Objects and motions

It took longer than Paul expected to find the evidence he sought. It consisted of a sheet of aged paper pinned to a battered square of cork, located on the wall next the study door. From other notes pinned there Paul surmised it to be a means by which the late Professor Knappenburger communicated with his servant. He unpinned the note and examined it. The obverse had a note concerning laundry. The reverse... Paul smiled with satisfaction. Amid many a crossing out and blot he made out the following.

My Dear Grafin,

With reference to your inquiry as to the validity of a marriage between your cousin Graf Philip von Hetzenberg and a woman of common birth, to whit, one Mary Amadeus.

I’m pleased to inform you it is entirely permissible under our law for a member of the Grand Ducal family to unite with a commoner in a Morganatic marriage. Laws on the statute books governing Ducal marriages dating back over two hundred years clearly permit such a formal union. Our forebears in their wisdom saw matters of interbreeding and too concentrated a nature of the Ducal relationships to be clearly unfavorable to the bloodline as a whole. Provision was therefore made to allow fresh blood to be introduced to the family line, although the law has not been indulged in for some decades.

I trust this clarifies the matter and eases any concerns you might feel regarding your friend’s situation.

I remain, Grafin, your humble, obedient servant, I. Knappenburger.

There was no mistaking the Professor’s writing. Paul rolled up the note and tapped it against his palm as he considered the situation. The estimable Bartolomeo Gundaker is fallible, it seems. In his haste to perpetrate his commission he overlooked a draft copy of the very letter he sought to corrupt. He smiled. What makes it all the sweeter, the note was on the back of a missive intended for him!

He tucked the note in his innermost pocket and headed out the door. A brief conference with the Chancellor left that worthy satisfied the professor’s affairs would be taken care of.

That evening saw Paul aboard the coach bound for the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg. He looked out the window as the vehicle rattled along the highway, and thought of the approbation Ursula would heap upon him for his success in helping her friend. It gave him a warm glow about the heart to think of the radiant smile that would cross her beautiful face.

* * * *

The hull of Styx II vibrated gently with the steady flow of water against her hull as the flotilla rode at anchor in the gathering night. Beyond the little stateroom’s windows the Eissenwasser flowed dark, strong and steady to the sea, with no concern for the affairs of mankind embattled about its banks.

Ursula laid upon Horatio, her arms folded loosely on his bare chest, her feet pressing against the cool wood of the aft bulkhead, so small was the cot in which they laid. She felt sated and happy but, as intense and fulfilling as their lovemaking had been, one question still floated near the top of her mind. “You’re sure we’ll reach the vicinity of Randstadt by tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, beautiful.” Horatio stroked Ursula’s cheek and tucked a stray length of damp hair behind her ear. “We're but a league above Kimmelsbrück. The river’s quieter now the snow melt has passed. The wind stands fair, and looks to be coming farther north yet tomorrow.”

“I hope so. I'm worried about Mary A. Paul will try his best, no doubt, but at the moment only I can intercede on her behalf so she can marry Philip.”

“We’ll get there, and we will help her. Don’t worry so!”

“You’re right, my love,” she whispered, kissing him deeply. He returned her kiss then yawned and stretched, awkwardly favoring his wounded arm. Ursula rolled off him and he moved aside enough for her to squeeze in beside him. “Get some sleep, hero,” she admonished. “You had a long day.”

“Just so, my dear.” He put his arm around her and she nestled close, her head upon his shoulder. His voice sounded drowsy. “We’ll get there.”

Ursula listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, felt the rise and fall of his chest slow as his breathing settled into sleep. She looked up through the stern-lights and watched the night deepen to starry indigo, and wondered what Mary Amadeus was doing, and how they would all fare on the morrow. Eventually, she fell asleep.

* * * *

Several leagues away Mary Amadeus laid in her camp cot, staring up at the canvas above her head. A camp fire nearby cast shadows there that seemed to morph into strange and terrible things. She could hear the sentry on guard outside the fly of her tent, placed there by the general. “I have no recourse but to inquire into this matter, my dear,” he’d said with evident reluctance. “I cannot believe you and Philip would be so foolish as to correspond in this way, but I am bound by duty to treat the matter with the utmost seriousness.”

And so she had been confined her to quarters pending the outcome. She thought of the siege and the plan she’d made which would end it all before many more lives were spent. And now due to someone’s malice here I am, in peril of my life and utterly useless. I wish Philip were here, and Ursula and Horatio! She turned over, punched the pillow into some form of comfort and tried to sleep, but her thoughts whirled on deep into the night.

A spot of bother

Siege operations about Randstadt had reached the third parallel and the batteries had been positioned amid blasts of musketry from the defenses. Mary Amadeus worked as hard as any to site the guns, and she felt pride in the fact they had become operational again within an hour.

The summons to General Rauppen-Schlepper’s pavilion reached her as she came off the line. Repeated salvos from the artillery had rendered her somewhat deaf, and the aide had to repeat himself twice before she understood. She made her way to the pavilion, sited in the headquarters area a safe distance beyond cannon range. Sweeping the tricorn from her head, she checked her hair still stayed neatly in its ponytail then nodded to the aide. He opened the tent fly and she followed him inside.

The General sat at his desk reading a dispatch. Mary saluted as he looked up. “Lieutenant Amadeus reporting, sir.”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.” Rauppen-Schlepper’s time-worn features remained set in a neutral expression, and she wondered why he didn’t greet her with his normal affability. He reached for his pipe and made a show of inspecting it, knocking out the dottle and refilling it with his favorite blend from a tooled leather pouch. The aide stepped forward with a taper. Rauppen-Schlepper took it and lit the pipe. He nodded to the aide. “Leave us, Wilhelm, but stay within call.” The aide saluted and departed, leaving Mary and the General alone.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there is.” He opened a drawer and extracted two packets of papers, tied with a blue ribbon. He dropped one on the desk in front of her. “Do you recognize the writing?”

She stooped to examine them and blinked. “It looks like my hand, sir.”

“It looks like yours?”

“Yes, but what..?” She sought for words. “I’ve not written to anyone to this extent. I can’t afford the stationary on my salary. To whom are they addressed?”

“Young Philip, heir to the throne.” He dropped the second packet before her. “These are his replies.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know anything about these. Philip and I have never exchanged letters beyond official reports to do with the battery.”

Rauppen-Schlepper pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked weary. “They came into my possession through some anonymous agency. That in itself is bad enough but the content...” He tapped the letters with a stubby finger. “The contents, my dear lieutenant, are explosive!”

“May I read them, sir?”

“Please do.”

Mary picked up the packet, untied the ribbon and read the first letter. Her heart began to pound and her face burned with embarrassment. “They... they’re nothing I would’ve penned, sir!”

“I should hope not!”

