1634 The Baltic War

by Eric Flint

  "Stalemate." Ed nodded. "So what are they aiming at?"

  "If they can reach a good political settlement, Fredrik Hendrik can get as many concessions from Don Fernando as possible and wind up being one of the most influential figures in a new reunited Low Countries. So. Fredrik Hendrik will officially surrender. Don Fernando will immediately confirm him as the Prince of Orange, highest ranked nobleman in the new political entity. He will agree to sweeping political concessions, including some form of freedom of religion. Not a carbon copy of our up-time version, but a real one nonetheless. With, I suspect, a considerable component of, 'Don't ask, don't tell.' Also guarantees for the established political liberties of the Dutch provinces, and at least a willingness to see them extended throughout the Netherlands—at least, if Gretchen Richter and her CoCs can make it stick.."

  "How sour will those pickles be?"

  "Not as sour as the last one," Nasi said. "Gustav Adolf will relinquish the Dutch provinces he took. That's a meaningful concession on his part. Except that at Admiral Simpson's insistence, he will insist on keeping the port of Harlingen, so that the USE Navy has direct access to the Zuider Zee."

  "I don't think," Ed said, "that either of the Netherlandish gentlemen will like that. But, who knows? It may give them a common interest in the long run."

  Mike looked at him. "Nobody has said that before, as far as I know."

  Ed thought for a minute. "What 'political entity'?"

  "Aye, therein lies the rub," Duke Hermann said. "We have a truce; we have a cease-fire. But we do not have a peace treaty. Gustav Adolf wants some guarantees that the Spanish Netherlands will become, in effect at least, an independent nation. In essence, he's insisting that the Habsburgs have to agree to yet another split in their dynasty. There would now be three branches of the Habsburgs, not two. Naturally, the Spanish and Austrian Habsburgs are not keen on the idea at all."

  "Well," Ed commented, "the Austrians may not be enthusiastic, but given the pickle they are in at this point, there isn't much they can do except sputter. From everything we hear, Ferdinand II is on his last legs and there is no prospect at all that his son will ever become Holy Roman Emperor. If there ever is another Holy Roman Emperor."

  Nasi nodded. "Yes, that too. Which does lead us to the question. Where is Archduchess Maria Anna?"

  Ed smiled. "I was beginning to think that you would never ask." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a little packet. "Special delivery from Leopold Cavriani, via the Jesuit grapevine. Drexel, formerly of Munich, brought it when he drove the English Ladies into town."

  "What English ladies?" Nasi asked.

  Ed stared at him. Well, nobody could be a hundred percent up to speed on everything, all the time. Nuns were probably pretty low on Don Francisco's list of things to think about.

  "The teaching sisters. Mother Superior Mary Ward's Jesuitesses. The pope has revoked the dissolution of their institute and moved them into the USE to work under Larry Mazzare. The first batch arrived the day before yesterday; more to come, probably. Drexel picked them up at Neuburg about a week ago. And this from Leopold. I guess he didn't want to risk the news to the radio."

  "Ed," Mike said painfully, "what news?"

  "That Archduchess Maria Anna is currently in Neuburg. Presuming that the sulfa and chloramphenicol have fixed her up, she is about to set out, in the company of our friend Leopold, not to mention Mary and Veronica, for Basel. From which point she is going to the Spanish Netherlands to marry your friend Don Fernando."

  Deadly silence. Then, "What sulfa and chloramphenicol? And why?"

  Ed grinned. "By the way, that leads up to a question of my own. Since when are Rebecca and Fredrik Hendrik transmitting radio messages for Don Fernando? From Amsterdam, bouncing through Grantville to Nürnberg to be transcribed and delivered to his lady love in Neuburg. Or, if not his lady love, his intended wife, at any rate?"

  "Ah," Mike said. "Ah. I didn't know that they were."

  "Well, they are. Were. Did." Ed checked around in his pocket. "This wasn't in the packet from Cavriani, but Kircher gave me a copy when he came over to bring the other. According to the Jesuits, Don Fernando has already been negotiating with Rome for all the necessary dispensations. Breaking Maria Anna's betrothal to Maximilian, allowing first cousins to marry, the whole thing. He finds Urban VIII favorably inclined."

  "Holy smoke." Mike sat back.

