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Chapter 27

Archie


Ulm


I rode into Ulm late in the evening of the second day since I had left Füssen. I was a tired man riding a very tired horse, but Cortana had held up well and we had made my goal. I didn’t think anyone would be following me on this road, but if they were, I had at least a day’s lead on them. For the moment, that was enough.

As with most of this ride, I was arriving in towns and cities where I’d not been before. Ulm was no exception there. However, that did not mean that I knew nothing about it, for Sergeant Wolfe and I had talked about Ulm and other places in that memorable night in Bayreuth. Although in all truth, it was the hangover the next morning that mostly stuck in the memory. I decided that anyplace good enough for the likes of Bretagne’s troopers would probably be good enough for the likes of me. Truthfully, that night anyplace with a roof that didn’t leak and a barrel of beer that wasn’t floating mold or stable hay on top of it would have done, I was that tired.

It wasn’t long before I dismounted before the stable of an inn called The Royal Cauldron, staggering for a step or so before my knees decided to bear my weight. Stiff and aching, aye, I was that. The stable man came out and reached for Cortana’s reins, and I let him take them before turning to take my bags from the back of the saddle.

“He’s had two hard days,” I said over my shoulder. “Give him a good rubdown, and two full measures of good grain, mind you, not a scoop of nothing but husks.” I pulled a pfennig from my pocket and flipped it to him. “That’s for now, and there will be more tomorrow if you care for him well.”

“That I can do, Master,” the man said with a bob of his head. As he tugged Cortana toward the stable, I turned and limped toward the inn.

By the time I made it inside, I was moving a bit easier, which wasn’t necessarily much of an improvement.

“Welcome, my friend, to the Royal Cauldron.” That came from a stocky man with a fringe of hair around a very bald scalp and a bushy beard. “What do you need this fine evening?”

“A clean room for myself alone, something to eat, and a large mug of your best beer,” I responded. “Maybe two mugs.”

The inn keeper smiled, exposing a gap in the upper teeth to the left where one of his canine teeth no longer was in its place. “Well enough, then. Take a seat wherever you wish. We’ve mutton stew and bread tonight. It will be before you shortly.” He turned and went through a door behind his counter, doubtless headed toward whatever passed for a kitchen.

When I turned, I saw the main room was not especially large, with a few tables of various sizes arranged in no particular order. The room was mostly empty, but there were three men seated at one of the larger tables, all with mugs before them. They were all wearing the same uniform that Wolfe and Origgi had been wearing in Bayreuth, including the hats with both red and white feathers. I walked over to them, dropping my bags on a nearby table.

“Hello, lads. I see you’re part of Bretagne’s Company. Mind if I join you?”

I displayed the medallion Wolfe had given me in the palm of my hand. The younger of the two unranked men looked at the older man who sat between them. He glanced at my hand, and nodded. “Take a stool, friend,” he said.

“My thanks,” I said as I did exactly that thing, flipping the right side of my cloak up and around to hang behind me, leaving my right hand free to move while the knapsack remained under cover of my left arm and the cloak on that side.

I had no sooner settled in my seat than a wooden bowl filled with thick stew and a piece of barley bread appeared before me, followed a moment later by a large mug of beer. “Enjoy, my friend,” the host said. I pulled my spoon from my pocket and proceeded to do just that. The others watched me spoon the stew into my mouth in quick order. It wasn’t the best food I’d had that trip, but it was by no means the worst, and it wasn’t long before I licked my spoon clean and returned it to my pocket.

After taking a pull at my mug, I looked around the table. “Good to meet you lads. It’s always good not to drink alone. I met up with your Sergeant Wolfe and Private Origgi in Bayreuth several days ago, and had a good evening with them. That sergeant can certainly drink.” I shook my head in pretended admiration, for all that my statement was truth.

“And how is that dwarf Origgi doing?” the older man asked.

I snorted. “You must know a different Origgi than I met. The one with Wolfe was a hulk of a man that I would swear could lift a horse off the ground by himself.”

The older man lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yes, that’s Origgi, all right. I’m Bavarello, Corporal. These are Privates Girot and Grondin.”

