The ram rebellioneric Flint with Virginia DeMarce

Franconia, December, 1633Willard Thornton stood at the unmarked crossroads. He was glad that his bicycle was in Bamberg; it would have been hard to push the thing over the hills in this snow. He wondered which of the two forks would lead him back to his bicycle.A thin man, huddled into a black cloak, was coming up the road behind him, walking alone. Willard waited. Perhaps he knew which road went to Bamberg."Ah, Herr Thornton.""I'm, ah, afraid you have the advantage of me.""My name is Meyfarth. I have been working with the NUS administration in Würzburg. I heard a great deal about you, last fall.""Oh." Willard was still vaguely embarrassed about last fall. "Um, do you happen to know which of these forks leads to Bamberg?""It is this one. I am going to Bamberg, myself. We can walk along together. Two men are safer than one alone."They moved forward.Some distance behind them, a half dozen game wardens coming from the direction of Coburg noted several other men stepping out of the trees onto the road leading from Würzburg. It was all right, though, upon a closer look. They were Jaeger, too; and they wore the ram's head on their sleeves."In Aprils Luft," one of them said."Entfalten sich die Flaggen," the others completed the sentence.The uptimers were manifestly insane to have let either of the men ahead of them go out walking the roads of Franconia alone. Each of them should be guarded by a full company of armed soldiers, at the very least. The Jaeger walked on to Bamberg, keeping just out of sight behind the hills and trees, intent on ensuring that the two innocent, good-hearted, oblivious, but inspirational damned fools who had been placed under their protection by the Ram would live to see the banners unfurl in April.Chapter 7: "Recriminations will get you nowhere" Würzburg, January 1, 1634Steve Salatto opened one eye, experimentally, and took stock. He felt pretty good. The "American New Year's Eve" party that he and his wife Anita had hosted for the administrative staff of the New United States in Franconia and the city fathers of Würzburg and their wives—paper hats, paper whistles, confetti, and all—had actually been rather sedate. He was beginning to feel like a traitor to his Italian roots. He had even admitted to one of the city's vintners that he was coming to prefer the dry Franconian white wine to Italian red. It certainly left a guy with less of a head the next morning.There was light coming in through the window. He ought to get up. Then he remembered that he had declared the uptime New Year's day a holiday for the administrative staff, even though the official calendar change to the year 1634 would not roll around until March 25 for a lot of Germany outside the NUS. The feather bed was nice and warm. He tapped his wife Anita on the shoulder and asked, "Ummn?" She turned over with a smile and they settled in for a nice snuggle.* * *Later on that morning, after they'd begun stirring around, Steve's eyes fell on a newspaper lying on the table where most of the festivities had centered the night before."Oh, Lord," he half-moaned. "I forgot about that. It seemed a lot funnier last night than it does today.""What are you talking about?" Anita asked, coming over."This." He held up the newspaper, showing the first page. It was a very recent issue of the main Bamberg newspaper.Anita leaned over his shoulder and started giggling. "I still think it's funny. I like all those Brillo fables."Glumly, Steve stared down at the thing. Prominently displayed in a box in the lower right-hand quarter of the page was a German headline which read "New Brillo Verses," followed by, in English: 
In a field by the hillside some little ewe-lambs sang
"Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo."

And I said to them, "Merinos, why do you stand singing

'Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo'?"

"Is it wild boars come ravaging, my ewes?" I cried,

"Or a wild cat come nipping at your tender hide?"
With a kick of their heels, they all baaad then replied,
"Oh, Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo."

As a scruffy ram butted against the field's fence

"Brillo, 'tis Brillo, tis Brillo."

And I saw them leap up and go gamboling thence,

"Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo."

As he leaped o'er the fence in a tremendous bound,

And all the ewes "baaaa'd" in approving resound,
Oh! My hopes for rich wool were quite dashed to the ground!
Oh, Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo.* * * 
Soon many more lambs in the field could be seen
Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo

