"But you do not think the cardinal-infante will want to negotiate a settlement?"
"Not right away, no. Why should he? He's come this far on audacity and boldness, why should he stop? If he were Spinola, canny from decades of warfare, yes. But he is a young prince, Rebecca-and still undefeated. He will inevitably go for the final and most dramatic stroke, hoping thereby to end the thing entirely on Spanish terms."
"Take Amsterdam."
"Precisely. And I will use that audacity for my own ends. Draw him into a siege of Amsterdam, which will tie him up and give me the time I need to fortify what is left to me in the eastern provinces."
"How long can you maintain that situation?" she asked, frowning. "I am not a soldier, to be sure. But… with only Overijssel left and part of Gelderland… Spanish to the south, Danes to the north-the French everywhere, it seems-"
"Not everywhere, Rebecca." Frederik Hendrik cleared his throat. "As I recall, central Germany is still in the hands of the king of Sweden. Whom the French-and Danes-have now taken it upon themselves to attack also. With the Spanish-and English-having been so foolish as to sign their names to the enterprise."
"But-" She broke off.
The prince was smiling gently. "Yes, yes. I realize that, at the moment, things look rather bleak for Gustav Adolf also. But-unlike me-he has not already lost most of his realm. And-also unlike me-he has been fortunate enough, or wise enough, not to have his populace paralyzed by endless disputes over religious doctrine. Indeed, from what I can see, he seems to be increasingly drawn toward your American-style… what shall I call it? 'Arminianism Excelsior'?"
Rebecca laughed. "Hardly that, Frederik Hendrik! Arminianism is a religious doctrine itself. What the Americans preach-and practice-is something far simpler. 'The separation of church and state,' they call it. Worship whatever you will, however you will, and do so in peace. The state has no business in it-nor, on the other side, do the churches have any business meddling in state affairs."
The prince grunted. "A month ago-a week ago, even-I would have said you were mad. And I am considered-accused, as often as not-of being an Arminian myself. Now…"
For a moment, he studied the same painting he had studied the day before. "Odd, isn't it? The way your husband seems to force people to adopt his own practices in order to fight them. I've been getting continual reports, you know. The Dutch navy may be destroyed, but Dutch merchant vessels continue to ply their trade. It seems that Richelieu is setting up what he calls 'religious havens' in the northern towns and ports of France. Hoping, no doubt, to draw Protestant workmen there in order to build his own armaments industry. And now I hear that Earl Strafford has put a complete stop to any attempts to enforce strict religious adherence in England. Scotland too-even Ireland, if the reports are correct."
He turned back to her, smiling. "Of course, what else can he do? He-like every statesman in Europe now, probably even the Tsar of Russia-knows what history is supposed to bring. So, trying to stop it… ha!"
He slapped his hands on his knees. "That is my plan. In the long run, obviously, I am counting on Gustav Adolf to humble my enemies. In the short run, I can simply try to hold on to what I can-Amsterdam above all else. To be honest, Rebecca, I do not see what you and the United States can do for me in the short run. Throw your support behind the king of Sweden, of course, which I am sure you will be doing. I think you would be wise, therefore, to leave Amsterdam now. For the next few days, I am fairly confident I can get you safely back to Germany. But once the siege closes in, you will be trapped here for months."
Rebecca took a deep breath. "Well, actually, that is what I came here to tell you. I discussed this with my husband last night-no, you are right, we do not need great edifices for all forms of radio-and we are agreed." She took another deep breath. "I, and the entire delegation, will remain here in Amsterdam. If for no other reason, both Michael and I feel that will be a dramatic public gesture making clear that the United States stands firmly with the United Provinces and has confidence in your survival."
"As dramatic as possible," grunted the prince. "The wife of the President herself. But-" He winced. "Rebecca, the risk… if I did not make it clear yesterday, the siege is going to be terrible. Disease alone-"
"That," said Rebecca firmly, "is in fact the main reason I am staying. We cannot do much, obviously, to help you fight your Spanish enemies. Not directly, at any rate. But we can do something about the rest of it."
After she finished explaining the American proposal, Frederik Hendrik arose and went over to the painting. He studied it for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, and then moved over to the next painting on the walls.
"It's what they never show, you know. You can find everything else in these paintings. Portraits, scenes of daily life-even the carnage of war. Occasionally, perhaps-not often-someone is bold enough to allow the painter to portray the smallpox scars. But never the rest of it. Never the endless supply of infants slid into graves before their first birthday. Never the quiet grief of parents who have seen as many children die as live. Never-not once, that I can recall-a portrait of a mother sitting by the bed of a three-year-old child. Just watching-nothing else to do-while Death spreads its pitiless wings."
His voice became a bit shaky. "It has been the silent terror of the world since time began." When he turned back to face her, his cheeks were hollow-but his eyes seemed bright. "Dear God in Heaven," he whispered, "you can do this?"
For once in her life, Rebecca would meet the arrogance of nobility on its own terms. She lifted her head and spoke in as haughty a manner as she could manage. "Yes, Prince of Orange. A world forged by commoners can do what kings and princes and dukes and earls and cardinals and archbishops never could. Can give life to children, where you could only watch them die." Coldly: "Your own faces-often enough-scarred and pitted beneath the costumes and the cloaks and the crowns."
He did not flinch from the rebuke in her tone. He did not even lower his eyes.
"Give me that, Rebecca, and even I might be convinced." He grinned suddenly. "Who knows? I might even abdicate my title."
Rebecca laughed. Prince he might be, but she liked this man. "I hardly think that would be the best tactic. Certainly not at the moment! If you wish to hold Amsterdam, you will need the full support of its commoners. You know that as well as I do-better, I imagine."
"As if I'd have much choice! Most of the real oligarchs have packed up their bags and already left. There aren't more than a handful of regents still in the city. The burghers who remain-lots of them, of course-are the small ones. Their wealth depends on their little shops and enterprises, with them running it with their own brains and hands. No going into comfortable exile for them-much less the city's artisans and apprentices and common seamen."
Rebecca nodded. "A commoner city-but with the authority and legitimacy of the prince of Orange to give them confidence. Quite a tough combination to crack in a siege, I would think."
The prince was back in full measure, now. Frederik Henrik's next words came with ringing confidence. "That same combination broke the butcher Alva at the siege of Middelburg-and then again, at Leiden." Proudly: "My father, that was."