tent. That was Lennart Torstensson, the brilliant commander of the Swedish artillery.
Torstensson chuckled. “Have no fear, Bernard. Let the imperialists taunt you as they will. Soon enough—within a year—they will taunt no longer.”
The laugh which swept the tent, this time, was neither angry nor sarcastic. Simply savage and feral. So might northern wolves bark, hearing that reindeer questioned their courage.
Torstensson’s response, and the accompanying laughter, was enough. Saxe-Weimar’s nod turned into a deep bow, directed at the king. “It would be my honor and privilege, Your Majesty.”
Gustav clapped his hands together. “Excellent! In the meantime—” He turned to one of his cavalry commanders, Johann Banér. “That small garrison is still at Badenburg, I trust?”
Banér cocked his head. “The Scots, you mean? The cavalry troop under Mackay’s command?”
“Yes, them. Alexander Mackay, as I recall. A promising young officer.”
Oxenstierna, judicious as ever, refrained from commenting on that last remark. You spent less than an hour in his company, Gustav. Based on that you call him “a promising young officer”? But he left the words unspoken. The king, he was quite sure, was under no illusions. He simply wanted—almost desperately—to bring confidence and good cheer into a day of gloom and horror. Besides, unlike Banér, Axel knew of Mackay’s real mission.
Gustav continued: “Send a courier to Mackay, ordering him to remain in Thuringia. I don’t expect him to hold Badenburg against any serious assault, of course. If he’s pressed, he can retreat into the Thuringen Forest. I simply want him there to report on Tilly’s movements.” He gave Oxenstierna a quick glance. “But have that courier report to me, before you send him off. I’ll have more detailed instructions.”
Banér nodded. The king turned to Hesse-Kassel.
“William, I can provide you with nothing in the way of direct assistance either. But your situation is less desperate. Tilly will move on
Torstensson chuckled. “Have no fear, Bernard. Let the imperialists taunt you as they will. Soon enough—within a year—they will taunt no longer.”
The laugh which swept the tent, this time, was neither angry nor sarcastic. Simply savage and feral. So might northern wolves bark, hearing that reindeer questioned their courage.
Torstensson’s response, and the accompanying laughter, was enough. Saxe-Weimar’s nod turned into a deep bow, directed at the king. “It would be my honor and privilege, Your Majesty.”
Gustav clapped his hands together. “Excellent! In the meantime—” He turned to one of his cavalry commanders, Johann Banér. “That small garrison is still at Badenburg, I trust?”
Banér cocked his head. “The Scots, you mean? The cavalry troop under Mackay’s command?”
“Yes, them. Alexander Mackay, as I recall. A promising young officer.”
Oxenstierna, judicious as ever, refrained from commenting on that last remark. You spent less than an hour in his company, Gustav. Based on that you call him “a promising young officer”? But he left the words unspoken. The king, he was quite sure, was under no illusions. He simply wanted—almost desperately—to bring confidence and good cheer into a day of gloom and horror. Besides, unlike Banér, Axel knew of Mackay’s real mission.
Gustav continued: “Send a courier to Mackay, ordering him to remain in Thuringia. I don’t expect him to hold Badenburg against any serious assault, of course. If he’s pressed, he can retreat into the Thuringen Forest. I simply want him there to report on Tilly’s movements.” He gave Oxenstierna a quick glance. “But have that courier report to me, before you send him off. I’ll have more detailed instructions.”
Banér nodded. The king turned to Hesse-Kassel.
“William, I can provide you with nothing in the way of direct assistance either. But your situation is less desperate. Tilly will move on