A Scandalous Adventure (13 page)

Max followed the prince in a fury. Conrad was almost running in his haste to get back to the stable. Was he that eager to escape from trouble? The royal tunic was neatly fastened and smoothly in place by the time Conrad stepped out into the road.

What was Conrad doing? Max had expected him to duck out of sight into the carriage. The road was the one leading to the prison. Hurriedly buttoning his own tunic, Max followed and stood just behind the prince. They were blocking the way as Gruber turned the corner with his own unhappy party following.

The prince examined the newcomers with raised brows, then turned to his companion. “What is this, Staufer? Has one of my officers been brawling in the streets, do you suppose?”

“It certainly appears that way, Sire.” Max did not know what was going on, but he had no trouble scowling fiercely at Gruber. “Disgraceful.”

“Your Highness!” Gruber stumbled to a halt and stood openmouthed before he pulled himself together enough to stand at attention and salute. “Not a brawl, Your Highness. This peasant attacked me.”

The prince stared at the lieutenant, who fidgeted nervously.

“Identify yourself, Officer,” Max said softly.

The lieutenant flushed and stood still more stiffly. “Lieutenant Augustus Gruber, Black Star Regiment, sir!”

Max nodded absently and looked at the prisoner. “This fellow attacked you? Well, he must have taken you by surprise. You certainly seem to have come off the worse in the encounter.”

Gruber's embarrassed flush turned to one of anger. “I am taking him to the prison.”

The prince looked at him and waited.

“He must be punished. Hanged,” said Gruber, sounding defensive. When he saw no approval on the faces before him, he continued, “Or flogged perhaps. Villains like this cannot be permitted to attack officers.”

Max cocked his head and looked at the captive, who sagged in the grip of Gruber's companions but nonetheless stared at Gruber with eyes filled with furious resentment. “Not a very large fellow, is he? Smaller than you, at any rate. Why do you suppose he did such a thing?”

“Who knows why these peasants do anything?” said Gruber. “They are all animals and must be punished like the beasts they are to teach them how to behave.”

The prince looked at Gruber long and hard. “Yes, there are lessons here that must be taught. However, lessons taught in the dark of the prison are meaningless. There must be no punishment without a trial, and everything must be done in the light of day.” He looked around and spotted a shopkeeper peering around his door. “You there. Go fetch the mayor. He must set up a tribunal in the marketplace. We shall hold a trial there, where all may see and hear, and I will preside myself.”

Max looked at the prince. Suddenly the prince's behavior was making sense. He had not been running away. He had planned this! Conrad caught Max's eye, and his mouth lifted with the hint of a smile.

* * *

Susannah peered out the shop window. News of what was happening quickly spread through the town, but no one seemed to know how to react. She didn't know herself. At least the prince had not really run away, pretending nothing had happened. That was good, she supposed, though she couldn't see why he hadn't just let Max handle the situation. He could have done so easily.

The nervousness in the square was almost palpable. She could not help but share in it.

The mayor had done his best. The stalls and wagons had been pulled out of sight, and the cobblestones of the square had been swept clean. A small dais covered with green fabric was set up at one end of the market square. On it stood a carved armchair draped with a brighter cloth. A clerk, all gray and dusty, and armed with paper, quills, and ink, sat at a table off to one side. Beside him stood Lieutenant Gruber, and across from them on the other side of the dais the young peasant stood between two constables.

No one looked happy.

The mayor paced back and forth. His mustache drooped over his downturned mouth, and he looked around with worried eyes, as if he feared his efforts were more likely to win him a trip to the dungeons than to gain the prince's approval.

The prisoner was the picture of dejection, slumped between two guards who looked no happier than he did.

“Why do they look so fearful?” Susannah asked the shopkeeper. “Are they so afraid of the prince?”

“Of the prince?” He sounded startled. “No, not of the prince, but of the soldiers.”

“But it was the soldiers who were in the wrong—or at least the lieutenant. Not that young man.”

