1634: The Baltic War (43 page)

That stirred up a pleased hubbub that lasted for quite a while, until Mike added: "You do understand, I trust, that will require a major naval base in the city."

That brought very sour looks from the city councilmen. Even some of the CoC delegates didn't look entirely enthusiastic at the prospect.

Hard to blame them, of course—seeing as how the ships that would be stationed there would presumably be commanded by the same man who'd just turned the Wallenlagen into a stone-and-brick equivalent of the city's traditional pounded meat patties that would someday, in a New York that didn't exist yet, be sold as "steak in the Hamburg style" and eventually add the word
hamburger
to the English language after Jewish immigrants started substituting ground beef for pounded beef.

Mike had learned that little tidbit from Morris Roth, before the jeweler left for Prague. He'd added it to the accumulating pile of evidence that the world was an interesting place, no matter what anybody said.

The councilmen's expressions were still very . . . pickled, you might say.

Mike shrugged heavily. "Look, people, face facts. The USE will need a naval outlet onto the North Sea just as much as it needs a commercial one. If we don't put the main naval base in Hamburg"—here, he added a weary sigh—"we'll have no choice but to develop another town. Most likely Bremerhaven."

That did the trick. Simpson himself, they would prefer to do without. But they were no dummies, and knew full well that a major naval base in Bremerhaven ran the risk of spilling over into an expansion of Bremerhaven's commercial significance. The ghastly prospect loomed that Hamburg might find itself with a serious rival for the North Sea trade.

It wouldn't be quite accurate to say that they spilled all over themselves agreeing, but it was pretty close.

Mike looked at his watch again. "We're running out of time. The next point. The emperor proposes that Hamburg and its environs be incorporated as a separate province within the USE, with its own autonomous provincial authorities."

It was almost comical to see the wave of relief that washed over every face at the table, including that of the most intransigent CoC negotiator. Although the process hadn't yet been constitutionally formalized the way it had been in Mike's old United States, there had developed a fairly clear delineation of the different ways in which territories could become part of the USE.

First—and way best—you could join as an autonomous province, with the right to select your own provincial authorities. Essentially, that is, enjoy the same status that a state like Wyoming or Virginia did in Mike's former United States. Examples of existing provinces in the USE which enjoyed that exalted status were Thuringia, Magdeburg, and Hesse-Kassel.

Or, you would be incorporated under imperial authority. That could take one of several forms, the two most common being either direct military administration by someone selected by Gustav Adolf himself—an example here being Ernst Wettin's administration of the Upper Palatinate, with General Banér's troops to give him muscle—or you could be turned over to one of the existing provinces for administration.

The best-known example of the latter was Franconia. Gustav Adolf had originally turned it over to the New United States to administer under the former Confederated Principalities of Europe. After the formation of the USE in October of the previous year, the NUS had become the State of Thuringia and had assumed the same authority.

For all the heavy-handedness of direct Swedish military administration compared to that of Thuringians, Mike was pretty sure that by now just about any established authority in the Germanies would prefer the Swedes. The problem with the Thuringians—which more often than not meant Americans—was that they had this unfortunate habit of bringing mass unrest with them. By now, just about everywhere in central Europe, people had heard tales of the Ram movement that had emerged in Franconia and was starting to shake the existing political set-up into pieces.

God forbid. Coming in as a full province meant they would retain quite a bit of control over their own internal affairs.

One of the city councilmen started quibbling over the exact meaning of the term "and environs," but Mike waved him down.

"We can negotiate those details later. In fact, we have to wait. For two reasons." He raised his watch. "First, we're almost out of time, and those 'details' will be time-consuming. Second, we pretty have much to wait, anyway, until Gustav Adolf finishes pounding the Danes into meat patties and we see how much extra land there is to spread around."

Oh, what a cheery thought. The city councilman shut up.

"We've got very little time left. The way I see it, the only major issue that remains is what form of city government will oversee the formation of the new province of Hamburg and the elections to the constituent assembly that will determine the final structure and legal constitution of the new province. You have to have one, you know—it's in the rules—and in a situation like this, with the city teetering on the edge of civil war, we need a compromise temporary ruling body to carry out the task."

He gave them the same cheery smile. "Obviously, it can't be the city council, since you're one side in the dispute. Just as obviously, it can't be the Committee of Correspondence, because it's the other side."

