Marc knew perfectly well that he could not withstand a professionally trained fighter for any length of time-especially not when the fighter was wearing armor and carrying a gun. Koler's men were doing both. Marc was wearing his best doublet, suitable for a church service. He had a distinct feeling that this was not the best place to undertake heroic actions, if they could possibly be avoided.
Marc would have been surprised to learn that the sergeant in command of Koler's guards brought a rather different perspective to what he had observed. He was feeling rather glad that the kid was such a dolt; otherwise, he could have been a problem, as large and well-built as he was.
Marc wasn't given to spending much time either at the gym or looking into the mirror; his apprenticeship with Jacob Durre had kept him very busy the past two years. His only real awareness that he had changed quite a bit between sixteen and eighteen was derived from Frau Durre's constant complaints that he kept outgrowing his clothes. He hadn't thought about it much.
Not, at least, until he had gotten off his knees outside Herr Durre's shop last week and discovered that he had to lean down a bit to kiss his father's cheeks rather than going on tiptoe and reaching up to him.
Leopold Cavriani looked up the road, behind Koler's men. He cleared his throat and said, quite politely, "Excuse me, sir."
The sergeant looked at him. "We have our orders from Ritter Koler. We don't want trouble. Just turn around and go back to Nurnberg. That would suit us nicely. This is a local problem, between the two knights. No problem of yours. No need for you to get involved."
"We have recently come through the Catholic sections of Franconia," Cavriani remarked. "As you may have heard, there is a certain amount of unrest among the peasants, there."
He might as well have been commenting on the splendid weather.
The sergeant nodded.
"I get the impression," Cavriani continued casually, "that the unrest may be spreading into this portion of Franconia as well."
The sergeant knew better than to be tricked into looking away, but he motioned for one of his men to take a glance in the direction in which Cavriani was looking.
"About two hundred men coming, Sir, at a fast guess."
Cavriani would have estimated fifty. But they did have guns, and a dozen or so were mounted. On clodhopping draft horses, but mounted, which would give them some momentum in a pinch. It wasn't as if the sergeant and his men were riding the pick of the breed, either.
The sergeant wheeled his horse with a curse.
"Damn. They're from right around here. I recognize several of them-the ones who are close enough. Odds are, I'll recognize all of them. Ritter Koler didn't give us any warning of this."
Durre motioned his whole party to move to the side. This wasn't their fight.
The leader of the oncoming peasants announced that they had a petition to present to Ritter Koler in regard to the annoyance that this silly dispute between the Lutheran and the Calvinist lords was causing the residents of the affected villages.
"I have no authority to receive such a petition," the sergeant replied.
"Don't expect that you do. Hadn't really planned to rebel today, anyway."
Cavriani caught that "today." He found it very interesting.
The farmer continued. "But the weather's nice for it. Just take us to Ritter Koler. Take us inside the castle. You can do that. Tell him that we've got an honest complaint that he needs to listen to. We'll give him the petition and go home, if he agrees to look at it and give us an answer next court day."
"What's your gripe, this time?"
"You are." The farmer waved at the riders. "It's a big nuisance having soldiers on the road. Another bunch have gone up to talk to Geuder's steward. All we want is for them to use a little common sense. Instead of sticking guards at the boundary stone, the Geuders should let their Lutheran subjects walk to the nearest Lutheran church and Koler should let the Calvinists in his villages go up to the church on Geuder's land. It's Sunday, anyway. It's not as if we would be working if we didn't go to church."
He paused.
"They are our lords, but they do not control our consciences."
Leopold Cavriani smiled cherubically, fingering the toy ram he now carried in the inside pocket of his doublet.
Marc had the nervous thought that if another group of unhappy farmers was up at the Geuder's castle, he might not have done the families in the wagons much of a favor by motioning them go on. But no-there they were, coming back down the track, none the worse for wear. The wagons plodded past the boundary unhindered. He looked at his father.
"I think," Leopold said, "that it might be excusable to skip church today." As the sergeant and the farmers argued, Durre's party turned around and followed the wagons back toward Nurnberg.
Chapter 13
Familia Restorata
The three women been debating the matter for several months. Their late brother, unlike themselves and their husbands, had remained in Amberg during the Bavarian occupation. He had converted, at least nominally, to Catholicism, as had his wife and children. As had their stepmother. After the plundering of Amberg, when they never heard from any of their brother's family again, they had assumed that they were dead. And mourned.
Until the Battle of Wismar. When the newspapers reported the family and relationships of the dead hero, Hans Richter. Then they had mourned Hans again. And argued with one another, what to do.
Now, she was in the same city. Their stepmother, whom they had long thought to be dead.
"Do you think," Hanna asked, "that she will think that we come to see her now only because we, too, can claim a share of Papa's property if she gets it?
"Why are we going, if not for that?" Margaretha asked. She was the oldest.
"Because our nephew and niece are suddenly famous, so we know who she is?" Clara suggested.
"Or," Hanna interjected, "because sister Elisabetha's widower, Elias Brechbuhl, is an accountant. Here in Nurnberg, he has barely eked out a living, that is true. But he knows where a lot of the Upper Palatinate's bodies are buried. Financially speaking, that is. I still think that it would be a good idea if Elias went with her. We can try to persuade her of that. Lorenz is willing that we should take Elisabetha's children, if Elias goes."
Her sisters looked at her. Once upon a time, before the war, Hanna's husband Lorenz Mossberger had served as chief clerk to an Amtmann. As an exile, he barely made enough to feed his children as a private notary, serving mainly the Calvinist community. His offer to take in three more children was very generous.
Margaretha looked down uncomfortably. Her second husband, a prosperous shopkeeper and Nurnberg native, would have been much better placed to make such an offer. But he hadn't made it. Nor had she suggested it to him.
As the wagons headed back towards Nurnberg, their debate continued.
Eventually, they reached consensus. This very evening, before she left the city, they would attempt to contact the woman who had once been married to their father, Johann Stephan Richter, and who was now married to the mayor of the notorious Grantville. She should at least be given the opportunity to meet her namesakes, the three little Veronicas. Only three, not four. There had been four little Veronicas once, but half of Elisabetha's children had died.
At worst, Hanna pointed out, she could only refuse to see them.
By supper time, Veronica felt considerably restored. Naps were excellent things. She joined the rest of the Grantvillers for supper in the public room of the inn. Keith Pilcher was making a good story of the day's adventures. Especially of his thoughts about plastic flamingoes.