“This... this is explicit!” She gestured helplessly to the letters. “I don’t know anything like a tiny fraction of the things herein described.”

Rauppen-Schlepper’s face grew grim. “It gets worse, Lieutenant. The last two letters speak of the possibility of elopement.”

“Elopement!”

“Yes.” His bushy eyebrows came together and he stared at her. “You know full well Professor Knappenburger’s correspondence states our law forbids Morganatic marriages to the future head of state. Such correspondence as lies before you is treason. Graf Philip will not be punished beyond the family’s censure, but for a commoner such as you... The sentence, should you be found guilty, is death.”

Men of Letters

The capital of Saxe-Bearstein was not unknown to Paul Ehrgeiziger, but it had been several years since he’d visited the city. However it didn’t take long to locate the university, and the college porter guided him to the Great Hall.

Paul had chosen his moment well, for the midday meal at High Table had finished some little time before. The faculty were in the process of dispersing about their afternoon schedule, and the porter approached the Chancellor with a bow. “Baron Ehrgeiziger to see you sir.” 

The Chancellor, a full-fleshed man with a sumptuous full-bottomed wig squinted at the porter then Paul through a pince-nez. Paul and he exchanged bows. “Welcome to our university, dear baron,” the Chancellor said. He looked rather vague. “Forgive me, but I was not aware you were due to call upon me..?”

“You must forgive my not making a proper appointment, sir. I had occasion to be in your fine city and took the opportunity to visit you. I had a friend here, Professor Knappenburger.”

The Chancellor looked grave. “A bad business, dear baron, A bad business indeed.”

Paul nodded. “I am indeed aware of my poor friend’s untimely demise. I am also aware that his servant decamped with some of his possessions.”

“Ah, yes. His fellow Pietro seemed trustworthy and few here had anything bad to say of him – up to the time he vanished.” He scowled. “It reflected poorly on the rest of the servants.”

“I’m sure it did, and without foundation for blame. Would you describe this Pietro, and say from whence he came?”

The Chancellor rubbed his chin, dewlaps wobbling. “Of average height, dark, swarthy, somewhat of a gypsyish look.” He touched the left side of his neck. “He had a white puckered scare just visible here. I saw it once when he had his collar undone on a hot day. As for his origin, I believe he claimed to come from Padua.”

“I see.” Paul nodded. Just as I thought! “Well, sir, this man is known to me by reputation. He’s a rapscallion of the first water by the name of Bartolomeo Gundaker. He’s wanted in several states for espionage, theft – and murder.”

The Chancellor looked pale. Paul took him by the elbow and drew him aside, out of earshot of others of the faculty bustling nearby. “Naturally I can trust your discretion. A matter of great weight hangs upon Professor Knappenburger’s last works, dear Chancellor. It concerns a young lady’s fortune and future happiness.”

The Chancellor frowned and nodded. “Do go on.”

“Professor Knappenburger sent a document to this young woman, which we are sure was forged. I detected the hand of the wretched Gundaker in the work.”

The Chancellor’s flaccid features turned red. “Such infamy!”

“Indeed. I seek to rectify the damage inflicted upon the good lady, but to do so requires your assistance.”

“Name it, sir, and if it’s within our powers it shall be done. I wish to remove any stain that may besmirch our good name.” He shuddered. "To think we harbored such a reptile in our bosom!"

“I must view any and all documents remaining from Professor Knappenburger’s papers.”

The Chancellor looked troubled. “I would be happy to oblige, dear baron, but before I can allow you to view these papers I would require some means to verify your identity.”

Paul produced his warrant from the Margravate security bureau, along with a covering letter from Ursula. “I need not point out the young lady’s name must not be spoken of in connection with this matter.”

The Chancellor examined the letter. “Just so. These seem to be in order. If you’ll accompany me, we shall go to the late Professor’s chambers directly. I had them locked and sealed after his death, but it seems he has little in the way of family. It’s proving hard to locate a person who can claim his effects, and frankly, the university could use his chambers...”

“The next stop on my itinerary brings me close to Hetzenberg. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

The Chancellor led the way into the faculty chambers of residence and up a flight of stairs. Once they reached the late professor’s door on the top landing he wheezed to such an extent Paul feared he would expire on the spot. The Chancellor mopped his brow with a lace kerchief and grimaced. “I’m not accustomed to such exertion these days, alas.”

Paul bowed. “Pray take your time, sir.”

Eventually the Chancellor produced a set of keys and tried them in the lock. “I keep them with me at all times. Security, you know. Ah, here we are.”

He let them into the chamber. 

Paul looked around at the comfortable disorder that to his mind went hand-in-glove with academics and sighed inwardly. “I can see this will take some time...”

Liaisons amoureux et curieux

The now-quiet town of Lehmangraz.

“You’re the second invalid I’ve had to tend this month.” Ursula poured two glasses of white wine and handed one to Horatio.

He grinned and shifted his arm in the fresh sling she’d tied. “Who was the other lucky fellow?”

She sipped and eyed him. “Who says it was a man?”

“Oh, just a guess.”

“Well, it’s a lucky one. It was Konrad. He’s on the mend.”

“I’m glad. Nice fellow.”

Ursula snuggled up alongside him on the bed. From here she had a good view out the bay window. As commander of the gunboat flotilla Horatio had a choice room overlooking the naval yard and the river beyond. Parties of sailors, marines and yard workers moved here and there, clearing up the worst damage suffered in the raid. A miasma of wet burnt wood hung over all. She noticed the marines seemed to move with almost manic energy, as if eager to make up in some way for their deficiency in the recent fighting.

Horatio must have guessed her thoughts. “To be fair they couldn’t help it, my love. They were pressed into action half-trained and the enemy took them by surprise to boot. I think they’ll shape up given time and patience.”

“They should have enough of both. The army of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl took a beating, and Randstadt is under siege. I can’t see an occasion arising where the marines will be needed before the end of the war.”

“I wouldn’t speak too soon, dearest. The light infantry raid caught us all on the hop.”

Ursula set her glass aside and twisted around to press closer against his side. She gazed into his eyes and stroked his cheek. “But their mission ultimately failed – thanks to you.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, I’m quite the hero.” Draining his glass he put it on the bedside table and took her in his arms. “I missed you!”

“And I you.” They kissed, and she stroked his wounded arm. “Will you need to wear this for much longer?”

“Only a week, according to our surgeon. The rascal also wanted to bleed me, but I told him I’d already shed enough blood for the cause.”

She lowered her voice to a sultry tone. “It won’t... hinder you at all?”

His smile widened to a grin. “Not in the least...”

Matters had just become interesting when the sound of pounding feet on the staircase interrupted their idyll. Moments later somebody knocked on the door with a rapid tattoo. “Urgent dispatch from General Rauppen-Schlepper, sir!”

