Franz-Josef allowed his gaze to wander around his stateroom inside the steam-powered corvette. Viribus Unitis was the most diminutive of his warships, with only one gun deck—with most of the cannons removed for this trip. She was just the right vessel to ply the relatively narrow waters of both the Nile and the Suez Canal, and also to demonstrate Austro-Hungarian might to all who had gathered here in Egypt. The ship might have a screw-driven propeller beneath her ironclad frame, but she also maintained the glory of a full sail plan, and the massive sheets made a glorious noise while they were under way, befitting the precious cargo she carried in the form of an emperor and king. The interior was a miniature re-creation of several of the staterooms at Hofburg Palace. Small, but just as well adorned with crystal chandeliers, painted ceilings, and intricate wall moldings.
The ship had been named for Franz-Josef’s personal motto, “With United Forces.” He laughed mirthlessly to himself. The motto once had been resplendently appropriate, but since Prussia’s ascendancy two years ago, it was now almost a mocking epithet. Despite the splendor of the floating imperial court that was this ship, very few diplomats in the multinational flotilla seemed impressed.
He allowed his mind to temporarily veer off to what he had determined was not a primary focus for today, that of the blöd idiotisch Prussians. How had his generals permitted such a defeat, and in only seven weeks? He shook his head. It should have proved a simple effort to solve the complex problem of German reunification.
For centuries, the German world had been largely overshadowed by two powers, Catholic Austria and Protestant Prussia, while the rest of Germany was split into a variety of smaller duchies and states, including the sizable kingdoms of Hanover, Saxony, and Bavaria.
Austria and Prussia had fought together against France in the Napoleonic Wars. After their conclusion, the German states had been reorganized into thirty-seven more unified states, known as the German Confederation. Austria, however, was the truly dominant power across the confederation, as she should have been.
But Prussia was jealous. The execrable Otto von Bismarck believed that Prussia should be dominant, and hadn’t the Protestants been attempting to assert themselves in such a manner since Martin Luther?
So Bismarck had deliberately challenged Franz-Josef for control of the confederation, just as Luther had challenged Mother Church for control of the hearts and minds of Christendom. The first scuffle had occurred in 1864, when Austria and Prussia both invaded the Schleswig duchy, a much-disputed territory. The two countries reached a truce, which was of course quickly broken by the Prussians. The French, British, and Russians all got involved along the way, but it was Eugénie’s husband, Napoléon III, who was most important to the cause. In response to Bismarck’s pleading, Napoléon III had convinced the Italians to side with the Prussians, with the Prussians agreeing to give Venetia to Italy if they won.
In turn, Franz-Josef tried to win Napoléon III over by offering to surrender Venetia to him if he would simply remain neutral in the conflict. He was unsuccessful, and so he was forced to lead a war. Franz-Josef still seethed when he considered the poor performance of the German states allied with him. Except for the Saxons. Wild men, they were. Austria should have handily won this conflict, but it was not so.
And what was the result for the House of Habsburg for all of her trouble? A humiliating peace treaty, with Austria agreeing to all of Prussia’s terms. Austria excluded from all German affairs. The formation of a new Prussian-led North German Confederation. Venetia given over to the Italians. States south of the River Main permitted to remain independent. Franz-Josef had attempted to negotiate terms that would leave Saxony independent, as payment for her good service to the House of Habsburg, but he wasn’t able to achieve even that tiny victory. Just thinking about it made him want to pace back and forth until he excavated down into the ship’s hold.
Then Napoléon III once more stuck his colossal Schnauze into the entire affair, attempting to extract even more territorial concessions. Thank Gott he wasn’t able to add any further shame in the end, but his interference in what was already a brutal debacle for Austria still stung.
Franz-Josef shook his head, clearing the memory of treachery and betrayal. He must remember to focus on what was important today. What was it? Oh, yes, de Lesseps and Eugénie. How could two people aboard the same ship drive the emperor to such wildly divergent emotions, when he prided himself on complete self-control?
