by Eric Flint
Voices and then horses and men carrying torches burst from the forest. A troop of cavalry surrounded the clearing and a couple of troopers took their crops and beat the dogs off the woman. The packmaster collected the dogs to one side of the clearing as two of the riders dismounted.
"Well, Father Eberhardt, what have we here?" The taller of the two spoke. He was tall, run to fat, and wearing a back and breast that could have used a polish. His pot helmet was still lashed to his saddle horn. "The witch, as I live and breathe!" In the torchlight, she could see the grin on his face, and her heart stuttered in her chest.
"Veronica Junius; the witch indeed," Father Eberhardt replied, pulling out his prayerbook. "Get her tied up and we can take her back."
"What for? We've got a nice stake she's hugging there. Let's burn her right here and get it over with."
"Captain, please," the priest bridled like a banty rooster. "There are forms we must follow. She has been found guilty of witchcraft, yes. But only in an ecclesiastical court. She must be relaxed to the civil arm, tried again and then you can burn her. Tomorrow. In Würzburg."
"What? And give that damned Jesuit, Von Spee, a chance to try to get her off? You heard what he wrote in his devil-inspired book, didn't you? She's a witch! She needs to burn! You know what she knows! We will take her to Suhl!"
Eberhardt spluttered as the soldier's fist grabbed his soutane and lifted him partway off his feet.
"Do you want to try me, priest? I want her dead, and His Excellency wants her dead. I have my instructions from the bishop. We will take her to Suhl, and burn her there. She has no friends in Suhl." The priest nodded and the captain released him and turned away.
"Get ready to move out!" he commanded. "We've a long way to go!"
The priest and the captain mounted. Two burly troopers muscled the woman onto the priest's horse behind him, and tied her to the saddle. The packmaster busied himself rounding up the dogs.
The troops dressed lines, and the captain motioned them forward.
* * *
Father Spee was still writing. "It is with a chastened heart that I accept your rebuke, Father General. I will amend myself so that in the future I will keep better control over such writings as Cautio Criminalis so that they are not printed against my wishes. But, with respect, Excellency, I must tell you that nothing in the work is false. I have attended the confessions of over two hundred witches up to now, and I have never heard one confess except after torture and the rack."
Von Spee put his pen down. He stood in his bedroom. It was spare, small and had a simple crucifix on the white, stuccoed wall as its only decoration. There was a bed against one wall, several shelves of books and papers, and the desk at which he had been writing. He stretched his neck, thought about sitting down and completing his letter, and then decided against it. He went to the bookshelf and took down a thin, well-thumbed volume. He looked at the title, Spiritual Exercises by Ignatius Loyola. How many times in his forty years of life had he read the book, done the exercises? He could not count.
"Eternal Lord of all things," he read, "I make my oblation with Thy favor and help, in presence of Thy infinite Goodness and in presence of Thy glorious Mother and of all the Saints of the heavenly Court; that I want and desire, and it is my deliberate determination, if only it be Thy greater service and praise, to imitate Thee in bearing all injuries and all abuse and all poverty of spirit, and actual poverty, too, if Thy most Holy Majesty wants to choose and receive me to such life and state."
Friedrich von Spee closed the book, put it back on the shelf, and taking his breviary, went down to the chapel to pray and to reflect.
The chapel was dark, with only a few candles and the Presence lamp lit. Through the tall, narrow, stained-glass windows, the late afternoon sun made colored pools on the floor. Von Spee breathed deeply as he entered. He loved the smell of the chapel. The scent of years of melting beeswax and incense was to him the odor of sanctity. He moved quietly down the main aisle, paused before the altar to genuflect, and knelt at the altar steps. As he knelt, he began to relax his mind, as he had been taught, and prepared to pray. He was grateful for all of the years of the discipline of the Society and the Spiritual Exercises. His mind quieted, and he grew still.
