1634: The Bavarian Crisis (assiti chards)

by Eric Flint

  He was also discussing with Richel and Forer the insanity of the pope's action in appointing a cardinal-protector of the USE. Both of them heartily agreed with his outrage.

  This did not keep the festivities from going on. Duke Albrecht, his wife, and their sons did the public honors. The archduchess' ladies-in-waiting, with the exception of Freiherrin Lukretia, who was on her way back to Vienna, were present.

  Well, also with the exception of Dona Mencia de Mendoza who had, naturally, remained with her mistress.

  Everyone agreed that Countess Polyxena's gown was magnificent. Somewhat more magnificent than was allowed to a countess under Duke Maximilian's sumptuary laws. Of course, her husband was a Reichsgraf ennobled by the emperor in Austria, not a Graf from one of the German principalities. The rank of imperial count might make a difference. Then again, it might not. There was a lot of discussion. In any case, those court personnel who were not watching the play were watching Countess Polyxena. She was highly gratified.

  Belisarius was a wild success.

  "After all this effort," Father Rader said, "it is almost a pity that there is only one performance. It is too bad that we can't do it over again tomorrow."

  Father Drexel just looked at him.

  ****

  After the play, but before the banquet scheduled for the evening, the remainder of Maria Anna's loyal household members left, in small groups, just as planned. By twos, threes, and fours; some on foot, some on horseback.

  When Countess Polyxena returned from the play, Dona Mencia reported to her that the archduchess was seriously ill.

  "Don't so much as whisper it to anyone else," Dona Mencia said. "I certainly don't wish to cause a panic, with so many people in the city, coming and going. But I am not sure that it is a simple case of the cramps. If she is not better in the morning, I will ask the duke to send the court physician."

  Countess Polyxena didn't need to have it spelled out for her. When people spoke of "seriously ill" in those hushed tones, it could only mean plague.

  She did not go anywhere near the archduchess' bedchamber.

  "I," Dekan Golla said after the banquet, "find this illness rather astonishing. We have all been assured that die Habsburgerin is, whatever else she may be, abundantly healthy."

  "I have read the reports from Frau Stecher in some detail," Duke Maximilian's physician said. "They contain no information whatsoever that the archduchess is prone to suffer from cramps. Or related ailments. Moreover…" He paused, looking at the other men. "While we know that the cycles of women are prone to be overset by excitement and anxiety, which is a natural consequence of their weak and fallible nature…"

  "Come to the point," Dekan Golla said.

  "It is the wrong time of the month for the archduchess to be having cramps. We took that into account when we scheduled the wedding date." He grimaced with distaste. "Along with, of course, her horoscope. And that of the duke."

  Someone knocked on the door. Father Forer rose and opened it.

  Frau Stecher was standing outside.

  "I thought you might want to know," she said, "that according to Countess Polyxena, Dona Mencia has expressed some concern that the archduchess is more seriously ill than cramps could normally account for."

  Countess Polyxena had thought, "plague." However, she had not said it when she spoke to Frau Stecher; the possibility had not occurred to the seamstress. There were, just at present, no known plague cases in the city. Not that there probably wouldn't be after the wedding, with so many people coming and going from so many different places.

  Plague did not occur to the four men, either. The first thought that came to each of them was the same, and quite natural. Poison? The implications of that possibility distracted them for quite some time. By whom? For whose benefit?

  By the time that the physician made his way to Maria Anna's hushed and darkened apartments, Dona Mencia informed him that the archduchess was now sleeping quietly. She spoke of a day marked by stomach pains, fever and restlessness; she commented on the nature of the illustrious patient's bowel movements and provided him with a sample she had saved; she described the pain in the joints and headache that the archduchess had experienced. She promised that if there was no improvement in the morning, she would summon him at once.

