"Maximilian has no intention of breaking up Bavaria into something that resembles the absurd little Saxonies and Anhalts. Primogeniture was put in force in 1506. There hasn't been an independent territory for a Bavarian cadet line since Kunigunde of Austria forced her older son to create one for her younger son in 1516, no matter what their father's will said. That was more than a century ago. And Ludwig X had the grace not to marry."
"Don't ever dream that I don't know what she asked the Estates, then. 'Isn't my younger son as nobly born as his brother? Didn't I bring him forth from the same womb, set from the same seed?' The Estates, the Landtag, agreed with her. They awarded him a third of the duchy. You are Maximilian's full brother: same womb, same seed. What is it that brings him to rule and you to be no more than any one of the others on his council-men who have no more nobility than can be garnered by attending a university and getting a law degree?"
"Power," Albrecht answered tersely. "Unified, Bavaria is a strong force within the empire. Break it up, and each part will be no more than, say, one of the pieces of Baden or of Hesse."
"Power," said Mechthilde. "Do not doubt for one moment that this means that our sons will have none."
They looked at one another.
Part II
March, 1634
In a Thousand Valleys,
Far and Wide
Chapter 6
Commoditas Maxima
Vienna, Austria
Maria Anna had not been a party to the discussions in her father's council. Why would she have been? She smiled a little. Was salt ever a party to discussions about tariffs? Did anyone tell a case of wine or bale of silk what the seller and buyer were planning?
She couldn't sit down. There weren't any chairs in the anteroom. Even if there had been, it would be contrary to protocol for her to sit on one of them. She ran her rosary through her fingers. That was acceptable etiquette. Twisting her fingers would not be acceptable. In any case, she wasn't willing to have her ladies-in-waiting observe her uncertainty.
She already knew it would be Bavaria. No one had told her so, but she had observed which diplomats were spending the most time with her father and his advisers. Nothing was happening in the war right now, nor was planned to happen in the war next summer, that would require so much consultation with Uncle Max as head of the Catholic League. So she knew, but not quite in the same way that she would know very soon.
She had not been a party to the negotiations, either. Did it occur to anyone that sheep should be consulted as to their preference when it came to transhumance pasturing that crossed the borders of kingdoms?
She told herself firmly that everything would be well. Well enough. As well as a reasonable person could expect.
Ten Ave Marias. Then, for each large bead, instead of a Pater Noster, count a blessing.
First blessing. Bavaria was Catholic. She was not being sent to marry a heretic and live in a heretical country, as had happened to Henrietta Maria of France. Her husband's subjects would not hate her for her faith. Nor martyr her for it, although, of course, if it proved to be necessary, she would have the duty to glory in martyrdom. Overall, though, she would prefer not to be a martyr. At least not until she was older. Quite a bit older. In any case, it did not now seem that it would be necessary.
Second blessing. She knew from the up-time encyclopedias that she had, in that other world, borne sons. Heirs for the duchy. She was not barren. The marriage would be fruitful. She would not be scorned as a sterile wife. Not, at least, if things occurred in the same way. Of course, the physicians would have ascertained, before the negotiations began, that Uncle Max was still capable of copulation. That wasn't something that could be assumed when a man was sixty years old. He would be sixty-one in a couple of months. A year older than her mother, his sister, would have been if she had not died almost twenty years ago.
She glanced up from the rosary. Dona Mencia was watching her, a concerned expression on her face. Maria Anna smiled reassuringly.
Third blessing. She paused, trying to bring a third blessing to mind.
The door to the council chamber opened. She looked up, expecting to be summoned into the presence of Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor and her papa.
It was not the doorman, however. Father Lamormaini emerged, briefly greeted her, Dona Mencia, and the younger ladies-in-waiting, and walked away.
She returned to her rosary. Third blessing. She had not died in childbirth. Or, maybe, she would not die in childbirth? These strange verb tenses. Thanks to this strange miracle of Grantville, she was going-would go?-into marriage knowing that she was capable of giving life to a son without sacrificing her own. This was a great comfort and source of confidence. Something that most prospective brides could not know. Her fingers paused a moment while her busy mind focused on the realities of life. Unless the prospective brides were widows with children, of course. Many brides were widows with children.
Fourth blessing. She drew a deep breath. Uncle Max was sixty years old. Of course, the encyclopedias said that he had lived another eighteen years in that other world of God's creation. But eighteen years was not so bad. In eighteen years she would be in her forties. In her prime. Ready to assume her responsibilities as an adult member of the Habsburg family.
Father Lamormaini returned and re-entered the council chamber. She smiled again, bending her face down so that none of her maids-in-waiting would notice the irreverence. Even Jesuits were not angels and were subject to calls of nature. Another reminder that all men, from the highest in rank to the lowest, were the children of Adam and Eve. Her fingers moved steadily through another decade of the rosary.
Fifth blessing.
The door opened again. This time, it was the doorman.
"It's fine, Sissy. It's fine." Maria Anna hugged her sister.
"But I'll miss you." Cecelia Renata was clinging to her. "I know I haven't been the best sister, and I know I'm stubborn and contrary, and I know I don't always do what you want me to, but we've always been together. Always. We've never been apart, not since I was born."
"Well, then…" Maria Anna paused. "We know that I survived the first eighteen months of my life before I had your company. I have been apart from you, so it should be easier for me to be alone. That is a blessing. And you won't be all by yourself. You get to stay here, with Mama and Papa. With our brothers and Mariana. At least for a while. Until…" Maria Anna didn't need to speak the end of that sentence.
Cecelia Renata nodded. They had read the very little that the encyclopedias had to say about her life, too. At least for a while. Until it was her own turn to become a commodity in trade. A far less fortunate commodity than Maria Anna, if the future remained as it had been. Cecelia Renata's marriage to the Polish king Wladyslaw IV in 1637-only three years from now-had not apparently been a happy one.
And she had died young, too, only six years later-although the encyclopedias did not explain the cause. Perhaps it would all be different in this universe.
Cecelia Renata lifted her chin. "I'm not as brave as you are. But I'm brave enough."
"Oh, Sissy. I'll miss you, too. So much."
"It is certainly time she was married," Father Lamormaini said. "Married to a man with the proper personality to keep her mind from straying along unsuitable paths. Not that I am saying that the archduchess is frivolous or in any way perverse. She is a pious young woman. She is just…" He paused. "Too curious. Too interested in new things."
Ferdinand II leaned back in his chair. "It is a great comfort to me that Duke Maximilian has such a strong mind and will. He can guide her in the direction she should go. She has reached the age where a husband can direct her much more effectively than a father can."