Текст книги "Grantville Gazette 45"

Автор книги: Paula Goodlett

Соавторы: Kerryn Offord,Enrico Toro,Terry Howard,David Carrico,Griffin Barber,Rainer Prem,Caroline Palmer
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Ein Feste Burg, Episode Six

Rainer Prem

Foreword:

While our friends in Eisenach have “wonderful nights,” and the deconstruction of the Wartburg still goes on in the spring of the year 1634, we need to rewind to the summer of 1632 and meet some other people who will eventually become involved in the project, too.

The following story is inspired by the novel El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Manchawritten by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, published in the year 1605, and one of the biggest bestsellers in Europe in the first quarter of the seventeenth century.

Chapter 7: The First Sally

Y asi, sin dar parte a persona alguna de su intencion, y sin que nadie le viese, una manana, antes del dia, que era uno de los calurosos del mes de julio, se armo de todas sus armas, subio sobre Rocinante.

Vnd ohne vorwissen einiges Menschen / ohn entdeckung seines Vorhabens / auch da? jhn niemand sahe oder seiner gewahr wurde / waffnete er sich eines Morgens vor der Sonnen Auffgang an einem der hitzigsten Tage des Hewmonats mit seiner gantzen Rustung / stieg auff seinen Rossubrall.

So, without giving notice of his intention to anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning of the day (which was one of the hottest of the month of July) he donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante.

Grantville, New United States

July 1632

Marshall Ambler left his home before dawn. Dressed in a duster and an old Stetson, he saddled the horse Ruben Nasi had bought for him, and led it out of the stable. The leftovers from a job in the 80s, an old theodolite and a ranging pole, were firmly attached to his saddle, along with some clothes and all the achievements of civilization not available down-time. When they reached the street, Marshall mounted his steed and steered it along Buffalo Creek.

By the time the sun rose, he was already past the Ring and on the road to Rudolstadt. There he would meet his prospective assistant Melchior Nehring, Secretariusat the court of Duke Johann Ernst of Saxe-Eisenach, who in turn was, according to Ruben, his new employer.

Although Marshall had made use of the months since Ruben had contacted him to practice riding, he was sure that he would have to take a longer rest in Rudolstadt. Ten miles for the first ride would certainly be enough for his posterior.

For me there's no impossible,

I order, bind, forbid, set free

Grantville

Two months earlier

As on most evenings Marshall Ambler, teacher at Grantville Tech Center, was sitting on a bench in the Thuringen Gardens, boasting about his model railroad and the Germans around him hung on his every word. In the last year, he had started the tradition to demonstrate his railroad table only to the three best students after each class test, and so the word had spread among the down-timers about the great honor.

While he was rattling on about the differences of the gear transmissions of German and American diesel engines, he noticed a strange face. It looked like a Spaniard, or one of these Ottoman Jews who had the Grantville money business under their control.

Later the man approached. "Good evening, Mr. Ambler," he said in nearly accent-free English. "My name is Ruben Nasi, and I have a business proposal for you."

Marshall noticed that the man didn't try to shake hands with him. Most of his health problems only showed up when he was near fellow Americans or in one of the modern houses of Grantville, but some habits die hard. Marshall still avoided shaking anybody's hand, and if this man knew that, he perhaps knew still more about him.

"Okay, let's hear it," he said.

"Not here. What about taking a walk together?"

A secret proposal! Sounds like another Grantville spy. But for whom?

Aloud he said, "Why not? It’s private enough in my apartment. Want to see my railroad?"

"That's exactly the point," the Jew answered.

Marshall squinted at him. "Oh, no! I won't sell it. Never!"

Nasi lifted his hands defensively. "Sorry, that wasn't my intention. Please accept my apology. I was referring to your expertise, not to your property. But I would really like to see that marvel."

Marshall could see the Jew's eyes examine the locks and grilles of his basement apartment. And the man even didn't hide it.

"I can see you have invested much in your safety. It seems you are a cautious man."

Marshall shrugged. "Sure. Is that good or bad?"

"Oh, it speaks very much in your favor. We need a cautious man. And, if I may speak frankly, one who likes us 'down-timers' more than he's fond of the Americans."

The Jew looked in Marshall's eyes with a questioning look on his face.

"Get on with it!" Marshall now started to wonder where this was going.

"We want to build a railroad."

Marshall's eyes widened. "Now, that's interesting. And who's 'we'?"