Franz-Josef had been hesitant when a French messenger had come to court bearing a gilded invitation to the Suez Canal opening ceremonies. But the Frenchman had followed the etiquette of the Viennese court flawlessly, giving the emperor no room for complaint and thus making Franz-Josef feel compelled to attend. He had briefly considered sending someone else in his stead, but if de Lesseps had gone to this much trouble to entice Franz-Josef to come, perhaps it might be of benefit to Austria.
Even if there would be Prussian representatives there.
Besides, Elisabeth had been overly irritable and testy as of late. In the fifteen years that they had been married, Franz-Josef had loved his wife with a passion that bordered on infatuation. His mother had chastised him that he was a Dummkopf at times, unable to have two things in his brain at once without one falling out, and that his fixation on his wife prevented him from attending to matters of state.
Mutter had never liked Elisabeth, though, not since Franz-Josef had stood up to her for once in his entire life. He had insisted that he would not marry Elisabeth’s sister, as had been planned in excruciating detail for him, but that he would have Elisabeth or no one. She had been an ethereal, graceful sixteen-year-old when he met her—seven years his junior—with long, blonde hair that would later darken, and skin so flawless it was if he had been introduced to a Mengs painting of an angel. Or of the Virgin herself.
As if the angel had an agreement with the devil, though, Elisabeth—or Sisi, as she had become known—had not aged at all in the sixteen years of their marriage. She had doubled in years, but was just as slender, just as exquisite, as she had been the day he was first introduced to her and had opened his chest, pulled out his own heart, and given it to her for safekeeping.
His affection had rarely been returned, although they had managed to produce four children, including the ill-fated Sophie. At first, Franz-Josef was convinced that Sisi was shy and would learn to love him, as he was, after all, the emperor.
But the more time that went on, the more distant Sisi became, as if she were emotionally floating off on wings. She became more and more obsessed with maintaining that delicate beauty that made others gasp in awe, as if they were perpetually witnessing a perfect golden butterfly testing out her wings after breaking out of the confines of a cocoon. Franz-Josef counted himself among the numerous spectators.
Without turning his head, he glanced at the portrait of Sisi that hung on the wall of his cabin. Normally kept across from his desk in his private study, away from any prying eyes, the painting was his favorite, and he had insisted that it be wrapped up carefully and brought along on this trip. It was an intimate portrait of his wife displaying her long, curled hair in two sections, crossed almost provocatively across her chest, with one arm atop the other beneath her breasts and the tresses, creating a mystery for the gazer as to whether it was her hair or her breasts her arms supported. Franz-Josef was consumed with desire every time he laid eyes on the image, even though he knew the desire would have to be slaked elsewhere. Sisi wore a flowing white gown in the portrait, once more reinforcing the idea of virginal beauty.
Maintaining that beauty, though, apparently required that most of her time be spent with her ladies behind locked doors, experimenting with all manner of potions and preparations he could not begin to understand. And why should he? He was the emperor.
Franz-Josef had been willing to endure anything for his beloved Sisi, even when she became interested in traveling without him. Eventually, though, she suggested that perhaps he would be happier if he fou
nd some appropriate companionship during the times she was away.
So besotted was he with his wife that he obeyed the suggestion, not because of his grand desire for a mistress but to please her. And it worked. He and Sisi had worked out a kind of friendship with each other, and they had even managed to produce their fourth child last year, little Marie Valerie. Mother had once again proclaimed him ignorant of the situation, stating that Sisi had only come to his bed as a reward for his having done her bidding in the compromise with Hungary. It had concluded in 1867, and gave that country more autonomy than it had had in the past, an idea that Sisi had fervently supported.
Franz-Josef ignored his mother, concluding that Sisi had simply had a soft, weak moment for her husband, although it occasionally gave him pause that Sisi referred to Marie Valerie as her “Hungarian child.” Rumors had wafted over to him that she was only speaking Hungarian with their youngest daughter, intending it to be the child’s native tongue.
