Grantville Gazette.Volume XVI

by Eric Flint

  "And do they sneer when they do so?" Master Eichelberger's voice was sharp. "As if we are poor cousins, or beggars at the gates?"

  "No." Johannes again managed to ignore the tone of the master. "Well, in truth, there are a few who do so, but I would say on the whole I have found them less arrogant than the Italians I dealt with when I first went south to study."

  "Hmmph." Master Eichelberger sat back in his chair, only somewhat mollified. "That is not saying much." He said nothing more, and waved at Johannes to continue.

  "Um…" Johannes tried to regain his thoughts. "Oh, yes… they are not far advanced over us in strings. Nonetheless, they do have advanced designs for viols. And, as Master Eichelberger has surmised, they desire instruments to be crafted for them according to those 'merino' designs." Too late, he remembered that Master Zenti had directed him to avoid the 'merino' label, judging that it would be confusing to the guild masters, perhaps even insulting if they made the connection to sheep. But in Grantville, the instrument crafters had all used that term almost exclusively when discussing the new designs. It had become second nature to him, so that it had just slipped out now. Johannes berated himself soundly, but was forced to drop the self-chastising when his brother, who had been silent so far to avoid any hint of collusion, spoke.

  "'Merino'? Who is this 'Merino?'"

  "Sounds Italian to me," Master Neuner said. "Did they steal it from an Italian master?"

  Johannes thought furiously, and replied cautiously. "They never told me who this 'Merino' is or was, whether it was someone in their times or someone from our own." That much was true, he laughed to himself, remembering when Friedrich had used the name as a joke, one that turned out to be self-perpetuating. "But they did reveal to me that many of the refinements and innovations in the 'Merino' designs were originally made by Italians." The masters of Fussen reacted in various ways to the thought of stealing a march on some unknown Italian masters: sly grins from some, a couple of knowing nods, but no further comments. Johannes engraved in his mind the thought that he must tell the others in Grantville to never reveal where the name came from. Finally, he returned to the original topic.

  "I have convinced them that you can safely craft these instruments and transport them to Magdeburg, despite the… current state of affairs between Bavaria and the USE. And they want enough of them that it will take all of you to satisfy them." Johannes could see the masters glancing at each other, all of them-even his brother-with what Master Ingram called 'dollar signs' of avarice in their eyes.

  "Before we get down to details," Master Gemunder said, "what is your percentage for brokering this deal? What will we have to pay you?"

  "My compensation is provided by the arts council. As Master Neuner read to you all, I speak with their voice. There will be no additional fees for you to pay once we have settled on the prices for crafting the instruments and transporting them to Magdeburg." Again the masters looked at each other, this time in somewhat astonished disbelief.

  "None?" Master Gemunder probed.

  "None." Johannes was quite firm.

  The looks shared now were somewhat skeptical. Johannes couldn't blame them. It was unheard of for a broker of any kind to not take a cut out of any deal in which he had a part, no matter how small. Nonetheless, his position had been made quite clear to him by Lady Beth Haygood: there was to be no profiteering in this venture, and if he tried it and was caught, he would be booted out of Grantville so hard his feet wouldn't touch earth again until he reached the Alps.

  "So," ventured Master Neuner, "what is their commission?"

  Finally, Johannes thought to himself. The introductory stage was finished, and now the really interesting part of the evening began. "The initial contract," he said, "is for thirty violins and matching bows to be crafted according to the 'Merino' designs, to be delivered to Magdeburg no later than the first of May. They must be of high enough quality that you would personally sign them. Their quality will be judged by a committee composed of Master Zenti, Master Riebeck, their leading journeymen and Franz Sylwester. Only those instruments which pass their scrutiny will be acceptable under the terms of the contract."

  "Who is this Franz Sylwester?" asked Master Eichelberger snidely. "I do not know that name."

  Johannes stared him down. "You may not know it now, but you will know it. All of Germany, no, all of Europe will know the name of Franz Sylwester. He will serve as the first dirigent of the world's finest orchestra."

  " Dirigent? What is this?"