"Hmmm. 'We' are people who have money and estates. I heard that is the first precondition to building a railroad."

Uh-huh. A bunch of German nobles! They've found a new hobbyhorse.

Aloud Marshall said: "But that's not enough. You'll need steel, a whole lot of steel. And there isn't much of it in this world at the moment."

"At the moment, this is true," Nasi confirmed. "But that will change. Everything will change, and we don't want to be left behind.

"I've read books on railroad companies, and it seems they always needed years between the decision and turning the first sod. And we don't even have a company. Only a vision." He pointed to Marshall's model railroad. "A vision of trains."

"Well, that's a modelrailroad. I never worked on the real thing. You understand the difference?" But something nagged at him.

"Haven't you seen The Flight of the Phoenix? I have," Nasi said.

Oh yeah, I'm the German model plane builder, and you're the Americans to get out of the desert with a real plane.

"Sure, but that's the movies, not real life."

The Jew grinned. "Do you doubt your own expertise? In the Gardens it sounded otherwise."

Marshall didn't hesitate a second. "No! On paper I know everything."

Nasi shrugged. "You don't actually need to build a train now. We want you to investigate on the possibilities. We need someone who knows about it. And not only from the books. You're an engineer; you know what is important and what isn't."

Marshall frowned. "And if I accept, hypothetically, what do you think, I should do? Where do 'we' want to build this railroad?"

"Do you know the Via Regia, the High Road?"

Marshall's frown deepened. "From Frankfurt to Leipzig? Through the Vogelsberg and the Rhon? Two hundred miles for a start? You're kidding."

"And what about the Thuringian part of it? At the moment we are not interested in Saxony or Hesse."

"Hmmm." Marshall went to his bed and seized a large folder from under it. He opened it and revealed a stack of maps. He had bought any railroad map of the world he could get. Starting with England, Germany was second.

"This is the Thuringia Railroad in the old timeline." He pointed to the cities. "From the Werra via Eisenach, Gotha, Erfurt, Weimar, Apolda, Naumburg to Wei?enfels. It's rather flat, not a single large river. Towns like a bead chain. It's a good place to start."

"And we didn't even know if it's good or bad." Nasi beamed. "And we don't have such a map. Each city you mentioned is a day's walk for an ox team, and how long with the train?"

Marshall shrugged again. "Twenty miles? Forty minutes with the Adler, that was the first locomotive in Germany. At the time of the Ring of Fire it would have taken about ten minutes."

"So the gain is larger if we build the first railroad, than all they managed afterwards. Reducing the complete east-west trip through Thuringia to three hours instead of five days. That's wonderful."

"But we still haven't enough steel. We can't build it now." Marshall straightened. "But you're right. We can start it."

"See?" Ruben smiled. "Now you said 'we' yourself. It seems that railroads have this influence on men. Deal?"

Marshall extended his hand. Ruben's smile widened when he took it.

"Deal."

Happy the age, happy the time, in which shall be made known my deeds of fame.

Rudolstadt, County of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt

July 1632

When Marshall approached Rudolstadt on the gravel road, he could see Schloss Heidecksburgsitting on a little hill on his left. It was by far the largest building in the little town. And he could see that the owner obviously felt it was not large enough. A scaffold on its left side showed clearly that the current count intended to enlarge it farther.

Another way to spend excess money.

He turned right and shortly after reached the inn " Zum Adler," easily recognizable by the iron eagles on poles over the roof. Here Melchior was supposed to wait for him.

"Willkommen in Rudolstadt, Sorr."

Marshall scrutinized the young, glasses-wearing, portly German while he noticed Melchior scrutinizing him, the tall, gaunt-featured, almost-fifty American.

The American had no problem understanding the German greeting. Marshall had lived in Nuremberg in the late 1960s, working for the U.S. Army and teaching the German civilian employees engineering and safety guidelines. He knew that "Sorr" was meant to be "sir."

"So you're my 'tour guide' for the next few months, Melchior?"

"Yess, Sorr. It will be an honor to serve you and show you every nice corner of three duchies and a Catholic bishopric under Swedish occupation."

This was a description of a less than hundred miles' journey. In West Virginia, they could have stayed in the state for more than twice the distance, and West Virginia only ranked forty-first by size among the U.S. states.

