by Eric Flint
But still, he did not believe that the landgrave had been interested in Frau Dreeson. He was very firm about that. By now, he had decided Forst and Becker were hare-brained idiots.
* * * *
Unfortunately for the best laid plans of Forst and Becker—which were not, it had to be admitted, very good—the landgrave's mind was not well; he had become senile. All of his stewards knew that he had not taking an interest in anything or anyone for a long time. Sartorius made it plain that he wanted nothing to do with them.
This, of course, presented a problem for the bargemen. They still had the barrels.
Well, only two of the barrels. Sartorius had at least been happy to take charge of the ones filled with iron ore. He could find a use for it one of these days, he said.
* * * *
Sartorius was also a cautious man. Although it did not seem probable on the basis of his reports, it was possible that the landgrave might recover his health. Divine miracles were never to be discounted. Should he recover, it might also be possible that he had indeed instructed his agent in Amberg—what was the man's name? Oh yes, Arndt. It might be possible that the landgrave had instructed Arndt to procure these women as hostages. If that did turn out to be the case—well, it couldn't do any harm for him to offer facilities to the women that they might relieve themselves. And, ah, clean themselves.
Sartorius assisted them to stand up; they were very cramped and stiff. He provided clean water; cold porridge left over from breakfast. The odd-looking one with her hair cut like a man's had a bruise and small cut on her temple; he provided the other woman with cloths to clean it, and a salve. He told a stableboy to clean the barrels.
* * * *
Veronica cleaned Mary's wound from hitting her head on the piling. Then she took out her false teeth, washed them, and tucked them into the pouch gathered onto a heavy string that she wore around her neck, beneath her clothing. For the last two days, she had been afraid that one of the times when the guard pushed the rag back into her mouth to gag her, he would push them out of place and cause her to choke.
"This really sucks," Mary muttered. Then, half-giggled. "When I heard my son Tom use that expression as a teenager, I gave him quite the talking-to, believe you me! But I squirreled it away in my memory. It's got a certain catchy flair, and you never know."
Gingerly, she probed her head. "Yes, indeed. This really sucks."
* * * *
Sartorius assured himself that this much assistance was all that anyone could possibly expect of him. He gagged the women and tied their hands again before he led them back down to the warehouse, which opened on one side to the river and on the other side to the street. In spite of the gags, they managed to make it quite plain that they did not want to be put back in the barrels. He had to assist the other two by holding the smaller one while they tied the legs of the one with short hair. It took all three of them to retie the second woman's legs; they used an extra length of rope on her.
Forst and Becker insisted on the extra rope. By this time, both of them felt that they needed a lord's protection badly. Sartorius' obvious nervousness had only reinforced their own suspicions. They, in fact, had concluded during the journey down the Naab that they had two unusually powerful witches on their hands; or, at least, one powerful witch and her assistant. Why else would the landgrave have been concerned about a little old lady? They were not sure about the other, but they intended to take no chances.
Particularly not since the steward had taken away the iron ore. Everybody knew that witchy powers did not work well in the presence of iron. Perhaps that was what had kept the witch under control on the trip down the Naab. Without that...
On the other hand, there was no way that they could possibly have hauled a cart heavy with iron ore over land. It had been hard enough to persuade the steward to advance them money to buy a donkey cart.
"Why do you want the donkey cart?" Sartorius asked.
"Well," Forst said, "if our lord is not available, then we need the protection of a lady."
"The landgrave's sister was in Bavaria," said Becker. "Somehow, we'll take these women all the way to Munich, and consult Landgravine Mechthilde.
Rather stiffly, Sartorius said: "Landgravine Mechthilde—who is known in Bavaria as Duchess Mechthilde, if you please, since she is the wife of Duke Albrecht—is not in Munich to begin with. As the sister-in-law of Duke Maximilian and, until his remarriage, the first lady of Bavaria, she is taking a very important part in the wedding procession for the duke and Archduchess Maria Anna, which this very day will welcome the archduchess in Passau. When the ceremonies there are completed, the procession will start on its way back from Passau to Munich. With, of course, the duchess continuing to play an important part."
Forst and Becker found this to be good news. This meant that their very own Landgravine Mechthilde would soon be much, much, closer than Munich. Which meant much, much, less hauling. If they could haul the barrels south to the Isar, they ought to be able to intercept the procession.
Even simple bargemen knew one thing. All formal processions moved very slowly. Their purpose was to let the people take a good look at the ruler.
Chapter 30
Conjurationes Atque Consilia
Besançon, The Franche-Comté
Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar smiled at Friedrich Kanoffski von Langendorff. "Not only has Cardinal Richelieu formally accepted my explanation that recent troop movements on the part of General Banér in Swabia made it impossible for me to send any significant forces as far north as Holstein—and no matter how furious he is after the catastrophe at Ahrensbök—he will have to acknowledge that it would have had no effect at all for me to send them, anyway. Not given that d'Angoulême had overall command."