  Chapter 43

  Decisiones Abrogandas

  Munich, Bavaria

  Susanna joined the rest of her group early on the morning of the play. The random draw of the straws had, oddly, made three of the four men-two husky stablemen and one footman -the other members. There was an extra person, unexpected: Dona Mencia's elderly personal maid, Guiomar, who spoke neither Italian nor German and who had not been in the group that drew straws at all.

  Nep Baier, one of the stablemen, had appointed himself their leader. He was holding the group's purse. As soon as Susanna came downstairs, he shouldered his rucksack and said, "Let's go."

  "No," Susanna said. "We can't go yet."

  "And just why not, Miss High and Mighty Seamstress?" That was the other stableman, Honorato, Susanna thought his name was. She was actually rather glad to see him. He spoke Spanish as well as German, which meant that they could, in a roundabout way, explain things to Guiomar.

  "Because the archduchess said not."

  "Just why," Nep asked, "would the archduchess be talking to you?"

  "She does, you know. Talk to Susanna, I mean." That was Jindrich Horschiczy, the footman. "I have seen her do it. Especially when they performed the masque before Lent back home. But here, also. Think about that. The archduchess talks to her."

  Susanna looked from one man to the other. There had to be problems here that she knew nothing about-problems that had existed long before today. But she didn't have time to worry about them.

  "Truly, we cannot leave yet," she insisted. "The archduchess told me that the group I joined was not to leave. Not until we saw Dona Mencia safe."

  Honorato turned and said something quickly to old Guiomar, who looked somewhat happier than she had previously.

  Nep continued his protest.

  "She gave this to me, just in case you would not believe." Susanna pulled out the note that the archduchess had scribbled.

  Nep clearly did not want to believe it. But he had to. She had showed it to Jindrich first.

  Susanna took the note back. The piece of paper was very small. The note had served its purpose. Maybe she was being too dramatic. But she tossed it into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  "Go back to the stables." That was to Nep and Honorato. "Be seen. I know that most of the horses had to be left behind. Tend them. Do what you would do on any ordinary day."

  She gained the ascendancy. Reluctantly, they left. Susanna watched them go. Lazy bums, she thought. Probably, they had looked at all of this as a way to get out of an honest day's work.

  "Now," she said. "Come back to the archduchess' rooms with me."

  Guiomar looked at her blankly.

  Susanna took her hand. Jindrich followed

  ****

  Dona Mencia was not happy to see them come back.

  Susanna, fortified by the knowledge that she had the archduchess' own written authorization, even if she had eaten it a little prematurely, simply said that they had orders from the archduchess to stay throughout the day and they were staying.

  Duke Maximilian's physician had not appeared. A boy came with an apologetic note. Father Contzen had taken a serious turn for the worse; Duke Maximilian had directly ordered him to stay by his confessor's bedside, night and day if need be.

  As the day went on, Dona Mencia became more reconciled to having the other three there. Jindrich went up and down to the kitchen, bringing hot bricks and other comforts to the supposedly incommoded archduchess-although why, Susanna wondered, even a supposed invalid would want hot bricks on a day as miserable as this one was a mystery.

  Susanna moved around, here and there, inside the apartments. Occasionally, someone from the staff of the Residenz opened th
e outer doors of the apartment and looked in. There was always someone in view; sometimes a lady-in-waiting, reading a book by the window, or a lady's maid just crossing the open door to the bedchamber, a chambermaid cleaning the grate, a different lady-in-waiting standing at the foot of the archduchess' bed. Susanna got to change clothes quite a few times; if it hadn't been for Guiomar, she couldn't have done it. The fastenings of even the simplest clothing worn by court ladies were far too complicated. She also helped Guiomar change twice. Given that most of the ladies-in-waiting and their personal attendants were known to be attending the production of Belisarius, it must have seemed to the people looking in that the archduchess' quarters were quite normally populated. At least, Susanna hoped so.

  Dona Mencia, of course, remained in her own clothes, in her own role, in case anyone asked to speak with her. Which several people did.

