Eric Flint: 1636:The Saxon Uprising

Mike thought about it. "There's possibly some truth to that. I agree that people tend to react to us that way. At least a bit. And your second reason?"

"Strigel is from Magdeburg province, Piazza from Thuringia-Franconia. The second is the one that more closely reflects the nation as a whole. I think he'd bring a wider experience to the position than Strigel would. Between the two of us, I also think he's more capable. But that speaks more to Piazza's strengths than to any real weakness on Strigel's part. I'd certainly be comfortable enough with Strigel as prime minister."

Mike's private assessment was the same, but he saw no purpose in stating it aloud.

"To go back to the beginning, Gustav, ask me for something else."

"A compromise, then. Something-it has to be of real substance, Michael-that your party will be willing to cede to the Crown Loyalists. Or whoever winds up being your principal opponent in the election. I suspect the Crown Loyalists are on the verge of collapse as a single and unitary party."

"They were never really that to begin with. Yes, I think you're right. I think Amalie Elisabeth will now be the most influential figure in a new conservative movement. She won't run for prime minister herself, of course. First, because she's not about to relinquish her title; and second, because she's a woman. The nation wouldn't be much more willing to accept a gentile female prime minister than a Jewess, I think. Wilhelm will probably run again, more or less on her behalf."

He considered the emperor's request. Not for long, though. This didn't really come as a big surprise.

"I am not willing to compromise on the citizenship issue, Gustav. I'd rather lose the election than retreat from our basic principles there. I would be willing, though-and I believe I can persuade the FoJP to agree-to compromise on the question of the established church."

"The nature of the compromise being…?"

"Each province can decide for itself whether it wants an established church. But I would insist that the legal options would have to include complete separation of church and state. Without that, the Committees of Correspondence would dig in their heels."

Gustav picked up the pot. "More coffee?"

"Please." Mike extended his cup.

They used the brief time needed to prepare the beverages to ponder the matter silently. Or rather, the emperor did.

After he took his first sip, he set down the cup and said: "Agreed. With your permission, I will privately let the key parties on the other side know where you are prepared to compromise, and where you are not."

Mike had lifted his cup to his lips but paused just before taking a sip. "Satisfy my own curiosity, if you would. Who are these 'key parties,' as you see it?"

"Wilhelm and the landgravine, of course. Also Duke George of Brunswick. Just because he's in the siege lines around Poznan doesn't mean he's not a central figure in the nation's political life. No one of any importance in Brunswick will do anything without George's approval."

"Who else?"

The emperor named half a dozen prominent figures. All of them were in what could be called the moderate wing of the Crown Loyalist party-and not one of them had come to Berlin in response to Oxenstierna's summons.

"Finally…" Gustav Adolf hesitated. "I think also Ernst Wettin."

Mike's eyebrows raised. "He considers himself an administrator, you know. Not a politician."

The emperor chuckled. "Yes, I know. It is time he expanded his horizons, I think."

The next two hours went smoothly, almost effortlessly. By the end, Gustav Adolf assured Mike that he would rescind his disqualification of the Crown Loyalist MPs in a week or so.

That done, Mike stood up. "And now that we've agreed I won't run again for the prime minister's post and I'll stay in the army, what do you want me to do?"

The emperor's nostrils flared. "You need to ask?" He pointed to the south. "I have had enough of Duke Maximilian! Since the Poles are being pigheaded, I have to leave Lennart and his two divisions at Poznan. So I'd appreciate it if you would take your Third Division down there and crush him like a bug."

Mike stared down at him, for a moment. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You don't have any doubts-"

"Michael, please!" The emperor stood up himself. "Will you allow that I know whereof I speak, when it comes to military affairs?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then here is the truth, whether you understand or accept it. You have now won three major battles. One of them included taking a well-fortified town, another resulted in the complete destruction of the enemy army. By the end, your forces were larger than they were when you started. Larger in numbers-and better equipped. And you managed to do all this without generating hatred among the populace as a whole. Indeed, I'm told civilians are more likely to regret seeing your soldiers leave than they are to welcome the sight.

"These are signal accomplishments, whether you realize it or not." He raised his hand dramatically, as if to hold back the tides. "By all means, deny it! Continue to insist to any who will listen that you are a novice, a witless bumbler, and are only kept from total disaster by the desperate efforts of your staff. But please spare me the silliness. You are already one of the best generals in the continent. Still crude in some ways, but not in what really matters-you are willing to fight and you fight to win. So, as I said. Crush the Bavarian bastard for me, would you?"

There didn't seem to be anything Mike could say to that. So, off he went.

On the way back to his townhouse, he wondered if perhaps he should put together a brass band for the Third Division. For the endless series of triumphal parades the emperor seemed certain were in his future.

When he raised it with Becky that evening, her reply was: "Of course you should."

He raised it again several hours later, just to be sure that hadn't been her hormones at work. By then, the hormones-his too-had been given a thorough workout.

She stirred, half-asleep, and nuzzled him. "Of course you should," she said.

The next morning, at breakfast, his daughter Sepharad weighed in.

"Barry thinks you need a brass band, Daddy."

He gave Becky an accusing glance.

"I said nothing to them," she insisted. "It's obvious to all."

He looked at Baruch. The three-year-old philosopher-to-be gazed back at him solemnly.

"It's just in the nature of things, Daddy," he explained.

"I knew it!" exclaimed his wife.

It was a little unsettling, in fact. Mike steeled his resolve again. As soon as possible, that kid needed to get a Harley-Davidson patch for his jacket.

Jeff Higgins swore he had one, buried somewhere in his old junk. He thought he might have a Cat cap too.

His wife was now giving him a suspicious look. "Hillbillies!" she accused.

"Hey, hon, I was just thinking about how many instruments I should get," he protested.

"You have no respect!"