by Eric Flint
The problem had distracted him terribly from what he should have been learning from the up-time ambassadress, Frau Jackson. Or trying to learn. The woman was very close-mouthed. He had been quite gratified, however, to discover that he was considered sufficiently important that the Grantville general had sent his own wife.
* * * *
Pratteln
Basel was a natural focus for trade. It had been for four centuries, since the bishop built the first bridge across the Rhine at the site of the city. The road from the bridge ran across the Gotthard Pass into Italy. The city had papermaking and printing; a major university. It traded in ideas as well as in goods. Having a university, it naturally had students of antiquity. For the excursion to Pratteln, Herr Wettstein had acquired a guide.
Herr Professor Buxtorf. Professor Buxtorf, junior. Professor Buxtorf, senior, an eminent Hebraicist, had been dead for some years. Professor Buxtorf, junior, who had accompanied them this morning, was a slightly less eminent Hebraicist. Naturally, a Hebraicist also knew Greek and Latin and took a scholarly interest in classical antiquities. He did not, however, know English. He and the ambassadress found one another's French mutually incomprehensible, so Wettstein was translating.
Diane was receiving far more second-hand information about Roman ruins than she had ever wanted to know. She had looked at her watch several times. Unfortunately, Wettstein thought, it had not stopped. Time really did move that slowly in the company of Professor Buxtorf. He was only in his mid-thirties, but he had "pedantic" down to an art form.
Wettstein's mind wandered. Buxtorf was becoming quite famous in his own right, not just as his father's son, due to his extended academic controversies with a French Huguenot scholar on the topic of whether or not the vowel points and accents in contemporary printed Hebrew had existed in ancient Hebrew. Buxtorf took the position that they must have, given that the Old Testament manuscripts were first recorded in writing, since by definition the text was divinely inspired and completely unchanged. Louis Cappel's argument for the modern origin of vowel points and accents, which he had published in 1624 contrary to the advice of the older Buxtorf, if it were accepted, would make it much more difficult for Calvinists to argue that the Bible was infallible because had been handed down from the earliest ages without the slightest textual alteration.
Well, Buxtorf was becoming famous in a limited sort of way, Wettstein admitted to himself. Only a certain number of scholars had strong feelings about the issue, although it did have interesting theological implications, more for Protestantism than for Catholicism. If the whole doctrine of the verbal inspiration of scripture should be undermined by this controversy on Hebrew punctuation, what would be left to keep the Protestants from splintering into endless sects? How many sects had Her Excellency told him co-existed in this little town of Grantville alone? Had, at some point, Cappel's views prevailed over those of Buxtorf?
Wettstein pulled his mind back to the matter at hand.
The two up-timers from the USE embassy guard who never left Diane Jackson's side when she was out of the embassy building itself were looking impatient. Lee Thomas Swiger, one of them was named. About fifty. He was here, Her Excellency had told Wettstein, because he had "served with Frank in Viet Nam." Wettstein had not pursued the matter, but was of the opinion that Swiger was a dangerous man—dangerous, at least, to anyone who might threaten General Jackson's wife during this mission. James Dean Gordon was the other one. "National Guard," Her Excellency had said. Something like militia. Younger than the other man, perhaps thirty-five. Physically abler than Swiger, but less threatening. A half-dozen down-timers, all armed.
From the road, somebody calling. "Diane! Thank goodness. Diane!"
Every one of the embassy guards had his gun out at once.
Johann Rudolf Wettstein was beginning to think that this trip had been a bad idea.
The woman who had called out the first time yelled again. "Swiger, Gordon, don't shoot at us, please. That's all we would need, getting this far and then being shot by our own people."
The older up-time soldier dropped the muzzle of his rifle, putting on the safety. The others followed him.
The woman ran toward them; she and the ambassadress embraced one another.
Diane Jackson turned to Wettstein. "The embassy has guests," she said. "I have been notified to expect them. Just not right here. Nobody said anything about Pratteln."
The first woman had been joined by three other people. Another woman, another embrace. A third woman and a man; no embraces.