Their coarse kinky wool had no fine silken sheen

Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo

As they chased off a wolfling with kicks full of fire,

Their great bravery somewhat reduced my sad ire,
"Oh, tell me, brave lambkins, just who is your sire?"
"Brillo, 'tis Brillo, 'tis Brillo!" At the bottom was an announcement that a German translation would be provided on the third page, along with the announcement of a contest to see who could produce the best German versification of the rhymes. From experience, Steve knew that within a month this new Brillo fable would have transmuted into half a dozen variations—all of which were aimed at the Franconian establishment."How in the hell did that stupid scruffy ram of Flo Richards' turn into an endless supply of gasoline poured on the flames?" Steve demanded. "Somebody please tell me."Anita shrugged. "You might as well ask how in the hell a bunch of stupid tea leaves dumped into a harbor turned into something that's still talked about two hundred years later. Face it, Steve. This place needs a revolution—badly—and damn near anything could have served as the channel."She headed toward the kitchen. "I still think it's cute. A lot cuter than tea leaves, that's for sure—and, for my money, it beats `one if by land, two if by sea' by a country mile.""I'm a civil servant!" Steve protested."Yup. A veritable Chinese mandarin. In interesting times," came Anita's rejoinder from the kitchen. Würzburg, early January, 1634"Guess what, guys?" Saunders Wendell said, "we finally know who we are.""What do you mean by that?" Scott Blackwell asked."They sent down someone to replace Meyfarth, and he brought along an official notice that the former New United States is no more. Bet Arnold Bellamy's happy to get rid of that NUS acronym! He was sure that everyone in Europe would start referring to us as `the nuts.'""Wonderful," Maydene Utt said. "What are we now?""Don't know. Steve's saving it for the meeting, when he introduces the guy.""Who is he?""Don't know that, either. German. But he speaks English. A `must hire' from Axel Oxenstierna, I understand."The door opened. Steve came in with a thin man who wore a mustache and a goatee. He had a twinkle in his eye. About fifty; older than the departed Meyfarth, at any rate. After the general exchange of "good mornings," Steve said: "I would like to introduce my new chief of staff to all of you. Ladies and gentlemen, Georg Rodolf Weckherlin, who is going to tell us who we are."Weckherlin bowed with a flourish.Scott Blackwell thought that the man would be happy on a stage, playing one of the Three Musketeers. When he opened his mouth, he sounded like he belonged in a Shakespeare play, too."Ah," Weckherlin said, "it was my privilege to be in Grantville delivering my letter of recommendation from the king's, ah, emperor's chancellor. Thus, I had a chance to observe this. First, there was a meeting of the cabinet, presided over by your President Mr. Piazza, to receive suggestions. Then there was a full session of the Congress."Someone suggested that it should be the Province of Thuringia. Mr. Arnold Bellamy raised most strenuous objections that he did not wish to be a citizen of PoT. An acronym which, by the way, the youngest son of your Mr. Thomas Stone was kind enough to enlighten me about just before he left for Italy."Weckherlin grinned. Everyone else at the table broke into laughter."Ah, so therefore you are not a PoT. The cabinet did not even present the suggestion to the Congress."Then it was noted that Gustavus Adolphus himself had suggested `East Virginia.' This was not received with enthusiasm. An aspect of your prior history, I understand."Nods all around the table."So, subject to a referendum at the next election, they have adopted the name . . ."Weckherlin paused dramatically.Twirled the ends of his moustaches."State of Thuringia.""You know," Scott Blackwell commented, "I can't see that SoT is a big improvement on PoT.""True, true." Weckherlin winked. "That is precisely what Mr. Bellamy said."Laughter again.Steve watched in admiration. In a few minutes, a man who came into the room as a complete stranger had managed to break the ice and make considerable strides toward being accepted as a member of the working group that it had taken him two years to develop."What are we in connection to the SoT?" Wendell asked."Until the election you are holding this spring, just the Franconian Region. Very dull, alas. Which you will remain if the people here do not vote to become part of the State of Thuringia. If they do vote to become part, there will be yet another discussion and, at least everyone presumes, yet another name.""What are the parts?" Willa Fodor asked. "That is, all the Aemter and Gemeinden and Gerichte and markets and other little administrative units. Are they doing something to straighten that out and come up with one set of jurisdictions?"Weckherlin nodded. "Oh, yes, something. Lots of talking. Lots of `discussion,' that is. Should the new state have counties? If the English word `county' is also used to translate `Grafschaft,' then will it insult the towns, such as Badenburg, or other lords, such as the dukes of Saxe-Weimar, who would not wish to see their former duchy demoted to a county? Would they take umbrage? It became very complicated."I did suggest. Just suggested, since I was there at the `town meeting' where people were talking about it, that they could call them `shires' and then they could call the state's appointee in each of them a `sheriff.'"Woe is me!" Weckherlin's face fell into a parody of grief. "They decided that this was much too `English.' But they agreed that making everything a county was not good. So every jurisdiction will keep its own name, madam. That is, whether a document is in German or in English, unless the people themselves decide to change the name, a former Reichstadt such as Badenburg will remain a Stadt, a Herzogtum such as Saxe-Weimar will keep that name, a Grafschaft such as Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt will keep that name, a Freiherrschaft will remain itself also. But each one will have exactly the same governmental rights and responsibilities and be expected to adopt the same administrative structure and offices, none more or less important than the others. For land and taxes and such matters."They can change, though, if they wish. Thus, your Grantville and its surrounding land, inside the Ring of Fire and what it has annexed, have voted to become West Virginia County, Thuringia. There was some discussion of `Ring of Fire County,' but it was decided that because of the annexations, it isn't exactly a circle or a ring any more. More like an `amoeba,' a man named Mr. Birdie Newhouse said. One of your high school teachers showed me an `amoeba' through his microscope. Fascinating. Grantville will return to being a city with a charter and there will be a county government established for the remainder of it. Mayor Dreeson said that this was a good thing. But they will not have time to do it right away."Much of the region that was once Grafschaft Gleichen, but the Grafen are extinct, all the parts that were not annexed directly into the Ring of Fire, has voted to become Vasa County, Thuringia. Graf August von Sommersburg and his subjects have decided to be Sommersburg County rather than a Grafschaft, although nobody else is sure why. Erfurt city wishes to remain a Stadt but the hinterland around it has voted to become Erfurt County, Thuringia.""Shrewd," Steve Salatto commented. "Keep the familiar terms, but remodel the underlying structure. Not a bad idea. Comfort zone thinking."Willa hadn't given up yet. "What about below the county level? The Aemter and such?""I am not sure," Weckherlin admitted. "But neither are they. At least, they were still talking when I left." Grantville, early January, 1634Emma Thornton was in the outer office of the President of the State of Thuringia. President, not governor. There had been a president of the New United States. There had also been a Congress of the New United States. Neither of them, thus far, had seen any good and clear reason to demote themselves to governor and legislature, just because the NUS had become the SoT. None of the other of the states that now comprised the United States of Europe used any of the four terms, after all. Instead, they featured a wide variety of titles for the heads of state and the general term Stände, usually translated into English as "Estates," for their legislative assemblies.So, the matter didn't seem to be urgent. What was an occasional "president" among dukes, landgraves, margraves, and counts? Would a "governor" be any less unique when his colleagues were Herzog, Landgraf, Markgraf, or Graf?"Okay, Liz, what's the most important thing for me to take?"Emma was eyeing the president's chief of staff, Liz Carstairs. Ed Piazza had inherited her from Mike Stearns. He would keep her only until she could make arrangements to move to Magdeburg and become the prime minister's chief of staff there. Liz also, of course, happened to be the big sister of Emma's husband, Willard. And president of the LDS Relief Society. And secretary of the Grantville League of Women Voters.Emma was never entirely certain which of these personages was the one to which she ought to be deferring at any given moment, but . . . the truth was that although Liz only had an associate's degree in administration whereas Emma had a M.Ed. in language arts education, Emma had no doubt at all that Liz was the dominant personality, of which she herself would never manage to be more than the faintest shadow.Which was ridiculous. She managed her home and her children; she had no trouble controlling her classes—discipline had never been a problem for her.In spite of that, she was in constant awe of Liz. There was a line, somewhere, between being able to do things and being able to do them superbly. Emma was on one side; Liz on the other.Even Liz's mother was in awe of her. Which said something.So here she was. "Not the most important thing for clothes and stuff. That's all sorted out and packed. Your folks are dealing with renting out the house; they're using Huddy Colburn. I've put our things in storage, except for what Willard asked me to bring. I've rented a wagon and hired a driver."But I've never done any mission work. This Frau Färber in Bamberg—we'll be staying at her house, at least for the rest of the winter—wants me to be talking to other women, mainly. I think. So what should I take?"Of all the things that Emma might have predicted an hour before, two hundred copies of an abbreviated German translation of Robert's Rules of Order would not have been right at the top. But that was