Von Spee remained kneeling motionless before the altar for several hours. He really did not notice the passage of time. In his mind, he saw again the images of the trials of the witches he'd seen. He saw the brave, the timid, the intelligent and the foolish all reduced to terror by application of the proper instruments of persuasion. He heard again the confessions to the judges. He saw the victims, for that is what he knew them to be, as they went to their deaths. He heard again many of them cursing God as they died.
"Lord Jesus," he prayed silently, "give me the strength to continue. Give me the courage to witness, and to comfort these poor innocents."
As he prayed, a sense of calm, of peace descended on him. Finally, he felt a sense of release. He stirred, stood, genuflected, and walked briskly down the aisle. He signed himself as he pushed open the heavy chapel door. There was the sound of activity coming from the gates. Curious, he moved to the top of the stairs.
The courtyard gate opened to admit a party on horseback. It was dark, and the group was preceded by linkboys with torches. As they moved into the courtyard, the light from a torch illuminated the face of one of the riders.
"Johann!" Von Spee rushed down the stairs into the courtyard. "My friend, I have not seen you in too long! What brings you to Würzburg?"
"It is you I have come to see, Friedrich." The man swung down from his saddle, and gripped von Spee's forearms in greeting.
"Come in, come in, then. We are just sitting down to supper, have you eaten?"
"Not yet. I was hoping to beg a meal and a bed from you this evening."
"No begging needed. We can talk during our meal."
Von Spee motioned to a young man in the robe of a novice.
"Albert, this is His Excellency Johann Philip von Schönborn, from Mainz. Father von Schönborn is secretary to the prince-bishop. He is an old student of mine from when I taught at the seminary in Trier. Have his horses and his party seen to, please. I will show him to his room."
The novice motioned to the guardsmen and the servants to follow him. Attendants took the horses off to the small stable on the first floor of the residence. The guards closed the courtyard gate after the linkboys were paid and sent off.
Von Spee turned and ascended the stairs, von Schönborn behind him.
Supper was light, as was common in a Jesuit residence. There was a plate of meat and some vegetables, some bread and a light wine, followed by fruit and cheese. Although born to noble families, neither priest missed the extravagant meals of court life. Both were spare and thin, Father von Spee to the point of gauntness.
"I have been using some of your hymns in the services at Mainz, Friedrich," Johann said around a slice of apple. "You have a way with words and the people seem to enjoy singing them. When will you print them in a songbook?"
"Probably never. They are simply scribblings, of no real account." Friedrich carved a piece of cheese, and stared at it. "And besides, I've just gotten into trouble for a book that was printed." He popped the piece of cheese into his mouth.
"Ah, yes! The Cautio Criminalis."
"Yes, that."
"You know, Friedrich, pardon me for saying this, but you are not looking well. How old are you now, forty?"
"Yes, yes, I am forty."
"Yet your hair is already gray, like an old man! And you keep yourself fit, too. So what is the problem, my friend?"
"It is the witchcraft trials, Johann. I do not know how much more of this I can stand."
"What do you mean?"
"It is regret that has turned my hair all gray," Friedrich said, looking at his hands, "regret that I have had to accompany so many witches to the place of execution and among them I found not one who was not innocent."
Johann stared at his older frien
d. "Not a single guilty one?"
"No."
"I have read your tract. Do you really believe that it is the torture that gets them all to confess? And that they are confessing false things to keep from being tortured again?"
"That is what I believe. It is not possible that so many people of stature, such as the nephew of the bishop of Bamberg, and the chancellor and several burgomasters there, could all be witches!"
"Do you not believe in witches, then?" Johann asked, his winecup poised.
"Of course I do! The Bible says they exist, and the Church says they exist, and I firmly believe they do exist. It is just that . . ." Friedrich's voice tailed off. He looked past Johann to a point in space.
"That what?" Johann prompted.
"I do not see how hanging someone from the ceiling with weights on their feet and bouncing them at the end of the rope can possibly be used to tell if they are lying or not!"
"Yes, I don't like the strappado either. Or the screws. Or the rack. But what else is there to do?"
