The Convention Of Kloster Zeven

That was quite a long chapter! I hope you liked it! I don't think the next chapters will be as long as this one. I don't want to bore you or make you scroll too much ^^ Please support my work! Seeing some of you following my novel gives me strength. Oh, and don't forget to rate it—whether it's the project, the characters, the style, or the story. If you have any suggestions, feel free to share! Please help me spread the word!

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While learning Westphalian from the local population, not just from Brunhilde, Adam had intensified his workout sessions. This mainly consisted of running around the camp with all his gear.

It wasn't the first time he'd been seen doing this, but it was true that, with the particularly intense last few days, he hadn't had the energy to maintain this pace. No one was really surprised to see him passing by as if he had forgotten something. Most laughed without bothering to hide it, but others looked at him with a hint of respect.

After a month of marching under the sun and rain, through dust and marshes, all they wanted to do was rest. If they had to exercise, it certainly wasn't with this intensity.

"What's he doing?" he sometimes overheard.

"He's running."

"I can see that he's running," another replied with exasperation, "but why is he doing it?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him!"

The reactions were often the same, but that day was slightly different. At some point, he was joined by his friends, and together they began running around the French camp. Their strides quickly synchronized. Fortunately, the pace wasn't too fast.

Encouraged by each other's presence, none of them slowed down. Soon, they were joined by a few other soldiers from Picardy as well as other regiments. There were even grenadiers!

Adam had once heard a friend say that they were the elite of the French army. Their number was limited, and each one was carefully selected. They were the best troops of His Majesty, which is why they were sent into battle whenever a situation needed to be turned around. They had been used at Hastenbeck and at Rethen, though in the latter case, they hadn't been much use since the enemy had fled, burning the bridge they were guarding to slow down the French army.

Their uniform was quite distinctive, as they wore a blue and red coat while the regular infantry wore white. One might mistake them for foreign troops in the service of Louis XV, but then there was their amusing hat made of brown bear fur, which they called "ourson" or simply "bonnet à poil."

The first time Adam saw one, he nearly burst out laughing. He thought to himself how glad he was to wear a tricorne.

No matter how you look at it, it really does seem like they have an animal on their head, haha! They look so much like the Buckingham guards! Except someone shaved the back, hahaha!

They could mock them internally, but doing so in front of one of these men would have been a bad idea. Fortunately, Adam was aware of this, as it had been made clear to him. They held a prestige equivalent to, if not greater than, those from the kingdom's oldest regiments. Being part of this unit was an honor.

Paid better than the rest of the troops, these formidable soldiers—who had counterparts in other European kingdoms—no longer used grenades as they once did. However, they had retained the symbol on their cartridge belts and banners.

All of them were experienced men who had already known war, as the War of Austrian Succession had ended only ten years earlier. They came from different regiments and had been gathered under a single corps and a single banner after that terrible war, which had cost France a great deal of money.

Because this infantry corps was very rigid, led with an iron fist by the Marquis de Saint-Pern, if a soldier decided to join them, it could only mean that they had received official approval to do so.

Soon, more than a thousand of them were running around the camp, equipped as if they were about to enter battle, under the curious eyes of soldiers, officers, and their subordinates.

When their own men asked to join, they did not object, as they were doing nothing wrong, and it was certainly better than wandering aimlessly and pillaging nearby villages.

The sight was so unusual that it reached the ears of the Duke of Richelieu, who was in the midst of negotiations. He merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

It also did not escape the attention of the Danish diplomats who served as intermediaries between the Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of Richelieu. They were very impressed. Seeing them run together, at the same pace and almost in formation, they mistakenly believed that they had trained extensively together to act as one on the battlefield. The effect was even more significant than seeing the size and composition of this powerful army, reputed to be the best in the world on land.

They then urged the Duke of Cumberland not to drag out the discussions for fear that the negotiations might break down and end in a bloodbath.

This was very important for the Danes as well as for the Hanoverians. For the latter, first and foremost, because their lives were at stake; and for the proud Danes, because they had positioned themselves as arbiters between two of Europe's great powers. This negotiation could not and should not fail!

As for the Duke of Cumberland, he feared, in addition to total annihilation by the enemy army, that their Prussian ally would sign a separate peace treaty with Versailles. If, by misfortune, that happened, as it had during the last war, Great Britain and Hanover would find themselves alone against a multitude of enemies. In that case, nothing could prevent them from devouring the states of his father, King George II.

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After a period of deadlock, a treaty was finally signed on September 8, 1757, significantly in favor of the French.

