CHAPTER V, ALBRECHT VON BOTSDAM

He watched as what remained of the battered Vomeranian army woke up from their camps, located on the lower elevation, their soldiers bruised and injured, struggling to take up their arms as the Vomeranian commander of the army rallied them for roll call. A large contrast was that of the Pracanburgian host, its soldiers energetic and well-fed, crying with high spirit demanding the day's decisive victory to come. Pikemen honed their steel blades with oilcloth and musketeers packed their pouches of gunpowder. The proud banners of the Pracanburgian eagle, its beak and claws shaded in gold and the body black as night. The eagle stood upon a curved branch of golden olive leaves, and flew proudly upon a snowy white field, bearing golden strips at both vertical ends. Flag bearers stood out amongst the tight formations of infantry, the impatient wind snapping, urging them to inflict humiliation and defeat upon their foes. In the distance, horses shrieked and trotted, their feet kicking mud and dirt off the ground. Von Botsdam observed the grass beneath his feet and rubbing against his boots. He grumbled a wordless complaint, dissatisfied that his newly sewn tunic boots were going to be ruined in the complex and harsh nature of battlefield.

The Elector stood by him, chewing a leaf of mint while observing the Vomeranian camps with a spyglass he seemed to listen keenly to the marching songs played by the military band in order to bolster the morale of the already high spirited Pracanburgian soldiers, the most significant of which was the official anthem of the Electorate of Pracanburg. The calm melody hid the rocking waves of sheer, might, and a taste for steel behind, remarkably noted within the song, its melody dancing and traveling towards the enemy camps, echoing faintly in the air. The Elector played a prideful smile as he listened to the lyrics of the anthem, despite continuing his feign on observing the Vomeranian movements.

"Quite nicely rhymed, Your Grace," praised von Botsdam, "it is not known to me that Your Grace has been keeping such a great interest in the arts of music."

"Let's say it's fairly written and arranged, rather than decently composed," replied Frederich as he slid his spyglasses back onto his belt, "I did not produce the melody of this song. It is, in fact, quite commonly used and known within the Known World. The rhythm is almost identical, if you would hear attentively, von Botsdam, between several, if not numerous monarchies within the Known World. I'd say it is ironic that such a beautiful tune was written and the hands of a Frenianman, though his identity remained a mystery throughout the years," his pale blue eyes blinked, "trace your memories, von Botsdam. The tune would certainly not be originated from the man who plays the harpsichord in a nearby residence on a regular basis, mostly when midnight made its visit and most of the state is deep in their dreams."

Von Botsdam suddenly discovered the song oddly familiar, before a realization struck him. "I recall this anthem being very widespread and popular among the monarchies of the Known World, the most notable version being that of the Crownlands of Homeland, God Mercy On Our King."

"Indeed," Frederich nodded as a sign of approval, "there is a difference between the two variations, however. Von Botsdam, I remember you having some years of experience earned from the journey in the Homeland, you should know a lot about the culture of the Homelish people."

"Yes," replied von Botsdam, "I had traveled to the Crownlands of Homeland a few years prior, at your command to secure a firm relationship between the Electorate of Pracanburg and the Crownlands of Homeland."

"You brought back me a gorgeous and fair bribe, and a great influence for the Pracanburgian anthem," smiled Frederich, "but that is past news. Having considered that you should've no problems reciting the tune of the Homeland song, I ought to leave the task of figuring this matter out to yourself, for a person might require certain refreshments after hours of dull waiting for the battle to begin, the first shot to be fired." He gave a mischievous grin, meaning it as a jape, and returned to observe the lately produced noises among the Vomeranian camps.

