1634: The Bavarian Crisis

Chapter 68

General Horn's Headquarters, Rheinfelden

"It looks like they pulled it off," Jesse Wood said.

"I don't see them bringing any wounded."

"We didn't hear any shots, either."

"Swords are always an option. Arrows. Clubs. Rocks."

"Get back to work, guys," Jesse said. "Since they are here this afternoon, we'll have to get the Gustav ready to climb off the ground in the morning."

"If the fuel comes."

"Sure, if the fuel comes. One or the other of the convoys is bound to make it."

"Tell the infantry to take position," Horn said, "between here and where we know Bernhard to be. Don't go into Riehen. I don't want to cause unnecessary controversy with the Basel city council. Between Rheinfelden and the Riehen boundary markers. Knut has the diagrams for all the emplacements we worked out."

"How much baggage?" Jesse Wood asked. He was trying to calculate whether he could possibly get back to Mainz the next day even if neither of the fuel convoys appeared. "I hope you warned them that there's not a lot of room. Mary Simpson should know that, anyway."

"They don't have any," Jack Whitney said.

"Two women with no baggage is beyond belief."

"They walked into Basel with the clothes they were wearing, Diane said. Plus, each of them had some extra underwear, socks, and towels in a little satchel. They rode out the same way. She spent some embassy money to get them better clothes. The ones they were wearing when they got there had sort of bit the dust while they were riding and walking from Ulm to Basel. Those outfits are what they are wearing now, but they rode out of the town without much more than they walked in with. And tomorrow morning they plan to leave everything they aren't actually wearing with Ronnie Dreeson. Mrs. Simpson says she can give it away. Or whatever."

Jesse eyed the sky. "Lord," he said, "I do most sincerely ask your pardon for having ever doubted that miracles still do happen."

Landvogt's Office, Riehen, outside Basel

"Do you suppose that this Herr Wettstein is ever going to show up?" Susanna asked, for the eighth time that morning.

That was a record, since they had not yet finished their breakfast. The first repetition had been before she even ran her hands through her hair.

"I have no idea at all," Marc answered, also for the eighth time. "All we can do is wait. We're warm, we're dry. You have a bench to sleep on. I have a nice wood floor to sleep on. It is not a damp, dank dungeon. They're feeding us. No one is chasing us. Once things calm down, we can go into Basel and get some more money from Papa's banker."

"But we don't have anything to do," Susanna wailed.

Marc had been waiting for that. "Oh, yes, we do," he said cheerfully. "I spent what money I did still have to buy a ream of paper, two pens, and some ink from one of the Landvogt's clerks last evening. Clean paper. Last night, after you settled down on your bench, I started writing up a report on iron ore in the Wiese valley. I kept at it until it got dark. Now that it's light again, I'll go back to that and you can start making five clean copies. A ledger a day keeps boredom away."

Susanna looked at him, poised between objecting that she didn't want to make five copies of a report on iron ore and really wanting something to do other than look out the window and whine.

"Be nice and do it," Marc said winningly. "Sit on the floor and use the bench as a desk. Think of it as a birthday present. I'm fairly sure that this is the thirtieth day of September. If so, I am nineteen."

"Why do you get presents on your birthday?"

"Well, because I do. At least, we do in my family. And something good to eat. Something special."

"What do you do on your saint's day, then?

"Saint's day?" Marc asked.

"The festival of your patron, in whose honor you have your baptismal name. Mine, Susanna, is from the Apocrypha. Susanna and the Elders. Your name, I suppose, is for the apostle."

"No. Mine is for Mama's uncle, Marco Turettini. Calvinists don't have saints."

She looked at him, scandalized. "Surely you must have a patron saint. Who watches over you? Who protects you from harm?"

"God," Marc said. "And my parents. It's enough."

General Horn's Headquarters, Rheinfelden

"Not everyone reads Cervantes, then, Mrs. Simpson, if I understand you correctly. But he was still well known as an author in your world." Gustav Horn looked down the table, to make sure that he was not ignoring his other guests. He was having an unexpectedly good time at the supper he was hosting. His profession did not often bring him into association with people who were truly interesting conversationalists with a wide knowledge of literature. His acquaintance with the admiral's wife was an unexpected pleasure.

"That is quite correct, General," Mary Simpson said. "Although I think that it is safe to say that probably more people in our country became familiar with Don Quixote through…" She suddenly stopped, caught her breath, and clapped her hands.

