by Eric Flint
****
"So that is as far as I got, Your Grace," Raudegen said. "The two men I sent on may have found information about where the four left the convoy, but I took the risk of following the girl once I realized that she was in the archduchess' household. I assume full responsibility for the decision."
"It wasn't all that bad," Duke Bernhard said, leaning back in his chair. "You have, of course, been back in the hills for quite some time." He tossed a copy of the Basel newspaper across the table.
"You are clearly correct," Raudegen answered after a moment. "I am seriously behind the times, according to the Basel Daily Times. My apologies, Your Grace."
"No apologies necessary. I am impressed, in fact, that you came so close to the truth. Your alertness ensured that I remained in the vicinity of the Swiss border. I am, in fact, currently on the way there in hopes of making the archduchess' personal acquaintance. Peacefully, if possible; martially, if necessary. The Basel city council having been so kind as to immobilize her, I propose to reap the fruits of their misguided efforts. 'Swiss independence.' What an absurdly inadequate use for a presumably fertile imperial daughter. I am just as much in need of a wife as the prince formerly known as the Cardinal-Infante."
Duke Bernhard stood up. Raudegen took a step a back.
"Take a dozen men, captain. Continue your pursuit. If this girl, whoever she is, was a part of the archduchess' household, as you say, she may yet be of considerable value to me if you can catch up with her. A bargaining chit, perhaps, if the archduchess is inclined not to cooperate with my plans."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Hear me, though. Right now, I do not want any incidents with Basel. We are in the midst of some rather critical negotiations. If you can take them this side of the border, use whatever means necessary. If not, it would be more loss than gain to me, right now, to have a diplomatic incident."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"If they should try to double back, though, into Austrian lands,. .."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Pursue them. I no longer recognize Innsbruck's lordship over the Habsburgs' Swabian territories. Over the former Habsburg territories in Swabia, I should say. I quite anticipate having some interesting discussions with the duchess-regent of Tyrol on the topic in the not-too-distant future."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Ah. Don't kill the girl. Don't even risk it. She would do me no good under those circumstances and it might well irritate the archduchess if she ever found out. Some women become attached to their servants."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Very good. I am delighted to have staff who clearly understand my instructions. Colonel Raudegen."
****
"You know," Marc whispered. "After these past few hours, I don't think that I'll ever take a fun vacation in Lorrach. I think that was what the stories call 'being in dire peril.'"
"That," Susanna answered, "is a really sensible decision. Never again in Lorrach. But at least we are through it now. It can't be much farther down to Riehen. Not more than three miles." She poured the pail of water she had been carrying into a leather bucket.
"Not," Marc said, "more than several thousand more soldiers to sneak past once we get out of this corral. Since Riehen is the Basel border and all that. Though I have to say that your idea of grabbing a couple of halters that were already on remount horses and sticking ourselves into a long line of other guys who were leading remount horses by halters wasn't a bad one."
"At least none of the soldiers between here and there will know us. Maybe we could find somebody's armor and put it on," she said a little hopefully. "Disguise ourselves, you know. I've designed lots of costumes for masques and pantomimes. That's part of what a seamstress does, you know."
"You can think about costumes now? Here?" Marc was sloshing two buckets of water for every one that Susanna managed.
"I can think about costumes anywhere. Anytime. That's what I do. Sort of like you thinking about iron ore."
"Oh." Marc was going to have to think about that when he got a chance. "Well. We might find some armor that fits me. But not you."
"Maybe I could disguise myself as a stableboy or something. Since we're in the place they pen up the cavalry horses."
"You are disguised as a boy. You have been for weeks, now. Stableboys aren't any different from the rest of them, really."
"Oh. Yes, that's right. I'm getting used to it, I suppose. Being a boy. So I keep forgetting that I am one, a lot of the time. Did you ever give me a boy's name? I don't think so." Susanna looked around. "But I was wrong, I think."
"About what?"
"When I said that at least none of the soldiers between here and Riehen would know us. Look there, by the tent. It's the Bavarian captain and he definitely seems to be looking for someone. Us, maybe"
"Us," Marc said. "Ten to one, us. A hundred to one, us. Run."
"Don't run," Susanna said. "Steal a horse." She looked at him. "You can ride, can't you."
"I can ride, but…" Marc was going to say that he didn't think that this was the best option, but it was too late. Susanna was mounted. So he stole a horse, too.
At least, the captain was on foot. He would have to find a horse. They would have a head start. Maybe this hadn't been such a bad idea.
****
The Riehen militia was patrolling the marked boundary stones. So far, none of Duke Bernhard's troops had violated the line. The news was that the duke was negotiating with the city council; that he had promised that if they turned the Austrian woman over to him without incident, he would not invade the city's territory.
"Riders," one of them called.
Two riders. Behind them, not more than the width of the market square in Basel behind them, came a dozen more. Not shooting, though one of them was speeding up, trying to cut the boy off.
The Riehen militia stood silently, motionless, until the riders passed the boundary stones. Both riders reined up, or tried to. The man stopped and dismounted. "Get off!" he yelled at the boy, who was having more trouble reining in. He finally slowed the horse, turned it, came back, and jumped off.
