Federico Ballarino stopped his mule and studied the guards at the roadblock. They were too well uniformed to be brigands, but it wasn't unheard of for a local lord to decide to boost his income by imposing a toll. Or even robbing travelers outright. Indeed, it was out of concern of being robbed that he was dressed rather below his rank.
Uh, oh. He was definitely being watched. One of the guardsman waved him to come forward. He reconciled himself to the inevitable and urged his mount into a trot. Hopefully this wouldn't be too expensive. He prudently had his main purse well concealed.
"An' who might ye be, an' wha' be the reason for ye takin' the road to Grantville this fine day," said one of the soldiers.
It was an accent that Federico had heard before, but he had not expected to hear it in Thuringia.
"You're a Scot!"
"Indeed I am, o' one o' his Swedish Majesty's Scots Regiments, on detail t' the SoTF. But what is more t' the point is, who are ye?"
"I am Federico Ballarino."
"From?"
"I was born in Venice. But I have traveled widely in England, France and Germany."
"A papist, no doubt," the Scotsman grumbled. "And wha' is your business?"
"I am here at the invitation of Axel Oxenstierna, his Majesty's chancellor."
The Scotsman looked Federico over, and was not impressed. "And I am the Queen of Sheba."
Federico frowned. "I realize that I am not dressed like a gentleman. The Germanies are not, as well you know, a good place for a traveler to look wealthy. But I have credentials. If you will permit me—" He reached slowly into his jacket, and pulled out an envelope.
The trooper took it reluctantly, opened it, and shook his head. "I don't read Latin. What does it say?"
"I have been invited to be the dancing instructor for the Princess Kristina. I was advised that she is presently residing in Grantville."
"Hmmph. It looks like the chancellor's seal, but . . . no one has told us to expect ye. . . ." He called over another guard.
"Wha' think ye o' this?" He handed over the document.
"I dinna' know," said his companion. "Seems t' me that the princess is a wee bit too young to have a dancin' teacher."
Federico drew himself up stiffly. "I am sure you are very familiar with the customs of the Swedish court," he said drily, "but I beg to differ. She is quite old enough, from what I hear, to start lessons."
The two guards looked at each other. "I know," chortled one, "we'll let him prove himself!" They called over their fellows. "Hey, now, we are about to have ourselves a royal performance."
They turned to Federico. "What will ye do, to show us thy mettle?"
He stared at them. "Would a Scottish sword dance suit you?" Now that took them by surprise. He could see that they were wondering, What have we got ourselves into? Which, Federico thought, was no better than they deserved.
But they realized that they were committed. "Aye, that'll do."
"Then lay down the crossed swords." Federico leaped onto the first quadrant, capered in place, and then moved onto the next. He traversed all four squares without looking down, and without disturbing either blade. Then he jumped away, into a final pose. "Satisfied?" he asked.
They nodded vigorously. "Sorry, sir, we meant no harm. An' who'd have thought a Venetian papist would know one of the great Scottish dances? Would some wine and food help make us even?" Federico was agreeable. Just as well they don't know that the Scots got that dance from the French, he mused.
After they finished carousing, the trooper who had given him the most difficulty offered to escort him not only into town, but directly to the princess' lodging.
"That would be very kind of you," said Federico. "But give me a few moments to change into more gentlemanly dress, so I don't give pause to anyone else we meet."
Federico surveyed Princess Kristina. The princess was not what he expected of a girl who was destined to be, upon the death of Gustav II Adolf, the Queen of the Swedes, Goths and Vandals, Great Princess of Finland, Duchess of Esthonia and Carelia, Lady of Ingria, Empress of the United States of Europe, and Captain General of the State of Thuringia-Franconia. Her hair was untidy, with a piece of ribbon slipped into it, looking like red flotsam on a storm-tossed sea. Her blouse and skirt were simple, and marred with scholarly ink stains. Her shoes had low heels, like those of a man.
Somewhat uneasily, he realized that he was under equally close scrutiny. He decided it best to begin the lesson. "Principessa. I am privileged to have the opportunity to instruct you. May I ask what instruction you have received already?"
"My governess has taught me a few steps. But Lady Ulrike is not an enthusiastic dancer; she just does the minimum required for social acceptability." Lady Ulrike, at that moment, was sitting in the corner, knitting, and pretending to ignore the conversation.
Perhaps feeling that she had been too critical, Kristina added, "But she is a wonderful rider and an excellent riding instructor. I ride a few hours each day, and I owe much to her tutelage."
Federico pondered this intelligence. It was vital that he make a good first impression on the princess. He doubted that he would do so by spending an hour having her practice her reverences, or a stately pavane. And it appeared likely, given her equestrian activity, that she was in robust condition. Her skirt would not restrict her leg movements much, and she probably chose it for that very reason.
"Perhaps we can spend a little time on the cinque passe first, Your Highness. It was a great favorite of the young Queen Elizabeth of England. And, for that matter, of the old Queen Elizabeth. It is the basic step of the galliard, or as the Italians say, the gagliarda.
"Let us begin in the posture gauche, like so. Yes, the left foot in front, but weight evenly divided. We begin with a pied en l'air droit." He had leaped onto his left foot, extending his right leg low and forward. "Now we reverse." She copied him. "We repeat this pair of movements.
"Now the difficult part, the cadenza. We will make a little jump, so both feet are in the air, and bring the left foot behind, landing in the opposite pose, with right in front. Like so." He demonstrated what he meant.
"A few points. First, the timing. The music is in six counts, but there are only five steps. They are syncopated; one two three four, and five. Also, note how I complete the cadence. I land on the foot behind an instant before I bring down the one in front. If you land on both feet simultaneously, it looks as if you are a sack of grain that has been dumped on the ground. That is not considered courtly.
"So, now it is your turn."
He returned the next day. It was evident, as soon as he saw her, that she was anxious to tell him something. "Have you seen the American ballet?" she asked. "Bad, Bad Brillo? Or The Nutcracker?"
"No, Principessa, I have not. Where do they hold these ballets?"
"Different places. At the high school. Or at one of the castles. But I can show you Bad, Bad Brillo. I have it on video." She turned to Lady Ulrike. "Please, may I show Signor Ballarino my video?"
