by Eric Flint
The farmer was shouting, Jetsam was laughing, and Flo and J.D. shared curses.
"J.D., why don't we just buy the ewe?"
Standing tall, J.D. spoke with the voice of authority. "If we give in once, what happens when Brillo meets another ewe he wants?"
"Let's handle one crisis at a time," Flo panted. "We can afford a ewe. Besides, look at her. She'd be a good addition for the breeding program."
Brillo baaed in agreement.
Flotsam, whether drunk or sober, understood the fine art of negotiation and immediately got into the spirit of bargaining. The farmer haggled with equal enthusiasm.
The young girl walked over to see what was happening. After a few words from the farmer, she burst into tears.
"What's wrong now?" Flo asked.
Jetsam explained that the particular ewe happened to be the girl's favorite. She didn't want her father to sell it. She said that he should buy Brillo, but her father didn't want to.
Between the sheep baaing and the girl crying, Flo felt a headache stirring. But she persevered, and leaving Brillo in J.D.'s perhaps capable arms, Flo walked to the girl. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
Jetsam rapidly translated everything Flo said.
"Maria."
"Listen, Maria, you don't want money for your ewe, do you?"
She shook her head no.
"But what if you had something wonderful?"
Jetsam told her that Maria wanted to know what could be more wonderful than her ewe.
"Tell Maria to wait a few minutes." Flo got into the wagon and began selecting objects: a pair of scissors, strong thread, and the red tarp.
"You're not cutting our tarp!" J.D. said indignantly.
Flo cut a rectangle from the plastic tarp. "You never liked it." While the haggling continued, Flo worked wonders with needle and thread. "It isn't easy sewing plastic. You have to be careful or the plastic will crack and tear."
Fifteen minutes later, she was done, walked over to Maria, and held up a red plastic cape with a hood. "This is for you, sweetheart. It will keep you dry in the rain." She put the cape around the girl, who began to smile and talk rapidly.
"Maria is excited," Jetsam said.
Flo grinned. "I could have guessed that."
The farmer and Flotsam came to terms on the ewe's cost. Although Maria shed a few more tears over the loss of her ewe, she didn't make any more verbal objections. Maria and the farmer began moving their flock. The girl's step seemed lighter with her new cape.
"That wasn't so bad, J.D. And we've a good-looking ewe for our flock. What should we call her?"
"Pad?" J.D. suggested.
"Don't be foolish. That's a boy's name. I'll call her Pat. Or maybe Patty? Should we tether both of them to the wagon or let them ride?"
J.D. smirked. "I think they'll both want to ride afterward."
Flo saw what J.D. meant. "Honestly, Brillo, don't you have any self-restraint? Couldn't you have waited until we reached the privacy of a stable?"
Brillo baaed very contentedly.
* * *
The road to Utrecht was a traffic disaster. Carts, wagons, and what have you carrying fruit, wood, grain, and every type of dry good imaginable had ground to a standstill along the soft verge. Marching from the city, Spanish troops and cavalry dominated the road, and few people dared challenge the soldiers' right of way. Civilian opportunity arose between soldier formations, when everyone would go onto the firm grade and try to make some progress before the next group of soldiers appeared. Anyone too slow paid a high price: Earlier they had passed a smashed cart and its unhappy driver who didn't leave the road fast enough.
Perched on the driver's seat, J.D. idly held the reins. He snarled when a cart attempted to ride over the meadow next to them as a shortcut. But the cart didn't get far at all. It sank deep into mud hidden by the tall grass.
"And it serves you right!" he yelled. "Damned cheaters."
"What's that, J.D.?" Flo was busy giving Flotsam and Jetsam knitting lessons. It wasn't so much that they enjoyed knitting, but it was more comfortable sitting in the wagon than on the driver's seat. Whatever their interest in knitting, Flo was pleased with the progress that her students were making.
J.D. asked, "Do you think the Spanish are leaving the Netherlands?"
"Perhaps they intend to subjugate some other country?"
"They're subjugating us," he grumbled. "I hate sitting still."
"Do you want to try knitting? I'm sure Flotsam or Jetsam will let you have a turn."
