Ring of Fire

  Tom Simpson began to look very angry. Von Spee sharpened his gaze, and looked closely at the huge American. Simpson started forward. Heinrich held up his hand. Simpson stood still. Heinrich thought, then he moved forward.

  "Guten Tag," he said. "Good day."

  "I am Captain Wolfgang, Ritter von Brun," the mounted commander replied. "I am the Commander of the Guard of His Eminence, Bishop Friedrich von Hatzfeld, of Würzburg-Bamberg. This is Father Joachin Eberhardt, the bishop's inquisitor."

  Heinrich smiled. "I am Captain Heinrich Schmidt, of the Army of the United States. This is Lieutenant Thomas Simpson, and Sergeant Lawrence Massaniello. Welcome to Suhl, mein Herr Ritter. May I ask your purpose in coming here?"

  "Father Eberhardt and I would like to use the courtroom here in Suhl, and the town square."

  "For what?"

  "We have apprehended a notorious witch, already tried before the ecclesiastical court in Bamberg, and we want to relax her to the secular authorities and burn her."

  Von Spee noticed that all of the Grantville men were standing now, intent on von Brun. Each of the American soldiers appeared to be carrying an odd type of arquebus, small, and very light. Friedrich saw that all the guns were pointed at the incoming troop.

  "Fine then," Heinrich said. "You may safely leave her with us. It appears that you may not have known Suhl has been accepted as one of the United States. It is very recent, so. We will have her sent to Grantville for the trial. You need not accompany her further, if you wish." Von Spee found himself moving forward, slowly, almost without his own volition. He stopped himself and stood still. No one had noticed him standing there.

  "What do you mean, you will have to send her to Grantville? The woman is guilty, and she must burn. We will stay with her until this is done."

  "Perhaps Father Eberhardt would like to come with her, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself further, Herr Ritter."

  "Why are you interfering? All we want to do is to burn this witch! Why is this causing a problem?"

  "It is not our policy to permit armed troops of foreign princes on United States soil, Captain. If you wish to enter Suhl, you must do so unarmed."

  "This is preposterous! If I wish to enter Suhl I will enter Suhl. I am the Ritter von Brun. I don't have to give up my weapons to any jumped-up peasant in rusty armor!"

  "But I am not a jumped-up peasant," Heinrich said, still pleasantly. "I am a sovereign citizen of the United States. Suhl is now part of the United States. And in the United States, Herr Ritter, my blood is as good as yours."

  "Then perhaps we should do something about this United States of yours. Stand aside. I will enter Suhl." The Ritter was incensed.

  "Your pardon, Herr Ritter, but unless you agree to disarm, you will not." There was steel in Heinrich's voice. Von Spee watched as unobtrusively each of the troopers had moved into positions of high alert. The Bamberger horses stamped and neighed nervously.

  "I see six of you, and there are more than a dozen of us," Captain von Brun declared.

  "I would think again," Heinrich began.

  Friedrich would always remember how suddenly it happened. It was like a hot rock dropped into a cooking pot.

  Veronica began to struggle with the priest she was riding behind.

  One of the Americans raised his rifle. A Bamberger trooper pulled one of his horse pistols, fired at the American and missed. The American fired back and didn't miss. Von Brun drew his saber, preparing to ride Heinrich down. Even though Von Spee was standing directly behind Heinrich, he felt paralyzed.

  A small hole appeared in von Brun's forehead as the back of his head sprayed away on the trooper behind him. Tom Simpson held a squarish silver handgun with smoke coming from the hole in the muzzle. The Ritter von Brun slid out of the saddle. Von Spee vomited. He'd seen death before, but usually in the hospitals where he regularly served as a nurse. Never before had he seen such an explosion of violence.

  "Everybody stand still!" Heinrich ordered. "You," he pointed at one of the Americans, "get the woman. You, take the priest. Bring them along. Tom, make sure that these soldiers are disarmed and find housing for them. Oh yes, and see if any of them would like to join the United States Army."

  "Jawohl, Captain!" the enormous lieutenant replied.

  "And find someplace to bury the Ritter von Brun."

  Heinrich snorted, turned and strode back down the street into Suhl toward the inn. He immediately ran into von Spee, still paralyzed, standing over the puddle of his vomit in the street.