The shopkeeper looked at her pityingly. “The soldiers of the Black Star Regiment do as they like. No one can stop them.” He waved at the people in the square. “They all know it—the prisoner, the constables. Everyone.”

Susannah looked out. Max was going to see to it that everyone was proven wrong.
She
knew it.

She looked with distaste at Gruber, who maintained a certain swagger as he stood on his side of the dais. But every now and then she could see a shadow cross his face. Perhaps it was beginning to occur to him that this trial might not underline the power of the Black Star Regiment. He glanced over to the side where his erstwhile companions were trying to fade into the woodwork. He needed them to support his version of the encounter. Would they?

Most of the square was filled with townspeople and peasants who seemed more curious than anything else. Small children darted in and out around adult legs as small children always do when a crowd is gathered. The stone buildings around the square, three and four stories high, had people watching from all the windows.

Susannah had never seen anything quite like this crowd. There was none of the eager anticipation that usually greeted a spectacle. It wasn't fear either. No, it was resignation, she realized. People had gathered as if their attendance was required, not because they expected to find any pleasure in the coming scene.

Even the peasant girl had stopped sobbing and was simply leaning against the wall, utterly resigned to whatever fate awaited her.

Susannah felt as if she were the only one looking forward to the coming scene. That was because she knew that Max could be relied on. He would see to it that justice was done.

* * *

From the shadow of the arcade where he had been standing with the prince, Max looked at the setting in the square with approval. There would be a good audience for this little drama they were staging. The crowd was subdued now, but that would change.

“Is everything ready?” Conrad sounded tense, but that was understandable.

“Ready, Sire.” Max stepped out into the sunlight and then swung to the side, making way for Conrad's entrance. The mayor was there, gripping his hat in both hands and bent over in a nervous half-bow, as he waited to lead the prince to the dais.

Conrad stepped up onto the green carpet and the crowd cheered. It was not an enthusiastic cheer, to be sure, but neither was it ironic. After all, one was supposed to cheer a prince, and this one was at least providing a new bit of entertainment.

Then the prince spoke first in formal German and then in Schwäbisch. “This is not, as you can see, an ordinary trial. Our only goal is to arrive at the truth. So that everyone, particularly the accused, can understand what is happening, the proceedings will be conducted in Schwäbisch.”

A moment of stunned silence ensued. A wild light of hope flared briefly in the prisoner's eyes, and a true cheer went up from the crowd. When it subsided, Lieutenant Gruber, who had been trying to catch the prince's attention, said in an undertone, “But Your Highness, I do not understand Schwäbisch very well. And I do not speak it, of course.”

“No? How odd that you should not speak the language of the country in whose army you serve,” said the prince, his words loud and clear for all to hear. “In that case, we must provide a translator for you. Mayor, can you take on the task?”

When the mayor choked out his agreement, bowing and twisting his hat in his hands some more, Conrad turned to Gruber with a smile. “Don't worry. My German is good enough to make certain that your words are translated correctly.”

Max smiled to himself. Conrad was playing his chosen part beautifully.

With a graceful flourish, the prince seated himself on the improvised throne. The sun struck his blond hair, burnishing it into a golden crown. He waved a hand to signal Gruber to begin.

The lieutenant licked his lips and swallowed nervously. Max smiled at him, but this was a smile that made Gruber jerk even more nervously. Then he managed to pull himself together. Standing at attention, he told his story stiffly, pausing when the prince raised a hand to let the mayor stammer out a translation for all to hear. The constant pauses seemed to throw the lieutenant off, but his story was simple enough. He had been walking peacefully with his companions when he was assaulted for no reason by this peasant.

“No reason at all?” asked the prince with a glance at the peasant, who seemed to be simmering with fury.

Recovering at least some of his assurance, Gruber sneered. “He shouted something I could not understand in that gibberish the peasants speak. Some treason, no doubt.”

“There must have been witnesses to this encounter.” The prince looked around in inquiry.