Lady Ulrike sighed. He wondered at her reluctance, but she obviously knew where her duty lay. "Yes, of course. But I will expect you to be prepared to discuss the dancing, not just watch it for pleasure this time. This is a lesson, you know."
The governess took a black object out of a locked cabinet. It was the size of a sextodecimo, a book made of sheets folded in half four times, then cut. Lady Ulrike inserted it into the flapped slot of a strange, cubelike metal and glass device, and pressed a button.
Much to Federico's amazement, the words "Bad, Bad Brillo" filled a small area of the device then, "Performed by the Grantville Ballet Company." The letters faded away and were replaced by images that moved in a dance that told the story of the ram Brillo and his four ewes.
Federico quickly put aside his curiosity regarding the technology, and concentrated on the dancing.
When it was over, he said slowly, "Thank you very much for sharing that with me, Principessa."
"You liked it? I knew you would," she bubbled.
"This is the ballet of the twentieth century?" She nodded. "It is both like, and unlike, the ballet of our own day." He took a moment to decide how best to express his reactions.
"The performers were all quite young. So I suppose it must be classified as a ballet de college, that is, of the secondary schools. In France, each year, the students of rhetoric learn their parts from their dancing masters and, in August, they perform in the courtyard of their college. Thousands of people may come to watch the show." He smiled. "When I was in Paris, I was an assistant dancing master at the College de Clermont. I gave lessons, and I performed the most difficult role."
"And do they do anything like Bad, Bad Brillo?"
"It is difficult to generalize, but if a ram appeared in a ballet de college, he would not truly represent a ram. The ram would be but a metaphor for youth. Or the spirit of spring, perhaps." Kristina digested this.
"Brillo's no metaphor," she insisted. "I've seen him."
"I accept your imperial word on the subject," he said solemnly, and bowed. "But let us continue our analysis of the dance. Did you like the lifts?"
"Oh, yes, they were so graceful."
"Before the coming of the Americans, the only instance I can think of in which a man lifted a woman in a dance was in la volta. Have you heard of it?" Kristina shook her head.
"It was the English Queen Elizabeth's favorite dance. She jumped, and rode the man's knee as they turned about." Lady Ulrike frowned, but didn't say anything.
"Then there is the way the dancers walked on tip-toe."
"Frau Bitty Matowski calls it en pointe," Kristina explained.
Federico said hesitantly, "I must confess that it is not entirely clear to me how they can hold so unnatural a position."
"I asked Frau Bitty Matowski about that. She said that the dancers wear special shoes, and that it takes years of conditioning before the feet can stay en pointe, even with their help."
"Another aspect. The turn-out of the feet."
"Yes," said Kristina. "In the galliard, you had only a little."
"I teach what is a compromise between the French and Italian styles. The Italians do not use turn-out, the French favor some. But neither use the extreme form that we saw on the 'video.' I wonder how and when that style developed."
"You must talk to Frau Bitty Matowski. She is in Magdeburg much of the time, but if you go to the high school, they can tell you when she will be in Grantville."
"I will do that, Principessa. But please note, it was not entirely foreign. Here and there were steps that looked somewhat familiar. Steps taken from a court dance here, or a folk dance there. I will show you.
"Now, it is time for you to do some dancing." He taught her a few of those steps, as well as the second most popular step of the galliard, the campanella, or little bell. After the lesson, he asked one of the guards for directions to the high school, and started walking. Frau Bitty Matowski, he wondered. A woman dancing master? How curious.
Frau Bitty Matowski was indeed at the school, teaching a "Dance for Fitness" class. The class had already started, and Federico started to turn away. She pointed at him, and shouted, "New here? First class is free! Get in line!" He found an empty spot on the floor, and joined in. Some of the participants were clearly having trouble keeping up with the pace. It wasn't a problem for him.
The teacher kept eyeing him. He hoped he wasn't doing something wrong. The class came to an end.
"You have danced before. But you aren't an American."
"No, Frau Matowski, I am not. I am Federico Ballarino."
"Please, call me Bitty. Or Frau Bitty, if you must be formal. You are going to meet quite a few Matowskis if you are a dancer. Your name sounds familiar—wait, you are Princess Kristina's dance teacher."
"Yes . . ." That was all he got to say.
"Boy, do we need to talk. Which nights do you have free? Have you seen any of our ballets? I know Kristina has the videotapes. Can you teach our group any of the down-time dances?"
Federico wondered if he would ever get a word in. In desperation, he raised both hands, palms toward her, in what he hoped was the universal signal for, "Stop! I can't answer any of your questions if you don't give me time to speak!"
Bitty stopped talking and smiled sheepishly. "Did you want to say something?"
"You are very kind to ask, Frau Bitty. Yes, I have seen Bad, Bad Brillo. It was quite enjoyable. I do hope you will let me see some more of these video . . . tapes. And perhaps you have some books on the dances of your time, that I might borrow?
"As for teaching your group, I am sure that would be possible. I must of course see first to the needs of the Furstin von Schweden. After a week or two, I will have a better idea of how often I will be meeting with her, and then I can consider other commitments."
"That would be wonderful," said Bitty.
"Frau Bitty. As one dancing master to another, perhaps you can help me on another matter. You understand, I am not one of the princess' main tutors. I only teach her a few hours a week. So I am given my maintenance, and a small stipend, but I could use some additional income. I had hoped that once I had made her acquaintance, I might put myself forward to tutor her in another subject. But she seems to be amply supplied with instructors in every other discipline."
"The school might be interested in having you teach an adult-ed group class in down-time dances." Bitty held up her hand. "Wait a moment. You clearly consider yourself competent to teach several subjects. How much schooling have you had? Other than in dance, I mean."
"I am a graduate of the University of Padua, where I took courses in theology, law, mathematics, art and music. And I have also studied in Paris and London."
"And which subjects have you actually taught?"
"I taught arithmetic at a school in Paris. And I was a 'traveling tutor' for northerners touring southern Europe when I was, how shall I put it, in-between appointments as a dancing master. Mostly, I taught foreign languages and music to Englishmen, as well as some Scots, Germans, Danes and Swedes. Indeed, my cousin is doing the same thing right now."