In fact, the whole of Thuringia was smaller than even Hawaii, but at the moment consisted of about twenty different principalities in more than thirty separate areas. Two Reichsstadte-free Imperial cities-several parts that belonged to Hessians or Saxons, tiny pieces belonging to the Brandenburgers or God-knows-who. And of course, any of that could change any day.

So crossing only four borders on this journey was a rather small number.

Marshall stopped his thoughts from straying too far away and concentrated on the current point.

"Do you have the supplies I wanted?"

"Oh, yess, Sorr. Fresh food, soap for washing, thick woolen blankets for the nights and a tent. And the maps-" He wanted to fetch them from his bag, but Marshall stopped him.

"Not here, not now. I think we should take advantage of the good weather and ride at least one more hour. We ought to reach Kahla before noon, and along the Saale we won't need maps."

Marshall was not completely happy about staying in the saddle for another hour, but they were still too near Grantville, and a visitor might recognize him on his confidential mission. So he decided to keep moving.

Gasthaus zum Stadttor, Kahla, Duchy of Saxe-Altenburg

"Yess, Sorr, Count Tilly stayed in this inn last year on his way to Breitenfeld," Melchior loudly commented on the paintings on the walls of the inn. "We Germans are not much concerned if he's friend or enemy. In fact, that may change from one day to another. Martin Luther also slept here in 1524, and Emperor Charles the Fifth when he wasn't emperor yet."

Marshall looked around. The inn was built-according to a sign on the outside-in 1491, and had apparently not been cleaned since then. But that was something he had to live in tonight and live with in the future. He could have stayed in Grantville, but had decided otherwise.

"So you can now show me those maps you have. There apparently hasn't been an American in here yet."

The "maps" were obviously not meant to show the exact distances, but only all the villages that existed in the different principalities. When he compared them to his much less detailed version, he could see that even the angles between the towns didn't fit his map.

"This 'cartographer' was more of an artist than a surveyor," he commented.

"Oh, these are only the overview maps. We can get more exact ones in any of the Amter."

Yes, the district administrations should know exactly how many taxes to collect from which village.

"Who cares? It will be an adventure, anyway."

"Adventure?" Melchior said doubtfully. "I hope not. This area is not like your Wilder Westen. The towns in Thuringia have been here since the eighth century, when Karl Martell, grandfather of Karl der Gro?e-that's the man you Americans call Charlemagne-fought against the barbarian Saxons and founded many towns here."

Melchior shook his head. "No, since the Imperials have gone, this is a really boring part of Germany. Farmers, craftsmen, and shepherds; students and professors in the big towns, that's all you'll find here."

"Okay, so we won't stir them up. Do you think we can reach Jena today? My butt's not as sore as I thought."

Weimar, Duchy of Saxe-Weimar

September 1632

Durchlauchtigster Hochgeborener Herzog, Furst und Herr.

O Serene, Highborn Duke, Prince and Lord,

To Your Highness most humbly I allow myself to report that the news of a Spanish attack against Eisenach have reached Weimar, and the citizens are shocked, because one year of peace has induced a little economic recovery here like in most of the Thuringian principalities, and so the people thought themselves safe from the terribilitesof the war, but now they are talking about forming a militia to secure at least the gates of the city, which in my humble opinion is completely futile.

But most of all I humbly want to inform and instruct Y.H., that we luckily and with God's protection reached Weimar after having successfully exploriretways for the prospective iron path from Jena and Naumburg to this place.

In Jena we started in the park at the Saale the citizens call "The Paradise", for Mr. Ambler had detectiretthis name in his books as the name of the railroad station in Jena, and we found that here are few problems to build at least a small "through station," for the line between Rudolstadt and Naumburg. The station, where goods can be loaded and unloaded, the so-called "switching yard," has to be built somewhere else.

And since the way from this park into the directioof Weimar is completely blocked by the city center of Jena-including the Collegium Jenense-he thought that the citizens might be much more pleased when the branching of the lines would happen south of their town, so another train station at the Erfurter Stra?ewhich leads to Weimar might be appropriate.

After having stayed in Jena for two weeks we pr?cediretto Naumburg, and explored a way from there via Apolda to Weimar, which we reached in late August. I include the exact path Mr. Ambler thinks suitable with this letter to Y.H. Also a path from Jena to Weimar is includiret.

Tomorrow we will start anew along the road to Erfurt to the west. I will write my next letter when we have reached Erfurt.

