1635-The Tangled Web

by Virginia DeMarce

  Anna Marie von Dohna huddled as close to the Dutch-style ceramic stove as she could get. The stove was the best thing about the miserable, skimpy, low-ceilinged rooms that her husband had stuck them in for the winter. It managed to make some heat from even scanty amounts of damp peat—the only fuel available—and she idled away long hours of boredom by making up stories about the people in the designs on the tiles. Burning peat smelled like, well, burning peat, of course . . .

  Her husband walked in and broke the news.

  "Leaving?" she screeched. She stood up, throwing off her cloak. "Leaving in six weeks? Leaving before the end of winter? I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here."

  "I am leaving and you are coming. You don't have a choice. I know for a certainty that you have nearly used up your gold. Frittered your gold away. Wasted it on luxuries over the holidays. I've come home almost every day since Epiphany to find you curled next to a fire with a bonbon in hand. Soon it will be 'peat gone, sweets gone.' Poor countess, reduced to eating stringy goat meat like the rest of us poor peasants."

  "You only want me to come because I'm not pregnant yet. If I were breeding, you would find a way to leave me here. That's the only reason you keep dragging me from here to there to somewhere else."

  "Why the hell else would I have married you, if I didn't want a son from the deal? What's the point if I don't get a son?"

  In winter quarters, at least, he had a door to slam.

  Dislav came in, carrying a blanket he had warmed in front of the kitchen fire downstairs.

  Anna Marie, over twenty-five and childless now in two marriages, wrapped her cloak around the blanket to hold the heat in and went back to the stove.

  That evening, Dislav spent an hour drinking with his new friend Lorenz Bauer. It wasn't much of a tavern. The floor boards were slick from recent spills or sometimes sticky from long-past spills. The tables were simply sticky. But the beer was cheap.

  Bauer, the next day, made a short visit to the honorable holder of the tuna tin.

  That evening, Nils Brahe's radio monitors in Mainz picked up the first message out of Euskirchen since Hartke had left the men behind nearly three months earlier.

  Barracktown bei Fulda, February 1635

  "Did the men say when they are returning?" Sergeant Hartke asked.

  "Not a word. Hertling is very disappointed." Eberhard reached his bowl across the table. Tata filled it with another helping of stew.

  Mainz, February 1635

  "Are you going to order your men out of Euskirchen, now?" Hoheneck asked.

  Brahe shook his head. "They're not listening to receive orders from us. They can't keep the antenna up and spend time listening for signals. They're only to send. It's up to them how long they stay."

  "Micromanagement," Utt said. "It's something we're not doing."

  Hoheneck eyed him. "Micromanagement. When are you letting me come back to Fulda?"

  "When I decide it's prudent."

  "Herr Springer has no opinion on the matter?"

  Utt hesitated. "No decisive opinion. No 'immovable object' sort of opinion." He wasn't about to tell Hoheneck that Mel Springer didn't seem to be able to muster a decisive opinion as to whether he preferred his breakfast toast to be light or dark.

  "So," Brahe said, "what did you think of the election results?"

  "As a professional soldier, I do not have an opinion on the election results." Utt grinned. "Would you be interested in my wife's opinion of the election results? If so, she was pretty disgusted by the newspaper reports of the Crown Loyalist party's celebration in Magdeburg, given that . . ."

  "What concerns me more," Brahe said, "is that we have had another eruption from Georg Wulf von Wildenstein."

  "Fulda—Buchenland County—has heard from him, too. There's always his underlying Calvinist dislike of the continued toleration of Catholics, but now he's gotten wind of the LDS mission in Barracktown. Not that the administration has ever tried to hide that Monroe and Betty Wilson are there and what they're trying to do, you understand, but we haven't exactly gone out and yelled to the four winds about it—much less that a bunch of the early materials for the Barracktown school, before we had any money to buy textbooks, were sent over by the Grantville branch."

