Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Succession

Episode 1: The Bride Empress

Scene 1: An unfinished wooden fort and construction camp. Exterior, evening. Chinese and Turkic workers are building a palisade out of huge stakes. A roughly-built forge spills fire and noise into the twilight. A single officer in a Russian military uniform, great-coat and tricorn hat walks amongst them. He is tall and thin, of central African appearance, and he wears a sword openly. This is ABRAM PETROVICH GANNIBAL.

Caption: Siberia 1729

At the half-completed gateway of the camp, Gannibal meets a Chinese MERCHANT with a mule-cart.

Merchant: Good evening, commander.

Gannibal: Good evening. Do you have my supplies?

Merchant: Oh yes. (Going to the cart and retrieving a long narrow wooden box and a bulky leather satchel. Both are labelled ‘Danger’ in Chinese.) Here you are, sir. Do you have my payment?

Gannibal opens a pouch at his belt and retrieves a handful of silver coins, which he hands over. He takes the satchel from the merchant, and then carefully picks up the box.

Gannibal: Thank you - this is excellent. I had not expected to be able to continue my research so far from home. Will you return next month?

Merchant: Of course, sir. Good customers are hard to find in these parts. And who knows when you will return to Moscow?

Gannibal (sighing): Indeed. I may be here for a long time.

Cut to:

Scene 2: The streets of an old city, overhung with timber-framed houses and crowded with people.

A COURIER in red and gold livery drives his horse urgently among the crowds, scattering them.

As music plays, a series of transitions shows him dismounting at the main entrance to a palace, and then running up a grand staircase and along a corridor.

Caption: Vienna

He enters a sparsely-furnished parlour where FRANCIS STEPHEN OF LORRAINE is drinking coffee served from an ornate silver pot. Francis, a square-featured broad-shouldered man of 21, is casually dressed in a turban and dressing gown.

The courier opens a leather folder and hands over a letter with a black seal. As the courier withdraws, Francis breaks the seal and reads the letter. He slumps back into his chair, suddenly haggard. After a moment’s pause, he rises and leaves the room by another door.

Again we track movement through the palace with a series of transitions. A sitting room, lushly outfitted in red and silver, is revealed, where MARIA THERESA OF HABSBURG and her younger sister MARIA ANNA are playing chess. The sisters are 12 and 10, but are dressed richly, like adult noblewomen. Their younger sister, MARIA AMALIA, aged 5, sits on the floor playing with a doll. The door opens, and we briefly see a startled footman as Francis rushes into the room.

Maria Theresa (seeing Francis’ tear-streaked face): Anna, why don’t you take Amalia for a little walk?

She pushes her sisters out, closing the door again behind them. The music stops as the door closes.

Maria Theresa: Francis, what’s wrong?

Francis: It’s my father. (He pauses for breath.) He’s died.

Maria Theresa: (She crosses herself.) Oh, my dear! What happened?

Francis: He was taken ill - it was quite sudden, only a few days. Charles says the doctors couldn’t help.

Maria Theresa: I’m so sorry, my love. What will you do?

Francis: I have no choice, Theresa - I am Duke now. I must go to Nancy for the funeral, and take the throne.

Maria Theresa: When you go, will I see you again?

Francis: God willing, yes - but I cannot say when.

They both start crying, and embrace. Fade out and then in for:

Title sequence: Scenes of courtly opulence and fine art of the era give way to flashes of increasing violence - accidents, riots, battles - ending with the bloodstained flags of Austria, Lorraine, Tuscany and Poland being thrown on a bonfire. This is the image over which the series title is displayed.

SUCCESSION

I: The Bride Empress

Cut to -

Scene 3: A windswept parade ground. We begin with a crane or helicopter shot, moving in slowly, so that the sounds of bellowed commands and stamping boots become louder and more distinct as we approach. A unit of uniformed grenadiers, including many different ethnicities, all over 6’6’ tall, is called to attention. The camera finally reveals the man giving the orders: seated on a magnificent stallion is FREDERICK-WILLIAM OF PRUSSIA, a middle-aged red-faced man wearing a drab military uniform. Behind him and to one side is his pasty, delicate-looking son, PRINCE FRITZ, aged 17 and wearing the same uniform, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Caption: Berlin

Frederick-William: Slope arms!

The soldiers obey.

Frederick-William: Right turn, quick march!

He watches as the NCO leads the grenadiers away, and then twitches the reins of his horse, turning it to face Fritz’s.

Frederick-William: Why are you looking so miserable, Fritz? We have the best grenadiers in Germany - you surely aren’t bored of them already.

Fritz: No sir - they’re very fine. I’m only a little uncomfortable. Perhaps I should order a new overcoat. This one is a bit small on me now.

Frederick-William: Hmph. Buck up, then. You sit on that horse like a sack of god-damned potatoes.

They trot their horses off towards a distant palace. Smooth cut to:

A gloomy office, dominated by a large desk and severe wooden chair. Frederick-William comes in and sits in it; Fritz follows, and stands around awkwardly.

Frederick-William: Well, boy, give me the post!

Fritz: Yes, sir. (hands him a pile of letters from a side-table near the door)

Frederick-William (to himself): Let’s see... let’s get the personal stuff dealt with quickly. Something from my cousin Anhalt-Zerbst.

He opens the letter and reads it. Fritz keeps hopping from foot to foot and glancing out of the open door into the hallway beyond.

Frederick-William: Stand to attention, Fritz. Here, cousin Christian wants me to be godfather to his daughter Sophie. They’re going to give her the middle name Frederica if I accept.

Fritz (feigning interest): And will you, sir?

Frederick-William: Oh, yes. May as well. It’s not like I have to go to Stettin to see the child. I’d send you if I believed you’d cope in a fortress like that. No matter. (He opens another letter.) Now, this is more important - our agent in Paris says that creepy bastard Cardinal Fleury is going to settle the war between Britain and Spain any day now. If Spain doesn’t get a good deal out of it...

Fritz (interrupting as politely as he can): Your pardon, sir - it is time for my lessons. May I be excused, please?

Frederick-William: No! Make your teacher wait. You’ll stay here - stand straight! - until I say. Your brother doesn’t arse around like you do, and he’s only seven. You want to study? Try this for bedtime reading! (As he says this, he grabs a book out of a matched set on the shelf behind him, and hurls it at Fritz’s head. Fritz blocks it, and then fumbles the catch, dropping the book on the floor.)

Fritz (retrieving it): This is your own book, sir.

Frederick-William: Damn right. You need to understand how this country is run.

Fritz: As you will, sir.

Frederick-William: Ah - now this letter is really good news - Augustus wants to come and visit us! A return for our visit there this spring. He says he’s got to have some kind of operation on his foot, but he’ll set out as soon after as he can.

Fritz (brightening a little, but still wary): Indeed, sir? I’m pleased to hear it.

Frederick-William: Oh, yes. I’ll let your mother sort out the entertainments, of course. But Augustus will want to see the troops, see what we’ve achieved here. He’ll want to see what we’ve done to bolster ourselves against the Swedes since we beat them.

Cut to a brief establishing shot of the Kremlin in winter. Russian Orthodox choir music fades out to be replaced by cheering.

Caption: Moscow

Cut to:

Scene 4: A lavish banqueting hall, decked out with winter greenery and other finery. Dozens of people stand by their places at a series of long tables. More are arriving, handing their fur cloaks to over-burdened pages.

A huge, bearded SERVANT carrying a heavy staff beats it on the ground, and begins shouting:

Servant: His Imperial Majesty the Tsar!

Silence falls. TSAR PETER II OF RUSSIA enters in a magnificent white and gold suit. He is only 14, tall and lanky, and as pale as the snow outside. He pauses to survey the room, and then goes to stand at the centre of the top table. As he does so, a teenage woman in a ballgown behind him coughs meaningfully to the servant. This is EKATERINA DOLGORUKOVA, aged 17, and lurking behind her are her brother IVAN DOLGORUKY, their father PRINCE ALEXEI and his brother PRINCE VASILIY.

Servant: And Her Highness the Bride Empress!

The Dolgoruky faction take up places to the left of the Tsar. A hearty young woman wrapped in a fur coat enters next, and gives her coat to the announcer. She is wearing a fabulous jewelled gown beneath. This is Peter’s aunt, ELIZABETH PETROVNA, aged 22.

Servant: Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Elizabeth!

Elizabeth goes and stands on the other side of the Tsar. The next guest to arrive is a tall, thin middle-aged man in a military jacket and a curled wig. This is COUNT ANDREI OSTERMAN, the Tsar’s guardian.

Servant: His Excellency Count Osterman!

Osterman goes and whispers in the tsar’s ear before taking his seat beyond Elizabeth.

Osterman (to Peter): All right, Majesty. Go ahead.

Peter nods, and waits for Osterman to take his place.

Peter (in a thin and reedy voice): My dear friends and loyal subjects, we are gathered here upon this most solemn feast to celebrate the manifestation of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to the gentile world. And those of you who have spent Christmas away from Moscow will not yet have met my fiancée, the Bride Empress Ekaterina. It is my great pleasure to present her to you; she is a small manifestation of the divine in my own life, and I hope you will all welcome her. Archbishop - we are all gathered. Would you oblige?

An elderly orthodox bishop seated at the far right-hand end of the high table rises and says a series of prayers in rapid, unintelligible Slavonic. Before he has quite finished, Peter and Ivan exchange glances, and sit down. Everyone else follows suit, and the end of the prayer is drowned out.

The feast proceeds in a series of short, unspoken vignettes, with jolly music. Peter and Ekaterina toast one another. Peter breaks off from eating his main course with a coughing fit, and Osterman helps him out. He recovers, and lets Ivan refill his glass. Prince Alexei serves Peter an extra helping of meat. During dessert, Peter excuses himself, and as he rises, he passes out. The music stops suddenly, so that we plainly hear him hit his head on the table on the way down.

There is a moment of utter silence.

Elizabeth, Ekaterina and Alexei all rush to his side. Ivan hovers uselessly a little further off. Osterman initially rushes up, but lets Ekaterina get close instead.

Elizabeth: He’s alive. Quick - get the sleigh ready. Get him to the palace physician.

Osterman (as though Elizabeth hadn’t spoken): Prepare the Tsar’s sleigh! (He begins bossing servants around.)

Ekaterina cradles Peter’s head and cries.

Ekaterina: Oh, Peter, Peter!

Alexei: Get my physician, too.

Elizabeth (tautly): Ours will be just fine, Alexei Lukich. The boy needs rest and care, not more drugs. Your son’s already dosed him up plenty.

Alexei: How dare you?

Ekaterina: Please - just help him!

