Grantville Gazette 43 Read online

  So if the world would have nearly forgotten him in the so-called "old timeline," here in the new timeline, at least in Germany, his name would never fade.

  In this week, in late March 1634, in the Jagdschloss of Duke Johann Ernst von Sachsen-Eisenach in Marksuhl, County of West Thuringia, State of Thuringia-Franconia, United States of Europe, nobody had an idea what the ramifications of Max's temper tantrum would become, at least not Max and Johann. But when they told it to Christine during dinner this day, she showed her well-known shrewd smile without saying anything.

  ****

  To Max the week went by in a hurry. The mornings at her workplace, the afternoons also working or discussing with Johann and his contractors, the evenings on the armchairs and couches in the salon, turning over the day or telling stories of the past, the nights . . . Oh, these wonderful nights!

  April 1, 1634

  And then Saturday evening came, and the official weekly sauna circle. Johann, Christine, and Max had prepared themselves for a special event, so when the end of the evening approached, they asked all others to don one of the robes, as they had done themselves.

  They arranged the armchairs in a circle, six on one half, three on the other. They put a little round table with the duke's large family bible on it into the center of this circle. Finally they distributed long white table candles to everybody, lit them and turned off the electric lights.

  After everybody had settled, Christine rose from her seat between Johann and Max.

  "First a little introductory speech," she said. "Lean back everyone, relax, and enjoy the following.

  "As all of you will have noticed by now, Peter and Anna, because they were involved from the beginning, the others, because we not even were going to try to hide it, something special has evolved in this house since we met here last Saturday.

  "This is not a wedding, so there will be no 'Yes, I do' and no rings. We don't even dare to risk the fate my grandfather Philipp the Magnanimous just barely emerged from last century. You perhaps all know the story how he married his second wife Margarethe, while still married to his first wife, my grandmother Christine, whom I was called after.

  "I know, that Johann never ever would dare—" She sent a quick glimpse into her husband's direction.

  Johann showed a sheepish grin, he also knew that episode from the newer history.

  "—to accuse me of bad breath, as Opa mischievously did to Oma. Or to accuse me of a lack of lust, only to mention grandfather's other villainous imputation. Not from a lack of fantasy, but because we both know that we still love each other after thirty-five years of marriage." She glimpsed at him again, and this time received a blown kiss from him.

  "So to speak using Matthew 19:4 we are still one flesh, and nothing and nobody gets between us. But—" Here she made a pause obviously for effect, now looking to Max, resting her eyes much longer than she had done with her husband.

  Max did not know whether to cry, to laugh, or to hide behind the armchair, so she decided to show a forced smile.

  "But we—we three here—decided," Christine continued, "that we see no reason against increasing our common flesh—and our common mind—by another body and brain.

  "This 'relationship' will at one point in the near future be made public, after Johann has negotiated a legal solution with his nephews, but at this moment we ask you to keep it confidential in this circle. But we ask you all to be witness and testament for the oaths these two people will now exchange."

  As Johann and Max rose and positioned themselves to the right and the left of the table in the center, all the others silently rose, too, holding the burning candles in their hands.

  Then the two took each other's hands.

  "Maximiliane," Johann started. "I will be faithful to you and honest with you; I will respect, trust, help and care for you; I will share my life with you. I will forgive you as we have been forgiven; and I will try with you better to understand ourselves, the world, and God; through the best and the worst of what is to come as long as we live."

  After these words, he put one hand on the bible and the other on his heart. "This is my vow in the presence of God, our family and friends."

  Max was sure that her head now had the same purple color as last Sunday in this room. But she was still conscious enough to implement her private little modification to the planned procedure.

  She took Johann's right hand in her left and a startled Christine's left in her right. Johann was quick-witted enough to take Christine's right hand in his left, thus closing the circle.

  "Johann, Christine," she started, carefully applying the necessary changes to her own speech. "I take you to be my partners in life and my true loves. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hands, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we three shall live."