"Perhaps a joint committee . . ." one of the city councilmen said tentatively.

Mike shook his head. "Sadly, that's no longer possible."

He held up the watch, turning it to face them, and tapped the glass. "Less than three minutes left, if I'm to make it to the gates in time to forestall the regiments from storming into the city. So I'm afraid I'll just have to impose a temporary one-man regime, for the moment."

They were all back to squinting at him. "Who?" demanded the head of the city council.

"Me. Who else?"

Seeing the astonished looks, he added breezily. "Oh, did I fail to mention that? Hamburg's to be the main staging area for the entire USE Army. Within a week, most of the regiments will be here, to join Torstensson's eight."

He rose to his feet. "I've got to be off. I might add that Colonel Wood plans to expand that temporary airfield outside into the major base for the air force."

He managed not to laugh, seeing the expressions around the table. He did so by turning the humor of the moment into yet another breezy assurance as he headed for the street. "Look on the bright side. Hamburg's likely to be in a neck-and-neck race with Magdeburg for getting the world's first
commercial
airport."

"That went quite well, I thought," he said to Torstensson a bit later, after summarizing the settlement.

The Swedish general extended his forearm and looked at his watch.

Mike frowned. "Is there some deadline I don't know about?"

"Oh, it's not that. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't somehow swindled me out of my timepiece while we were talking."

"What's wrong, Caroline?" asked the young countess of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, after she came into the door of Caroline Platzer's office in the settlement house.

There being no answer from that quarter, Emelie turned to the third occupant of the room. That was Princess Kristina, perched on a chair next to Caroline's desk. "Why is Caroline gripping that sheet of paper as if it were the devil's work, and glaring at it so?"

"It's a letter from Count Thorsten," Kristina piped. The princess having decreed Thorsten Engler a count, she was not about to relinquish the claim. Here as in so many instances, the daughter could teach the royal father lessons in stubbornness.

Kristina pointed to the offending letter in question. "The censors blocked out so much of what he said that she can't make much sense of it."

The seven-year-old's ensuing shrug was a gesture far beyond her years. "I don't really see what she's so upset about, myself. Practically everything they left is an endearment of one sort or another. So it's not as if she's wondering if he still wants to be betrothed."

As she'd been talking, the older dowager countess of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt had come into the room also. Anna Sophia took a chair; then, with a loud and disdainful sniff:

"As if he could anyway! The offer of betrothal was made in front of witnesses. Well, more or less. But her acceptance of the offer certainly was. Scandalous, that business. The whole town's still talking about it."

Taking her own seat, Emelie almost laughed. There were times she found her middle-aged sister-in-law's definition of "the whole town" quite amusing. What Anna Sophia really meant was proper society—and solely the Lutheran portion of it, at that.

Emelie didn't doubt at all that the regiments of the army had been talking about the betrothal, also. But the dowager countess wouldn't know about that, and wouldn't care if she did. Her concern, and that of her intimate circles, was that Caroline Platzer had made a
most unsuitable
match for a husband—and, alas, there was now very little that could be done about it. Seeing as how the impetuous and foolish young woman had made such an incredible public display of the business.

"I have no idea what's happening to him!" Caroline wailed, slamming the letter onto the desk under her hands.

Thankfully, Anna Sophia said nothing—and Caroline wasn't looking at her. Thankfully, because it was clear from the expression on the dowager countess' face that her thoughts were running along the lines of:
Well, you know he's still alive. More's the pity.

The problem wasn't even so much a clash of cultural attitudes as it was a clash of expectations that were shaped and colored by those very different attitudes. Perhaps because of her youth, or perhaps simply because she'd spent so much time with Caroline and Maureen Grady and other Americans, Emelie could see both sides of the issue where neither Caroline nor Anna Sophia could see any but theirs.

For Caroline, as for all the up-timers, the issue was simply and solely one of a prospective marriage. And since issues of class didn't matter to them, Thorsten Engler made a perfectly suitable match for Caroline. End of discussion.

There were subtleties there, of course. As she'd gotten to know them better, Emelie had come to realize that the American indifference to class was not so much indifference as it was a very different assessment of how class was defined in the first place. Unless issues of race complicated the matter—and she'd found up-timer attitudes on that subject both varied and often contradictory—then the "blood" of the prospective marital partners was simply irrelevant, especially in this instance. The Americans were a hybrid stock, whose second-largest national component after the Anglo-Saxons was German to begin with. That was certainly true of Caroline Platzer, as her surname alone indicated.