  ****

  Just before dusk, Susanna heard a quick rapping on the back entrance to the rooms, off the servant's corridor. She opened it. Nep and Honorato were both standing there.

  "The physician's coach just pulled into the stable yard. You are all going to have to get out of here. Now."

  Dona Mencia nodded. This was as far as the deception could go. "Go with them, quickly," she said to Susanna.

  "No," Susanna protested. "We are here to see you safe. That is why the archduchess sent us back. You have to come with us."

  "I made my own plans; I am expected."

  Susanna turned to the men. "Get in here and close that door! I am going with Dona Mencia. The city gates won't be closed yet; they're staying open late tonight to accommodate the playgoers. Take Guiomar with you and get out." She put her hand in the middle of the elderly maid's back and pushed her toward the two stablemen. Honorato took her arm and began to talk.

  Susanna turned. "You, too, Jindrich. With them. Out. Out the front door. Go down the main corridor and out. Out the side way. Not the back through the stables. Wait for me just outside the Wurtzer gate. I will come as quickly as I can."

  The four left.

  "We," Dona Mencia said. "We go the back way. As I was told to do by Duchess Mechthilde. Child, you are a fool to stay here and be brave."

  Susanna shook her head. "The archduchess told me." She started to pull Dona Mencia out the back door of the apartments into the servants' corridor.

  Dona Mencia protested, "Wait." She smiled a small, malicious, smile and tucked a note, as if carelessly used as a bookmark, into the book on the side table that the "lady-in-waiting" had been reading that afternoon. Then she allowed herself to be pulled.

  ****

  There was nothing in the corridor with which to block the door. Success would depend on keeping out of sight. Susanna, by herself, would have run. With Dona Mencia, she had to walk. Slowly.

  At various times, three other people saw them. Two women walking slowly, one elderly, raised no alarm. Dona Mencia occasionally spoke a quiet sentence. "The second turn, here. At the fifth branch, there is a staircase to the first floor. Soon, we will come to an alcove; turn to the right at the first corridor beyond it. The correct door will be marked with a pungent herb."

  Susanna just didn't know how long they had. How long would it take for the physician to reach the archduchess' empty bed? How long would it take him to summon the guards? How long for him to notify anybody he had to notify? How long for her to get Dona Mencia to her refuge?

  How long before all the city gates would be closed?

  Their progress was painfully, agonizingly, miserably, slow. Especially on the stairs. Narrow steps, steep risers, without railings. Dona Mencia could never have descended them or climbed them without help.

  ****

  Going out the front corridor of the wing, Nep and the others realized how very little time it was going to take to set the hunt in place. As the physician came in, they, as servants, politely turned their faces to the wall, in order that they need not be noticed by their betters. When the medical party was past, they started to move in a hurry.

  The uproar began on the second floor corridor that they had just left.

  Nep had an option that was not open to Susanna. As he heard the first party of guards coming, he hefted Guiomar over his shoulder and started to run. He was a big man. Honorato and Jindrich, even unimpeded by a burden, could barely keep up with him. He plunged down a side corridor on the first floor, into the stable yard, and threw Guiomar onto a beautifully harnessed mule that was tethered next to the entrance.

  They were out of the yard and heading toward the Isar gate when the first of the guards came around the corner of the Residenz and saw them. Saw a small woman dressed in black, riding on an elaborately caparisoned mule, attended by three men. He stopped, hesitating as to whether he should pursue or notify the captain. Notifying the captain won. He turned back, waving urgently.

  "Dona Mencia," he called. "I saw her fleeing, with three men accompanying her." The rest of the troop speeded up. Behind them, someone yelled, "Halt!"

  Obediently, they halted.

  "Where," the huffing footman who was following them cried, "is Messire Carafa's mule? What have you done with the nuncio's mule?"

