Baron Von Ernest and the Brotchen Schwestern

Blaring trumpets marked the arrival of the Baron von Ernest. 

The townsfolk rushed out of their houses to greet the great ruler, the Mayor ran  trouserless out of Mrs Hoffermann’s house to his own, then rushed from his own house wearing his official robes and sash, but still no trousers, and then back to Mrs Hoffermann’s from which he finally exited in complete attire. 

The Brotchen Schwestern stood outside of their bakehouse in the leather undergarments they baked in, the blacksmith stood grumpily in his blacksmith’s dress, the butcher stood smartly in his bloody apron and the rest of us hastily buttoned our shirts and brushed our outfits as clean as a work-day would allow. 

The parade of golden carriages passed all of these and then stopped outside of our house. 

The emissary climbed out of the carriage and held the door open.  A young boy, my own age, climbed out after him. This was the Baron von Ernest and, as the only boy the same age in the town, I had been selected as his playmate.  

“Hans Neesan,” said the Emissary, addressing me, “the Baron von Ernest.” 

“Herr von Ernest,” I said, bowing my head 

“Hello Hans,” said the Baron. “Let us play.” 

For a brief time, we kicked a ball back and forth in the street, but the Baron had little coordination and soon tired of the exercise. 

“Let us play another game,” he said. 

“I have cards,” I suggested. 

“No, not cards, it is the only game I ever play at the castle, my courtiers put on games of bridge, watten or schafkopf, they are all very dull.  Let us play an exciting game.” 

“There is no room for exciting games in my house,” I said, apologetically.  When we played in the Baron’s castle, games of hide and seek could last for days, with the multiple rooms, wings and outbuildings. In my house there were three rooms and a cupboard, which would make the dullest hide and seek challenge in history.” 

“Then let us play outside. Let us play spies.” 

“I do not know the game,” I said. 

“It is very simple, we sneak around the town spying on our suspects.” 

So saying he sneaked up to the entrance of the blacksmiths’, where Herr Clanger was busy hammering a horseshoe. 

“Why is the blacksmith wearing a dress? the Baron whispered as we watched. 

“He always wears a dress when he is working,” I explained, “It keeps him cool in the heat of the furnace.” 

“But why such a flowery dress?” 

“The lighter, summer dresses tend to have flowers on them,” I said. “There is very little choice in dresses for men in this town.” 

We spied on the blacksmith for a little longer, but soon concluded that he wasn’t a threat. “There is nothing duplicitous going on here,” the Baron said.  

We crept along the street to the Brotchen Schestern’s bakehouse.  Peering through the window we could see them carrying trays in and out of one of their ovens.  

“Why do they bake in their leather undergarments?” Baron von Ernest asked. 

“It is because of the heat of the ovens,” I said.   

“But they serve customers in their undergarments as well,” he said, and indeed as he spoke we watched Herr Hoffman enter the bakers, where he was greeted by Helga. 

“They don’t have time to change every time a customer comes in.  Nobody seems to mind,” I added. 

“No, Herr Hoffman seems happy with his service,” the Baron agreed.  

There was silence for a while as we were busily engaged in spying. 

“You can really make out their female form in their undergarments,” he whispered eventually. 

“I suppose,” I said. “I have never thought of it that way.” I paused. “They are very good bakers. People come from miles away.” 

We continued to spy on the Brotchen Schwestern, but not for not much longer, as we were spotted. 

“You boys!” Helga, the youngest and fieriest of the sisters shrieked. “What do you want?” 

“It is me, the Baron von Ernest, I have come to ask if you would be willing to come to the castle and bake bread and cakes for the meeting of the All Great Barons next weekend.”  

“Next weekend?” Helga repeated. 

“You do not give us much warning,” Hilda added. “We have nothing in stock for a meeting of all the great Barons.  We will need eggs, flour, butter.” 

“And for cakes we will need raisons, nuts, maybe a shot of schnapps.” 