  "What concerns me is that von Wildenstein may use his long-standing ties to Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel to try to narrow the official USE policy of religious toleration." Brahe frowned. "He's not likely to focus on the Lutherans at first, given that the emperor is one and it's constitutionally the USE state church, but I can see his putting pressure on the government's handling of various minorities. That includes the Jews, by the way. Wamboldt von Umstadt is worried."

  Euskirchen, Archdiocese of Cologne, February 1635

  When Brahe's posse members met, they met in the evening around the still-warm forge of the farrier for whom Schild was working. Not many people in the encampment, dragoons or camp followers, still had decent fuel—many of them had no fuel—but almost everyone recognized, however reluctantly, that a good fire was necessary if the horses were to be kept well shod.

  "I think that's about it," Heisel said. "We know that they're all leaving. Zeyler, here . . ." He pointed toward the natural-born liar. "Zeyler has managed to find out that they're taking this Gruyard that the major has his knickers tied in knots about with them."

  "I'm good," Zeyler said. "I really am. I'm practically a fixture in the kitchen of the inn where MacDonald is staying. When we're done here, you can give me a letter of recommendation to the famous Francisco Nasi and I shall become a great spy. Not a famous one, since that would defeat the purpose, but great."

  "If nothing else, you have the chutzpah," Heisel grumbled. "If you get to work for Nasi, you can ask him what the word means. I picked it up from an old Jew in Höchstädt, down south on the Danube, in 1632, when Gustavus's army was taking Donauwörth back from Duke Maximilian." He looked at Bauer. "What do you say?"

  "I say we don't all go back to our own young dukes, yet. I say that I stay here, keeping an eye on Ferdinand of Bavaria, and you go with the Irishmen."

  Bauer looked at Zeyler.

  "I can stay with you. There will still be news here, about the archbishop. If you need a message run, my legs are younger."

  "Honorable Tuna Tin?"

  Hartke's veteran folded his scarred hands, leaning his chin on them, his elbows on his knees. "Once upon a time, my name was Julius Brandt. I have had several army names since I joined up, but that is what my parents had written down in the baptismal record. I come from Brunswick."

  Heisel inclined his head. "Julius, my friend."

  "I will send the message, Christoph. Then, like you, I will follow in the train of the Irish colonels' regiments. Who knows what we may yet find out." Brandt's smile was feral. "And I will keep the Honorable Tuna Tin, except between us. Of my army names, it's probably the best."

  Lorraine, March 1635

  "Well, Julius, my friend?"

  "I agree. This is something we should transmit—that the Irishmen are going south through Lorraine. Here, though, Christoph? Where am I to throw the wire? Not in the middle of the camp, certainly."

  "No point in trying tonight."

  "Nor tomorrow night, if this keeps up." Brandt was sitting cross-legged on top of an overturned feeding trough. Little trickles of water ran under the tent wall, under the trough, and out again.

  "What hellish weather. Butler requisitions the best house in every damned village for his Bohemian countess. Nothing but the best. Featherbeds, even, sometimes. Still—whine, whine, whine, whine, whine."

  Brandt looked around at the wagons. "There must be five times as many camp followers as there are dragoons in the regiments. At least, it seems so."

  "The regiments are low. It was a hard winter in Euskirchen. Wet lungs. Hunger. Cold. Dysentery. Desertions. It didn't help that the ground was frozen hard much of the time, so we had to stack the dead, waiting for a thaw." Heisel started counting on his fingers. "Each of the colonels sh
ould, in theory, have eight hundred dragoons. Deveroux has done best. He has perhaps six hundred; Butler close to that. Geraldin possibly still has five hundred. If MacDonald has three hundred effectives, I would be surprised. Two thousand men. Maybe a little less."

  Brandt smiled. "So sad. MacDonald is trying to hide the situation, even from his colleagues, by having boys from the stables and women in trousers ride some of his horses. I fear that Duke Maximilian will be gravely disappointed in what he is getting for his money."

  "Where do I throw the wire? Not inside the camp with so many people around."