Everyone else interrupted their conversations, turned, and looked at her.

"I have it," she said. "Your Majesty," she said to Don Fernando. "Your Highness."

"Maria Anna," the archduchess said. "For you, Mary, I am still and will always be Maria Anna. What do you have?"

"The perfect wedding present from the United States of Europe. I know how much you enjoyed The Sound of Music, and I am sure that you will arrange to have it produced in your new home. But there is something else. It will take a little time, but I know we can do it. From Magdeburg, I will arrange, rehearse, costume, and send you the world premiere production of Man of la Mancha for the Brussels theater."

She turned back to Horn. "Thank you so much, General. Without your literary interests, it would never have occurred to me."

"All I really want," Veronica said, "is to go back home. To Grantville, not to Grafenwohr."

Leopold Cavriani nodded his head solemnly.

"Henry's hip was bothering him before we left and not one single person who has sent a radio message has said anything about Henry's hip. That certainly means that it is much worse and they simply are not telling me."

"Perhaps it is perfectly all right, so there is nothing they need to tell you."

Veronica snorted. "What did I tell you about writing to your wife about Marc?"

"Not to worry her unnecessarily."

"Did that mean that the news was not bad?"

"Ah, no."

"So. There is certainly something wrong with Henry's hip, which they are not telling me. Also, they have sent nothing about the schools. I have wasted a whole summer, spent a lot of money traveling, and gained nothing. I still have no money for tuition to send Annalise to college at Quedlinburg. There are still no books to train my teachers at St. Veronica's academy. The Jesuits in Amberg are still eating dinner on top of Johann Stephan's print shop. Undoubtedly they will appeal any judgment in the family's favor all the way to the Reichskammergericht. Which is sitting where, now, the cameral court? In Wetzlar, I think. So if the case is heard there, there will be more travel expense. I shall have either to start with another lawyer, who knows nothing about it, or pay Rastetter his expenses to go there and file our briefs. Not to mention food and lodgings while he waits."

"Just a little ray of sunshine this morning, aren't we?"

"And Jack Whitney found me ready to shoot a gun out of the kitchen window of the embassy. Which means that when I get home, everybody will start nattering at me again to carry that shotgun they gave me. There were almost three years from when they gave it to me and when Mary and I were kidnapped. I never needed a gun in those three years. I went to Magdeburg and back twice without needing that shotgun. I have been to Badenburg many times; to Rudolstadt; to Jena. I never needed a gun. But they will start again. They will expect me, every step I take, to carry one of the things. Or, if I will not carry it, they will try to stop me from going places. It is too dangerous, they will say, as if I am an idiot child."

"In general, I perceive, the world is not your oyster."

She looked at him. "Do you carry a gun everywhere you go?"

Cavriani shook his head. "I carry a pistol, sometimes, when I think that I may need one. Also a sword, but it isn't quite the same for a woman. You aren't expected to wear one on dress occasions. How about a nice dirk?"

He pulled one out from under his doublet. "Efficient, inconspicuous, but above all lightweight and easy to conceal. Overall, I have always felt, there is really nothing like a dirk when it comes to personal weapons."

Rheinfelden Air Field

"I want Mary in front with me," Jesse Wood said. "She's not a trained pilot, but she'll still be of more help to me than either of you, if we run into any kind of trouble. I know that you sat in front on the way down, Your Majesty, but that was simply because you wanted to and neither of your aides would have been any more use than you could be. At least, as it turned out, you don't get air sick."

"I have no objection to the arrangement," Don Fernando said.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Jesse said to the archduchess. "Perhaps if there is a really calm stretch of air, you and Mary can change places so you can enjoy the view for a few minutes."

Maria Anna looked at him. "I think that just knowing that I am up in the air with nothing underneath me except a thin floor will be quite sufficient. Without seeing it with my own eyes while it is happening."

"It's quite fascinating, really," Don Fernando said, "and not at all frightening. Almost like looking down on a map that has been colored to match reality, showing the trees and buildings. Perhaps we can show you another time. Some day, I really must have one of these machines for myself."

By then, of course, Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar's spies in Basel had reported the situation to him.

"What should we do?" asked one of his officers. "We might be able to shoot down the airplane, if we used a massed volley. That's said to be the way the Danes brought down Richter's craft at Wismar."

Bernhard glanced around the small circle of officers standing with him on the field outside Basel. His eyes came to rest on the newest addition to the circle.