“Can’t it wait?” Horatio called peevishly.

“The courier needs a reply, sir.” The man sounded contrite. Ursula sensed he knew he intruded upon his commander at a delicate moment.

Horatio groaned. “Sorry, my love. I’ll have to take this.”

Ursula dived under the bedclothes. “Schieße! What timing!”

Horatio rolled off the bed, donned his dressing gown and answered the summons. He glanced at the message the man handed him. “I’ll be down directly.”

“Sir!” Footsteps clumped away. Horatio closed the door and returned to the bed. “It’s from the general, all right. It seems one Lieutenant Mary Amadeus has come up with a scheme to shorten the siege of Randstadt and we’re required to render assistance.”

“Mary A!” Ursula sat up and took the message from him. She scanned it. “Old Rauppen-Schlepper doesn’t say what scheme she has in mind of course, but knowing her it’ll be a corker! Ah..!” She read the remainder of the script. “He wants you to lose not a moment in setting out.”

“Such is the life of a naval officer.” He eyed her, his expression one of mixed lust and frustration. Eventually he groaned. “The General summons, and so I must obey. When we set sail, will you come with me?”

“Of course!” She pulled his head down and kissed him soundly. “From what I saw of her the Styx II has a nicely-appointed cabin. Once we’re under weigh, we can resume where we left off...”

* * * *

Paul Ehrgeiziger entered the inn, located on a busy road not far from the border with Hetzenberg. It was an establishment he’d frequented before on clandestine missions, and the innkeeper knew him. The woman nodded as Paul ordered an ale. She served him and leaned close to whisper as she slid his change across the damp surface of the bar counter. “The gentleman awaits you in the usual room, sir.”

Paul thanked her and made his way at a casual pace through to the rear of the near-empty saloon and up the stairs. They opened onto a passage off which were several guest rooms. Paul knocked on the third door and entered without waiting for an invitation. The man sitting by the window stood and bowed as Paul closed and bolted the door. “It’s good to see you, Paul. After what happened earlier this year, I feared all was up with you. Your message came as a great relief.”

Paul returned the bow. “It’s good to see you too, Artur. You look well.”

“As well as can be expected.” Artur sat. A portly fellow, the warmth of the day brought perspiration to his lofty brow, and he mopped it with a large lace handkerchief.

“Thank you for responding to my note. Others might not have welcomed my approach, given the circumstances of my... ah, departure from the Margrave’s service.”

“Oh, my dear fellow, to your ear alone can I sympathize! Our new lord and master – and possible patricide – is a sad burden for our poor state to bear. He has us running ragged in an attempt to find ways of winning this war. The army is licking its wounds and is unable to raise the siege of Randstadt. The Margrave won’t be told to cut his losses.” Artur grimaced. “The near-success of the raid on Lehmangraz filled him with new hope, more’s the pity.”

“I see.” Paul doffed his hat and sat down. “He’s not beyond resorting to skulduggery...”

Artur pursed his lips and frowned. “He’s not – but I have the feeling you refer to a particular incidence of skulduggery.”

Paul put on a bland smile. “You know me too well, old fellow.” He leaned closer. “It has been brought to my attention that someone is trying to stir dissent in the upper reaches of the Hetzenberg court.”

Artur nodded. A knowing glint appeared in his eye. “Ah, that. To be fair, that particular piece of business originated with the Dowager. She hired Bartolomeo Gundaker.”

Paul leaned back in his chair. “You surprise me!”

Artur chuckled. “Why so? You know the old woman. She’s as devious as a boatload of monkeys!”

“She has her own agenda, to be sure,” Paul murmured, thinking over his past experience with the Dowager. He produced the letter given him by Ursula. “Pray examine this.”

Artur donned a pair of pince-nez, took the letter and scanned it. After a few moments he looked up. “It’s plain Professor Knappenburger’s letter dashes any hope of this young woman marrying into the nobility.”

“So it would appear.”

“You suspect this to be a forgery?”

“It has been proven to be so.”

“Then yes, this is Gundaker’s work, I’m sure. It’s all of a piece with his methods.” Artur handed back the letter. “You have a sentimental attachment to this Mary Amadeus?”

Paul hesitated. “Rather, I have a sentimental attachment to her friend, and wish to return a favor.”

Artur nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Say no more.” He mopped his brow again. “Curse this heat! Well, I would advise you discover the late Professor’s real reasoning on the subject. Any halfway competent authority on law would be of help.” He pointed to the letter. “That is merely a delaying tactic on the Dowager’s part.”

“So I surmised.” Paul folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. “But to what end?”

Reviewing the lines

What with one thing and another I'd quite forgotten just how much I had in the way of painted figures for both the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg and the Margravate of Dunkeldorf-Pfuhl. The sum total leads me to see I require just one more infantry regiment to complete the Hetzenberg army, two cavalry regiments and an artillery battery to finish the forces of the Margrave.

I'm not going to finish the two armies overnight. Had I opted for 10mm as I first inclined I'd have finished them long ago. There are also more than enough things I need to spend money on in real life. However, the end is reachable, and one of these days I will field the armies in deadly rivalry across the wargames table. Until then - and possibly after - the adventures of Mary Amadeus and Ursula will continue!
 

  

In the siege lines, Randstadt

‘Sister? Sister!’

Mary Amadeus paused in her work and looked around. Nobody in the siege lines had ever called her by her old title. A man stood hesitating at the entrance to the gun park, a smile on his face as he looked at her. He held his hat in both hands and made a presentable figure in well-made traveling clothes.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked, walking over and then stopped in surprise. ‘Bruno!’

The former misérable broke into a grin as she recognized him. ‘I look rather different these days, sister!’

‘I should say you do!’ Mary said, walking over to shake hands. ‘But then, so do I. How are you?’

‘Well settled-in, thanks,’ he replied. ‘The archbishop gave me a place as a general handyman on one of his estates and my wife works in the scullery. It pays a decent wage and we’re treated well.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

Bruno bobbed his head. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Grafin Ursula.’

‘It’s the least we could do. I trust your family is well?’

‘All well.’ Bruno ducked quickly as the main siege battery let fly a deafening salvo. Mary hid a smile. She had long grown accustomed to the noise, albeit a trifle deaf. Bruno looked keenly at the distant shape of Randstadt’s ramparts. Dust from pulverized stone hung in the air as the salvo struck home. ‘I never thought I’d get so close to my old home again,’ he said. ‘Our hut used to be just over there.’

‘Any regrets?’ Mary asked.

He scowled and shook his head. ‘No. It was a horrible life.’ Glaring at the town he went on, ‘you can burn it all to the ground as far as I’m concerned!’

‘I don’t think we’ll go that far,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Come to my quarters and take a sup of wine.’