  Then she also put one hand on the bible and the other on her heart. "This is my vow in the presence of God, our family and friends."

  After a long, silent moment, a voice came up from the cheap rows of audience. Peter of course. "Amen. You may kiss the brides now."

  ****

  Author's Notes:

  Warning: the links in this paragraph reference websites with explicit sexual content.

  Although the book Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana is also in this story reduced to its pictures (the English translation was OTL not available before 1884, the German translation not before 1922), it was a revolutionary text when it was first published around 300 AD. Only the second of seven parts of the text is occupied by the illustrated descriptions of sexual positions. A whole chapter is dedicated to kissing. Another one contains safety rules for bondage and spanking. In its whole, it is a manual for men and women how to live happily with one another (including all possible sexual practices for two or more persons) without being bothered about governmental or religious restrictions.

  ****

  To have more than two people in or at one's marital bed was in bygone times not as unusual as it seems today. It has already been mentioned in 1634: The Bavarian Crisis that at least the wedding night of reigning monarchs was observed by official witnesses. In Germany it was called Beylager feyern (celebrate nuptials). Johann Ernst and Christine were witnessed by Christine's brother Moritz, the landgrave of Hesse-Kassel.

  Officially known illegitimate children of high nobles or even monarchs were also not unusual. Gustav Wasa, the grandfather of Gustav II Adolf, had an illegitimate daughter called Virginia:-), Louis XIV of France had eleven of them. In the Wettin family they are sparse. Many of the men died childless, many had second wives after the first died, but at least Friedrich III The Wise (Martin Luther's protector) was not married and had "several children."

  Christine's father Wilhelm IV had a liaison with a common woman called Elisabeth Wallenstein, daughter of a tower watchman in Kassel. They had three children and Wilhelm managed to get for Philipp Wilhelm, the oldest son of these, an estate and the name " von Cornberg " together with an official patent of nobility.

  ****

  Even if the foot or Schuh (shoe), as it was called in the Middle Ages, was universally used all over the world as a measure of length, there never was a single definition for it, apart from showing the current one with a model at the wall of the town's Rathaus or gate. Even in America today the surveyors use a different measurement for a foot. In Germany, they used values from.282m to.3161m, in Venice even.3477m. In the nineteenth century they tried to unify it—at last—invented lengths like.25m or.50m before they all dropped it, and switched to the metric system.

  ****

  The story about Phillip I of Hesse-Kassel and his accusations against his first wife are historical and well-known gossip in the 1630s. He even wrote letters to the reformators Martin Luther and Philipp Melanchthon to get support from them. Martin Lut
her also cited the Old Testament story of Jacob, Leah, Rachel, etc. in his answer, and finished with the sentence "I cannot condemn this." But Phillip got into big trouble nevertheless, since bigamy was actually threatened with a death penalty.

  ****

  Art Director's Note: Thanks to Rainer for providing all the interior art for this story!

  To be continued . . .

  Second Chance Bird, Episode Eleven

  Written by Garrett W. Vance

  Chapter Sixty: Evolving

  Pam Miller was in trouble, the greatest trouble of her life, old or new. Since her sleepy, West Virginia small town's startling move through space-time to seventeenth-century Germany, she had seen and done things the average middle-aged American housewife couldn't imagine. She had killed men, and was responsible for the deaths of many more. Now, and not for the first time, she was fighting for her own life with all her remaining strength.

  She had been kidnapped by a group of desperate men, former servants of the despicable would-be pirate king, Capitan Leonce Toulon de Aquitane, whom she had just days ago beaten in a brief but bloody battle. She had escaped her captors the night before, but they were on her trail. She had managed to kill one of them that morning, but two remained. Her head still hurt from the rock they had knocked her out with, which was slowing her down. She could only pray that her friend and bodyguard, Gerbald, a great tracker, would find her first.

