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currency. But the real reason the American dollar is the hardest currency in the land-even though it's really only paper and everybody knows it-is because it is backed by the wealth being produced in the principality which issues it.'

Again, he shrugged. 'There is no reason that production cannot be extended quickly in Hesse-Kassel also.' He heard Amalie mutter a word or two of agreement. 'And… I am fairly certain I can manage an arrangement myself, with the Abrabanels. There is also no reason, when you think about it, that a branch of their bank-issuing a new imperial currency-cannot be opened in your principality also.'

The landgrave cocked a skeptical eyebrow. Saxe-Weimar shook his head. 'They are financiers, after all. Not ideologues, no matter how many of them may have close political and personal ties to the Americans. Don't forget, too, that the Abrabanels are not so much a family as an extended clan. There will be any number of them who care little enough for the Americans and their more extreme political views.' A bit sternly: 'You would, of course, have to guarantee their safety from pogroms and the right to practice their faith, at least in private.'

Hesse-Kassel shrugged. 'Not a problem, that. For all I care, they could open a synagogue. Most of my subjects are as tired of the zealots as I am. As for the ones who aren't…'

He straightened up in the couch. 'That's why I have soldiers, after all.'

'Well said!' exclaimed his wife. 'Besides, look on the bright side. Remember what happened when the count of Schaumburg allowed universal free worship in his village of Altona?'

Her husband did seem to be cheered up, a bit. The episode-scandalous at the time-was well known. Very quickly, Altona found itself well-nigh flooded with every unpopular religious group: Mennonites, Anabaptists, Jews. The count was thought to be crazy-until his coffers began filling up. Whatever else they were, these outcast religious groups tended to be thrifty and industrious.

'And finally-' said Wilhelm.

Hesse-Kassel threw hands. 'Yes! Yes! The precious tax reform. The symbol of it all. End, once and for all, the nobility's exemption from taxation.'

His wife spoke softly, but firmly. 'It is the most important thing, husband. Whatever else they disagree about, there is not a commoner in Germany-Lutheran, Calvinist, Catholic, it matters not-who does not hate and resent that noble privilege. That exemption is a burr under the saddle of Gustav's growing empire-and don't think the Americans will hesitate to ride it, if we do not help the emperor to remove it. Better to lose some income, than to lose it all. When peace comes, don't forget, the taxes from those noble lands will be part of the revenues of those territorial rulers who have ridden the coming storm instead of being drowned by it.'

There was silence in the salon, for a moment. Then the landgrave nodded his head. 'Done. Do you have a proposal as well for the name of this new political league?'

Saxe-Weimar smiled. 'Something simple and to the point, I think. 'Crown Loyalists' should do nicely.'

Later that evening, over dinner, Amalie turned to Saxe-Weimar. 'And what of you, yourself? Do you intend to form a 'Crown Loyalist' league in the United States?'

Wilhelm laughed. 'Not exactly.'

He held up a thumb. 'First, because it would be redundant. We are at war now, and I can assure you that whatever political quarrels the Americans have with Gustav Adolf, they will back him militarily to the hilt. And they, unlike me, can give that backing real steel and fire. So it would be a bit like a small boy marching around with men claiming to be the captain.'

Amalie laughed. The landgrave smiled. Wilhelm held up his forefinger alongside the thumb.

'Two. It would hardly gain me any friends in the United States itself. The Americans-and, increasingly, more and more of their new German citizens-are uneasy at the very notion of monarchy. Diehard republicans, you know, all of them, whatever internal disputes they may have.'

Another finger came up. 'But, mostly, the answer is no because what is needed in the United States is not a league of noblemen-that will do, for the moment at least, in the Confederation-but a genuine political party as the Americans themselves understand the term. Something with deep roots in the broad populace.'

The landgrave and his wife stared at him. Wilhelm, formerly the duke of Saxe-Weimar, smiled serenely. 'Oh, yes. My program itself will be based on the best thinking of our German cameralists, with a heavy leaven from the Americans' own political traditions. So far as tactics go, however, I intend to steal many pages from the book of Michael Stearns. I have been studying the man very closely, this past year.'

'What do you really think of him?' asked Amalie. The tone of the question was simply curious.

'On a personal level, I admire him a great deal. I would go further. Whatever my political differences, as great as they undoubtedly are, I do not in the end really consider him as an 'enemy.' An opponent, certainly. But not an 'enemy.' The distinction is quite critical, I think-and so do the Americans. They have a name for it, as a matter of fact. They call it a 'loyal opposition.' '

The stares of the landgrave and the landgravine were now skeptical. 'Seems to me he has all the makings of a tyrant,' gruffed Hesse-Kassel.

'Like the old Greek tyrants?' Saxe-Weimar shrugged. 'The makings of one, yes. Even quite a terrifying one. And I also think that, if he felt he had no choice, he would take that road. But not willingly, Wilhelm.'

He paused, thinking. 'He was a professional pugilist once, you know, as a younger man.'