  "It has to do with leading the orchestra in performance. I cannot explain it more than that. You will have to come to Magdeburg in July to see it."

  "The contract," Master Neuner interjected. "Let us not forget the contract." He looked around at the others. "I dare say that we can produce that many violins in that time, provided that the designs are not radically different from what we already know." Heads nodded around the room. "So, the question becomes, what do they offer to us to set aside our other work, set aside our designs which are well-proven, and undertake their commission?"

  "I am authorized to offer two Amsterdam guilders per violin to confirm the contract and provide for materials. An additional ten guilders will be paid upon delivery and acceptance of the instruments, for a total of twelve guilders per violin." There was a moment of silence as each man converted guilders to the Imperial currency. Eyes lit up, some in anger, some in interest, some just in the fun of the negotiation, but before any of the masters could speak, Johannes held his hand up. "And," he declared firmly, "each of you will also execute an agreement that you will not build instruments utilizing any of the 'Merino' improvements for anyone except the Royal and Imperial Arts Council for a period of six years."

  The room exploded-at least it seemed that way to Johannes. Most of the masters were on their feet, gesturing and expostulating at the top of their lungs. The gist of their comments was that if the arts council wanted to rob them, wouldn't it be easier to just send Gustav's Finnish cavalry to sack the town? He did hear one muttered comment that by its tone was probably highly vulgar, although he could not hear the words clearly. His brother sat back down, smiling slightly. Master Neuner had remained in his chair, viewing Johannes through narrowed eyes. Finally, all the others quieted and resumed their seats, albeit murmuring to each other.

  Master Neuner cleared his throat. "Personally, for everything that this arts council is demanding, I could not see my way clear to accepting their commission for less than, say, 40 guilders. And I would not grant them more than a year of exclusivity." Heads nodded around the room.

  Johannes remained standing to keep the advantage of looking down at them. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from rubbing them together in anticipation. Accepting the challenge, he began the duel.

  Grantville – Early February, 1634

  Marcus Wendell turned the corner in the hallway and came face to face with Lady Beth Haygood. She was accompanied by a man he didn't recognize, which meant he was a down-timer.

  "Lady Beth." Marcus came to a sudden stop. "Just who I wanted to see."

  "Hey, Marcus." Lady Beth and her companion stopped as well. "What's up?"

  "Just wanted to see if you've heard anything about Marla and her friends."

  "Nothing. Where they were going and as long as they've been gone, they're well out of the range of the telegraph now. We probably won't hear anything about them until they're back."

  "That's about what I figured," Marcus said. "Just thought I'd check."

  Lady Beth smiled. "If I hear anything, I'll let you know." She reached out and placed her hand on her companion's shoulder. "Marcus, this is Max Ohl. He's going to be filling in for me in the office for a couple of weeks. Max, this is Marcus Wendell. He's the band director at the high school."

  "Nice to meet you, Max."

  "I am happy to meet you also." Max said, bobbing his head. He was a young man, Marcus saw as they shook hands, looking to be about the age of Marla and her friends. His English w
as strongly accented, but precise.

  "So." Marcus turned back to Lady Beth. "Are you going to Magdeburg, then?"

  "Yeah. I'm leaving next Monday, be gone for two weeks. They really want me to take this school deal, so I'm going down to scope things out. If it looks decent at all, I'll take it. I want my family back together, and since we'd be starting a secondary school for girls, all the kids would have places in good schools. That was the main reason I held back from moving before."

  "Well, travel safe, good luck, and let me know if you hear anything."

  "I'll do that."

  Aschenhausen – Early February, 1634

  Joachim ben Eleazar accepted a cup of wine from Rebitzin Rivka. "Please, sit, RebJoachim." Rabbi Shlomo ben Moishe gestured at a chair. As he did so, the rabbi sat as well. His wife chose to stand, although there was a stool nearby.

  As the guest, Joachim knew he was expected to sample the wine and compliment it. Best to get it over with, he thought to himself. Rabbi Shlomo's taste was… undiscerning, to be kind.

