to blow a hole in the fort’s walls. He had done so late at night, while most of the garrison slept. The Turks and their local allies then swarmed from hiding and butchered the soldiers as they awoke, startled, to face the threat. There had been some resistance, a handful of soldiers who were on guard duty that evening had fought valiantly, killing a large number of their attackers before fleeing the smouldering fort. The Ottoman officers had admired their brief show of bravery and had allowed them to quit the field unharmed.


Some soldiers fought back against the Turks,
as this depiction shows, however before long
they were forced to rout...

The same could not be said for the servant who had betrayed his country. A pair of Janissaries dragged him by his feet across the corpses that covered the main assembly square inside the fort.

“Found the little runt hiding in a crate.” One of the masked soldiers said in Arabic dialogue that the boy wouldn’t understand.

“He tried to run!” The other Janissary laughed. “Had to put my sabre through his knee!”

The officers said nothing, the boy whimpered as he lay on the floor. He was a fool to have betrayed his country-men and he knew it, but it was too late now. As he closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts and make his peace with god, he felt a strange sensation. The boy opened his eyes to see that a Turkish Officer had knelt down to him and had placed his flintlock pistol squarely between the boy’s eyes. The traitor squealed as the Turk pulled the trigger…

…As the attackers left, they burnt the Fort, the following morning, all that remained was ash, burnt wood and many Venetian corpses. Now the Turks would wait, they were sure the Venetians wouldn’t retaliate, but they had to be careful, a pinprick assault against a wooden fort, like this, was one thing, an assault against the entire Venetian holdings along the Levant was another, only time would tell if Venice would even notice… And if it didn't more assaults would surely follow...

[Greater Latica]

April 1785

"I'm going to repeat this for you again, but slower. Whose - side - are - you - on."
"I've told you a dozen times already the Grand Duchy of Bohemia and Moravia is neutral! We want no part in this war!" The Grand Duke's chief advisor stated defiantly. His interrogator struck him again, blood was now trickling down his nose.
"Have you been listening to anything I've told you tonight?! You are to inform your master that the best course of action is to join Prince Maximillian in Austria. Now again. Whose side are you on?"
"Who would have thought such a young boy could be so callous! Sending thugs to do his dirty work!"
The interrogator raised his hand to strike him again, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Oh, we aren't in the employ of our dear friend Prince Maximillian. Quite the contrary! He doesn't even know we are here." The shadowy figure said calmly, "Oleg, we are not making much progress this way. Perhaps another way." He snapped his fingers and another one of his subordinates threw open the doors onto the balcony. The fresh spring night air swept into the room.
The person identified as Oleg, began to drag his chair towards the door.
"Who are you? What are you doing? What do you want?!" The advisor screamed, panic rising in his voice.
"So many questions. However I believe this is my Interrogation, and you are the one being interrogated. However I will allow you this one bit of information. I am Prince Peter of Russia, and you will do as I request."
"And what if I don't?"
"Oleg will throw you off your own balcony, and we will find someone who will."
"I won't submit to your will!" The advisor replied, his voice starting to waiver, "my Guards will be here any minute!"
"What? These guards?" Prince Peter asked quizzically, gesturing to two men standing on the edge of the Balcony, dressed in the uniforms of the Bohemian royal guard. Prince Peter sighed. "We need to speed this up. Oleg flick him."
Unquestioning, Oleg reached down grasping the leg of the chair with one muscular arm, and flipped the advisor off the edge. There was a twanging sound as the rope pulled taught preventing him from plunging to his death.

The Russians slowly pulled him up. Blood was streaked across his face, and tears were welling in his eyes.
"Alright, I submit. I will do as you ask."
"Excellent," Prince Peter replied, a smile on his face, "Do this for us and I will make sure you are handsomely recompensed. Fail us, and we will know, if we have managed to do this, imagine where else we have infiltrated. Your life will no longer be worth living. Oleg, cut him free, our work here is done."

Prince Peter disliked having to do things like this, but Bohemia allying with Austria was what his Great Aunt wanted, and so that is what she shall have. Now he had to concrete his alibi, just in case the advisor talked. He made sure never to dirty his own hands, besides, Oleg his Cossack friend will deal with any unintended consequences.

[Il Magnifico]

April 1785 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

“The climb is all there is… The climb is all there is… The climb is all there is…” Gianni di Venezia mumbled to himself as he paced, his nerves were self-evident.

He was the lone figure occupying a large room in the Palazzo Ducale, from the impressive windows, he was able to look out upon the St. Mark’s Square and the angry rioters that filled it. Pitchforks, torches, muskets and swords were all raised into the night air above their heads as they jeered, shouting profanities and calling for justice… Gianni was troubled…

…This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, instead of protesting the corruption of their rulers, the rabble were chanting about the Turks and calling for military retaliation following the incident at Lake Scutari. At the insistence of his fellow conspirators, Gianni had gone against his instinct and told his associates in the print press to use Lake Scutari to incite a feeling of poor leadership coming right from the Doge. However the plan had back-fired and the story, along with the intense spring heat, had caused a mob, three days earlier, to set up shop in the square and call for a war with the Ottoman Empire; a foolish demand given the present state in which Venice found itself.