ActumWeimar, Sonntag den 12. / 2. 7bris 1632

Your submissive and humble servant,

Melchior Nehring, Secretarius

Between Monchenholzhausen and Bu?leben,

Near Erfurt, Archbishopric of Mainz

September 1632

Day was dawning when Marshall and Melchior left the inn and continued their journey.

Don Quixote had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to come feeble cries as of someone in distress, and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings and commands, repeating, "Your mouth shut and your eyes open!" while the youth made answer, "I won't do it again, master mine; by God's passion I won't do it again."

Marshall knew that corporal punishment was custom in the seventeenth century, but his twentieth-century attitude to morality forced him to intervene. Carefully, he told himself.

" Guten Morgen, mein Herr," he said with the little sound of arrogance he had acquired in the last two months to sustain the image of a "noble on his grand tour."

The farmer saw him, then saw the "servant" who followed him, and seemed to decide to treat him as a noble.

" Guten Morgen, Hochwohlgeboren," he answered and bowed.

"May I ask, dear man, what has enraged you so much?"

"This-" the farmer groped for words.

"– young man," Marshall helped him smiling.

"Ah, yes. This boy. I have been so gracious to him and his sister when they arrived nearly naked last year. I fed them and dressed them, and how have they thanked me? Run away, first his sister, and now this ungrateful wretch."

"I told you," the boy's voice came from behind. "She has notrun away. She was abducted. By a bandit. And I want to free her."

"What a romantic adventure," Marshall said. He could nearly feel Melchior flinching behind him.

"Don't believe him, mein Herr.He's a liar," the farmer interjected.

"Why don't you let him go, when he wants to?" Marshall asked. "He will surely try again."

The farmer frowned. "He owes me money. For the shoes and the clothes. And when he tries again, I will have him thrown into the Schuldturm."

"Perhaps there is another way," Marshall said, and noticed that Melchior grimaced. "We need a stable hand, and perhaps I can assume his debts. Of how much do we speak?"

"Twenty Thaler, mein Herr."

"That's too much," the boy interjected. "We have worked for a whole year, and haven't been paid at all."

"Is he right?" Marshall asked sharply.

"Oh, hmmm, sorry. I forgot. But he still owes me two Thaler."

Marshall frowned. "I'm rather sure, that for a debt of two Thaler, no judge would throw him into debtor's prison.

"But you know what? I'll pay these two Thaler, and since you seem to be a reasonable man, I'm sure you'll want to do business with us. We need to buy food, and a mule or donkey, so the boy won't slow us down."

Beyond a doubt, Sancho, we must have already reached the second region of the air, where the hail and snow are generated; the thunder, the lightning, and the thunderbolts are engendered in the third region.

Waidbauerhof, Bu?leben, near Erfurt

The same afternoon

Marshall sat down on a bench with young Andreas Becker. It seemed that the boy and der Waidbauer, the woad farmer, were on rather good terms, once the debt was paid.

"So tell me, Andreas, what's this about 'arriving nearly naked'?"

"I think I'll have to start a little earlier, sir. When the Swedes came into Erfurt after the battle of Breitenfeld-"

"That was last September?" Marshall interrupted.

"Yes, sir. September 30th-or 20th by the Protestants' calendar-they entered the city. My papa was very furious when he heard that. He was a member of the city council and had always been against paying so much money to the Imperials to leave Erfurt in peace.

"But now he feared that the Lutheran 'Wettin Johanns' as he called them would use the opportunity to seize Erfurt from His Excellence the High Reverence in spite of the peace treaty of 1530.

"So he left home to 'stop these crazy barbarians' he said. And he never returned." The boy's voice got muffled by his tears.

People who had noticed the event called it an appalling accident. Jakob Becker had really tried to stop the Swedes.

He was so furious; he stepped in the way of Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar's horse, who had led the marching in to the city hall to accept the mayor's surrender. He called the Wettin dukes in particular, and all Protestants and Swedes at large many names that the witnesses didn't want to repeat. Wilhelm only shook his head, Becker was shoved aside and the Swedes moved on.

But he was still shouting, and suddenly one of the cavalry horses shied, kicked out and hit him exactly in the chest. The people said he was dead before he fell to earth. A Swedish medic even tried to help him with no success.

"When our neighbors, who had been witnesses, came to our home on the bridge-"

"Bridge?" Marshall interrupted the boy.

"He's referring to the Kramerbrucke-the merchants' bridge, sir," Melchior answered with his tour-guide voice. "It was built three hundred years ago with houses on both sides of the street, but it existed as a market place two centuries earlier."