The Duke of Richelieu was very proud of himself, but he had made a mistake by not seeking his king's approval. He was indeed convinced that he had fulfilled his will. First, he had obtained an end to hostilities within twenty-four hours, which was the minimum.

Secondly, he had secured the return of the Duke of Cumberland's auxiliary troops to their homes, where they would be placed and dispersed. He had deliberately left some room for interpretation in this article, thinking it was the best choice to later disarm them once they were home, something the Duke of Cumberland, of course, did not want.

Finally, he had secured the dispersal of the Hanoverians, some of whom would go beyond the Elbe, unable to cross it again to take up arms against France, while the rest—between four and six thousand men—would be stationed in Stade under Danish supervision.

In addition, the French would occupy the Duchy of Brême (Bremen) and Verden, except for Stade, until the end of the war. Finally, this treaty set boundaries not to be crossed, though they were vaguely defined.

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On September 10th, at the request of the Duke of Cumberland, three additional articles were added to clarify the treaty. Through these new articles, he requested that his allies not be treated as prisoners of war, specified the number of battalions and squadrons to be sent beyond the Elbe and those to remain at Stade, and asked to expand the previously established boundaries. Finally, an extension was granted to dismantle the defeated army.

To ensure compliance with these articles, everything would be supervised by Hanoverian Lieutenant General von Spörcken and the French army's First Lieutenant General, the Marquis de Vellemeur.

On the 12th, Danish diplomats returned to the Duke of Richelieu's camp to request a few minor changes, which the old Marshal Duke, eager to be done with this matter and move on to the next, accepted. In return, he asked for a few small favors.

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In these times of progress and the spread of ideas, it didn't take long for the news of the Duke of Cumberland's surrender to reach London. By September 19th, 1757, it had spread through the British capital like wildfire. As the hours passed, the rumors grew and became increasingly wild, with each person adding their own details.

"Have you heard the latest news?" someone asked in one of the most elegant and popular salons in London.

"Are you referring to Hanover and His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland? Ah, don't mention it; what a disgrace!" replied another, furrowing his brows so deeply that they seemed to form a single thick line.

"What news are you talking about? Did His Majesty's son lose a battle? Is he injured?"

"Worse, madam! He negotiated a shameful peace with the French! Ah! He agreed to hand Hanover over to the Duke of Richelieu and accepted the dispersal of his army!" he answered in a scandalized tone, striking the floor with his gold-topped cane. "Everyone has been talking about it for two days now!"

"What?! A woman, plump and impeccably dressed, exclaimed, bringing a hand to her face to hide her emotions.

"They say," he continued, as if revealing a state secret, "that he was bought off by the French for a small fortune in exchange for this treaty! From what I've gathered after seeing Mr. Newcastle, His Majesty flew into a rage against his son, forcefully rejecting the treaty, but that is said to be just a façade. There's a rumor circulating in Parliament that His Majesty is actually pleased and that his son was merely carrying out his wishes."

"How could he be pleased?!" exclaimed the first man, visibly discovering this new information. "The total dispersal of the Hanoverian army and its allies! How can we assist our Prussian ally under these conditions?!"

An older man, more accustomed to such twists and turns, approached in the most noble and natural manner.

"It is indeed a tragedy. If only Parliament had sent that fleet to Stade," he lamented, in a tone that clearly implied the blame lay with the current ruling party. "With those reinforcements, His Highness could have done something and even driven back the Duke of Richelieu!"

"It's a possibility," said the first man, hesitating to defend the Whig party of the Duke of Newcastle, who had just regained his position as Prime Minister. "The fleet will likely sail to another port, probably in France, to relieve His Majesty, the King of Prussia."

"Do you think the treaty will be broken?" asked the lady, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of heat.

"Certainly!" the first man replied confidently, as if it were obvious. "After all, His Majesty hasn't signed anything, nor has the King of France. Or, knowing the French and their arrogance, they'll break it themselves by committing all sorts of crimes in the German states. Isn't the Duke of Richelieu nicknamed 'Monsieur Marauder'? They're nothing but bandits dressed as soldiers, if you ask me! They'll make a mistake soon enough," the man insisted, his voice growing increasingly grave, "and then His Majesty can declare that the treaty was broken by the French."

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It had taken just as long for the news to reach Versailles and its splendid château. On this 20th of September, 1757, the sky was uniformly gray, and the temperatures had begun to drop. While there was moisture in the air, at least it wasn't raining.

Conversations had been particularly lively at Court for a week, to the point that even the lowest of servants knew what had happened in the Holy Roman Empire. Everyone also knew how His Majesty had reacted upon hearing the news.