“Yes, just one shot though, for one of the Barons is just a boy,” warned Hilda. 

“We have all of those at the castle,” the Baron von Ernest said. “Everything you could need, including the Schnapps.” 

Detailed arrangements were made and we left.  

“It always pays to have a backup plan in case you’re caught,” the Baron said. “I have many spies working for me and I know how they operate.” 

“But is the All Barons meeting real?” I said.  

“Of course.  You must come,” he said. “None of the barons are my age, it is most tiresome.” 

“But what is this meeting?” 

“It is a meeting of the most important families in the German lands, every Baron is there. We debate all aspects of management and government. This is an important meeting for me, some of the other Barons are claiming that I don’t pay my share of tax. It is important I make a good impression.” 

xxx 

That weekend a carriage arrived in town to collect myself and the Brotchen Schwestern. 

I was expecting the sisters to dress smartly for the occassion, but they were wearing just their usual leather undergarments. 

“You are not wearing dresses for the occasion?” I ventured. 

“We are working,” snapped Helga. 

“The castle kitchens will be even hotter than our own,” added Hilda. “We will swelter and melt in dresses.” 

“Your Baron von Ernest has asked us to the castle to bake, not to socialise.” 

We arrived and the sisters made their way to the kitchens, while I ‘played’ with the Baron. There was little time for actual play, because the other Barons began to arrive and the Baron von Ernest was busy greeting them and sweet talking them.  When the last Baron had arrived they began their important all-baronial meeting, and I was left to sit outside, reading one of the baron’s books. 

Eventually the Barons broke for lunch, and we bustled into the dining room, where we were served not by the usual service staff, but by the sisters themselves, who distributed their ware with explanations and instructions. 

“You,” shouted Frau Helga, “What is your name?” 

“I?” the Baron’s voice quivered. “I am the Baron von GeldStrasse.” 

“Use tongs to take bread from the bowl, not hands. We are not animals.” 

“Sorry Frau Helga.” 

“What sort of name is Geldstrasse?” added Hilda. “Golden streets would damage your feet if you walked on them for any time.” 

“There is no give in gold,” agreed Helga.  

The feast began, though in no time the conversation turned to the main topic of the all-baronial meeting, the taxes due from the Baron von Ernest’s estate.  

If you look at the Baron von Ernest’s numbers, said Herr Numbaum, the earnings of his tenants has in fact declined over the past five years. We cannot justly ask for him to pay more, his tenants can’t afford it.” 

For some reason, the sisters began to act as if they were chairing the meeting. 

“You, Goldstreet,” Hilda said, “Read out those figures.” 

Obeying without hesitation, the Baron read out Numbaum’s numbers. 

“1782 2.37 million Thaler, 1787 2.32 million Thaler,” he said. 

Helga pointed at another Baron. 

“What is the difference?” Helga said, “You, what is your name?” 

“I am the Baron von Klinkenglocke,” the Baron said, proudly. 

“Well Baron dingdong bell, what is the difference?” 

“0.05 million Thaler,” he said. 

“And has it gone up or down?” 

“Down.”  

“Continue Herr Numbaum,” Helga declared. 

“Now if we compare this with income in the other Baronial territories, here we see that over the last five year period the income has increased by 0.2%, meaning that the Baron von Ernest’s estate has fallen 0.7% in total compared to the rest of us.  

“You, Baron von KinkeGlocke, read those figures.” 

The Baron read out the figures as ordered, then, added, “Are you married?” 

“I am not here to marry,” Helga snapped. “I am here to bake bread.” 

“I have the third largest kingdom in the whole of Germany,” the Baron continued. “You may wish to consider marrying me and moving into my castle.” 

“And what would become of my sister if I were to move into your castle?”  

“She could marry me,” said Baron von Krepner.  “I am single, I too have  a large castle and estate.” 

And so it was that the Baron von Ernest was spared any increase in taxation, and the Brotchen Schwestern both married Barons. 

It was a great boost in the status of our town, though a great loss in terms of bread-based products.