Prince Vasiliy arrives, dragging his nephew Ivan and followed by many servants directed by Osterman. They gather Peter up in a pile of cloaks, and carry him away. Ekaterina follows closely. Elizabeth and Alexei tag along a little further behind, deliberately not coming close enough to speak again.

We see the Tsar laid in the back of a horse-drawn sleigh, which drives off into a growing blizzard. Cut to:

An establishing shot of Florence under a crisp clear winter sky - we pan down from the Duomo to the front of the Palazzo Pitti.

Caption: Grand Duchy of Tuscany

Cut to:

Scene 5: A lavish but untidy bedchamber decked out with gaudy Baroque ornaments. In the centre, sprawled half-clothed on the bed with a heavily-bandaged ankle, is GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, the Grand Duke. He is a decidedly overweight and flushed man in late middle age. His younger lover, GIULIANO DAMI, sits on the end of the bed drinking wine. A number of casually-dressed young men sit cross-legged on the floor in the background, playing cards and smoking.

Gastone: Hey, Julie - leave some for me, won’t you?

Giuliano: Oh, if you insist. But it’s not like you’re going to run out, dear. Listen, I’ve got a treat for you -

They are interrupted by the opening of the bedroom door. Enter VIOLANTE BEATRICE OF BAVARIA, Gastone’s widowed sister-in-law, Governor of Siena. She is similarly middle-aged, but hearty-looking and dressed in a businesslike, rather masculine outfit.

Violante: Morning, Gastone. Sorry to interrupt your busy royal routine, but your sister wants to come and visit.

Gastone: Shit. When?

Violante: Next week. I wrote from Siena, but you never read your mail.

Gastone (plaintively): The mail always depresses me. Aren’t I supposed to have people to do that sort of thing for me?

Violante: You’ve got me, and if Signior Dami here used his hands for the things most secretaries do, you’d have his help too. Honestly, I can keep your external affairs in order well enough, but I can’t run the family on my own.

Gastone: You don’t like Luisa any better than I do. Can’t you tell her to piss off?

Violante: No. We may not get on, but she wants to talk house business, and I don’t disagree with her. The two of you need to sort out your succession. You need to put some breeches on and actually take a decision for once.

Gastone: Shouldn’t I just make the whole lot over to your nephew Don Carlos? He needs something new now Fleury’s peace deal has sunk his Austrian engagement.

Giuliano finishes the wine and goes to the door.

Violante: Maybe you can, but you need to talk to your sister, and take some responsibility. I don’t think the Emperor was ever really going to let Carlos marry his daughter, so don’t go getting his hopes up again.

Gastone: At least he’s got some hopes to get up. What’s in it for me?

Violante: You owe it to Ferdinando. He trusted us to do this job right, and it’s not his fault or mine that you’re stuck in here. Look, you know I’ll help you deal with Luisa, but you’ve got to be involved, got to make a choice.

Giuliano: Gastone! I’ve got someone to introduce to you!

Violante: Signior Dami, please - this is a matter of state -

Gastone (leaning over to look out of the door at the newcomer): No, Violante, let him.

Giuliano brings in a handsome young man in an open-necked shirt. This is RODOLFO MURANI. He kneels as soon as he sees Gastone.

Giuliano (lightly): Your Royal Highness, may I present Rodolfo Murani. I think his... aptitudes... will suit your tastes well. Rodolfo, this is His Royal Highness Giovanni Battista Gastone de’ Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany et cetera et cetera. Oh, and his sister-in-law Violante Beatrice von Wittelsbach, dowager Grand Princess and Governor of Siena.

Rodolfo looks awkwardly at Violante.

Rodolfo: Thank you, Giuliano. Er, excellency, is this not a good moment?

Violante: Signior Murani, kindly wait.

Gastone: Oh, to hell with Luisa and her visit. Can’t I have some peace, dear Violante?

Violante: Look, why don’t we have a dinner for her? You can bring Signior Dami, and Signior Murani too if you like, and we’ll invite some big names for Luisa to chat to, and we can talk this family business over beforehand. How’s that?

Gastone: Oh, I suppose so. Do come back for drinks this evening - and let’s not talk about Luisa or the succession, hm?

Violante: If you like. I’ll go and start the preparations. (She lets herself out.)

Gastone: Now - Rodolfo, wasn’t it? - Come and sit up here where I can see you more closely. (He pats the bed beside him.)

Cut to:

Scene 6: Berlin - a dining room in the palace, with military plans scattered on the table and armed guards at the doors. Frederick-William and Fritz stand on one side of the table, and SECKENDORF, the Austrian ambassador, and GRUMBKOW, Frederick-William’s chief minister, stand on the other.

Seckendorf: Is it really wise, your majesty, for Princess Wilhelmine to call herself Princess of Wales before she marries the Prince? It seems precipitate.

Grumbkow: Indeed, sire - Ambassador Seckendorf has a point. After all, your wife’s great-aunt Sophia adopted the very same title without consent, and died six weeks before she would have inherited.

Frederick-William: I know damn well what happened. Don’t spoonfeed me! Sophia was an elderly widow, not an eligible princess. Wilhelmine is thrilled - thrilled - to be engaged to the Prince, and you two can bloody well be thrilled for her too. And Fritz is delighted to be marrying his cousin Amelia too, aren’t you, boy?

Fritz (without conviction): Er, yes sir. Delighted.

Grumbkow: Even so, sire, I would advise caution. British succession law is not like the German law; one accident could leave Prince Fritz’s young bride as the principal heir of the United Kingdom.

Frederick-William: Good! See, Seckendorf - it’s not just the Habsburgs who can play the marriage game.

Seckendorf: That’s hardly a likelihood that His Imperial Majesty would look on favourably. The last thing he would want is a united Protestant realm stretching from the Atlantic to the Baltic. And I dare say that France and Spain would concur.

Frederick-William: Too bad. The deal stands.

Seckendorf: Of course, if your majesty will acknowledge that a woman can also inherit the Habsburg Crownlands, we might be able to come to an arrangement. Otherwise, I am afraid the Emperor will look most unfavourably on this match.

Frederick-William: The Pragmatic Sanction is a separate matter. I’ll brook no interference in my arrangements with King George.

Grumbkow: But majesty -

Frederick-William (enraged): ‘But majesty’ nothing! You keep on pretending this is your decision to make and not mine. Enough! I am the king, and I will have my will done.

We follow Fritz as he slips away from his father’s rage, and through a door, across a hallway, and into a drawing room where his mother SOPHIA DOROTHEA OF HANOVER and sister PRINCESS WILHELMINE are sitting doing needlework.

Wilhelmine: What’s wrong, Frittie?

Fritz: Lord help us - Ambassador Seckendorf and Minister Grumbkow are trying to talk Father out of this marriage deal with England.

Wilhelmine: Oh no! I hope he ignored them.

Fritz: Ignored them? No - he’s giving them an extended piece of his mind right now. (Incoherent shouting can be heard in the distance.) I suppose it’s good that he’s on our side for once. (He sighs heavily.)

Dorothea: Don’t look so miserable, Fritz, dear. Anyone would think you didn’t want to marry your cousin.

Wilhelmine: You let Father’s mood get to you so, Frittie. If I were him, I would be furious at those two old goats, too. I shall be Princess of Wales, and Amelia will be Crown Princess of Prussia, and they won’t be able to do a thing to stop it.

Fritz slumps into an armchair.

Fritz: Mina, I’m glad that you’re so keen on this English prince. But we’ve never met these cousins of ours, and it makes me feel like a bargaining piece to be offered up this way.

Dorothea: Oh, come now. My brother’s court is a fine one; your cousins are among the most agreeable young royalty in Europe. You’ll get on beautifully!

Fritz: Uncle George’s court may be fine, but ours is like a military camp. I shall only make my bride miserable in a place like this.

Dorothea: If you married, you might have a little palace of your own, you know.

Fritz: And be free of Father’s endless marching and screaming? For that, I might marry the ugliest dowager in the Empire. But I don’t know if Father will let me go so easily.

Wilhelmine: You are so gloomy, Fritz. Haven’t you anything to look forward to?

Fritz (contemplating the question): King Augustus will be here soon. I hope he’ll be good enough company to take Father’s mind off all this English business.

Wilhelmine: Is Augustus bringing his ladies? Can there be dancing?

Dorothea: Oh, there can definitely be dancing. And I shall be happy to see Augustus again - he’s very charming. But don’t go hanging around with his ‘ladies’ more than you can help. He’s got a wild eye, that one.

Cut to:

Scene 7: A bedroom in the palace in Moscow. Tsar Peter, ashen-faced and bathed in sweat, lies in the centre of a colossal half-tester bed. By the head of the bed, a doctor burns herbs in a smoky flame. A set of bloodletting instruments lies on a tray on the nightstand; some of them have been used recently and not cleaned. Count Osterman is deep in whispered conversation with a doctor. Ekaterina and Elizabeth kneel on either side of the bed, heads bowed in prayer. Elizabeth, however, keeps glancing around, keeping an eye on Ekaterina and the servants who lurk in the background. Peter’s eyes flutter open.

Peter: Can you bring me - (He breaks off, coughing.) Can you bring Natalie to me?

Osterman breaks off upon hearing this, but Ekaterina looks up and catches his eye before he can speak.

Ekaterina: Oh Peter - Natalie can’t come right now. You must be patient, and recover your strength for our wedding. (She sobs.)

Elizabeth rises silently, bows to Peter, and leaves the room. We follow her through the palace corridors. Soon, she encounters PRINCE GALITSYN, a privy councillor.

Galitsyn: Ah, Grand Duchess Elizabeth. What news of His Majesty?

Elizabeth: He’s no better, Prince Galitsyn. The doctors bled him this morning, but it does no good. He’s calling for his sister now - he’s forgotten her death, the funeral - everything.

Galitsyn: Dear God. I shall let the Privy Council know. The wedding will have to be postponed, at least.

Elizabeth: I’ll see to that, if I can. Thank you for your concern.

Galitsyn: And thank you for your care and prayers, Highness. Good day.

Elizabeth continues through the palace until she comes to a sparsely-furnished parlour where some officers are drinking and chatting in German. On her arrival, they rise and bow. One of them steps forward - the grey-haired GENERAL MÜNNICH, one of many Germans in the Russian high command.

Münnich: Grand Duchess Elizabeth, welcome. Gentlemen, please excuse us.

All the other officers file out, several of them pulling out pipes and tobacco pouches as they do so.

Once Elizabeth and Münnich are alone:

Münnich: What’s the latest?

Elizabeth: He’s dying, General. The Dolgorukova girl keeps talking at though they’ll be married on schedule, but I can’t think that’ll happen. The poor boy is fading fast.

Münnich: What’s caused it?

