1635-The Tangled Web

by Virginia DeMarce

  "I understand."

  "Make sure the communications center is aware that this information in these reports is not urgent and that far from having a courier ride hard, much less utilizing the radio or any other innovative modern technology, definitely not going to the expense of railways or planes, this is the type of material that best travels by way of what Major Utt calls 'a slow boat to China.' "

  Barracktown bei Fulda

  On the theory that he did not customarily bring every new recruit to Wes Jenkins's attention, Derek Utt determined that the transfers were a strictly regimental matter. He buried the names of his four new recruits—well, nine new recruits, counting Corporal Hertling and the four goons, er, bodyguards, er, experienced soldiers—in a list of quite a number of other new recruits, which he sent off attached to a non-urgent report to Scott Blackwell in Würzburg, from which destination it might eventually make its way to someone in Grantville. The only special note he made for Blackwell next to their names was "CoC."

  Mainz, July 1634

  "Papa won't give me permission to marry, and I can't get married in Mainz without it." Margarethe pouted while she pitted cherries.

  "Not to mention that Friedrich is in Fulda. That really makes it more difficult for you to get married." Tata picked up another onion and started to dice it for the noonday stew.

  "So you understand." Margarethe's tears might have been real. Equally well, they might have been the result of standing next to the onion board.

  "Papa and Mama don't understand how much I miss Eberhard either," Tata sniffed. "It was very unsympathetic and unfeeling of Major Utt to refuse to take us along. Especially Margarethe, since she's going to get married. We hope. Doesn't he have any sympathy for romance?"

  Since the question was rhetorical, no one answered it, but Kunigunde Treidelin and Ursula Widder made sympathetic noises. Both of them had succumbed to a spurt of unusual sentimentalism after Eberhard's dramatic announcement of the forthcoming marriage in the Horn of Plenty taproom.

  "So it's obvious that we need to go to Fulda. Isn't it, Tante Kuni?"

  "Maybe I could help." Kunigunde looked at Ursula. "I have a little money hidden away."

  "In case of a rainy day," Ursula said.

  "Don't be silly. There are a lot of rainy days, even in summer." Kunigunde had a literal mind. "In case the armies come again and we have to flee."

  "Do you have a wedding dress?" Ursula asked.

  Margarethe shook her head. "I don't have any money of my own, ever. Papa used to give Theo money and he would share it with me, but since Papa's been so annoyed with Theo recently, he won't give him anything. He even refused to pay for his tuition at the university for another term. He was going to send him to some awful Calvinist Hochshule. That's really the main reason he volunteered for the army. He was broke."

  "Somehow I didn't think it was patriotism," Ursula said.

  "Who would?" Tata picked up another onion. "Simrock volunteered because his uncle at the newspaper, who's also his guardian, told him it would be better for him to get out of Mainz, since somebody investigating the riot at Sybilla's funeral has figured out that he planted the article."

  "I was going to be married once," Ursula said. "We lived in the Palatinate, then. We had waited so long, because my fiancé had to support his mother. Then the elector agreed to become king of Bohemia and my fiancé went to Prague as a wagoner in their glorious procession. He didn't come back and didn't come back. He died there, at the first Battle of White Mountain. I was going to be married in a red dress."

  Tata dropped her onion and hugged Ursula. It might have been the onion juice on her hands that made the older woman's eyes water. Ursula hugged her back and turned to Margarethe. "I'll buy you a brand new dress to be married in. It will be cherry red and you will look quite lovely."

  The dress cost more than they expected, which is the way of gorgeous dresses, even though Kunigunde got a good bargain on the fabric and Ursula knew a seamstress who didn't overcharge and so far had avoided the notice of the tailors' guild.

  "We don't have enough money left," Kunigunde complained. "Not enough for a safe trip. We need to be able to trust the driver you ride with and make sure that there are some respectable families traveling in the same group. Trustworthy carters don't come cheap."

  They dug into the monthly kitchen budget for the inn. The patrons of the Horn of Plenty were going to get rather meager fare for the rest of July.