The man and Professor Buxtorf? A few words about kinship, or at least connections, through the Curio family. Buxtorf's mother was a Curio, of course; it appeared that the man's—Cavriani, was it?—wife's uncle was married to a Curio. Wettstein was no longer surprised. The Italian Protestant emigrant families in Switzerland were closely intertwined.
Her Excellency extended her hand to the man—Leopold Cavriani—whom she appeared to have met before. She was looking at the third woman with some puzzlement on her face, as were the embassy guards.
Diane turned again. "Herr Wettstein, this is Mary Simpson, Admiral Simpson's wife. This is Veronica Dreeson, Henry Dreeson's wife. He is the mayor of Grantville This is Leopold Cavriani. He does a lot of business in Grantville." Then she turned to the others. "This is Johann Rudolf Wettstein. He is on the small council of the city of Basel, so he is important. He is not rude. Margrave Friedrich of Baden has been very rude. I told Frank and Mike so. At least, Tony Adducci told them so for me. And I do not know your guest."
Mary, Veronica, and Leopold looked at one another. Mary drew in a rather deep breath, then turned to the younger woman. "Your Highness," she began, "permit me to present to you Mrs. Diane Jackson, ambassadress of the United States of Europe to the city of Basel, and Herr Wettstein of the Basel city council."
The tall, tanned, brunette smiled graciously. Mary continued. "Diane, Herr Wettstein, this is Archduchess Maria Anna of Austria."
Lee Swiger and Jim Gordon grasped their rifles rather harder than they had before. Mary looked at them. "Thanks, but we've managed to get this far without shooting anybody." She turned her head. "Diane, I do think that all of us would be a little bit easier in our minds if we could get into embassy property, now that we've announced ourselves. Just because of diplomatic immunity. We were sort of wondering the best way to come through the city gates, but if we can come in with you and your escort...."
"Oh," Diane answered. "Gosh, yes. Welcome, Your Highness."
"Yes," Wettstein seconded. "Welcome to Basel, all of you. I do think it would be best that your go into the embassy before anyone else, officially or unofficially, knows that you are here." His mind was very busy, sorting through the implications.
* * * *
Basel
"I wish," Veronica said, "that Leopold was staying at the embassy."
"He had a point," Mary answered. "He isn't a USE citizen, after all, so he might make, as he said, an 'uneasy guest' for Diane. And the embassy is a perfectly ordinary town house. It's already full of people right up into the attics."
Diane Jackson nodded.
"And, as he said, he has business to catch up on, so it makes more sense for him to stay with Professor Buxtorf. At least, he managed to get a bank draft so Maria Anna can get some clean clothes. You've given him a draft on the embassy account to pay him back for what he loaned us to get some stuff when we were in Neuburg and Ulm, haven't you, Diane? And for the lodgings. The bill came to quite a bit, once we counted it up. He says he sold all the horses that came and went on the trip for more than he paid for them, so we don't owe him anything for those."
"Yes, I pay him already. Or Tony did. Tony does the money here," Diane answered.
"But that's why we arrived without any more than we were carrying," Mary said. "We left Munich with just what we were wearing and there was never any point in buying a lot. Not just because we were having to borrow money, but, after all, we did have to carry it all. That
explains, I'm afraid, why we are all rather dirty."
"We do," Veronica said, "have clean underwear and socks. Since Neuburg, at least. We looked like tramps when we came to Neuburg. So did the English Ladies. We got a few more things in Ulm. Linen towels, for washing our faces and feet. And the shops there already carry baking soda and toothbrushes. We each got a set. Even me, for the false teeth. And scarves to go under the pilgrim hats, to keep dust from our hair. Better clothes. One set each. But that is all."
"The archduchess, too?" Diane's voice clearly indicated her disbelief.
"Yes," Mary Simpson answered. "Maria Anna, too."
"Perhaps some of my things will fit you," Diane offered rather doubtfully.
"Veronica, maybe. But I am five inches taller than you are. And Maria Anna..." Mary's voice trailed off.