"Wonderful! The high school desperately needs teachers. Speak to Principal Saluzzo. The school will pay you a salary, and as a teacher, you can take classes at the Adult Education Center for free. We even have a ballroom dance class."
"Ballroom dancing?"
"That's one of the genres of dancing we had back home, before the Ring of Fire. There's square dancing, clogging, contra, swing, disco and others. But ballroom dancing is what is probably the most similar to what you consider 'court dancing.'"
"Ah. I would like to see that. Oh, and—"
"Yes?"
"Videotapes. Are there videotapes showing different genres of dance? And is there a place to see them?"
"There are thousands of videotapes in Grantville, and plenty of them show some kind of dancing. I have a fair number of those myself. Don't worry, I'll give you a briefing on what to see, and where. Just let me finish packing up my gear."
Federico had assembled a list of videotapes of interest. Top Hat. The Gay Divorcee. Singin' in the Rain. The Red Shoes. West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever. Dirty Dancing. Strictly Ballroom. Swing Kids. A Day at the Races. Blast from the Past. Some were available for rental from Everett Beasley's store. Others were in private hands. How fortunate, for example, that Irene Fortney was an Astaire-Rogers fan!
Of course, Federico didn't own a VCR or a TV. But a retired couple, the Johnsons, had discovered a creative way of compensating for the loss of their pension. It exploited their one extravagance: a projection TV. Bring a videotape of interest to them, and they would plop it into their VCR. Watch it yourself, or bring as many friends as would fit into their viewing room. Their projection fee was reasonable; the homemade popcorn was optional.
The variety of dance forms Federico saw was bewildering. But then, he should have expected that—he was seeing, in the course of a few weeks, the results of almost four centuries of dance evolution. Bitty had warned him, but hearing was not the same as seeing. I will learn these dances, one day. All of them, he resolved.
On Bitty's recommendation, Victor Saluzzo, the high school principal, hired Federico as a part-time phys ed teacher. After his first day on the job, he and Bitty sat outside the high school, enjoying a mild spring evening, and waiting for Bitty's husband to come meet her. Federico decided it was a good time to broach a delicate issue.
"I assure you, Frau Bitty, that it is not my intent to learn your twentieth-century ballet and form a competing company," Federico said earnestly. "But neither can a dancing master of my ambition be content to be simply a dancer, even a soloist, with your own troupe. I must find my own path."
"Of course, Federico!" said Bitty. "There's room for all kinds of dancing. The joy we take in movement with music is not a fixed quantity, which one troupe consumes at the expense of another. Indeed, it is the reverse. Giving someone a taste of dancing whets their appetite for more." She sipped her drink. "But I do expect you to teach the group that gavotte!"
"Many of your social dances deserve their chance to captivate other parts of Europe," he acknowledged. "After all, several started 'dance crazes' in your 'old time line.' Perhaps, when I have mastered them, I can restore them to their rightful place in our culture.
"Also, I hope that I will be able to develop a new dance vocabulary which combines, in some new and exciting way, the dances of my time and those of your own." He shrugged.
"But that is for the future. First, I must find more pupils, whether they be up-timers or down-timers, who are interested in learning the dances that I know already."
"Oh, I have some names for you," said Bitty. "But it will cost you. You said you knew a dance for a man and two women, is that right?"
The end of the school year was approaching, and the North Central cheerleading team had come to the realization that it was in danger of becoming irrelevant. North Central was only high school in Thuringia where there were kids who wanted to play football, and hence the football league was no more. No football; no half-time cheer. Basketball was also languishing, at least as a team sport. Baseball was increasingly popular, but didn't seem a good match for cheerleading—none of the breaks were long enough for a good routine. So the cheerleaders had decided to reinvent themselves as a dance team that could put on concerts.
"But where are we going to learn enough new material to do a show of our own?" asked Millicent Anne Barnes, one of their "fliers."
The team was quiet for a moment, then Lisa Hilton, who had been elected as the new team captain, gave Michelle, of the dancing Matowskis, a Look. "Well?"
"I'm sorry," said Michelle. "Every dancer in our family will be in Magdeburg, all summer." She thought a moment. "Well, Adriane Hall used to be a professional dancer. She was a cheerleader in high school and college, too. We'd have recruited her for the ballet company if she weren't too busy with TacRail at the time. I hear she's on leave. So ask her."
Judith Wendell proposed an alternative. "Princess Kristina has a new dance tutor. Federico Something or Other. Maybe he could teach us something new." Her fellow Barbie Consortium members, Vicki and Millicent Anne, nodded vigorously.
"If it's from the seventeenth century, isn't it old?"
"Ha. Very funny. Not."
"Ha yourself."
"Shush you two," said Lisa. "It's a good idea. Hardly any of the German girls have tried out for the team. Maybe if we gave them something familiar to do, they would be easier to recruit."
"I suppose Federico would be okay. Bitty says he's a good dancer. But what about Miss Hall?" asked Michelle.
"What's the problem?" said Kristin Washaw, the graduating team captain. She had strongly favored the changeover, in part because the school might be persuaded to allow local alumni to continue to dance with the team. "Ask them both! We can get a routine out of each of them."
In college, Adriane Hall took every dance class the school had to offer. She even danced professionally for several summers before resigning herself to a career in management. After her marriage and divorce, she returned to Grantville. She was now, officially, a USE Reserve lieutenant, but really just a glorified office manager for TacRail.
Bitty's ballet company workload had increased, and Bitty had made up her mind to recruit Adriane to take over the ballroom dance class. Federico's arrival in town would, she thought, play nicely into her plans. Bitty stalked her prey, and struck.
"But I'm just here on leave, I'll be back in Magdeburg, soon enough," Adriane protested.
"Oh, I understand that," said Bitty. "But we need you. And, seriously. We're trying to preserve as much of our culture as we can. You're the only professional dancer to pass through the Ring of Fire. So what are you doing with your life? Typing for your country? Let TacRail train a down-timer to do that."
"But who would be my partner? Aren't all your good male dancers going with you to Magdeburg?"
