A Matchmaker's Muddle

Ambrosius walked alone down the corridor, utterly uninterested in the scenery around him.

Suddenly, a figure appeared around the corner of the covered walkway.

Ambrosius took a closer look and hurriedly covered his face.

"Dear lady, please don't hit me in the face! I don't know what I've done to offend you, but I apologize." Ambrosius had his manners, at least.

"I'm not here to get an apology from you," Thalia replied, full of righteous indignation.

"Who is it, then?" Ambrosius asked.

Thalia stepped aside, and Ambrosius saw the little boy he had already met twice.

"You're Franz, right? I'm Ambrosius. You should call me Uncle."

"Uncle Ambrosius, if you really want to marry a princess, I have a suggestion for you."

Ambrosius looked at the child before him, then at Thalia standing nearby.

"You must be joking. Good children shouldn't say things like that."

"I'm serious." Franz put on an intensely solemn expression.

Ambrosius pointed at Thalia.

"She's a princess?"

Franz shook his head.

Ambrosius let out a long breath.

Thalia looked as if she'd bitten into an unripe tomato. She glared furiously at Ambrosius.

"There's a real princess in Southeast Asia who needs you to rescue her. Her country is beset by internal and external troubles. She needs a true knight to protect her."

"After I rescue her, she'll marry me? Then I inherit her country as her dowry and merge it into Austria. Wouldn't that bring glory to my family and expand the empire's borders at the same time?"

Franz was at a loss for words. The archduke's thought process was rather unusual, but that was all the better—no need to brainwash him.

Thalia, standing nearby, once again confirmed that not a single person in this family had a normal mind.

"Where is this princess?" Ambrosius asked impatiently.

"Chenla," Franz replied.

"My God, how am I supposed to get there?"

"You can apply to be an army observer, then take a Church ship."

At the time, the Austrian Navy had hardly ever ventured beyond the Mediterranean, let alone as far as Chenla in Southeast Asia.

Besides, the Austrian Navy wouldn't send a warship to escort some minor archduke.

The Catholic Church, however, had long since established a foothold in Chenla. They could get him there safely and provide firsthand information about the region.

"Then how do I meet the princess?"

"That depends on your own abilities."

Ambrosius was speechless. He took a deep breath.

"How can you know nothing?"

"I'm just a little boy passing through."

"Fine! Then at least tell me her name."

"An Mei."

At that time, Chenla was a colony of both Siam and Vietnam.

As for its king, Ang Chan, his last resistance against foreign invasion had been in 1816, eighteen years earlier.

Both sides had built countless fortresses in Chenla, hoping to divide the land between them. But, as the saying went, one mountain could not hold two tigers.

Siam and Vietnam clashed constantly on Chenla's soil.

The opposing commanders were Siam's famed King Rama III and Vietnam's emperor, Minh Mang.

Chenla was what is now Cambodia, while Siam is now Thailand.

Yet as Siam and Vietnam relentlessly invaded Chenla, they forgot the importance of winning the people's hearts.

Both sides conscripted Chenla's people as forced laborers and intensified their plunder of the country.

Chenla was plunged into misery, and its peace-loving people pinned their hopes on the king they had not seen in more than a decade.

Every Chenla uprising raised the banner of restoring the royal family.

There were more than a dozen rebel armies in Chenla, but they cared less about restoring the royal family than protecting their own property or becoming mountain bandits.

King Ang Chan was under Vietnamese control, while his brother, Ang Em, was under Siamese control.

The Chenla government was loyal to Ang Chan, but the Vietnamese general Zhang Mingjiang was the real ruler of the government.

Within the Chenla government, however, many high-ranking officials hoped Ang Em would become king and borrow troops from Siam to drive out the Vietnamese.

Others hoped Ang Chan could be brought back and the Siamese driven out of Chenla.

The Chenla rebels, meanwhile, wanted to kill every official, along with the Siamese and Vietnamese invaders.

Ang Chan was so cowardly that his fear was hard to fathom.

Vietnam's Emperor Minh Mang had once planned to send Ang Chan back to Chenla and join forces with him to turn the tide against Siam.

But Ang Chan had actually refused. His reason was simple: he was afraid of dying. He told Emperor Minh Mang that he could command the Chenla army from afar.

Ang Chan summoned a group of sorcerers to perform a ritual in the palace, and they set it on fire.

In a fit of rage, Minh Mang—Nguyen Phuc Kieu—had all the sorcerers Ang Chan had brought with him killed, then imprisoned Ang Chan himself aboard a luxurious pleasure boat.

A few months later, Ang Chan would die of illness. His eldest daughter, who leaned toward Siam, would be assassinated by the Vietnamese.

His second daughter, An Mei, would inherit the throne.

But An Mei received none of the honors due to a queen. She was kept in the Chenla capital as little more than a figurehead.

When Emperor Minh Mang, Nguyen Phuc Kieu, believed everything was under control, he sent men to kill An Mei and her four sisters.

But instead of wiping out Chenla's resistance, his actions only provoked the people to rebel.

Within a month, the flames of revolt against Vietnam had spread across all of Chenla.

The Siamese king seized the opportunity to send in troops and install Ang Chan's brother as king of Chenla.

In less than half a year, the Vietnamese had lost everything they had worked for over the previous twenty years, and were driven out of Chenla entirely.

Chenla then became a Siamese colony, until the French arrived.

One month later, at St. Stephen's Cathedral.

"Bang, bang, bang!" The cathedral's ancient doors shuddered under the heavy pounding.

"Stop knocking! We hear you!" several priests shouted impatiently.

Since Archbishop Rauscher was in residence at this cathedral, they saw plenty of powerful and influential people here, and had naturally grown haughty enough to look down on ordinary folk.

Anyone coming to the cathedral this early couldn't possibly be an important person. Most likely, it was some sinner who had come to confess.

They were sick and tired of hearing sinners' confessions. They wished they could call the police right then and have the sinners hauled away.

"We have come to spread the Lord's gospel. Why do you scorn the children of God?"

Archbishop Rauscher had appeared at the door without anyone noticing. He was even wearing his vestments, embroidered with gold and silver thread.

The archbishop usually drank until noon. Why had he gotten up so early today?

One of the priests realized what was going on. Archbishop Rauscher wore those vestments only for major celebrations or when meeting members of the royal family.

The priests, who had been acting so brazenly just moments ago, were struck dumb. With their heads lowered, they went to remove the bar from the cathedral door.

The man waiting outside was Ambrosius. He had changed into a clean uniform, and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed.

In truth, Ambrosius was not bad-looking. But he had grown used to being poor, had no decent clothes, and was always unkempt, so he had no presence at all.

His usual appearance only invited ridicule.

Now, Ambrosius was neatly dressed, handsome, and distinguished in bearing. Add his royal status, and he naturally inspired respect.

Archbishop Rauscher was pleased with the young man before him, too. He was sure Ambrosius could spread the Lord's gospel, and felt confident entrusting the Combat Brotherhood to him.