Chapter 1450: Why Does This Feel a Little Different?
Chapter 1450: Why Does This Feel a Little Different?
Gozerov thought for a moment and nodded. "Kursk has a large number of merchants and young nobles. The Society has considerable influence there."
"If we can spark an uprising there, we can quickly gather thousands for our rebel army."
The frustration in Kishchenko's eyes began to fade. He urged, "Then what are we waiting for? Let us depart immediately. The Tsar's army could arrive at any moment..."
Major Nesterov, staring at the map, interrupted him. "An infantry regiment is permanently stationed in Kursk. Even if we take them by surprise and enter the city, what then?"
"Dolgorukov is still hot on our heels, and the Oka Hussar Battalion from Tula has certainly been deployed; they are likely waiting for us to the east. Do we turn south toward the desolate lands of Kharkov? We won't find any supplies there in the winter."
Tula was a vital military production center for Russia, garrisoned by a large number of elite troops. Going to a place like Kharkov, where one might not see another living soul for several miles, was a recipe for starvation.
Kishchenko's voice carried a note of panic. "We can't worry about that now! We have to survive the current crisis first..."
"We're going to die anyway. I'd rather have a final showdown with the Tsar's dogs right here!"
"That fellow Denisov would never..."
As the men were arguing until they were red-faced, two soldiers entered the room leading a short man dressed as a merchant. "Major, this gentleman has a special pass."
Chadov, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, immediately stood up. "Mr. Sidorov, what are you doing here?"
Kishchenko also bowed slightly to the newcomer. He knew Sidorov was an associate of That Gentleman. In reality, he was an agent sent by the French Security Bureau to assist Olivier in executing the Russia Plan.
"I heard the Tsar's army is already very close," Sidorov said urgently. "You must move at once."
The men in the room exchanged looks. Kishchenko asked uncertainly, "Do you mean we should go to Kursk?"
Sidorov frowned. "Of course not. That would be walking straight to your deaths."
"But where else can we go?"
Sidorov replied, "That Gentleman sent me to tell you: cross the Dnieper River immediately. Head south from Cherkasy and enter Moldavia. That is your only hope."
Kishchenko and the others looked at each other in dismay. "But Cherkasy is Polish territory. They won't allow..."
Sidorov pulled out a document and said with certainty, "That Gentleman has already obtained an order signed by His Majesty Stanislaw. Not only can you pass through Cherkasy and head south via Uman, but the Poles will also provide you with some supplies."
Indeed, Joseph knew very well that this makeshift rebel army stood no chance of survival under the Tsar's encirclement. In history, the Decembrist revolt, which had been planned for over twenty years, was completely suppressed in less than a week.
Therefore, he had contacted the Polish side in advance to have them help the rebel army escape.
As long as these two thousand or so people survived, there would naturally be an opportunity to fight their way back into Russia later. At the very least, they could disrupt Russian influence in Moldavia.
The men in the room were shocked. They had originally thought That Gentleman was merely a very wealthy liberal. They hadn't expected his influence to be so great that he could affect the King of Poland!
However, Gozerov, the leader of the Society of Happiness, hesitated. "We are grateful for the help you've provided, but our goal is to change this country. Fleeing to Moldavia is moving away from that goal..."
Sidorov sneered. "Only by staying alive will you have a chance to achieve your goal. Otherwise, people will only remember you as the 'foolish and brutal rebels' the Tsar claims you are."
"You can settle near the Danube River. You'll be able to recruit a large number of Cossacks there. After that, whether you occupy Iasi or attack Yekaterinoslav to the east, you will make the tyrant in the Winter Palace lose sleep."
Iasi was the core stronghold for Russia in Moldavia, but due to various wars in recent years, Alexander I had already moved most of the garrison there to the front lines. It was entirely possible for the rebel army to seize it.
As for Yekaterinoslav, it was the gateway between Russia and Crimea; its importance went without saying.
Based on his absolute trust in That Gentleman, Chadov was the first to nod. "I agree to go to Moldavia."
Major Nesterov followed suit. "You're right. We must stay alive first if we want to continue the revolution."
Seeing that the military commanders all favored heading south, Gozerov could only remain silent.
Hours later, the two thousand-strong rebel army turned west and crossed the frozen Dnieper River under the cover of night.
...
Paris, Palace of Versailles.
Hundreds of nobles crowded outside the King's bedroom, some peering inside and others whispering anxiously. "What on earth happened? His Majesty was perfectly fine yesterday."
"They say it's typhus. Possibly from a flea bite..."
"Good heavens, I recall that disease isn't easy to treat..."
"May the Lord protect His Majesty."
In this era, typhus was a very dangerous and severe illness. Unless the patient had a robust constitution and could endure it, death was the likely outcome.
Inside the bedroom, Louis XVI lay on the bed with his eyes tightly shut, his neck covered in red spots.
Queen Marie and over a dozen high-ranking nobles looked nervously at the imperial physician. "Are you certain it is this disease?"
"How should it be treated?"
"How could His Majesty suddenly fall ill?"
"Please, administer the medicine quickly! Do not delay!"
Dr. Petit subconsciously glanced at the Queen, cleared his throat, and said, "Yes, it is typhus. The symptoms are very clear."
"As for the treatment, according to my research, consuming the head of a fresh black sea bream can provide excellent therapeutic effects."
The Duke of Broglie frowned. "Black sea bream? What is that?"
The Count of Artois remembered seeing it mentioned in a newspaper recently. "It seems to be a type of sea fish produced in Brittany."
"Then have someone bring it here immediately!"
Dr. Petit bit the bullet and added, "Well, only fish that has just been caught will have the medicinal effect..."
The Duke of Broglie shook his head. "Does that mean His Majesty must go to the coast? How can that be permitted?"
Queen Marie immediately interjected, "As long as it cures His Majesty, we can go anywhere. Have the preparations made at once..."
She was only halfway through when the Prince de Condé spoke with a heavy expression. "Your Majesty, I fear it is not advisable for the King to undertake a long journey while he is so gravely ill."
The others joined in one after another. "This would most likely worsen his condition."
"Perhaps there are other methods..."
"Should His Majesty suffer during the journey, there wouldn't even be a proper place to rest."
"Indeed, it would be inconvenient to administer treatment on the road."
Queen Marie was momentarily stunned. 'Why does this feel a little different from what I planned?'
Shouldn't everyone be at a complete loss and then immediately follow the physician's suggestion to send the King to the coast for treatment? And then, shouldn't the plant she had arranged step forward to suggest that Versailles couldn't be left without someone in charge?
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