"I hate knitting."
"Don't be gloomy. The traffic will clear. It always does. We should be in Utrecht by tomorrow. Then it's only a hop, skip, and jump to Amsterdam."
"Hop, skip, and jump?" J.D. grimaced. "And it's only mid-October. Some vacation."
"You shouldn't have taught them how to play poker. If you didn't owe them how many thousands of God knows what currency, you would be looking forward to a soft bed, a real bath, decent food, and warm water."
"Why are you so cheerful? Aren't you the same Flo who threatened Brillo yesterday with death and damnation? Something about sending him to a desert without a blade of grass for a thousand miles?"
"That was yesterday. Today I've made a decision."
"You mean like inventing an automobile for our next 'honeymoon'? Or putting in a train line?"
Flo stood up and put her arm around J.D.'s shoulders. "I mean a real decision, J.D. I'm going to do it!"
"Do what?"
"I'm taking my clothes off for Rubens. I've been debating that with myself every day since we set out from Grantville. Should I or shouldn't I? Don't interrupt! I want to say this straight. You tell me it's okay. Our daughters tell me they're aghast. So which way do I go? Well, what the hell. It's only skin, and it's not like I'm doing a bump and grind on the stage. It's art, and am I ready! As long as someone offers me a real bath, off they come!"
"All your clothes?"
"You got it, mister, every last scrap."
J.D. twisted around to give her a hug. As he twisted, he accidentally pulled on the reins and the horses reared, shifting the wagon into the road proper.
As fate would have it, an extravagant carriage passing in the opposite direction locked wheel to axle with them, tangling the two vehicles and jolting all the occupants. Flotsam and the coach driver began working to separate the two vehicles, and J.D. gladly gave the reins to Jetsam.
An official-looking head poked out the carriage window and began yelling alternately in Dutch and Spanish.
J.D. was in no mood to negotiate and cursed back at the official.
The personage managed to squeeze a fat arm out the window. The stranger shook his fist, and J.D. gave him the finger.
"I hope he understands that," J.D. muttered.
"No problem, J.D. Looks to me like you got your point across."
The door to the near side of the carriage was blocked by the wagon, and the carriage bobbed up and down while the person inside shifted his position. The far door was kicked open just as a cavalryman was passing, and the door swung out right in front of the horse. The horse performed various pyrotechnics and saved itself, but the rider was tossed head over heels.
After getting to his feet, the cavalryman threatened the fat personage, and the fat personage screamed at the cavalryman. The cavalryman pulled his saber halfway out of its scabbard, and the official puffed and postured while his face turned bright red.
"You see," J.D. said. "It's all sorting itself out."
As soon as the two vehicles were separated, Flo asked, "Maybe we should drive on?"
"Sounds good to me, but exactly how are we going to move?"
A crowd of curious onlookers had surrounded them.
"Rubberneckers," Flo moaned, "and in the seventeenth century."
"Makes you feel right at home, doesn't it?"
A Spanish officer rode up and dismounted. He silenced the angry official and cavalry trooper and then listened to each in turn.
"He'd make a pretty good traffic cop," J.D. said.
"I preferred it more when they were yelling at each other."
Flo's instincts proved correct. The fat official walked into plain sight and pointed at J.D. Then the cavalryman also came over and pointed.
"That's not fair," J.D. complained. "It wasn't my fault that the guy rode into the door. Fatty should have looked in both directions before opening it."
The Spanish captain approached them. Flo thought the captain's glare wasn't too cold. She didn't expect to be drawn and quartered for an hour at least.
In answer to the captain's questions, J.D. said, "Sorry, I don't speak Spanish. Or Dutch. I'm an American."
"Ah, American." The captain smiled, and Flo's heart fell to the subbasement. Somehow she knew that the captain was among the few soldiers who had survived the American attack on the castle Wartburg in 1632, during which the Spanish troops were not only killed by lead and fire but forced to listen to Wozzeck. To the present day, debate raged among the survivors about which was worse: to be honorably killed in battle or to suffer the torments of Berg's opera.
The captain continued to smile. "You will follow me." He pointed south. Away from Utrecht. Away from Amsterdam.