"And we had our own house," this was the first time the boy showed some eagerness. "Mama worked as seamstress downstairs, and we all slept upstairs. And we even had-how do you Americans call it? – a water closet."

" Ja," Melchior commented. "A hole in the floor, where the shit can drop directly into the Gera. And what about the winter?" He shuddered. The boy laughed.

"Okay," Marshall sent an approving gaze to Melchior, but then turned back to Andreas. "Then what happened?"

The boy took a deep breath. "When they came and told what had happened, Mama panicked. She said we should flee to her relatives in Techstedt or Pechstedt-I had never heard of them and I could not exactly understand the name of the village. And we had to run now.

"She took Maria by her hand and left the house. I had to run after them. We left the city and walked over the fields. Mama didn't want to use a road.

"After an hour or so a thunderstorm was coming up. Black clouds towered higher and higher and then it started pouring water. The soil turned into mud, but still we walked on and on.

"And then we reached the Linderbach. I didn't know that the creek was called that name then. And I wouldn't have recognized it, had we been there before. It was a black and raging current. No bridge; no chance to cross."

The boy stopped, apparently overwhelmed from the pictures in his memory. Then his voice got completely flat.

"But Mama tried. She slipped. She fell. Her head hit a boulder, and then she disappeared in the water. Maria wanted to run after her, and I could barely hold her. Then I took her in my arms; and we cowered down and cried together until the rainstorm ended.

"And then we walked on. We had lost our shoes in the mud. We had torn our clothes. When we reached the farm, we collapsed in the yard." Andreas' voice was choking.

Then he straightened. " Der Waidbauerwas very nice to us. But he told us that he had nothing himself and he could not feed two more mouths easily.

"He didn't know either Techstedt or Pechstedt, and there are two villages called Bechstedt, and there is Eichstedt, and I even don't know the name of Mama's relatives. So if we wanted to stay with him, we both had to work for food and lodging and the shoes and clothes he bought for us.

"He asked for Mama downstream, but on that day the Linderbach not only killed her, but also made the bridge on the road to Weimar collapse. People thought her body had probably been washed all the way down into the Unstrut.

"So we settled down here. I worked in the stable and on the fields, and Maria sewed and mended and embroidered. Until the day the outlaws appeared."

"'Outlaws'?" Marshall asked quizzically. "You mean like 'Robin Hood and his Merry Men,' that kind of outlaws? And you called this 'a boring part of Germany,' Melchior."

Melchior shrugged. " Shit happens, sir. Former Imperial mercenaries, perhaps."

"No, Herr Nehring," the boy said. "They are real bandits, criminals. At least their chief. He visited my father once, some years ago. At that time his name was Wilhelm Schontal."

Papa had told him that the man was a Catholic from Hanau, and was wanted for murder there, for killing a Calvinist tax collector.

He swore on the Bible that it had been in self-defense, and that there was a conspiracy going on against pious Catholics. So the auxiliary bishop of Erfurt granted him asylum.

That lasted until the day when the Kanonikusof St. Mary's was found dead and some very nice pieces of the church treasury had disappeared along with Wilhelm. And nobody heard of him afterwards.

"But this spring the farmers talk about a Catholic 'Robin Hood,' who robs the wealthy Lutheran merchants on the High Road to Leipzig, and gives their money to the poor. Exactly as told in the old ballads."

"Ha!" shouted Marshall. "You're joking."

"No, sir. They don't make presents, but they pay generously for food and other supplies they buy from the farmers. And their captain uses the name Guillaume de Beauvallee."

Melchior's lips moved, when he repeated the name. "That's 'Wilhelm Schontal' translated into French!"

"Yes, Herr Nehring. That's what I thought, too. And I told the woad farmer about what that man had done in Erfurt. But he didn't believe me.

"And last week the outlaws appeared here."

Andreas had managed to hide in the stable when they turned up, but Maria unsuspectingly left the farmhouse, and froze when she saw the captain of this troop. She had been only nine years old when Schontal had visited Jakob Becker and his family in his house. But she obviously remembered that short, sturdy man with his enormous black mustachio, who had frightened her the first time she had seen him.

The next day Maria was missing. Andreas was sure that Schontal had something to do with it, but he couldn't convince the woad farmer. The farmer was adamant that Maria certainly had run away to find her mother.