"Look, Johann, you were good at logic when I taught it to you," Friedrich leaned forward intensely. "Is it logical to assume that someone who is being tortured will eventually tell the truth if they are tortured enough, or is it more logical to assume that they will say anything, anything at all, simply to stop the pain?"
Johann looked away. The silence grew intense. Finally he spoke.
"Have you heard about this new city that has appeared in Thuringia? It appeared like magic, they say, and is filled with warlocks and witches."
"You can't catch me out like that." Friedrich laughed, finishing his wine. "I have been writing to a friend of mine who is at the University in Jena."
"You have Protestant friends?" Johann said, eyebrow raised.
"Of course. How else to know the enemy?" Friedrich replied, smiling. "The city is called Grantville, which is English, and the people call themselves Americans and claim to have come from a time in the future when the New World is highly populated. Professor von Muenster, in Jena, has even been there, and says that though the things they have, and their works, are marvelous, they are artisans of great power, not warlocks."
"How did they come to be in Thuringia?" Johann replied.
"None of them knows. It is considered by them to be a miracle. Von Muenster writes that they have a very clear set of laws, and they are a republic, like the Dutch."
"What do they think of witches, then?" Johann asked.
"They don't believe in them," Friedrich said starkly. "They don't believe in them at all."
He paused, sitting still for a moment, then he turned to his friend.
"Johann, what if they are right? What if there are no witches? What if all the people we've burned are innocents? I have seen more than two hundred people burned! How can I face Almighty God with that on my soul, if there are no witches?"
"Ach, Friedrich," Johann said. He paused, then he breathed deeply.
"Now I must tell you the reason for my visit," he said slowly.
Von Spee looked at him, horror slowly dawning in his eyes.
"Eberhardt, the bishop's inquisitor in Bamberg has chased down the daughter of that man, Junius, who was the burgomaster of Bamberg before he was burned. He is taking her to Suhl, and will be trying her again there. He aims to burn her in Suhl because she has too many friends in Bamberg. My master the prince-bishop was informed of this by one of his intelligencers. He has sent me to ask you to go there and make sure that the trial is conducted properly."
Von Spee rubbed his face with one hand, and pushed back his hair.
"Why me? I am not in good odor with either the bishop of Bamberg or my own father general at the moment. You know his true mind, what does the prince-bishop expect me to do at Suhl?"
Johann looked at him, light from the table candle glittering reflected in his eyes.
"He too has read your tract. He is concerned as we all are, that innocent people may be suffering the vilest torture. And even though the Protestants also hunt witches, he is concerned that these trials are giving the Holy Office a terrible reputation. The Church, he says, should not compel its children to obey out of fear of torture."
He met von Spee's eyes. "He is a good man, Friedrich. He needs you to go, and report to him."
Von Spee straightened in his chair. He looked off into space for a few moments, and then sighed deeply.
"Very well, I shall go to Suhl. But I am going for myself, not for the prince-bishop, or the Society of Jesus. I am going for Friedrich von Spee, nothing more. And if she is innocent, I will not let her burn."
Johann nodded. "I think," he said slowly, "that my master will be pleased."
Von Spee blew out his breath. He rose.
"I must see to some things, if I am to leave in the morning, Johann."
"I believe that I and my guards will ride with you. We will have access to extra horses, and we will keep you safe," Johann said. "In the morning, then."
"In the morning, Johann."
* * *
Friedrich von Spee sat at the outside table at the Inn of the White Swan in Suhl, watching. He and von Schönborn had arrived earlier that morning. Von Schönborn was at the episcopal palace, delivering papers and seeing to the guardsmen. Friedrich had taken a walk through Suhl. They had arrived before Eberhardt, for which he was grateful.
An enormous American officer leaned over the left fender of a big metal vehicle and wiped his wet rag on the glass. The big metal wagon was standing in front of the inn where they were staying. Von Spee stared at it, thinking that it reminded him very much of the woodcuts he had seen of a Bohemian war wagon. There was another officer, not so large, using a brush and a bucket filled with soapy water on the wheels and the sides of the wagon.
The huge soldier had taken the armor off so he could wash the curved glass window in the front of the wagon and get the mud and smoke and guck off it.