Bitty pretended to need a moment to think of a solution. "Princess Kristina has an Italian dancing master. Federico Ballarino. So appeal to his sense of civic duty." She was fairly confident that once Federico had a good look at Adriane, he would be quite civic-minded.
Adriane agreed to give the class a try. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.
Federico was happy to help the lovely Adriane out, provided that she in turn would learn some court dance steps and help him teach them to some of his private pupils. A few of the local down-timers, drawn by his association with Princess Kristina, had hired him to teach their sons and daughters, and some movements were easier to teach if they were first demonstrated by a knowledgeable couple.
Adriane and Federico decided to start by exchanging private lessons. They worked together for about an hour, then took a break.
"Does it bother you?" she asked. "I mean, that a woman is a professional dancer? And a dance teacher?"
"It was, I admit, a surprise, madonna. But you should understand, there have been women who were famous for their dancing, even as Vittoria Colonna was for her poetry, or Cassandra Fedele for her oration. And I must mention the painter Artemisia Gentileschi, who is still alive.
"The most famous female dancer, I would say, was the duchessa of Milan, Beatrice d'Este. She performed for the French king, Charles the Eighth, and he urged her to try one of the French dances. To his astonishment, she mastered it on first acquaintance."
"How long ago was that?"
"According to my own teacher, it was in 1494."
"That was a long time ago."
"Not by Italian standards," he said airily. "In any event, I have been studying the entries on dance in the encyclopedias, as well as the library of Frau Bitty. In what you Americans have termed the 'old time line,' in a mere half-century, the French would put 'ballerinas' on stage.
"As a Venetian, I am eager to cause the French to, as you Americans say, 'eat our dust.'" He paused.
"But, signora, I must warn you of the peril you are in."
"Peril?"
"You are in danger of becoming a 'time-ist,' signora," he said with a smile.
"A 'time-ist?'"
"It is a new word I have coined. I was previously informed by one of your compatriots of the meaning of the term 'sexist.'" Adriane winced slightly. "No, it wasn't being applied to me specifically, but to Europeans of my time, in general.
"And, I suppose, with their knowledge of many women of intelligence and achievement, I understand why 'up-timers' think that the men of my age are 'sexists.'
"But you Americans do, in turn, evidence an unfortunate tendency to treat anything that we 'down-timers' do differently as quaint at best. More likely primitive, even bestial.
"Hence . . . 'time-ists.'"
"What, exactly, is "Homecoming Week?" Federico asked. He had been ambushed by a gang of cheerleaders after one of the ballroom dance classes. Their explanations came fast and furious.
"It's the first big event of the school year."
"We start with a homecoming parade on Monday."
"And we have special dress-up days on Tuesday and Wednesday."
"Like Hawaiian, or Nerd."
"But we always wear class colors on Thursday. Seniors are blue, juniors are green, sophomores are red, and freshman are white."
"And we also have a 'powder puff' game that day."
Adriane joined Federico in the corridor in time to hear the last "explanation." She took pity on him. "That means, senior girls play football against the junior girls, and the boys are the cheerleaders."
The girls didn't give him a chance to ask what "football" or "cheerleaders" might be. "Then, the homecoming game itself is on Friday night. That's varsity football."
"And Saturday is the homecoming dance."
Ah, dance! A familiar word at last. Federico clutched at this straw. "What happens at this dance?"
"Well, first we crown the homecoming king and queen—"
"But in the civics class, I was told that you Americans don't have a king and queen." Federico was still a little sensitive about this issue.
The girls giggled. "They're just students who are being honored for their contributions."
"It helps to be popular."
"And good looking."
Adriane intervened. "Each of the school organizations can nominate a pair of candidates. All the candidates together form the 'Homecoming Court.' Before the football game, there is a parade, and at half-time, the cheerleaders and the marching band perform, and the homecoming court is presented to the audience. The king and queen are chosen by secret ballot, and the results are announced at the homecoming dance. The homecoming king and queen thank their subjects, and welcome them to the dance.
"Then the king and queen do a slow dance together, just the two of them, and then the rest of the evening is dancing in which all the students can join in."
"This is all very interesting," Federico said diplomatically. "But why are you telling this to me?" Federico was anxious to call it a day, but didn't want to risk offending up-timers, even if they were just teenagers.
"Well, we're cheerleaders! Our big chance to shine is when we do our cheer routine at half-time of the homecoming game."
"Cheer?"
"It's a kind of dancing," Adriane explained. "As the dancers move, they shout out encouragements to their athletes, and insult their opponents. They also do formations and gymnastics to impress the audience."
"The problem is, the school isn't going to have a football team anymore! Not enough down-timers tried out for the team. And the whole excuse for homecoming week was the game. No game, no cheerleading, no dance."
"We were hoping you could come up with something to replace the football game as a reason to do all the other stuff." The cheerleaders waited expectantly for Federico's response.
"It's curious," said Federico. "What you are describing reminds me a little bit of a court masque. It is a form of entertainment which has been very popular in England since, oh, the time of King Henry the Eighth. Each masque has a 'fable'—what I guess you would call a plot—but to be honest, it is mostly just an excuse to dance."
"Sounds good so far."
"The court masque has three basic elements: the masque proper, the anti-masque, and the revels. The masque proper is stately and patterned; it is danced by the nobility. Even royalty will participate. Anne of Denmark, James' queen, was the lead in the 'Masque of Blackness.'
"The anti-masque is performed by professionals, and is much wilder. For example, in 'Oberon,' the anti-masquers imitated satyrs.
"The revels are social dances, initiated by the masquers but joined in by everyone. They dance pavanes, galliards, corantos, branles, contredans, and so forth."
"So the homecoming court are the high school equivalent of the noble masquers of a court masque."
"Exactly. And the cheerleaders are the anti-masquers."
"And the homecoming dance is the revel!"
"Indeed."
The gals huddled. "So, Mr. Ballarino, can you choreograph a court masque for our school?"
Federico hesitated. His first responsibility was to Kristina. But Kristina had friends in the school; she would like the idea of dancing with them. And she could be given a principal role, suitable to her station. Surely Gustavus Adolphus would reward Federico for advancing her.
