1635-The Tangled Web

by Virginia DeMarce

  "Major Utt was a coach over in Fairmont before the Ring of Fire. He only got caught in the Ring because he was at the bait store with Allan Dailey that afternoon. Coaches shouldn't talk like Ms. Mailey."

  "He'd graduated from college," Joel said. "I hadn't finished when the Ring hit, but it's true what they say—just going to college does something to you, in the way you think. Lots of coaches teach social studies to fill in their schedules. Mr. Samuels is the head of the social studies department now and he was the football coach before the Ring of Fire. Now hush."

  Utt was looking at his toes, which were stretched out toward the campfire. "There was a shift in politics, at least in the English-speaking world, some time between the Glorious Revolution and the American Revolution."

  At a question from Lieutenant Duke Friedrich, he stopped to briefly define each of those and give its dates in the Other Time Line.

  "Where was I? There was a shift from politics as a blood sport to politics as a gentleman's game. Most European monarchs stopped beheading their opponents—omitting the way the Hanoverians handled the Scottish Jacobites."

  Another pause for explanations and definitions.

  "Why? Hell, I'm not sure why. Maybe because of the shift of the major source of wealth, power, and influence from land, which is essentially static, to commerce, which is far more flexible and less limited, far more elastic and less static."

  "What's elastic?" Ensign Duke Ulrich asked. He was ignored.

  "Maybe, partly, possibly, it was also because the shift meant that other types of connection among people became more important and influential than that of family and hereditary succession. I can't give you an answer. I'm not sure that a meeting of the entire American Historical Association could have given you an answer."

  "That conversation didn't exactly come to a conclusion," Eberhard said as he rolled himself up into his blanket.

  "I expect it was meant to make us ask questions," Friedrich answered. "That's the sneaky thing about tutors. They're always trying to make a person think. Sometimes my mind gets absolutely exhausted just thinking about all the things they want me to think about."

  "All we did today was walk," Ulrich complained the next evening.

  "That's good, Your Grace, sir," Merckel said. "That's obscenely good. This is your first time in the field. Up till now, you've just been learning drill and theory. When you're out on a campaign, a day when all you do is walk is a good day. A day you spend trying to unstick carts that are stuck in the mud is a worse day. A day that someone else starts shooting at you is the pits."

  Ulrich shrugged and went back to unsaddling his horse.

  Friedrich pulled a hand-drawn map out of the inner pocket of his leather doublet. "If my map is even close to right, we're making pretty good progress."

  "That's because it's not raining, Your Grace, sir," Merckel said. "A couple of days of rain and we'll mire right down. The glop underfoot will suck horseshoes off. The farriers won't be able to get a decent fire going to heat up the metal because water will be dripping through their tent onto the forge. Just wait. You'll see. Before too long, you'll see."

  "Thomas Jefferson, of course, considered the the yeoman farmer to be the basis of a healthy political community in a republican form of government."

  Brahe nodded. "One presumes that was based upon the Roman model of the Gracchi."

  "Probably. He had a pretty good classical education. Better than Washington's, but probably not as good as either George Mason or George Wythe."

  Turning his head around, he grinned at Garand, Matowski, and the three Württemberg dukes. "Which may just go to demonstrate that a really good classical education will not necessarily lead to a man's being elected as president of the United States. Washington and Jefferson are in every American history textbook ever printed, but Wythe and Mason only made it into the required fourth-grade course in state history in Virginia."

  "I don't understand Jefferson's logic," Brahe said. "Remember Montaigne's critique of the Parians who were sent to reform the Milesians. The Parians visited the island, surveyed it, observed which farms and estates were best managed and governed. Then they appointed the owners of those to be the new magistrates and council of Miletus, on the hypothesis that men who took good care of their own property would take good care of public affairs. However, I personally judge that a man may manage his own lands well because he is essentially selfish, and have very little sense of the civic duty that would lead him to be equally concerned about others."

  "Sounds to me like the Parians were subscribing to the view that whatever was good for General Motors was good for the nation," Utt said.

  This statement required quite a bit of explanation.