"Your Majesty," said a stout man proudly sporting his clerical collar as he entered the room where Louis XV was, "forgive this intrusion, but I have received a letter from His Grace, the Duke of Richelieu, regarding the Treaty of Kloster Zeven."

Before him, a man approaching sixty, dressed in the finest garments, froze.

As soon as he heard the names "Richelieu" and "Kloster Zeven," his face darkened. Slowly, he fixed his gaze on his Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs as if he intended to crush him. Although he was generally of a calm temperament, those who knew him well were aware of how much he could change when angered.

And indeed, he was furious to learn the contents of the treaty signed by his general and the enemy general without his approval. The Duke of Richelieu, everyone at Versailles understood, had made a grave mistake by overriding his opinion. But it might have been overlooked had the treaty been perfect, which was far from the case.

There were so many gray areas open to the most fanciful interpretations that it would inevitably be a source of future tension. There was nothing about the total disarmament of the enemy, nothing that said those sent beyond the Elbe could not be dispatched by the old King George to assist their Prussian ally, who was in dire need of help, or about the duration of this peace.

"What does he say?" the king finally asked the abbot, whose forehead was covered in sweat.

His tone was so dry and cold that his annoyance was easily perceptible. Monsieur de Bernis, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs for only a few months, pulled out an opened letter and handed it to his king before stepping back two paces. He wiped his forehead with a small white handkerchief and waited for the response of Louis XV, who had been nicknamed the Beloved at the beginning of his reign but was no longer as adored after so many failures and acts of depravity.

After a long silence, the king nodded.

"Very well. We are satisfied with these new articles. They greatly correct the poor wording and expressions of the peace treaty. We are reassured. Monsieur de Bernis, make it known that we approve these separate articles and that we renew our confidence in Monsieur de Richelieu to ensure that the Hanoverians and their allies do not seek to harm us or to aid the King of Prussia."

"Yes, certainly, Your Majesty!"

"Hmm, he will need to ensure this with the provisions of the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway. The enemy is deceitful and knows no honor. If England can strike at us without even bothering to declare war, it can also bypass and unilaterally break a peace treaty that they themselves requested. Congratulate him on our behalf, but also tell him that the next time he is required to negotiate, he should send us the terms so that we can provide our input. That will be all."

"Very well, Your Majesty! I shall write to him immediately!"

"Ah, one more thing. Warn him about those lingering ambiguities regarding the duration of the peace treaty, the disarmament of His Highness the Duke of Cumberland's allies, and the matter of the Hanoverian troops sent beyond the Elbe."

"It will be done, Your Majesty!"

The stout man left the office of the most important person in France and hurried to write a laudatory letter, in stark contrast to what had been said in that very office after the king was informed of the content of the treaty of September 8th. Meanwhile, the King of France was once again approached.

"Your Majesty, we can no longer postpone this conversation. We must talk about the parliaments. They—"

"Ah! They tire us! We will deal with that later! Our mind is exhausted with these matters in Westphalia. To rest, we shall go hunting, and afterwards, we will see Madame de Pompadour."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

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Far from there, the noose seemed to be tightening around the King of Prussia.

The Austrians on one side, the Russians on another, the Swedes elsewhere, and finally, the French... They are all like hungry wolves drawn by the scent of a delicious piece of meat. The lack of coordination between these states, or at least at a very low level, is my only asset, thought Frederick II, King of Prussia.

Despite his frail stature and his back bent by the weight of the years—though he was only forty-five—his mind remained sharp.

His idea was the simplest possible, but having studied strategy with Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great, to name just a few examples, he knew it was the best one to employ: to defeat his enemies one by one to be victorious everywhere. His army might be smaller and its morale not at its peak, but it remained excellent and formidable. In his view, thanks to his reign, it no longer had anything to envy of the British and French troops.

All he needed now was a resounding victory, a victory so great that it would make the world tremble and sovereigns in their castles quake.

After a brief hesitation, his eagle eyes focused on the large military map on which the Franco-Austrian army was represented. Since July 20th, it had been marching toward his kingdom, and while it seemed impressive at first glance, it was much less so when analyzed by a trained eye.

The Duke of Soubise, commanding the French, didn't seem to quite know his exact place in the hierarchy of this army, if there was an overall one, and the soldiers were of such poor quality that they could easily be mistaken for mere militiamen. This was particularly true if one observed the troops sent by the Holy Roman Empire: it was just a large number of straw soldiers who recognized only their superior without giving the slightest credit to the other officers. Some were even closer to the Prussians than to their allies!

If all my reports are true, there is definitely an opportunity here. Yes, we can win, even at odds of two to one! It will be here!