  "Count your blessings, Pamela Grace, count your blessings," she mumbled. She thought of her parents, who used to tell her that when she was a little girl, and the world had been so unfair. Just lately it hadn't gotten any fairer, and in her current predicament there were not many blessings in sight. She finally settled for "One: I'm still alive." That would have to do for now.

  The river was still wide, but was slowly growing shallower. Eventually, her pursuers would be able to wade out after her, or come across. She had begun to like the idea of floating out to sea, even with the many dangers that held, such as being swept too far out in a strong current, sharks, exposure. Her little log was losing its buoyancy, and couldn't be relied on much longer. Just a little farther, then it's time to start walking. The water had been her friend and savior, and she hated to leave its cool embrace.

  Pam scanned both shorelines. The right, where she had last seen the enemy, was a tangle of thorny brush. The only viable option was the north side. The high bank had diminished to just a few feet of clay, an easy climb into the forest. Reeds grew thick and far out into the water, they would provide good cover for an exit. She frog-kicked her way to the reeds after pushing her log out into the current. She slid through them, trying not to think what creepy crawlies might be lurking in the thick mud. It was uncomfortable, difficult going. Eventually she felt sand beneath her palms. Pam stayed down on hands and knees as she exited the thick growth, using the reeds for cover until she reached the clay bank. She would have to go out in the open on her way up into the woods, a risk she would have to take.

  Keeping low, Pam peered cautiously over the reed-tops. Satisfied that she was alone, Pam clambered up the short bank, trying not to leave obvious tracks. A moment later, she had disappeared into the leafy cover of the forest. Back in the briar patch. This was where Pam felt at home, and she was going to make the most of it. She began moving away from the river, but soon ran into an obstacle. Hidden behind the tall trees was a sheer cliff, unscalable without climbing gear. Pam grimaced, frustration welling up in her. She had planned to leave the river well behind, but that way was blocked.

  Pam decided to follow the cliff toward the sea as it ran parallel to the river. Her head injury had begun its slow, throbbing drumbeat again, but not quite as bad as it had been earlier. She gritted her teeth, all her senses focused on survival. After a few minutes of walking, something moved in the corner of her eye. Reflexively, Pam drew her knife, and dropped into a crouch behind the nearest shrub. Peeking through the foliage, she began to laugh quietly. It was a big, fat dodo hen, busy combing the forest floor for fallen fruits and grubs with its outrageous nutcracker of a beak; it hadn't noticed her. Pam stood up, grinning at the ungainly, yet still somehow charming, creature.

  "It's your fault I'm here, you know!" she told it. "A little recognition would be nice." The dodo looked up at her with disconcerting yellow eyes, cocking its bony head for a better look. Brief curiosity satisfied, it returned to foraging, ignoring Pam completely.

  "Well, I'll take that for a hello, anyway. Nice to see you too."

  She took a breather, watching the dodo go about its business for a few minutes, musing on its many peculiarities. Here was an animal that had evolved on an island with no predators. This had made it into a kind of innocent. Never being in danger, it was completely without fear. In the old time-line it had not been able to adapt to the arrival of a host of deadly creatures, including that most dangerous kind, the two-legged variety. Within a century, it was obliterated from existence. But now Pam Miller was here. Things were going to be different. She was different. She had learned to kill her enemies with her own hands. She had learned to lead people into danger, and bring them through alive. The soft, sad woman from the twentieth century had grown claws and a voice that carried. She had evolved.

  She continued on, a feeling of confidence growing in her. The cliff began angling inexorably closer to the river without presenting any way past its stony mass. There was nowhere to go but forward, so forward she went, the forest closing around her like a leafy cloak.