“My companions will corroborate what I have told you,” said Gruber quickly. He glared at the two cornets until they came forward.

Max watched them approach the dais. They were very young, not yet out of their teens, and seemed frightened, though whether of the prince or of Gruber was uncertain. Perhaps of both.

“And do you indeed corroborate Lieutenant Gruber's account?” Conrad looked at them sternly.

They looked at each other nervously.

“It all happened very quickly,” said one.

“And I really couldn't understand what the peasant was saying,” added the other.

The prince sat silent, waiting to see if they had anything to add. Gruber glared at them, and they looked uncomfortable, but said nothing more.

“Very well,” said the prince, turning to the peasant, “let us hear your story. Your name?”

The young peasant did not present a prepossessing figure. Dressed in trousers and jacket a bare step above rags, he was short, not above five and a half feet tall, but broad shouldered. His face was also broad, and hair of a muddy brown hung in unkempt fashion across his brow. Nonetheless, he stood as straight as the lieutenant, proudly defiant. “I am Franz Bauer, Your Highness. The officer lies. I did not attack him. He attacked my wife. I only tried to protect her.”

“How dare you call me a liar, you dog!” Gruber snatched up a riding crop and advanced on Bauer. He came to a halt when the prince held up his hand but demanded, “What wife? I see no woman here with you.”

“Is this man's wife present?” asked the prince.

Max looked over to the shop where the young woman huddled in the shop doorway beside Susannah. At his nod, she walked hesitantly across the square and fell into an awkward curtsy in front of the dais. “Your Highness,” she gasped in a trembling voice. Unable to say any more, she stood there, twisting her hands in her apron.

The prince smiled kindly at her. “Don't be afraid, my dear. We only need you to tell us what happened.”

She stared up at him, still twisting her apron. “It wasn't our fault. Really it wasn't. I know I bumped into the officer because I wasn't watching where I was going, but then he wouldn't let me go. Franz was only trying to help me. Truly.”

“Lies!” spat out Gruber. “Your Highness, she lies. You cannot take the word of a peasant against an officer.”

The prince looked around calmly. “The square was crowded today. Were there no other witnesses?”

People looked about them nervously, and some wriggled uncomfortably. There were a few whispers. Finally a woman burst out of the crowd. She was perhaps fifty years of age, round of face and body, dressed respectably though far from richly. She looked around at the crowd, hands on her hips, and said, “If none of you fine fellows can find your tongue to speak the truth, I'll have to do it myself.”

She stepped up to the dais and bobbed a curtsy. “Marta Schwartz I am, Your Highness. The lass and her man are telling the truth. That officer grabbed hold of her and wouldn't let her go until her man came to protect her. And that's the truth as anyone here will tell you.” She looked aggressively around.

The prince looked out at the crowd. “And is that the truth?”

A man shuffled forward. “Aye, it is. I saw it all.”

“And so did I,” said another, a bit more boldly.

“I saw it as well. Marta told you the truth.”

In moments, it seemed that the entire crowd was prepared to bear witness.

The prince held up his hand for silence, and the shouts subsided. He turned to the two cornets. “And you two, what have you to say?”

They looked like guilty schoolboys as they exchanged glances.

“There was a girl,” admitted one. “We didn't know the fellow was her husband.”

“We only did what Lieutenant Gruber told us,” said the other, looking up at the prince with sad eyes.

“But they are all peasants,” burst out Gruber, gesturing at the crowd. He was answered with threatening murmurs from that very crowd. While he might have been unable to understand the words, the tone was unmistakable.

“Enough,” said the prince, rising to stand at the front of the dais.

His tone commanded obedience, and he received it. In the attentive silence that followed, he said, “The army exists to protect the citizens of Sigmaringen, not to abuse them. You three have disgraced the uniform you wear and betrayed the oath of loyalty you swore, loyalty to me and to Sigmaringen.” Looking down at the cornets, he said, “You two are young, young enough, I hope, to learn from this experience. You will report to your barracks and remain there until your punishment is decided.”