Wait a moment. What if she tripped on stage? Federico had no desire to learn firsthand about conditions in Swedish dungeons. Well. Federico would very judiciously evaluate her dance skills. If they weren't up to par, she could lead a walking dance, like a pavane. That should be safe enough.
"I suppose. If you obtain the necessary permissions. I will also need to see what your cheerleading routines look like, so I know what you are capable of."
After negotiations that rivaled those of the Congress of Vienna in their complexity, the school administration, the drama department, the cheer squad, the princess' guardians, and the town government reached agreement. Instead of a "Homecoming Dance," for just the high school students, there was going to be a "Harvest Moon Masque," open to the entire community. It would be held at the traditional time, the last full week in October. Federico and Adriane would be co-choreographers.
Princess Kristina had been working hard on her galliard repertoire. In consequence, she was to have her own solo. The princess thought that as a "soldier's daughter," she should have a military title in the program. Hence, Federico and Adriane agreed to list her as the "Lieutenant General" of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, since her father was "Captain General," and that title was to be hereditary in the Vasa line. They thought of it as being something of an "inside joke."
"Federico—there has been a change in plans." Adriane seemed agitated.
"What sort of change?" Federico asked warily.
"Well, the captain general has asked that the Harvest Moon Masque be, uh, 'geared-up,'" said Adriane. "With his financial support, of course."
"I suppose he has in mind a 'court ballet.' Unlike your up-time ballets, it was danced, at least in part, by noble amateurs. It is really just a more elaborate form of the 'masque,' usually with a mythological theme. The theatrical elements are more extensive, and there is no revel."
"Nothing you can't cope with, right? But as for the theme . . . Gustav wants to make a political statement. He would like the event to commemorate his coronation as king of Sweden."
"When was that?"
"October 12, 1617. But the king says that he can live with any date in October. And he is agreeable to still holding it in Grantville, since that is what his daughter wants. The real catch is that he wants a choreography which is suitably, uh . . ." She searched for the right word.
"Laudatory?"
"Yup. Oh . . . you know how we were joking around? Lieutenant General Kristina?"
"Yes?"
"It's no longer a joke. The king likes the idea. Assuming that the prime minister agrees, her appointment will be announced that weekend. So the princess had better have a principal role in the performance."
"Has any thought been given to where this performance would be held? I doubt the gymnasium could hold everyone one who would want to attend."
"Apparently, Chancellor Oxenstierna has already spoken to the principal and to the mayor. They said to tell you that they thought the event will need to be moved to the football stadium. That will hold three, maybe four thousand people."
"Right. So are there any specific choreographic changes he wants? A martial entree, perhaps?"
"Yes. Muskets or pikes or something of the sort. And he said to emphasize to you that the dancer representing him should bear suitable royal indicia. He regrets that he is too busy to dance himself."
Federico breathed a sigh of relief. Gustav's temper was notorious, and he reportedly did not take well to being told what to do.
"I wish we had more time . . . Perhaps the princess' honor guard could help? No, they are cavalrymen, not pikemen."
"I have an idea," said Adriane. "The military number can be performed by the Junior ROTC at the school. I believe they have a drill team. If so, the drill can be converted into a dance fairly easily."
"And how should we recruit them?" asked Federico.
"No problem," said Adriane. "I'll talk to the cheerleaders. They'll do the recruiting better than you or I can."
"Whatever works. Now, as to our greater concerns. We obviously will need to rework the overall program to direct it toward the new theme. I will go through Bitty's 'stories of the great ballets' books, to see if they give me any ideas. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Federico pored over Bitty Matowski's ballet books until his eyes were tearing. Then he had his brainstorm.
Federico went looking for Adriane. "The masque has evolved into a court ballet titled 'After Night, the Dawn.' It will begin with a court and ballroom dance suite, like that of an everyday masque."
"We can earn some brownie points by offering some of the local nobility the chance to participate," said Adriane.
"Indeed. Then we segue into several anti-masques. The cheerleaders can do their stunts."
"Could the drama club be of any help?" Adriane asked.
"Yes, if they can do comedy. Then we conclude with a more allegorical courtly masque. That's the part which honors Gustav II Adolf. And his daughter can dance there, too. In fact, you, she and I will have the three main roles in the show."
"Is that last act the one where you are going to use the JROTC drill team?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, I think I must omit one part of a traditional masque, the revel. I think it would be anticlimactic to put it in after the part honoring our sponsor."
"I have an idea. The revels could be informal, after the performance. The high school gym, the Thuringen Gardens, and so on could host social dances, of both up- and down-time genres, in various parts of town. I can organize that."
"Excellent. But now I have to tell you the best part. Gustav wants a political statement? Oh, he is going to love the allegory. And its source." He explained.
The rehearsal had not gone well. The cheerleaders just didn't seem able to get the hang of a new pattern which Adriane had taught them; it was too different from what they were accustomed to. Adriane, consequently, was feeling blue.
Federico sat with her quietly. After a few minutes, he coughed, drawing her attention. "It is hard not to worry about a performance."
"Tell me about it," griped Adriane. "I was in one traveling show, and we normally did our routine to recorded music. But then we had to perform it at a festival, which insisted that we use live music. The festival musicians assured us that they knew the song, and the first time the organizers put us together was at the final dress rehearsal."
"They learned the wrong music."
Adriane grinned. "Oh, it was the right music, but they were accustomed to a different arrangement. By the end of rehearsal, we thought we had it all straightened out.
"Then came the big performance. Halfway through, the musicians skipped a repeat. The more experienced dancers in the group realized that they had jumped to a later part of the music, and threw themselves into the appropriate section of the choreography. The less experienced ones were oblivious, and just kept dancing."
"So half the group ended with the music, and the other half were caught unawares?" asked Federico.
"You got it."
Federico smiled. "Oh, I, too, have stories to tell. Now, this one, I wasn't one of the performers, but I was in the audience.
"One number was depicting an Italian village market scene. It was, of course, just an excuse to throw in some peasant dances. However, the dancing master had wanted to increase the sense of realism, so he had peasants driving a donkey and cart across the stage at one point.
"The next group came on. They were noble visitors from France, doing one of the new French court dances, a gavotte. What they didn't know was that, while onstage, the donkey had a call of nature."