"I'm an American citizen," J.D. said.
"And you Americans are great believers in law. So. You have committed serious crimes against his excellency. You have caused much damage. All this must be sorted out. Fines must be assessed, damages awarded." The captain nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, all this must be thoroughly looked into. You will be made quite comfortable, for you will be with us a considerable time."
Flotsam and Jetsam, never too cheerful in the first place, became less than splinters on the seas of life. J.D. was speechless. Flo broke.
"Two months! We've been on the road for two months to go to Rubens! We were almost there. Almost. Just a few days more and now this. I don't believe it. I honest to God don't believe it. Why in all the world did I ever listen to Justus Corneliszoon van Liede? I must have been freakin' out of my mind. There are dozens of painters. Hundreds of printers. Why Rubens? Why Justus Corneliszoon?"
It was the captain's turn to become pale. "You are acquainted with Justus Corneliszoon van Liede?"
If Flo's traits were to be assessed, among those highest ranked would be paperwork and organization. It only took her fifteen seconds to find Justus's letter and put it in the captain's hands.
After reading it, the captain handed the letter back to Flo and bowed. He said very quietly, "Excuse me one moment." He stalked over to the cavalryman, who had been grinning with delight.
"You!" the captain yelled to him. "Why are you standing here? Where is your regiment? Get on your horse, and if you fall off it again and do not break your neck, I will personally break it for you." The captain whirled on the fat dignitary. "Pig! Why were you driving on the road? Don't you see the soldiers? What gives you the right to be among them? Do you have a uniform? A rank? There's nothing soldier about you."
The official protested and waved his arms and pointed at J.D.
The captain drew his sword. "I envy you, for you have a simple choice. Move or die. Which do you prefer?"
Fat does not imply slow. Personage and carriage were away before the captain could return to Flo and J.D., whose mouths had collectively dropped open.
The captain bowed again to them. "I sincerely apologize for any mistakes."
"You know Justus?" Flo asked.
The captain grinned and suddenly looked years younger. "Of course I know him! He asked me to watch for you. That was maybe three weeks ago. It was odd meeting him. At first I wanted to punch his teeth in, because he was that type of fop. But before I could even draw my sword, he cut my doublet to shreds. Imagine that! Well, there's only one thing to do with such a swordsman. We promised each other eternal friendship, and I agreed to help you the best I can. Now, how may I assist you?"
Flo looked at J.D., and J.D. looked at Flo. They were somewhat embarrassed to ask, since they weren't accustomed to favors that put them ahead of everyone else, but the captain understood those glances.
"Attend! You will bring your wagon on the road and proceed after me. I will arrange an escort to guide you to Utrecht." He glared at the onlookers, who immediately dispersed. He was that type of captain.
And they were on their way, and Flo sang, "Amsterdam here we come."
* * *
Flo slammed the door, and J.D. jumped a couple of feet skyward.
"Lord, woman! Don't I have enough gray hairs?" He waved the binoculars he was holding in front of her. "I nearly put an eye out. That would be a fine addition to this 'vacation.' You know, standing on a roof is perhaps the best way to see Amsterdam. Through binoculars. The tours are okay, but the canals stink. They're more like open sewers than waterways. I keep hoping to spot the Gretchen statue. Wasn't there talk of putting one up where she was on top of a building somewhere and waving a flag? We should be able to see it from here."
They were staying in Paulus Pontius' house, which was next to Rubens' studio. Between the two buildings was a large courtyard and stable.
J.D. noticed the expression on Flo's face. It was a cross between the Mother of Demons and Lucrezia Borgia, only not as pleasant. He asked innocently, "Didn't the first sitting for Rubens go okay? Did you have a place to change? Was the studio warm enough? Did Brillo do anything unmentionable?"
Flo grabbed J.D. by his shirt and shouted, "When can we leave?"
"Well . . ." J.D. was taken aback. He had never seen Flo so angry. "We'd have to send messages to Flotsam and Jetsam. They weren't expecting to be ready for another week. We need fresh provisions. What happened? What did Rubens say?"
"It's not my portrait!"