What
did
matter was, first, a person's economic status; and second and still more important, a person's prospects for economic advancement.

And there was an enormous cultural weight thrown onto the latter, reinforced over and over again in every aspect of American society. It was one of the standard themes of their popular literature, whether in the form of books or those moving visual depictions that Emelie found so fascinating. Show any American a story where a lively young woman's "hand in marriage," as they put it, was being sought by two rivals, one poor but industrious and the other wealthy and indolent, and the audience automatically knew which rival they favored.

From the standpoint of down-timer nobility, exactly the wrong one.

Everything about Thorsten Engler fit that model image. Poor, yes—but his poverty was no fault of his own. Born a farmer, an occupation which American popular culture romanticized, and then stripped of his farm by soldiers employed by that same class of idle rich whom up-timers were predisposed to detest in the first place.

A virgin birth, you might say, untainted and unsoiled in any particular. Then, he went forward "from his bootstraps," to use the up-timer expression. Something else which they found admirable. And advanced himself quite well, not letting his patriotic duty slide in the process. Two more plus marks to add to his column, as they would think of it.

Finally—no one argued this, not even the sourest Elle—he was a very nice man. There was nothing about his personality that anyone could point an accusing finger at.

From Caroline's standpoint—and Maureen Grady's, and her husband Dennis', and that of every up-timer Emelie knew—what more could you ask for?

Throughout, and this was perhaps where the cultural divergence was greatest, there was not a trace of consideration given to the blindingly obvious political aspects of the problem. Indeed, Emelie was quite sure that the political side of it had never even occurred to them.

"Caroline, you've glared at the letter long enough!" proclaimed the princess. "You promised you'd let me take you riding!"

Emelie glanced at her sister-in-law and saw that the dowager countess was restraining a quite visible grimace.

That
political problem. So obvious that Emelie was still amazed the up-timers didn't even seem to recognize it at all. But also understanding that it was that very blindness on their part that made the issue so explosive.

Kristina Vasa, only child and heir of Gustav II Adolf, king of Sweden and emperor of the United States of Europe. Arguably already—they'd know in just a few more months—the most powerful ruler in Europe. Seven years old or not, she was herself one of the most politically important figures in the continent.

And the headstrong child had chosen for her principal lady-in-waiting one Caroline Platzer. The fact that neither the princess nor the lady-in-waiting herself used the term—didn't even occur to them, in fact—made the situation all the worse. There were none of the usual accepted limitations of the post to contain the potential damage being done.

Or the potential benefits, for that matter, which Emelie herself thought far outweighed the drawbacks. But she was almost alone among the Elles—or their spouses, or their relatives, or their advisers—in her view of the matter.

To say that proper Lutheran noble society was appalled by the situation—nay, aghast and flabbergasted—would be to put it mildly.

All the worse, that the situation had snuck upon them like the proverbial thief in the night. The German nobility and their Swedish counterparts had been so concerned with the potential damage that might be done by the rambunctious princess' regular outings into the disreputable Freedom Arches and her associations with the detestable Committees of Correspondence that they'd been quite oblivious, in the beginning, to Kristina's growing attachment to the Platzer woman. Indeed, they'd even seen it as a useful counterbalance. While Caroline shared all of the usual attitudes of up-timers, she was not particularly inclined toward political radicalism. Indeed, she seemed generally not very interested in politics at all, being preoccupied entirely by social matters.

Such is the folly of mankind. Watch for the wolves, and let the weasel slide in the door. That most bloodthirsty of all predators, size be damned.

"Yes, I promised. Fine." The weasel rose and headed for the door, taking by the hand the future ruler of central Europe. The innocent chicklet, to the slaughter.

Seeing the sour look on Anna Sophia's face, it was all Emelie could do to keep from laughing.

"But no galloping, this time!" she heard Caroline's voice coming from the hall outside.

"We didn't gallop last time. That was just a canter. Well. A fast canter."

"I was scared to death."

"You didn't fall off, did you?"

Beneath the banter, the mutual affection was so thick it practically dripped like honey.

"What are we going to do?" Emelie heard her sister-in-law mutter.