Kanoffski shook his head. "The cardinal will eventually have to acknowledge it. That doesn't mean he is doing so right now, Your Grace. He is also, very soon, going to realize that aside from Turenne's cavalry, which is tied down in Paris, your troops in Alsace are the only intact body of effective soldiers under French command. Nominally under French command. He will have to wonder how long that will last."
Bernard tapped his fingers on the table. "In regard to de Guébriant. I think that we can go beyond making it clear to him that my offer of employment still stands. I think that we can afford to pay his ransom—anonymously, of course—without jeopardizing any of our other projects." Bernhard raised his eyebrows. Impressive, thick, bushy, eyebrows. "Don't you?"
"I'm sure of it. It would certainly be a pity for him to languish in USE captivity for years." Kanoffski rubbed his cheek. "Do you suppose that anyone has mentioned to Werth just how long the Imperials left him to languish in French captivity in that other world?"
"I doubt it. But there's no reason that someone shouldn't mention it to him. Just in passing, of course. And leaving out the fact that I'm the one who captured him in the first place."
"Of course."
Bernhard was still tapping his fingers on the table. "The fact that we have some more time, however, requires us to consider some possible future problems. I'm thinking in particular of the plague that is 'scheduled' for next year."
Kanoffski nodded, immediately understanding the reference. The previous winter, Duke Bernhard had sent a recruiter to Tuebingen, in hopes of acquiring the services of the mathematics professor, Schickard, for his projects in Besançon. After all, Schickard's father had been, and his brother was, public works director. The dukes of Württemberg were not, at present, in any position to construct public works and the university was not holding sessions.
Unfortunately, Schickard had gone off to work for the landgraves of Hesse. However, the recruiter had spoken to one of the other professors who had commented a little pompously, "Well, at least, since he's in Landgrave Hermann's castle in Rotenberg, Wilhelm won't die prematurely in the great plague epidemic that will sweep Alsace, Swabia, and Württemberg in 1635. That's a blessing, since we expect many great things from that brilliant mind."
Duke Bernhard had perceived that such a medical emergency—right in his area of interest—might well have disastrous consequences for his plans. He had also heard that the up-timers had methods for combating plague that were measurably more effective than simple quarantine and movement restriction. He had been agreeable to Kanoffski's suggestion of attempting to hire an expert. The recruiter went to Grantville.
"We've gotten a response to our discreet queries in Grantville, Your Grace," said Kanoffski. "Do you recall the 'Suhl Incident' in January of last year?"
Duke Bernhard frowned. "Yes, although I can't recall many of the details. A mutiny by the local garrison, suppressed by the up-timers in alliance with the gun merchants of the city."
Kanoffski issued a soft, somewhat sarcastic grunt. "Whether it was a 'mutiny' or not could be debated. Indeed, it has been debated, and by the up-timers themselves. But the relevant item, from our point of view, is that one of the ringleaders of the so-called mutiny was himself an up-timer. A certain Lt. Johnny Lee Horton, who was killed in the course of the affair—and reportedly at the direct order of the American officer who led the suppression of the garrison."
Bernhard was still frowning. "And your point is..."
"Lt. Horton left behind a widow—also an up-timer, by the name of Kamala Horton—and their children. What's relevant is that, first, Frau Horton is quietly seething over the matter; secondly, she is now in straightened financial circumstances; and last but not least, she is herself a trained medical expert. What the up-timers call a 'nurse,' although the term has little in common with our own notions of such persons. She will have more medical knowledge than almost any doctor we could find, anywhere in Europe."
Bernhard's expression cleared, replaced by a thin smile. "In other words, by their treatment of this mutineer's widow, the up-timers in Grantville have created their own willing defector."
"Precisely. Our recruiting agent has spoken with her at some length, and she has agreed to move to Besançon and transfer her services—and her allegiance—to Your Grace. She and her children are expected to arrive here sometime next month. 'After school is out,' Mrs. Horton told our recruiter. 'I want them to finish up the spring semester.'"
Bernhard rose, clapping his hands. "Well, that's splendid. Well done, Friedrich."
Kanoffski nodded solemnly, being careful to hide any trace of a smile. There was an added benefit to the matter, but not one that he could raise directly with the duke. Bernhard's pride was even more sensitive than his stomach, and he would take offense at any suggestion that he was less than completely hale and hearty. But the fact remained that his health was not and never had been as good as he liked to think. So...
If Wallenstein could have an up-time nurse watching over his health, why not Duke Bernhard? Particularly if the duke did not have to publicly acknowledge—or even acknowledge to himself—that watching over him would be one of the Horton woman's other responsibilities.
Kanoffski was rather pleased with himself. After all, when a man has decided to hitch his wagon to a star, it behooves him to make sure that the star continues to shine.
* * * *
Amberg, Upper Palatinate
"You don't expect General Banér to make any serious protest at all?" asked Duke Ernst, his eyebrows raised. "Not even when he learns that some of the reinforcements the emperor has agreed to send him to reduce Ingolstadt will be regiments from Torstensson's army? Which is to say, CoC regiments, for all practical purposes."
The duke's eyebrows climbed still further. "Erik, I must point out that Johan's expressed opinion of the Committees of Correspondence—very pungently and profanely expressed, I might add, right here in my office, and on more than one occasion—can be boiled down to the proposition that the most suitable use for a CoC agitator's head is to serve as an adornment for a pike head."