Elizabeth: One of Prince Alexei’s awful doctors said it was pox, but it’s as likely to be young Ivan taking the lad out drinking as anything else. He’s gone straight from the nursery to the alehouse - it’d be enough to kill anyone, the rate those Dolgorukys drink.

Münnich: A good drink never killed anyone. But young Tsar Peter has always been fragile - he has your father’s build, but not his stamina.

Elizabeth: Too true, alas. Listen, General - can you do me a favour, please? Our friend in Siberia would wish to know that his fortunes may be changing.

Münnich: I’ll do what I can, Highness. I miss him too.

Cut to:

Scene 8: Vienna - A small dining room in the palace. The EMPEROR CHARLES VI and his wife ELIZABETH CHRISTINE OF BRUNSWICK are dining with Maria Theresa, Maria Anna, and Maria Amalia, their daughters. Charles wears a severe black outfit in a Spanish fashion a generation out of date; it would look good on a younger, slimmer man. The imperial family dine ‘alone’, but there are servants on hand to do everything. They eat without speaking for a little while as chamber music plays. When the Emperor finishes his main course:

Emperor: I had a meeting with the Spanish ambassador this afternoon. He tells me King Philip is going to insist on Don Carlos getting both Parma and Tuscany.

Empress: And did you agree?

A governess arrives and silently removes Maria Amalia, who is looking restless.

Emperor: Of course not. But it wasn’t that sort of meeting - he was just letting me know what’s going to be in some official letter coming next week. I let him know that I’m content for Carlos to have Parma, but not Tuscany.

Maria Anna: Papa, why does Don Carlos want so much?

Emperor: His father is trying to build Spain up again after our war. He knows I’ll never let him have our Netherlands, or Naples and Sicily, so he’s angling for as many states in central Italy as possible. Don Carlos is just Philip’s pawn.

Maria Theresa: It all seems so unjust. I wish Louis the Fourteenth had only -

Empress: Let’s not have that painful subject at the dinner table, Theresa dear.

Emperor: Indeed. We must look to the future. I’m going to make an offer to Philip that I’ll uphold Carlos’ claim to Parma, provided he renounces his demand for Tuscany and - (He prods the table for emphasis.) - agrees to the Pragmatic Sanction.

Empress: Do you think it will work?

Emperor: I think so. We must stress our desire to live at peace with the Bourbons, in France and in Spain. A lasting settlement is worth far more than a tenuous claim on new territory.

Empress: I couldn’t agree more, my dear. But you’ve broken off Maria Theresa’s engagement to Don Carlos -

Maria Anna (aside to Maria Theresa): Not a moment too soon...

Empress: - so who will she marry now?

Maria Theresa: I want to marry Francis Stephen. He’s a duke in his own right now, and he’s been so good to all of us. Why not him, Papa?

Emperor: He’s a fine young man. I haven’t said you can’t marry him. But you’re young yet. You may change your mind, and the world may change too. Your mother and I are very lucky to be together, but many princes have to settle for matches that keep the peace.

Maria Theresa: And wouldn’t Lorraine be a fine ally? If you want peace with the Bourbons, a stronger frontier with France would be good.

Emperor: True, true. But things may be very different before you come to get married, dear. Don’t worry so much about it yet.

Empress: Now girls, I had a letter from the abbess at Mariazell this morning. The two of you are to spend Lent there again this year. They were very pleased with you last time, and it’s important to keep up your studies. You should focus on that, rather than on fiancés and weddings and so forth.

Maria Anna: But the nuns are boring!

Maria Theresa kicks her sister lightly under the table.

Empress: Now now. You need to learn discipline, and continue your religious studies. You should set a good example to your little sister.

Emperor: Exactly. Oh, by the way, I had a note from Seckendorf earlier. He says Frederick-William’s ministers are happy with their presents, and will back our position on this accursed Anglo-Prussian marriage pact.

Maria Theresa (mildly shocked): You mean you’ve bribed them?

Emperor: I gave Seckendorf a wide brief, and he interpreted it well. Can’t an emperor reward his subjects’ ministers for their support?

Dessert is served, and the family eat in silence again. Cut to:

Scene 9: An antechamber in the palace in Moscow. Pre-dawn light on the snow can be seen through a window. We find Elizabeth Petrovna physically obstructing a closed door, defending it against Alexei and Vasiliy Dolgoruky. Everyone is wearing long house-coats over nightclothes, and looks massively over-tired. A very flustered lawyer hovers in the background.

Elizabeth: Please! Give the poor child some privacy!

Vasiliy: Elizabeth Petrovna, your nephew is a public person. Privacy is for peasants.

Elizabeth: He has his family around him. Can’t you respect that for once, Vasiliy Lukich?

Alexei: We are family too. Can’t a father-in-law pay a visit to his son-in-law?

Elizabeth: Not with a lawyer in tow. And Peter hasn’t married her yet. I’ve asked the archbishop to postpone the wedding; Peter’s in no state to go down the aisle today. He’s barely spoken since Epiphany.

Vasiliy (advancing to be right in Elizabeth’s face): Then as a privy counsellor, I should attend to the sovereign’s welfare.

Elizabeth: Count Osterman is already inside. As Peter’s governor, surely he is the best representative of the privy council at this time?

Vasiliy: Osterman and Galitsyn tell me nothing - let me see the Tsar!

Elizabeth: Then send the clerk away - and have him take those papers with him. Peter needs our care, not pestering.

Vasiliy (holding up a roll of papers): This testament is part of the marriage preparations. It really can’t wait. The ceremony must be postponed as little as possible, for the good of the motherland. I’d rather not have the guards remove you - but I am going in.

Alexei: Can I at least have a word with my daughter? I know she’s in there, praying for him.

Elizabeth: I’ll send someone to fetch her out. (She is oblivious to the door being carefully opened behind her.) But I insist that you do not force Peter to sign any new will today. He needs rest. (Count Osterman emerges, and clears his throat.)

Osterman: Your highnesses, I am so sorry. The Tsar is dead.

We see into the room behind him, and see and hear Ekaterina slumped over the body of her fiancé, wailing inconsolably. An Orthodox monk burns incense, and a PRIEST begins to intone the Kontakion for the Departed:

Priest: Give rest, O Christ, to thy servant with thy saints:
where sorrow and pain are no more;
neither any sighing, but life everlasting.
Thou only art immortal, the creator and maker of man:
and we are mortal formed from the dust of the earth,
and unto earth shall we return:
for so thou didst ordain,
when thou created me saying:
"Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return."
All we go down to the dust;
and weeping o'er the grave we make our song:
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
Give rest, O Christ, to thy servant with thy saints:
where sorrow and pain are no more;
neither any sighing, but life everlasting.

All the arguing stops, and everyone in the antechamber files into the room to pay their respects. The Kontakion continues as we see scenes from the aftermath; Elizabeth and Ekaterina donning mourning veils, Vasiliy stuffing the draft will into a cupboard, the privy councillors (including Osterman, Alexei, Vasiliy, and Galitsyn) filing into the cathedral for the funeral, and black-clad messengers riding out into the snowy countryside. The last shot is the interior of the cathedral, and we see the priest singing the kontakion there, as though there has been no interruption. As the final line falls silent, we cut to:

Scene 10: Maria Theresa’s sitting room. She and Maria Anna are drinking hot chocolate and playing draughts. Maria Amalia is playing with her dolls again.

Maria Anna: I still don’t understand this Tuscany business. Why can’t the Medicis keep it? They’ve had it since forever.

Maria Theresa: Their dynasty is running out. The Grand Duke has no children, and nor did his brother Ferdinando before him. It’s just him and his sister left.

Maria Anna: None at all? Didn’t they have wives?

Maria Theresa: Yes, but Grand Prince Ferdinando was too ill, and Gian Gastone, the younger brother, wouldn’t stay with his wife.

Maria Anna: Not even to have children?

Maria Theresa: No - they hated each other. And Gian Gastone, well...

Maria Anna (getting it): Oh, I see. You mean he’s like our Prince Eugene?

Maria Theresa (embarassed): Not exactly, but that sort of thing, yes. One shouldn’t dwell on such things, Anna. It’s not nice. Both brothers lived so wildly - perhaps God is punishing them.

Maria Anna: So will the sister be the last Grand Duke?

Maria Theresa: No - it’s not like our law in Austria. Only a man can rule Tuscany. So when Gian Gastone dies, that’s it. Papa wants to be sure of peace with the Spanish before then.

Maria Anna: How silly. If everyone accepted women as heirs - when there are no men, of course - it would be so much easier.

Maria Theresa (with a world-weary sigh): There are laws, Anna. We can’t just tear up rules we don’t like. I guess that’s why Papa wants everyone to sign his Pragmatic Sanction. If all the kings and electors agree to accept me - or you or little Amalia - as sovereign of Austria, we shan’t have another war like he did in Spain.

Maria Anna: Oh Theresa - don’t say that I might be sovereign. I don’t want you to die!

Maria Theresa: O, I hope I shan’t die any time soon, God willing. But we can never be sure. So Papa’s agreement says that any of us can inherit if he has no sons.

She makes several captures in quick succession on the draughts board.

Cut to:

Scene 11: The fort in Siberia. Dawn. The wind howls, and a little snow falls. We travel through the streets of the construction camp. Firelight spills from a forge and a mess-tent. Workers - all of them Chinese or Turkic - are already getting to work. The mess-tent’s flap opens and Gannibal ducks out. People immediately queue up to talk to him. First is a Chinese FOREMAN.

Foreman: Lieutenant Gannibal, sir.

Gannibal: Yes?

Foreman: The new timber shipment arrived last night. Do you want us to use it for the new gatehouse?

Gannibal: No, not yet. The wall overlooking the river is more urgent. Have you got enough workers for the embankments?

Foreman: We can manage, sir, but more would be helpful.

Gannibal: Take a team from the trench-digging site on the West side. Tell the overseer that I sent you.

Foreman: Thank you, sir.

Gannibal: All right, who’s next?

As the next person - a QUARTERMASTER - is about to speak, a horseman rides up and vaults straight out of the saddle. This MESSENGER, a Turkic man wearing a military sash over his fur jacket, waves a leather wallet of documents.

Messenger: An urgent letter from General Münnich for you, sir.

Gannibal (to the quartermaster): Please give me a moment. (He takes the wallet and opens it. As he reads, he glances up and looks the messenger up and down.) You’re not one of the regular messengers, are you?

Messenger: No, sir. The General’s staff sent me from Omsk; none of the other officers knows about this.

Gannibal: I see. Münnich says the Tsar is dying - he wants me back in Moscow.

Quartermaster: You’re leaving, sir?

Gannibal: I must. The General is quite clear - Menshikov has gone for good, and Tsar Peter’s other advisers can be persuaded to let me return. My duty is to Russia, and to my commander.

