But what was more important was that it would be inaccurate, in a much broader sense. In a manner that still puzzled him, whenever he thought about it, Ableidinger had somehow emerged as the effective leader of this new rebellion. One of a handful, at least. Hardly what a schoolteacher from a small provincial town would have expected!
But that was the key, perhaps. The great Bauernkrieg of the past century had been led in large part by theologians and knights. Thomas Muentzer. Goetz von Berlichingen. Impractically and flamboyantly, as theologians and knights did things.
And the Bauernkrieg had been defeated, in the end. Disastrously defeated. The number of dead, when it was all over, was estimated to have been as high as one hundred thousand people. Most of them farmers, of course.
Ableidinger was determined to avoid that, this time-the great casualties as well as the defeat. He thought they had a good chance of doing so, basically for two reasons.
First, official authority in Franconia was now in the hands of the American up-timers. Who, obviously, had no good idea how to wield that authority-but who, just as obviously, were not going to serve as a center for organizing a counter-revolution. In fact, if the Suhl incident was any guide, were far more likely to give a rebellion their blessing. Tacitly, if not openly.
Secondly, there was no Martin Luther to stab the farmers in the back. Even if a theologian of his stature were around-thankfully, there wasn’t-Ableidinger had been very careful not to give the new rebellion a theological content of any kind. Well, at least nothing that wasn’t directly quoted from the Bible by way of Thomas Paine. And only pertaining to the proper powers of the secular authorities. There’d be no convenient Anabaptist extremists, this time, to provide the reactionaries with an easy way to muddle the issue
Keep it simple, uncomplicated-and, most of all, purely political and civil.
Ableidinger grinned. The Americans would like that. It would appeal to their common sense.
* * *
So, grinning, he gave his answer:
“You may think of me as Helmut, speaking for the Ram.”
Some Americans might even appreciate the joke. He’d gotten the idea, after all, from one of their up-time books-a copy of it, rather-that had, in the circuitous way these things happened, somehow worked its way into the house of the printer in Bamberg. Else Kronacher’s daughter Martha had lent it to him, one of the times he’d visited and had had to spend a few days in the city.
Galactic Patrol, the title. One of those bizarre, feverish fantasies that some Americans seemed to dote on. Ableidinger had found the book enjoyable enough, despite the over-wrought prose and the preposterous plot. If nothing else, he’d gotten a new joke out of it.
“The Ram?” blustered Seifert. “What ‘ram’?”
Unlike the other councilmen, who had by now slouched into the chairs provided for them in the center of the room, he had remained standing. An attempt, obviously, to retain what little semblance of authority he still had.
One of the Jaeger stepped forward and put a stop to that. A quick thrust of a rifle butt into the large stomach collapsed Seifert onto the chair behind him. More from the continuing series of shocks, Ableidinger thought, than the actual force of the stroke. The Jaeger who’d done it was Gerhardt Jost, a man so strong that if he’d delivered the sort of blow he was capable of, Seifert would have been on the floor, gasping for breath.
“Don’t waste my time,” Ableidinger said. “What difference does it make-to you-what ram it is? Accept that it is, and that it is a ram. Or you will continue to be afflicted by head-butts.”
Constantin leaned back in his own chair, and waved his hand toward the windows high on the wall of the room that looked out over the square. “Do we need to make another demonstration? You thought you were in control, here in Bamberg, and would have the American flogged in order to prove it. We showed you otherwise.”
Finally, one of the other councilmen spoke. His name was Faerber, if Ableidinger remembered Frau Kronacher’s briefing properly. The description fit, anyway.
“You planned this?” he asked. His jaw seemed a bit loose.
Ableidinger wagged a scolding finger. “For shame! Was it the ram who plotted to inflict injury on the American? Was it the ram who schemed with monks to humiliate him?”
“He’s a heretic,” Seifert hissed.
Such a stubborn man.
Foolish, too. Jost came forward to deliver another butt-thrust, but Ableidinger waved him back.
“Yes, he is. A most flagrant heretic. “Latter-day saints,’ no less. And so what? Haven’t you read the new legal decrees, Herr Seifert?”
Seifert set his jaws and half-muttered, “We did not charge him with heresy.”
“No, you didn’t. Instead you trumped up civil charges. Do you think everyone is as stupid as you are?”
“You can’t-”
Jost was still standing there. He lifted his rifle and gave Seifert a tap on the head. Not enough to injure the man, although it couldn’t have been enjoyable.
“Yes, he can,” the Jaeger growled.
“Do you want us shoot him, Const-ah, Helmut?” asked one of the other men in the room.
Seifert eyes widened and his red face got redder still. The man who’d asked the question was Hermann Ackers, one of the ensigns of the city’s militia. No outsider, he; no rural bumpkin.
“Ackers, you can’t-”
Jost tapped him again; harder.
“Yes, he can,” the Jaeger repeated.
Ableidinger decided to elaborate. “Unfortunately-for you, not Bamberg-Herr Fassbinder is no longer in command of the militia.” He pointed a finger at Ackers. “He is.”
Stubborn to the point of mindlessness. “You can’t-”
“Hit him,” Ableidinger commanded.
Jost came around the chair and sent Seifert sprawling to the floor of the cellar, his mouth a ruin.
Ableidinger glanced at a tooth skittering across the stones until it came to a stop against the leg of the chair where another city councilman was sitting. The man-Reimers, he thought the name was-lifted his foot in automatic reflex. Pale-faced, he stared down at the bloody tooth.
“So foolish of you, Herr Seifert,” Ableidinger mused. “The only good dentists are in Grantville, you know. Although I am told a German has opened a practice in Jena. The Americans have started a dental school in the university there.”
But Seifert was in no condition for repartee. Not that he ever was, of course, being so thick-witted. All that came out through the hand covering his mouth was a groan.
“So it is,” Ableidinger pronounced, his eyes leaving Seifert to scan the faces of the rest of the city council.
He was pleased to see that all the faces were pale. That boded well for the future.
“For the moment, you may keep your offices. At least, those of you who did not directly instigate the flogging of Herr Thornton. Until such time as the city can replace you in an orderly manner. Do not, however, make the mistake of thinking your titles have any significance. They have none, any longer. They are merely figures of speech.”
His finger lifted and swept across the line of men standing to one side of the room. “That is the new city council in all but name, just as Herr Ackers is the new commander of the town militia, in all but name. Private elections were held, and they were the ones selected.”
One of the councilman still had a bit of spirit left, apparently. “But… selected by whom?”
“By the ram, of course. Who else?”
Ableidinger rose. “Remember. Figures of speech. Or we will have you flogged in the same square you flogged the Americans. And-be assured of this-there will be no one to intervene this time.”