Adriane snickered. "No!"
"Yes. So on they came. One-two-three-squish. One-two-three-squish."
"And what happened afterwards?"
"The French were solemnly assured that the peasants would be severely punished. And once the visitors had left, the peasants were brought to the palazzo, briefly reprimanded, and then given a five-year performance contract.
"The contract did provide that the donkey was to be left behind, but they were asked to be sure to bring a cart on stage each year, in honor of the event." Adriane laughed.
"Anyway, about the immediate problem. You can't worry too much about just one rehearsal."
"I suppose. We even had a saying. 'The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance.'"
Adriane smiled. "You know how to cheer up a girl."
"It made me sad to see you upset. So I was merely acting out of self-interest." Federico blushed.
Adriane's eyes widened. She touched her fingers lightly to his shoulder. "Thank you," she said quietly.
He took her fingers in his own hand. "You're welcome." Then he released her.
Adriane sighed. "Well, I'd best be getting home."
"I will walk you there." She accepted. They took their time getting there, and paused on her porch.
"Good night, Adriane."
"Good night, Federico."
The next day, Adriane tendered her resignation to TacRail.
Federico approached the priest. "Father Kircher. What is the status, in the eyes of the Church, of an up-time woman who was divorced, but just by the twentieth-century civil authorities?"
"Ah, then in the eyes of the Church, she was married to her husband at the time of the Ring of Fire. The ecclesiastical scholars have expressed several views as to the effect of that miracle.
"Some say that the husband left up-time is like a sailor lost at sea, and the woman must wait seven years before having him declared legally dead, after which, as a widow, she may remarry. Others, that she was immediately widowed by the event, as it irrevocably sundered them, just as death would.
"A few contend that since the Ring of Fire caused, or will cause, many events not to happen—such as the death of Gustavus Adolphus at Lutzen in 1632—that the marriage itself never occurred. Indeed, the husband never existed." Kircher paused.
"May I ask whether this is a purely theoretical inquiry?"
"Purely theoretical."
It was a windy autumn Friday. The big event was just a day away. Adriane looked up at the sky. "It's looking a bit threatening."
Federico didn't seem especially concerned. "Yes, I imagine you Americans will have to turn on your weather control machines, soon, make sure it doesn't rain tomorrow."
"What are you talking about, Federico?"
"Your fantastical electrical devices for moving around the clouds, or whatever it is that they do."
"Just where did you get the idea that we could stop it from raining?"
"Is it a military secret, perhaps? I saw all the strange devices on your rooftops."
"The lightning rods and satellite dishes?"
"And then there is that great stone tower your people are so mysterious about. It was only when I saw the movie that I realized its true purpose. Don't worry, I won't reveal it to any outsider."
"What movie?"
"I believe it was called, The Avengers."
Adriane sighed. "That was what we call 'science fiction.' Actually, bad 'science fiction.' We can't control the weather."
"So what do up-timers do when there's a storm coming in?"
"We get out our umbrellas and raincoats. We head indoors. Or we pray."
Federico reexamined the clouds, frowned, and headed for St. Mary Magdalene's to do his part.
It had become apparent, early on, that even the stadium would not hold all of the spectators. Federico and Adriane had decided to put the stage near one end, and fill the other half of the field with "orchestra seating." Except in the "VIP section" up front, that was a fancy name for wood benches. The elevated stadium seating behind the stage was reserved for the musicians. Two tents flanked the stage; they would be used as changing areas-cum-stage wings. The area immediately behind the stage was reserved for props and special effect equipment, some of which was covered with tarps.
The hundred-piece marching band paraded onto the field, and then ascended to their section, joining assorted down-time and up-time adult musicians. The cheerleaders were next, strutting out, swinging their pom-poms, and shouting out, as a cheer routine, a highly abbreviated prologue. In the meantime, the food concessionaire, Grantville Freedom Arches, was doing a brisk business, both on the field and in the stands.
The first act was supposed to simulate a typical court dance of a royal court. The couples were masked, but several were prominent members of the community. The most notable down-timer was the Imperial Princess Kristina Vasa, who would be eight years old in just a couple of months. She was partnered by the thirteen-year-old Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Ebeleben. In addition, young Emilie von Oldenberg had managed to coax her husband, Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, into participating. The down-time ranks were filled out by various pupils of Federico, Adriane and Bitty, notably the duchess-ballerina Elisabeth Sofie.
The up-time contingent included Timothy and Lisa Kennedy, who had learned swing dancing when they lived in Baltimore, and Ed and Annabelle Piazza. The Piazzas had been active in community theater before the Ring of Fire, and therefore were experienced in up-time theatrical dancing. Ed had even managed to squeeze in a few lessons in seventeenth-century dances, sandwiched in-between his many tasks as President of the State of Thuringia-Franconia. If he forgot a move, well, Annabelle was there to back-lead him.
The first slow-fast pairing was of a pavane and a galliard. Just your usual seventeenth-century "top forty" stuff. These were followed by a slow waltz, and a medium-tempo jitterbug. Finally, the masquers polka'd off. The masquers who were not needed for other acts changed hurriedly, so that they could claim their reserved seats in the VIP section and watch the rest of the show from there.
The torches were quenched, the stage crew rushed in, and half the stage was transformed from the main hall of a court to the common room of a tavern. The other half depicted the street outside. A series of loosely connected comic routines followed, some acted out by members of the high school drama club, and others by down-timers.
In one routine, a husband and wife were standing out on the street. The husband, a printer, explained that he had a "rush" job at the printing house. Off he went . . . to the tavern. There he and his buddies were, drinking beer and flirting with the barmaids, when in came his wife, broom in hand. She chased him around the tavern, much to the enjoyment of the others, and finally cornered him. She swung the broom low; he jumped over it. She swung it high, he ducked. They repeated these movements; suddenly, it was a dance. They stopped to catch their breath. He grabbed a mug of beer and handed it to her; she took a swig. They both grasped the broom and danced around it, first one way, then the other. His buddies each invited a barmaid to dance, and they all did a peasant couple dance, and then another folk dance, which progressed off stage.
