It was a clear dismissal. The officers moved over to the sidetable, each taking up one of the manuscripts, and quickly left the room. When they were gone, only Robert du Barry's stack remained.
Turenne gave the stack a glance. "You should read them also, of course. But I have something more important for you immediately." He led the way toward the little table in a corner where rested a larger manuscript.
"This is more technical in nature, Robert. I put it together as best I could from the material I had available." Quickly, Turenne sketched out the assignment he had in mind. When he was finished, du Barry's already florid face was almost brick red with suppressed anger.
"I have given you no reason-neither you nor the crown nor the cardinal-to doubt my loyalty. Furthermore-"
"Oh, do be quiet!" snapped Turenne. "Robert, I have never once inquired as to your religious beliefs. Neither has the cardinal. The fact that you-like me-come from a long line of Huguenots is irrelevant." A long and notorious line, he could have added. Robert du Barry's ancestor Jean de la Vacquerie had been the central figure in the so-called "conspiracy of Amboise" in the previous century.
" 'Irrelevant,' I say-except in one respect. Which does not reflect badly upon you in the least." Turenne placed a hand on the manuscripts. "It's all here, Robert," he said softly. "Everything we need-most of it, anyway, I'm convinced-to meet the Swedish king and his American wizards on level ground. Not immediately, no; hopefully, though, soon enough. But the books give us precious few specifics. In almost every case, they tell us only what the weapons could do, not how they actually did it. Perhaps that's because their readers already knew those things, while we do not. But the mere fact that we know what can be done will guide us in determining how to do it, of that I am confident. Yet it will take a large number of the best mechanics and gunsmiths in the world to carry this out-and they won't be able to do it unless they are properly organized and led. By a man who understands them and has the skill to manage them."
Du Barry's face was still flushed, but the color was beginning to fade a bit. "Can't do it without Protestants," he gruffed. "Does the cardinal understand that?"
Turenne smiled, a bit savagely. "I think he does more than simply 'understand' it, Robert. He is counting on it." He jerked his head toward the northern wall of the room. "Where will all those fine Dutch artisans go, once the Spanish bootheel is back on their necks? Eh?"
Turenne's thumb rifled idly through the first few pages of manuscript. "To Germany, some, to be sure. Looking for work from the Swede. But our spies tell us the Dutch are already resentful of the growing American reputation for being the world's best craftsmen. So…"
A slow smile spread across du Barry's face. "So the cardinal will offer them exile, will he?"
"Exile-and work. And at good wages." Turenne smiled himself. "When you think about it, the ports and manufacturing towns of northern France are much closer to Holland than central Germany, after all. And there will be no overweening and cocksure Americans to tell stout Dutch master gunsmiths and metalworkers that they are novices at their own trade. Just the firm leadership of a French officer who understands Protestants and can gently lead them to the light of a newer day."
"Ha!" By now, du Barry's flush was back to normal. He only made one last token protest.
"I should not like anyone to think I am flinching from the field of battle."
"Please, Robert! With your reputation?" Du Barry had been one of the only two officers in the room who was well into his thirties. He had quite an impressive record in the various French campaigns since the beginning of the war.
"And, besides," added Turenne smoothly, "I will explain to everyone that I was able to prevail upon you to undertake the assignment solely by dint of much pleading and begging."
He and du Barry shared a little laugh. Given the warmth of the moment, Turenne saw no reason to add what he could have added. And, if I'd had to, I would have used the secret information the cardinal gave me to blackmail you into it. There's no doubt about your loyalty, true enough. But your brother could be sent to the executioner tomorrow.
But he left the words unsaid. Turenne would have found saying them distasteful in the extreme, for one thing. For another, like Cardinal Richelieu himself, Turenne did not really care much about a man's private conscience-so long as he was faithful, in his public activities, to his duty to crown and country.
"Ha!" repeated du Barry. Turenne had chosen him for the assignment because Robert, unlike most officers, was familiar with the world of manufacture. As Turenne had suspected-and planned-he was finding the challenge an interesting one.
Du Barry picked up a sheaf of pages and began leafing through them. "Any suggestions for where to start?"
Turenne, as it happened-and much to his own surprise-had become quite fascinated with the challenge himself. "I can tell you where not to start," he growled. "You'll be working closely with Yves Thibault-you know him, I believe?"
Robert nodded.
"Well, don't let the old man convince you to devote much effort to"-again, Turenne stumbled over the pronunciation-"these 'breechloaders' he's become a fanatic about. Oh, to be sure, he's a master gunsmith-so let him fiddle around with a few. Who knows? We might even find he can make enough to be of use. But keep his nose to the wheel, Robert. Simplicity. Learn from the Americans themselves-you'll find more than a few spy reports in that stack also. 'Gearing down,' they call it. Make what you can now, in large enough quantities to affect the world in time."
Du Barry nodded, but Turenne could see that he was already becoming engrossed in what he was reading.
Good enough. What I need.
"Percussion caps, Robert. I can't tell, from the materials I had, exactly how they were made. But from the hints, we should be able to find out. And rifled muskets-not much different from today's hunting pieces. But with a clever American adaptation which enables quick loading on the battlefield. Again, I don't know exactly how it works. Richelieu's books weren't detailed enough. So find out-try different things. But it can be done, Robert. Huge armies, larger than any in Europe today, fought pitched battles with rifled muskets-muzzleloaders, not breechloaders-with which they could somehow maintain a fantastic rate of fire. Three shots a minute-and accurate to several hundred yards."
Du Barry's eyes widened. Turenne grinned.
"The best of it all, however… They called it a 'Miniй ball.' Which-ha!-they got from a Frenchman in the first place."
Du Barry's eyed widened. Turenne barked another laugh.
"Oh, yes! Welcome to the new world, Robert-and who is to say it can't be a French one?"
Chapter 22
"The streets are in chaos," Rebecca said, as soon as she came through the front door of the U.S. delegation's house in The Hague. "I never even made it to my interview with the prince."
Heinrich Schmidt came in after her, and closed the door. "It probably doesn't matter, anyway. According to most rumors, Frederik Henrik left The Hague yesterday. On his way north, according to some, trying to find out what happened. Others claim he went south-or east-in order to bolster the Dutch forces guarding the line of fortresses."
Rebecca sighed and rubbed her face. "Rumors, rumors-everywhere. Every corner is filled with knots of people arguing and exchanging rumors. Who knows what's really happening?"
Gretchen scowled. Jeff, sitting next to her on a couch, took a deep breath. "Well… if Frederik Henrik's really gone… there went our best chance to get a hearing from anybody who'd listen."