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1635 (Balkans/Southern Germany): They had wintered in Belgrade, proceeding north once the spring runoff had drained away from the marshes of southern Hungary, marching along what they call the Old Crusader Road. For while the sea passage of the Fourth Crusade burns most in the Roman psyche, they have not forgotten that it was by land that the first crusaders came.
The army that Manuel Philanthropenos commands, at 25000 strong, is small by the standards of the previous year, but it is a lean and tough force. Its constituent elements include the Akoimetoi, now at full strength again, and the Chaldeans. They had been part of Mauromanikos’ force closing the Serbian back-door and thus, much to their annoyance, missed the battle of Thessaloniki. Both formations are eager for revenge.
Yet their desire for revenge cannot compare to the rest of the force, a mix of Macedonian, Bulgarian, and Helladic tourmai, all of which have seen their lands ravaged by the allies. The battle of Thessaloniki was good, but a little ‘armed pilgrimage’, to use the Latin terminology, up the Old Crusader Road would be better.
As the Roman army marches to Buda, linking up with the Hungarian army, relations with the Magyars are cool. There is no love lost on either side; too many on both sides have lost loved ones, either in this last war or in the War of Mohacs. The inhabitants of Buda make it very clear they will take up arms if the Roman soldiers enter the city; the Romans encamp outside.
The initial object is the conquest of Austria for Hungary, per the terms of the Treaty of Belgrade. This is a fairly easy task; many of the Austrian fortifications already have Hungarian garrisons, courtesy of King Stephan’s offer to protect the region against d’Este last year. Vienna is not one of those settlements but the burghers there have no loyalty to the House of Wittelsbach and many are very eager to restore the already-centuries-old connection to the Kingdom of Hungary. As a result, Vienna holds out a mere fortnight before surrendering to the Hungarians on generous terms. Ten days later King Stephan rides into the city with crowds cheering, and for many Viennese the cheers are genuine.
The Romans, while passing through Hungary and Austria, are generally well behaved, but as they cross over the border into Bavaria they quickly turn murderous. In their capacity for destruction, they yield nothing to the Allied ravagers that left Upper Macedonia as a ‘shattered reef’. In fact, some of the scouts doing much of the burning and butchering are former members of the partisan communes of Upper Macedonia, who learned their trade in that most brutal war and most eager to ply their skills here.
The Lady Elizabeth has been trying to broker a peace with the Romans, offering what seems to her like reasonable concessions that fulfill all the Roman objectives. She will acknowledge that the Wittelsbachs have no claim on the Roman throne. She will acknowledge whatever ‘rearrangements’ Demetrios III chooses to do in Italy. She will cede Austria to Hungary; its acquisition by the Wittelsbachs was legally dubious after all. She’s also willing to not make a fuss over the annexation of Salzburg by Hungary either. Finally she’s even willing to abandon all Wittelsbach prisoners in Roman hands. When she makes the last provision, it is not her finest moment, but she reasons that it is better to abandon them then have Romans rampaging through Bavaria killing even more of her subjects.
That is the limit she is willing to give, even at this point. But that would, she thinks, be enough. The problem she faces though is the Roman policy toward Germany in mid-1635, or more precisely the lack of any real policy toward Germany. Beyond the conquest of Austria for Hungary, the Romans have no real plan or goals. Whipped up by propaganda from the war, reveling at the might at their disposal, their goal is revenge. Their goal is blood and fire, a small repayment for all the suffering inflicted on them from the west.
There is a vague nod to a goal when Demetrios III speculates about the demolishing of the Holy Roman Empire, a ‘German farce perpetuated by a scheming pontiff’ as the Basileus describes it. But he doesn’t seem too serious about that; if he were the Emperor would’ve committed far more than Philanthropenos’ and d’Este’s relatively small armies. This isn’t Poland or Italy where realpolitik holds sway. The Romans want blood.
There is a noticeable exception to this. The Roman ambassadors to Antwerp, Bern, and King’s Harbor all argue strenuously in favor of Elizabeth’s overtures. The King’s Harbor and Antwerp ambassadors go even further, suggesting that all Wittelsbach prisoners be returned without any ransom demands and that Elizabeth even be granted a subsidy, all to help her fight the real enemy of today, the Triple Monarchy. All three ambassadors agree that a Triune acquisition of the Rhine would be disastrous.