She led him to her tent. Her servant had turned back the fly to allow the interior to air in the warm April day, and bedding hung over a line nearby. The woman hurried to fetch a bottle of wine and goblets as Mary invited Bruno to sit with her at the camp table set up outside. ‘Not that I’m displeased to see you, old friend,’ she said as the servant poured the wine, ‘but I’m curious as to why you’re here.’

Bruno waited until the servant went about other business before leaning close. ‘We’ve all been reading about the siege and battles and so on,’ he said. ‘Last week I remembered something which might be useful. My wife and I talked it over and decided you should be told. ‘

‘You came instead of sending a letter?’ Mary asked. ‘It’s a long way from the archbishop’s estates.’
Bruno looked around. The camp bustled with activity but none paid them any attention. ‘We thought it too sensitive,’ he said, leaning close.

‘Now I’m really curious!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What have you to share?’

Bruno gestured toward the distant gun line. ‘There’s a way into the town from outside. A way few know of.’ He leaned closer. ‘A secret way.’

‘A secret way.’ Mary gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean a secret passage?’

‘Not a man-made one, sister.’ Bruno sat back. ‘They’re more in the nature of caves under the town. They run back from the river bluffs.’

‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘How do you know of them?’

Bruno sipped his wine. ‘Two years ago I worked on the docks. A pal of mine fell into the river and got swept away. He couldn’t swim. I can only dog paddle a bit but I grabbed a keg and jumped in after him. I soon caught him but we were carried downstream about a quarter mile beyond the walls. Somehow I managed to push against the flow and guide us to the bank. It’s rocky there, with plenty of hand and footholds. I got us ashore and made sure my pal was safe, then looked around.’
     ‘There’s an overhang. I couldn’t see any way up from the river, but I could see a small cave opening screened by bushes a few feet above where we perched. I doubt it can be seen at all from the river unless a boat gets up close to the bank. My pal seemed half-dead and wasn’t able to move with the fright he’d gotten, so I climbed up and took a closer look at the cave.’ He shrugged and looked grim for a moment. ‘There seemed no hurry to send a boat after us from the docks. After all, we were just a couple of laborers.’
     ‘The opening was big enough for me to wriggle through and so I did. After a few yards I found a place big enough to stand in.’ He struck the ground with his boot heel. ‘There’s a whole series of tunnels and caves under this soil.’

Mary felt her pulse quicken as possibilities flowed through her mind. ‘You explored them?’

‘I explored a few later. Not at that time. My pal needed help and I wanted to be with him when the rescue boat arrived and took us back to town. I told no one but my wife of my find. It took a few days but I went back in secret with rope and a lantern. Those caves run for quite a way. One heads toward the town and under the walls.’

‘You know this for sure?’

‘Yes.’ Bruno grinned, his teeth brown and jagged. ‘I found a disused well shaft sunk into a small water-filled cave. It took some doing but I climbed up to the top. It’s covered with planks and rubble, but I saw enough through the gaps to make out a familiar neighborhood.’

Mary thought for a moment then stood. ‘Bruno, you need to come with me. The general should hear this!’

In Seinfeld

Bartolomeo Gundaker threaded his way through the crowds packing the market square. Although a war raged it occurred many miles away and the battle lines were currently stable. The good folk of Seinfeld went about their everyday business in the bright sunshine with little apparent concern for powers and politics. Nor should they, Gundaker thought. What concern is it of theirs what their betters do? Smells, of goods and humanity in their wide variety assaulted his nose and he tried not to show his distaste as he walked. He passed from the square into a narrow side road, feeling relief at escaping the press even though he regretted having to leave the sunlight. This damn country is never warm enough!

A hundred yards along the narrow way divided, the V shaped peninsula formed by the two lanes occupied by a tall half-timbered building in the local style. Bartolomeo used his field craft to ensure he’d not been followed then ducked into the doorway and pulled the bell handle. Almost instantly his ring was answered by a servant, who showed him up a set of wooden stairs to a small chamber overlooking the lane down which he’d come.

A handsome woman of middling years and plain but finely-wrought clothing sat there by the window, peacefully engaged in embroidery. Two large mastiffs lay on the plain floorboards, their black eyes fixed firmly on him. Their noses twitched as they took in his scent. The musty scent of the dogs made Bartolomeo’s nose also twitch in irritation but he had no recourse but to endure the reek. He knew better than to annoy the woman who awaited him. She didn’t speak as he entered, merely raising her head from her sewing to look Bartolomeo in the eye. Her eyebrow rose in interrogation.

“The Professore is dead,” Bartolomeo began without preamble. “I had the opportunity to substitute a forged letter for one written by him in reply to an inquiry by the Grafin Ursula. She sought to discover the validity of any marriage prospects between her friend and the heir to the Hetzenberg throne. It appeared a good means to sow discord in your enemy’s hierarchy. I forged the reply to the negative before killing the professore by cunning poison.”

The woman studied her embroidery. From where he stood by the door it appeared to Bartolomeo to be some kind of sampler. After a moment she nodded, and a fine hand gestured for him to continue. “From all I have learned the Graf Phillip is quite devoted to Fraulein Mary Amadeus. I intend to enter the Hetzenberg siege lines disguised as a visiting military observer and gain the confidence of the Graf. When opportunity presents itself I shall place forged correspondence of a most intimate nature in the quarters of both the Graf and Fraulein Amadeus. An anonymous tip-off to the Grand Duke will uncover this reprehensible communication, resulting in a crisis between father and son.”

The woman laid her embroidery in her lap and gazed out the window for several minutes. Bartolomeo waited in silence, very much aware the huge dogs’ eyes had not left him for an instant.

“It is a good plan, Herr Gundaker,” the woman said eventually. For the first time she met his eyes and he fought the impulse to step back, so cold and calculating were they. She gestured to a satchel which lay upon a stool a few feet to his right. “Your payment is in there. The rest you shall receive one discord has been sown in the enemy’s command. That is all.”

Bartolomeo bowed, and sidestepped to pick up the satchel. The dogs followed his movements. One growled; the sound seemed to rise from the basement. Bartolomeo swallowed and carefully stepped back to the doorway, the satchel making a nice heavy weight in his hand. “Farewell, lady. Until next time.”

The woman nodded, her attention focusing on the embroidery once more. Bartolomeo backed out of the room and found the servant waiting silently to escort him from the premises. He exited by the same door he’d come in by, and walked back to the market place.

*
The Dowager Margrafin watched him go from her window. Her servant entered the room. “Prepare for my departure to Schwebende Mühe, Walter,” she said. “We shall be leaving within the hour.”

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! The last day of the old year closed with a whoosh. A tornado touched down about a mile west of us a little after noon and tore up a city block's worth of damage. No-one was killed, thankfully; some minor injuries is all, but a number of houses were destroyed and a church roof torn off. We were lucky and had nothing more than a strong wind and heavy rain for a spell. Let's spare a moment of sympathy for those who suffered and had their celebrations spoiled, and hope the New Year is less dramatic!