Von Potsdam had to recall every detail of his journey to the Homelands as a diplomat, a few years junior. Back that King Henry of Homeland was still known as an efficient ruler, not half as mad as the sad state he was in now. He did remember the courtesy he received in the King's court, where he was given a warm welcome as a foreign guest and a luxurious feast, consisting of almost seventy dishes, a number to be boasted of. He did remember the nicely mulled wine he was offered, and the way its strong and rich and sweet taste lingered in his mouth after every sip. He did remember the way the King's fair maiden, now the Elector's wife, looked at him, her diamond-like dark blue eyes gleaming with temptation and mischief as he toyed with the attractive swirls of her hair, blended in a better mixture of the mulled wine beverage in shades of reddish blonde and highlighted strips of white, though not unnatural. For a while, von Botsdam considered him quite attracted to her irresistible and eager beauty and would have taken her hand in marriage if not being suddenly reminded of his mission to secure an alliance. And therefore he had disengaged the daughter politely since then, though showing her ever courtesy required in order to avoid injuring her well-protected pride. However hard he attempted to recall his thoughts, he seemingly did not remember a scene regarding the Homeland anthem. He saw gold goblets clashing against each other, wine spilling from cups as nobles cheered and toasted. They got so drunk that they sometimes knock themselves onto the floor unconscious, a scene he had never seen in his feasts with the Elector. He saw the magnificent palace of the Homeland Crown, decorated by layers of exotic jewels and marbles. It was known to glimmer and shine all day through, being the pearl of the darkness. And he remembered the smile of the King as he embraced the advisor from Pracanburg, pressing him on for more advice to better govern his realm in exchange for the Pracanburgian desired terns. He could recall how the Princess almost cried as she begged her father to not send her off to some stranger with tears glimmering in her big innocent eyes. That night the princess had come to visit his chambers when the city was asleep and confessed her love for him. Von Botsdam could feel as her warmth radiant through her garbing of smooth silk, her tears raining down his clothes and blossoming upon them like patches of colorless flower. The weeping girl had almost forced herself upon him, and von Botsdam had only dared to provide as much comfort for her as to not ruin her honor and his reputation. The next day a marriage alliance was sealed, and von Botsdam only could spare to spend a few more days' time counseling the monarch of Homeland before eventually departing with the princess, on a Homelish carrack, dispatched to Pracanburg as a gift, named Maiden's Dream. Von Botsdam had also fulfilled his promise, giving a few advice regarding the development of national economy and management of states. However, von Botsdam remained uncertain of the King's intention, who despite von Botsdam's fame for being an effective advisor whose policies had often brought benefit to the executing nation, had considered himself quite unexpected of such honors he had not presumed to receive during his travels in different nations.

Suddenly he heard the beating of drums. They rolled in thunderous unity and gradually increased their pace as the Vomeranian soldiers hurried from their original positions to form themselves up in singular line columns, their equipment and firearms intact, though their footsteps weary and exhausted. Their banners were ragged and torn, their soldiers demoralized.

"Aye, they are performing a suicidal attack," pointed out Frederich as he emerged from nowhere, his footsteps silent as a mouse. The Elector put down his spyglasses and walked himself closer to the wall defenses set around their battle post to get a better view of the scenery beneath, revealing a grin when he returned. "The commander of the Vomeranian army woke up a few moments ago only to discover that some several battalions of his host had deserted his cause or fled to us, awkwardly missing...and now if he couldn't defend himself, he must attack. I shall eagerly observe to see if this newly appointed commander could break out of my firm grasp," he stroke his beard and continued, "I shall reward him sufficiently if he provides us with adequate entertainment."

War is no game like chess. One misstep and you wouldn't be able to restart all over once you blundered into enemy hands. Von Botsdam considered and might have said, but he knew better than to question Frederich's intelligence regarding the field of warfare, and so he decided to keep his opinion to himself, and instead asked, "Why, the newly appointed commander? What happened to the old one with the sharply pointed beard?" to which Frederich indirectly responded, "I see that the Vomeranian general is giving speeches to his soldiers. I rather pity the sad man. He was second in charge last day and was only appointed commander at dawn when the previous one had been discovered dead hanging himself on one of the battle posts when it was midnight and guards were few. It was not long after I promised safe conduct in exchange for their surrender of arms. Within moments my camp had gathered thousands of prisoners of war."

"Why, thousands," chuckled von Botsdam, "the Vomeranians were desperate to not fight us, it would seem."

"A promise of safe conduct could be quite hollow, and men would not risk themselves to pick a hollow fruit," Frederich answered, "it also requires the presence of a massive opposing army, and a certain, be it expected or not, death of a battle commander, more precisely, the enemy first-in-charge."