Quartermaster: What shall we do, sir?

Gannibal: Assemble your men. I will address the camp in one hour.

Gannibal slips the messenger a silver coin. The quartermaster hurries off, and we see a montage accompanied by swelling music. In daylight, Gannibal stands on a packing-case to address the camp labourers. He gets a small round of applause. Then he strikes his own tent with the help of one of the labourers. We see him strap his saddlebags to his horse, including the two packages the merchant gave him in the first scene. Then he rides out through the unfinished gate of the camp, and on to a road of packed snow.

Cut to:

Scene 12: Berlin - a music room in the palace. Fritz is playing the flute, in a duet with DORIS RITTER, a local girl of 16, who is modestly and simply dressed. A TEACHER observes them both. We hear hoofbeats outside the window, and Fritz breaks off from playing.

Teacher: Please concentrate, your highness. You too, Fraulein Ritter.

Fritz: Oh - sorry. (He restarts, and Doris joins back in.)

After a few moments, the sash window is thrust open from the outside, and Frederick-William leans in.

Frederick-William: Fritz! Get out here on the double!

Fritz: Yes, sir.

His teacher looks dismayed as the young man rushes out. Doris looks like she may cry. We cut to the exterior of the palace, where snow lies heaped up and the paths are all muddy. A messenger in black is just leading his exhausted horse away to be watered. Frederick-William, accompanied by a footman and two armed guards, is holding two letters. He beckons Fritz over as he emerges from the palace.

Frederick-William: Fall in. News from Moscow, boy. Tsar Peter is dead.

Fritz: Sir?

Frederick-William (starting to march along the side of the house, and beckoning Fritz to keep up): Yes - just a few days ago. Here’s the official announcement, and here’s our own agent’s version, which got to me about half an hour faster. Looks like the little sap caught a winter chill. Unfit to carry his grandfather’s name, if you ask me. What a pathetic end for the Romanovs!

Fritz: Are there no more heirs, then, sir?

Frederick-William: Not direct ones. There’s a gaggle of women - his aunt, his cousin, even his bloody fiancée - and some of them have sons, but that’s it for Peter the Great’s male heirs. We won’t see his like again, more’s the pity. If they get another woman in charge, it’ll be a disaster.

Fritz: Peter the Great was a magnificent ruler, father. The boy was never going to fill his shoes.

Frederick-William: True. (Grudgingly.) You’re learning, Fritz!

Fritz: Your account of your campaign to conquer Stettin was very stirring. (Calculatingly.) I am almost sorry I did not see that war for myself.

Frederick-William: Ah, those were the days. Peter, Augustus, and me, holding back the Swedish hordes. Ask Augustus about it when he gets here; he’s had his operation, and should be here in a few days.

He strides towards the parade ground, rubbing his hands vigorously as Fritz runs to keep up.

Cut to:

Scene 13: A banqueting hall in the Palazzo Pitti. Gian Gastone, Giuliano, Violante Beatrice, Murani and ANNA MARIA LUISA DE’ MEDICI are at the top table, with a few empty seats scattered among them. Luisa looks like she’s sucking a lemon. Gastone reclines on a classical-style couch, keeping his injured foot elevated. His clothes are already food-stained. Assorted minor nobles and merchants, including some Jewish merchants in skullcaps, dine at other tables.

Gastone (to Luisa and Violante): Look, this business will probably be settled by the Emperor anyway. He nearly gave the whole lot to the Spanish once already, and I can’t really stop him if he does.

Luisa: If the Emperor weren’t so desperate to set that little girl up on his throne, we might be able to settle the affairs of our own house in private.

Gastone: Little girl nothing! He’s still hoping for a son. It’s only his piety that’s stopping him putting the Empress aside and trying again with a younger model.

Violante: Let’s hope the Empress is spared, then. My nephew Charles Albert has never liked the Emperor’s attitude. Why not a Wittelsbach emperor for a change?

Luisa: Quite so. The Habsburgs are just as short of male heirs as we Medicis. And yet here we are, letting them make our decisions for us so that they can patch up their dynasty.

Gastone: Well, I’m sorry to say you’re not going to persuade me to remarry. (He doesn’t sound remotely sorry; he gives Giuliano a fond look. Giuliano is flirting with Murani, but still gives a little wave back.) I’ve made my mind up: we wait and see how the Emperor handles Don Carlos’ ambitions, and make a decision accordingly.

Luisa: You always put off the hard decisions. I pray you don’t come to regret it, brother.

A red-robed CARDINAL approaches one of the vacant seats.

Violante: Ah, good evening. Dear Gian Gastone, Donna Luisa, may I present Cardinal Petrini.

Gastone: Ah, welcome, Eminence. Here, take a seat.

Cardinal: Thank you, Your Highness.

Gastone: So how’s business?

Cardinal: Oh, we get by, Highness. Although we always welcome new endowments - there’s surprisingly little spare money for the church’s charitable work these days.

Gastone: Oh, really? (Already bored with this line of discussion.) I was nearly a cardinal myself once, you know.

Cardinal (sceptically): Indeed, Highness?

Gastone: Oh, absolutely. Family tradition and all that. But my father couldn’t decide whether to send me a red hat or marry me off to a Portuguese princess, and the whole thing fell through.

Cardinal: I see. That may have been the church’s loss, Highness.

Gastone (laughs): Perhaps. Hey, Julie - d’you think a cardinal’s cassock would suit me?

Giuliano: As well as any man.

Gastone: Flatterer. (Swigs wine) Mm - here’s a riddle for you all. What’s the difference between a rabbit and the Elector of Saxony?

Luisa (seeing it coming, aghast): Gastone!

Cardinal: I’m sure I don’t know, Highness. Will you tell us?

Gastone (laughing prematurely at his own joke): Simple - one has big ears and fucks all day, and the other’s a rabbit!

Cardinal: Oh, er, I say. I do believe, Highness, that King Augustus has moderated his ways since becoming reconciled to Holy Mother Church.

Gastone: Only because he loses precious screwing time arguing with the Poles!

Enter a SERVANT in white and gold.

Servant (quietly, for the cardinal’s ears only): Sede vacante, Eminence.

Cardinal: Your Highness, pray excuse me. A matter of the highest urgency has arisen. I hope you will understand.

Gastone: Oh, certainly. Get going if you like. (Waves him off.)

As the Cardinal rises to leave, so does Luisa. They approach the door of the hall together, and we follow them down the corridors towards the exit. Behind them, Gian Gastone inhales a large pinch of snuff, and has a messy sneezing fit.

Luisa: Please accept my apologies for my brother’s behaviour, Cardinal. He is not himself these days.

Cardinal: So I see.

Luisa (glaring at a Jewish diner as they pass his seat): He’d be in better health and spirits if he ate more pork, I think.

Cardinal (uneasily): Er, maybe. But listen, highness: I’m leaving for a more serious reason. The news will be everywhere tomorrow; I trust you as a daughter of the church not to proclaim it before then.

Luisa: What news, Eminence?

Cardinal: The Holy Father has died. (Luisa crosses herself.) There will have to be a conclave, and I hope there may be a few other changes at the Vatican as well.

Luisa: May he rest in peace. Do you think there will be big changes?

Cardinal: Deo volente, yes. The late Pope’s secretary has been embezzling the curial funds for years; I think now we may be able to stop him. If we can, it will be the start of great things. The church will be able to breathe freely again.

Luisa: Then I shall pray for your success. I deeply fear my brother’s secretary is at the same game; one day I may catch him at it.

As they step out into the night, cut to:

Scene 14: Berlin - the exterior of the Charlottenburg palace; morning. A group of Polish hussars rides up, all fitted out in red and white dress uniforms, plumes fluttering. Frederick-William and Fritz, in their usual plain service uniforms, stand watching. An honour guard of Saxon infantry follows in black and yellow livery, and behind them we can see a train of carriages. We cut to the interior of one of them, where AUGUSTUS THE STRONG, Elector of Saxony and King of Poland, sits with FATIMA, alias Maria Aurora of Spiegel, his chief mistress. Augustus is a huge man - tall, broad-shouldered and stout, with pallid skin - while Fatima is slender, elegant and lightly built. She’s Turkish, and her skin is deeply tanned.

Augustus is gently stroking Fatima’s wrist, and tries to guide her hand to his crotch.

Fatima (pulling it back): Ah, not now, please. We’re just arriving. Look, there are the King and Crown Prince.

Augustus: Oh, all right. God, they look like a shower of rain. Doesn’t the King of Prussia own a single dress uniform?

Fatima: I doubt it. He dressed the same way most of the time he was in Dresden, too. It’s a shame Prince Fritz has to fall in with his father’s style, though. He was much more lively when they visited us.

Augustus: Oh, we’ll cheer him up, I think. Here, help me down.

As he says this, they stop in front of the palace. A postillion opens the carriage door and unfolds a wooden step, and Fatima supports Augustus as he clambers down. He’s visibly putting most of his weight on his left foot.

Frederick-William: Augustus! Good to see you, old comrade.

Augustus: And you too, Frederick.

Frederick-William: Still living well, I see.

Augustus: As every man ought. But I’ve lost a little weight, you know?

Frederick-William: Indeed?

Augustus (laughing humourlessly): Yes - thanks to my surgeon, I’m lighter by two toes.

Frederick-William: Then I’m glad you’re well enough to travel to us.

Fritz (bowing): Welcome to Berlin, majesty.

Augustus (smiling): Thank you, highness. You must remember my dear companion Maria Aurora of Spiegel?

Frederick-William: Of course. Welcome!

Fatima: Thank you, your majesty. And please, call me Fatima. Every time someone says ‘Aurora’, I look around for my late godmother.

Fritz: Fatima, then. (Bows again.) It’s good to renew our acquaintance.

Frederick-William: Step inside, please. We’ve got an hour or so for drinks before the troops get back from Spandau for the review.

They walk inside, the two kings leading, and Fritz and Fatima following on behind.

Augustus: Just a review, old man?

Frederick-William: Not just a review, my friend. Later in the week we’ve got full-scale manoeuvres planned, and a regimental feast at which you shall be the guest of honour.

Fatima: Prince Fritz, are you involved in your father’s military demonstrations?

Fritz (smoothly): Oh, a little. But my father glosses over the other activities we have planned for your stay. Monday next we have a state banquet, and my mother and my sister are arranging some dances, and some evening soirées which may suit your taste rather better than the feast from the field kitchen.

Fatima: Thank you, your highness. And I look forward to meeting your mother and sister; I was sorry that they could not come to us last year.

Fritz: They will be delighted, I’m sure. Please, come with me to the drawing room...