On a more pleasant note, the manuscript of my novel Rebel Hearts has just been accepted by eXstasy Books! Updates as they happen can be found over at my website.

*

So, the New Year is less than a day old here in the United States. What of the future, gaming-wise?

I hope to complete the army of the Margraf of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl, which lacks two cavalry regiments and its artillery. I do have a couple of guns and crew, which I'll paint when I find time. The main problem is most of my collection is still in the UK, and it costs a wheelbarrow full of cash to mail anything of any weight across the Pond. Add to that the fact that no less than three parcels mailed to me from the UK failed to arrive in the last year, and you can see my concern. Hopefully I'll find some way around the problem.

My Africa Station project is advancing slowly. I have found inspiration for a couple of useful buildings, which I'll make one of these days. Writing-wise, I aim to have the next volume of the Chronicles out within a couple months, plus some new adventures of Mary Amadeus, et al. Watch this space...

The Rumtopft Dragoons on parade

Presenting Hetzenberg Dragoon Regiment 1, Rumtopft. These fellows are fresh off the painting block, all varnished with Pledge/Klear/Future. I decided to leave them somewhat shiny as I like the effect.

At the moment I have no plans to expand the Grand Duchy's army beyond this regiment, two more of line infantry (IR 3 Brabenachel and IR 4 Kranke), and a light infantry battalion. The Margraf's army needs a two-regiment cavalry brigade, two batteries of artillery and perhaps another regiment of foot. All the above with time and funds permitting...

On the painting block - the Rumtopft Dragoons

On now to the next project on my painting block - the Rumtopft Dragoon Regiment. These stalwart lads covered themselves in glory during the Battle of Viehdorf, where they earned battle honors by defeating the Margraf of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl's cavalry.

Of course for that action they were represented in proxy, through Will's good offices. I thought it high time I painted the regiment and got them on strength, using the RSM95 figures bought for me by my lady wife last Xmas.

The above image gives an idea of what I'm aiming for. Since the regiment won battle honors they are allowed to wear a cockade in the Hetzenberg national colors. The cockade design later became the basis for the roundel displayed on the Grand Duchy's aircraft during WW1, but that's another story...

Now, I'm no great enthusiast for painting cavalry. Something about the acres of horseflesh that needs covering in pigment vaguely depresses me! Even so, I find my painting block makes the chore easier. I've secured the riders to their mounts using super/crazy glue, and placed the musketoons in their hands the same way. Painting the whole figure as one unit will make things easier still - I hope! Next up is the black undercoat, a mix of Vallejo black and a drop or two from the Pledge bottle, and I'm away. Watch this space...

The Guns of July

As promised, some shots of the Grand Duchy of Hetzenberg's artillery arm. On the left we have the Line battery of 6-pounders; on the right the heavier metal of the Guard with their 12-pounders. All figures and models are RSM95 by Dayton Painting Consortium.

Normally under the Shako rules I'd mount the guns and crew on rectangular bases. In this instance I may set them up on old CDs, which will give ample space to fit the crew around the gun. My thought is that a gun crew caught by infantry or cavalry is in a world of hurt anyway; having a rectangular base matching the frontage of the other arms isn't going to make a whit of difference. Any thoughts and opinions? Please leave a comment!

Ursula and the Baron

“Such a charming town,” Paul Ehrgeiziger remarked to his companion as they strolled along the promenade.

“Isn’t it?” Lady Amelia sighed, clinging to his arm as she gazed out over the lake. “The air here is so very refreshing.”

The summer season was getting into its stride. Bolschen thronged with the wealthy and merely well-to-do, come to take the air and sample the restorative waters of the spa. The promenade made a gay and colorful picture as folks took constitutional walks and the chance to show off their finery.

Paul felt better than he’d done for many months. Indeed, years, he thought. The wound suffered in the messy naval engagement on the river had healed and troubled him no more. He glanced at Lady Amelia and met her warm smile with one of his own. And with a charming companion to help me forget all my previous woes! What could be finer?

“There is a particularly beautiful young lady,” Amelia remarked, gesturing along the promenade with a discrete tilt of her head. “Yet I wonder why she walks unaccompanied?”

Paul glanced in the direction Amelia indicated. His heart lurched. Only long habit and experience in the school of espionage saved him from stumbling in shock. Dear God! Ursula!

The young woman wore a rich day dress in dark green, trimmed with lace and fine silk, along with a matching be-ribboned straw hat with a broad brim. A lacy parasol twirled in her hands in an insouciant manner as she strolled toward them. Paul saw she had him fixed firmly in her gaze.

“It appears she’s coming this way,” Amelia murmured. “Do you know her?” The undertones in her voice spoke of doubt and suspicion.

Paul cleared his throat. “I have that honor. She is the Grafin Ursula von Hetzenberg-Pfalb, niece of the Grand Duke.”

“The Grafin!” Amelia exclaimed. “I’ve heard much about her. Is she truly as… reckless as they say?”

“Bold would be a better description, my dear,” he said softly, for Ursula had closed the distance between them. Paul bowed and Amelia curtseyed. “My dear Grafin, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, Herr Baron,” Ursula replied.

“Allow me to present Lady Amelia Davenport, an English friend of mine, visiting this town for the waters.”

The women exchanged courteous nods. “Charmed, I’m sure,” Ursula murmured. “Herr Baron, I trust I see you recovered from your wound?”

“Fully so, Excellency. The spa waters are most restorative.” He smiled, although the pain in his heart still fluttered. “I must congratulate you on your wedding. Is your husband here with you?”

“Thank you, and no; Horatio is elsewhere, on duty.”

Paul sighed inwardly. Leading his devilish gunboats against my nation, no doubt.

“I wish to consult you on a matter of some delicacy, Herr Baron,” Ursula went on, glancing at Amelia. “It concerns two friends of mine.”

Paul blinked in surprise. Lady Amelia cast a curious glance at him. “I shall walk a little further, to the bandstand on the point, and leave you to your discussion in peace.”

“Thank you, Lady Amelia,” Ursula said. “I hope not to trouble the Baron very long.”

As Amelia strolled away, Ursula turned to Paul. “I won’t beat around the bush, Herr Baron. The future happiness of my friends may well depend on your advice.”

He spread his hands. “I am your servant, madam. Command me.”

Ursula extracted two documents from a fold in her dress. “You remember Mary Amadeus, of course.

“That’s a rhetorical question,” Paul smiled. “How could anyone forget her?”

Ursula chuckled then grew serious. “Quite! She and my cousin Philip are very much in love.”

“Ah.” Paul pursed his lips. “I see.”