  As he expected, it wasn't very good. Since he had become parnas, president, to the community, he had suffered from the rabbi's tastes more than once. He suppressed his wince and said, "As good a cup as I have ever had." He made a mental note, as he had in the past, to acquire a few bottles of better Jewish wines to gift to his rabbi.

  After several minutes of conversation about topics and issues that the two leaders frequently talked about, the rabbi set his cup on a nearby table, and folded his hands across his middle. At last, Joachim thought, we arrive at the purpose for tonight.

  "My wife tells me," Shlomo said slowly, "that you have spoken with one who was once part of our family."

  "It is true, I have had speech with Yitzhak, Rav Shlomo," Joachim agreed. "He was on the business of Don Francisco Nasi, Pinchas ben Yudah of the Abrabanel family."

  "He has taken service with them, then?"

  "Mmm, no, I would say not. Rather, he is briefly associated with them to pursue a common purpose."

  "Ah." Shlomo nodded, then hesitated for a moment as a look of hunger flashed across his face. "Is he… well?"

  "Yes, he is mostly well," Joachim responded. "He has matured into a handsome young man, tall and straight. He favors you to some degree, but I see traces of your wife's father in his face as well." He paused for a moment, then continued with, "My contacts tell me…" The rabbi well knew who his contacts included. "… that he is known as Isaac Fremdling among the goyim, and has attained some reputation as a musician."

  Rabbi Shlomo absorbed the double hit. First, that his son had named himself 'Stranger' to the rest of the world, and second, that music was still such a part of his life. It was the rabbi's objection to his son's passion for music that was the root cause of their estrangement. Joachim saw his face freeze. Nothing was said for a long moment. Finally, the rabbi cleared his throat. "I am not surprised by that." He stared at his hands for another long moment, then looked up at Joachim. "Tell me."

  Joachim recounted everything that had passed between him and Yitzhak in their meeting several days ago. He included his perceptions of the young man's state of mind. The rabbi drank it all in, fingering his beard all the while. He turned pale when Joachim repeated the metaphor of the wounded fox which had touched his earlier conversation with Rivka. When the telling was completed, Rabbi Shlomo stared at the opposite wall, a very distant expression on his face, pain in his eyes.

  Time passed. At last, Joachim spoke again. "RavShlomo, with all respect, you were wrong in how you handled the situation with your son. It is the nature of young men to be passionate about some things. It is also the nature of young men to sometimes be disobedient. And although the Proverbs of Solomon say to spare not the rod in disciplining the children, it says nothing about wounding them unto death.

  "I was there that evening. I recall it well. I recall the president of our community, old Benyamin ben Yohannon, and myself and the other elders pleading with you to not say those words, to find some way to not cast him out so finally. You would not listen to us, and so your first-born has been sundered from your family for over five years. Five years of grief for you and Rivka, and Devorah and Rachel and Reuven. Five years of pain and exile for Yitzhak. Old Benyamin would not challenge you further, so we, the community, supported you through saying Kaddish and sitting Shiva."

  Joachim stopped, and directed a stern look at his rabbi. "But now I, Joachim ben Eleazar, president of our community, I say to you enough. Yitzhak has not stayed away because of anger or hatred. He has stayed away because he was wounded to the heart, and so deep and so wide is that wound he cannot find his way over or around it. He must be helped to reconcile, and that help must come from you. As Torah says, 'compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness.' No other can reach him."

  Rabbi Shlomo took that all in, unflinching, staring at Joachim. After the speech finished, he turned his head and looked at his wife for a long moment. She might well have been a statue, so still did she stand, so rigid was her face. Facing forward again, he sighed. "I must think on this."

  Mainz-February, 1634

  "You will come, Georg?" Franz was delighted. Their quest for instrumentalists had so far not produced many musicians who were willing to move to Magdeburg.

  After going to Aschenhausen so Isaac could fulfill his charge from Don Francisco, the group had decided to change their itinerary, reversing the order of the cities they would visit. From Aschenhausen, it actually made more sense to proceed directly to Stuttgart, then proceed to Mainz, and finally return to Magdeburg via Grantville.

