He gave the prince a quick glance. "The reason for which, I trust, is obvious."
Don Fernando scowled. "Obvious indeed. The ruthless bastard wants to sail into the harbor in broad daylight, just to rub salt into the wounds."
"Only if the wounds are still open, Your Highness. Yes, he's ruthless, but he's not actually a bastard. Had he chosen to, he could have left you no way to avoid the public humiliation."
"Well… true enough." For a moment, the young and bold prince surfaced. "Are you sure-I mean, we've had no direct reports-"
"Please, Your Highness. No direct reports? I remind you that you spoke yourself-just yesterday-to our ambassador in Copenhagen, when you crossed into Amsterdam under flag of truce. Or do you think American technical wizardry allows them to mimic voices over the radio?"
"Ha! The old donkey's voice, maybe. But not his irritating mannerisms, which I remember from when I was a boy. But I wasn't referring to that, Pieter. I don't doubt one of their ironclads could ruin our fleet blockading Amsterdam-although I will remind you that the Danes did manage to sink one of them. But Stearns does not have an ironclad at his disposal. He only has… well…"
Don Fernando's voice trailed off, as the young and impetuous prince sank below the surface again, replaced by the canny scion of Europe's canniest royal family. "Well, fine. One of those paddle-wheeled things, that seem to be as dangerous to ships as the ironclads, if not to heavy fortifications. I grant you that."
"I'll add into the bargain that Stearns apparently sailed right up the Thames to get his people out, the English Navy be damned. And I'll also add that while, yes, the Danes managed to completely destroy one of the USE's ships and even disable one of the ironclads, they only did so because of the recklessness of a Danish prince who was not the heir to the throne. I trust…"
"Not likely!" the cardinal-infante barked, almost laughing. "No, I'm afraid my reckless days are now behind me. And at the tender age of twenty-three! Is there no justice?"
"Not for princes, not in these times," came the blunt reply. "You need to send that proposal for a cease-fire within the hour, Your Highness."
Don Fernando didn't hesitate for more than a second or two. "Yes, you're right. Done. But why postpone the rest for so long?"
Rubens went back to his hand-wagging. "Not everything works in the Swede's favor now, Your Highness. To start with, that daring French raid on their oil works probably means that their mechanical war devices won't have fuel much longer. Not for a while, at least. And without them, assaulting your works here in the Low Countries will be a costly business. If it could even succeed at all, for that matter. Gustav Adolf has other enemies, you know. He can't amass his entire army against you. Beyond that…"
The artist and diplomat paused for a moment, his eyes become slightly unfocused. "Beyond that, there's the more general problem he faces. He's just swallowed an enormous meal, you know-or is about to, I should say-and will need time to digest it."
"That Union of Kalmar business?"
"Yes. Scandinavia hasn't been effectively unified since the days of Queen Margaretha, back in the fourteenth century-and that didn't last very long. Norsemen are every bit as disputatious as Germans, you know. And now Gustav Adolf proposes to do it again, only this time effectively."
"Not likely!"
Rubens shrugged. "Not easily, for sure. Which means he'll be preoccupied with that business for some time. Months, certainly, until sometime in the autumn. The same months I recommend that you delay any final political settlement. Just leave the cease-fire in place, and bide your time."
"But for what reasons, Pieter? You just pointed out yourself that my older brother and his court are going to imitate a volcano, no matter when I move. So why wait?"
"To be honest, Your Highness, I don't have a clear answer to that. It's just a matter of my… diplomatic and political instincts, you could call it. Once the hostilities end-and given that no one is in position to threaten you any time soon-I simply think it's to your advantage to wait. If I had to give you a more precise answer, let me just say that a period of waiting will allow all parties involved to… 'warm up to each other,' is the way I think our nurse Anne Jefferson would put it. The same nurse-call her doctor, now, rather-whom you will immediately invite to come openly into our cities and towns to the south, to oversee medical and sanitary projects. Starting with Brussels."
Don Fernando winced. "If I let her come-openly, as you say-there will be no way to prevent Richter from coming either. Openly or not."
"Then make that invitation open also, Your Highness-since you can't prevent her from coming, anyway."
The prince's eyes almost bulged. "You can't be serious."
"Yes, I am. Be realistic, Your Highness. Sooner or later, you will have to deal with the Committees of Correspondence throughout a united Netherlands. That being the case, better to do it sooner and do it yourself-while you still have the chance to negotiate the terms of the forthcoming disputes."
"Ha! You schemer!" Don Fernando gave Rubens a jeering little smile. "And, by the same token, establish-they call it the 'ground rules,' I think-whereby that fledgling committee of yours and Scaglia's can join the dispute."
"Well. Yes. Better that than what they call a 'free-for-all.' A chaotic melee with no rules of any sort."
The young prince thought about it for a minute or so. Then, sighing a bit, he shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose you're right. New times, new methods. But-!"
He held up an admonishing finger. "I leave it to you-you, Pieter, not me!-to explain to my aunt how it comes to be that the troll-woman Richter has free passage in Brussels."
Rubens tugged at his beard. "Um. Her Grace is still a bit furious over that business, isn't she? Well, perhaps the archduchess Isabella and the agitator Gretchen Richter will warm up to each other, given time." After a moment, he added: "A very great deal of time, of course."
Besancon, The Franche-Comte
"So we have more time, then, in other words," said Friedrich Kanoffski von Langendorff. He looked around the table at the other members of Der Kloster whom Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar had summoned to the salon in the town's Hotel de Ville, before his gaze returned to their commander.
"That's my assessment," said Bernhard. "Judging from the tone of his note that arrived this morning, Cardinal Richelieu is furious with me. But he maintained the veneer of civility, and-formally-accepts my explanation that recent troop movements on the part of General Horn in Swabia made it impossible for me to send any significant forces as far north as Holstein."
The duke of Saxe-Weimar bestowed a cold grin on his assembled subordinates. "What choice does he have, really, after that catastrophe at Ahrensbok? True, we betrayed him-but we don't pose a direct threat, either. What's a small little stab in the back, compared to the fangs and talons of Monsieur Gaston, rising like a great bear in front of him?"
After the laughter died down, Bernhard shook his head. "No, we'll simply continue as before. Gather our strength, but keep our final goals obscure. Time works entirely on our side, for the next few months. Perhaps as much as a year, or even two."
He held up his hand, thumb and fingers widely spread. Then, closed down the thumb with the fingers of his other hand. "The Swede will be preoccupied with absorbing Denmark, and then come next year he'll turn his attention to Saxony and Brandenburg. That's bound to bring in the Austrians and the Poles, of course. His General Horn will be a nuisance, but Horn on his own can't threaten us."
The forefinger was closed. "Neither can Maximilian of Bavaria, without Austrian support, and the Austrians will most likely be preoccupied elsewhere."