He smiled. "Not something that I should be expected to do anything about, either."
"No," Weckherlin agreed, "not at all."
Meyfarth nodded solemnly.
"But possibly," Margrave Christian continued, "something that might be applicable in Bayreuth if . . ."
"I don't think," Weckherlin said, "that you were authorized to say those things."
"I was asked," Meyfarth answered, "to see if things could be so arranged that a small truce will ensue in Franconia in our time. I am carrying the margrave's declaration that he will remain neutral in the dispute between the lords and knights of Franconia and its administration. I do not see that I could have been expected to obtain more than that."
"You are also carrying," Weckherlin pointed out, "knowledge of something that neither of us should know."
"Ah. Then we do not know it. Or will soon have forgotten it."
"If neither of us knows it, then how will the ram find out?"
"Somehow, the ram will learn. In Franconia, now, the ram soon knows everything. It is unlikely that he will miss this. Margrave Christian, I am sure, will somehow let it be known that he would be willing to accept oaths of allegiance from sheep belonging to the flocks of the imperial knights and petty lords whose lands lie within Bayreuth and Ansbach. And that he would be willing to grant a substantial number of the Twelve Points if the ram proved cooperative in the project of mediatizing the lower nobility. Should such a project occur, of course."
"Surely, the good Lutheran margrave would never be guilty of stealing sheep," Weckherlin said.
"Perish the very thought," Meyfarth answered. "No more than the good Lutheran dukes of your Wuerttemberg were, once upon a time."
For several minutes, Weckherlin did not reply. Then he asked, "What does the margrave intend to do with these oaths? If he should accept them?"
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, Herr Weckherlin. Tomorrow will have troubles of its own. Perhaps we should also ask what the farmers intend to do with them."
Bamberg, mid-April, 1634.
"Good morning, Stew," Janie Kacere said. "Sit down and chat."
"No time." He leaned one elbow on her pedestal desk. "The boss arrived in town yesterday evening late."
"I didn't know that Johnnie F. was due."
"He wasn't. I didn't have any notice. He came in with Noelle Murphy trailing along after him. Or maybe he was trailing along with Noelle. Who knows? She was in town a month ago, but went back to Würzburg for a while."
Janie whistled. "Did she ride in `with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes?'"
" `She shall have music wherever she goes'?" Stew asked, raising his eyebrows.
"More on the line of, `She shall cause trouble wherever she goes.' Have you ever noticed that when our little special envoy turns up, even if she does smile and call herself a junior envoyette, things start to pop?"
"Hadn't, really." Stew leaned back. "But now that you mention it . . . yeah."
"Darn right. Every time Little Miss Muffet sits her tush down on a tuffet, something happens to it. Firecrackers fizzle when faced with her mere presence."
"Mother Goose on your mind this morning?" Stew chewed on the splinter he was using as a toothpick.
"I was baby-sitting for Stacey O'Brien's kids last night. Tom's out on patrol somewhere, doing his thing, and Stacey had a meeting of some kind at Else Kronacher's. League of Women Voters, I think."
"Doing his thing," Stew echoed her.
Janie looked up at the elaborate ceiling. She put her right hand over her heart while her face assumed the vacuous expression of a Baroque cherub. "We keep reciting that the administration's policy toward the Ram Rebellion is hands-off. Repeat after me, `The citizens of Franconia must exercise self-determination' while Tom's out there giving adult education lessons in the safe handling of explosives to `citizens' who've been hand-picked by Walt Miller and Matt Trelli. Pardon me, please, while some butter doesn't melt in my mouth."
Castle Bimbach, near Bayreuth, late April, 1634
Looking up at Schloss Bimbach as she and Eddie Junker approached it, Noelle didn't think it looked anything like what she imagined a "castle" ought to look like.
Well, okay. It was on top of a hill. It was big.
"Schloss," my ass. Just a huge ugly stone barn, is what it is. A whitewashed stone barn.