known. The Spanish-French animosity diminished and ultimately transmogrified into the uneasy entente that allowed them to cooperate in the destruction of the Dutch fleet off Ostend in 1633. Like all contracts between thieves, their so-called League of Ostend was certain to unravel-sooner, rather than later. But in the meantime, Grisons continued to suffer under foreign interference or direct control.
So, naturally Georg Jenatsch was interested in any new stratagem for freeing his homeland. And for making himself a national hero in the process. Jenatsch’s monomania in pursuit of those objectives made him capable of changing his alliance, religion, and even his own traits-as the up-time histories attested. But Miro, meeting this man with whom he had cautiously corresponded for months, was satisfied that he had correctly identified the one character-trait of Jenatsch that was as steady as a lodestone and which made negotiations with him relatively predictable: he was far more famous for his decisiveness than for any deep wells of patience. Jenatsch was not mercurial, but he hadn’t the taste for long games or the temperament for waiting upon fickle fate to provide him with a tool to achieve his ends. An active and victorious new international force such as the USE was almost sure to catch and kindle his interest.
And, unsurprisingly, it obviously had. But he was too accomplished a statesman not to stringently critique the deal Miro was proposing. “So let us say that we become a part of your growing network of-do you call them ‘airing- domes’?”
“Aero-dromes,” supplied Miro mildly.
“Yes, ‘aerodromes.’ To have such a facility here is clearly advantageous for you: Chur is the most convenient way-point over the Alps. As I understand it, our location is valuable because it is less than one hundred miles from Biberach, on the north shore of the Bodensee, and also less than one hundred miles from Bergamo, in Venetian Lombardy. And so, perhaps more people of note will visit Chur, spend a bit more money. But how does this benefit us beyond that modest increase in trade?” Jenatsch smiled; he knew the answer, of course, but he wasn’t going to agree to the deal without suitable promises from Miro. And of course, Ziegler still had to have to have it spelled out for him.
Miro pointed to the opened letter before Jenatsch. “President Piazza’s letter outlines the general defense benefits rather comprehensively, I think.”
“I would have preferred a few more specifics, as well.”
“Please understand, Colonel Jenatsch, we must walk a thin line if we are to ensure that our relationship does not bring you more problems than it solves. Yes, Gustav Adolf has approved using Chur to facilitate our current operations into Italy. And yes, President Piazza has indicated that some of our proceeds from establishing your town as a transport hub would allow us to base a dedicated mercenary company-exclusively contracted to us-in Chur to secure it from foreign intrusions. But a more overt, national alliance would call attention to itself, and your most dangerous foes would not miss its significance.”
“That will occur anyhow, as your ability to balloon directly into Italy becomes more clear to the Spanish.”
“It is true that they may become annoyed by that, but not so much to mount an attack on you.”
“Why not?” Ziegler threw his considerable bulk forward aggressively. “Are you suggesting they will sit idly by while this new trade route opens up?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am suggesting.”
Clearly, this was not the answer Ziegler was expecting; his bulk fell back in surprise. “Why?”
“Because the Spanish-of all the powers of Europe-have shown the least understanding of, or interest in, the new economy that air travel will enable. Their banking methods are hopelessly archaic and filled with exclusions and restrictions that ensure that their nation’s power remains firmly in the hands of the hidalgos, the upper classes. They do not know how to grow wealth-and therefore, will not even understand the value of this new route of exchange. Not until it is too late.”
That brought a grimly satisfied smile even to Ziegler’s face. But this time, it was Jenatsch who held to the prior point like a bulldog: “However, this still means that there will be no direct military alliance between you and us. And, for us, that means no offensive to liberate the communes that are still in Austrian or Spanish hands. So we might be a bit safer, and a bit more wealthy, but still crushed by foreign occupiers in many of our regions.”
Miro smiled. “But for how long?”
Jenatsch looked suspicious. “What do you mean? Do you propose that Heaven will deliver us? God alone knows how often and ardently I have prayed for divine deliverance-”
— Miro reflected that Jenatsch might even be telling the truth “-but no angels have come to drive out the invaders. So what mysterious power are you suggesting will deliver us?”
“Not a mysterious power: just simple geography. The geography of realpolitik.”
Jenatsch blinked at the unfamiliar term, even though it was in his native German. “What do you mean?”
Miro pointed to the map on the table, located at their equidistant center. “What do the Hapsburgs call the Valtelline?”
Jenatsch frowned; he clearly did not appreciate any discursive approach that left him feeling as though he was being schooled. “It is the transalpine part of what they dub the Spanish Road. As you well know. From Chiavenna to Tyrol, it is how the thrice-damned Spanish and Austrian Hapsburgs exchange troops and goods. It is also a barrier against similar north-south exchanges for the rest of Europe.”
“And which Hapsburg activities has it enabled in the last ten years?”
Jenatsch considered. “The wars in Germany: what the up-timers call the Thirty Years’ War. Also, the Spanish campaigns against the Dutch.”
“But what has happened to those activities?”
The smile returned to Jenatsch’s face; Miro could well imagine that savage expression glaring at him over the glinting edge of an axe.
Miro explicated the obvious for Ziegler’s benefit. “Spain’s adventurism north of the Alps has all but vanished. In the Low Countries, the infante Fernando increasingly turns his back on Madrid; his brother the king seems no more eager to send new troops to him than the new ‘King in the Low Countries’ seems to have them. Besides, any further influx of Spanish troops would make his partner in the Provinces, Frederik Hendrik of Orange, exceedingly nervous. Possibly warlike.
“And with that old papist firebrand Ferdinand of Austria dead,” Jenatsch said with satisfaction, “his namesake son and successor is pursuing a more moderate course of action.”
“Much more moderate. Particularly since his sister married Fernando, who rescued her from a war zone with the assistance of an up-time aircraft. Indeed, after the recent war with Bavaria, one could almost call the relations between the USE and Austria cordial. They are at the very least quiescent. And if Wallenstein can be induced not to encroach southward across the Austrian border from Bohemia, I very much suspect that the worst of the middle European wars are behind us-with the greatest loser being Spain.”
Ziegler looked baffled. “Spain? What do you mean? Other than losing a few tercios, how has Spain suffered so greatly?”
Jenatsch’s predatory grin was back. “Our visitor is talking about losses in influence, not men or money, Herr Ziegler. This new Austrian king has allowed his relations with Madrid to cool, has tacitly approved Fernando’s claim in the Low Countries by allowing his sister to marry him without challenging the legitimacy of the title and land he claims. And this is why Spanish movement through the Valtelline has diminished so greatly in these past two years.”
Miro nodded. “You see the rest, of course.”
The blank look on Ziegler’s face was the antithesis of the cunning insight on Jenatsch’s. “Of course. Spain holds its Road in the Valtelline, but feels less need for it. Its value as a conduit is lost; its value as a defensive blockade, interposed between the north and south extents of Europe, diminishes also. With its treasury ever-more overdrawn, Philip of Spain-or rather, Philip’s puppet-master and lap-dog, Olivares-will withdraw most of the investment required to retain the Valtelline. And when their alliance with the French finally unravels, as it must-”
“-you will be able to stand aside, and let the weak French and Spanish alpine forces exhaust themselves upon each other.”
“At which point, the USE will intervene and help us take back all our lands!” Jenatsch’s smile was shadowed; he wasn’t in jest, but he knew he had gone too far, intentionally so. He was testing Miro.
Miro smiled. “That last projection is beyond current consideration, Colonel. But the rest of what you envision