  The guard captain looked at him with astonishment. One could not smite the papal nuncio's footman. No matter how sincerely one might wish to smite him. One could think it, though. Smite, smote, smitten. So there. Arrrgh. He turned. "After them." With a flurry of uniform livery and flourishing swords, the guards returned to the pursuit.

  Only to find that another messenger from the Residenz had gotten to the Isar gate first. It was firmly, solidly, closed. The lieutenant in charge absolutely refused to reopen it without authorization from the duke. When pressured, he drew his own sword. He pointed out that the colonel from whom the messenger had come considerably outranked the captain.

  The captain looked at him grimly. "Have you seen…?" he asked.

  "Yes," the lieutenant said agreeably. "They came through just before the duke ordered the gates closed.. They were heading for the Isar bridge. We had no instructions to halt anyone leaving the city this evening."

  The captain left half of his troop at the gate, just in case someone might see fit to open it and let them through. Then he turned, hoping that the march back to the Residenz would be long enough for him to get control of his tongue before he spoke to the colonel.

  ****

  "We have to leave the damned mule," Jindrich said insistently.

  "But the old lady can't keep up with us," Honorato protested.

  "It's white," Jindrich replied. "It will stand out like a beacon at night. What's more, it's stolen. Use just a little bit of common sense."

  Seppi the market gardener was very surprised the next morning. In the place of his common donkey stood the most beautiful mule he had ever seen. His first thought was of a divine miracle, a gift from Our Lady. His second thought was more prosaic. He called the watchman.

  ****

  After that, Honorato and Jindrich let Nep give the directions and set the pace. Guiomar sat on the donkey's back, clutching its collar and moaning to herself. Shortly before dawn, Jindrich asked, "What about the seamstress?"

  Nep just looked at him. "The bossy little snip can take care of herself. No way was I going to spend last night trying to sneak along the walls of Munich from the Isar gate down to the Wurtzer gate and camp outside it in hopes she would come out this morning. Good way to get us all hanged. Forget her. We're half way to Altotting and we're pilgrims. Don't forget that. We get this one back to Austria and we collect our reward for a job well done."

  ****

  The guards were searching the archduchess' apartments.

  At first, it seemed as though nothing at all was missing. There was even a neat, small, stack of bricks and towels on the hearth in the bedchamber.

  Frau Stecher, quickly summoned, stated that none of the archduchess' wardrobe appeared to be gone. The dress she had worn to mass that morning was lying carelessly on a chair near the window-the shoes, stockin
gs, shift, petticoats, cuffs, collar. Everything pertaining to the outfit was there. Her robe was on the bed.

  One of the guards picked the shoes up. Soft, composted leaves and a little fine gravel were stuck to one of the heels by a bit of mud.

  "Oh, that," Frau Stecher said. "A nuisance; she was terribly careless of her clothes. Didn't really appreciate them, after all the work I do. She insisted on walking in the garden every morning, even on a day like today, when the ground was soft from last night's rain." Frau Stecher took the shoe. "Look," she said accusingly. "Look how the mud is staining that heel. She didn't even bother to send it for cleaning right after she came in. It will be ruined. Is ruined."

  The guard captain asked, slowly, "Did she come in? Did you see the archduchess come in?"

  Frau Stecher shook her head. "No, I haven't seen her all day."

  ****

  There was a slight disturbance at the door. Dekan Golla had arrived, accompanied by a small man in a gray habit. A Capuchin friar. The captain bowed.

  "What have you found?"

  "They tell me that nothing appears to be missing."

  The man in the gray habit walked past the guards, through the bedchamber, into the oratory. He looked around.

  "Who tells you that nothing is missing?"

  The captain gestured. "Frau Stecher. The seamstress who came from Vienna with the archduchess."

  "Ah," the little man said. "Yes. It would appear that Frau Stecher failed to mention that a few things are missing from the oratory."

  "I have never," Frau Stecher said rather defensively, "been admitted to the oratory. There was never any reason for me to be there."

  "More to the point," Dekan Golla intervened, "What is missing?"