“All from the Savoy?” I asked.

Bavarello chuckled. “We are,” he jerked a thumb at Girot and himself. “He was born on the other side of the border with France,” he said, pointing a finger at Grondin. “But given how things seem to keep changing, who knows where he’s from right now? But he’s a passable private, so we’ll keep him either way.”

I nodded at them, took another pull of beer from my mug, and said, “So, you lads on your way to somewhere, or on your way back?”

“We made a courier run to Strasbourg,” Bavarello said. “A merchant had a small parcel that he wanted delivered quickly and under strong security. He contracted with us to make the run rather than one of the other security companies.” I noticed the other two weren’t saying much. They weren’t saying anything, as it happened, letting their senior do the talking to a stranger. Good disciplined lads. The more I saw of Bretagne’s men, the more I liked their captain, for all that I’d never met the man. “We’re on our way back to Grantville now.”

“There you go, helping rich merchants sleep well at night again.” I grinned at them, they all grinned back. “You going by way of Jena?”

Bavarello pursed his lips. “We had not planned on it, but we could. Do you have a commission for us?”

I nodded. “Aye. I need to send a message to Master Titus Wulff, in Jena. My employer,” I added as Bavarello’s eyebrows raised. He obviously recognized the name.

“And you are?”

“Archie Gottesfreund, Master Wulff’s agent and occasional companion.” He nodded at that, apparently impressed. “When do you leave?” I asked

“First light in the morning is the plan.”

I nodded. “I’ll be leaving then as well heading east. I’ll have the message ready for you in the stable at first light.” I half-rose and stretched my hand across the table. Bavarello raised off his stool far enough to grasp my hand and shake it. Upon releasing his hand, I stood and said, “I’ve had a long day, friends, so I’m heading toward a room and some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They all nodded, and Bavarello lifted a hand in farewell.

I gathered my bags and stopped at the counter long enough to pay the host, gather the key, and purchase a few supplies, not least of which was a small skein of twine. He provided me with a tallow candle, and I made my way up the stairs to the room.

I had a small bottle of ink with a short pen and a few pieces of paper in my traveling supplies. This is not the first occasion where I needed to send a message to Master Titus. Preparing the message didn’t take long. When I was done, I put my supplies away and made sure everything was ready for in the morning. Then I blew the candle out and threw myself on the bed, where slumber claimed me.

***

I pried my eyes open when the rooster crowed in the early dawn light, and soundly cursed the foul fowl. I sat up, put my boots on, and proceeded to add my morning piss to what I had put in the chamber pot the night before. There was a small basin and pitcher of water on a small table. I hadn’t even looked at it before I went to bed, but I poured some of the water into the basin and proceeded to splash my face and clear my eyes. It was cool, and I did feel somewhat refreshed after wiping my face on my sleeves.

I donned my cloak and hat, gathered my bags and supplies, and trundled down the stairs, stopping at the counter long enough to drink a small cup of beer before bidding the host farewell and hustling out the door to the stable.

I found the Bretagne boys already there when I arrived. As it happened, Corporal Bavarello’s horse was in the stall next to Cortana. That made it convenient. I placed everything on the stable floor, reached inside my jacket, and pulled out the message to Master Titus, which I placed on a box outside his stall.

“There’s the message,” I said, tapping the top of the box. “And here’s a guilder for the fee. If more is needed, Master Titus will be happy to pay it.” I placed a coin on top of the message, and turned to saddling Cortana. For all that I was the last one to the stable, I must have had a stronger urge to be gone, as I had Cortana saddled, bridled, and all the bags and the knapsack strapped on to the back of the saddle and him backing out of the stall before the rest of them even looked up. Bavarello was just getting around to picking up the guilder as I got out into the passageway.

“Good to meet you lads,” I said. “Look forward to another time, especially if you come through Jena. Meanwhile, I’ve got miles to go today before I can sleep.”

“Go with God,” Bavarello said as I tugged Cortana out into the courtyard.

“And you as well,” I called back.

Moments later I was in the saddle and on my way to Augsburg. I had a fine horse to reclaim.



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