"I have no objection to the arrangement," Don Fernando said.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Jesse said to the archduchess. "Perhaps if there is a really calm stretch of air, you and Mary can change places so you can enjoy the view for a few minutes."
Maria Anna looked at him. "I think that just knowing that I am up in the air with nothing underneath me except a thin floor will be quite sufficient. Without seeing it with my own eyes while it is happening."
"It's quite fascinating, really," Don Fernando said, "and not at all frightening. Almost like looking down on a map that has been colored to match reality, showing the trees and buildings. Perhaps we can show you another time. Some day, I really must have one of these machines for myself."
By then, of course, Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar's spies in Basel had reported the situation to him.
"What should we do?" asked one of his officers. "We might be able to shoot down the airplane, if we used a massed volley. That's said to be the way the Danes brought down Richter's craft at Wismar."
Bernhard glanced around the small circle of officers standing with him on the field outside Basel. His eyes came to rest on the newest addition to the circle.
"What's your opinion, Johan?"
Colonel von Werth took a deep breath. "Ah… I'm really a cavalry officer, Your Grace."
"Your opinion, Johan."
Von Werth was still trying to get accustomed to the young duke's somewhat peculiar ways of being a ruler. He and Bernhard had known each other for some time, and been on good terms, true enough. But this was the first time he'd ever served under him as a commander.
Bernhard was… difficult. Also brilliant. And often unpredictable. But one thing Johan had concluded was that, beneath the Saxe-Weimar duke's frequently arrogant and sometimes even abusive manner, lay a mind that expected-no, demanded-that his subordinates speak honestly to him. He might snarl at you for contradicting him, but he would not punish you. He would -instantly-dismiss an officer or adviser he decided was not saying what he really thought.
So, von Werth's hesitation didn't last for more than the time it took to exhale the breath.
"I can think of few things more ill-advised, Your Grace-given your delicate political situation-than to be seen by all of Europe as the man who murdered a prince and princess of the Habsburg family. Especially a prince so bold and a princess so captivating."
Bernhard smiled. "My thoughts exactly, Johan." He gave the officer who'd advanced the idea no more than a glance. The fellow avoided his eyes.
"No, gentlemen, we shall simply let them make their escape. If the plane crashes, it will be no fault of ours."
He shrugged, then. "It was just a ploy, after all. As the up-timers say, you win some and you lose some. Never a good idea to become so taken by the charms of a maneuver that you lose sight of the campaign."
In the event, when the plane appeared, Bernhard did no more than give the occupants a salute with his drawn sword.
They probably didn't see the gesture, thought von Werth. But if they did, he imagined that the young Habsburg prince-perhaps even the young princess-would understand the sentiment.
"What a marvelous player he'll make in the game," Bernhard commented, after he sheathed his sword.
"A dangerous opponent, though," said Johan.
Bernhard smiled. "True. But who's to say he can't be an ally? And whether he turns out to be friend or foe, he's already done me something of a service."
Von Werth cocked his head, inviting an explanation.
"Oh, come, Johan. I should think it would be obvious. It is entirely to my advantage for Europe to get accustomed to-perhaps even to cherish-bold young princes, is it not?"
En route from Rheinfelden to Amsterdam
The space in the back of a Gustav was not precisely roomy. At present, it was occupied by two healthy young adults, one male and one female, both in their twenties, tucked under a large pile of thick furs to fend off the cold, who were eying one another with the normal curiosity of two people who know perfectly well that they will be having sex, if not in a matter of hours, certainly in a matter of days, and that they will probably never again be this close together between now and then.
Maria Anna found his interest rather flattering.
"What," Don Fernando asked, "was that." His exploring hand had just encountered a rather sharp and pointy object."
Maria Anna reached through the slits at each side of her skirt, where her pockets were tied around her waist, and felt for the drawstring. She untied it; then snaked up her skirt and the top petticoat until she could shake the package loose.
"I haven't taken it out since Dona Mencia wrapped it for me the day I left Munich. I hope it is not bent or dented." Carefully, she unrolled the flannel. The golden rose lay on her lap, undamaged. After a few minutes she said, "I suppose that I should wrap it up again. It isn't mine to keep, I am afraid."
Don Fernando picked it up, held it against her nose, and said, "Sniff."
"How strange. It almost seems to have an aroma."
"Ah, Herr Colonel Woods," Maria Anna asked. "Is there any way that you can tell when this plane will cross the border into the Netherlands?"
"More or less. It isn't as if the borders are marked on the land. Why?"
"It is protocol, you know. When a bride enters the land of her new husband, she is stripped of the clothing she is wearing and reclothed freshly with garments from her new home."
"I am afraid that we will have to forego it," Don Fernando said rather apologetically. "I did not bring any Netherlandish clothes with me." He leaned back as far as he could in the cramped seat, lifted the pile of furs, and looked at Maria Anna from head to toe. "However, I would be quite willing to conduct the first half of the ceremony, if you think that would help," he offered brightly.
"Will anyone be waiting with another set of clothes when we land?" Maria Anna asked pragmatically.
"Not as far as I know. I forgot all about it, we were in such a rush to leave."
"It is not exactly warm in this airplane. I think that I will keep my clothes on right now, thank you. If I do step out and we find some great noblewoman standing at the foot of the ladder with her arms full of fabric, that will be time enough."
Chapter 69
Monita Paterna
Landvogt's Office, Riehen, outside Basel
"It is Herr Wettstein, finally. It has to be." Susanna had her nose pressed to the window pane. "A man arrived on horseback, and just the way the other men here are gathering around him and talking to him, he has to be the boss."
"Don't get overexcited. We're probably not the first on his list, by any means," Marc said stoically. "It may be a couple of days before he gets around to thinking about us."
It would have been, normally. But Wettstein's clerk happened to mention that he had sold a ream of ledger paper to a young man, Cavriani, and would need to order a replacement from Basel, since they would be running short fairly soon.
At the name, Wettstein raised his head. "Where?" he asked.
"In the reception room. They weren't really prisoners, even though the militia brought them in. We didn't have anyplace else to put them."
"They? Them?"
"Cavriani. And the kid he has with him."
The conversation did not last five minutes. Realizing that Horn had, by placing a substantial portion of his army between the landing field and Bernhard, also placed it between the two members of the Cavriani family, Wettstein issued safe-conducts, assigned a guide, accepted an IOU for food and lodging, and shooed them off. Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed getting to know Leopold's son under other circumstances, but at the moment he had a very full schedule.