  Chapter Sixty-one: Fishers Of Men

  A mile later, Pam came to a sudden halt. There was something in the air. She realized it was the aroma of cooked meat, and the earthy stink of livestock. Smoke wafted through the trees some fifty yards ahead. What should she do? She feared this might be her enemy's camp, but it could also mean help. She moved ahead cautiously, unable to stop herself from investigating. Peering into a clearing from behind a tree trunk, Pam blinked in surprise. She had been afraid she would discover a roost of ruffians sharpening their knives. Instead, she saw a camp of around twenty people, made up of women, children and old folks. There was a glaring absence of young or middle-aged men. They could be out hunting, or . . . something bad happened to them! The awful thought came to her with a trembling chill, and she knew it must be true. Pam continued to watch in silence.

  One of the women was tending a small herd of unusual-looking cattle, all black with a wide, white band dividing them down the middle. Pam, an animal lover who had spent a lot of time hanging around farms growing up, knew a thing or two about cows, and these were nice ones, sleek-coated milkers. Her mouth watered at the very thought of fresh milk, it had been such a long time since she had had any. A young mother sat on a blanket with a group of toddlers. She sliced thin curls from a round block of a soft, white substance, and placed one in each eager mouth. Oh God, cheese! I remember cheese! Pam swallowed a mouthful of hopeful saliva. She shook her head in wonder at the unexpectedly tranquil scene. Pam watched the camp going about their chores for as long as she dared, always aware that her pursuers might be drawing near. They seemed like simple farm folk, of no danger to her, and possibly allies. She decided to take a chance and make herself known.

  A few yards away from her was a man in his late sixties, dozing as he leaned against a tree. He was holding a sword, and was apparently on guard duty. Sighing, she threw a pebble at him to wake him up. I don't want him to be surprised when I walk in. The man blinked his eyes and stood up straight, looking around suspiciously.

  Pam walked out into to the clearing, raising her arms out wide to show that she was unarmed. No one noticed her, even the drowsy watchman, so she cleared her throat for attention, and called out "Hello! Please, I need your help!" She said this in English, having found that it seemed to have as many speakers scattered about the world in this century as it did back up-time. Her words made the camp folk freeze in their steps, their pale faces full of dread. They know fear. Someone has harmed these people. She switched to Swedish, which startled some
of them, setting them to whisper amongst themselves, their expressions shifting from worry to curiosity. Finally, she tried German.

  "Please, does anyone understand anything I am saying? We are all in danger!" Several sets of eyes lit up. A grandmother and grandfather slowly approached her, also holding their arms out wide in a gesture of peace. The grandfather paused to slap the flummoxed watchman on his arm in admonition as he passed by. The poor fellow began to raise his sword arm, but the older man batted it back down with a word that didn't sound at all polite.

  The man spoke to her in a thickly accented dialect that was German enough for her to follow most of it.

  "Are you French?" he asked her, his eyes squinting with suspicion.

  "No, I am not French. I'm from Thuringia-Franconia, in the United States of Europe." That much would do for now. "Are you French?" she asked, ready to bolt if needed.

  The man shook his head, pausing to spit on the ground to his side. "No, we are not! We hate them! They stole our boys, killed our men, burned down the homes we had built!"

  Pam felt sure the man was sincere. Allies perhaps, definitely not enemies, thank God!

  "I hate them, too, at least this bunch. I came to this island to help found a Swedish colony. The French captured and enslaved our people, but my ship escaped. My men and I returned to free them just the other day. We won!"

  The man turned and spoke rapidly to the people, who had all gathered around closer, in a language that sounded tantalizingly familiar; not English, not German, but . . . Pam looked around and realized some of the women wore wooden shoes.

  "Dutch! Are you from the Netherlands?"

  The old man gave her a gap-toothed, yet still sweet, smile. He took a moment to search for the words in his odd German. Pam had learned that there were more types of the German language than you could shake a stick at, and not always mutually intelligible. The version she had learned was in the Eastern Middle German group, and she thought her new acquaintances must be using some kind of Western Middle German, some kind of border dialect. They could understand each other, mostly, but it was slow going at first.