its feet. Slowly, unconscious from shock, Tilly toppled from the saddle. In the years to come, men who saw would say it was like watching a tree fall. A great, gnarled oak, finally come to the end.
As Tilly’s men carried him to the rear, Aldringer took command. But Aldringer fell within minutes, wounded in the head. By now, the imperial forces had suffered four thousand casualties, and the men lost heart. Night was falling, and they took advantage of the darkness to retreat back into their fortified camp near the Danube. The next day, under the command of the elector himself, Tilly’s army retreated to Ingolstadt. Maximillian of Bavaria had had enough of Gustav II Adolf.
“Let Wallenstein try to handle him,” he snarled. “Let bastard Bohemian deal with bastard Swede!”
When Gustav heard the news of Tilly, he sent his own body-surgeon into the enemy camp. “Do what you can for the old man,” he commanded.
“Won’t be much,” grumbled the surgeon. “Not from the description of the wound.” But he obeyed.
Torstensson was not entirely pleased. “Let the butcher of Magdeburg bleed to death,” he growled. The savage expressions on the faces of the other Swedish officers surrounding Gustav made clear their agreement.
The king said simply: “Last of a line. A great line, for all its sins.” Then, as if struck by a thought, he turned to the young girl standing a few feet away.
“And what do you think?” he demanded. The girl responded with a shy smile.
“I think you’re a nice man,” came her reply.
Gustav II Adolf was quite taken aback. “Nice man,” he muttered, as he walked away. He shook his head. “Nice man. What kind of thing is that to say—to a king?”
Tilly died two weeks later.
The last of a line was gone, and another line was stepping forward to challenge
As Tilly’s men carried him to the rear, Aldringer took command. But Aldringer fell within minutes, wounded in the head. By now, the imperial forces had suffered four thousand casualties, and the men lost heart. Night was falling, and they took advantage of the darkness to retreat back into their fortified camp near the Danube. The next day, under the command of the elector himself, Tilly’s army retreated to Ingolstadt. Maximillian of Bavaria had had enough of Gustav II Adolf.
“Let Wallenstein try to handle him,” he snarled. “Let bastard Bohemian deal with bastard Swede!”
When Gustav heard the news of Tilly, he sent his own body-surgeon into the enemy camp. “Do what you can for the old man,” he commanded.
“Won’t be much,” grumbled the surgeon. “Not from the description of the wound.” But he obeyed.
Torstensson was not entirely pleased. “Let the butcher of Magdeburg bleed to death,” he growled. The savage expressions on the faces of the other Swedish officers surrounding Gustav made clear their agreement.
The king said simply: “Last of a line. A great line, for all its sins.” Then, as if struck by a thought, he turned to the young girl standing a few feet away.
“And what do you think?” he demanded. The girl responded with a shy smile.
“I think you’re a nice man,” came her reply.
Gustav II Adolf was quite taken aback. “Nice man,” he muttered, as he walked away. He shook his head. “Nice man. What kind of thing is that to say—to a king?”
Tilly died two weeks later.
The last of a line was gone, and another line was stepping forward to challenge