“You know the kind of problems that would create. Neither of them wished to follow the traditional route of Mary becoming Philip’s mistress. I sought to remedy the situation with some legal advice from Professor Knappenberger.” She passed Paul a letter. “This is what came in return.”

Paul scanned the writing then examined it in closer detail. “There seems little doubt here. Your friend and your cousin cannot marry.”

“I think there’s plenty of doubt, Herr Baron”

“Professor Knappenberger’s legal acumen was known throughout Europe. If he stated a point, is there not reason to think he would be right in his judgment?”

“Normally, yes. In this case, no,” Ursula said crisply. “Please cast your eye over this.” She handed Paul the second document.

He examined it and furrowed his brow. “This is a deed to land near your capital?”

“The content isn’t important,” Ursula said, waving a hand. “What’s relevant is the fact it’s the most recent authenticated document I could find written by Professor Knappenberger before he left the Duchy.”

Paul looked closely at it then re-examined the letter. After a minute he nodded. Amid the tangle of emotions he felt professional curiosity rising once more. “Hmm! This letter’s a forgery. Clever, subtle work, but a forgery nevertheless.” He looked up and gazed at her for a long moment. “This implies Professor Knappenberger’s legal opinion was other than stated here.”

Ursula sighed. “That’s my opinion also. Someone is attempting to prevent my friends from marrying; but who, and why?”

Paul handed back the documents. “There is a war on between my nation and yours. I’m of the opinion the mysterious someone is seeking to cause disharmony at the highest levels in your government for the purpose of impeding Hetzenberg’s prosecution of the war.”

Ursula stared at him, and he felt struck anew by the pangs of unrequited love. Beyond her in the middle distance he could see Lady Amelia strolling near the bandstand. Every now and then her gaze would come his way. He sighed heavily.

“It’s a pretty low, underhanded scheme to enact, don’t you think?” Ursula said.

“Did not Shakespeare say all’s fair in love and war?”

“No, that quote is from John Lyly’s work Euphues.” Ursula said distantly as she appeared to be thinking hard. “He was a slightly earlier playwright than Shakespeare. He said the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.” Paul blinked. “I shall have to present this evidence to my uncle the Grand Duke,” Ursula went on. “If nothing else it’ll cast doubt and uncertainty over any ban against Mary and Philip marrying.”

“I think I recognize the hand of the forger,” Paul said slowly.

Ursula cocked her head. “You do?”

“I believe so. It’s a man by the name of Bartolomeo Gundaker, a freelance agent for hire to the courts of Europe.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Few do. He’s a low-level wretch with a propensity for murder.” Paul grimaced with distaste. “All that can be said in his favor is that he’s good at what he does.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Herr Baron, but would Dunkeldorf-Pfühl not employ its own agents for espionage work?”

“In the normal course of things, yes.” Paul frowned. “I’m inclined to believe the murder of Professor Knappenberger and the forgery were commissioned by someone operating outside the normal bounds of my bureau.”

“Would you look into the matter for me?” Paul looked at her askance. Ursula all but batted her eyelashes. “I would consider it an immense favor, for the sake of my friends’ happiness.”

He opened his mouth to reply when a distant commotion drew their attention. An excited buzz flowed along the promenade, moving as fast as feet would carry it as people dashed from one group to another. “Why, what’s amiss?” Ursula exclaimed.

“There’s been a battle!” someone gasped, running along the promenade. “The enemy attacked the gunboat base at Lehmangraz!”

“Oh schieße! Horatio’s there!” Ursula cried.

“Go, Ursula!” Paul said urgently, touching her arm. Even in the midst of the crisis he felt a tingle at just touching her so. “I shall find out what I can. You have my word. Now go find your husband!”

Ursula lifted her skirts and hurried away, all but running back the way she’d come. Lady Amelia walked up to him. “Paul? I heard there’s been a battle?”

“Yes. It seems forces from Dunkeldorf-Pfühl attacked the Hetzenberg naval base, and the Grafin’s husband may have been involved.”

She laid a consoling hand on his arm. “It must be so very difficult, living in the midst of a nation with whom yours is at war.”

He laid his hand over Amelia’s and gave her a wan smile. “You have no idea,” he said, casting a glance at Ursula’s retreating figure.

Upcoming skirmish

David Dugas has stepped up and volunteered to fight out the skirmish at Lehmangraz. He anticipates gaming the action within the next few weeks, and it's shaping up to be quite an action! Full report here when it comes in. My thanks also to Steve, and Jeffrey who also volunteered.

A proxy skirmish?

Gentlemen, would anyone be interested in fighting a proxy skirmish for me? A situation has arisen where light forces of Hetzenberg and Dunkeldorf-Pfühl have clashed during a raid far from the main battle front. In terms of numbers the forces concerned amount to no more than three companies, one of which is militia, and a representation of four gunboats. A bit of a clue, there!

It's a scenario that could have a sizable impact on the war - and certain characters featured in the Chronicles. The results will be written up and posted on my blog, and published later in the third volume of the Chronicles with a full acknowledgement for the player(s) concerned. First come, first served.

Back from an excellent weekend

My wife and I are back in town after she took part in the regional Sweet Adelines contest up in Peoria, Illinois. Her chorus, The River Blenders of Chesterfield, MO won! They go through to the international finals to be held in Houston, Texas next year. It couldn't happen to a nicer band of ladies!

We're kinda excited!

On the wargaming front I'm busy with a new commission to paint some more Plains Wars figures for a fellow gamer. I find myself casting longing glances at the Rumtopft Dragoons and Hetzenberg artillery languishing in storage, waiting for me to clear the painting decks and get cracking on them. Hopefully, I'll be able to do something with them next month. In the meantime, I'm working on the next post in the Chronicles. As always, watch this space...

Into the night

The company of Sobelsburg Jager swam across the Eisenwasser in the dead of night. Two miles upstream stood the small town of Wentwitz. Almost of one mind the company decided to avoid going anywhere near the scene of their rough handling by the Hetzenberg army and riverine flotilla. Enemy troops still patrolled the area, but the agent had said the riverbank here seemed unwatched.

Lieutenant Weismuller led the way across with a powerful over arm crawl, towing a sealed keg behind him by means of a length of yarn. It contained a dark lantern and a tinderbox, along with a dry white kerchief and spare cartridges for his firelock Experience had taught him long ago to be prepared for every eventuality.

Not far behind Private Träger swam like a trout. Kleiner’s massive frame bulled through the water in the manner of a ship of the line, raising a white wake and earning a hissed rebuke from the Old Man. “Yes sergeant, sorry sergeant,” Kleiner burbled, water slapping in his face. The Old Man raised his eyes to heaven and wondered quite what he’d done to deserve to be stuck with such a lumbering brute.