Such arguments fall on deaf ears though. Most Romans give no thought to the Rhine; it is far away and there are no Romans there. There used to be, but the undeclared naval war against the Triunes that started after the battle of Guernsey in 1575 ended with the Triunes wiping Roman shipping from the Atlantic. So the Romans, as a salve to their pride, often say that the loss of said shipping isn’t really that important.
Demetrios III, while still a student at the University of Constantinople, had invested his earnings in one of the Antwerp runs that was destroyed by Triune privateers. That fiasco, and the humiliation of having to go cap in hand back to his father for money and being forced to have a very annoying roommate because of the limits of his new stipend, meant that as a young man Demetrios Sideros tried to forget the Rhine even existed.
Now as Emperor he certainly can’t pretend any more that the Rhine doesn’t exist or ignore the dangers of the growth of Triune power. But given his antipathy to the region given his earlier experiences, it is easy for the calls of vengeance, fueled by the contents of his own writings, to override his judgment.
And so Elizabeth’s overtures are of absolutely no use. It is far from the only woe she faces. The incapacity of her brother the Holy Roman Emperor raises serious questions about the leadership of Germany. In his occasional bouts of lucidity, Theodor discusses abdicating, but there is the question of who would succeed him. Lacking a direct male heir, he wants Elizabeth to be his successor, but while she can rule the Wittelsbach lands she cannot be Emperor. The vast Wittelsbach patrimony across the Holy Roman Emperor would give her substantial influence even without the Imperial title, but that is not the same.
There are three male relative options for a successor for Theodor. One is Elizabeth’s infant son, born in the fall of 1634. His name is Karl Manfred, named for Charlemagne and Manfred I, a defiant name but that hardly makes up for his lack of years. The second is their cousin, the Prince-Elector of the Palatine Otto Henry II. The Prince-Electors of the Palatine are of a cadet branch of the Imperial Wittelsbachs, with frequent intermarriages between the two branches. The third option is Duke Eberhard III of Württemberg, Elizabeth’s husband. While he doesn’t have the rank or Wittelsbach blood of Otto Henry II, he is Elizabeth’s preferred choice because while Karl Manfred is too young now, she wants him to wear the Imperial crown someday, which will be more likely if his father wears it now rather than her Palatine cousin.
However this is ignoring a key player who is not a Wittelsbach relation, Ottokar of Bohemia. Many historians have questioned exactly what Ottokar wants at this point; it’s possible Ottokar himself doesn’t know. He certainly wants to become Holy Roman Emperor and supplant the Wittelsbachs, and is willing to use the Triunes to do so. Yet at the same time he wants to take over an intact Holy Roman Empire, preferably without an overly-powerful Triple Monarchy next door. For the moment he is biding his time and hedging his bets, but there is no guarantee he will stay that way for long.
For now, lucid Theodor and Elizabeth agree to keep the situation as is. It cannot last, but it is holding for now, and there is the concern that if they push for either Eberhard III or Otto Henry II to succeed Theodor, they’ll drive Ottokar firmly into opposition, likely into Henri II’s arms.
The Roman-Hungarian army follows the River Danube as it crosses over into Bavaria, linking up with d’Este’s troops at Passau. Passau is an independent bishopric, promptly garrisoned by lead elements of the Hungarian forces, who ride forward in an effort to safeguard the region from Roman reprisals. The Romans behave, grudgingly, as this is now allied territory, but they demand a large ‘contribution’ from the countryside, already severely stripped by d’Este last year.
That is the dynamic as the Romans and Hungarians proceed, turning down the Isar River towards Munich. The Romans ravage and wreck, filling the Bavarian horizon with the plumes of burning villages. Hungarian soldiers commit their own share of atrocities, but everyone, Romans, Hungarians, Germans, and the Bohemians watching nervously from the north, agree that the Romans are the more brutal. It is even worse than d’Este last year.
Tensions between the Romans and Hungarians, which were already elevated when back in Buda, only intensify. Strategos Philanthropenos and Prince Esterhazy, commander of the Hungarian army who was elevated shortly after his return to Buda, do not get along very well personally. The Prince sees little point in the expedition after Vienna falls, recognizing that the Romans have no real purpose here other than smashing.
Still the Romans and Hungarians press on, facing little opposition until they reach the walls of Munich itself on July 29. This will not be like last year. While the Romans and Hungarians don’t possess heavy siege artillery, they have twelve and fifteen-pounder guns, much harder-hitting than the light field artillery that had been most of d’Este’s teeth in his previous attack.
