It's late April, 1622, and 18 months have passed since the disastrous defeat of the Protestant

forces of Frederick V at White Mountain.

Frederick and his wife Elizabeth were safely in sconce in the Hegg.

At least that's what Ernst von Mansfield, the elector's mercenary commander believed.

Mansfield was busy at his camp in the Palatinate attempting to secure a better offer from

Frederick's enemies to bring his army over to the Imperial side.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Frederick V, who had slipped out of the Hegg into skies

a few days earlier, appeared in camp, telling Mansfield to ready his troops.

The elector had remarkably put together a new coalition to move on the Spanish forces

still occupying northwestern Germany, including the young, scrappy and impetuous Prince Christian

of Brunswick and the older and weirier George Frederick, Margrave of Baden.

One can imagine Mansfield quickly unspooling some maps over as many letters asking, how

much is my army worth to you to various Catholic princes as Frederick strides into his tent

with like a fake mustache and a wig on?

The Margrave's troops were prepared to move northeast across the Neckar River to link

up with Mansfield.

Prince Christian had been coming south, loaded with booty he had secured by melting down

reliquaries from Catholic churches, and from ransom he had scared out of villagers, spreading

letters marked fire, fire, blood, blood among the terrified peasants demanding money from

them.

The idea was to link the three armies, finally pay the goddamn troops with Christian's

plunder, then turn it and push the Spanish back into the Netherlands.

...