"Hey Tom," the other soldier called, "Want a beer?"
"Sure, Heinrich, I'm just about finished here. We've got us a nice, clean APC. Just gimme a minute to put this back." Tom lifted the huge metal plate and set it gently down over the window of the war wagon. Heinrich tightened the bolts on the right side of the truck, while Tom did those on the left. "Tom" had an unusual accent but his German was fluent, von Spee noted, while "Heinrich" was clearly a native speaker. The only word von Spee could not understand was "aaypaysee" but it was clear that it was the name of the war wagon.
Finished, the two American soldiers strode to one of the other tables outside the inn and sat down not far from von Spee. Von Spee had his breviary out but was not reading. Fascinated, he just sat and listened. The barmaid brought beer, smiling.
"I'm glad you did that, not me," Heinrich said, blowing the head off his beer and taking a drink. "You are stronger than two oxen! And I hope to the Good God that you don't ever get mad enough at me to forget I'm your commander!"
"Me? Violent?" Tom slurped his own brew. "How could you ever think that? I am wounded, Captain! Wounded!"
"You are a big bullshitter, Tom Simpson. After you picked that one drunken bastard up and tossed him right through the door of this very inn, you can say that to me?" Heinrich declaimed.
"Yeah, well." Simpson drank his beer.
"You know, Heinrich, this garrison duty beats the hell out of marching around, and it sure beats fighting, but it is awful damn boring."
"Ja, Tom, but you know, it isn't going to be boring forever."
"You think they'll come through Suhl?"
"I don't know, but it is a good bet."
"When will they come?"
"Who knows? Don't get all, how do you Americans say it, all stressed out, ja, that's it . . . don't get all stressed out over it, eh? They will come when they come. It is our job to be ready."
"Yeah, well, I guess I ought to go out and see how the breastworks are coming."
"Tom, stop. Listen to me. Our men know what they are doing. You know that. What do you think they will do if you k
eep going out and looking over their shoulders?"
"I guess they'll think I'm nervous."
Heinrich nodded. "That's right. And you are. But you can't let them see it. So have another beer, and let's finish cleaning up the APC."
"Hauptmann Heinrich! Captain!" One of the sentries at the breastworks was running toward them. "Soldiers! Some soldaten coming are!"
"Who are they?" Heinrich asked.
"Don't know," the runner panted. "They have no banner. It is a small troop, but they have dogs and a woman with them."
"A woman?" Heinrich asked. Von Spee tensed, knowing who the soldiers and the woman must be.
"Ja, Hauptmann! She is riding behind one of the men."
Abruptly, Heinrich stood.
"We will come. Tell them to keep them at the gate. But do not fire on them!"
"Ja, Hauptmann!" The runner tore off back toward the American emplacements.
"Good, now Tom, let us go finish our beer, and then make an appearance."
"I see," said Tom. "It wouldn't do for either our men, or our visitors to believe that we were too anxious. Did I get it right?"
"Right in one." Heinrich smiled.
"Should we take the APC?"
"I don't think so. Let us walk."
"Suits me, Captain," Simpson said.
Von Spee waited until the two officers had gotten a couple of buildings down the street, and then he stood and tucked his breviary into the sash of his cassock, and quietly followed the soldiers.
The commander of the troop of soldiers was arguing with one of Heinrich's guards when Heinrich and Tom arrived at the gate. The American troops stood, and saluted as Heinrich walked up. Von Spee stopped, and stood in a doorway far enough away so he would not be noticed.
"What is going on, Sergeant Massaniello?" Heinrich asked, pleasantly. Simpson stood behind him, a little to one side.
Sergeant Massaniello, the soldier in command of the detachment, reported.
"This gentleman wishes to enter Suhl, sir!" Massaniello spoke in heavily accented German, obviously a courtesy to the strangers.
"And why does he wish to do that, Sergeant?" Heinrich asked, also in German.
"It appears that they have caught themselves a witch, sir, and they want to bring her in and put her on trial."