"What's your opinion, Johan?"

Colonel von Werth took a deep breath. "Ah… I'm really a cavalry officer, Your Grace."

"Your opinion, Johan."

Von Werth was still trying to get accustomed to the young duke's somewhat peculiar ways of being a ruler. He and Bernhard had known each other for some time, and been on good terms, true enough. But this was the first time he'd ever served under him as a commander.

Bernhard was… difficult. Also brilliant. And often unpredictable. But one thing Johan had concluded was that, beneath the Saxe-Weimar duke's frequently arrogant and sometimes even abusive manner, lay a mind that expected-no, demanded-that his subordinates speak honestly to him. He might snarl at you for contradicting him, but he would not punish you. He would -instantly-dismiss an officer or adviser he decided was not saying what he really thought.

So, von Werth's hesitation didn't last for more than the time it took to exhale the breath.

"I can think of few things more ill-advised, Your Grace-given your delicate political situation-than to be seen by all of Europe as the man who murdered a prince and princess of the Habsburg family. Especially a prince so bold and a princess so captivating."

Bernhard smiled. "My thoughts exactly, Johan." He gave the officer who'd advanced the idea no more than a glance. The fellow avoided his eyes.

"No, gentlemen, we shall simply let them make their escape. If the plane crashes, it will be no fault of ours."

He shrugged, then. "It was just a ploy, after all. As the up-timers say, you win some and you lose some. Never a good idea to become so taken by the charms of a maneuver that you lose sight of the campaign."

In the event, when the plane appeared, Bernhard did no more than give the occupants a salute with his drawn sword.

They probably didn't see the gesture, thought von Werth. But if they did, he imagined that the young Habsburg prince-perhaps even the young princess-would understand the sentiment.

"What a marvelous player he'll make in the game," Bernhard commented, after he sheathed his sword.

"A dangerous opponent, though," said Johan.

Bernhard smiled. "True. But who's to say he can't be an ally? And whether he turns out to be friend or foe, he's already done me something of a service."

Von Werth cocked his head, inviting an explanation.

"Oh, come, Johan. I should think it would be obvious. It is entirely to my advantage for Europe to get accustomed to-perhaps even to cherish-bold young princes, is it not?"

En route from Rheinfelden to Amsterdam

The space in the back of a Gustav was not precisely roomy. At present, it was occupied by two healthy young adults, one male and one female, both in their twenties, tucked under a large pile of thick furs to fend off the cold, who were eying one another with the normal curiosity of two people who know perfectly well that they will be having sex, if not in a matter of hours, certainly in a matter of days, and that they will probably never again be this close together between now and then.

Maria Anna found his interest rather flattering.

"What," Don Fernando asked, "was that." His exploring hand had just encountered a rather sharp and pointy object."

Maria Anna reached through the slits at each side of her skirt, where her pockets were tied around her waist, and felt for the drawstring. She untied it; then snaked up her skirt and the top petticoat until she could shake the package loose.

"I haven't taken it out since Dona Mencia wrapped it for me the day I left Munich. I hope it is not bent or dented." Carefully, she unrolled the flannel. The golden rose lay on her lap, undamaged. After a few minutes she said, "I suppose that I should wrap it up again. It isn't mine to keep, I am afraid."

Don Fernando picked it up, held it against her nose, and said, "Sniff."

"How strange. It almost seems to have an aroma."

"Ah, Herr Colonel Woods," Maria Anna asked. "Is there any way that you can tell when this plane will cross the border into the Netherlands?"

"More or less. It isn't as if the borders are marked on the land. Why?"

"It is protocol, you know. When a bride enters the land of her new husband, she is stripped of the clothing she is wearing and reclothed freshly with garments from her new home."

"I am afraid that we will have to forego it," Don Fernando said rather apologetically. "I did not bring any Netherlandish clothes with me." He leaned back as far as he could in the cramped seat, lifted the pile of furs, and looked at Maria Anna from head to toe. "However, I would be quite willing to conduct the first half of the ceremony, if you think that would help," he offered brightly.

"Will anyone be waiting with another set of clothes when we land?" Maria Anna asked pragmatically.

"Not as far as I know. I forgot all about it, we were in such a rush to leave."

"It is not exactly warm in this airplane. I think that I will keep my clothes on right now, thank you. If I do step out and we find some great noblewoman standing at the foot of the ladder with her arms full of fabric, that will be time enough."