"Then you can ask me your question."
The smile that crept onto his face was like the dawning of the sun. The first hint of warmth came to Elizabeth from that smile.
Ein Feste Burg, Episode Six
Rainer Prem
Foreword:
While our friends in Eisenach have “wonderful nights,” and the deconstruction of the Wartburg still goes on in the spring of the year 1634, we need to rewind to the summer of 1632 and meet some other people who will eventually become involved in the project, too.
The following story is inspired by the novel El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha written by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, published in the year 1605, and one of the biggest bestsellers in Europe in the first quarter of the seventeenth century.
Chapter 7: The First Sally
Y asi, sin dar parte a persona alguna de su intencion, y sin que nadie le viese, una manana, antes del dia, que era uno de los calurosos del mes de julio, se armo de todas sus armas, subio sobre Rocinante.
Vnd ohne vorwissen einiges Menschen / ohn entdeckung seines Vorhabens / auch da? jhn niemand sahe oder seiner gewahr wurde / waffnete er sich eines Morgens vor der Sonnen Auffgang an einem der hitzigsten Tage des Hewmonats mit seiner gantzen Rustung / stieg auff seinen Rossubrall.
So, without giving notice of his intention to anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning of the day (which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante.
Grantville, New United States
July 1632
Marshall Ambler left his home before dawn. Dressed in a duster and an old Stetson, he saddled the horse Ruben Nasi had bought for him, and led it out of the stable. The leftovers from a job in the 80s, an old theodolite and a ranging pole, were firmly attached to his saddle, along with some clothes and all the achievements of civilization not available down-time. When they reached the street, Marshall mounted his steed and steered it along Buffalo Creek.
By the time the sun rose, he was already past the Ring and on the road to Rudolstadt. There he would meet his prospective assistant Melchior Nehring, Secretarius at the court of Duke Johann Ernst of Saxe-Eisenach, who in turn was, according to Ruben, his new employer.
Although Marshall had made use of the months since Ruben had contacted him to practice riding, he was sure that he would have to take a longer rest in Rudolstadt. Ten miles for the first ride would certainly be enough for his posterior.
For me there's no impossible,
I order, bind, forbid, set free
Grantville
Two months earlier
As on most evenings Marshall Ambler, teacher at Grantville Tech Center, was sitting on a bench in the Thuringen Gardens, boasting about his model railroad and the Germans around him hung on his every word. In the last year, he had started the tradition to demonstrate his railroad table only to the three best students after each class test, and so the word had spread among the down-timers about the great honor.
While he was rattling on about the differences of the gear transmissions of German and American diesel engines, he noticed a strange face. It looked like a Spaniard, or one of these Ottoman Jews who had the Grantville money business under their control.
Later the man approached. "Good evening, Mr. Ambler," he said in nearly accent-free English. "My name is Ruben Nasi, and I have a business proposal for you."
Marshall noticed that the man didn't try to shake hands with him. Most of his health problems only showed up when he was near fellow Americans or in one of the modern houses of Grantville, but some habits die hard. Marshall still avoided shaking anybody's hand, and if this man knew that, he perhaps knew still more about him.
"Okay, let's hear it," he said.
"Not here. What about taking a walk together?"
A secret proposal! Sounds like another Grantville spy. But for whom?
Aloud he said, "Why not? It’s private enough in my apartment. Want to see my railroad?"
"That's exactly the point," the Jew answered.
Marshall squinted at him. "Oh, no! I won't sell it. Never!"
Nasi lifted his hands defensively. "Sorry, that wasn't my intention. Please accept my apology. I was referring to your expertise, not to your property. But I would really like to see that marvel."
Marshall could see the Jew's eyes examine the locks and grilles of his basement apartment. And the man even didn't hide it.
"I can see you have invested much in your safety. It seems you are a cautious man."
Marshall shrugged. "Sure. Is that good or bad?"
"Oh, it speaks very much in your favor. We need a cautious man. And, if I may speak frankly, one who likes us 'down-timers' more than he's fond of the Americans."
The Jew looked in Marshall's eyes with a questioning look on his face.
"Get on with it!" Marshall now started to wonder where this was going.
"We want to build a railroad."
Marshall's eyes widened. "Now, that's interesting. And who's 'we'?"
"Hmmm. 'We' are people who have money and estates. I heard that is the first precondition to building a railroad."
Uh-huh. A bunch of German nobles! They've found a new hobbyhorse.
Aloud Marshall said: "But that's not enough. You'll need steel, a whole lot of steel. And there isn't much of it in this world at the moment."
"At the moment, this is true," Nasi confirmed. "But that will change. Everything will change, and we don't want to be left behind.
"I've read books on railroad companies, and it seems they always needed years between the decision and turning the first sod. And we don't even have a company. Only a vision." He pointed to Marshall's model railroad. "A vision of trains."
"Well, that's a model railroad. I never worked on the real thing. You understand the difference?" But something nagged at him.
"Haven't you seen The Flight of the Phoenix? I have," Nasi said.