"She is much taller," Diane said. "And twice as wide. But it is not safe for her to go shopping. Also, I do not want to let a dressmaker into the embassy. For good reasons. We try to keep strangers from coming in, as much as we can. It is not easy here, right now. The Basel people are nervous. This Margrave Friedrich, who wanted to see an up-timer, is nervous. I said he was rude. Maybe not rude, but he pays no attention to me."
"Then," Veronica said practically, "let's just wash the clothes we have on. We can sit around wrapped in sheets until they are dry. And make a list. You can send one of the men shopping."
"Tony will go shopping," Diane said. "Tony does the money here. It was not in his job description, but I put it there. It is a big waste to make him a soldier just because he runs the radio."
* * * *
News. All three of them were starving for news. They had been walking out in the countryside for a week with no news to be had. Diane updated them with the latest she knew in regard to the three-way negotiations between Gustav Adolf, Fredrik Hendrik, and Don Fernando.
Maria Anna looked at Mary and Veronica. Without saying anything, she raised her eyebrows. Mary nodded.
"Perhaps, Your Excellency," she began, turning to Diane, "I should explain why I am here. And where I am going."
* * * *
When Cavriani arrived to have supper with them, he brought even more news as well as his banker's complete collection of newspapers from the past month. They were only on loan, he pointed out conscientiously.
"I really should write Potentiana," Cavriani was saying. "I need to explain to her, I think, that I do not know where Marc is."
"Why?" Veronica asked.
"Well. Because I need to tell her that I have misplaced our only son."
"So because you feel guilty, you will write a letter and make her worry." Veronica banged the haft of her knife on the table. "What good will the letter do? She cannot go find him. You do not know for sure that he has problems. Only that he has not caught up with you."
Veronica was frowning at Cavriani fiercely. "It is bad enough to know that your son is dead. Or your grandson. If you do not know that it is so, making her worry about it is cruel."
"But..."
"Write her. Tell her that you are in Basel. Tell her the last you know for sure. But do not say that you are afraid for him. If you say that, then she will be afraid for him, too. Each day has troubles enough of its own. If he is dead, she can grieve when you know it is true."
* * * *
Tony Adducci powered up the Basel radio system. It was one of the down-time radios that had been built from up-time parts—the best that Frank Jackson had been able to get hold of to send along with Diane. On the average, he was able to communicate with Grantville about four hours a day. He could also communicate reliably and consistently with Amsterdam. He could not communicate directly with Magdeburg at all. It was something to do with the length of the jumps.
So. This was certainly the most exciting information that he had sent out in a long time. Who got it first?
Tony was a prudent young man. A member of the USE army, to be sure, but still a prudent young man.
Mary Simpson, Veronica Dreeson, and Archduchess Maria Anna said that the first person to get the news was to be his Aunt Bernadette, who was to tell a nun named Mary Ward that they were safe in Basel.
Diane Jackson had ordered him to tell Mr. Piazza first, to send it on to Magdeburg.
The minute he managed to raise up Tanya Newcomb, he sent a message that she should get both Mr. Piazza and his Aunt Bernadette into the same room as the radio, right now, please, if she could.
She could, she said. Mr. Piazza had just gotten back from Magdeburg that afternoon and was still in his office going through mail; she would phone Bernadette and have her there in a jiffy.
As soon as she signaled back, Tony sent off the messages. Simultaneously. For the first time since they left Neuburg, somebody in a position of authority inside the USE knew exactly where Maria Anna, Mary, and Veronica were.
* * * *
Grantville
Bernadette Adducci dashed for St. Mary's rectory, where, as soon as she had talked to Father Kircher for five minutes, she picked up the phone and asked Mary Ward to come over.
Ed Piazza left Tanya to radio Magdeburg. He would rather be out of the room when the message went through, if only because if John Simpson might be in Magdeburg for the conference. The admiral would never be rude enough to yell at Tanya. He might very well, however, yell at Ed—and Simpson was fully capable of yelling in Morse code if he was sufficiently provoked. Ed told Tanya to call him back if Mike or anyone else in Amsterdam wanted him.