The mob had, over the last 48 hours began to dissipate, leaving only the more radical, violent elements, whose numbers were ever decreasing. Legitimately, it would have been foolhardy for Venice to call the army in and ignite the situation, more foolhardy still to depose the Doge. The conspirators may not have been acting with legitimate intensions, but in the current climate, their actions needed to at least appear legitimate in order for them to succeed. Thanks to one cocksure Turkish advisor somewhere hundreds of miles away, everything was falling apart.

Outside, watching the rag-tag band of rabble rousers and warmongers carry out their tantrum, Olivero realised he was faced with a life or death decision. His men were stationed nearby and were awaiting his signal to form up and march on the Palazzo, the trouble was, he knew their chances of success were dwindling, the longer they waited, the bigger the risk of failure grew. He drew a heavy breath, closed his eyes and with an almighty effort drew and raised his sword…

…Having seen Olivero’s signal, Cassio de Castinous smiled and turned to the officer leading the assembled line of Venetian infantryman, who were clustered in an alleyway behind a building across the square. “We’re on.” Cassio said smiling, and the officer ordered his men to form up and march.

At exactly the same time, behind another building opposite Cassio’s position, the Marquis de Morlaix gave a similar order, and another line of Venetian soldiers formed up and marched out into the square.

The two lines marched their way around the outer edges of the square, for the most part avoiding the protesting crowds. Olivero made his way directly through the crowds, pushing and squeezing through civilians who were too excitable to notice a Brigadier-General amongst their ranks. For the most part the line infantry were not harassed by the mob, who seemed completely unfazed by the sudden appearance of the musket-carrying, bayonet equipped soldiers.

As they reached the front of the Palazzo, some of the protestors, not eager to be on the receiving end of a bayonet, backed up, to allow the soldiers to get through to the gates, which had been dented and scratched by the efforts of the mob. Olivero joined his men, and he knocked on the gates, loud and hard, his heart beating ever faster.

A soldier opened a peep-hole in the doorway, and seeing the Brigadier-General, immediately ordered the men inside the Palazzo to open the gate. Olivero’s men then formed a line and pointed their rifles at the crowd as the gate was opened, in order to stop a sudden surge from overwhelming the soldiers, exactly as the conspirators had instructed.

Olivero entered, his men then followed him through and the gate was closed behind him. Gianni, who had watched the men approach, proceeded down the steps in the courtyard to greet his co-conspirator and to warn him of the other recent-developments that had him worried.

Olivero walked over to the bottom of the steps, one hand on his sabre, where he awaited Gianni.

“Olivero, we need to talk, there have been a number of developments…” Gianni began, he was interrupted by the appearance of Alvise Loreti, who emerged from a side-doorway into the courtyard with a number of men wearing the black, white and red uniform of the regulars in the Army of the Kingdom of Naples, from where the Loreti family hailed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alvise asked menacingly.

One of Olivero’s officers stepped forward to address him. “Alvise Loreti, you are under arrest in the name of the Most Serene Republic, charged in conjunction with Paolo Renier, on the charge of high treason!” The officer declared, drawing his sword pompously.

“Captain… Shoot this man, there is only one treason occurring here.” Loreti stated bluntly, stepping aside, he walked towards the other assembled soldiers of the conspirators that were cautiously watching. His Neapolitan guard, drew a pistol, and executed the Venetian officer on the spot, to the dismay of Olivero, Gianni and their men, who looked on wordlessly.


Alvise Loreti - The power behind the
throne?

Olivero and Gianni backed away from the centre of the courtyard, Loreti hadn’t noticed them yet, and he was more concerned with the rabble of soldiers who had been standing directly in front of him when he had emerged…

“Where is Doge Renier!?” The second officer asked, stepping forward to try and restore some confidence in the men after the apparent failure of the first. “We wish to settle these charges amicably.”

“Doge Renier was evacuated by boat, from the Palazzo last night, in the company of Admiral Vincenzo. He gave me the authority to lock down the palace with my own men before departing, and to execute any intruders….” Loreti trailed off. “Who amongst you is responsible for this clear breach of procedure?... And if you say the man I just had shot, then I’ll have you all flogged.”

The soldiers looked around instinctively…. But both Olivero and Gianni had disappeared…

…The face of the officer reddened as he realised he was the highest ranking soldier present. Loreti scowled at him. “It’s always the junior officers who get delusions of power. I’m assuming by the charge presented by your late associate that that’s what this is? A power play?” Alvise closed the distance between himself and the man, whose red face was a portrait of guilt. “I advise you and your men to stand down.” He whispered into the officer’s ear.