what Liz gave her.Along with a great big hug. Bamberg, mid-January, 1634Noelle Murphy pushed through the front door of Kronacher's print shop. "Hello. I'm back from Grantville. Anybody home?"Martha came through the curtain and hugged her. "I'm so glad you could spend Christmas with your family. Everyone else is down at the city council meeting, listening to the debate about the missionaries who have come to town. Pastor Meyfarth and the uptimer. Thornton, his name is. After they're done, Mutti will bring them home for dinner. The two missionaries, I mean. Not the city councillors."Noelle tipped her head to one side. "Is there enough in the pot for a couple more?""You and . . .""I brought you someone to help keep a lid on Melchior and Otto until I can get some CoC printers for Frau Else. He stopped at a street vendor's grill to get some breakfast, but he should be here . . ."The door opened again.". . . right now," Noelle finished. "Martha, this is my friend Egidius Junker. We call him Eddie. He's been studying law at the University of Jena. And economics. He's also spent a lot of time in Grantville, so he can sort of help explain things. Back and forth. Between, oh . . ." She paused. "Between people for whom explanations would come in handy. So I want him to meet your mom and brothers. He'll also get started on a couple of projects for me."Martha looked doubtful. This Egidius Junker did not appear to be old enough to control her brothers. Though Noelle could make them pay attention and he was, perhaps, about the same age as Noelle. "Eddie will work for you as an in-house translator," Noelle said to Frau Else between bites of sauerkraut."I can't afford . . ." Frau Else began."Don't worry about it." Noelle's tone was sharp. "Eddie will work for you as an in-house translator. That's why he's in Bamberg. That's what his letters of introduction say. That's the way it is."Martha didn't look up, but glanced around the table while keeping her head down. First at Noelle, whose face was suddenly pinched and older than her years. Then at the uptimer, Thornton, who was talking to Pastor Meyfarth. Then at Pastor Meyfarth. Again at Pastor Meyfarth. She had looked at him before. At a break in the theological discussion, she asked, "Will your families be joining you soon?"Willard Thornton smiled. "My wife Emma is already on her way to Bamberg. She should arrive any day, if the group she is traveling with isn't seriously delayed by this weather."Meyfarth shook his head. "I am a widower. My wife and children died of the plague in Coburg, nearly two years ago."Martha extended her sympathy, wondering a little why she didn't feel as sorry as she should and then not wondering. Meyfarth was a very attractive man. Perhaps twenty years older than she was. Mature. She liked that."Have you found a place to stay?"Herr Thornton answered first. "We will be with Frau Stadtraetin Färber until we can find something more permanent.""For the time being, I am at an inn," Meyfarth added. "I can't afford to remain, of course. As soon as I have taken a census of those persons who are likely to become my future parishioners, I will see if one of them is in a position to rent me a room."At the head of the table, Frau Else looked up. "I know someone," she said. "A very respectable widow and her house is conveniently located. I will be happy to introduce you to her."Meyfarth thanked her solemnly.Most of the conversation was political."Thanks again for the dinner, Frau Else," Noelle called back as she went out the door.Martha followed her. "Umm."Noelle grinned at her. "Everyone in Würzburg says that the pastor is a really nice guy. And he's a poet. Very cultured. Everyone says so.""We, ah, sort of stopped being Lutherans back when I was a teenager. Because of the bishop, you know."Noelle raised her eyebrows. "That's one of the beauties of freedom of religion, Martha. There's nothing to say that you can't start being Lutheran again. If you're interested in theology, of course.""Oh." Martha looked back a little nervously at the door where Pastor Meyfarth and Herr Thornton were still standing, talking to Egidius Junker. "Oh, of course. Theology. Err, Noelle.""What?""That `respectable widow' Mutti mentioned to Pastor Meyfarth." Martha squirmed a little. "She's the mother of Judith Neideckerin. The woman you asked if I could find some way to put you in touch with. The woman I wrote you about. The one that Helmut mentioned the last time he was here.""Freiherr von Bimbach's mistress, you mean?""Yes. Her. Mutti has talked to her mother. The one with the room to rent. She can put you in touch with Judith. If you still want to be, that is."Noelle thinned her lips, pulling them in between her teeth. "Oh, yes. I would very much like to be put in touch with Judith Neideckerin, if Helmut is willing. His Bimboship presents problems. Judith Neideckerin may offer opportunities." Würzburg, mid-January, 1634The rector of the University of Würzburg had come to talk about libraries. Specifically, the wonderful library of the late Bishop of Würzburg, Julius Echter von Mespelbrunn. Before Gustavus Adolphus had assigned the prince-bishopric to the New United States in the fall of 1632, the king of Sweden's troops had managed to pack up the library. The rector had last seen it crated up, on wagons, on its way to improve the cultural ambiance of Stockholm.The