The Hungarians, though, were not the important issue at hand. The French were. Especially Eugénie, who was the first woman who had stirred genuine desire in him since he met Sisi all those years ago. The women were similar in that they both had beautiful, arresting features, but whereas Sisi maintained an aura of innocence, Eugénie flirted with him outrageously. Sisi fanatically protected her image, whereas Eugénie wore her elegant looks carelessly, as if she were supremely confident that they would never dare abandon her. How in the vault of heaven had a woman like that been pledged to Napoléon III, he a Wurm if ever there was one?
Perhaps it was enrobing himself in the exotic headiness of Egypt that was causing him to forget himself with Eugénie. Or maybe it was simply that he hadn’t seen Sisi in so long, as consumed as she was in Hungary with their new daughter.
The thought crept into his mind that he might be falling in love with the bewitching Eugénie, but he swept that thought away immediately. The emperor of Austria did not succumb to schoolboy crushes. Besides, France presented a different problem than just his secret attachment to the empress.
It was de Lesseps who frustrated him, in an opposite manner to how Eugénie did. Ever since arriving in Egypt, Franz-Josef had attempted to have de Lesseps pay court to him aboard Viribus Unitis, to demonstrate Austria’s stature to the rest of the delegation, despite Prussia’s winning chess move on the European board. Prussia might have temporarily eclipsed Franz-Josef’s country, but the emperor would regain the resplendent glory the House of Habsburg once enjoyed and was famous for . . . even if he must do it single-handedly. It was his duty to maintain his family’s honor. Fortunately, there were others to help him with the recalcitrant de Lesseps. The Frenchman had responded to Franz-Josef’s letters throughout the Nile voyage with vague and unsatisfying answers. Not once had de Lesseps boarded Viribus Unitis to pay homage to the floating Viennese court.
Speaking of which, there was a telltale scratching at the door to his spacious cabin. “Eintreten,” Franz-Josef barked as he checked his own fixed positioning, ensuring both of his black-booted feet were pointing directly forward and that his back was ramrod straight.
As expected, it was Karl Dorn, his chamberlain, who gently opened just one side of the two doors. Both doors could be opened at once if, and only if, a guest of appropriate stature were entering. A chamberlain was accorded no such respect. “Your Highness,” Dorn said, bowing and scraping in appropriate court ritual and finally rising, his eyes modestly downcast. “I have just spoken with the captain, and we will be in Ismailia in approximately an hour.”
“Approximately?” Franz-Josef demanded. “Or exactly?” Punctuality was important. Without punctuality, there was no order. Without order, there could be no protocol. Without protocol, there could be no court ceremony. Without court ceremony, the grandeur of the House of Habsburg would be tarnished, and a tarnished house was sure to fall. Therefore, punctuality meant the very survival of his family.
Dorn bowed again. “I believe that I can initiate our disembarking ceremony now, which will have Your Highness ready to step off at the precise moment that all of the other flotilla ships have finished disgorging their less illustrious passengers, thus enabling Your Highness to make an entrance with all eyes upon you.”
The emperor noted that Dorn hadn’t quite answered the question, but if the chamberlain could ensure Franz-Josef made an impression, it was forgivable. “Prince Frederick will have already disembarked?” he asked.
“I am sure of it, Your Highness.” Dorn bowed again. “The Prussian ship is ahead of ours and will be berthed much sooner.”
Franz-Josef almost permitted himself an unplanned smile. Frederick had been opposed to the war between Prussia and Austria, and argued bitterly against it with Bismarck. Because of Frederick’s dissent, Franz-Josef should have been willing to extend the man some grace, but Frederick still had that cursed Prussian blood coursing through his veins. Prussian insults ran as deep as the Danube, no matter the conciliatory attitude that the prince had taken in the recent past.
“My cloak has been pressed?” he inquired. It was his favorite cloak, of black wool with a thin edge of stoat fur and a scarlet underside, kept firmly attached to him by the military-type braids crisscrossing his chest. When draped over his matching red jacket with its gold medals, the emperor made an imposing and formidable presence.
