Chapter 1670 - 1576: Two Young Men

Chapter 1670: Chapter 1576: Two Young Men

Beside Hofburg Square, Lucas walked over to a tricolor flag that had been knocked down by fleeing citizens. Humming the "Marching Song" under his breath, he bent down and set it upright.

On the open ground not far away, five or six hundred freshly trained National Guard recruits were milling about in chaotic ranks.

Lucas had just read the War Committee’s report; this should be the last unit of recruits that could still be thrown into the front line.

Faced with tens of thousands from the Russian and Austrian Army, they were nothing more than a faint breeze, hardly noticeable.

Two French "Gemstone IV" carriages raced past on the street nearby; Lucas remembered those belonged to Member of Parliament Erich’s family.

He shook his head. At yesterday’s Congress session, barely a third of the Members of Parliament showed up; some had gone off to Constance "to lead the revolution" half a month ago.

The "Gemstone IV" at the back suddenly turned around and came to a halt.

Member of Parliament Bergman jumped down from the carriage, strode quickly up to him, and said urgently, "Lucas, why are you still here?"

Lucas drove the flagpole hard into the soil; his tired eyes were nevertheless very calm. "Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?"

Bergman pointed at the carriage behind him. "Don’t bother packing your things, I know you don’t own much. There happens to be an empty seat in the carriage."

Lucas shook his head and went on humming the rousing tune.

Bergman pressed him, "Come on, once we get to Constance there will still be hope."

"Hope?"

Lucas repeated the word softly, but in his mind he involuntarily drifted back to that night last year, in the ink‑scented basement of the Stilz Society. Gloria stood behind the battered printing press, her apron stained with ink, waving the freshly printed leaflets in her hand and saying lightly to him, "Look, these are the hopes of the Viennese."

Back then her eyes were full of light, and in that instant he fell in love with her.

Lucas exhaled. He had promised Gloria that he would let her see an Austria that was free and equal, where people could speak out loud and would no longer have to go hungry.

Though she had already been killed by the Secret Police, he could not forget the promise he had made.

He turned and walked up to a guard, took the Flintlock Gun from the man’s back, and lifted it toward Bergman. "I’m not leaving. As of now I’m Captain Scheller. I’m going to the northern part of the city."

In the North Suburb of Vienna, the National Guard manned the last line of defense against the fierce assault of the Bohemian army.

Bergman glanced at the soldiers around them and lowered his voice. "Are you insane? You know that line won’t hold for even three days!"

Lucas smiled. "Someone has to stand to the very end. We can’t have future generations mention the Vienna revolution of 1802 only to recall that a bunch of people shouted a few slogans and then ran away the moment things looked bad."

Bergman’s expression turned slightly awkward. He shook his head. "No, this isn’t running away, it’s just..."

Lucas slung the Flintlock Gun over his shoulder and clapped Bergman hard on the arm. "I know, old friend—this is to keep the flame alive.

"Go. Tell everyone what happened in Vienna, that we did not submit, and that one day we will win victory."

With that, he turned and walked toward the recruits on the square, without looking back even once.

He thought again of those nights when Gloria dodged the Secret Police in the alleys, the girl gripping his hand tightly, saying, "You will forever be my hero."

His heart trembled for a moment, then he carefully straightened his collar and hat and stiffened his spine, so that he could truly carry himself like a hero.

That afternoon, under the lead of the Speaker of the National Assembly, the last relief force pushed against the flow of people fleeing the city and hurried to the northern defenses.

The last lingering warmth of Vienna’s freedom was carried away with them.

...

Rome.

Beside a farmhouse on the West Bank of the Tiber River, Charles excitedly ran his hands over a twelve-pounder streaked with verdigris, then turned his head and whispered to the "merchant" who had transported the Cannon, "I thought only those Six-pound Cannon were easy to move. I didn’t expect Major Paken to get his hands on a ’big fellow.’

"In a few days I want to watch this thing blast open the gate of Castel Sant’Angelo with my own eyes!"

The "merchant" gave a discreet cough, scanned the surroundings to make sure no one was paying attention, then leaned close to Charles and said quietly, "I’m very sorry, Your Highness, but I’m afraid you must leave Rome."

Charles froze. "Leave? Why?"

The "merchant" took a credential from his pocket and showed it to Charles. "In fact, I am Savien from the Security Bureau. By order of the Regent, I must escort you to Milan at once."

Charles’s pupils contracted, and even his speech faltered. "How did my brother know I was here?"

Captain Savien did not answer; he bowed slightly instead. "Your Highness, forgive my bluntness, but your present situation is extremely dangerous. The Holy See’s spies may attempt to assassinate anyone connected to the Free Rome Party at any moment."

Charles clenched his fists and glanced toward the few people standing by another Cannon. "I fear nothing. Look— even girls dare take up bombs for the freedom of Rome. How can I shrink back in fear?"

Indeed, after these days together, he already knew that Josiah was actually a young lady, merely dressed as a man to make revolutionary work easier.

Savien’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Your Highness, in truth what happens in Rome has nothing to do with you. You must leave..."

Charles looked at him intently. "Any civilized person ought not to remain indifferent to what is happening here."

"You have already done a great deal for them."

"Just look at them." Charles’s gaze swept over Josiah and the others again; he lowered his voice. "They don’t even know how to choose a rally point, haven’t even arranged a retreat route. If I leave, they’ll surely be slaughtered to the last by the Vatican Guard."

A smile flickered across Savien’s face. "It is indeed as you say. That is why the Regent had the Security Bureau deliver more than two thousand Flintlock Guns, along with the twelve-pounder before you."

"I told you, they have no military foundation."

Savien nodded. "Please allow me to finish, Your Highness. The Regent’s ’list’ also includes two Captains from Modena who once fought under General Moreau in Venice, as well as twenty-four artillerymen from Milan and Genoa. Surely you don’t intend to have your friends operate these Cannon?"

Charles stared wide-eyed. "You’re serious?!"

"Yes, Your Highness. The Regent can bestow a Declaration of Human Rights upon France, and likewise upon the Romans." Savien paused, then added, "You know, what needs doing here could be done by anyone—except you personally."

Charles’s expression relaxed. "All right then, I’ll go with you."

...

May 15, 1802.

Rome erupted in an uprising of unprecedented scale.

Tens of thousands of citizens poured into the streets, surrounding the Vatican Palace and St. Peter’s Cathedral, demanding that the Pope sign a document pledging never again to interfere in secular affairs.

Very soon, large contingents of Secret Police and Vatican Guard moved in to disperse the crowds, but this time they were no longer facing unarmed civilians.