rector's message, Steve Salatto noted ruefully, was quite clear. He wanted the library back. Or, if the uptimers could not get it back, an equivalent library. Which would cost a lot of money. Which he wanted the administration to provide.Steve's new chief of staff, Georg Rodolf Weckherlin, cleared his throat significantly and started to discuss the removal of the library of the late elector palatine from Heidelberg to Rome at an earlier stage of the Thirty Years War. Weckherlin was the son of a Württemberg bureaucrat. Although he had spent time in England even before the marriage of the luckless Bohemian Winter King whose adventurism had been the trigger that started the Thirty Years War, to Elizabeth Stuart, his ties to the country had been strengthened through that marriage and he had worked for the electress palatine for a while.The rector brought up the Peace of Augsburg and the fact that the Calvinism of the late elector had made him an outlaw within the Holy Roman Empire in any case, whereas this was a clear case of theft of property from an institution which followed a religion that was legal under the constitution of that empire."Recriminations," Steve said, "will get you nowhere. I can't guarantee you any money. You know what the budget looks like just about as well as I do. But there is one thing that I can guarantee, which is that if you keep raking up old grievances, there won't even be a budget request."He looked at Weckherlin. "That goes for you, too. If you want to keep your job."Weckherlin smiled back quite cheerfully. Steve thought for a while after Weckherlin left to show the rector out. "Tinker to Evers to Chance." Oxenstierna to Stearns to Piazza, who had sent Weckherlin to Franconia. Steve had not had anything to say about it. He wouldn't have any more to say about getting rid of him.At least, being a poet like Meyfarth, Weckherlin was more than willing to write propaganda pieces. And Steve couldn't complain that they had stuck him with an incompetent. Weckherlin had studied law and been a low-level diplomat as well as writing poetry. He had married an English girl, the daughter of the Dover city clerk, in 1616; she was here in Würzburg with him and they had a couple of kids. He got full-time employment in the English government in 1626, became an English citizen in 1630. The entry under his name from the 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica, kindly provided by Ed Piazza, indicated that uptime, he had joined the Parliamentary forces during the English Civil War, becoming John Milton's predecessor as "Secretary for Foreign Tongues" under the Commonwealth. In this world, he had caught a boat from Dover to the continent in a timely fashion, before the royal troops who had nabbed Oliver Cromwell caught up with him.Well, a poet. Not a poet like Meyfarth, though. Replacing one man sitting in your outer office, the poet who had written "Jerusalem, Thou City Fair and High," with another man sitting in your outer office, the poet who had written "Seduction in the Garden, or Love Among the Cabbages," took some getting used to; a bit of readjustment, so to speak. Not that Weckherlin had gotten this job because of the cabbages, or the roses, or the girls with too-beautiful eyes who populated most of his verses. He owed this job to his sonnet in praise of Gustavus Adolphus.The one that addressed him as a "king whose head and fist were alone adequate to conquer the world, a ruler whose heart and great courage were adorned by fear of God, justice, strength, moderation, and wisdom, whose sword was the terror of persecutors and drove lamentation, fear, and danger away from the persecuted." And that was just for a start. Somewhere before "Mars, of divine descent and from the blood of the Savior who was worthy to triumph over pride and tyranny." The more that Steve read, the more he suspected that it would be pretty hard for any propagandist to get to a level at which the USE's current emperor would consider effusive praise to have reached the point of overkill.Weckherlin was a competent chief of staff, but a very different man from Meyfarth. Steve would just have to adapt, he supposed.The thing was, for all his tendency to be a poseur, the man did goddamn well believe that there was such a thing as "Germany." A Germany, moreover, that could and should be a decent place for human beings to live in. One without the "anger, arrogance, treachery, disloyalty, servility, injustice, and superstition" that had destroyed "freedom, laws, and divine worship." If Weckherlin really did, for some reason, believe that Gustavus Adolphus could reverse all that, teaching "the enemy to turn his madness and splendor into repentance, the ally to turn his suffering into joy," maybe it was worth putting up with the rest of the poem.Not, Steve thought, that he was likely to ask his mother-in-law to cross-stitch a copy of it for him to frame and put up over his desk. His mouth quirked then. He reached across his desk for a pen and clean piece of paper and wrote a note. With a copy of a sonnet. Folded them together, sealed the packet, and addressed it to Grantville. Anita's mom could cross-stitch it for Mike Stearns and send it to Magdeburg. It would fit right in with the rest of the decor of his office, from what Steve had heard.Better that Mike had to put up with all that garbage than himself.