Von Botsdam might have suspected that Frederich dispatched an assassin to see to the man's death, but almost immediately dismissed the thought, as Frederich would have no cause to seek to hasten a doomed man's sealed destiny. Rather, he had a habit of delaying it.

"How fares the Vomeranian attack?" questioned von Botsdam, "it seemed to be directed towards the gap of our encirclement."

"Ah, yes, there are a lot of flaws and gaps and holes in our formations that could be exploited rather easily, I'd say," Frederich answered, "it's a pig's mouth. The mouth had previously been open, but now the Vomeranian army had decided to be its teeth and fill in the large gap." He then turned to von Botsdam and questioned, "I'd wonder, my dear von Botsdam, have you figured out the difference between the two anthems yet? A person with such an intelligent mind like yours shouldn't experience much difficulty in solving these petty matters."

Von Botsdam suddenly felt alerted by the Elector's speech. The thought jerked sharply into his mind, and beneath Frederich's words, he sensed both a reminder and a threat. Yet he could not distinguish the Elector's sentence between jest and a warning, having considered Frederich II's notorious nature of making ruthless japes at his enemies and harmless ones at his allies, for his fondness of making hollow threats, only good for laughter, is well known, and even him could not tell Frederich from serious or not. He cast the thought aside gradually.

Another wave of drum rolling responded the first, sending sounds of shuddering down the air. It voiced more passion and eagerness than its counterpart and demanded blood and battle. Von Botsdam turned to the sound and witnessed the Pracanburgian military band continuously hammering against their drums, playing their instruments enthusiastically and ferociously. A thought flashed through his mind and von Botsdam immediately grasped it, suddenly discovering the answer to Frederich's question.

"The Homeland anthem," von Botsdam recalled, "they start with a continuous and seemingly never-ending rolling of drums, and the melody only starts playing when you got annoyed of this repeated monotone, while ours begin directly straight to the point with the main melody and tends to play in a more peaceful pace but with a strong hint of enthusiasm behind the calmness, like the currents beneath the seemingly calm waters, while the Homeland anthem is well famed for its majestic sounding."

"Your description is very accurate, von Botsdam," Frederich spoke of approval as he gestured a hand towards the advancing Vomeranian soldiers, "have a look. The enemy is charging up the elevation attempting to establish a bridgehead within the gaps. He received the latest battle report from a messenger, "and the commander proved to be less incompetent I had deemed him to be. He even attempted to deceive me by feigning an attack at the Southeastern corner..." he spoke as a produced a map in evidence, pointing his finger towards one of the gaps the Pracanburgian formations had left between, "when their major attempt to break out is focused on the Southwestern corner. See to that this trick was notified of the commanders, so they would understand how to coordinate their troops," he turned to the messenger, quickly drew a map with his quill pen, and handed it to him, "this is for the commander of the cavalry. He is tasked with bringing his entire cavalry presence towards the Southwestern corner. It was to be made certain that they would gallop towards the enemy and smash into their faces once enemy breakthrough is achieved. No mercy would be served for those who stood defiant. It would be unnecessary mouths who would attempt every ploy to plot against your reign." He watched as the messenger nodded and hurried off on his horse with his companions, and turned back to von Botsdam, "I am a bit disappointed. The Vomeranian commander was supposed to provide me with better entertainment then what he serves now." He then strolled back to observe the battlefield, along with von Botsdam who followed his footsteps.

From what he observed from above, the Vomeranians were seemingly achieving a breakout at the Southwestern center, the Pracanburgian soldiers being pushed backward thus opening a wider gap between the formations. Then, as the Vomeranians fought their way out in a bloody struggle, engaged in close-quarter combats with the Pracanburgian troops, they slowly managed to escape encirclement as out of the brutal fights, von Botsdam observed a Vomeranian banner dashed out of the engaged soldiers. More men followed the flag bearer, and soon hundreds of Vomeranians evaded being surrounded and fled to an open field.