  "Anyway, good for Montaigne. I'm glad the fellow didn't fall for that idea. That wasn't the basis for Jefferson's opinion, either. It was more that as many citizens of a country as possible should be stakeholders in it."

  The discussion went on until the fire went out.

  "Where to next?" Merckel asked the next morning.

  "Landstuhl," Corporal Hertling answered. "Captain Ulfsparre told me so."

  "Where's Landstuhl?" Jeffie asked.

  "A few miles west of Kaiserslautern. See." Lieutenant Duke Friedrich dug into his pocket and pulled out his map.

  Ulrich hefted the saddle onto his horse. "What's at Landstuhl? Why is it worth our while to capture whatever it is? I hate to be a nuisance, but nobody ever seems to explain anything on this campaign."

  "We aren't supposed to understand. We're just supposed to do what they tell us."

  Joel Matowski shook his head. "Ours not to reason why, Ours but to do or die struck me as a really bad idea back when they made us read it in high school."

  "The villages belong to a branch of the Freiherren von Sickingen," Eberhard said.

  "Any relation to Franz von Sickingen?" Joel asked. "The famous one?"

  "Famous?" Ensign Duke Ulrich stuck out his tongue. "Do you have any idea what he did to our ancestor, the first Duke Ulrich, back in 1518?"

  "It wasn't just him, brat," Friedrich said. "It was the whole Swabian League."

  "He built a big fortress at Landstuhl, but it was destroyed by artillery. That wasn't much more than five years after he attacked our ancestor."

  "Sounds like he lived in interesting times." Joel Matowski laughed.

  "But the emperor restored his son, and the Sickingens built the fortress back," Friedrich said.

  Hertling nodded.

  "This is the Hohenburg sub-line of the Sickingens." That was the kind of information that any Swabian nobleman, Eberhard included, had received drilled into him by tutors from the time he could toddle. "Old Franz was a great leader of the imperial knights and a defender of the Reformation. This bunch, though, converted back to Catholicism in—hmm—I think it was 1627. About then. It was the year before our father died, wasn't it?" He looked at Friedrich.

  "That sounds right. He was exploding about it at breakfast one morning. We were old enough to eat with our parents instead of in the nursery."

  "They converted because they were offered a really advantageous marriage with the Kämmerer von Worms-Dalberg family on condition that they turned Catholic. Ever since then, they've been forcing a really assertive version of the Counter-Reformation in their lands."

  "What Captain Ulfsparre said was that they might well decide to fort up and resist when they see General Brahe and the Lutherans coming."

  "They're cousins of the von Hatzfeldts, too."

  "Which ones? There are dozens of von Hatzfeldts."

  "The important ones. The bishop of Würzburg, his brother the imperial general, and the canon who's still in Mainz looking out for their interests as best he can."

  "Isn't that charming?"

  "We're not going right at Landstuhl, today, though. This village we're headed for is some way to the south. A dinky little place called Krickenbach. They think we need to go there before Brahe can have a shot at Landstuhl. Something to do w
ith the quarries and which of the villages are deserted and which aren't, but I'm not sure what. 'Need to know' and all that sort of thing, I suppose."

  "Deserted?"

  "Because of the war. The Ring of Fire may have calmed things down a lot in Thuringia and Franconia, but over here the mercenaries have just kept moving. For one thing, a lot of these little noble territories are, one way or the other, dependencies of the Elector Palatine, which means they've been right in the middle of the political mess from the start."

  Hertling frowned at the map. "Once we secure that, then over to Linden, north to Queidersbach, through Bann . . . After that we'll hit Landstuhl and have to do something about Nannstein."

  "I hate deserted villages." Merckel picked up his hat. "Too many sheds that ought to be empty but can hold really nasty surprises if the other side has thought to put them there. It's harder for them to do that when there are still people around to object."

  "General Brahe's not going to try to besiege Nannstein, I hope," Sergeant Hartke said. "I hate sieges."