They stroll after the two kings at a leisurely pace, and the conversation fades as they move away from us. After a brief pause, cut to:

Scene 15: Moscow - a salon in the palace. A huge portrait of Peter the Great in armour looms on the back wall. Elizabeth Petrovna is discovered eating Turkish delight and reading a book of French poetry. An Arab boy stands respectfully nearby. The door is flung open and Alexei Dolgoruky bursts in in a rage.

Alexei: You interfering bitch!

The servant boy ducks behind a fire-screen.

Elizabeth (dropping her sweets and putting the poetry book on the couch beside her): Alexei Lukich, what do you mean?

Alexei: You got my stupid brother to undermine me in the Privy Council! He’s rolled over for that old bastard Galitsyn - says my daughter can’t be empress. You did this - I know it.

Elizabeth: I really have no idea what you’re talking about. Galitsyn hasn’t told me anything about your negotiations. I have to rely on servants for my news.

Alexei: Balls. Ekaterina was going to be empress, half the Council could see it - and then this. You’re a bad liar, Elizabeth Petrovna.

Elizabeth: And you’re a grasping old vulture. How dare you come storming in here?

Alexei: You impudent girl. If you were my daughter, I’d thrash you.

Prince Galitsyn (entering unannounced): But as she’s Peter the Great’s daughter, I’d rather you didn’t. If it’s all the same, Alexei.

Alexei: You! You’re in it with her - cutting my daughter out like this.

Galitsyn: Back down, Alexei. There’s no plot. Your brother is an intelligent man - he knows the nobles won’t accept your daughter. It’s not personal. But if you continue making a scene, it can be made personal, I assure you.

Elizabeth: Thank you, Prince Galitsyn. Alexei Lukich, please knock next time you want to come and ... chat.

Galitsyn: We’ll talk later, Alexei.

Alexei: Damned right we will. (He strides out.)

Elizabeth: What a tiresome man he is. As if I’d bother plotting against his silly daughter.

Galitsyn: He’s still a Privy Councillor, and a prince. I think we’d all appreciate it if you avoided annoying him or his brother for the next couple of weeks, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth: If only one could tell what will annoy them. The Dolgorukys are the most irritable of men. General Münnich is quite tired of them too.

Galitsyn: When were you talking with Münnich?

Elizabeth: Oh, now and then. I saw him at little Peter’s funeral, for one thing.

Galitsyn: Hmm. Don’t go pretending you don’t know how to plot, then. We all have our methods, and you’re no different. Take care - this isn’t some game of draughts.

Elizabeth (mildly): The General is a sweet man who asks after my health. He also knows Abram Petrovich quite well, and gives me news of him from Siberia. That’s all there is to it.

Galitsyn: If you say so. But do be careful. I’d be betraying your father if I let anything happen to you.

Elizabeth: I assure you I shall do nothing risky. (She picks up her poetry book.)

Galitsyn: I’ll keep you to that. Good afternoon. (He bows slightly, and leaves.)

Cut to:

Scene 16: An establishing shot of Mariazell, high in the Austrian mountains. It is noon in springtime; the alpine meadows are blooming and the Angelus bell rings out over the valleys. Cut to a whitewashed schoolroom. Maria Theresa, Maria Anna and several other girls, wearing high-necked dresses, are seated behind a long table, facing a NUN.

Nun: Now girls, fold your hands and pray with me for the repose of the soul of the Holy Father, and for the Spirit’s guidance on the conclave. Requiem aeternam dona ei Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eo. Te decet hymnus Deus in Sion, et tibi reddetur hymnus in Ierusalem.

All: Requiem aeternam dona ei Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eo. (All cross themselves.)

Nun: Pater noster, qui es in Caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

All: Amen.

Nun: Good. Now let us continue with our scripture study. Archduchess Maria Anna, will you come up here and read, please?

Maria Anna rises, curtsies, and walks to a reading-stand where a large Bible is set out. She reads in Latin, with subtitles.

Maria Anna: Now Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lappidoth, was judging Israel at that time. She used to sit under the palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim; and the people of Israel came up to her for judgment. She sent and summoned Barak the son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali, and said to him, "The Lord, the God of Israel, commands you, 'Go, gather your men at Mount Tabor, taking ten thousand from the tribe of Naphtali and the tribe of Zebulun. And I will draw out Sisera, the general of Jabin's army, to meet you by the river Kishon with his chariots and his troops; and I will give him into your hand.'" Barak said to her, "If you will go with me, I will go; but if you will not go with me, I will not go." And she said, "I will surely go with you; nevertheless, the road on which you are going will not lead to your glory, for the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman."

Nun: Thank you. Please sit down. Now, what lesson do we learn from this story?

A GIRL raises her hand.

Nun: Yes, Gretel?

Girl: That a man who does not trust God will surely be dishonoured, sister.

Nun: Very good, Gretel. Barak was to be humiliated by having his victory taken from him by a woman. (She notices that Maria Theresa’s hand is also up. She sighs.) Archduchess Maria Theresa?

Maria Theresa: Sister, the scripture also teaches us that victory is the Lord’s, and that he may use any faithful person to do his works.

Nun: Er, yes. And-

Maria Theresa (continuing): Therefore we ought all to be ready for the moment when God may make us his instruments. As it is written, ‘Ye know not the day, nor the hour.’

Nun (firmly): Thank you, your Imperial Highness. Gretel, will you read the next passage?

Cut to:

Scene 17: A road in a lightly-forested part of rural Russia. Gannibal rides at a steady, fast pace, intent on the road ahead.

A gunshot rings out, and Gannibal’s horse rears up. He dismounts and dives for the cover of the nearest trees, while his horse stumbles and circles. In close-up, we see him sweating and trembling. Then we cut to a reverse view, where two BANDITS are steadily advancing, guns at the ready.

First Bandit: You’re outgunned, stranger. Throw down your weapons and give us your cash!

Cut back to Gannibal, who desperately leans out of cover and just fails to grab his horse’s reins. The second bandit fires, just missing.

Second Bandit: Stop now, and we’ll let you live.

Gannibal grabs at the reins a second time, and this time succeeds in leading the horse into the trees. Immediately, he begins rummaging frantically in the saddle-bags. We cut back to the bandits as they continue their advance, reloading as they go.

Then, unexpectedly, a small bundle rolls out into the road from where Gannibal is concealed. Smoke rises from it, and then sparks.

Suddenly, it erupts into three rockets, which stream towards the bandits. The first bandit takes one in the belly and falls immediately; the second dives in time but is still scorched, and drops his gun. As he reaches for it, a boot comes down on it. Gannibal stands over him, his own gun drawn.

Gannibal (now cool and composed again): Many would hang you for this. Run, thief, and don’t look back.

The surviving bandit doesn’t need to be told twice; he clambers to his feet and runs. We hear hoofbeats fading into the distance as Gannibal retrieves his horse and remounts. Then he resumes his ride, and we follow him a little as he approaches the rising woodsmoke of a distant village.

Cut to:

Scene 18: The Prussian countryside, somewhere between Berlin and Potsdam. Augustus, Frederick-William and Fritz are all on horseback, watching Frederick-William’s giant grenadiers running along a forest trail in full uniform.

Frederick-William: You know, if you ever get tired of the family business, there’s always a place for a man of your stature in my grenadiers.

Augustus (laughing): I dare say! But I can’t see myself ever throwing in the towel. Not like that old Swedish king who gave it all up to be a pirate, you know. I’m onto too good a thing in Poland to think about backing out. And if you’re still recruiting for this regiment, do please think about asking my subjects before impressing them, hm?

Frederick-William: Oh, not that old story again. Every one of these men is a volunteer.

A lanky black African grenadier runs past.

Augustus: Really? Every one?

Frederick-William: Not counting the ones I paid for, obviously. And speaking of things paid for, how is the Polish situation now?

Augustus: It’s all going swimmingly. That old coot Lechczynski doesn’t dare show his face, no matter how much the French want him to. I reckon we’ve seen the last of French interference in Poland. The only fly in the ointment is the Russians.

Fritz: How has the news of the Tsar’s death been taken in Poland?

Augustus: Oh, they’re not shedding many tears for little Tsar Peter. But I pay my Polish allies their retainer partly with Russian cash - it’s a deal Menshikov and I cooked up years ago. After all, a quiet Poland suits Russia just as well as it suits you and me. But now Menshikov’s been bundled off to Siberia, and the Privy Council are refusing to renew my payments until after they appoint a new tsar.

Fritz: What’s taking them so long?

Augustus: Ha. Probably trying to bribe each other - or find a compliant assassin or two. It’s just typical of them not to have a plan worked out in advance.

Frederick-William: Russia’s practically a wilderness. Needs a strong personality at the top, or it all goes to hell. So what happens when you can’t pay?

Augustus: They stop agreeing to my laws. It’s all got to be unanimous, and unanimity is expensive!

Fritz: But in Saxony, only you have to be unanimous.

Augustus: Exactly! Well, sometimes I need the emperor’s approval too, but that’s not a problem. Ever since I converted, he’s been quite agreeable. But the Poles, the ones I converted for, want cash as well. I swear, it’s a tough job being king. You’ll find out first-hand eventually, Fritz!

We see a furiously glowering expression from Frederick William before a cut to:

Scene 19: Florence. Gian Gastone’s chamber in the Palazzo Pitti. Evening. Gian Gastone is slumped in bed, while Guiliano Dami massages his legs. Unopened bottles of wine stand on a bedside table, while empties litter the floor. There is a knock at the door, and Violante Beatrice comes in, accompanied by two lawyers and clutching a bundle of documents.

Violante: You’re ready to do this?

Gastone (brushing Giuliano away): Yes, yes. Bring me the papers.

She does so. One of the lawyers lays a leather-covered board across Gastone’s lap, and the other hands him a quill. He takes a moment to read the document that Violante presents, and then signs it with a flourishing squiggle. One of the lawyers melts some sealing wax, and drips it onto the bottom of the paper, next to the signature. Gastone makes a fist and punches the hot wax with his signet ring. The resulting seal is virtually unrecognisable.

Gastone: There. Sic transit gloria mundi. Don Carlos can have the whole lot. Emperor Charles won’t like it, but so what?

Violante: Thank you, Gastone.

Gastone: Well, he’s your bloody nephew. Now give me some peace.

Violante: All right, all right. (She withdraws, taking the lawyers with her.)

Gastone (to Giuliano): You too, Giuliano. Get lost. Go fuck your friend Rodolfo, or something.

Giuliano: Gastone!

Gastone: I mean it. Get out. I want to be alone tonight.