The man slapped the rumps of both of the beasts, sending them back across the border. "Just borrowed!" he cried at the soldiers who had been in pursuit, and who had now come to a halt. Apparently, the soldiers did not intend to violate the boundary line. "No offense meant!"
The oldest militiaman looked at them. "What is this all about?" he asked.
****
"I was supposed to be meeting my father," Marc said. "In Basel." That was safe enough to say. It was also true, which he found vaguely comforting. "We had a little trouble getting through Duke Bernhard's camp around Lorrach.
"Things are sort of upset, right now."
"Really. We hadn't noticed," Susanna piped up. At the look Marc gave her, she closed her mouth again.
"What do we do with this smart-mouthed kid, Matti?" a younger man asked
"They're the Landvogt 's problem. Both of them. That's obvious. We can hold them for a few days. Maybe a boundary violation, maybe a customs violation, even though they sent the horses back. They don't have their baggage, so they probably don't have passports. If they have undeclared foreign money, it could be a currency violation. If they've been with the army over there, it could be a quarantine violation. The city council doesn't want plague being brought in."
"But Herr Wettstein is in Basel."
"They're still his problem. Take them down to the administration building and put them in a corner, somewhere. He won't have time to see them right away."
"If he's in Basel, why not send them across into the city to him?"
"Bridge closed. The council closed it at sunset. It's not going to reopen until they finish negotiating with Duke Bernhard."
"We haven't had time to declare any currency," Susanna protested. "You haven't even asked us to."
Marc was pulling a case out of the inside pocket of his doublet. "We do have passports," he said.
The oldest militiaman was still unmoved. "You're still Herr Wettstein's problem. Not ours. You'll just have to wait until all this is over."
Chapter 63
Potentiam Concupiscere
Lorrach
"I simply do not understand," Duke Bernhard said, "why all of them seem to be so surprised. I left the service of Gustav Adolf after his great insult to my honor, my reputation, after all. What caused them to expect that I would remain permanently in French service if a different course of action became, for some reason, more appropriate?"
Johann Freinsheim stood quietly, listening to the duke's meditations. He sincerely hoped that Duke Bernhard didn't ask for his opinion. He was not here to give his opinion. He was here to deliver a message from Margrave Friedrich V of Baden-Durlach.
On the one hand, Duke Bernhard's analysis seemed to be accurate. As far as Freinsheim could tell, "all of them" did appear to be surprised. "Most of them" at least. They also appeared to be disapproving. Certainly the French had been very surprised, not to say disapproving, when the duke had pulled his regiments away from their assigned position across from Mainz. He knew that definitely, having been working in the chancery when it happened.
Freinsheim realized that he was in no position to know Gustav Adolf's mind, but the king of Sweden's administrator in Mainz had certainly not hesitated to take advantage of the opportunity that Bernhard had offered to him, whether or not he was surprised by it; whether or not he approved of it.
Margrave Friedrich, certainly, was both surprised and disapproving. Freinsheim had come to the margrave at once, as soon as he succeeded in getting out of France. He felt obliged to him as well as to Professor Buxtorf for the timely warning he had received. Warnings, to be more precise-they had arrived by several ways. If he had stayed much longer-well, suspicion of collaboration with Duke Bernhard would have been almost certain to fall upon a German working in the translation division of the royal chancery. Under Cardinal Richelieu, it was common for suspicion to be followed by prompt action.
Whereas, Freinsheim thought righteously, he had not been collaborating with Duke Bernhard at all. Now But Duke Bernhard was looking at him impatiently. "Well?" he asked.
Apparently the duke did want his opinion. "Margrave Friedrich's father has been unswervingly loyal to the Protestant cause," he began a little uncertainly. "Perhaps this has led him to cultivate a certain admiration for steadiness of purpose and for, ah…"
His voice trailed off. Keeping your word once you have given it
… might not be the most appropriate thing for an emissary to say to the duke right now.
"Consistency in pursuit of one's goals," he finished.
"I have been quite consistent in the pursuit of my goals," Duke Bernhard said blandly. "From beginning to end. I would advise Margrave Friedrich to devote some consideration to what my goals are. If he is able to clarify that matter in his mind-which I doubt, if the letter you just delivered is a typical example of the way he thinks-then he may be moved to submit some slightly more acceptable proposal to me."
Duke Bernhard rose. "You may inform him that I do not regard his suggestions as an acceptable basis for beginning negotiations. If you care to wait, I will have my secretary draft a letter, so you may deliver a signed version, in writing."
Freinsheim inclined his head. "Thank you, Your Grace."
****
Basel
"The USE embassy is not really under siege," Diane Jackson said. "That is not the right way to say it. I told Frank so, this morning. Even though Swiger and Gordon act like we are under siege. We are just as comfortable as we were before the city council's 'honor guard' showed up. They let the grocer and the butcher deliver food every day." She nodded her head. "Sometimes they even let visitors come. If they have diplomatic credentials. Like you."
She nodded at Margrave Friedrich V of Baden-Durlach who was sitting at the foot of the table. There was a member of his staff at his right. The margrave had brought a copy of the note which the duke had sent in response to his suggestion for negotiations.