  "Who are you?" Heinrich demanded.

  Von Spee shook himself. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from the sleeve of his cassock, hawked, spit into the handkerchief, and met Heinrich's eyes.

  "I am Father Friedrich von Spee, of the Society of Jesus. I have been sent to Suhl by the prince-bishop of Mainz to witness the trial of a woman from Bamberg. I believe that is the woman, there." He pointed to Veronica. "It is my charge to see to it that no innocents are burned as witches any longer." He held his head proudly, and stared at the American captain and at Father Eberhardt. Eberhardt glared back. Heinrich slowly nodded, thoughtfully.

  "Come along, then."

  * * *

  By the time Simpson and Massaniello had sorted out the bishop's soldiers, and brought Father Eberhardt and the woman to the square in front of the inn, a large crowd had gathered.

  Heinrich had brought together the tables from the inn and moved them out into the square. He was sitting, waiting. Von Spee sat beside him. The crowd parted and Johann von Schönborn and his guards marched to the table. Along with him was the burgomaster of Suhl. The burgomaster sat next to von Spee at the table.

  The American troops lined up at one side of the table, and the prince-bishop's guard, unarmed but in armor, took the other side. Tom Simpson walked around behind the table and stood at Heinrich's side. Von Schönborn stood just behind von Spee. Eberhardt and Veronica Junius stood before the table facing them.

  Heinrich nodded to the burgomaster, who began to speak.

  "We have not yet learned to be truly Americans," he said. "But I have been studying the Constitution very hard, ja. And it is part of our new Constitution that nobody can be forced to confess against his or her own will. Since Fraulein Junius has been tortured, we must assume that her confession to the crime of witchcraft was forced. Captain Schmidt has suggested that it would be best if we sent this woman to Grantville where she can be tried again according to our new laws, and I have agreed. So be it done."

  Eberhardt began to protest, but it was soon obvious that no one wanted to listen to him.

  "Massaniello, take Fraulein Junius and Father Eberhardt to Grantville and turn them over to Dan Frost and Father Mazzare." Heinrich spun around, pointing and giving orders. "Tom, take the bishop of Bamberg's guards back to the checkpoint and send them on their way back to Bamberg, as soon as His Excellency here can have a copy of his judgment ready for them to take with them."

  He turned to von Spee and von Schönborn. "And what will you do now, Reverend Sirs?"

  Johann smiled, and looked at Friedrich. "I must be back on my way to Mainz immediately, Captain."

  Von Spee looked at his hands thoughtfully. "I have a letter to finish," he said, "but I think I will accompany Fraulein Junius to Grantville if I may." He looked at Heinrich for permission.

  "Yes," the American captain said, "I think that would be wise."

  * * *

  "Father, Father! Father Mazzare! Where are you?" The elderly woman, with von Spee behind her, barged into the garage of the rectory. There was another one of the metal vehicles, with a man's legs sticking out from under the front part.

  The man started, banged his head on the underside of the vehicle, muttered some words Von Spee didn't understand, then came out from under the vehicle. Von Spee stood in the doorway watching as the man, covered with grease, sat up on a peculiar rolling cart.

  "What is it, Mrs. Flannery?" The man—Father Mazzare, apparently—rolled off the o
dd, low-slung cart and got to his knees, holding his head.

  "Oh, Father," Mrs. Flannery gasped, holding her palm to her mouth. "What happened?" She ran to him and helped him up.

  "Nothing, really. You startled me when you came in, and I banged my head on the engine mount. I'll be fine in a few minutes. Yeah, fine."

  She muttered to herself.

  "What? I didn't hear you, Mrs F," Mazzare said.

  "I said that it just isn't seemly for a priest of God to be getting all dirty and greasy working on the underparts of cars. That what I said! And that's what I believe, too!" Her glare was trying to melt him into a puddle on the floor.

  "Yes, well, so you've said before," Mazzare sighed, and pushed himself to his feet.

  "But what brings you looking for me, Mrs. F? I thought you were too angry to be here."

  "This gentleman here asked me to come fetch you for Dr. Adams. Sergeant Massaniello has brought in another one."