“Of course, Your Highness. It shall be brought to you at once.”
Franz-Josef nodded, satisfied that he would be intimidating to all concerned . . .except to the lovely Eugénie. It was his hope that she would see him as dashing . . . romantic . . .even godlike. He imagined her eyes shining with tears at the sight of him, proud and tall and erect as he descended the gangplank, surrounded by impeccably liveried servants. So confident would he be in his footing, she would see that he had no need to watch his step as other mere mortals did. Franz-Josef’s contemplation of what might happen was causing that uncomfortable, primal stirring again.
There were many ways in which Eugénie could be useful, but for today, he was a man and she was a woman, and together they would be resplendent. Political vengeance was best accomplished under the cover of night when no one could witness it. Which reminded the emperor of something important.
“I vish to have this letter delivered.” Franz-Josef relaxed enough to withdraw a sealed missive from the inside of his jacket and extend it toward the chamberlain, who offered both hands, palms up, for Franz-Josef to drop it onto as though Dorn’s hands formed a salver.
Dorn glanced at the name of the addressee. “I shall have this rowed over immediately, Your Highness.” He bowed, beginning his departure, but Franz-Josef interrupted him.
“Nein. I do not vish for anyone other than you to know about this letter, which is a private matter. You will deliver it personally.”
The color drained from Dorn’s face and he visibly winced. “But I must— There are the disembarking ceremonies and I—” But Franz-Josef stopped the protests with a glare. “Of course, Your Highness, I will do this right away.”
Dorn bowed his way back out the door, taking the proper amount of time to push the door closed—not so quickly that he would give the impression of leaving in a huff and not so slowly that he could be accused of eavesdropping—and ensuring it latched with a nearly inaudible click. Franz-Josef was alone once more until the formalities of his arrival into Ismailia could be conducted. He fully expected Dorn to fulfill his new task and return in time to ensure everything went off without a single disruption.
The earlier casual Nile River cruise was over, they had survived the little turmoil at Port Said, and now the formal affairs would begin. Franz-Josef was a master of formal ritual, and this was his moment to show the British, the Russians, the Egyptians, the French, and especially the Prussians that Austria was not finished yet.
If someone else would have to be finished in order to prove it, so be it.
Chapter 13
Aboard the Egyptian ship El Mahrousa
Isma’il Pasha had had qui
te enough for one day. As hard as he was trying to impress the European nations, it seemed that none of them would comply with respect. Pasha was on very delicate ground already with the sultan, what with his own efforts to modernize Egypt and the sultan’s desire to keep foreign influences out of the Ottoman Empire and thus maintain his own stature with little regard for Pasha’s.
And now his servants were giving him trouble.
“I have told you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, no! It is my right, not Mariette’s! I am no longer just the governor, I am the khedive! He is a mere director of a museum, and French at that, so how can he claim to appreciate Egyptian antiquities more than I!?” he shouted to his cultural attaché as the two men sat on brightly colored cushions, unwrapping artifacts from the chests that sat before them, once tightly bound and now nearly destroyed by ham-handed servants rushing to do Pasha’s bidding.
It was taking days for Pasha to finish his inspection of the crates. He had been working under the cover of night aboard El Mahrousa, but now he was hastily finishing the task so that his portion could be installed in his palace when they arrived in Ismailia.
Pasha both admired and loathed Hassan, his cultural attaché, who had been trained in Europe and spoke several languages fluently. Hassan also understood antiquities, a very valuable asset in Pasha’s mind. But the man was frustratingly prim and moral. It was difficult to drag Egypt into the modern world when the very man who should support Europeanizing the country was behaving like a rebellious child.
Not that Hassan was actually rebellious about Egypt’s modernization, but he certainly seemed to be taking the side of the French where this cache of goods was concerned.
“Your Highness, is it wise to make an enemy of the director of antiquities?”
Without hesitation, Pasha instinctively reached out and slapped the man across the face for his insolence. “How dare you question my actions? Mariette is paid out of my treasury and is my creature—he does not think to become my enemy.”
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