  Sattler looked shocked; then went back to Mike's first question. "Why sulfa? Why chloramphenicol? Plague?"

  Ed smiled. "Infected hands from pushing a wheelbarrow. Don't ask. It gets complicated. Mary Simpson was in the wheelbarrow with blistered feet."

  From the other side of the table, Frank Jackson, who had been sitting quietly, a sardonic look on his face, suddenly exploded. "Basel? Basel! Damn it, Mike, Diane is in Basel. Those old... biddies... are going to dump a goddamned major political crisis right on top of Diane!"

  * * * *

  "We absolutely have to keep this under wraps," Mike said. "For their safety, if for no other reason. Ed, who all knows this?"

  "That she was in Neuburg as of last week? All the English Ladies who left her there. Say, ah, eight or nine women. I didn't exactly count them."

  "Two can keep a secret," Frank said.

  Ed nodded. "If one of them is dead. But as for the rest, how many know where she is going? Well, I don't know whether any or all of the English Ladies do. Don Fernando and his advisers, presumably. Rebecca or Fredrik Hendrik, since one of them has to have sent out the message—or maybe both of them. The pope and how many other people in Rome I can't guess. Them—the archduchess, Mary, Veronica, Cavriani. Some of the Jesuits, at least."

  Frank grunted. "Too many. I do not want that fucking madman Maximilian chasing after your blasted archduchess into Basel. If it leaks out that she's on her way to Basel, somebody is going to end up dead."

  Don Francisco nodded.

  * * * *

  "Frank isn't taking this very well, is he?" Ed asked after supper that evening.

  Mike looked down at his beer. "To be perfectly honest, neither is John Simpson. I hate to think what he's going to say when he hears that Mary was as close as Neuburg. That she had a chance to come home and went haring off again after a political chimaera. Which is how he's going to see it."

  "It would bother me too. If Annabelle were off somewhere, like that. If..."

  "If you couldn't take care of her." Mike grinned.

  "Didn't it bother you—Becky penned up in Amsterdam? All that? Even if you did manage to sneak in a couple of visits?"

  "Well, of course. I missed her like hell. But I did know in advance that I was marrying Daughter of Super-Spy. That makes a little bit of difference, I guess. But, still. Yeah, it's hard to swallow. What about Henry?"

  "He loaned Doña Mencia his recliner for the rest of the trip to Brussels. Just told the driver to bring it back safe. Otherwise, he seems to be bearing up under the weight of the orphans."

  "Is she married? Doña Mencia?" Mike asked.

  "I really don't know. If there was a husband, he must be dead. I've never heard one mentioned, but with the way the Spanish set up their names, it's hard to tell. Cardinal Bedmar is, as far as I can tell, is Alonso de la Cueva y Benavides Marques of Bedmar. Which might lead a person to suspect that Doña Mencia de Mendoza was a married name. But don't count on it. Mama is Elvira Carillo de Mendoza y Cardenas, and any of the kids has a perfect right to use any of the multiple surnames that mom and dad tag along with them, just as suits their fancy, as far as I can tell. She has a sister who is a de la Cueva y Mendoza, but she's married to a Carillo de Mendoza; another sister who goes by de la Cueva y Benavides; a couple just use de la Cueva. I really don't know. But family that counts for Doña Mencia is made up of her mother, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. Whether they worry about her, I don't know either.

  "No kids. Doña Mencia, I mean. But she is very fond of the archduchess. Quite genuinely. That came through when we were talking
in the back of the truck, on the way up here." Ed frowned a little. "Leopold didn't say directly that Mary and Veronica like her, but I get that impression, somehow. They refused to let her go on from Neuburg by herself. They were fussing over her when she was sick."

  "A Habsburg?"

  Ed nodded. "I don't think that we can count on all of the Habsburgs being stamped out on the same die. People tend to think of the one with which the Spanish line died out, feeble minded and multiply handicapped. We couldn't find anything in the encyclopedias about Maria Anna other than that she got married and had children; same for her sister. But both of the brothers seem to have been pretty competent."

  He finished his wine. "It may be a case of 'be careful what you wish for.' If we've wished too hard to get rid of Ferdinand II, his successor could be more of a problem. He will succeed in Austria, you know; he's already king of Hungary. Depending on how we handle it, he could be more of a problem. More reasonable, a better politician, and a lot, lot, brighter than dear old dad."