Another number was clearly intended to poke fun at the up-timers' love of gadgets. Some men were sitting at a table in the tavern. A newcomer, dressed in twentieth-century clothes, entered. The locals invited the up-timer to join them at the table. After a few beers, one suggested that they all go fishing. The up-timer said, "I'll be right there; I have to pick up a few things from home," and went out by the "back door." The down-timers each grabbed a simple fishing rod and went out into the "street." They opened a trap door in the wood stage. Under it, a pit had been dug, and they began "fishing."
Then the up-timer returned. He was wearing a fishing vest with many pockets, a helmet with all sorts of strange metal antennae and coils, and carrying what looked like a giant harpoon.
"Wait, wait," he cried. "I will find the fish for you!" He set down the harpoon, put one hand on his helmet and extended the other, and started wandering around the "street," going everywhere, it seemed, but the actual fishing hole. Finally he stopped in front of it, saying in a stage whisper, "What a curious signal I am getting!" He picked up his harpoon and thrust it into the hole.
There was a great (amplified) shriek, which took the audience quite by surprise. The fishermen all fell back, and then the up-timer went to the edge of the hole and reached in. Out he pulled a beautiful woman, dressed as a mermaid. She smiled demurely at the audience.
"Now I understand," he said, "she is only half-fish, so I got only half a signal." He shook his head. "I had best throw her back in!"
"No, no!" shouted his comrades. They lifted the mermaid up, and carried her off stage. The up-timer followed, banging on his helmet perplexedly.
And so it went. The last skit ended with a dark-out, and the stage crew cleared the stage for the second act.
Amber Higham, the school's theater manager, had arranged for the Grantville Street and Roads Department to loan Federico one of the truck-mounted cherry pickers that were usually used to trim trees. It had an extendible boom, with a platform at one end.
The boom slowly hauled up a giant, reflective aluminum foil-covered disk hooked to the bottom of the platform. As the platform ascended, the stage crew trained spotlights on it. The moon had risen!
The cheerleaders now came back on stage. There were no cheers or pom-poms this time; this was a dance routine, with plenty of stunts.
They were dressed in half-white, half-black blouses and skirts, and wore headbands with a crescent moon symbol. There were now a dozen of them; they had been able to recruit and train two down-timer students.
At one point, they clustered together, with all of them oriented so that only the black parts of their costumes were visible. It created the appearance of a black disk. Then they turned. Not all at once, but progressively, so the black disk first acquired a white edge on one side, then was half-and-half, and so forth, until, finally, it was all white.
Bitty Matowski nodded approvingly. She had deliberately not sat in the VIP section on ground level, although she had received an invitation. Instead, she was up high in the stands, but at a forty-five degree angle to the centerline of the stage. That made it easy to see the dancers' floor patterns as well as their "front."
"See," she said to her husband. "They have shown the phases of the waxing moon, from new to crescent to half to gibbous to full." She pondered for a moment. "They really need more than twelve dancers for the best effect, however." As she spoke, the cheerleaders completed the figure, by depicting the waning of the moon. The dance continued.
The centerpiece of the finale was a very difficult lift. The side bases both held the flier's right foot, the front spot grasped her wrist and shin, and the back spot had one hand under her tush and the other on her calf. Millicent nodded slightly, confirming that she was ready to go airborne. On the count, her assistants all lifted, while she pushed down. Millicent was now balanced on just her right foot, which was above her supporters' heads.
To climax the stunt, Millicent raised her left leg to the vertical, holding her left foot in her right hand. Her right arm formed a gentle arc, curving left over her head, and her left arm was straight out horizontally, also to the left. This was the "bow-and-arrow" pose: the bow was formed by her right side, from hand to hip; the bowstring was her raised left leg; the arrow, her left arm. The crowd oohed and aahed.
In the VIP section, Lisa Dailey, the assistant principal, turned to Victor Saluzzo. "Very clever. The Greeks had three moon goddesses: Artemis, Selene, and Hecate. Artemis was also the goddess of the hunt. The bow was part of her iconography." Lisa had been an English teacher before the Ring of Fire.
"Whatever you say," replied Victor. "What I was thinking is that I wouldn't want to try getting into that position even if I was lying on the ground, let alone being held six feet up in the air. And mind you, I got my bachelor's in P.E."
The fliers dismounted, and the cheerleaders edged into a crescent formation, and kneeled.
Adriane now came onto the field. She was standing atop a salvaged Homecoming '99 float, wearing a silver sequined party dress, and matching shoes. On her head, she had a kind of skullcap to which an ingenious drama club draper had fastened a papier-mâché crescent, painted silver. This cap allowed her long hair to escape down her back; both her tresses and her exposed skin had been liberally sprinkled with twentieth-century "moon glitter" to give her a more celestial appearance.
The float was drawn by a team of white horses. Adriane's coachman, dressed in stage crew black, snapped his whip, and guided the float into a slow circuit of the football field. During this processional, the band played, "Shine On, Shine On Harvest Moon."
Adriane's unusual makeup attracted considerable attention.
"Do you have any idea how that woman has achieved that stunning starlight effect?" asked one of the duchesses in attendance.
"No, but I fully intend to find out," her companion replied.
While they spoke, the float pulled up alongside the rear of the stage.
Then Federico, dressed as a shepherd, made his entrance. The cheerleaders dropped to all fours, and "baa-ed." They were now his sheep. That established, they rose, and continued dancing, surging first in one direction, then another, as the band played a jig tune. As they did so, Federico cavorted about them, seeming to head off their movements and drive them in the other direction. One moment, he was doing a side step, with the stick held to one side. The next, he was leaping, one leg across the other, as he plied his stick in a figure-eight pattern.
The orchestra suddenly started playing an Argentine Tango tune, and Federico froze. Adriane descended from her float, assisted by two of the cheerleaders. She spiraled toward him, caressing the floor with each step, some slow, others quick.
Now she was circling him, and, simultaneously, he turned, hopping on his left foot, while his right foot traced little arcs in her direction. Suddenly, he trapped one of her feet between his. She responded by drawing the toe of her free foot, slowly, sensuously up his leg. He released her foot from the mordida, the "little bite," and their dance continued.