Then he went back to his own office and grabbed the phone to notify Henry and Annalise that Veronica was safe, although, for a reason that he was not yet authorized to share with them, in Basel. Yes, Switzerland. Basel was okay, he assured them. Basel was neutral, like the rest of Switzerland. Some way, from Basel, Ed promised, they would manage to get her back home.
At St. Mary's, Bernadette told Mary Ward that Maria Anna, Mary, and Veronica were in Basel.
Mary Ward reached through the slit in her skirt and pulled out the separate pocket she wore. Opening the drawstring, she pulled out a small packet wrapped in oiled cloth. She broke a seal, unwrapped the cloth, and handed a folded piece of paper to Bernadette. "For you," she said. "From Archduchess Maria Anna of Austria."
Bernadette read it. She looked at Father Kircher. "If the two of you will excuse me," she said, "I need to get back to the radio room before Amsterdam closes down for the evening."
* * * *
Basel
Tony Adducci fully expected that radio messages would be coming and going until the window of opportunity closed down. He had not expected to hear from the Netherlands, but something from Becky Stearns or the Stadtholder, Fredrik Hendrik, was not completely beyond the normal. They kept the various embassies updated on the progress of negotiations, so the ambassadors could be at least a little ahead of the newspapers. Not much, given the wild expansion of journalism in the past couple of years.
There was one from them. From Becky, rather. Another from Mike Stearns. In Amsterdam? What was Mike doing in Amsterdam? Of course, they were in the middle of negotiations, but they had gotten bogged down by Gustav Adolf's demand for some kind of guarantees from Don Fernando.
He read everything as it came in, of course. He had to. Becky said thanks for the information sent via Grantville and Magdeburg.
* * * *
Amsterdam
Mike Stearns was in Amsterdam because there was a truce. Because it had occurred to him that he could gain some brownie points by personally delivering Doña Mencia to her brother. Because he badly wanted to see his wife. Because Gustav Adolf had agreed that he could go. The arrangements had been rather complicated.
He watched. Becky and Fredrik Hendrik were having fun writing a note to Don Fernando. Finally, it said:
We know exactly where your intended bride is. We will tell you if you agree to declare yourself ruler of the Spanish Netherlands and make a formal break with Spain, whether the rest of the Habsburgs agree or not. Fish or cut bait. For further in
formation, contact Becky or Fred. Love.
It was accompanied, of course, by a far more formal communication which said the same things in diplomatically suitable language. The short note would probably only be read by Don Fernando himself. Well, also probably by Rubens, Cardinal Bedmar, who was now his chancellor, and Doña Mencia.
Becky had written another note to Doña Mencia. Just, She is safe. She is well, in her own hand, with Mike's co-signature at the bottom.
Attached to it was a copy of a radio message from Grantville: Most honored cousin. If you receive this, I have arrived at the destination you named. We owe patronage to the English Ladies. Maria Anna.
Fredrik Hendrik was hand delivering both notes to Don Fernando's headquarters at this very moment. Mike and Rebecca were enduring some sarcastic remarks by Gretchen, who was far from impressed by the apparent intention of Gustav Adolf and the USE to compromise with a younger brother of the king of Spain on several of the minor points.
* * * *
Don Fernando read through the three notes and smiled at Fredrik Hendrik. "She is in Basel, then, so I do not need you to tell me. Although, to be sure, I would appreciate knowing 'exactly' where in Basel." He rose. "But, nonetheless. I had intended to delay a formal announcement. But we are certain of my aunt's approbation. We are as prepared, here, in Brussels and in Antwerp, even in Liege, even in Luxemburg, as we ever are likely to be."
He turned to Pieter Paul Rubens. "So let us do it now." Then to Cardinal Bedmar. "You have it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Bedmar said smoothly. "The latest clean draft treaty proposal received from the king of Sweden's negotiators. And five exact copies. Six exact notarized copies of Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia's will."
Don Fernando looked at Fredrik Hendrik. "It will be faster if I come to your quarters."
* * * *
Basel
Intended bride? Tony blinked a minute and then made the connection. Maria Anna, the archduchess. She was going to marry Don Fernando? But he was a cardinal?