"So I had no choice, I had to find her. But my search for her ended soon afterwards in the thicket, where the woad farmer found me."

A field near Erfurt

Some days later

" Guten Morgen, meine Herren," Melchior greeted the peasants who were harvesting flax in a field.

Not being accustomed to be addressed so courteously, the men stopped working, straightened and examined the scenario before them: A chubby young man with glasses on a mule, a tall, haggard, oddly-dressed man behind him on a large horse, and the obviously young stable hand on another mule holding the reins of a third mule.

"I am the guide for my master, Mister Marshall of Ambler, Lord of America, on his grand tour through Europe. He has heard that a distinguished buccaneer by name of Guillaume de Beauvalleehas made his camp somewhere around here, and he-" At this point Melchior showed a grimace of resignation and disgust, "-wants to make his acquaintance.

"Are you, o honorable rural workers, by any chance able to fulfill his desire, and tell us the location of this encampment? An appropriate gratification will be awarded."

The men looked at each other, obviously trying to make a sense from this flood of pretentious words. Then one after another, each shook his head.

Marshall and Melchior had carefully devised this scene to reveal the hideout of Schontal and his gang. Melchior had declared that he was not completely convinced that these bandits had indeed abducted Maria. Marshall, however, had convinced him that he would not give up until he knew the facts.

Either nobody knew, or nobody dared to tell.

****

Shortly after the three continued on their way, Marshall heard a shout from behind. One of the peasants they passed was running after them. They stopped and turned.

"I know it," the man gasped. "How much?"

He obviously didn't want to share his knowledge and the reward with the other men.

"One Groschen," Melchior said.

"One Thaler," the man replied.

"Melchior," the arrogant voice of Marshall came from behind. "Don't bargain. But we'll return, if the information turns out to be wrong."

" Yess, mein Lord," Melchior answered and looked questioningly in the man's eyes.

" Mein Lord,"the man echoed. "I will not betray you, I don't dare to."

The old windmill near the road between Bechstedt and Isseroda was the bandits' hideout. The Imperials had killed its owner two years before, and since then apparently nobody had dared to reopen the mill because the old miller’s ghost still dwelled there.

Yeah, a haunted mill, Marshall thought, always a good pretext to keep the superstitious natives at distance.

Schontal and his gang had taken possession of the mill, and used it as their headquarters. It was far enough from the High Road to be hidden from view, but near enough to start their raids from here.

When Melchior heard this, he uttered the mysterious words "So we will have to fight the windmills, too."

Marshall looked at him, and decided not to pursue the odd comment, except to say: "We will possibly fight atthe windmill, but by then we better have a good plan to emerge unscathed."

Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the most famous adventure that has ever been seen.

Windmill at the road from Bechstedt to Isseroda

Near Weimar, New United States, CPE

Next morning

Maria Becker left the windmill where the Hessian murderer and his cronies kept their supplies. With all the power of her twelve-year-old muscles, she dragged a sack of flour down the ramp. The thugs wanted bread for breakfast, so she had to start the dough now.

Suddenly she saw a man on a horse. A tall, haggard man, wearing a strange kind of suit. He had something like a lance in his right hand, and a hat with a big brim on his head. The bandits had apparently noticed him, too. Schontal had already gotten up and now went to meet the strange man, holding a pistol casually in his hand.

Marshall slowly approached the windmill on his horse. The bandits were sitting at a campfire, where something was cooking in a pot. Their horses were tied to some stakes in a meadow nearby.

Most of their guns could be seen strapped to their saddles some yards away, but some of the men nevertheless had wheel lock pistols and sabers lying close at hand.

When they noticed Marshall, they grabbed their weapons. A short, sturdy man with an enormous black mustachio and a pistol in his hand rose and took several steps forward.

Noticing that Marshall was obviously unarmed apart from the ranging pole he had removed from its sheath and now was holding upright like a lance, he started to smile. It was a sneering, arrogant grin.

He bowed deeply before Marshall. "Guillaume de Beauvallee, a votre service,"he said, but the following words gave away his thick Hessian dialect. "Whom do I have the honor to meet on this wonderful morning?"

"I'm Marshall Ambler, and I've come-" He pointed to the young girl, who had just left the windmill, and who hauled a large sack. "-to retrieve your captive."

"Oh, yes." The bandit's grin was now only sardonic. "You, and which army?" He waved about with his pistol. His cronies laughed joyfully.