A canopy bed, mounted on rollers, was wheeled out of one of the prop tents. Four cheerleaders, two at each end, danced with it, turning it slowly clockwise, and occasionally releasing it to do spins of their own.
In the stands, Victor Saluzzo turned to his wife, Viola. "I know that Adriane is portraying the Moon Goddess Selene, but what was the name of her shepherd?
"Oh, let me think—Federico told me. Endymion, the shepherd, that's it. Selene the Moon saw him asleep in a cave, and shone down to join him each night. Eventually she asked Zeus to give him perpetual youth. Zeus agreed, but insisted that Endymion remain asleep forever."
"Doesn't sound like much of a deal."
"Yes, well, Zeus was one of Selene's ex-lovers. That may have had something to do with it. However, Selene and Endymion still managed to have fifty daughters."
In the meantime, Federico and Adriane had danced, now in the close embrace, to the edge of the bed. Some members of the audience looked shocked. Others leaned forward. Some did both.
Tim Kennedy thumbed the remote controls of the two precious fog machines. The high school PTA had used them in the "Haunted House" fundraiser it held each year, before the Ring of Fire. Basically, each machine had a piston pump, which forced the fog fluid through an aluminum block heat exchanger. A heating element had already preheated the metal, so the pumped fluid was "flashed" before it was forced out of the nozzle.
Federico and Adriane had been a bit worried about this particular special effect. They only had a limited amount of "fog fluid," so they couldn't practice with it as much as they would have liked to. But they did have a backup plan if the fog refused to materialize.
Fortunately, the machines spewed out a satisfyingly large quantity of fog, obscuring the audience's view of Adriane, Federico and the bed. The stage crew was happy; the opinion in the stands was, perhaps, more ambivalent. But the spectators did appreciate the conceit of clouds covering up the moon.
The four cheerleaders returned to the bed corners and released the curtain retainers. That was the backup plan, and also meant that they could economize a bit on fog fluid. Federico and Adriane were now completely hidden from view, and the bed, with them aboard, was returned to its tent.
It was now necessary to pay homage to the third moon goddess: Hecate. The school drama club returned to the stage, its players wearing dog masks, and carrying torches. They pranced about the stage.
Hecate entered, in an improvised chariot. Ideally, it would have been drawn by dragons, but two horses, each wearing a chamfron and neck guard painted to look like a dragon's head, had to do.
"Who is that?" Victor Saluzzo asked.
"I dropped my program, hold on. Okay, that's Hecate, Goddess of the Moon, of Magic, of the Underworld, of Sailors, and of Shepherds."
Ed Piazza overheard. "Sounds like she has a lot on her plate. I know exactly how she must feel."
Hecate was now dancing with her followers, who had been joined by the cheerleaders.
"It looks like Amber is enjoying herself," said Victor approvingly. Amber Higham, high school drama teacher in two universes, and former star of the Minneapolis community theater circuit, was indeed having a blast.
Princess Kristina entered, stage left, preceded by her attendants. These were Catherine Matzinger and Lady Ulrike, each holding one end of a long bolt of bright yellow cloth, with which they swept across the stage. The worshippers of Selene and Hecate scattered before them, even as night retreats from the light of day. Princess Kristina followed, but stopped at stage center. She was wearing a dress, tie-dyed in blues, yellows and reds. Wings were attached to her back. In one hand she carried a golden wand with a silver star on top. She, too, had received the "glitter dust" treatment. That, of course, only increased the intensity of interest in certain quarters. It was now an imperial cosmetic.
Thomas Jefferson Johnson turned to his wife. "Sybill, isn't that the little princess? My eyesight isn't what it used to be."
"Let me check the program, dear. Yes, indeed. It says 'Eos, the Dawn . . . Lieutenant General Kristina Vasa.'"
The musicians played a galliard tune. Kristina performed several galliard variations, short and long, including one inspired by a Charleston step. The silver disk was lowered, and a golden one slowly raised in its place. Kristina danced off stage.
The high school JROTC drill team marched onto the stage, and formed a double file. They presented arms. Now Federico emerged from the stage left tent. He was definitely no longer a shepherd. On his head he wore an elaborate headdress, made of some gold fabric which had been folded over and over, accordion fashion, and secured so it would fan out. His shoes had golden buckles, sunburst-shaped.
"There's Federico!" said TJ.
"Yes, he makes a very handsome Sun God, don't you think?" Sybill replied.
Federico's attire had some more secular aspects, too. Specifically, he was wearing a blue surcoat with a gold cross upon it—the Swedish flag.
Federico capered halfway down the line, turned to face the king, and bowed. The drill team separated into two groups, flanking him, and began executing show moves, such as rifle spins and exchange tosses.
There was quiet murmuring in the VIP section, which had the keenest interest in, and appreciation of, the political ramifications of the production. "So this confirms that Gustav is the 'Golden King,'" Fletcher Wendell, USE Secretary of the Treasury whispered.
Arnold Bellamy, of the USE State Department, laughed. "Oh, you don't realize how devious Federico is. He told His Majesty, who told me." Arnold stopped to admire a particularly spectacular spin-kick. Federico's fellow dancing masters would have recognized it as a "kick the tassles" move, but to the up-timers it looked like karate.
"Have you ever wondered why Louis the Fourteenth was called the Sun King?" Fletcher shook his head, and Arnold continued.
"Louis XIV was born, in our time line, in 1638, and ascended to the throne after Cardinal Richelieu's death. The young king loved to dance, even more than his father Louis XIII, and Mazarin was delighted to take advantage of it for political purposes.
"In 1653, the French court, and the attendant professional dancers, put on Ballet Royal de la Nuit. It showed Paris from sunset to sunrise. Louis XIV, then fourteen years old, appeared in the final act as Apollo, the Sun."
Fletcher chuckled. "So Federico has taken a piece of French propaganda and turned it into 'Gustaviana.' I like it. Especially if Richelieu, when he reads his spies' reports, recognizes exactly where this idea came from.
"Perhaps we should tell him, so he doesn't miss out?"
"Anyway," Arnold concluded, "thanks to Federico and Adriane, in this time line, Gustav II Adolf of Sweden is, and will forever be, the Sun King."