Before long the first swimmers entered the reed beds and set their feet down on the muddy bank. Drawing bayonets blackened with soot and lamp-black, they crept forward, eyes searching the darkness intently for signs of the enemy. The small sounds of night creatures filled the air. An owl hooted somewhere in a copse of trees close to the bank. Waving their fellows on the lead jagers climbed the low rise into the water meadow.

Lieutenant Weismuller shook water out of his ears and gestured to the senior NCOs to gather around. He pitched his voice low. “Our contact should be here. Ensure the men have unloaded firelocks; I don’t want anything giving the alarm, do you understand?” A chorus of assent showed they did. “Good, return to your men.”

“Sir!” a jager cried softly, and pointed toward the copse. A light flickered there, once, twice, once, twice more. The owl had fallen silent.

“That’s the signal. Stand easy, men.” Weismuller unsealed the keg and took out the kerchief. He waved it in the direction of the light, knowing the white cloth would be easily visible in the starlight. The light flickered once then twice in response and went out. Moments later a man could be seen emerging from the darkness under the trees. Stuffing the kerchief into a pocket Weismuller went forward to greet him.

“You’re late,” the man said gruffly.

“And you’re impatient, but this is getting us nowhere.” Weismuller couldn’t make out the man’s features then realized the lower half of his face was swathed in a black scarf. “Is the way clear?”

“Yes. There’s a farm track leading out of this meadow fifty paces in that direction.” The man gestured. “The high road’s half a mile further along. Cross that and head roughly northwest, you’ll come to the wooded hills on the other side of the valley. Skirt around those, keeping northwest for ten miles. You’ll come to a burnt-out windmill. When you reach that, head north. Your target lies nine miles further on.” He drew a folded sheet of paper out of his cloak and passed it to Weismuller. “Here’s the best plan I could obtain of your objective. It’s not well guarded. Good luck.”

Without another word the man walked away, swinging his lantern, heading north along the edge of the meadow. Weismuller watched him go and sighed inwardly. I hate skulking around like this. Give me an honest ambush any day of the week.

He clapped his hands softly. “All right, let’s get going. First platoon, out front, form skirmish order. You others, form on me. Keep your eyes peeled! Move out.”

“What’re we doin’ here anyway?” Kleiner rumbled.

“We’re on a secret mission, is what,” Träger whispered with a sniff. "Or 'ave you forgotten?"

“And you two will find my not-so-secret boot up your butts if you don’t shut it!” the Old Man snarled right behind them. “Now face front and march!”

Both men stiffened and did as they were told.

The owl watched the line of humans until they passed out of sight. If it could sigh, it would have done so. Gradually the noise of human movement faded, and the small scurrying creatures began to emerge from hiding. The owl forgot the intruders and turned its mind back to the matter of hunting.

In the siege lines.

Colonel Wilhelm Schmutzgräber cursed as a young sapper dropped his end of a fascine. “Pick it up, lad! The enemy won’t dawdle if they see you in their sights!”

As if on cue the Neuburg battery fired, blossoms of yellow fire erupting all along the distant embrasures. Lieutenant Mary Amadeus ducked low in the trench as the shot howled overhead. A gabion shuddered and slipped under the impact of a shrewdly-aimed shot. Before the shriek and howl of the salvo faded sappers were already pushing the huge earth-filled basket back into place.

Schmutzgräber slapped his tricorn against his arm to rid it of dust and dirt. He jammed the battered hat back on his head and regarded Mary with calm detachment. “How’re you bearing up, girl?” he asked, pitching his voice low so only she could hear it.

“Well enough, Colonel.” Even though their acquaintance only measured days, she already liked the lanky engineering officer, and could tolerate his use of the word girl in addressing her. “How long will it be before the battery is ready, sir?”

“You don’t like being under fire without the chance to pay the enemy back for his favors.” Schmutzgräber nodded with a glint on his eye. “A day, no more.”

“Good.”

He rubbed his jaw. “You’ll command the new battery, I collect?”

“I will.”

“And what of His Excellency, the Graf?”

“Philip will – uh, he’ll be in overall command of the siege guns.”

Schmutzgräber nodded again. “Good. Between the two of you they’ll be in safe hands.”

Mary felt her face grow warm as she blushed at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

The Neuburg battery fired again. They ducked lower in the trench as the shot hummed and whistled overhead. A sound like a butcher’s cleaver crunching into a joint came from close by. Mary clapped her hand to her hat and stared around. The clumsy young sapper now lay on the reverse face of the trench, minus his head. Bile rose in her throat and she turned aside and retched.

A firm hand took her by the shoulder and she felt herself being led along the communication trench, away from the first parallel. “Go back to the artillery park, lieutenant,” Schmutzgräber said kindly. “We’ll call you when we’re ready for your guns.”

Mary felt a mixture of shame and relief. The shame began to burn hotter when she saw the pity and even contempt in the eyes and faces of the men she passed. I know what you’re thinking, she thought as she headed for the park. Warfare is no place for a woman. Well, I’ll show you!

Philip was standing outside the tent he’d had erected for his use when visiting the artillery park. His place was properly with the headquarters, but he spent an inordinate amount of time around the new siege guns. Mary’s heart gave a pleasant lurch in her breast as she saw him. The smile he gave her filled her world.

That smile slipped somewhat when he looked closely at her. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

“A casualty. In the trench. A young man lost his life.” She closed her eyes and the image of his corpse rose again in her mind’s eye.

“Come inside, please.” His voice sounded so gentle.

She preceded him into the tent. The aroma of canvas, coffee and a plate of fried bacon and potatoes filled the space. Oddly, the combination of scents contrived to settle her queasy stomach.

Philip dropped the canvas fly and took her into his arms. “You’re worried about how you’ll appear to the men.”

“You know me so well,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest.

“I like to think that. I’d like to know much more about you, dearest Mary.”

She managed a smile. “One day.”

“One day.” His smile returned but his expression took on a serious mien. “You’re a capable officer of my uncle’s army. You’re the first of what I’m sure will be many women who’ll follow a military calling. It’s easy to say be strong, but much harder to do.” A tear trickled down her cheek. Philip wiped it away tenderly with his thumb. “It’s a certainty that the vast majority of the men in the siege lines are terrified. Death lies around every corner of every trench, and here in the camps. It lies in wait for us all after our allotted span. The trick is not to show your fear.”

“Are you afraid, Philip?” she asked. “You seem so calm.”

“I’m petrified!” He chuckled ruefully. “Bullet or cannonball or disease cares not for rank or title. As I said, the trick is not to show your fear.”

“Then I shall be calm, too.” I do feel so much better!

“That’s the spirit.” He took her face between the palms of his hand and kissed her. “You’ll be fine. Do your duty and all will be well.”

“I’m sure.”

“Have you heard from Ursula?” he asked, turning to the camp table and pouring two tankards of coffee.