  "No, I don't think so," Eberhard said. "This campaign is supposed to be moving fast. The Sickingens don't have much of a garrison there. The general will just surround it and cut it off. Once the we've taken the whole west bank of the Rhine down past Strassburg, they won't have many options left."

  "Hey, Joel," Jeffie yelled. "Look at this. There's a place on this map called Frankenstein."

  "That's not a defense point we have to worry about." Eberhard was quite serious. "It's not on our path and the walls were destroyed about seventy years ago. Nannstein's the one that might be a problem if it turns out to have more of a garrison than the general thinks it does."

  He couldn't imagine why the two up-timers kept laughing.

  Captain Duke Eberhard pulled up his horse. "As soon as we finish up here, Captain Ulfsparre said, we're to clear up and prepare to push south toward Pirmasens, then east to Weissenburg."

  "I wish General Brahe hadn't taken most of the regiment west to Merkweiler," Friedrich said. "We're just one company."

  Eberhard shook his head. "He's going to leave a good-sized garrison there to secure the Pechelbronn oil fields for the USE, since production is so far down at Wietze because of Turenne's raid. That's why he took Major Utt, Garand, and Matowski with him. He thinks the up-timers need to take a look at what's there so they can report to the technical people back in Magdeburg. It's so close to the borders of Lorraine that the French will be an ongoing problem if they keep mucking around in the politics of the Lorrainers. Then Brahe will secure Saarbrücken and head south himself. Since he'll be leaving the other regiments behind at Merkweiler, he wanted the rest of Colonel von Zitzewitz's men to be with him when he comes back toward us, just in case, even if all the information he has does indicate that Duke Bernhard has pulled back even farther, to the south of Colmar. Come on."

  They came around a curve. Eberhard stopped again, the other men behind him.

  "Captain, sir."

  "Yes."

  "I don't like the look of that village up ahead."

  "Merckel, you haven't liked the look of any village we've seen these past three days."

  "Are we sure we know where General Brahe's other regiments are?" Friedrich asked.

  "The communications people are using the 'radio' sets. As of last night, when they strung up the antenna wire, if they really know where they are—which is by no means a sure thing in this uncertain world in which we live—then we know where they are. Manteufel is past Haguenau. Glasenapp is past Schlettstadt, nearly to Colmar. That's as far as we're going on this campaign. The general doesn't want to overextend his lines, Captain Ulfsparre said."

  Hertling sighed. "So what you really mean, sir, is that we think we know where they thought they were yesterday. What's more, they say that they are doing well, which is as good as it's going to get." He looked down the valley at the village Merckel was worrying about.

  "If Merckel doesn't like the look of it," Ulrich said, "maybe we ought to investigate. He was right about that shed yesterday morning."

  Heisel clambered up on a boulder for a better look. "The farmers aren't all gone. I saw someone move—or maybe I saw something move—and there's smoke, just a little, every now and then, coming from that yellow-painted house behind the brown one."

  "Is it safe to assume that it's just a few farmers?" Friedrich asked.

  "Hell, no," Hertling answered.

  "Bauer, do you like the way that we didn't run into problems over at Nannstein? From what you've heard over the years, would it be typical of the von Sickingens just to close the gates and let us go past without offering any resistance?"

  "No, sir."

  "Just, 'no, sir'?"

  "Not at all, sir. I don't like it one damn bit better than Merckel, sir. Kolb, what do you think?" The four goons closed up around their captain, who was also, in a real sense, still their responsibility.

  "I think the rest of you should stay here, and that Captain Duke Eberhard should tell Lieutenant von Damnitz, Heisel, and me to take a half dozen men to skirt around along that brook and come up behind the yellow house."

  "Where is von Damnitz?" Ulrich looked around.

  Hertling waved. "Somewhere back behind us, complaining about all these hills. What did Jeffie Garand call it?"