Giuliano grabs an open bottle of wine and leaves, looking hurt. Gastone uncorks a new bottle of wine and drinks deeply from it. Mournful music plays as we see a montage of him consuming several bottles, weeping and dribbling, until he passes out, the last bottle spilling like blood in the light of the rising moon. Fade out, and up on:

Scene 20: Moscow. The same salon as Scene 15. Again, Elizabeth Petrovna is discovered, this time drinking hot chocolate and eating sugared almonds. A black SERVING BOY in a fancifully orientalist outfit holds the chocolate pot. There’s a knock on the door, and Prince Galitsyn comes in.

Galitsyn: Highness, the privy council has decided...

Elizabeth (looking up just a bit too quickly): Yes?

Galitsyn: ... has decided to appoint the Duchess of Courland as the new sovereign.

Elizabeth (nearly spilling her chocolate): Cousin Anna? Why?

Galitsyn: She is the most senior member of the House of Romanov, highness. She has governed Courland well for many years now - there’s no question that she understands rulership. (As he says this, he sweeps the room with a scathing glance, taking in the serving boy, the chocolate and almonds, and the pile of poetry books on the side table.)

Elizabeth: And what do the Dolgorukys make of this?

Galtisyn: They were quite happy with the proposal. Duchess Anna is a candidate acceptable to almost the entire privy council.

Elizabeth: Almost?

Galitsyn: Count Osterman abstained. He objected to the proposed deed of accession.

Elizabeth: Osterman never does a favour for anyone. But you mean she has to sign a deal with you in order to succeed?

Galitsyn: Oh, there’s nothing unreasonable. It’s just a matter of mutual recognition between the new tsaritsa and the privy council.

Elizabeth: Well, I hope she signs up, I suppose. Thank you for letting me know, Prince Galitsyn.

Galitsyn: My pleasure, Highness. (He leaves, and closes the door.)

Elizabeth looks grumpy, and snatches the chocolate pot from the serving boy.

Boy: Your highness?

Elizabeth: Oh, nothing. It’s not like I wanted the stupid crown.

Cut to:

Scene 21: A parade ground in Berlin. Afternoon. A series of long tables have been set out, with a high table facing them, set up on a high platform. A serving table in the centre is being loaded with huge platters by a literal regiment of military cooks. Whole oxen are being spit-roasted nearby. At the high table are Frederick-William, Fritz, Augustus, Grumbkow, and several other senior officers. Ranks of men from the Prussian, Polish and Saxon armies, including the giant grenadiers, stand ready to take their places at the lower tables.

Frederick-William (to Augustus): Would you like to open proceedings, my friend?

Augustus: Oh, certainly. Don’t mind if I do. (He stands and addresses the troops.) Soldiers! This feast is the product of his majesty the King of Prussia’s finest field kitchens. It is also the product of the friendship and peace that exists between him and me, and between our nations. Come and share with us!

The soldiers take their seats, and the cooks begin serving them. Plates of heavy-looking food are brought up to the top table, too. Frederick William and Grumbkow tuck in immediately. Augustus and Fritz (who sits on the far side of Augustus from his father) both hesitate.

Fritz (quietly): Is everything all right, majesty?

Augustus: Oh, I suppose. This is just a little different from what I’d expected.

Fritz: I believe my father wishes to share the excellence of his army with us all.

Augustus (lowering his voice): I know, I know. But he and I ate from the same field kitchen the whole time we were fighting the Swedes. Doesn’t he ever have fun?

Fritz (ineffectually concealing a smile): My father loves nothing more than military discipline, majesty. But I think next week’s ball and banquet may be more what you had in mind. My mother and sister have taken a close hand in the planning.

Augustus: You may be right. I’m especially looking forward to meeting your sister, you know.

Fritz: I’m sure she’ll be delighted.

Frederick-William (cutting in): Augustus - who’s that tall fellow down the end over there?

Augustus (with a small smile): One of my Polish hussars. Are you recruiting?

Frederick-William: Maybe. May I have a closer look?

Augustus: Go right ahead.

Frederick-William calls to a junior officer who has been supervising the serving table - HANS HERMANN VON KATTE.

Frederick-William: You there - Lieutenant Katte, isn’t it? Following in the family tradition - good lad. Listen - go and tell that very tall hussar over there to come up and stand before us.

Katte: At once, your majesty.

We see Katte - a fresh-faced, handsome young man - go down and fetch a tall cavalryman from among the Polish troops, and bring him back to the high table.

Augustus: So, what do you think?

Frederick-William: Magnificent. What’s the catch?

Augustus: No catch, Frederick. Of course, I do seek a finder’s fee...

Frederick-William waves Lieutenant Katte away, and he leaves them to it, and goes and fills a plate from the serving table. He brings it to Fritz, even though Fritz hasn’t quite finished the previous plateful.

Katte: Your next course, your Highness.

Fritz: So formal, Hans?

Katte (whispering): Still on duty, Fritz. Let’s talk later.

Fritz nods, but grasps Katte’s hand briefly, fiercely, before letting him get back to work.

Cut to:

Scene 22: Vienna. A study in the palace. Morning. The Emperor Charles enters, furiously angry, attended by various secretaries and diplomats. The Empress and Maria Theresa tag along behind, looking concerned.

Emperor: That fat faggot! How dare he!

The Empress and Maria Theresa exchange anxious glances.

Emperor: He lies there, posing like some tragic hero, and expecting us all to feel sorry for him, and then he goes and does this!

Empress: Love, please calm down. At this rate they’ll hear you shouting in Florence.

Emperor: I’ll calm down when I’m ready. Gastone’s got no right to do this.

Maria Theresa: Will you send troops to stop him, father?

Emperor: Troops? No, no. Not unless Don Carlos actually tries to occupy Tuscany. I’ve already dispatched formal protests to the Spanish and Tuscan embassies, and asked King Philip to repudiate his son’s claim.

Empress: Oh no - call them back.

Emperor: What? Why?

Empress: This could be an opportunity.

Maria Theresa: Mother?

Emperor: Yes, what do you mean?

Empress: Why not tell Philip you’ll challenge Gian Gastone’s new will unless he recognises Maria Theresa as your heir?

Emperor: You think he’d accept?

Empress: It’s surely worth trying. After all, Don Carlos may be just a hotheaded youth, but Philip’s wiser than that. He’ll see sense.

Emperor: Hmph. Let’s try it. (To one of the secretaries) Go to the messengers’ office immediately and hold back the letter to the Spanish ambassador.

Cut to:

Scene 23: Berlin. A drawing room in the palace. Fritz, Wilhelmine and Fatima are taking tea together.

Wilhelmine: Is King Augustus’ son going to be joining him while he’s here?

Fatima: I don’t think so. You do mean Young Augustus, don’t you? No, he’s looking after things in Dresden while we’re here. If the Russians choose a new Tsar, we’ll need to pay our Polish allies as soon as we can.

Wilhelmine: Does His Majesty have other sons, then?

Fatima (laughing): Dozens! Perhaps hundreds. But Young Augustus is the only legitimate one. The others do all sorts of things - one of them, Maurice, is an army officer in France. His mother was my godmother, and he writes to me from time to time.

Fritz: Indeed - I hear of Maurice’s popularity in Paris all the time. I was sorry he did not become Duke of Courland - he would have been a useful ally in the Baltic. But I met Young Augustus when I was in Dresden myself last year - he seems a very well-educated prince.

Fatima: King Augustus believes that a prince should study all the arts.

Fritz: As do I - although it’s not always easy to find the time. We do have a fine library here, though. Father is spending more time in there lately.

Fatima: That’s good to hear.

Enter Augustus, limping heavily. Everyone stands.

Augustus: Ah, Fatima, my dear! There you are. And Prince Fritz. And is this - ?

Fritz: Yes, Majesty. Allow me to present my sister, Princess Wilhelmine.

Augustus kisses her hand, lingering a little too long in doing so. She curtsies.

Wilhelmine: It’s a pleasure, your Majesty. Are you enjoying Berlin?

Augustus: Oh, very much. But I must say I don’t believe I had seen its chief beauty until now.

Wilhelmine (blushing): You’re too kind, Majesty.

Augustus: I speak as I find, Princess. Your father would tell you that.

Wilhelmine: He has often spoken of his regard for you.

Augustus: Heh. He and I are old comrades-in-arms. He knows my tastes well.

Fatima: Won’t you sit down, dear?

Augustus: Perhaps for a minute or two. (He lowers himself heavily into an armchair.)

Fritz: Mina, dear, would you go and find Mother, please? I’m sure she’d want to join us.

Wilhelmine hurries out; Augustus looks disappointed, before grabbing a teacup and gesturing to a lurking servant to fill it up. He falls to whispering with Fatima, leaving Fritz gazing out of the window. Cut to:

Scene 24: An establishing shot of a road outside Moscow, with the domes of the Kremlin in the distance, and a barn-like tavern in the foreground. We hear Jewish folk music as we cut to:

The tavern interior, a single huge room with draft and pack animals tethered down one end, drinkers gathered around a few rough tables at the other end, and a small group of Jewish musicians playing between. Gannibal enters, dusty and muddy from the road. He buys a beer, and as he turns, a hooded figure sitting at a table gestures to him, waving a newspaper. He approaches, and we see that it is Elizabeth Petrovna, her curly hair concealed by her hood, and with a casual gown on under her cloak.

Gannibal (quietly): Elizabeth! What are you doing here, sister?

Elizabeth: Good to see you too, Abram. A little bird told me you’d be stopping here.

Gannibal: A little bird in uniform?

Elizabeth: Perhaps. Is it true Father once came here in disguise to meet you?

Gannibal: No - but he loved people to think he had. Made him look like a devoted adoptive father. But he was always too busy. I always had to go and look for him. What’s possessed you to do it for real?

Elizabeth: I wanted to catch you before you entered the city. You need to be careful.

Gannibal: Münnich’s letter said it was all clear, and I heard of young Peter’s death when I reached Kazan. What’s gone wrong?

Elizabeth: Nothing yet. Well, maybe. Galitsyn and the other privy counsellors have picked cousin Anna to succeed to the throne. Nothing’s been publically proclaimed yet - they’re waiting for her to sign some agreement or other.

Gannibal: An agreement to do what Galitsyn and the Dolgorukys say?

Elizabeth: I haven’t seen it, but it could well be, yes.

Gannibal: Do you think she’ll accept? It’s not like anyone much has told her how to behave, out in Courland.

Elizabeth: Would anyone refuse the Tsardom?

Gannibal: I would. I remember what happened to the Tsarevich Alexei. I can still hear him screaming.

Elizabeth: You’re not most people, Abram Petrovich. Suppose Anna accepts. That puts Galitsyn and the others fully in charge. Do you trust all of them?

Gannibal: Not much. But if Anna refuses, what’ll they do? Make you the same offer?

