The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 239

Chapter 239: Completing the Final Weak Link

Joseph was admiring the rolling spurs of the Alps in the distance—sightseeing was almost his greatest pleasure during the march—when he noticed a cannon stuck ahead. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse forward.

The soldiers, straining every sinew to pull the cannon free, noticed a slightly shorter figure approaching. When they turned to look, their spirits soared instantly.

“It’s His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince!”

“His Highness has come to help us pull the cannon!”

“Be careful on your side—don’t let His Highness get hurt…”

“Put your backs into it! Let His Highness see our strength!”

Although the number of soldiers hauling the cannon didn’t increase, the previously immovable artillery suddenly lurched forward. The 1.5-ton 12-pounder cannon broke free from the thawing ice pit in an instant.

“Thank you, Your Highness!” The soldiers cheered again, their faces beaming as they doffed their hats to salute the Crown Prince.

Joseph nodded in return, clapped the dirt from his hands, and remounted his horse.

In truth, how much strength could his not-yet-15-year-old frame contribute? But every soldier would remember the moment the Crown Prince joined them to pull the cannon, transforming it into morale that would surge on the battlefield.

However, Joseph’s presence on this campaign was not merely to provide a “morale aura.” What he needed to accomplish this time required his personal oversight; otherwise, the officers might not dare to act decisively.

...

After marching further, the sky began to darken, and the Guard Corps started setting up camp for the evening meal.

Perna led the newly formed nursing corps, driving several wagons through the camp.

The nurses called out crisply along the way:

“Make sure to drink hot water!”

“Anyone caught drinking cold water won’t be allowed to listen to Loreina sing later.”

“Who else hasn’t taken water yet?”

They skillfully ladled hot water from the barrels on the wagons, distributing it to the soldiers who responded with teasing whistles and laughter.

Joseph also received a cup from Perna. It was hot tea today. The army nurse had effectively taken over the duties of his personal physician and now seemed poised to usurp even Eymond’s role.

Just as Joseph prepared to savor the tea, a messenger arrived from the north, galloping at full speed.

Eymond took the letter from the messenger and presented it to Joseph. “Your Highness, it’s from Versailles.”

Joseph noted the private seal of Bishop Brienne on the envelope, sipped his tea, and said, “Read it aloud.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Eymond broke the seal, scanned the letter, and reported, “Your Highness, Bishop Brienne states that he continues to convene meetings daily, as per your instructions, to discuss ‘how to swiftly reconcile with the military.’”

Joseph nodded with a faint smile.

He was well aware that Versailles was rife with spies for the military aristocracy. This performance was meant to convince them that the royal family was hesitant to antagonize the military and was seeking a way to de-escalate.

His primary concern was that the military might suddenly yield, collectively admitting fault at Versailles, which would make it difficult to deal a decisive blow.

Eymond continued, “Additionally, Bishop Brienne mentioned that the Duke of Broye has set out for Versailles and has written a letter affirming his unwavering loyalty to His Majesty. General Rossignol has also sent word from Paris, saying he will arrive shortly.”

This information surprised Joseph slightly.

Previously, he had singled out a few influential military nobles who had not been directly involved in the conspiracy, writing to them on behalf of the royal family. The letters stated that obedience to the King’s orders would ensure continued royal trust, with hints of important positions as rewards.

He had expected that these individuals might switch sides once the military was subdued.

However, he had not anticipated their acute political instincts, leading them to make the “optimal choice” immediately.

The Duke of Broye, in particular, was noteworthy. Though advanced in years and commanding a modest force, he had been a Marshal under Louis XV and retained considerable clout in the military.

After the current crisis was resolved, the Duke would be ideally suited to reorganize the remnants of the old military under royal authority.

Joseph pondered briefly, then returned to his tent to draft a reply to Brienne. He instructed the bishop to temporarily withhold news of the Duke of Broye’s defection and authorized the promise of the War Minister position to the old Duke.

Under Joseph’s military reform plans, the General Staff was soon to be established to handle all operational command and troop movements. The War Minister’s role would diminish in importance, making it a perfect bargaining chip.

...

At dawn the next day, the Guard Corps resumed their march to the sound of martial music.

Looking southward, Joseph asked Berthier beside him, “General, how far are we from Montpellier?”

Berthier replied promptly, “Ninety-six kilometers, Your Highness.”

He added, “We should encounter Montcalm’s forces in three days.”

Joseph nodded, taking a deep breath. Three more days, and the royal family’s final weak link would be addressed. At that point, nothing would stand in his way of propelling France to new heights.

...

In the west of France, in the city of Montcontour, General Seale of the Paris Corps gazed impassively at the blood-stained streets. Soldiers escorted captured ringleaders of the rioters past him.

An adjutant rode up, shouting, “General, the rioters on Long Flagstone Street have also been dispersed. There are no more insurgents within the city. A total of 122 arrests have been made.”

General Seale nodded coolly. In impoverished regions like Brittany, such troublemakers were to be expected. Even after the Church began distributing food, the rioters had continued their disturbances and even looted church supplies.

His corps, hardened on the Flanders frontier, had no difficulty dealing with such rabble.

He turned to his adjutant. “Where is the next disturbance?”

“To the west of Anjou, in Angrie, General.”

“That’s a fair distance. Issue orders: rest for half a day and set out early tomorrow morning.”

The Paris Corps’ mission was to eliminate scattered pockets of stubborn rebels, with their farthest objective in Béarn in the south. Time was of the essence.

...

Meanwhile, near Valence, northeast of Montpellier, another small skirmish was unfolding.

In the northern village of Amgne, several hundred rioters surrounded a nobleman’s manor, attempting to breach it.

At the rear, near the clocktower, a sergeant handed a telescope back to the officer beside him, frowning. “Second Lieutenant Bwanaba, we have only fifty men, while they number three or four hundred.”

The young lieutenant’s eyes glinted with excitement. He pointed to the rioters and addressed the soldiers around him.

“What do you see?”

No one replied.

Bwanaba raised his voice. “That is our chance for glory!

“The enemy is weak and untrained, while you are seasoned warriors.

“If you follow me closely, we’ll crush them in an instant!

“Now, follow me!”

He drew his sword and strode toward the rioters, as though the thought of his men hesitating never crossed his mind.

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