Hard to ignore your own sister. "Do what?"
"Become a goddam priest! Or maybe even a bishop!"
Mike now looked at his brother-in-law. Tom had a sheepish expression on his face, and was rubbing his jaw with a hand that looked almost the size of a dinner plate.
"Well… It's like this, Mike." He glanced at a small, elderly, red-faced man standing in the stern of the ship and engrossed in conversation with a tall younger fellow. From descriptions he'd gotten and their apparel, Mike assumed that was the archbishop of Canterbury and Thomas Wentworth.
"Rita's ticked off," Tom continued, "because she figured-so did I-that after I coldcocked Laud while rescuing him that my chances of getting ordained were about zero. But it turns out the archbishop doesn't remember any of that. I guess I slugged him harder than I thought. The only thing he seems to remember-vaguely-is that I'm the guy who got him out of captivity. And his mood's improving by the minute."
"Do something, Mike!" shrilled Rita.
Chapter 64
Duesseldorf Duchy of Berg
"A complete, total, unmitigated disaster," concluded Francois Lefebvre, the cavalry officer who also served Turenne's small army as its de facto intelligence officer. He tossed the Duesseldorf newspaper onto the big table at the center of the tavern's main room. "That's assuming this account is reasonably accurate, but I'm pretty sure it is. Every item in it that we've been able to check against what few French reports we've gotten has proven to be so."
"And what exactly are those reports, Francois?" asked Jean de Gassion.
Lefebvre made a face. His lips, curled into a sarcastic sneer; his brows, wrinkled with exasperation. "Not much, Jean-and with only one exception, they're all reports coming from officers or soldiers passing through here in what they call a 'retreat.' Passing very quickly through, in a tearing hurry to get back to France."
"Deserters, in other words," snorted Philippe de la Mothe-Houdancourt.
Marshal Turenne waved his hand. "We should be a bit charitable here. If the reports are even halfway accurate, our army was shattered outside Luebeck. At-"
He leaned over in his chair and reached for the newspaper. "What are they calling it?"
"The Battle of Ahrensbok," Lefebvre supplied. "At least, that's what the Germans and Swedes are calling it."
Turenne picked up the newspaper and scanned the front page. "Well, they won it, so they get to pick the name."
"Just as well," said de la Mothe-Houdancourt, his tone of voice every bit as sarcastic as his snort had been. "If we named it, we'd have no choice but to call it the Battle of the duc d'Angouleme's Rear End."
That brought a laugh from most of the officers at the table or standing near it. Even Turenne couldn't help but smile.
"My point, Philippe," he continued, "is that any great defeat produces a flood of men-officers, too, don't ever think otherwise-racing to get out of the disaster. That's not quite the same thing as desertion, I don't think."
The marshal's tone of voice was very mild, as it had been throughout the discussion since it began. De Gassion cocked his head and gave his commander a long and considering look.
"Why so diplomatic?" he asked suddenly. "If you'll pardon me for asking, sir. Whatever else this terrible defeat produces, it'll lift your name in Paris. No need, any longer, to soothe the thin skins of men who've just demonstrated their complete incompetence."
Turenne smiled and laid the newspaper down. "So naive, Jean! You're a good cavalry officer, but you've still got a lot to learn about the way factional battles are fought. Yes, it's certainly true that the results of Ahrensbok make the French army's top officers look like fumblers, at best. And it's also true that our raid on Wietze spares us from the same accusation. But if you think that will result in a calm and deliberate consideration of the reasons for the disaster, you are living in a fantastical world of your own. What it will actually do is fuel the factional disputes. What's that incomprehensible American expression? The one about the muscular poison?"
"Put the factional disputes on steroids," said Lefebvre. "They'd also say something about 'turbo-charged,' and when I find out exactly what a 'turbo' is I'll let you all know."
That brought another laugh, from everyone except de Gassion, who was now frowning. "Are you serious, Marshal? How can such as de Valois and de la Valette possibly do anything but hide their heads? That's after they ransom themselves from captivity, mind you."
One of the men at the table who'd hitherto been silent now spoke. That was Urbain de Maille, one of the many relatives of Cardinal Richelieu who'd entered military service and had distinguished themselves. In his case, enough to have been made a marshal of France-the only one in the room besides Turenne himself. Being now at the age of thirty-seven, he was the oldest man in Turenne's inner circle of officers.
He was both liked and respected by Turenne's other officers. Liked, because he was a likeable man. Respected, in part for his talents but also because, despite being much senior to Turenne and with great accomplishments of his own, he had never exhibited the hostility and jealousy toward their very young commander that so many other figures in the French military establishment had done. In fact, he'd volunteered for Turenne's force on his own initiative-a decision which most of the French officer corps had considered insane at the time, but which was now looking smarter and smarter by the day.
"I'm afraid our normally impetuous young commander has the right of it, Jean. This is, indeed, a time for great caution. True enough, we will now be the apple of Richelieu's eye, as the Americans would put it. But don't fool yourself-the moment our army at Ahrensbok surrendered, after suffering such terrible casualties, was the moment a new civil war began in France. For the next few years, my brother-in-law the cardinal will be fighting not just to retain power. He'll be fighting for his life."
Those sober-even somber-words brought silence to the table. De Maille stretched out his hand and laid a finger on the newspaper on the table, then tapped the finger a few times.
"Please take note of the one name that is not included in this list of officers and great figures humiliated at Ahrensbok." Seeing the blank looks on the faces around him, he chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, come, gentlemen. It's obvious."
Francois Lefebvre sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Monsieur Gaston."
The same little sigh was echoed elsewhere. Monsieur Gaston was the phrase commonly used in France to refer to Gaston Jean-Baptiste, duc d'Orleans-the younger brother of King Louis XIII. Thereby also, since the king had not yet produced a successor, being the immediate heir to the throne of France.
Monsieur Gaston was an inveterate and incorrigible schemer, whom many-including all of the men at that table-suspected to be guilty of treasonous actions in his pursuit of power. He was also Richelieu's chief antagonist in the nation's political struggles and maneuvers, and a man who hated the cardinal with a passion.
"But-" Still frowning, Jean de Gassion looked about in some confusion. The bluff Gascon cavalry commander really was notoriously thick-witted when it came to parsing his way through the intricacies of French factionalism. "I still don't understand."
He, too, reached out and tapped the newspaper. "Most of these idiots-these craven bastards-are partisans of Monsieur Gaston. Ah… aren't they?"
De Maille issued that same, completely humorless chuckle. "No, as a matter of fact. Some were, some weren't. Charles de Valois himself, for instance, has normally been considered one of Richelieu's men. But you may rest assured, Jean, that from this moment forward-from the moment they yielded at Ahrensbok-every single one of them became Monsieur Gaston's fiercest enthusiast. They have no choice, really."
Lefebvre shook his head. "I think that's a bit too sweeping, Urbain. Not every French officer at Ahrensbok covered himself with pig shit. I grant you, poor de la Porte will probably take the blame for the surrender itself, but what else could he do under the circumstances? And while his charge failed, the reports would seem to indicate that Guebriant conducted himself courageously."