Grantville Gazette-Volume XV Read online

  "Well . . ."

  She thought about the problem. It was quite a tricky one, actually.

  "The thing is, Red, I think Jakub's attitude is the right one to take." She made a little face. "Although I'd recommend keeping the wisecracks about illiteracy and drunkenness to a minimum. The reason being, that any Polish revolutionary movement that isn't prepared to let Ruthenia go if that's what the Ruthenians want, won't be worth a damn. Sooner or later it'll most likely collapse. It's like . . ."

  Red waved his hand. "Yeah, sure, I agree. That's why the UMWA banned racial discrimination at its founding convention, way back in 1880. It wasn't because white coal miners were all filled with the milk of human kindness and absent of all prejudice. Not hardly. It was because they were smart enough to know that if they didn't let black men join the union, the coal operators would use them as scabs. Some members of my family were active in the populist movement, too, way back when. I remember my grandpa telling me that what killed them was that they just couldn't deal with the race issue."

  The last analogy wouldn't have occurred to Melissa, and it wasn't really that exact. But . . .

  Red understood the gist of the problem perfectly well, obviously. Any revolutionary movement that demanded an end to privilege while simultaneously insisting that other privileges had to stay in place, automatically gave itself an Achilles' Heel. They might get anyway with it, to be sure. The American revolutionaries managed to overthrow British rule while maintaining slavery. But they had the advantage of an enemy who was overseas and preoccupied with its own affairs. Polish revolutionaries would be dealing with an enemy right in front of them, whose considerable power was not distant at all. And who, unlike the British establishment, was faced with the prospect of losing everything instead of just some far away colonies.

  Jakub spoke up, for the first time since entering the room. "Here is what they would do. The leadership of the Cossacks, except perhaps the Zaporozhian Host, is not at all interested in eliminating serfdom. Their grievance is simply that the Polish and Lithuanian szlachta won't accept the Cossack starytsa as their social and political equals. But if they do so, the starytsa will be satisfied. And even stupid, stubborn Polish noblemen—even Lithuanians, who are more stupid and stubborn still—can face reality if their backs are against the wall."

  He jeered. "Besides, they wouldn't even have to carry it out. Those registered Cossack colonels and atamans are every bit as stupid. All the Poles and Lithuanians have to do is promise them they'll give them equality. And then we'll have thousands of Cossacks to deal with as well as the great magnates and their private armies. Whereas if we make clear from the beginning that we will let the Ruthenians decide their own fate, when we take the state power, we'll gain the support of many Ruthenians and the Cossacks will most likely spend all their time quarreling."

  He jeered again. "They're very good at that."

  The sarcastic jeer bothered Melissa a little. There was a hard edge to Jakub Zaborowsky that she hadn't detected in his companion Krzysztof. It was understandable, of course. Unlike Opalinski, who'd been born into wealth and privilege and had the relaxed cheeriness that often came with such a background, Jakub had been born into a hardscrabble szlachta family. There was no way he could have arrived at the conclusions he'd come to if, probably at a very early age, he hadn't come to loathe and detest the bigotry and narrow-mindedness he saw around him.

  In most ways, in fact, that hard edge would be necessary. In the years to come, if he survived, Jakub Zaborowsky would have to deal with Polish and Lithuanian magnates who were as savage and ruthless as any rulers in history. Their standard response to rebellion was a bloodbath; treachery and double-dealing came as naturally to them as venom to a viper. No revolutionary leader who was soft and sweet could possibly defeat them.

  Still, a revolution could turn very ugly, if the people leading it started crossing certain lines.

  She shook her head, slightly. Such worries were very premature, after all. So far, from what she could see, the "Polish revolution" amounted to a small number of young szlachta radicals organized by an up-time labor agitator and allied only with a small sect of radical Christians and—maybe, down the road—with eastern Europe's Jewry, or at least a part of it. They were hardly on the verge of having to deal with the problems and temptations of triumph.