For half a heartbeat von Botsdam had worried that the plan had gotten out of hand and the Vomeranians had managed to escape through pure luck and Frederich's overconfidence. As he stared nervously at Frederich demanding a response, the Elector only played a smile on his face as he pointed towards the leftward direction with his finger. The next moment erupted in the shrieks of horses as the Pracanburgian cavalry arrived, slamming into the loose formation of the Vomeranians, who had not gathered enough time to reorganize. Soon, the Vomeranian soldiers were fallen upon a merciless slaughter, as horses moved swiftly between the gaps of the infantrymen, harvesting their heads with steel sabers, nicely edged and polished. The air was thick with mists of red flowers as they evaporated under the beam of Sun. It smelt of blood and smoke. Vomeranian soldiers were fleeing from the field, some dragging their crippled and injured legs as they attempted to advance towards the woods, some crawling desperately on the ground, begging for mercy as they offered to surrender. None were spared. Those who did not manage to flee into the woods were cut into pieces on the spot by the blood-thirsty cavalrymen, as evil laughter rang in the air. It almost sounded like music to von Botsdam, who had been severely astonished by the scene. Within a few moments, the onslaught was brought to a halt. The Vomeranian army had been completely destructed and what remained of it ceased to function. Frederich was laughing almost hysterically at his success, dubbing the battle 'a hard smash into the pig's teeth when it refused to open its mouth'. The Pracanburgian troops were celebrating their success by holding a feast of the sufficient supplies they discovered among the Vomeranian camps, and soon men were making songs on this battle as they thudded headfirst onto their desks, too drunk to get up on their feet.

"Here, von Botsdam, a token of our success."

Von Botsdam watched the cup of beverage offered by the half-drunk Elector of Pracanburg, who had obviously spent time drinking and betting with his commanders and soldiers alike. From his loose breeches, von Botsdam could even deduct that Frederich had been claiming the maidenhood of young pretty serving wenches. He accepted the cup of beverage and took a sip. It was mulled wine, its taste strong but pleasantly warm. "I congratulate you on this great success, Your Grace."

This was when a rider came urgently at his camp. He had clutched a letter tightly on his hand, and as he rode towards Frederich and him, his horse shrieked with agony and collapsed, knocking over tables of meals and drinks. Pracanburgian soldiers grumbled with anger as they approached the wrecked remains of their feast, stumbled upon by a dead horse and now ruined. Some went to the extent of banishing their weapons when a voice came from behind.

"Let him pass," announced Frederich, "he must be in a great hurry to perform such haste."

The man moved with great difficulty, stumbling upon his own feet, which suggested that a leg injury was inflicted upon. Von Botsdam frowned as the knight, now closer and more recognizable, delivered the letter to Frederich, one knee, only to collapse within moments. As Frederich broke the seal and read the letter, his face turned into great horror. Immediately he rose up from his seat, and when von Botsdam required about the letter, Frederich responded, "Rosenia is under attack by King Jan of Boiski. The Rosenian Boy King was suffering from certain difficulties upon his coronation, and now was trapped within their seat of power Crague, alongside with Dorothea my daughter. I require a good score of skilled swordsmen and archers, as well as a few dozen knights as my escort. Von Botsdam, see that you manage the recently conquered Vomeranian lands well. Sign us a beneficial treaty. Integrate the hostile Vomeranians. I had to return to Purelin, to gather my Pracanburgian militias. I have an important war to fight, and upon my absence, I would require you to help me manage my state." He spoke as he hurriedly departed, leaving the soldiers bewildered and confused.

"Yes, Your Grace," von Botsdam replied as he proceeded to open the parchment of the letter. He read it through and instantly understood Frederich's reaction, yet his thoughts never left the potential intention of the Elector behind the cup of alcohol, and the possible meanings before this toast. His thoughts also never left the night, where a beautiful and shy princess sneaked into his chambers, and the freshness of her breath, the sweet scent of her body as she climbed beneath him on his hand, the way she feigned to struggle as he slipped his hands beneath her skirt, then her smallclothes, eventually touching her body, and the wetness in her. He had always wanted her, the realization came. She had always wanted him. However duty and honor did them apart and now they were, serving the Elector in the same realm, faithfully but unhappily. The night she spent with her had gotten into nothing but a sweet memory----she had taken herbs to prevent von Botsdam's issue from birth, a herb as dark as the night she had once spent with him.

And hopefully as secretive.

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