The landgrave and the landgravine grimaced. Pugilism for pay was not unknown in their era, but it was a savage and bloody business. On a par with cockfighting and bearbaiting. Its practitioners were considered to be sheer brutes.

Wilhelm smiled. 'You misunderstand, I think. In his world, it was a sport. Brutal enough, to be sure. Oh, yes! Never make the mistake of thinking that Michael Stearns will refrain from bloodshed. But it was highly organized, you see. They called it 'boxing,' and it was surrounded by rules and regulations. Many things were ruled out, such as what they called 'low blows.' Indeed, a man could lose a match by violating those rules.'

He lowered his hand and opened it, palm up, on the table. 'I believe that, to pursue the thought, Michael Stearns wants to teach the world how to box, in the political arena. So, in the end, I think it is my responsibility-perhaps the greatest of my responsibilities-to see to it that he never faces the necessity, as he might see it, to become a tyrant. Because he trusts his opponent to box rather than to fight like an animal. So if he loses a match, it is simply a match, not his life. And he might win the next, after all. Because I and-' His eyes flitted back and forth between the two other people at the table. '-others provided him with an acceptable alternative to the stark choice between tyranny and destruction.'

Silence fell over the table. After a time, Amalie rose. 'Well, I think that's enough for one night. It's late and I'm tired.' She smiled down at the two men. Not quite serenely, but surprisingly close. 'Though I have no doubt we will be having many such nights, in the years to come.'

'It's not as bad as war,' observed Saxe-Weimar. 'Especially a civil war.'

'Certainly isn't,' agreed the landgrave, draining his wine glass. 'I've seen a real war. Been watching a civil war, in fact, for fifteen years now. It's filthy.'

***

Wilhelm spent the night in a guest room in Hesse-Kassel's quarters. Late the next morning, they left to attend the session of the Chamber of Princes scheduled to begin in the early afternoon. On their way out, the doorman handed Wilhelm a letter, saying it had been left for him by a courier who arrived shortly after dawn. Saxe- Weimar broke the seal, opened the letter, and scrutinized it. Then, folded it up and tucked it away.

Since it was a very pleasant day and they had plenty of time-no session of Germany's princelings began punctually-they chose to walk. The imperial palace was no great distance in any event.

As they neared the palace, a strange noise was heard in the sky. Like everyone else on the street, they stopped and looked up. Above, sailing directly over the palace, came the most bizarre-looking contraption anyone had ever seen.

Anyone except Wilhelm, at any rate. The former duke had seen it before, any number of times.

'Is that-?' asked Hesse-Kassel.

'Yes, Landgrave. That is what they call an 'airplane.' President Stearns informed me, in the letter I was handed as we left, that he would be flying back to Grantville this morning.'

Hesse-Kassel's head craned, as he gawked at the Las Vegas Belle passing overhead. So did everyone on the street except Saxe-Weimar, who took the time to draw out the letter and read it again.

Only after the aircraft had passed out of sight did Hesse-Kassel lower his head. He frowned, and pointed to the south. 'But I don't understand. Thuringia is that way. So why is he going-?'

Saxe-Weimar sighed. He still had a long way to go, before Germany's princelings-to use an American expression-got the picture.

'Why is he flying north? Well, if you ask him-or the head of his little flying military force who is probably the one at the controls of the machine-he will claim it was due to the necessities of wind direction, or whatever. A technical explanation which you will not be able to follow very well.'

The same peculiar droning sound began to fill the sky again, coming now from the north. Like a giant wasp, perhaps.

'The real reason, of course-' Wilhelm fell silent, waiting for the noise to subside. Coming back, Mike Stearns' aircraft was flying very low. As it passed directly over the imperial palace and then above the thoroughfare where Saxe-Weimar and Hesse-Kassel were standing, Wilhelm realized that this was the first time he had ever stood directly under the flying machine.

'I believe they call this 'buzzing'!' he half-shouted.

The aircraft, and the noise, faded away.

'As I was saying, the real reason he did it was to remind everyone who is attending the session today-none too subtly-' Saxe-Weimar poked a finger toward the imperial palace. '-that we can either reach an accommodation with Gustavus Adolphus or-' He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the now-vanished aircraft. '-we will someday have to try reaching an accommodation with him.'

Hesse-Kassel grunted. 'Indeed. The Swede looks better all the time.'

'Does he not?'

They took a few more steps and then Wilhelm handed Hesse-Kassel the letter.

'Most of this is really for you, I think, even though it's addressed to me. It's all very polite. But the gist of it is that the President of the United States feels that-with war now here-it would be a good gesture-show our enemies that we stand united-if the American admiral residing here in Magdeburg-and his wife-were to be invited to some of the social functions which surround this gathering of so many of Germany's princes. And since you're the most important of them, Wilhelm-we'll leave aside Saxony and Brandenburg, no chance of them doing it-I think you should take the lead. Besides, Amalie always has the best soirees anyway.'

Hesse-Kassel's face looked as sour as a pickle. But, as his eyes came toward the end of the message, the expression began to lighten.