  Red cleared his throat. "To get back to the point. Leaving all that aside—yeah, sure, I agree nobody should try to force the Ruthenians to do anything—what do you think about the rest of it? What I mean is, do you think Ruthenians would be better off if they were part of Wallenstein's empire in the making?"

  Melissa hesitated. Partly, just to ponder the question. Mostly, though, because she was feeling a little guilty. Morris Roth had asked her to come here in order to help her figure out how to do precisely that—absorb the Ruthenian lands and peoples into Bohemia's realm.

  Which, she would do, and do faithfully, because anything was better than the situation that existed. But . . .

  "Well, no, actually," she said. "Or, it'd be better to say, it depends. If the Poles straightened out their act, then I think the Ruthenians would probably be way better off as part of the Commonwealth than subjects of Wallenstein."

  Zaborowsky was peering at her intently. "Why?"

  "Because . . ."

  She tried to figure out how to explain it, in a way that would make sense to a young man who came from this era and didn't the benefit of being able to look back on it from her vantage point centuries later.

  "Because the worst thing about Polish history is that it was such a tragedy, what happened. It could have turned out completely differently. The potential that was destroyed was incredible. In the middle ages, Poland was as advanced as any European country, at least in most respects. And much farther advanced, in some. No other European country developed Poland's traditions of religious toleration and multi-nationalism, for instance."

  Jakub grunted. "That was under the Jagiellonian dynasty. During the reign of Stefan Batory also. Those kings always favored the lower classes and the burghers, against the great lords. Just like the Vasas do in Sweden. But our branch of the Vasas, when they became Poland's ruling dynasty, did the exact opposite. Since they really only care about regaining the Swedish crown which they think belongs to them, they allied with the great magnates. It is ruining our country. Everything is now subordinated to the grain trade. The conditions for the peasants get worse every year, and the towns are shrinking. Even the richest burghers have no favor at all, any more, and while most of the szlachta—stupid bastards—bask in their official status as the equals of the magnates, the fact is they are becoming nothing more than lowly vassals."

  That . . . was a pretty damn good summation of what had happened to the Commonwealth in the half century since the Poles and Lithuanians made the mistake of electing Zygmunt III Vasa to the crown.

  The question was, could the situation still be turned around?

  She returned Zaborowsky's gaze with one that was every bit as intense. And reminded herself, not for the first time since the Ring of Fire, what a terrible mistake it could be to underestimate the people of the seventeenth century.

  "Yes," she murmured. "Hell, yes."

  * * *

  The next morning, when Melissa and James came down to the dining hall for breakfast, they found Morris Roth standing at the window with a letter in his hand. He has a very peculiar expression on his face.

  "What's up, Morris?" asked James.

  "Huh?" Roth looked at them, a bit startled. Then, looked down at the letter.

  "I just got some news from Uriel. And I'm trying to sort out how I feel about it."

  His eyes went back to the window and his gaze seemed out of focus. "He's one of the great arch-villains in Jewish history, you know. Not up there with Hitler and Himmler, of course. No one is. But he's solidly in the second rank. So I'm wondering why I'm not dancing with glee."

  "What are you talking about?" Melissa asked, a bit exaspe
rated.

  Morris lifted the letter. "Bohdan Chmielnicki. Today, of course, still a relatively young man and just a minor officer among the registered Cossacks."

  "And . . ."

  "He's dead. He was assassinated two weeks ago, at his estate in Subotiv. Three men appeared to have done it. None of them were apprehended, because he was just a minor officer and wasn't surrounded by guards. The suspicion is that they were Polish, but no one really knows."

  He gave James a wry little smile. "What was it you said last night? 'No virus or bacillus who ever lived is as contagious a vector as those fricking books in Grantville.' You sure had the right of it. Someone must have read the future history and figured they'd take out the leader of the 1648 rebellion before he got any further." He shook his head. "As if that'll really change anything."

  Melissa took in a long, slow breath. "So. That means there's already at least one conspiracy afoot." She smiled wryly herself. "One other, I guess I should say.

