Rider: Ho! Over there, a little further down the street, there is a big imperial posting house, which opened just after the initiation of the peace congress. And will provide me with a much-needed rest, now.
Rider: Innkeeper, do you have something to drink? I could do with mug of beer. And have a stable lad take care of my horse!
Innkeeper: There you are yet again, good friend. Don’t worry about beer and your horse, we will take care of it. Do you have a message for me or a guest?
Rider: As I see there are some excellencies among your customers, or at least some, who think they are. It’s odd. Usually they want to make sure, that everyone knows who they are. But here…
Innkeeper: You know about the location of my inn right on the street from Osnabrück to Münster – or the other way around, as you like. Also, I am known for being not too talkative - for an innkeeper that is. It’s easiest for most of these gentlemen to meet each other incognito. Most things here are only said, because officially they haven’t been. Like this, doors might open, which, normally, would have remained closed. As I am serving the good cause, I have every right to be probably the only one in all of Ladbergen village, whose business has not been solely damaged by the war. After all, I am attending to all the restless folks circling Münster and Osnabrück like flies do with a dung heap.
Rider: Ha, a dung heap! Might quite be. These days, it seems like our daily bread is made of dung.
Innkeeper: In all seriousness, good man, it is about time you come bearing good news. Our village is in terrible shape. Dutchmen, imperial men, Hessians, Swedes, Spaniards, everyone came through here. Not to speak of the never-ending taxes and contributions. Not more than half of our farmers is capable of handing over their dues. And too many farms have been burned down or abandoned.
Rider: Courage, my friend! I have a feeling that your service in this posting house will be rewarded soon.