  "I wonder," Mike said, "how he and his oldest sister get along. If they do. Nothing in the library, I presume."

  "Not a thing. But Doña Mencia says that they are very close. He's also married to Don Fernando's sister, you know. Ferdinand and Mariana; Fernando and Maria Anna coming up. Brother and sister; brother and sister—and now all of them brothers- and sisters-in-law."

  * * * *

  "I suppose," Mike said finally, "that we ought to radio Basel. Just to let Diane get prepared for visitors. Let's see if somebody can raise up Tony Adducci."

  Ed nodded. Then, grinned. "And you'd better get a message to Heinrich Schmidt and Tom Simpson. They were still fighting to get those huge cannons over the Thueringerwald, when I left Grantville, and cussing a blue streak even over the radio in Morse code. I hate to think how they're going to react to this news."

  Mike stared at him. Then, realizing what Ed meant, rolled his eyes. "Oh, Lord. I think I'll let Frank Jackson handle that one." Piously: "I mean, even though I'm the Prime Minister, I think it would be improper for me to interfere with the established chain of command. Over something like this."

  Ed kept grinning.

  Mike shook his head stubbornly. "That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it."

  * * * *

  Somewhere in the Thueringerwald

  "They have got to be kidding," said Tom Simpson, after his commanding officer explained the new developments. His eyes went to the nearest wagon, which was hauling one of the carronades.

  Had been hauling the carronade. The right rear wheel had dug into a furrow in the road—the miserable misbegotten excuse for a road—and that had caused the axle to break.

  Again.

  Colonel Heinrich Schmidt smiled. "It's not so bad as all that. First, who knows? As cockamamie as this whole situation is, for all we know the women will turn up in Paris next. Maybe Madrid. Maybe Moscow."

  Tom was still glaring at the wagon, where Lt. Commander Cantrell was hollering orders at a small mob of artillerymen. "Swell. We're supposed to rescue globe-trotters. With an artillery train that moves slower than a tortoise. When it moves at all."

  "Ah, but you're missing the second point. Whatever else, we no longer have to go to Munich. Such a relief. I've been there. It's the most boring town in Europe. For anyone, much less a spry young soldier like me."

  That drew Tom's attention from the sight of the broken wagon. "Huh? I thought Munich was supposed to be Germany's party town. Oktoberfest, all that."

  Heinrich sneered. "Maybe in that world you came from. In this world, it's the most pious pisshole you can imagine. Priests and monks everywhere you look. More churches than taverns—and a ghastly dearth of friendly women."

  The scowl finally left Tom's face. "I'm married anyway. Besides, what do we get in exchange? Basel? Somehow I doubt it's the Fort Lauderdale Spring Break of our times."

  "Whatever that string of incomprehensible English syllables means. Who cares? It can't be worse than Munich." Heinrich gave Tom a look of profound sorrow. "There's something downright unnatural about a husband faithful on campaign."

  Tom even chuckled at that, despite the hours of labor they had ahead of them getting the wagon fixed and the artillery train back underway. "Leave that aside. Don't forget what has to happen before we can possibly celebrate anything."

  "That is?"

  "We have to rescue my mother, Heinrich. Hardly the person I'd bring to a wild and woolly party."

  Colonel Schmidt looked vaguely alarmed. "But... surely she wouldn't be paying attention to my doings?"

  Tom grunted. "Depends. If she gets the idea into her head—no matter how unlikely it may seem—that you might be a source of income for one of her pet charities or projects, she'll seize your leg like a mastiff and never let go." He shuddered. "It's a horrible, sight, it really is. Watching a man being pulled down and his wallet ripped to shreds by high society dames in a fund-raising frenzy. They hunt in packs, you know."

  He thought about it some more. "Not to mention that Gretchen's grandma will be with my mother. You know her, don't you?"

  Heinrich's eyes seem to bulge.

  Tom grinned. "Oh, yeah, that's right. Of course you know Veronica. She's also Annalise's grandmother. How could I forget?"

  Yes. They were bulging.

  "You remember Annalise, I'm sure. Gorgeous sixteen-year-old girl—no, I think she'd be seventeen, now—Gretchen's younger sister—they say Gretchen knifed that one Spanish mercenary for ogling Annalise too much—the one who has the hots for you."