  Morris nodded. "Yes. It's starting."

  * * *

  Red Sybolt, the two Poles and the Cossack Federovych left less than an hour later. Their destination: the Zaporizhian Sich, the great Cossack fortress on an island in the Dnieper. It would take them weeks to get there, but Red didn't want to lose any time—and Dmytro Federovych was practically champing at the bit.

  "You're sure about this, Red?" James Nichols asked dubiously.

  "Oh, hell yes. In politics just like in war, Nathan Bedford Forrest's maxim applies, even if he was a stinking murderous racist bastard they shoulda hung after the civil war. 'Get there firstest with the mostest.'"

  James looked at him, then at his companions. "I count four of you. As in, 'fewer than the fingers of one hand.'"

  Red grinned. "So we'll make do. Get there firstest.'" He shrugged. "Look, James, the Cossacks will be boiling mad. By now, even the Cossacks—well, some of them, anyway, even if Chmielnicki himself seems to have been in the dark—will know the gist of that future history too. They'll figure it just like we do. This was ordered by one of the Polish magnates. Or, most likely, a cabal of Polish magnates. And if they don't know, by some odd chance—"

  He bestowed the grin on Melissa, now. "I just so happen to have some copies of the relevant passages, from those books of yours I borrowed for a time."

  "Swiped for a time," she growled.

  "Whatever."

  Melissa was just as dubious about Red's project as James was. "Fine, fine. But . . ."

  She looked at Jakub and Krzysztof. "They're Polish. And while nobody is ever going to confuse you with a nobleman, Red, you're not exactly going to blend right in with Cossacks. Has it occurred to you they're likely to chop first and ask questions later?"

  "I figure Dmytro can run interference for us. If we even need it at all. Cossacks aren't actually mindless, you know. They're also not going to confuse any of us with great magnates, either. And there really isn't that big an ethnic issue, in the first place. A hell of a lot of Cossacks are former Poles, and a good chunk of their officers are former szlachta."

  James' eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

  "Oh, yeah." His grin seemed insuppressible this morning. Red always did love a fight. "It's a complicated world, you know. Or hadn't you noticed already?"

  "Be off, then, Red," Melissa said softly. "I'd add 'Godspeed,' but I'm an atheist. Still, the sentiment's the same."

  * * *

  After they were gone, James shook his head. "Do you think we'll ever see the rascal again?"

  Melissa had been wondering the same thing. After a pause, she said: "Yes, actually. Coal operators have—had, will have, whatever—the same mindset as great Polish magnates."

  "And . . . your point is?"

  She nodded in the direction Red and his companions had taken. "They really, really hated that man, James. But he's still here, isn't he?" She burst into laughter. "Three and a half centuries earlier!"

  Letters of Trade

  Written by David Dingwall

  October 1630

  Downham Market, Norfolk

  To John Paulet, Winchester

  To my good friend John, and to your lady wife Jane, we congratulate you at the glad news of the birth of your first son, Charles. We hope both mother and child are well, and his auspices are favourable.

  John, Mary and I have heard of last year's Parliament from my lord Francis Russell, earl of Bedford. From the problems in your last note in June, we have been concerned for you both, it is hoped that outgoing expenses during your attendance as a Member in London were not extreme, and recovery of your estates continue. We had not expected your father's past entertainments would be covered by the banks to such an extent, nor the reports in the London papers to bring such unwelcome public revelations on his death.

  On a happier note, I must let you know your visit to London has also caused trouble in the Weasenham house. We hear an ode to your wife's presence and beauty at Court is published by that Cambridge upstart John Milton, and is available in his latest collection from publishers in the Strand. Mary has asked, in jest hopefully, how I might commission one for her. No trips to London for us I think, but now must take her with us to Hamburg to shop whilst my Uncle and I arrange future trade.