Elizabeth: I think Vasiliy Dolgoruky would like to pick my baby nephew. All hail the royal toddler, in whose name the privy council does whatever it wants.

Gannibal: That would suit them all very well, I should think. How has Osterman taken all this?

Elizabeth: Badly. We pretty much buried his ambitions along with Peter. He doesn’t seem to want Anna or me to take the throne. I’m afraid of what he’ll do next.

Gannibal: Have you got my engineering books safe still?

Elizabeth: Yes, and most of the furniture. They’re in a house by the road to Smolensk. I’ll get a key sent to you.

Gannibal: Thank you. I fear we may all need to make a swift departure if things do not go in the council’s favour.

He drinks deeply of his beer.

Cut to:

Scene 25: Berlin. A ballroom in the palace. A group of musicians plays courtly dancing music, and the room is full of nobles in fine costumes. Ambassador Seckendorf sits in the corner, smoking a pipe. Augustus enters, leaning on a cane. Frederick-William is sitting on a throne on small dais, watching the proceedings. Dorothea sits beside him.

Dorothea: There, dear - this isn’t so bad, is it?

Frederick-William: Oh, I suppose not. Keeps Augustus and his fillies in good spirits, at any rate.

Enter Grumbkow, leading CHARLES HOTHAM, the new British ambassador. A stout, middle-aged Yorkshireman, he looks grey and serious in the midst of all the partying.

Grumbkow: Sire, please allow me to introduce Colonel Sir Charles Hotham, ambassador of His Majesty King George the Second of Great Britain, Elector of Hanover, et cetera.

Frederick-William: Thank you, Grumbkow. Welcome to Berlin, Colonel Hotham. Step forward.

Hotham (bowing low): Thank you, Majesty. I have lodged my credentials with your secretaries. May I say what an honour it is to be received here, and in such elevated company.

Frederick-William: Very good. I’m holding an audience tomorrow morning; please be there.

Hotham: Of course, majesty. I look forward to it.

Frederick-William: I should hope so! In the mean time, please stay and enjoy the ball.

Frederick-William waves him away, and Grumbkow leads him off in search of drinks.

Fritz is escorted into the room by a small group of officers, including Lt Katte. Augustus waves him over.

Augustus: Prince Frederick! Won’t you join the dancing? Some of my mistresses remember how well you did in Dresden, and would like another go.

Fritz: Your Majesty is very kind. I’ll certainly take a turn or two - I hope I don’t disappoint.

Augustus: Well, lad, you’ve caught a few eyes. Play your cards right, and the girls might not disappoint either! (He slaps Fritz on the shoulder in a slightly over-familiar manner.)

Fritz (blushing slightly): Oh, I only aspire to dance well for now, majesty.

Fatima (joining them): Hello again, Fritz. Will your father be joining the dancing?

Fritz: I don’t think I’d be able to persuade him. But maybe...

Fatima: Maybe indeed. Just a moment... (She hurries off.)

Augustus: She’d persuade a marble statue to dance, that one.

We see Fatima in conversation with Queen Dorothea, who then goes and whispers in Frederick-William’s ear. He then calls a servant over, who goes to talk to the musicians.

Frederick-William: Places, everyone! My wife and I will dance the next dance along with you.

The dancers all form up into alternating rows of men and women. The central two rows pair Frederick-William with Dorothea, Augustus with Fatima, Grumbkow with Wilhelmine, and Fritz with Lisa, another of Augustus’ mistresses. As the music begins, each couple dances together, and then the male partners pair up for a few steps before rejoining new opposite numbers.

Grumbkow dancing with Wilhelmine:

Grumbkow: Princess Wilhelmine - how do you like King Augustus?

Wilhelmine: Like him? He’s very distinguished. And I’m impressed that he’s dancing so soon after his operation.

Frederick-William dancing with Dorothea:

Dorothea: Augustus knows about Mina’s engagement to the Prince of Wales, doesn’t he?

Frederick-William: Oh, certainly. I think he’s in favour.

They change partners. Frederick-William switches with Augustus:

Augustus: Just the one set, I think. My foot’s twinging.

Fritz dancing with Wilhelmine:

Fritz: You’re good at this, sis. I hope they have more dances in London.

Wilhelmine: Me too. I know it’s not Father’s style, but I like it.

Frederick-William dancing with Fatima:

Frederick-William: A bit more to your taste, Lady Fatima?

Fatima: Oh, absolutely. And it’s good to see your son dancing. He’s very keen.

The men at the ends of the set go around and change places, and Frederick-William switches with Fritz.

Fritz: Thank you for joining the dance, sir.

Fritz dancing with Fatima:

Fatima: How do you like Lisa?

Fritz: She dances beautifully. Did you teach her?

Fatima: I'm touched that you think so - but, yes. (She smiles.)

Grumbkow dancing with Dorothea:

Grumbkow: Have you told your brother about Augustus bringing his harem here?

Dorothea (coldly): What I tell George is my own business.

The men change in pairs again. Grumbkow passes Fritz:

Fritz: Please don’t upset mother, sir.

As the new partners begin dancing, there’s an audible sound of tearing fabric. We get a glimpse of a huge tear in the back of Frederick-William’s breeches. Everyone else keeps dancing - Lisa on her own - while the king tries to appear dignified. He pulls Lt Katte out of his set to give an order:

Frederick-William: Here, Katte - give me your cloak, and take my place.

Katte: Yes, Majesty.

Seckendorf gets up and joins Katte’s original set, unasked. Frederick-William puts on the cloak, goes to the door, and slips out at the end of the dance. Augustus recovers his cane from a page, and goes after him. Seckendorf then takes Augustus’ place, and Hotham takes Seckendorf’s place.

The next dance begins:

Seckendorf dancing with Wilhelmine:

Seckendorf: That Englishman with the strange accent - he’s your uncle George’s new ambassador, isn’t he?

Wilhelmine: I believe so, sir.

Fatima dancing with Katte:

Fatima: This is an unexpected pleasure. Have we been introduced?

Katte: Lieutenant Hans Hermann von Katte, madame.

Fatima: Call me Fatima.

They change partners. Katte passes Fritz; they don’t speak, but again clasp hands firmly.

We see the rest of the dance without further chatter. At the end, Fritz pulls a small pipe out of his coat pocket, and makes for the door. Katte follows at a discreet distance.

Outside, on a terrace where the lights of Berlin glitter in the distance, Fritz is smoking his pipe. As soon as he sees Katte coming out to join him, he knocks out his pipe, and the two men retreat into the shadow of a pillar, embracing and kissing. Our view gradually widens and zooms out as they continue. Fade out and up on:

Scene 26: A medieval castle with more recent additions. Exterior, day. A small cavalcade rides up.

Caption: Mittau, Duchy of Courland

We see the officers from the cavalcade dismount and go indoors. Cut to:

A large round chamber in the castle. ANNA IVANOVNA, Duchess of Courland, is sitting at a desk, writing. She is a stocky woman in her mid thirties. Her lover ERNST JOHANN VON BIRON stands nearby, reading correspondence. By the largest window, her ex-lover COUNT PETER BESTUSHEV is smoking with some soldiers. There is a knock at the door.

Anna and von Biron (together): Enter!

Two soldiers abandon their smoke break to go and open the main door of the room. The officers from outside march in, salute, and then bow deeply. One of them steps forward.

Officer: Grand Duchess Anna! On behalf of the Supreme Privy Council of Russia, I am commanded to inform you that the Council has been pleased to appoint you as Tsaritsa, Empress of All The Russias.

Anna lays down her pen, and stands.

Anna: Me? I had not expected them to choose my father’s heirs over my uncle’s.

Officer: This is their decision, Highness. I am sent to present you with these articles of accession, which await your most gracious signature. (He presents a bundle of papers.)

Anna: Is this a condition of my appointment?

Officer: Yes, Highness. I am instructed to bring back to Moscow either you with the signed articles, or neither.

Von Biron: Ha! That’s pretty clear.

Anna pauses to consider for a moment. Then she thrusts out her hand.

Anna: Very well - give me the articles.

The officer does so. She reads them cursorily, and then signs the last page.

Anna: There you go. Hi, Bestushev! Go and have my carriage prepared. We’re all going to Moscow.

Bestushev: Yes, Highness.

Several of the officers look deeply uncomfortable. Anna glares at Bestushev.

Bestushev: Oh! God forgive me. Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.

Cut to:

Scene 27: Florence - the Palazzo Pitti. Interior, Day. Anna Maria Luisa stands at the door of Gian Gastone’s apartment, and slowly opens it. Inside, she glimpses Dami and Gian Gastone embracing on the bed. She shuts the door hurriedly, and walks away. We follow her as she enters the Vasari Corridor, a long passage hung with works of art. The Corridor leads over the River Arno on a bridge, but Luisa does not look out of the windows. She enters the Uffizi, the Grand Duchy’s administrative centre, and throws open the door of the Grand Ducal Archive. Violante Beatrice is inside, reading an heraldic scroll. She looks up at the disturbance.

Violante: Good afternoon, Luisa. May I help you?

Luisa: That man!

Violante: Which man?

Luisa: That wretched man Dami - my brother’s groom or secretary or whatever it is he calls himself.

Violante (sighing): Oh, yes. He’s most tiresome.

Luisa: He’s more than that. You know as well as I do that he’s Gastone’s catamite.

Violante: I know - I pray daily for God to forgive Gastone.

Luisa: As do I. But Dami’s not just enjoying his bed - he’s also taking full advantage of the wine cellar and the privy purse.

Violante: Can you prove it?

Luisa: I believe so. Somewhere here in the Uffizi we can find the accounts to show what’s gone missing.

Violante: All right. Let’s see if we can root him out.

Luisa: Thank you, Violante.

Violante: While you’re here, there is another matter I wanted to ask you about. I’m told the emperor is threatening to challenge Gastone’s will unless King Philip agrees to the Pragmatic Sanction, and to curb Don Carlos’ ambitions in Italy.

Luisa: A fig for the Pragmatic Sanction! If Emperor Charles wants women to take the throne, why not let me succeed Gastone?

Violante: Or my nephew’s wife succeed the Emperor in Austria? Absolutely. But I doubt we’ll change his mind. No, what I need to ask is that you should work with me to keep Don Carlos in check. A major war in Italy harms all of us. If we can keep him happy with what Gastone has offered, perhaps we can keep the peace.

Luisa: Very well. I agree. Let’s both write to Don Carlos and say that we support him succeeding Gastone, but he must keep peace in Italy if he wants to keep Tuscany.

Cut to:

Scene 28: Berlin. A corridor in the officers’ quarters. Fritz enters from outside, and knocks furtively on one of the doors. After a moment, he is let in. We cut to a poky single bedroom, decorated only with a plain cross and a woodcut portrait of Frederick-William. Lt Katte sits on the bed, and Fritz shuts the door behind them.