  " 'Claustrophobia,' " Friedrich answered. "He can't help it, I guess. He's between Ulrich and me in age and this is the first time he's been out of Pomerania. He's a nephew of von Glasenapp, I think. He's only been in Mainz for two months. It's really pretty flat there, too. He just doesn't see enough sky to suit him down here in the Palatinate and Alsace. He told me one evening that he's going nearly nuts, not being able to see where he's going around the curves on the roads with all the trees looming over him. And what's worse, he looked down on his right, off the drop. Sergeant Beyschlag is back there with him, trying to buck him up a little. He should be all right once he catches up. The road has veered away from the ravine. Somebody ought to send him back up north where things are flat. Let him be a military hero somewhere around Wismar."

  "Flat land—lots of it, anyhow—sounds like it would be weird." Ulrich turned to Merckel. "Have you ever seen any land that was absolutely flat?"

  "When we were up north. That was ten years or so ago, maybe more. It's like a river bottom that just goes on and on and on."

  "Yeah, but those usually have some hills or cliffs on each side, not so far away that you can't see them."

  Hertling shuddered. "I think it would drive me nuts up north there, with the land just going on and on and on, like he says, no end to it until you meet the sea."

  Ulrich shuddered. "The sea would be worse, I think. Just the reports of the sea battles this spring are enough to strike terror into the heart of a paladin. That's even leaving out that ships sink. In a boat, even in a big river like the Rhine, you've at least got a sporting chance to make it to shore."

  "If you can swim," Merckel said. "I can't."

  "I don't think we'd better wait for von Damnitz. He'll catch up with us in a few minutes. Merckel and Kolb are right—we should take a look at what's back there. Hertling, I'll take you and Friedrich with me. You, Friedrich . . ." Eberhard looked around. ". . . Kolb and Heisel. Pick a couple of others."

  Hertling turned his horse to take a survey of the available resources. Nearly half the men were farther back with von Damnitz and Beyschlag.

  "Uh, Captain . . ."

  "Yes, Kolb."

  "If I were you—not being you, of course—I'd wait for von Damnitz to show."

  "It's coming on towards dusk. We haven't passed any place we can reasonably camp tonight, and anyway, I really don't want to camp too close to that village without knowing who or what is in it. It could be some of von Sickingen's garrison from Nannstein. It could be other soldiers, but if so, they won't be on our side, because we pretty much know where our side is. It could just be locals who don't like soldiers. Either way, they've probably been in this neighborhood long enough
to know a lot more about it than we do. Things like which paths are best for sneaking up on someone else in the dark."

  Kolb nodded. "That's a point, but . . ."

  Eberhard dismounted. "Come on, with me." After a little rearranging of weaponry to accommodate progress on foot rather than horseback, they headed up the banks of the brook.

  "There's someone in there, all right. What now?" Heisel began to pile his equipment on a stump in the coppice behind the yellow house.

  "I don't want them heading down the road toward Ulrich," Eberhard said. "It's our job—one of our jobs, anyway—to take care of him. Among other things. Kolb, go make a noise, maybe ten yards that way, loud enough that whoever is in that house is sure to hear it. Make some kind of a noise that a deer thrashing through the underbrush wouldn't make. I want to spook them. Heisel, right after that, throw the first stink bomb. Use your own judgment about the best target."

  "How about I just throw a good-sized rock at the shed? Then when they come out to see what that was, I hit the shed with one stink bomb and the back door of the house with another one?"

  "Sounds like a good plan." Eberhard certainly hoped that it was a good plan, since he didn't have another one.

  Ten yards away, Kolb utilized one of his few civilian talents, acquired some years before when he was attached to a unit of Swiss mercenaries. He yodeled.

  Heisel threw the rock. He hit the shed, too. Baseball had extended to Mainz by 1634 and he was a pitcher. He didn't hit the shed because he was a pitcher. He had become a pitcher because he could hit almost any target with anything he threw. He regarded throwing strikes or balls over something as big as home plate as a mildly entertaining hobby that endeared him to the other men in the regiment.

  At that point, unfortunately . . .

  Two dozen men from von Sickingen's garrison at Nannstein were in the yellow house. So far, so good. Unfortunately for "the plan," nobody ran out at random to check the yodel or the shed. Following a previously practiced tactic, they left the house through the front door and slid into the trees on either side of the road.