  "We will have to creep outside of the sentry lines. I don't think we can do it tonight, yet. That freezing rain has stopped, but there are clouds and no moon. If you should lose hold of the wire when you throw it, we won't be able to find it again. I doubt very much that there is an equivalent length of good wire anywhere else in this camp. General Brahe will have to wait for better weather."

  "Have you seen Gruyard? They want to know about Gruyard."

  "He is traveling with the chaplains—Taaffe and Carew—in Butler's wife's wagon."

  "Good, then we know where he is. We need to transmit that, too."

  "When God permits, Julius, my friend. It is not for us to control the weather."

  "Maybe tonight."

  "Tonight, whether we lose the antenna or not. Dislav heard one of the colonels say that tomorrow we turn toward the east. They plan for Deveroux to break away. He will take his own men and Geraldin's. They hope that he can do to Merckweiler what Turenne did to Wietze and then quickly rejoin Butler."

  "Don't forget to tell them about Gruyard."

  "At least, since I'm attached to Geraldin's horses, I'll be able to follow along on the raid. But you will have the tuna tin, so what good will it do for me to be there?"

  "Such things happen. Fate. Destiny. It is all part of the divine plan."

  Heisel's face suddenly brightened. "The regiments that General Brahe left at Merckweiler last year have tuna tins. They should have two or three spare tuna tins, perhaps. Extras, in case of failure of working parts. Perhaps I can run away from Geraldin, ahead of the dragoons, go into Merckweiler, tell them who I am, tell them what I know, and get a tuna tin of my own as a reward. I love those words, 'down-time built with up-time parts.' They are like poetry."

  Brandt smirked. "Your idea just goes to show that even divine plans can be improved on. I wouldn't count on getting the tuna tin, though."

  "Ah, no. As Jeffie the up-timer says, 'The only reward you get for a job well done is another job.' "

  "Now that's scarcely an inspiring thought."

  "Have you gotten the antenna up? We have to finish this job, first."

  Barracktown bei Fulda, March 4, 1635

  "It just came in on the Post Office receiver," David Kronberg said. All we got was in Morse, but VOA is providing live coverage. Maybe Mel Springer's new setup in downtown Fulda is doing better. Our crystal set is nothing but static."

  "Damn, but I'm sorry to hear that about Henry Dreeson," Jeffie Garand said. "I liked old Henry. I didn't even mind playing 'High Hopes' for him on that march we did against the anti-Semites down in Frankfurt. Do you suppose they're the ones who did him in?"

  Joel Matowski stood up. "Enoch Wiley was an okay guy, too. Well, for a Presbyterian. If there's such a thing as a hardshell Presbyterian, he was one. We'd better get ourselves down to the barracks, just in case the regiment is called out for something."

  The door of the sutlery banged open.

  "Close the door," Riffa said. "It's sleeting sideways."

  "Move out," Sergeant Hartke said. "Orders from Colonel Utt. All men to the barracks. We have a message via military radio from Mainz. Starting with even numbers, every other unit marches to join General Brahe at first daylight. Odd numbers stay here in the garrison. You know which unit you are." Under his breath, he added, "I hope."

  "In this weather?" Margarethe asked.

  Friedrich kissed her. "Sorry, sweetheart. In this weather, if that's what it takes."

  Mainz, March 1635

  "Margarethe," Theo said. "You're being unreasonable. You can't go, Rehgeißchen. You're pregnant."

  "I've seen pregnant women in the camps."

  "That's because they don't have anywhere else to be," her husband answered. "You are not supposed to even be in Mainz. You were not supposed to follow us. Did you see Dagmar Nilsdotter tramping out into this muck with a four-month-old baby? No. She stayed in her cabin at Barracktown like a mature, sensible army wife. Did Gertrud come with Jeffie? No, she stayed with her mother like a young, sensible, pregnant army wife. Which is what you are, except that you are not being sensible. What do I have to do? Tear out my hair?" Friedrich grabbed a handful and tugged on it.

  Margarethe sobbed. "But Fritzi, even Papa is going with the army."