  The girls looked more than pleased with themselves when a freight wagon deposited them and their possessions in front of the Fulda Barracks a week later.

  Barracktown bei Fulda, July, 1634

  "Ah." Dagmar Nilsdotter was in tears as she held her husband's hand. "What a beautiful wedding, Helmuth. What a lovely bride. My heart is strangely moved. Strangely warmed."

  Sergeant Hartke was not quite so volubly impressed, but he did admit that both Lieutenant Friedrich Württemberger and Margarethe Pistora appeared to be rather delighted with both themselves and the situation. They had just taken advantage of the SoTF's liberal citizenship policy, unusually low age of majority, and practice of "universal sectarianism" by getting married in the Barracktown sutlery in a ceremony presided over by the mayor of Barracktown, otherwise known as Sergeant Helmuth Hartke, who for this purpose was a duly licensed civilian celebrant.

  "Not bad, as ceremonies go," Simrock said. "And Venus herself ministers resolution and hardiness unto tender youth as yet subject to the discipline of the rod, and teaches the ruthless soldier the soft and tenderly effeminate heart of women . . ."

  "Montaigne again, I presume?" Jeffie Garand leaned back against the wall, looking toward the entrance. On one side of the door, Merckel and Kolb, on the other side Heisel and Bauer, were watching the room attentively while trying their best to look like casual wedding guests.

  Simrock nodded.

  "You're quoting out of context," Theo warned. "He ended that sentence with 'in their mothers laps.' He wasn't talking about weddings."

  Dagmar turned to Duke Eberhard. "Your brother looks so handsome in his uniform, Captain Your Grace."

  He smiled. "I was just thinking that Friedrich actually looks rather like a large salmon fillet in that orange-ish uniform, not to mention that he clashes badly with Margarethe's cherry red dress, but I'm not in any position to complain, since I'm was wearing an orange-ish uniform myself. But he does look handsome, even if he is still on crutches."

  "Is the foot very bad?" someone behind them asked.

  "Once General Brahe's people caught up to us at Weselberg, the medic prevented gangrene." Hertling snagged a piece of thin, folded and rolled dough filled with some sweet fruit off a passing tray. "The foot itself—he will always have to wear a very tight, heavy boot to protect it. The bones are not right. General Brahe's regiment had a medic, not an up-time miracle-making surgeon. When he is an old man, he will be predicting the weather on the basis of how much his foot aches."

  "This food is great." Jeffie looked around. "Who cooked it? Who arranged all this?"

  Simrock patted a nearby reddish head. "Tata arranged it. She's been helping with wedding receptions since she was a toddler, whenever her family wasn't on the run and had an inn to settle down in. She just snapped her fingers and it happened."

  "It was a bit more complicated than that. You're right though. Riffa's mother is a terrific cook."

  "Once upon a time," Jeffie said. "Once upon a time, long ago, for my high school graduation, to be precise, Mom took me and Justin to Las Vegas."

  "Where is Las Vegas? What is Las Vegas?"

  "It is, was, will be a city in Nevada. I'm just thinking. I do that sometimes." Jeffie turned around and called, "Frau Hartke."

  "My name is Dagmar Nilsdotter. Hartke is my husband."

  "Well, then, Ms. Nilsdotter. Sorry, but that just doesn't sound very respectful to say to Gertrud's mom. How many of these do they have in Fulda, now? These civil weddings, I mean?"

  "Oh, many. Two or three a week,
perhaps, because people come from many miles away to have Helmuth marry them, because many villages do not have civil celebrants licensed yet. Any mayor may become one, but they have to apply and be approved. Most priests and pastors will not marry young people without the consent of their parents, even if it is legal."

  "Thanks a lot." He followed Simrock's example in patting the top of Tata's head. "I really ought to talk to you and Riffa's mom sometime this week. You could make a mint if you set up a Vegas-style wedding chapel here."

  Gertrud kicked his ankle.

  Eberhard put his arm around Tata's waist. "Hands off, guys." He sighed. "I wish that Ulrich could have been here."

  The four goons were moving to block the entrance.

  Theo turned around, peering out the window. "We have more company."