  "Another one?" Mazzare looked nonplussed. "Oh, you mean another poor woman who's been accused of witchcraft. I'll get changed and go. Is she at Dr. Adams' office?"

  "Yes. But Father, what are we going to do if one of these days we get a real one? A witch, I mean."

  "Mrs. Flannery, I'm surprised at you. There's no such thing as witches."

  "Not in our time, maybe. But there must have been witches back in this terrible time. After all, they were burning a lot of them. It seems to me that there just has to be some truth to it."

  "I've never heard of any," Mazzare replied, shaking his head. "Please tell Dr. Adams it'll be about an hour. I need to take a shower and shave, and get dressed."

  "You'll wear your cassock, Father?" the old woman encouraged.

  "Yes, I'll wear my cassock! The poor woman who's been accused will probably have a hard enough time believing I'm a priest without it."

  "Well, then I'll go tell Dr. Adams. Good night, Father."

  "Good night, Mrs. Flannery."

  Mrs. Flannery turned and shepherded von Spee before her. Friedrich said nothing, and turned obediently back into the rectory. As he and the old woman moved down the hallway to the door, he heard the American priest singing, horribly off key.

  "I am I, Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha! My destiny calls and I go!"

  Friedrich von Spee smiled as he puzzled out the words of the song. He had always enjoyed the exploits of the Dubious Knight. He was beginning to feel even a stronger kinship with the addled old hidalgo. Or was it more likely a kinship with Sancho Panza? He hurried to follow the bustling old woman out into the night.

  * * *

  Massaniello paced the front room of Dr. Adams' combined house and clinic. At the sound of the knock, he strode to the door and opened it.

  "Hi, Father, come on in."

  Mazzare entered and shook the big coal miner's hand.

  "Sit down, Father," Massaniello offered. The priest sat in one of the armchairs in the sitting room. Massaniello sat down, too.

  "How is she?" the priest asked.

  Massaniello took a deep breath.

  "Well, she was running to Grantville when they caught her," he began.

  "She wasn't running very fast, I'll bet." A deep voice interrupted from the door of the clinic.

  Mazzare turned toward it. Dr. Jeffrey Adams strode through the door into the parlor with his hand outstretched. The messenger Mazzare had seen at the rectory entered the parlor behind him. Chief of Police Dan Frost came in last of all.

  "Father Larry, how are you?" Adams greeted him. Frost nodded at the priest.

  "I'm fine, but what about our newest immigrant?"

  "She's under sedation. She's been hurt, badly. She has really been through the ringer, Larry. I never thought I'd actually see what happens when you put somebody on the rack. Oh," Adams added gesturing toward von Spee, "this is Father Friedrich from Würzburg. He came with Fraulein Junius. My German is still horrible, but I think he is her defense attorney."

  * * *

  Von Spee shook Mazzare's outstretched hand, his brow furrowing at the strange legal reference. His spoken English was really terrible. He could read it, but had never had the chance to speak it much. He wasn't sure what "attorney" meant, but he had decided to be her defender, so he kept his questions to himself.

  "Who is this woman, Father Friedrich?" Mazzare asked.

  Von Spee was folding and refolding a piece of paper in his hands, like it was a worry stone. Mazzare spoke slowly, and von Spee had very little problem understanding what Mazzare wanted to know.

  "She is Veronica Junius, daughter of Burgomaster Junius from Bamberg," he replied.

  "What happened?"

  "Well, Burgomaster Junius got accused of witchcraft about four years ago, along with some other high officials in Bamberg. They all confessed and were burned. So the bishop seized Junius' property and she wound up in the gutter. She went to Würzburg to try to start over, but she fell into hardship there."

  Massaniello took up the tale. "After the burgomaster determined what the facts were, he sent her back here to Grantville to be officially retried under our laws. Captain Schmidt sent me with her." He looked at the Grantville priest. "We had a chance to talk a little on the ride back from Suhl. Heck, she could be my daughter."

  "How did she come to be accused of witchcraft herself?" Dan Frost inquired.

  Von Spee replied, "I don't know all of the . . . how you say it, details? Yes, details. Somebody found out who she was, and told Father Eberhardt, the bishop's inquisitor from Bamberg. He came to see her in Würzburg, and accused her of all of the usual things they accuse witches of doing. She says she denied doing any of it, but of course, he wouldn't believe her."