  "He's the military chaplain for Brahe's Calvinist soldiers, my sweet sister." Theo slammed his fist on the table. "Of course he is going."

  "But you," Friedrich said, "are not. I can't help it that you came this far, but no farther. You are going to wait right here at the Horn of Plenty until we come back."

  "So, Nils, now you are a bachelor again, too." Derek Utt twirled his wine glass in his fingers. He didn't really want a drink right now. The night before you moved out always seemed to be the longest one in the year.

  Brahe nodded. "Anna Margareta and the children left Wednesday. They are going up through Frankfurt and Fulda, then to Erfurt. From Erfurt to Magdeburg, and then as far north as the trains are still running, she, Elsa, and little Axel Petter will have the privilege of a railway ride. There was no reason for her to stay longer, once it was certain that I will be in the field during the summer. We will have another child in the autumn and there are projects to be accomplished on the estates in Finland. Money does not make itself."

  "Mary Kat is expecting a baby, too. In August. Our first."

  They congratulated one another on their husbandly prowess.

  Utt thought a minute. "And your sister?"

  Brahe gave him a wry smile. "It appears that while Erik Stenbock was last on my wife's list of prospective suitable husbands for her, Kerstin rated him as first. Confronted with the likelihood of being transported back to the northland, she took direct action in the form of simply telling me that she was going to marry him. She is twenty-five, of age by the strictest of standards, and I can only predict that once the mail arrives, my aunt, old Gustav Stenbock's widow, will be deliriously happy with her second son for snagging such an improbably prosperous bride. So there was no prospect of opposition there. My aunt still has three more children to marry off and, after all, Erik's sister Kristina is already married to my older brother Per, so . . . It's all in the family. It's not as if he's unsuitable. He just doesn't have much money, so he's seriously in need of a successful career—more than I can offer him here in Mainz. I gave them my blessing and arranged a promotion for him. They're off to work for Prince Frederik of Denmark in the Province of Westphalia, smug on her part and content on his."

  "I'll send them my congratulations."

  "I'm sure they'll be happy to accept."

  Utt tipped his wine glass at a different angle, watching the candle flames dance through the liquid. "I hope you're satisfied with how I've been handling the Fulda Barracks Regiment's training. I realize it's pretty unconventional, no matter whether the standards are down-time or up-time."

  "How does it differ from up-time?"

  "Well, over in Grantville, they've really done their best to keep the model of 'bring the recruits in, gather them in one spot, put them through a routine called "basic training" a bunch at a time, and then assign them to units.' That's how I was trained, myself. It's just lucky that I stayed in the WVNG and kept my manuals. That's what Lane Grooms is doing now, even for the boys who are—if we are lucky—destined to be permanent reserves. He's thinking about defense against Saxony, of course, in a worst-case scenario."

  Brahe nodded.

 
; "Over here in Fulda, though . . . First of all, since our original contingent arrived in 1632, I haven't gotten a single new recruit sent out from Grantville, down-timer or up-timer. It's almost the same with the up-time civilian administrators, for that matter. The administration, first NUS and now SoTF, just plopped us down on what for them was the edge of known civilization and left us here. Except for the exchange of Springer for Jenkins, there hasn't been any new blood. Technically, I think, the proper word is 'marginalized.' "

  Brahe nodded again. " 'Edge' . . . 'margin' . . . Etymologically speaking, that is quite appropriate."

  "So even though we've been doing very well, medically speaking—the people at Barracktown are happily surprised at how many of them are still alive—I've still had vacancies to fill. I recruit locally, one man at a time or a few men at a time, and there's just no way I can afford to send them over to Grantville so Lane Grooms can put them through his basic training routines. Just the travel expense . . ." His voice trailed off. "So we train them ourselves. First it was just me and the other up-timers waving the pamphlets around. Now I have quite a few down-timers who can train others using the up-time manuals, but it's still closer to what Washington was doing during the Revolution than what happened during later American wars."

  Brahe shrugged. "My regiments do it pretty much the same way. Drill, maneuvers."