Katte: Fritz - what’s up?

Fritz: Run away with me, Hans.

Katte: What? Why - and where?

Fritz: Being here is destroying me, my dear. Since Augustus left, my father has bullied me every day about what a poor soldier he thinks I am, and how I’m not fit to be king. He throws things, he screams at everyone. I can’t stand it. But what’s worse is that it stops me being with you.

They embrace; Fritz has tears in his eyes.

Katte: But how could we get away, and where would we run to?

Fritz: If we can get as far as Hanover, we can get safe passage from there to England; Uncle George would give us asylum. Hell, if I have to, I’ll marry cousin Amelia to sweeten the deal. I wouldn’t be the first English prince with a wife and a favourite man.

Katte (kissing him): Oh, Fritz. I wish we could. But this place is like a fortified camp; never mind Hanover, I don’t think we could make it as far as Potsdam without being spotted.

Fritz (pacing): I know, I know. Damnation to my father’s rules! We can’t just ride out of here. But if I find a way, will you come?

Katte: Yes, yes, of course. To be safely away from here with you would be perfect.

They embrace again. A bugle is heard in the distance.

Fritz: Damn. I need to go to manoeuvres. Take care, my love.

He leaves hurriedly. Cut to:

Scene 29: Vienna. A terrace outside the palace. Early evening. The Emperor and Empress are walking arm in arm; a butler and some guardsmen stand at a respectful distance, pretending not to be there.

Empress: What was in this morning’s dispatch, dear?

Emperor: Good news, as it happens. King Philip says Spain finds our terms for Don Carlos’ acceptance of Tuscany to be acceptable; he’ll support the Pragmatic Sanction.

Empress: There! I told you it was worth a try.

Emperor: And you were right, love. The other good news is from Seckendorf. He says the British have sent some country squire to be their new ambassador in Berlin.

Empress: Someone who’d welcome a little extra income, you think?

Emperor: Exactly so. Or if not cash, something else. The ambitions of an English gentleman ought to be easy enough to fulfil, one hopes.

Empress: King Frederick-William is such an ogre. I feel bad for his children - especially Prince Fritz.

Emperor: Well, if we manage to sink this double-marriage plan of his, maybe we can make Fritz a better offer.

Empress: You mean -

She is interrupted by a GOVERNESS, bursting through the doors onto the terrace.

Governess: Your Imperial Majesties!

Emperor: What? What is it?

Governess: Forgive the intrusion, sire - the Archduchess Maria Amalia has fallen very sick.

Empress (gasping): What’s wrong? I’ll go to her.

She rushes indoors, taking the governess with her. The Emperor follows at a brisk walk, followed by his guards. Cut to:

Scene 30: Moscow: The officers’ parlour. Interior, evening. Münnich and his fellow officers are sitting around smoking pipes and drinking ale. (Gannibal is not amongst them.)

Münnich: I saw Galitsyn bring the new Tsaritsa in today. I fear she’s completely in his pocket. You know -

The door opens, and Anna Ivanovna slips into the room, wearing a black cloak over a riding habit.

Anna: Forgive the interruption, gentlemen.

They all leap to their feet and bow; she waves them back to their seats.

Münnich: Welcome, your Imperial Majesty.

Anna: Thank you. (She sits on the end of the table.) I’m glad I found you all here. I need to speak with you about a most pressing matter that touches you directly.

Münnich: How so, Majesty?

Anna: Right now, I am here as a puppet empress. Galitsyn and the other privy councillors had me sign, at gunpoint, an act of accession which puts the full power of the state into their hands. And I know, from what I have heard on my journey here, that they mean to act against the military - to put it into the hands of Russian aristocrats instead of Germans and professionals, and to thoroughly clip its wings. (As she speaks, she pulls herself up to kneel on the table, drawing the officers in closer to listen to her.)

Münnich: Thank you for the warning, Majesty. What would you have us do?

Anna: I have a plan. It is only a simple one, but it will work if I have your full confidence. (She stands on the table.) Are you my officers?

All: Yes, Majesty!

Anna: Then stand with me as I strike against these puffed-up princelings, and I will defend your service with the full force of the Tsardom. Are you with me?

All: Yes!

Anna: Good. Here’s the plan...

Fade out, and in again to:

Scene 31: Dresden. The exterior of the royal palace. The scene is the reverse of scene 14; troops disperse in good order back to barracks, and the royal carriage pulls up in front of the main entrance.

Caption: Dresden, Electorate of Saxony

Augustus, limping worse than ever, is helped down from the carriage by Fatima. He is handed his cane by a page, and slowly mounts the stairs to the front door. He is greeted by a squad of infantry, who part to reveal his eldest legitimate son, YOUNG AUGUSTUS.

Young Augustus: Welcome home, father.

Augustus: Thank you, son. What’s the news?

Young Augustus: Payments from Moscow have resumed - the Duchess of Courland accepted the Privy Council’s terms, and is holding her first audience this week.

Augustus: Thank God for that. Mind you, I don’t trust Duchess Anna one inch.

They walk inside. The palace is lush and opulent, with soft furnishings, beautiful friezes, and glittering chandeliers. Lightly-dressed concubines spring up from couches to curtsey in greeting to the king; he waves them off.

Fatima: Nor do I. I remember how she deceived Maurice. He should be ruling the Duchy now, not Anna and her boyfriends.

Young Augustus: From what the privy council’s message said, my lady, I don’t think the new Tsaritsa is going to be ruling anything except in name. And a message from one of our agents in Moscow suggests they may be writing a new constitution to strengthen their hold over her.

Augustus: Well, that would make the Polish situation easier.

Fatima: I suppose so. But won’t you have to keep the whole privy council in line now? Do we have to bribe all of them, too?

Augustus: Hrmph. Hopefully they’ll see it our way and pay up for the sake of a peaceful Poland. I can’t imagine they fancy another French puppet showing up.

Young Augustus: Well, I sent the first instalment on to our people in Warsaw and Krakow. The next parliament should vote our way as usual.

Augustus: Good job, lad. Fatima, dear, send a couple of girls up to help me with bathtime, will you?

Cut to:

Scene 32: Vienna. A bedchamber in the palace. Night. The lights are low, and the fire damped down. The Empress, Maria Theresa, and Maria Anna kneel by the side of a large bed. Maria Amalia lies on it, pallid and sweating. All three of the kneeling women hold rosary beads, and pray in unison.

All: ... sed libera nos a malo. Amen. Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancti. Amen.

Maria Theresa: Is there nothing else we can do for her?

Empress: We can only put our trust in God, Theresa. Amalia has the best help the Empire can offer.

Maria Theresa (balling part of the bedspread up in her fist): It’s so unjust, though. Poor Amalia has never hurt anyone.

Empress: The Lord’s ways are mysterious, darling. We can only follow the commandment to watch and pray.

Maria Amalia emits a quiet groan, and writhes in pain.

Maria Anna (sobbing): Oh, mama, mama!

Empress: Take strength, Anna, love. Let’s pray again now; it’s the most we can do. Ave Maria...

All three: ... gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesu.

Fade out, and up on:

Scene 33: Moscow. An audience room in the palace. Day. A large portrait of Peter the Great with his brother Ivan hangs at the back. The privy councillors are assembled, along with Elizabeth Petrovna, Ekaterina Dolgorukova, von Biron, Bestushev, Münnich, and many other nobles and officers. Gannibal lurks at the back. There is a flourish of trumpets, and the main doors are flung open by soldiers. The new Empress Anna strides in, accompanied by a squad of infantry. Everyone immediately falls silent and makes way for her to approach the throne. She seats herself, leaving everyone else standing. A burly servant makes the announcement:

Servant: Her Imperial Majesty, Anna Ivanovna, Empress of All The Russias!

Anna: Loyal subjects - this is our first audience in the ancient office to which we have been called. We wish to take this moment to make a few decrees. Firstly - the Supreme Privy Council is hereby dissolved with immediate effect.

Immediate uproar from the privy councillors, except Osterman, who stands aside. Anna nods to the servant by the door.

Servant: Silence for Her Imperial Majesty!

Galitsyn: Majesty, you agreed to govern through the council.

Anna: We thought better of it. (She holds up the signed articles of accession.) There are men here who will testify that we made this agreement under duress, and soldiers who will defend our right to govern.

The troops in the room audibly adjust their firearms. Anna slowly and deliberately tears the papers in half. Gannibal has made his way forward to stand near Münnich, and whispers to him:

Gannibal: You agreed to this, old man?

Münnich: It was this or give the army over to talentless Russians.

Gannibal: Sir, with respect, I am a Russian.

Servant (over the general hubbub): Silence!

Anna: Prince Galitsyn, don’t trouble yourself so - we will still need your services. Secondly, we wish to make some appointments. Our loyal servant Ernst Johann von Biron, who has supported us so ably in Courland, is to be a Count of the Empire and Grand Chamberlain of Russia.

Von Biron: Your Imperial Majesty is too kind. (Bows low, but catches her eye and smiles.)

Elizabeth (quietly, to Gannibal): She’s been sleeping with him for months.

Gannibal nods sourly in answer.

Anna: Count Peter Bestushev, whom we lately removed from his offices in Mittau, we now reward with the governorship of the city of Nizhny Novgorod.

Bestushev (scornfully): Novgorod? You might as well banish me.

Anna: Shut up, Peter, or I shall do exactly that. We shall be announcing further appointments in due course. Now, thirdly: it has come to our attention that some members of the former privy council had, before our election, conspired to place an ineligible usurper upon the imperial throne.

The murmuring in the room grows louder.

Anna (continuing): In fact, the pretender is here in the room today. Ekaterina Dolgorukova, formerly and falsely called the Bride Empress, you are hereby placed under arrest. (Soldiers step forward and grab both Ekaterina’s arms.) So too are your father, Prince Alexei Dolgoruky, and your brother, Prince Ivan.

Vasiliy: Majesty! I must object in the strongest terms!

Anna: Prince Vasiliy, be silent. You are only to be stripped of all your offices under the crown, although you would be wise to spend at least the next year on your estate, contemplating your sins. As for your brother and his family, they are all banished to Siberia indefinitely.

Alexei: How dare you! You agreed to obey this council!

Anna (rising from the throne): There is no council. I am your Empress, and my word is the law. Guards!

Soldiers grab Alexei and Ivan, and drag them physically from the room, along with Ekaterina. When Alexei struggles, he gets a punch in the face. The door slams behind them, silencing their cries.

Cut to the exterior of the palace, under a red sunset and green aurora borealis. Over this unearthly scene, the credits roll.