Diane read the note, listened to the margrave, and answered rather drily, "Duke Bernhard has a point. It is not normal for the man with the biggest army to go away because someone else tells him that he should play nice. Maybe he did not pay attention to his kindergarten teacher."
****
Margrave Friedrich looked at her, wholly baffled. Then at the others around the table. It made him rather uneasy that he was the only man present, other than his secretary and a young up-timer called Tony who was also taking notes, as well as sitting next to Frau Dreeson and whispering in her ear. A vague echo of the Scots pastor's pamphlet First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women drifted through his mind.
These four. Frau Simpson's presence, he could understand. Somewhat. The archduchess, perhaps, although she certainly had no official status among the up-timers, since much of the focus of the negotiations was upon her person. But Frau Dreeson? He had not brought along the wife of the mayor of Basel to the discussion.
Frau Admiral Simpson smiled kindly. "Diane is referring to an up-time book, Your Grace, about the importance of what children learn during their earliest years. Our schools for small children are called kindergartens, which is a German word, but which does not yet exist in
1634."
Margrave Friedrich nodded. Certainly, everyone realized the importance of molding a child. Even the Bible spoke of it. "Bring up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."
"You think that Duke Bernhard was badly brought up?" he asked.
"I understand," Mary Simpson said, "that he was the youngest of a very large family of boys. He was really just a baby when his father died. Rulers or not, they did not have much money. I have spoken to Wilhelm Wettin, more than once. Duke Bernhard's allowance from the Saxe-Weimar lands, under their father's will, was much less than the annual salary of a colonel in one of the regiments that your father commands, Margrave Friedrich. Nor were the sons to have separate lands of their own. They were to govern Saxe-Weimar as a committee, so to speak, with Wilhelm, as the oldest survivor, serving as CEO-chief executive officer, that-or chairman of the board. I am not sure if there is a down-time word quite equivalent."
"And why," Margrave Friedrich asked, "do you see that this has caused Duke Bernhard to betray first one Kriegsherr and now another? 'War lord?' Would that be the correct word?"
"Literally, yes," Mary answered. "But 'war lord' has different connotations for us. It sounds more, well, feudal. Old fashioned. Obsolete. Or third-world, such as the conflicts in Somalia. A Kriegsherr is really something more straightforward. A ruler who employs a military contractor. Your problem with the ethics of Duke Bernhard is that he does not fulfill his contracts. Not that he violates some kind of mystical oath of fealty."
"He has broken oaths," Margrave Friedrich said rather stiffly.
"That is true," Mary answered. "But what we are talking about this morning, I think, is not that he has broken oaths, but why he has done it. He challenged you to understand why, didn't he? If I understand this letter correctly?"
"At first, when he pulled back from Mainz," Margrave Friedrich said, "my father's assumption was that it was part of a wider movement of French troops, no matter now improbable that might have seemed after the crushing defeat that Torstensson inflicted upon them outside of Luebeck. My father predicted that some other regiments would move into the Mainz front through Lorraine. He expected that Bernhard would make a major movement against General Horn here in Swabia; perhaps that he would probe through Wurttemberg against the USE frontier, possibly against Thuringia-Franconia itself at its most vulnerable point."
Veronica Dreeson spoke up for the first time. "That was what Henry thought, too, and the other men in Grantville. They sent everyone they could spare down to that point earlier this summer. They even called up a lot of the reservists like Jack Whitney and sent them down to Horn."
Th
e young man, Tony, next to her, put her words into spoken French at the same time he was noting them down in the minutes.
Margrave Friedrich felt obscurely comforted. Though why it should be comforting to hear that the opinions of an experienced military leader and diplomat such as his father were shared by the mayor of a small city was not clear to him.
"But Bernhard did not attack the State of Thuringia-Franconia," Maria Anna pointed out. "He sent most of his troops back into Alsace and into the Franche-Comte -except for the ones here, under his personal command. Now he has moved into the Breisgau and the rest of the Austrian lands in southern Swabia. He has not, in truth, moved against General Horn this summer. If they meet on the battlefield this season, it will be because Horn seeks him out."
"There was another book, up-time," Mary Simpson said. "I am not sure whether Grantville has a copy any more. I had one, but it was left in Pittsburgh, of course. I can check with the library after I get home, if anyone is interested. It was written by an Englishwoman. The title was A Room of One's Own, or something similar. Margrave Friedrich, I think that you might, possibly, ask Duke Bernhard if he intends to obtain a room of his own. I am sure that he would prefer not to hear the option presented in those exact words, of course. It might be more prudent to ask him if all his moves have been calculated to bring him an independent principality of his own."
Freinsheim looked up, startled.
"Perhaps," she continued, "since he was always the 'baby brother' in his own family, a principality larger than any lands that the older Saxe-Weimar sons have any reasonable prospect of ruling."
Diane Jackson reached behind her. "Lee Swiger drew me a map," she said. "It is not big enough, but this is the biggest piece of paper that the printer had. This is three of the biggest pieces of paper the printer had. No tape here, down-time, but I put flour paste from the kitchen on strips of paper and glued them together from behind." She rolled it out on the table.