  "I should never accepted Donner's offer." Marcus Pistor's voice shrilled into a register that an Italian castrato would have envied.

  "What offer? It's not Donner who just married your daughter." Jeffie was enjoying himself.

  "His offer to use the Horn of Plenty to hold services for the Calvinist civilians in Mainz." The shrill was now accompanied by tiny globules of spit. "If I had performed only my duties as a military chaplain, my son would never have been seduced by the doctrines of the Committee of Correspondence and my daughter would never have met this outrageous Swabian . . ."

  He paused, at loss for a suitable epithet. "Who are you?"

  "Sergeant Jeffrey Garand, at your service, Your Reverence. Or however a reverend is properly addressed. I'm a bit vague on churchly etiquette. You can call me Jeffie."

  Pistor did not respond to this friendly overture.

  Jeffie chatted on. "At home, 'Mr. Whoever-it-is' usually doesn't offend a preacher, no matter what church he's from. It wouldn't even have offended Father Mazzare, but I did know to use 'Father' when he came around."

  "Mazzare," exploded from the man with Pistor.

  "How may we introduce you, My Lord?" Sergeant Hartke, standing behind Jeffie, had read enough from the man's demeanor and clothing that he decided to ante the forms of address up a step, hoping that would be sufficient.

  "Georg Wulf von Wildenstein, in the service of the landgrave of Hesse-Kassel."

  Hartke bowed. "Presumably, you wish to meet with . . ." He raised his eyebrows.

  "I demand to meet with Major Utt," Pistor shrieked.

  "No, Jenkins," von Wildenstein contradicted him. "Jenkins is the administrator. We must meet with Jenkins."

  "Either or both of them should know better than to permit the marriage of a minor daughter without the permission of her father to a suitor not of her faith who is an . . ." Pistor still couldn't produce the suitable epithet.

  "Ex-duke," Jeffie said. "If Lieutenant Württemberger hadn't given up his title, he would outrank you both. His brother still does outrank you both. Maybe he even outranks a landgrave. I'm not sure of that, but I think so. Eberhard was best man, so someone's in charge here. Anyway, Margarethe was eighteen last month, so she's of age under SoTF law."

  Stift Fulda, August 1634

  "That went pretty smoothly," Geraldin said. "One abbot, all neatly trussed up and loaded on a small hay cart. It's pretty fair hay, too. The horses should appreciate it."

  "What about the other one?" MacDonald asked.

  "Leave him down there. Get back to where you were supposed to meet the others. I'm on my way to Bonn."

  MacDonald shrugged and headed back to meet Butler and Deveroux. They'd need to fetch Gruyard away from von Schlitz's and head back to Bonn right now. Not only was every country road and cow path in Fulda suddenly crawling with people searching for them, but once Geraldin delivered Schweinsberg into the custody of Ferdinand of Bavaria, the archbishop would be wanting the services of his torturer. Right now. Not the day after tomorrow, much less next week.

  Mainz, August 1634

  "Theobald will not be twenty years old until December. The army of the State of Thuringia-Franconia should not have accepted his enlistment without my authorization."

  "They shouldn't have, but they did." Von Wildenstein was getting tired of this.

  "How can they permit a child to do something as significant as change his citizenship? Children are young. Children stand in need of parental guidance. Children . . ."

  ". . . become adults at the age of eighteen in the SoTF. Unless you can persuade the USE parliament to pass a law overriding that, or persuade the Reichsgericht in Wetzlar to rule that people cannot change their citizenship from one state in the USE to another . . ."

  Von Wildenstein's voice trailed off. His face brightened. "But these decisions about citizenship and the age of majority were placed by the up-timers in their constitution before the establishment of the USE—before November 1633. Since then, they are no longer an independent principality within a federation, but merely one of the provinces of the USE, even if they choose to call themselves a 'state' instead. I have been informed that in the up-time, some of the 'states' of the United States of America actually chose to call themselves 'commonwealths.' I don't know why, but essentially it made no difference. Their relation to the national government was the same. Thus, can the SoTF even offer its own citizenship any more?"