  However, mainly I write of the King's Commission at Lynn this past week. Attending on behalf of our family's trading and estate interests, my brother and I heard that the proposal from the king's embankment engineer, Sir Cornelius Vermuyden, to drain the Great Fen has finally been agreed at the Privy Council, but in detail I have some surprising news.

  Lacking capital to the satisfaction of the Drainage Commissioners, Vermuyden is no longer undertaker of the venture. Representations (and, we are sure, some monies) from attending landowners persuaded the commissioners that further capital is required to complete the works.

  After the deaths and riots at the works at Aldeney Island and Hatfield Chase, the cases still in the Lincoln court against the king rumble on. We witnessed at the meeting many, including a spectacular oration from a Cambridgeshire squire, Cromwell, ranting on for an age about the "ancient rights of pasture and hunting on common land by god fearing fen-men being denied and ignored by land hungry foreigners." Much upset was displayed during the meeting, and the commissioners adjourned for a third day for overnight discussions with the major landholders and the bishop of Ely.

  In reaching agreement, and to avoid further legal complaints, the Cambridge and Norfolk shire lords and landowners must now lead the enterprise. Francis Russell is now the undertaker, his holding of Thorney being the largest property affected by the scheme. He has promised ten thousand pounds capital to the corporation, with the expectation of retaining forty thousand acres to improve his holdings and a further ninety thousand pounds promised for the corporation from the other investors.

  As you know Francis' estates in the east have not returned well without direct access to the king's highways or to port. With the new land, and an open aspect, he has boasted he now retains the architect Jones to rebuild Woburn Abbey as his family seat, and from whence he may manage his holdings and travel to London as needed.

  For my family, a new great drain for the River Ouse from St. Ives to Downham Market shall cut somewhat through our lands at Hilgay, but we expect equal replacement, and are promised in writing an addition of five hundred acres from reclaimed sections for assistance in canvassing parish landholders and using our family links with the town council at Lynn to agree the plans.

  Vermuyden shall continue in the syndicate as works director, and other English and Zeeland connections are also promised their own land grants at the end of the task, to the satisfaction of the commission. Ten thousand men to labor are expected, preference now offered to local men, then Protestants from the Spanish Netherlands and lastly from the Dutch Provinces.

  The Commissioners shall sponsor an Act of Parliament, "The Lynn Measure." If the works can keep the designated land clear for two consecutive summer growing seasons by 1638, then parcels and land gr
ants shall be allocated. If not, the Company must bear the brunt of all capital costs, with no recourse to the courts or the king. Let us hope this is an end to open envy speculation, and with a clear relationship between a man's effort (or capital) over seven years, and the resultant land assigned to him.

  At market, the grain harvest is good and fine this year, however prices are still depressed below last. In our eastern counties landowners are attempting other alternatives from the Gardeners' Company. Grain is hardly profitable, and in many places in Norfolk is grown only to feed the families idling on estates. We understand in the southern counties you have similar experiments, with George Bedford working to producing the dye madder for the first time outside the Low Countries.

  Baltic grain does not land; most is diverted to the Germanies via Hamburg, and we expect none for some time. Our farmers with small plots are now completely dependent on any local surplus from market in good harvest years. We expect hunger, suffering and death when the dice rolls the other way, which it must.

  Sufficient timber arrives from Sweden and the Pole's lands at our yards at both Lynn and Wisbech before the winter gales. I shall include this note and packet with the final shipment of Polish oak beams to the Cathedral School at Winchester, via Southampton, and hope it reaches you before the end of the year.

  Lastly, my father has asked to enclose samples of good seed on trial from the Gardeners' Company in London, with directions on handling. He asked that you attempt them on your lime soil at your estate in Southamptonshire, as we do not think of them well in our peat, nor do we have space apart from our part of the ongoing woad experiments for the Dyers Company.

  Be well with God my friend, and do let us know if there is anything further we can do to assist in balancing your estate debts. As usual, we shall keep an ear to the news coming our way from London, from the Germanies and Baltics, and shall share anything to our mutual advantage.