Thankful for the chance to think of more pleasant things Mary sat on one of the folding stools. “I had a letter last night. She and Horatio reached Lehmangraz three days ago. He’s to oversee the repairs to the flotilla and the construction of a new vessel to replace the Styx.”

Philip handed her a tankard. “I hope it won’t take too long. The gunboats will be needed to threaten Randstadt from the river.”

“The new boat will be larger, and broader in the beam. She’s to carry two twenty-four pounders in the bows.”

“Will she carry a mortar?”

Mary sipped her coffee, savoring the brew as it overcame the lingering taste of bile in her mouth and throat. “I think there’s provision for a howitzer.”

Philip shook his head. “A howitzer won’t answer in a siege. The ten inch mortars the other boats carry would be far more effective.”

“I agree. Perhaps we could do something with rockets…”

She let the thought hang in the air. Philip stared into space, his tankard halfway to his lips. “Hmm!”

A polite cough sounded beyond the tent fly. “Your Excellency?”

Philip glanced in the direction of the voice. “Yes, Gideon?”

“A communication has arrived from the Grand Duke, sir. He requires the presence of yourself and Lieutenant Amadeus at once.”

With a puzzled look Philip opened the fly. His aide clicked his heels and came to attention, presenting the message with clean aplomb. Philip read it and looked blank. “It seems we’re wanted at headquarters, my… ah, lieutenant. My father is particularly insistent you should accompany me.”

Mary stood and tugged the hem of her coat straight. Her heart began to pound as a nameless dread stole through her. This can’t be good news…

Headquarters had been set up in an inn back along the road to Kimmelsbrücke. They rode there together and were shown up to the Ducal suite. Grand Duke Karl waited for them, his Chancellor Count Ostenberg by his side. The Duke turned from gazing out the window at the passing scene as they entered. “Good morning, Philip, Lieutenant Amadeus.” They responded. Mary took care not to stare questioningly at her sovereign.

“We have received word that Dr. Knappenburger, guest Professor of International Law at the University of Bearstein, has died.”

“I remember Dr. Knappenburger,” Philip said, sounding puzzled. “He was a most erudite gentleman.”

“It appears the Professor suffered an apoplexy. We do not know for sure. His servant decamped with a sum of money and a number of the Professor’s personal effects. That, however, is beside the point.” Duke Karl’s expression was cold but Mary sensed he was fuming inside. “Apart from being an expert in international law, Dr. Knappenburger also served the Grand Duchy as a legal advisor.”

He crossed to the table and picket up a document. “This was found among the late Professor’s effects. It appears he was working on the case just before he died. I’d like both of you to give an explanation for it.” He set the document on the table where they could read it.

Philip stooped to examine it. Mary followed suit and felt the blood drain from her face as the words sprang out at her. “Oh no!”

With reference to your inquiry as to the validity of a marriage between your cousin Graf Philip von Hetzenberg and a woman of common birth, to whit, one Mary Amadeus.

I’m afraid it is entirely out of the question. Laws on the statute books governing Ducal marriages dating back over two hundred years clearly forbid such a formal union. Matters of breeding and bloodline have to be preserved for the sake of stability in the realm. However, there is no legality preventing the relationship developing along more, shall we say, informal lines.

I remain, Grafin, your humble, obedient servant, I. Knappenburger.

Karl gestured at the document. “It seems my niece is meddling in affairs that do not properly concern her. Even so, Professor Knappenburger’s response to her question is quite clear.” His gaze bored into them. “You are not permitted to marry!”

* * *

As an aside, a friend of mine in England has asked for my help in gathering uniform and organization info connected to the Revolutionary War/War of Independence. There seems to be a dearth of such in the UK. Can anyone point me in the direction of some useful material on the war?

A moment of peace and quiet

“It’s not a bad life.”

Private Träger looked up from cleaning his musket. “What are you talking about?”

Kleiner shrugged. He sprawled on the ground in the sunshine, hands behind his head, gazing peacefully up at the passing clouds; the very picture of indolence. “What I’m saying is, it could be a lot worse.” Without getting up he gestured around them at the hill and the farm in the dell below. “This is a nice billet, no?”

Träger screwed up his nose. Being of a naturally vinegary disposition he was inclined to find fault in anything, however pleasant. In this case he found it hard to disagree, especially when Ingrid, the farmer’s eldest daughter came into view down by the stream, a basket of laundry balanced on her hip. He gazed thoughtfully at her buxom form, the coquettish smile she sent in his direction. “’S not bad, I suppose.”

Kleiner raised his head, followed the direction of his comrade’s gaze and grinned. “Yeah, ‘snot bad, not bad at all.”

“I saw her first!”

“Did not!” Kleiner rolled onto one elbow the better to follow the sway of Ingrid’s hips until she disappeared into the farmyard. “Anyway, you still stink of powder smoke. A fellow’s got to be fresher than that to attract the likes o’ her.”

“Fresh? A bit of powder smoke would make a nice change for a girl who smells nothing but cow shit all day – gah!” Moments after Ingrid passed from sight another, far less welcome sight appeared in the arched gateway to the farm. “Heads up! It’s the Old Man!”

“Oh, fu…” Kleiner scrambled to his feet, groping for musket and cleaning gear as he did so. It was too late; the Old Man had seen them.

Both men stood and waited as the sergeant climbed the gentle slope, his dark eyes glittering with the special malice reserved for senior NCO’s. He came to a stop in front of them, and looked them over with evident displeasure. “You’re a couple of lazy dogs, hiding away up here! If you two don’t sharpen up, I’ll kick you so bleedin’ high when you come down your uniforms will be out of date!”

“Yessergeant!” they chorused, stiffening to attention.

But the Old Man seemed disinclined to push the matter. He let them stew, his hands on his hips as he looked them over. Finally, with a sniff of disdain, he got to the point. “Get down to the billet and gather your stuff. We’re moving up.”

“What?” Träger exclaimed. “Where to, sarge?”

The Old Man gave a sour grin. “The war misses us so much it’s got a little treat in store.” Their hearts began to sink. “There’s a special operation forming up. We’re going back into the Grand Duchy.”

“Oh, bleedin’ ‘ell!” Kleiner groaned.

“Enough of that! If you’d wanted a quiet life you should’ve avoided the draft.” The Old Man jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the farm. “Get your stuff and parade in the yard. There’ll be no bugle calls. This is going to be quick and quiet, understand?”

“Yes, sarge.”

He nodded, spun on his heel and walked away down the slope. Kleiner gazed mournfully after him. Träger sighed. “No peace for the wicked, and that’s us.”

* * *

A short post today, as certain computer problems have to be addressed. Meanwhile, I've noticed that Wargamesminis has Dixon's miniatures on sale at around 75c each. I'm heading over to browse and buy in a while. The call of shiny new metal figures is strong today...