The officer drew his sword slowly and wordlessly dropped it to the floor, instinctively, the rest of his men followed, dropping their rifles in shame. The Neapolitan soldiers stepped forward and kicked away the weapons. Loreti turned back towards the doorway, breathing heavily. “Captain… I trust you can see to it that these men go before a firing squad; and be sure the bodies are gone by morning.” He added, his red cape fanning out behind him as he disappeared through the doorway once more.


The black uniforms of the Neapolitan Soldiers were
a foreign and authoritative sight to the Venetians.

[Greater Latica]

Salzburg, May 1785

This was the first time Prince Maximillian had met his uncle face to face since before the dispute for the Throne had begun. Austria's defeat of the Hungarian army during their spring offensive had driven them to the negotiating table. The war, that had raged for more than a year, could feasibly end today.

Maximillian entered the negotiation chamber, noting his Uncle already sitting at the table in the middle. Standing around the edge of the room were representatives from other nations, most notably from the neighbours of the warring nations, Prussians, Bavarians, Venetians and Austria's allies, the Russians. Maximillian clearly noticed Prince Peter standing in the shadows, leaning against a pillar.

Both major parties took their places, with the Prussian representative acting as the independent Mediator. Maximillian was certain that most of the other nations had their own agendas, as did he. Austria was going to keep her new found position of power, even if it meant he had to cripple Hungary to do so.

The negotiations now began.

Three Hours later

Prince Maximillian was exhausted, the constant arguing was beginning to take its toll on him. It appeared to him that the other representatives were intending to gang up on him, stifling the birth of the new independent Austria. Thankfully Prince Peter and the Russian delegates had spoken up in his defence, stating a strong Austria would help block out the Ottoman Empire, appealing to the unspoken racist opinions of many of the Delegates.

Now it was time to sign the final agreement, the Austrian delegation hadn't entirely had their own way, Austria was permitted to keep the territory that had been seized against the Hungarians in the spring, and they'd won diplomatic recognition for the absorption of Bohemia and Moravia into the newly founded 'Austrian Empire'. However the Hungarians had gotten their way on the size of militaries, both were limited to having no more than 70,000 men-at-arms, and both were forbidden from going to war with one another. Maximillian already knew that his own chief advisor, Hans Kahler, was searching through the document's wording for loopholes to exploit and abuse, even before he'd signed it.

Leopold signed the bottom of the Document with his cursive and flamboyant signature, before turning it for Maximillian to sign ,which he duly did. Maximillian could feel the tension leaving his mind, the war that had dominated his attention was now over, and it could be argued that he'd won. He was now the Emperor of Austria and Bohemia, Hungary was only recognised as a Kingdom, Uncle Leopold missed out on his valued title.

[Il Magnifico]

April 1785 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

Olivero’s mind was racing, he simply didn’t understand. As Gianni led him to a secret exit that led out the back of the Basilica and out of the Palazzo Ducale, the only logical thing he could ascertain was that the conspirators had been betrayed; a shrinking rabble wouldn’t be enough to scare off the Doge, Loreti, judging by the way he had treated their men, must have known a coup was afoot, however the only way he could have known that would have been if somebody from within their cabal had informed him. The thought had crossed his mind that one of the officers or infantrymen who they had chosen to accompany them had turned informant; however if that were the case, they surely wouldn’t have anonymously accepted their fate when Loreti ordered them all to be shot. The only other person, he could think of, in a critical position with access to Loreti; was Gianni.

As they walked down the dark passageway they had entered from a secret door in the chapel, Olivero suddenly grabbed Gianni’s shoulder from behind and pinned him against the dusty wall. “It must have been you!” Olivero declared pointedly, moving his arm to the younger man’s throat, forcing him in place as he drew his sabre. “Why didn’t you send word Renier had been evacuated? How did Alvise Loreti know there was going to be a coup?” Olivero questioned, his green eyes locked on Gianni’s blue eyes as the young entrepreneur turned politician struggled against the soldier’s hold.

“Olivero… I’ve been… Thinking the same… the same thing… Loreti told the Council… Told us the Doge was taken… taken ill… Confined to quarters…” Gianni gasped, struggling against Olivero’s arm as it cut away his oxygen supply.

“Liar!” Olivero shouted, although he slightly loosened his hold, so he could hear Gianni out.

“Olivero… I would never betray you!... Why would I help… help you escape?..” Gianni asked breathlessly.
Olivero thought to himself for a moment, he had gone mad, Gianni had saved his life by leading him off to the passage before Alvise had noticed them, and this was how he was thanking him… He lowered his arm and took a step back, however as he did so he looked down to see that Gianni had a small, concealed pistol pointed squarely at his stomach. He stared at it for a moment before the pair both began to laugh.