Another difference is that Elizabeth is not in the city. Recognizing that the city probably can’t be held, unlike last year, and concerned about what might transpire in the Holy Roman Empire if they are trapped, Theodor, Elizabeth, and Karl Manfred have fled, leaving the city under the command of Count Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemburg. The family’s objective is Württemberg, where Elizabeth’s husband can protect them. When he hears the news Manuel Philanthropenos embarks on an audacious and ambitious course.
The army will divide. The Hungarians, along with a contingent of the Roman army commanded by d’Este, will remain and besiege Munich. D’Este has much better working relations with Tamás Dobó, Count of Várpalota, who’d commanded Hungarian troops in Austria last year and had sparred with d’Este. Meanwhile Philanthropenos will lead eighteen thousand Romans westward.
There are several reasons for this. On the more selfish level, Philanthropenos is tired of dealing with the Hungarians. While in Mesopotamia he has proven himself to be a brilliant field commander, that is quite different from being the generalissimo of a coalition force, and at the second task he is far from great. Furthermore, cutting loose and undertaking a great raid into the heart of Germany, much like his raid into Mesopotamia and Syria, is highly appealing, far more prestigious than a tedious siege. One bad thing about having a great family name is the constant need to live up to it.
On a more strategic level, capturing Theodor and Elizabeth would be a greater coup than even the capture of Munich, never mind the satisfaction of dragging Theodor through a Roman encampment in chains. There are quite a few Roman soldiers who bitterly regret that he slipped through their fingers after Thessaloniki and are keen to fix that error. Also if he strikes west, he threatens the remaining Wittelsbach power bases in southwestern Germany, namely Württemberg and the Palatine.
Now it could be pointed out that Wittelsbach forces in southwest Germany are also threatening the Triunes. But Manuel Philanthropenos is a soldier, not a diplomat or politician. He is not at war with the Triunes, and his only brief regarding them is to make sure he does not start a war with them. But he is at war with the Wittelsbachs, meaning his mission is to destroy their power until he hears otherwise from Constantinople.
Breaking camp from the west bank of the Isar, Philanthropenos and his forces march west, trapezites flying forward in pursuit of the Imperial Wittelsbach family. Near the western border of Bavaria, trapezites ambush the party in a dawn surprise assault, scattering the Wittelsbachs and their faithful retainers. Elizabeth, clutching Karl Manfred to her, escapes, but Theodor disappears into the woods.
Two days later Roman trapezites ride into the village of Kissing on the trail of Theodor. They look around the village but can get no cooperation from the villagers, despite offers of money. The murderous reputation of the Romans mean that even while the money is tempting, no Bavarians are willing to draw attention to themselves by offering assistance. Best to not be noticed. Not finding anything promising in their quick search and unable to do much threatening since the Bishop of Augsburg with a contingent of a thousand musketeers is just 11 kilometers away, the Romans leave.
Two days after that, Elizabeth rides into town with two hundred of the Bishop’s men, along with eight hundred provided by the Duke of Teck. The cousin of her husband, the Duke of Teck had arrived in the nick of time and driven off the Roman horse chasing her. There they find Theodor, dressed in a peasant smock and helping a group of peasants dig a ditch. The image of the Holy Roman Emperor, the heir of Charlemagne, in the muck wielding a spade alongside a group of lowly peasants, is an unforgettable sight. The story spreads wildly, the tale being told in many a pamphlet across the continent, with popular woodcuts appearing by January of 1636, the ultimate sign of the price of hubris. That is why he is known today as Theodor the Digger. Because, as Demetrios III described it, “he who would command all the earth, cannot even rule the earth held by a single spade”.
Now protected by the Duke of Teck and Bishop of Augsburg, the Imperial Wittelsbachs are whisked away to the west, making their capture by Romans a practical impossibility. Still Manuel presses on with his attack, determined to lay waste to the Wittelsbach loyalists of southwestern Germany.
The wreckage here is more strategic than in Bavaria, with the focus on burning rather than killing. Having men scatter to hunt down random peasants would be a dangerous dispersal in a foreign and hostile landscape, but anything of value that isn’t sucked up for the Romans’ own usage is destroyed whenever possible. As a Roman staff officer puts it in a phrase that comes to define the entire campaign, they advance “with darkness before us, and destruction behind”.