The words had been spoken loudly enough that Emelie decided a response was called for.

"Live with it, that's all."

"And now she's to be married to a peasant! I had hoped—we'd found any of several suitable matches—that a proper husband might ameliorate the situation."

As if Caroline would have been impressed by a string of young counts trotted before her.
But Emelie left that unspoken. She also left unspoken the fact that her own marriage to a much older nobleman—her husband Ludwig Guenther, count of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, would be celebrating his fifty-third birthday in less than two months—had not particularly "ameliorated" her own attitudes, had they?

Fortunately, there had been no clashes between her and her husband, over the subject of Emelie's growing attachment to the up-timers and her subtly-expressed but growing political radicalization. It might be better to say, cultural radicalization. Like Caroline Platzer herself, Emelie was not particularly interested in politics, in the narrow sense of the term. But she too, like the princess, had found herself powerfully influenced by the attitudes toward people and social relations that, in many ways, were more deeply rooted in Caroline and—especially—Maureen Grady than they were in the most flamboyant CoC agitator.

Emelie and Ludwig Guenther might have clashed, had circumstances been different. But her husband, much to his surprise, had found himself at the center of the growing storm in Lutheran theological circles, ever since he'd sponsored the now-famous Rudolstadt Colloquy, the year before. The continuing controversies over that colloquy and the decisions the count had made at it had become so contentious for the continent's Lutheran clergy that an exasperated emperor Gustav Adolf had ordered another colloquy be held to adjudicate
all
the issues under dispute—and had appointed Emelie's husband to oversee it. That, because whatever their other quarrels, all theologians involved had expressed no animosity toward Ludwig Guenther as a person. Indeed, they'd all agreed that he'd been quite even-handed and judicious—even if, to many of them, astonishingly wrong-headed.

So, Emelie and Ludwig Guenther had come to Magdeburg a few months earlier. Since her husband spent practically every waking hour attending to the Lutheran dispute, she'd found herself with a great deal of time on her hands. At her sister-in-law's invitation, she'd spent those many free hours at the settlement house. And, as the months passed, felt a subtle but sweeping transformation come over her, in terms of attitudes that she'd inherited unthinkingly from her background and upbringing.

Maureen Grady had been more influential in that respect—at least, for Emelie if not a seven-year-old princess—than Caroline Platzer. Maureen was in her late forties, in the prime of her life, with both an extensive education and an administrative practice "under her belt," as the Americans put it. The fact that she was married to an up-time policeman, with the usual conservative views of such men—conservative, at least, by American standards—gave Maureen's own attitudes that much more impact. This was no flighty girl whose opinions could be easily dismissed. This was an extremely capable and very level-headed woman, able to retain the affections of a tough-minded cop, whose views on most important social questions placed her in opposition to the standards of seventeenth-century society. Noble society, certainly.

You could start with Maureen's feminism, so deeply ingrained that she didn't even consider it "feminism" to begin with. Just . . . self-evident.

It would be interesting to see where it all wound up, in the end. And since Emelie was still only nineteen years old—and given the impact that the up-timers were starting to have on medicine and life expectancy—she had good reason to believe she'd see a great deal of whatever transformations happened to Europe, in her lifetime.

She was looking forward to it, even if—

"And now the princess seems to be developing an attachment to the
peasant.
What are we going to
do
?" demanded Anna Sophia, almost wailing the words.

—some others were not.

Fortunately, Kristina did not put up a fuss about attending the concert that night. She might have, except that the concert was supposed to include ballads from the Brillo saga, for which she'd become a devoted enthusiast and afficionado.

"Praise be," the princess' governess and official lady-in-waiting, Lady Ulrike, murmured to Caroline as they set off for the royal palace.

Unlike most of the German establishment—and most of the Swedish, for that matter—Lady Ulrike had few if any reservations about Caroline's relationship with Kristina. It might be better to say that whatever reservations the Swedish noblewoman had were simply overwhelmed by her relief at having someone who was far better suited than she was to keeping the princess under control. And if the young American's methods of "control" upset the established order, so much the worse for the establishment. They could cluck their tongues all they wanted.
They
didn't have the responsibility of keeping a girl who might be the world's smartest seven-year-old and was certainly its most self-confident and willful one—not to mention a truly superb horse rider—from running wild at every turn.