  "Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." Pistor jumped up. "Most of the time, I am simply exhausted by trying to keep up with how quickly everything is changing in our world. This time, though, perhaps the changes will prove to be beneficial. I shall consult a lawyer right away and file a petition in Wetzlar. If you can persuade the landgrave of Hesse to take an interest, perhaps the imperial supreme court will expedite the consideration of my case."

  "Perhaps it will." Von Wildenstein stood up. "In practice, however, that will mean that the justices will issue a decision twenty-five years from now rather than fifty years from now. For the time being, I am afraid, I cannot perceive any immediate way to reverse your children's . . . unfortunate actions." He turned around. "Let me make a purely practical comment. It is absolutely certain that you will not be able to retrieve your daughter Margarethe's virginity by means of a legal remedy."

  "No one among the Catholic theologians, Lutheran theologians, Calvinist theologians, or sectarians, much less the small number of secularists who are becoming more vocal with every passing day, seems to be very enthusiastic about Wamboldt von Umstadt's initiatives. Few of them appear to be favorably impressed by Calixtus's ideas, either, not even when Wamboldt von Umstadt endorses them."

  Nils Brahe yawned. "Botvidsson, there are moments when you display a positive genius for understatement." He rubbed his eyes. "Perhaps I should see about getting spectacles. Francisco Nasi told me that his have proved very helpful. Do you have the list I asked for?"

  "The one delineating possible complications if we permit the archbishop of Mainz to return?"

  "No, Johan, the one about the levels of likelihood that the cow may someday jump over the moon. Yes, please, that one."

  Botvidsson shuffled some papers. "One item that I have not included here is that the new Residentz he began constructing in 1628 is a messy site full of holes and mud. It is an attractive nuisance to children, who endanger themselves by playing in it. It is an attractive nuisance to apprentices, who go there after dark and engage in entertainments of which their masters disapprove. It . . ."

  ". . . needs to be either flattened and turned into a public park, or completed. In the event that it is completed, the archbishop will no longer have any need of such a large combination of living quarters for himself and his staff and administrative offices, since the Province of the Main has assumed many of those duties—defense, the court system, real estate record administration for all property other than that directly owned by the archdiocese. Do you suppose Wamboldt von Umstadt would be open to considering an arrangement by which we take over the derelict site and construct our own badly-needed government center there, while assigning him . . ." Brahe frowned. ". . . something else. Think about what 'something else' might possibly be, would y
ou, Johan. That's a nice central location."

  Botvidsson made a note. "Now, as to the list. First, there's the problem concerning the Jewish community in Worms. I can provide you with details of that."

  "Please do. In a separate memo. Can you make it short?"

  "Unfortunately, no. It's complicated."

  "Life is complicated. Next point."

  "All of the imperial cities that haven't been acknowledged as independent city-states by the USE, not just Nürnberg, are worried about their status after what happened at the Congress of Copenhagen. It's entirely possible that a coalition of the smaller imperial cities may make common cause with dispossessed ecclesiastical princes to lobby for some arrangement similar to the one that the imperial knights and independent monasteries had in the defunct Reichstag, by which they did not hold individual seats, but elected one of their number to represent them and cast a vote on their behalf. Nürnberg is large enough, of course, that if it joined the USE, it would almost certainly be acknowledged as a city-province like Augsburg and Ulm, but . . ."

  "Noted," Brahe said. "Prepare me a separate memo on that, will you. Let's get to the rest of the points. I've been at this desk for . . ." He peered outside into the gathering twilight. "The days are getting shorter, but it's safe to say that I've put in a fourteen-hour day so far."

  Botvidsson moved on to the next sheet of paper. "To return to the topic we were discussing earlier. To borrow a colorful phrase from Major Utt, it appears that Cardinal-Protector Mazzare has 'told him to get on the stick and do something ecumenical real soon now.' It appears, in fact, that Mazzare has talked to Prime Minister Stearns. If the archbishop wants an imperial salva guardia for his return to Mainz, he first has to agree to work, not only with Calixtus, but to send a representative—possibly several representatives—as 'observers,' at the next Lutheran theological colloquy."