“I could have killed you Gianni… You could have shot me!” Olivero said shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because, I meant what I said, I would never betray you, Olivero! I have more faith and loyalty to you than is considered pure…” Gianni trailed off, he was blushing, but doubted Olivero could see it in the dark passage.

“You were the only one who offered to be at my side during all of this… The others were more than content to wait and see!” Olivero mused. His heart was pounding heavily from the emotion of the evening.

Gianni put away his gun and took a step closer to Olivero, narrowing the gap. “I promise you, I’ll help you find the bastard responsible for all this. I know Olivero, how strongly you crave for somebody who is truly loyal to you.” Gianni said, Olivero was slightly taller than him, and he looked up, their eyes locked.

“Thank you Gianni. I knew you, of everyone would understand…” Olivero trailed off, he ran a finger across the younger man’s cheek. He had always struggled with his ‘unnatural’ attraction towards men. When he had heard Gianni’s story he knew instantly the young upstart would be able to help him deal with more than just Paolo Renier. As his finger reached Gianni’s ear, he stopped himself. Now wasn’t the time to get wrapped up in sentiment. Seconds earlier the pair had been about to potentially kill one another. “Come, let us get out of here!” Olivero exclaimed. “I have a feeling our good friend Cardinal Jacques may be able to help us find our treacherous culprit.” Gianni looked longingly, disappointedly up to Olivero for a split second before nodding and turning to lead the way out of the hidden tunnel.

May 1785 – Venice, The Most Serene Republic

For eight months the Arsenale had remained mysteriously closed off to the people, and indeed the soldiers of Venice. Captain Monti, who had fallen out of favour with his superiors over the affair regarding General Francesco had been assigned to investigate the closure, but had been given no resources, aside from a small damp study, that had been converted from a cellar, underneath the garrison.

It was supposed to be a death-sentence for his career. Everybody knew now that the crimson-clad men who guarded the entrance to the Arsenale by day and by night had come from Rome with, it was widely rumoured, papal authority and were not to be interfered with by order of General Rosso of the 2nd Army. The investigation, which was supposed to be secret, had been ordered by the brother of Alvise Loreti, Giuseppe Loreti, who was currently being groomed for a position as Commander of the City Watch.

That therefore meant that whatever was going on inside the Arsenale had the Loretis worried, and if Alvise Loreti was worried about something going on inside the city, then Captain Monti and indeed the whole of Venetia should probably be worried too. It was that fear that drove his investigation.

Monti slumped down on his desk, in the dimly lit cellar room. He had been going over ship manifests, cargo logs and other such documents from before the Arsenale closed for the last few hours, trying to work out if anyone in the shipping industry might have an idea as to why Rome, or General Rosso would organise such a thing. There was no outstanding information.

One of the three unfortunate officers assigned to him, trudged down the steps from the garrison above into the study. Monti sat up begrudgingly.

“Silvio! Where on earth have you been all day?” The Captain asked, not at all masking his annoyance.

“Giuseppe Loreti requested me and some of the older, lower ranked, officers to take care of some… stuff… Outside of town.”

“What sort of stuff?” Captain Monti asked, intrigued.

“Oh… Just menial stuff, mostly digging and burying some bodies.” The older, junior officer replied. “Some soldiers got killed at the Doge’s Palace a few weeks back when there was that riot… Nobody came forward to collect the bodies so we gave ‘em a military burial of sorts, and sent ‘em on to the next world.”

“Silvio… Nobody was killed during those riots? No soldiers anyway… I was overseeing troop dispatches for some of the higher ups, I think I would have been told?” Monti asked questioned inquisitively.

“Er… Well Loreti did say something about them having been deserters or some such who’d gone rogue to try and save their Doge…”

“Did you get any of the poor souls names?” Monti asked, rising from the desk and adjusting his uniform.

“No sir, like I said, we were told they were deserters and even though they had good intent, we had to bury ‘em in an unmarked grave… Poor sods.” Silvio sighed.

“From what Army Group had they deserted?” Monti asked, placing his hands behind his back and walking towards his officer.

“Er… 2nd, why?”

“They were General Rosso’s men then… Killed at the palace. By rioters you say?”

“Well come to think of it… Most of the bodies had bullet-holes in ‘em, neat ones too, like they’d been shot whilst standing still… But Loreti said…”

“Don’t worry about what Giuseppe Loreti says, just take me to the bodies… Immediately!” Monti exclaimed, throwing on his hat and charging up the stairs. Begrudgingly Silvio followed. Monti knew something was amiss. But he had to see for himself, fate might have dealt him a means of connecting the dots that were beginning to emerge between General Rosso, the Arsenale and the secretive actions of the Loretis…