"Excuse me?"
"It's not my portrait. It's Brillo's. I'm not Mrs. December. It's Mr. December. I was only invited because they didn't think anyone else could manage Brillo. He has a reputation, you know. He's a one-ram revolutionary. What am I? Huh? I'm a frumpy housewife. That's all." She sniffed.
J.D. hugged her. "Those miserable bastards. I'm going to have a few words with this Rubens. I don't care who he is. No one can treat my wife like that. And after two months on the road to get here? They have their nerve."
Flo returned the hug with interest. "No, not a word to anyone. It's too humiliating. I just want to go home."
"We'll get started immediately."
She shook her head no. "I have to see this through. Brillo will be painted and get a month on the calendar. That's something. Then we'll have nothing to do with these people again."
"At least we'll have a fine portrait of your unfavorite ram."
"Not even that!" Flo wailed. "Someone already bought it."
"What? Has Richelieu been up to his old tricks? Sneaking and conniving among everyone?"
"No, it's some collector in Italy. I've never heard of him."
"Well I'll be damned. I wonder how whoever heard of Brillo?"
Flo smiled glumly. "We have the most famous ram in the world."
Listening by the half-opened door was Paulus Pontius, Rubens' favorite printmaker. Deciding not to join his guests, he quietly shut the door and left.
* * *
A week later, Flo and J.D. were busily packing for their return journey when someone knocked on the open door.
Flo straightened up and smiled. "What a pleasure to see you!"
"A pleasure to see you, dear lady Flo." Justus Corneliszoon bowed deeply. "Flotsam and Jetsam have loaded most of the wagon, and I have a present for you." He offered her a small cloth bag.
"Can I believe that aroma? Can I?" Flo opened it. "It is! It really is! Coffee! It's been weeks since I've had any. Let me heat a pot of water, and we'll have some."
"Not to bother, dear lady Flo. I left some beans with the kitchen wench, and she's grinding them to make a fresh pot for us even as we speak. Shall I meet you in the dining room downstairs in half an hour? We can have a farewell chat."
Flo hugged
Justus. "That's a date!"
He laughed. "Then I shall see you shortly." Justus left the room.
"Thanks for noticing me," J.D. said. "I don't understand you at all, Flo. You didn't get your portrait painted, we didn't get Brillo's portrait, and you're all smiles. That is, you're all smiles after Corny reappeared. Do you have anything to confess?"
She was all innocence. "Who? Me? No, I'm only happy that the calendars came out so well. Who'd think that Paulus could turn out plates for printing so fast?"
"You sure were happy to see Corny."
"Well, at first I thought that he ran out on us. But, who'd think he'd spend so much time on the road marking a route for us, making friends, and eliminating brigands. It's like having Ivanhoe on our side."
"Can't you think of a Dutch hero?"
Walking over to a tall and narrow wooden box, Flo tapped it significantly. "Rolled up inside is a wonderful drawing by Rubens of Brillo. It's almost as good as a painting, and maybe even better. I think I prefer his drawings to his paintings."
What Flo didn't mention to J.D. was that rolled within the Brillo drawing was a second one, in red chalk and white washes, of Flo reclining on a sofa. In the nude. Flo thought it was very flattering, but Rubens had a flattering manner in general. Perhaps she would give it to J.D. for his birthday. Perhaps. But it wouldn't leave their bedroom back home. Some things were too private.
"I'm really looking forward to being home. You know what I think, J.D.? I think we're going to have a fine trip back to Grantville."
J.D. looked out the window. "Maybe."
It had started to snow.
Cowspiracy
Written by Kerryn Offord
January 1633, The Bristol Channel
Anna Kettenacker tried to keep her eyes on the horizon. She'd been told that it would make her feel better. Her stomach tightened and she could taste bile surging up her throat. The sailor who had advised her to get out of the cabin and to stand amid ships to minimize the action of the ship had been right. She did feel better. Still miserable, but no longer suicidal.
"Try this, Anna." Richard Tomkins, one of the Englishmen in her party, was trying to push a bottle into her hand. She grabbed it gratefully and rinsed her mouth out.
