The farmers complained, of course, just like the townspeople. It couldn't be helped. That was the nature of war. This summer, though, he couldn't get out to raid because of the way these allies of the Swedes had burned clear every inch of land between Forchheim's walls and their own perimeter. Every time he tried a sally, he was turned back. No matter which gate he came out of. He had no idea how the uptimers did it.
But what in hell were the Swedes doing now? Or, more precisely, the uptimers? He knew that the forces outside Forchheim were no longer really Swedes, but he continued to think of them that way.
One uptimer. Walter Miller, the visitors said his name was. He was living in Eggolsheim-Neuses and setting up the outlines of the local administration. Plus, there were five hundred or so soldiers. Not more, von Schletz thought. And a lot of laborers. Really a lot of laborers. But they were not building siege works.
Forchheim, July, 1633
The mayor pointed out in detail that Forchheim's economy was in ruins. The owners of the inns, the Ox, Moonlight, Lion, Crown, Apple, Seven Towers, Old Post, many others, had no commercial customers. The uptimers allowed people to come into the city. But only people. No goods. No money. They stopped all wagons and pack animals at the distant perimeter and diverted them away from Forchheim. Its citizens could stand on the parapets and see them go. Somewhere. Elsewhere. The people who had come and gone more than once reported that their purses were held by the soldiers watching the perimeter, but actually returned to them again when they left. No outsider was to purchase goods or services in Forchheim.
The mill owners, too. They still had water power, but they had no supplies. Not just the flour mills, but the hammermills, the wire mills, the sawmills. They were all standing idle. There was no one around to buy their products, even if they had raw material.
Many of the citizens wanted to leave. Not, however, at the price of having all their property confiscated. Von Schletz had told them that if they walked out, it would be barefoot in their shirts and shifts.
Outside the perimeter, now, no road led to Forchheim. According to the visitors, the "heavy equipment" brought upon the order of the uptimer, plus just ordinary men and women with wagons and shovels, had dug up the trade route that had led through Forchheim for as long as documents existed. Dug it up. Covered it with topsoil. Plowed the soil and sowed it.
There was a new road, the visitors all said. From Baiersdorf to Poxdorf to Pinzberg. From there to Wiesenthau and Kirchehrenbach. Then across the Wiesent to Mittlerweilersbach and then to the new town of Eggolsheim-Neuses. Another bridge, a beautiful, permanent, bridge, at Neuses.
A beautiful road. Graded, ditched, and graveled. Smoothed and rolled, with ditches and culverts, bridges and security guards. A road that no rational traveler would abandon, even if the political scene should change again. Just far enough away from Forchheim that few travelers would bother to detour to the town. Especially not given the new inns that were being built near the new bridges.
The permanent residents of Forchheim prayed very hard to their favorite saints. The three holy virgins:
"Barbara mit dem Turm
Margaretha mit dem Wurm
Katharina mit dem Rädlein
das sind die drei Mägdlein."
At present, it did not seem probable that even Barbara with her tower, Margaret with her dragon, and Catherine with her wheel, all combined, could save the town. They promised a pilgrimage. If and when they were allowed to make one.
Colonel von Schletz approved. Prayer was a good thing for civilians.
The people of Forchheim appeared to be praying a great deal these days. There were regular processions through the streets, to St. Martin's church, to the chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The number of deaths, the priest told him, was almost twice as high as usual.
Of course, his men were bored from such a long spell of forced inaction. They tended to take it out upon the members of the households where they were quartered. Sieges were difficult for soldiers.
Bamberg, July, 1633
"I hope that you realize," Vince Marcantonio said to John Kacere, "that the money that Walt Miller is spending on your brain child, on this wonderful new road around Forchheim, has eaten up the entire budget for road improvements in the prince-bishopric of Bamberg. We're getting one luxury road for about fifteen miles. Nobody else is getting so much as a street sign this year."
"Don't think of it as a road," John said.
"What should we think of it as, in your opinion?" Wade Jackson asked.
"Alternative medicine," John answered. "Believe me, a full-scale siege would cost a lot more."