  "And . . ." Mazzare cocked his head, wincing a little.

  "Just so. They put her on the rack until she confessed. But one of the guards was friendly, and didn't think she was guilty, and looked the other way while she escaped. She appears to have been running to United States territory when they caught her."

  Frost spoke. "As soon as she is well enough, we'll have a hearing. This Father Eberhardt from Bamberg is insisting on it. Father Friedrich here is, too. But she isn't in good shape, physically."

  "I imagine she isn't in a great mental state, either," Mazzare said, shaking his head.

  "Not after what they did to her." Von Spee said, "She tells me that they tried her under torture for three days before she could escape. Of course, each day worse than that before."

  Mazzare turned to Adams. "Can she talk to me?"

  "I think so. Come with me."

  Adams turned and led the way into the clinic, with everyone trooping in behind him. It was a small white room, with two beds and some medical equipment on stainless steel carts.

  The woman was in one of the beds. Her face was swollen and it was full of lacerations. Von Spee thought the newer scrapes probably came from the woman's dash through the woods to Grantville.

  "Do you understand me well?" Mazzare asked in hesitant and newly learned German.

  "Ja. And I can ein wenig English speak," said the young woman.

  Mazzare took a deep breath. Von Spee could see that Mazzare was not comfortable with the idea of interrogating someone accused of witchcraft.

  "I am Father Mazzare, the Catholic priest in Grantville here. How are you called, and from where do you come?"

  The odd constructions of German made Mazzare sound stilted to his own ear, but Von Spee realized that it was easier to understand the English words when Mazzare used German-like grammar.

  "I am Veronica Junius, and I come aus Bamberg," she replied.

  "Why were those men chasing you?"

  There was silence. She looked away.

  "Veronica," Mazzare said softly, "were you accused of being a witch?"

  She looked at him. The pause lengthened. He held her gaze.

  "Ja . . . I mean, yes," she said softly, finally.

  "Were you practicing witchcraft?" Mazzare asked.

  "Sheiss no!" she retorted, animated for
the first time. "I'm not a witch, I'm a whore!"

  Behind him, Massaniello broke up. He tried to stifle his snigger, but failed, miserably. Dr. Adams started to chuckle, then Mazzare, and finally Veronica did too. Von Spee looked a little blank, parsing the statement in his mind. His English was poor, yes, but he finally got the joke, and he smiled.

  "Well," the American sergeant choked out, "at least, in English, it starts with the same letter!"

  As the laughter died, Mazzare gestured for focus, and went on.

  "What did you do that got you accused?"

  Veronica tossed her nondescript brown hair. "It was not what I did," she replied, "but who my father was, that got me into trouble."

  "Mmmm?"

  Her story came out in a rush. "Ja, my father was Junius the burgomaster of Bamberg. They . . . they burned him. But he was innocent! He never was a witch! I swear it! And I never was. After they killed him, and the bishop took our house and our business, I went to Würzburg. But I didn't have any money, and the families I knew didn't want to know me anymore."

  "So you became a prostitute," Mazzare said quietly.

  "Yes." Her language, Mazzare noted, was becoming better and more educated by the minute, like she was taking off a disguise.

  "That is all right, my child," Mazzare said. "We sometimes have to do very terrible things in order to survive. God, I am sure understands."

  Suddenly, von Spee pushed forward, and handed her the paper he'd been folding and refolding.

  "I kept this for you," he said.

  "Oh, Father Friedrich," Veronica said, "thank you. I thought it was lost. And then nobody would believe me."

  She handed the paper to the Grantville pastor. Mazzare looked at the shaky German handwriting. He looked around the room.

  "Father Friedrich, can you read this?" he asked. "It is hard for me to make out."

  "Ja, I can read it," von Spee said. "Please excuse my English. I speak much better Latin and Italian." He cleared his throat.

  " 'Many hundred thousand good-nights, dearly beloved daughter Veronica. Innocent have I come into prison, innocent have I been tortured, innocent must I die. For whoever comes into the witch prison must become a witch or be tortured until he invents something out of his head and—God pity him—bethinks him of something.' "