Oh yeah, I'm the German model plane builder, and you're the Americans to get out of the desert with a real plane.
"Sure, but that's the movies, not real life."
The Jew grinned. "Do you doubt your own expertise? In the Gardens it sounded otherwise."
Marshall didn't hesitate a second. "No! On paper I know everything."
Nasi shrugged. "You don't actually need to build a train now. We want you to investigate on the possibilities. We need someone who knows about it. And not only from the books. You're an engineer; you know what is important and what isn't."
Marshall frowned. "And if I accept, hypothetically, what do you think, I should do? Where do 'we' want to build this railroad?"
"Do you know the Via Regia, the High Road?"
Marshall's frown deepened. "From Frankfurt to Leipzig? Through the Vogelsberg and the Rhon? Two hundred miles for a start? You're kidding."
"And what about the Thuringian part of it? At the moment we are not interested in Saxony or Hesse."
"Hmmm." Marshall went to his bed and seized a large folder from under it. He opened it and revealed a stack of maps. He had bought any railroad map of the world he could get. Starting with England, Germany was second.
"This is the Thuringia Railroad in the old timeline." He pointed to the cities. "From the Werra via Eisenach, Gotha, Erfurt, Weimar, Apolda, Naumburg to Wei?enfels. It's rather flat, not a single large river. Towns like a bead chain. It's a good place to start."
"And we didn't even know if it's good or bad." Nasi beamed. "And we don't have such a map. Each city you mentioned is a day's walk for an ox team, and how long with the train?"
Marshall shrugged again. "Twenty miles? Forty minutes with the Adler, that was the first locomotive in Germany. At the time of the Ring of Fire it would have taken about ten minutes."
"So the gain is larger if we build the first railroad, than all they managed afterwards. Reducing the complete east-west trip through Thuringia to three hours instead of five days. That's wonderful."
"But we st
ill haven't enough steel. We can't build it now." Marshall straightened. "But you're right. We can start it."
"See?" Ruben smiled. "Now you said 'we' yourself. It seems that railroads have this influence on men. Deal?"
Marshall extended his hand. Ruben's smile widened when he took it.
"Deal."
Happy the age, happy the time, in which shall be made known my deeds of fame.
Rudolstadt, County of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt
July 1632
When Marshall approached Rudolstadt on the gravel road, he could see Schloss Heidecksburg sitting on a little hill on his left. It was by far the largest building in the little town. And he could see that the owner obviously felt it was not large enough. A scaffold on its left side showed clearly that the current count intended to enlarge it farther.
Another way to spend excess money.
He turned right and shortly after reached the inn "Zum Adler," easily recognizable by the iron eagles on poles over the roof. Here Melchior was supposed to wait for him.
"Willkommen in Rudolstadt, Sorr."
Marshall scrutinized the young, glasses-wearing, portly German while he noticed Melchior scrutinizing him, the tall, gaunt-featured, almost-fifty American.
The American had no problem understanding the German greeting. Marshall had lived in Nuremberg in the late 1960s, working for the U.S. Army and teaching the German civilian employees engineering and safety guidelines. He knew that "Sorr" was meant to be "sir."
"So you're my 'tour guide' for the next few months, Melchior?"
"Yess, Sorr. It will be an honor to serve you and show you every nice corner of three duchies and a Catholic bishopric under Swedish occupation."
This was a description of a less than hundred miles' journey. In West Virginia, they could have stayed in the state for more than twice the distance, and West Virginia only ranked forty-first by size among the U.S. states.
In fact, the whole of Thuringia was smaller than even Hawaii, but at the moment consisted of about twenty different principalities in more than thirty separate areas. Two Reichsstadte-free Imperial cities-several parts that belonged to Hessians or Saxons, tiny pieces belonging to the Brandenburgers or God-knows-who. And of course, any of that could change any day.
So crossing only four borders on this journey was a rather small number.
Marshall stopped his thoughts from straying too far away and concentrated on the current point.
"Do you have the supplies I wanted?"
"Oh, yess, Sorr. Fresh food, soap for washing, thick woolen blankets for the nights and a tent. And the maps-" He wanted to fetch them from his bag, but Marshall stopped him.
"Not here, not now. I think we should take advantage of the good weather and ride at least one more hour. We ought to reach Kahla before noon, and along the Saale we won't need maps."
Marshall was not completely happy about staying in the saddle for another hour, but they were still too near Grantville, and a visitor might recognize him on his confidential mission. So he decided to keep moving.
Gasthaus zum Stadttor, Kahla, Duchy of Saxe-Altenburg
"Yess, Sorr, Count Tilly stayed in this inn last year on his way to Breitenfeld," Melchior loudly commented on the paintings on the walls of the inn. "We Germans are not much concerned if he's friend or enemy. In fact, that may change from one day to another. Martin Luther also slept here in 1524, and Emperor Charles the Fifth when he wasn't emperor yet."
Marshall looked around. The inn was built-according to a sign on the outside-in 1491, and had apparently not been cleaned since then. But that was something he had to live in tonight and live with in the future. He could have stayed in Grantville, but had decided otherwise.