  They had made good time. The horses had remained healthy, and they had only suffered two broken wheels so far.

  The stay in Stuttgart had begun well. The letter from the Tuchman brothers had been delivered to their cousin, who was able to provide introductions to many of the musicians in the town. They were well-received, and had demonstrated some of the new music with some of the new instruments, such as Marla's flute and a violin that Ingram had purchased out of Grantville's attics, but no one was willing to commit to coming to Magdeburg, particularly on such short notice.

  Slightly disheartened, they had driven up the road to Mainz, counting on making contact with the musicians who had been there when Franz and the others had left. To their dismay, when they did arrive, they found that Isaac's estimate of twelve to fifteen possible recruits was a serious overestimate. Three of the musicians they were counting on had died in the months that had passed since Isaac and the others had left Mainz to travel to Grantville at Franz's invitation. Another had suffered a career ending injury, and three more had left Mainz looking for better circumstances. As they had not been in Stuttgart, Franz only hoped that word of the invitation to Magdeburg somehow found its way to them.

  Five of the musicians who had been part of the Prince-Bishop's orchestra when Franz had left were still in Mainz-six, if you counted Rupert Heydrich. Franz tried to forget about him. He was experiencing a recurrence of the nightmares he had suffered after Heydrich had crippled his left hand to remove him as competition. So far their group had not encountered Heydrich, and no one they met mentioned him. Franz didn't know their reasons for not doing so, but he appreciated their reticence nonetheless.

  One of the five had given a definite "no." Since he was an old man now walking with a cane, Franz could understand why. Three of them had said they would think about it. That had left Georg Seiler. Franz really wanted to recruit him. Georg played the viola da gamba, the largest common member of the viol family, and the closest thing to a down-time version of the up-time bass. Having a feeling that the low strings were going to be the hardest to recruit, Franz had talked to him several times over the last few days, and finally tonight Georg had agreed.

  "Yes, Franz, I said so, did I not?" Georg was blocky in size, with brown hair that constantly hung down over his face. The circles under his eyes proved that he had taken the death of his wife Mathilda of pneumonia during the days after Christ
mas very hard. "But only if I can ride back with you. I cannot afford to hire a wagon to cart my daughter and my instrument and my other things."

  Franz looked over to where six-year old Odelia was showing her doll to Marla and Isaac. She was the very image of Georg's wife. Reuel stood by the door. "We have room, Georg." He looked around the bare room. "When can you leave? How much of this do you wish to bring with you?"

  "Give me two days, Franz. I need the time to sell most of this worthless furniture and pay a few debts. I will want to bring Mathilda's bridal chest, and we will pack what few things we want to keep, like her dishes, in that. Other than that, our clothes and my viol are all we have that are worth bringing." Georg hung his head.

  Franz leaned forward and placed his hand on Georg's shoulder. "Whatever you want to bring, we will find room for it. You are welcome with us, whatever your reason for coming." Franz squeezed his shoulder, then stood as a sign to the others that they should leave. "We will return tomorrow, to be what help we can." Georg just nodded his head, slumped in his chair.

  After they tromped down the stairs of the rooming house and out into the street, Marla took his arm. "That's so sad."

  "Indeed," Isaac said from her other side. "Mathilda was a lively woman, one who brought joy to all. And little Odelia bids to be much like her."

  "I believe that is why Georg wants to move," Franz mused, "to remove them both from the place where Mathilda lived."

  "Probably," from Marla.

  "Aye," Isaac responded.

  They walked in silence until they reached the inn where they were staying. As they entered, Marla said, "I need to go up to the room. Get me something to drink, and I'll be back down in a minute." Franz nodded. Reuel shadowed Marla to the stairs. Franz turned to the bar with Isaac.

  He ordered a beer for himself, and a small cup of white wine for Marla. She preferred to drink no brewed or fermented liquids. Sometimes, however, there were no other choices, so she had learned to drink a little wine since she couldn't stomach beer or ale. Just as they were delivered to his hands, he heard a voice from behind him.