Two Italian-speaking officers stord into General Keim's tent, clutching newspapers in their hands. Forgetting formalities, they shouted angrily:
"General, these damned journalists…!"
"We can't just let this slide! General, we need to confront the French about this!"
The words pierced through General Keim's thoughts, filling him with an impulsive surge of energy. Yes, if he could surround those few thousand French troops and humiliate them, tomorrow's headlines would be his vindication.
As for entering Modena without permission? Hah! Such a small nation wouldn't dare challenge him.
Keim shot to his feet, the order to "mobilize the troops" on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly froze.
He rembered the French flags he had seen the day before—decorated with dolphins and fleur-de-lis. That ant those troops belonged to the French Royal Guard Corps.
Keim had fought in the Battle of Liegnitz and personally witnessed fewer than 10,000 French Royal Guards cut through a Prussian army several tis their size, pinning them west of the Austrian defensive line.
Among the 30,000 troops under his command, only 4,000 were elite Royal German Corps soldiers. The rest were Bohemian Guards and Hungarian Border Infantry—units hastily assembled with poor combat readiness. This lack of discipline was precisely why the sudden cannon fire had caused chaos in the ranks.
Keim slowly sank back into his chair.
Setting aside the very real risk of igniting a war between France and Austria, even if he recklessly pursued the French, there was a good chance his forces would end up humiliated by the Royal Guard Corps instead.
With a grim expression, he waved off the two officers.
"It was just an accident. Issue orders—no one is to speak of this matter again."
anwhile, the press across Italy seed eager to keep the story alive.
In just two or three days, newspapers from Sardinia to the Two Sicilies had reprinted the account from The Genoa Comrcial News. Thanks to funding from Count Ségur, the story gained even wider traction.
All over Italy, people gossiped about how "the Austrian army near Parma's border was terrified by a few thousand French soldiers." The rumors grew more outlandish by the day, evolving into claims like, "The Austrians fled back to Tuscany, leaving their cannons and muskets scattered everywhere," or "The townsfolk of Tersuco even found General Keim's ornate chamber pot."
What was ant to be a showcase of Austrian military strength had turned into a public relations disaster.
Versailles Palace
At the entrance to the Hall of Peace, Count Rheinfels adjusted his collar and prepared to "battle" Bailly once more.
The situation in Italy was highly favorable, and he was confident the French would soon back down.
Just then, his assistant rushed over with a letter in hand.
"My Lord, this just arrived from our envoy in Parma."
Rheinfels opened the letter, and his smile froze.
The letter briefly summarized the fiasco with Keim's corps, then delivered more troubling news: Parma and the Two Sicilies were reconsidering their support for higher tariffs on French goods. Tuscany, anwhile, had published its new tariff rates—18% on fur and porcelain, but no more than 3% on other items.
Crushing the letter into a ball, Rheinfels fud. Furs? Porcelain? These weren't even major French exports! anwhile, critical goods like wine, textiles, and furniture saw a re 1.5% increase—essentially aningless.
These small nations were pragmatic. When two giants quarreled, they naturally sided with the stronger one.
The only state sticking to higher tariffs was Venice, a territory directly under Austrian control. But Rheinfels knew that France would never sacrifice the lucrative Austrian market for the sake of Venice alone.
Taking a deep breath, Rheinfels stepped into the Hall of Peace.
As expected, Bailly abandoned his previous stalling tactics. With a firm tone, he declared that the Rhine-Seine Treaty must be upheld and that France had no intention of renegotiating it.
Two Weeks Later
Prague, Austria
Erging from St. Vitus Cathedral after being crowned King of Bohemia, Francis II showed none of the dignity or majesty expected of such an occasion. Instead, he muttered bitterly under his breath,
"Worthless Volrath… damned French…"
Volrath was Count Rheinfels' family na.
Francis II couldn't help but recall how just the previous day, he had been speaking to his ministers about "uniting the Holy Roman Empire" and "restoring its dominance in Europe." Yet here he was, unable to secure even minor trade concessions from France.
He suddenly turned to an attendant and barked,
"Send that fool Keim to Maloš to oversee warehouses!"
"At once, Your Majesty," the attendant replied.
Having vented his frustration, Francis II sank into deep worry.
If the current trade imbalance couldn't be corrected, Austria's market would gradually fall under French control, leading to a steady decline in Austrian trade revenue.
His grand ambitions of rivaling Otto the Great would remain a pipe dream without the financial resources to support them.
His thoughts turned to the Austrian army's poor performance in Italy. Clearly, a sweeping military reform was urgently needed. Every great king in history commanded an invincible army; he could be no exception.
But military reforms required money—an insurmountable obstacle for now.
As Francis II returned to Prague Castle, he was inford that the British ambassador, Bathurst, was waiting for him.
Bathurst greeted him with a formal bow and a string of congratulatory remarks about his coronation. Then he added,
"Your Majesty, a distinguished guest wishes to et with you. I believe this eting would be of great importance to you both."
Francis II raised an eyebrow.
"Tell his na."
"His Majesty, King William II of Prussia."
"What does he want?" Francis II frowned. Just a year ago, Austria and Prussia had been locked in a bloody conflict in Silesia. Now, the Prussian king's sudden request for a eting was puzzling.
However, the British involvent in arranging this eting made it impossible to dismiss lightly.
The Next Day, Noon
A black carriage pulled into the courtyard of Prague Castle. A steward opened the door, and William II stepped out, bowing slightly to the Holy Roman Emperor from a distance.
"Your Majesty, I had intended to attend your coronation, but as you know, the mud in Lusatia is treacherous. It delayed my arrival until now."
Francis II regarded his old rival with a cold gaze before donning a diplomatic smile.
"Welco. Late or not, your presence demonstrates the respect owed by an Elector to the Emperor.
"Co in."
Ignoring the subtle jab at his title, William II followed Francis into the castle. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he cleared his throat and said,
"Ah, I've heard rumors that Austria's financial situation has been less than ideal recently."
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