"So you can now show me those maps you have. There apparently hasn't been an American in here yet."
The "maps" were obviously not meant to show the exact distances, but only all the villages that existed in the different principalities. When he compared them to his much less detailed version, he could see that even the angles between the towns didn't fit his map.
"This 'cartographer' was more of an artist than a surveyor," he commented.
"Oh, these are only the overview maps. We can get more exact ones in any of the Amter."
Yes, the district administrations should know exactly how many taxes to collect from which village.
"Who cares? It will be an adventure, anyway."
"Adventure?" Melchior said doubtfully. "I hope not. This area is not like your Wilder Westen. The towns in Thuringia have been here since the eighth century, when Karl Martell, grandfather of Karl der Gro?e-that's the man you Americans call Charlemagne-fought against the barbarian Saxons and founded many towns here."
Melchior shook his head. "No, since the Imperials have gone, this is a really boring part of Germany. Farmers, craftsmen, and shepherds; students and professors in the big towns, that's all you'll find here."
"Okay, so we won't stir them up. Do you think we can reach Jena today? My butt's not as sore as I thought."
Weimar, Duchy of Saxe-Weimar
September 1632
Durchlauchtigster Hochgeborener Herzog, Furst und Herr.
O Serene, Highborn Duke, Prince and Lord,
To Your Highness most humbly I allow myself to report that the news of a Spanish attack against Eisenach have reached Weimar, and the citizens are shocked, because one year of peace has induced a little economic recovery here like in most of the Thuringian principalities, and so the people thought themselves safe from the terribilites of the war, but now they are talking about forming a militia to secure at least the gates of the city, which in my humble opinion is completely futile.
But most of all I humbly want to inform and instruct Y.H., that we luckily and with God's protection reached Weimar after having successfully exploriret ways for the prospective iron path from Jena and Naumburg to this place.
In Jena we started in the park at the Saale the citizens call "The Paradise", for Mr. Ambler had detectiret this name in his books as the name of the railroad station in Jena, and we found that here are few problems to build at least a small "through station," for the line between Rudolstadt and Naumburg. The station, where goods can be loaded and unloaded, the so-called "switching yard," has to be built somewhere else.
And since the way from this park into the directio of Weimar is completely blocked by the city center of Jena-including the Collegium Jenense-he thought that the citizens might be much more pleased when the branching of the lines would happen south of their town, so another train station at the Erfurter Stra?e which leads to Weimar might be appropriate.
After having stayed in Jena for two weeks we pr?cediret to Naumburg, and explored a way from there via Apolda to Weimar, which we reached in late August. I include the exact path Mr. Ambler thinks suitable with this letter to Y.H. Also a path from Jena to Weimar is includiret.
Tomorrow we will start anew along the road to Erfurt to the west. I will write my next letter when we have reached Erfurt.
ActumWeimar, Sonntag den 12. / 2. 7bris 1632
Your submissive and humble servant,
Melchior Nehring, Secretarius
Between Monchenholzhausen and Bu?leben,
Near Erfurt, Archbishopric of Mainz
September 1632
Day was dawning when Marshall and Melchior left the inn and continued their journey.
Don Quixote had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to come feeble cries as of someone in distress, and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings and commands, repeating, "Your mouth shut and your eyes open!" while the youth made answer, "I won't do it again, master mine; by God's passi
on I won't do it again."
Marshall knew that corporal punishment was custom in the seventeenth century, but his twentieth-century attitude to morality forced him to intervene. Carefully, he told himself.
"Guten Morgen, mein Herr," he said with the little sound of arrogance he had acquired in the last two months to sustain the image of a "noble on his grand tour."
The farmer saw him, then saw the "servant" who followed him, and seemed to decide to treat him as a noble.
"Guten Morgen, Hochwohlgeboren," he answered and bowed.
"May I ask, dear man, what has enraged you so much?"
"This-" the farmer groped for words.
"— young man," Marshall helped him smiling.
"Ah, yes. This boy. I have been so gracious to him and his sister when they arrived nearly naked last year. I fed them and dressed them, and how have they thanked me? Run away, first his sister, and now this ungrateful wretch."
"I told you," the boy's voice came from behind. "She has not run away. She was abducted. By a bandit. And I want to free her."
"What a romantic adventure," Marshall said. He could nearly feel Melchior flinching behind him.
"Don't believe him, mein Herr. He's a liar," the farmer interjected.
"Why don't you let him go, when he wants to?" Marshall asked. "He will surely try again."
The farmer frowned. "He owes me money. For the shoes and the clothes. And when he tries again, I will have him thrown into the Schuldturm."
"Perhaps there is another way," Marshall said, and noticed that Melchior grimaced. "We need a stable hand, and perhaps I can assume his debts. Of how much do we speak?"
"Twenty Thaler, mein Herr."
"That's too much," the boy interjected. "We have worked for a whole year, and haven't been paid at all."
"Is he right?" Marshall asked sharply.
"Oh, hmmm, sorry. I forgot. But he still owes me two Thaler."
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