By My Sword Alone by David Black (ebook reader ink TXT) 📕

a wry smile, ‘Be sure of what you wish for, excellency. Some people say trying to understand the feuds and bonds of the families of mittel Europa … that way madness lies.’

‘I am still curious, it cannot be any more convoluted than the Bourbons,’ James had replied, ‘and I had to live under them for more than a few years.’

Pyotr had nodded, and then began his tale. ‘The current Duke Ferdinand’s predecessor, Frederick William, was married to Anna of Russia, the current tsarina, whom he left a widow, some time ago. Tsarina Anna thought to replace him with one of the Saxon Wettins, but they turned out not to be to her taste, so the duchy remained in the hands of the von Kettlers, the title passing to Ferdinand as it should have. He is a very old man now and lives here because on balance, he prefers the Poles to be holding his strings in Danzig than the Romanovs in St Petersburg. Dorothea is living in his house now, and helps keeps him up to date … among other people.’

‘Among other people? What does that mean?’ James had inquired.

‘If the Russians decide to fight it out over this succession, and oust Stanislas, and they will if they fight, their preferred successor for the moment is another Saxon, Augustus. The Saxon involvement means the Austrians will get a say in the running of Poland, and of Courland too, which for Frederick is not quite so bad as the Russians in charge on their own. There’s more room for compromise with the Austrian emperor, Charles. But another successor – someone other than Augustus – that could mean unforeseen complications for the von Kettlers. That is what makes Dorothea continually vigilant. Why she trades her information with many people, so she knows who is thinking what. It is all a great game, as I am sure you know, excellency, having been sent here on such a mission yourself.’

‘And what does that mean, M’sieur Poinatowski?’ James had promptly replied.

‘Aren’t you here as the eyes of the Stuart pretender in Rome? Everybody says so.’

‘I am here in the service of the King of Poland,’ said James with all the hauteur he could manage.

‘Ah-ha! Keep them guessing. Good tactics, excellency.’

And then a thought had entered James’ head; one he didn’t reflect on before blurting out the words, and perhaps he should have. ‘And what if one of the alternative successors was the Stuart pretender?’

Pointatowski had been good in his response; no obvious surprise, merely a long, considered look before saying, ‘Nobody would have any idea how to react to that one, excellency. Astonishment? Laughter? Fear? Everyone to pause to re-box their compasses? Why do you ask, excellency? Is that the real reason you are here?’

‘I told you the real reason, M’sieur Poinatowski.’

That conversation had been long ago, while they’d kept watch by the hearth fires in Weichselmünde. There had been no more mention of the Stuart pretender between them since, or of who Dorothea might or might not be talking to. But now they were in Danzig, and as James and his party trudged through the snowy shadows of the narrow streets, he found himself wondering which house might hold the old duke and Dorothea, and if he’d get the chance to call on her, once his military obligations had been discharged.

If he was honest with himself, international diplomacy had nothing to do with that.

*

The meeting with von Bittinghofen took place in a long dining room, gloomy with dark wood panelling and guttering candles, and a fire that was poor in fuel. ‘We are rationing the kindling against the day when the Russians complete their ring around the city and firewood becomes short,’ the general had explained, hugging his own heavy coat tight.

Before him on a grand table lay maps of the city, its defences and surrounding countryside. To the south and east on the map were placed card squares, representing various Russian formations. To the east, marshes were marked, but to the north, and all the way west of the Mottlau river, the city was still open to the rest of Poland.

‘A 10,000-strong army is assembling in north Saxony,’ said the general. ‘And another Russian army is marching from the east, with siege artillery. By the new year, the Russians will be in a position to begin the siege properly.’

The men standing round the map regarded it gravely. The general then went on to outline how he planned to use James’ Dzików dragoons to attempt to interfere and delay the Russians’ build-up, and a puzzled James leant more intently over the map.

The next day dawned bright, but cold. James walked Poinatowski to the ferry wharf for his trip back to Weichselmünde with orders for the Dzików dragoons to march back with him to Danzig.

As they crunched through the frozen snow, James drank in the wealth and cosy security that radiated from the narrow streets of this prosperous Hanseatic city. No city like this existed in his home country, no riches the likes of this had ever yet been accumulated. But then, home was no longer home. He belonged now only where his sword could bring him wealth. That had been the decision.

He craned back, admiring all the buildings. They were mostly wooden with expensively carved fronts; some commercial, the rest dwellings. There was expensive cobbled paving everywhere, from the narrow wynds to the more substantial streets with their larger town houses. And on the waterfronts, the warehouses with their vaulting double door fronts, and high, protruding goods gibbets for winching cargo, all busy as hives.

Once he’d seen Poinatowski off, he had an appointment with a banker in the city who’d been named to him by the court at the Palazzo del Re as a ‘Mr MacDougall’ – an auspicious name, he thought, for a man of business with contacts in Hamburg and