  Heinrich said something. Tom thought it might have been "urk."

  Chapter 54

  Personae Consecratae

  Grantville

  The last leg of their trip, Mary Ward assured Athanasius Kircher, had been very pleasant. She knew that soon enough he would be debriefing her about the first part of it, all of which would be included in a "Jesuit relation" and sent off to Father Vitelleschi.

  "What have you heard from Cardinal Mazzare?" she asked.

  "The cardinal has, with papal approval, as well as with Father General Vitelleschi's support, authorized the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary to operate throughout the USE; to use the Jesuit rule; and not be bound by oaths of stability; nor to be enclosed."

  Mary Ward bowed her head.

  "To be a parallel order, not an associated order. I am sure that you are aware that the Jesuit rule forbids us to undertake the spiritual direction of women's orders."

  "Of course."

  "Which will not mean, however," Father Kircher continued, "that we will not be available for consultation informally, as has been the case in the past."

  Mary Ward smiled.

  "But you must find your confessors among ordinary diocesan priests. That is a recommendation, by the way; not a command, but it would seem preferable. Representatives of almost any other religious order are likely to start pressing for enclosure. Parish priests, by contrast, tend to be somewhat more realistic. Not often scholars, perhaps, but more practical. Grounded in the needs of their flocks."

  "I have," Kircher said, "some people whom I would like for you to meet." He thought about Noelle Murphy, who on her occasional reappearances from Franconia was still proclaiming at every opportunity that she was "not one hundred percent sure about this," while, he thought, giving more of her time to it than any of the older women. He was not one hundred percent sure about this, himself. Miss Ward was a woman of very strong personality. So was Bernadette Adducci. So were all of the Grantville women with whom he had been meeting in regard to the organization of a religious order, of whom there were now five. The Spanish teacher at the high school—one of them, Guadelupe di Castro, her name was—had been coming to the meetings that he had recently held with the other four. She said that she had concluded that the need for the high school to have two people teaching modern Spanish in a world where no one spoke it was pretty small. That there must be something else for her to do.

  * * * *

  "T
he ultimate question," Mary Ward said, "is whether you wish to found your own order, to become a part of ours, or of some other that already exists. Although I do not believe that any one of you has a vocation to a life of enclosure and contemplation. At the moment, to the best of my knowledge, the English Ladies are the only approved active order for women. The Sisters of Charity are not, will not be, quite the same. And they are, at present, only French."

  She smiled. The former name of Grantville's Catholic parish was becoming something of an in joke. She wondered how long it would be before Vincent de Paul himself found out. He had a reputation for being utterly oblivious to anything but his causes.

  A stocky woman, sitting at the back of the room, stood up. She had not come to any of these meetings before.

  Mary Ward and Bernadette Adducci motioned for her to speak. Simultaneously.

  Father Kircher smiled. Two very strong-minded women.

  "I'm not here to think about being a religious. Don't have a vocation now, never did. Besides, I'm too busy. I teach the CNA and LPN courses at the Tech Center. My name's Garnet Szymanski, by the way, Miss Ward. I don't think we've met before. But I heard people talking about this—saying the same thing, that you're the only act in town. And it isn't true."

  She walked forward and laid a book on the table. "This belonged to my grandmother. That's why it's in Polish. Which I can't read, by the way, but I know more or less what it says. Gran didn't die until nineteen eighty-four; I was thirty-two years old by then. She was born in Cracow, and she had an older sister who stayed there. Joined a religious order, lived through both the world wars, into the Soviet occupation. She died in nineteen sixty three." She paused. "Tough old bird," she added.

  "But, anyway. The book is about Gran's sister's religious order. This lady, her name was Zofia Majciejowski. Or Zofia Czeska; she was a widow. She did just about what you have done, Miss Ward, except that she didn't try to make it a Papal Institute. And it lasted. Educating girls, especially poor girls, orphans. Preparing them for life. There's a time line here. See. She started it in 1621. Got it approved by the bishop of Cracow in 1627. Confirmed by the nuncio in Poland in 1633. Approved by the king of Poland the same year. Under the bishop; spiritual guidance provided by the Jesuits." Garnet swallowed.