Marshal Radetzky's sharp retort left Carlo Alberto somewhat taken aback. Though the latter was a king of immeasurable status and dignity, at that moment it would have been scarcely more difficult for the former to crush him than to kill an ant.
Carlo Alberto could only force an awkward smile.
"I was just so furious I lost my head. The French are simply too cruel, too tyrannical!"
To be fair, Marshal Radetzky was already eighty-two years old and had a very gentle disposition. He usually looked like a kindly old grandfather, so the soldiers all liked to call him Father Radetzky.
But Carlo Alberto's words had truly enraged him. At least ten thousand Austrian soldiers had found their eternal rest in this land during the war, and even more had been wounded.
As a rule, for every soldier killed or wounded in war, a dozen or even dozens of civilians suffered as well.
Looting, burning, and slaughtering were immoral, but for an army, they were also a highly effective way to relieve stress.
As far as Marshal Radetzky knew, no army throughout history had been exempt—not even the Crusaders, who marched east in the name of God.
Yet the army of the Austrian Empire had managed it. He was sincerely proud of the young men in his ranks.
Government and church propaganda, strict discipline, generous pay, supervision by the royal family, nationalism, and many other factors had combined to create an army like this in the present age.
And now this wretch, Carlo Alberto, dared to turn around and slander these bravest of men, making them suffer an injustice. Even an old marshal with the mildest temper and the best manners couldn't stand for that.
Archduke Franz had ordered them to minimize harm to civilians, but surely a man like