"Oh, he'll issue a squawk or two, certainly. But I don't expect any worse than that." Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand grinned. "Ernst, I'm afraid your own modest degree of ambition—a very admirable personal trait, I'll be the first to say it—blinds you to certain realities. Johan Banér was already deeply jealous of General Torstensson's triumph at Ahrensbök. The news that recently arrived concerning General Brahe's successes have him positively spitting with fury."
Ernst frowned, trying to make sense of the matter. Gustav Adolf's commander in charge of the Swedish forces near Lorraine was Nils Brahe. He was not a general to miss an advantageous opportunity. Once the news arrived of the French defeat at Ahrensbök, he'd placed his forces on full alert. Then—probably as he'd expected, since Brahe was quite shrewd enough to gauge the complicated politics that fractured the French enemy—no sooner did he learn that Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar had withdrawn his forces facing Mainz back into Alsace and the Breisgau, than he'd made a dash to the border of Lorraine. Grabbing, in the process, much of the region that would now be incorporated into the expanding United States of Europe as the new Upper Rhenish Province.
But why—
"Oh," he said. Then, shook his head at the mentality involved. Leave it to Johan Banér to react with greater spite at a success by his own side in a war, than he would to one gained by the enemy—provided, of course, the enemy's triumph came at the expense of a different general than him.
There were at least three of the seven deadly sins at work here—Wrath, Pride and Envy. A good case could be made for adding Greed to the list, for that matter. Duke Ernst would fear greatly for Banér's soul, if he hadn't pretty much concluded that the general's incessant blasphemy had already condemned him.
So be it. He and Colonel Hand had decided to support Banér in his determination to seize Ingolstadt. Whatever this latest development might portend for the Swedish general's eternal fate, it boded well for the immediate future. At the very least, Ernst wouldn't be constantly distracted from his own duties by the need to play peace-maker between Banér and the reinforcements that would soon be arriving.
* * * *
Ingolstadt
And now this insult!
Johann Philipp Cratz von Scharffenstein barely managed to keep from snarling openly at the insufferable man standing before his desk in the commandant's office, smiling down upon him.
The smile was perhaps the most insufferable thing about Colonel Wolmar von Farensbach, too, outside of the so-obviously-false "von" he was now adding to his name. The smile exuded a certain sort of smug condescension, barely this side of derision.
Still not confident of his ability to speak in a normal tone of voice, the commandant of the Ingolstadt garrison spent a few more seconds in a pointless study of the document Farensbach had handed to him upon being ushered into the office.
Document. Document. Cratz von Scharffenstein forced himself to use the simple and neutral term, in his own mind. Far better that, than to use any one of several other phrases which might have been equally well applied to the damned thing. Such as "veiled reprimand" or "insinuation of incompetence—possibly even disloyalty."
"I see." He finally managed that much. Then, waited a new more seconds before adding, "Well, then." A few more seconds, before adding: "Welcome to Ingolstadt, Colonel von Farensbach. I'm sure our officers will be glad to assist you in your... ah. Project."
The insufferable smile thinned, just slightly. Farensbach leaned over the desk and retrieved the document from Cratz's loose grip. "I don't object to 'project,' commander—so long as it is clearly understood that my authorization comes from Duke Maximilian himself. Make sure your subordinates understand that they will co-operate with my investigations."
With every stressed word, the bastard's smile flickered just that little bit more insufferably. Farensbach straightened up and looked down his nose at the garri
son commander. "The duke was most emphatic in his orders. Which he gave to me personally, you understand, not simply in written form. Ingolstadt must not fall into the hands of the heretics—and I was the one he charged with the responsibility to see to it that all necessary security precautions have been taken."
He bowed, if such a miniscule movement of the head and shoulders could be graced with the term. "And now I'll be off. I must see to my duties immediately, you understand."
After he left, Cratz von Scharffenstein spent several minutes muttering curses, as many of them heaped upon Maximilian of Bavaria as his Farensbach creature. The duke's discourtesy to his loyal subordinates was positively outrageous!
* * * *
Once he left the commandant's office, the smile vanished from Farensbach's face. True, the interview just passed had gone quite well. And, true also—his new commission from the duke himself as the chief of Ingolstadt's security was certain proof of it—Farensbach's embezzlements from certain of the Bavarian military accounts had gone undetected.
Well... embezzlements was an absurd way to put it, really. Farensbach had simply lent himself money, unofficially, from accounts under his immediate control. With the full intention of paying them back, soon enough. Unfortunately, "soon enough" had not allowed for the possibility that the duke might send him out of Munich on this fool's errand to Ingolstadt.
Undetected—so far. But that wouldn't last, not with Farensbach no longer on the scene to oversee the keeping of the books. If he could return within a month, perhaps even two, things would work out well enough. But given the tense situation at Ingolstadt, with that maniac Swedish general Banér so obviously determined to press the siege, Farensbach might be stuck here for months and months. Eventually, the discrepancies were bound to turn up.
