“Fascinating history, sir,” said Wake, confused by Brown’s dissertation, wondering why Napoleon even cared.
“Well, I could go on, of course, but here’s Agnes, my wife and the lovely lady of the castle.”
Brown made the introductions and explained that he was just telling the American about the castle’s history. Agnes Brown pointed to two pine trees near the west wall, overlooking the cove far below. “Montague and I planted those on our wedding day four years ago. We’re hoping they’ll last for eternity and that someday people will remember this place for love as well as war.”
Wake bowed. “I am sure they will, ma’am.” He swept a hand around the patio. “This is a garden of peacefulness now. And of romance.”
“I’m so glad you noticed, Lieutenant.”
He turned back to Brown. “By the way, sir, I looked for Black Tulip upon arrival but didn’t see her. Is she out at sea now?”
As his wife looked surprised, Brown grinned at Wake. “No, Lieutenant. She’s not in the water at all. She’s all around you. Right here. In fact, you walked right through her to come out onto the patio!”
Wake glanced around the patio but saw nothing. “Sir?”
“The doors, the windows, the ceiling beams, the end tables, the flooring, and much more. It’s all from Black Tulip! You see, Lieutenant, she wrecked on the point while we were renovating the castle in sixty-nine, so we salvaged her to build up the wooden components here. Black Tulip is all around you, so the castle is part ship. At least in her soul. Rather brilliant, even if I do say so myself.”
Then it dawned on Wake, those doors were former hatch covers and an end table he had passed in the hall was a binnacle box. He and Brown walked over and examined the window frames and Wake could see the elbow beams of a ship in them. The overhead beams in the great hall were ship’s rib timbers. The interior doors were deck planking—the flooring of the foyer as well. It made him smile with appreciation of a job well done.
“Consul General, I am in awe.”
“I thought you would be, Lieutenant,” said Brown, his pride showing. “And I knew that you, more than most, would understand what it took to accomplish this.”
Brown took him for a tour of the ramparts and the tower. The castle was not large, but Wake inwardly admitted that it did have a very formidable defense, even against a modern army of the late nineteenth century. The consul showed his guest the Browns’ private apartments and his personal study, located on the fourth floor, up in the tower. They returned by way of a perimeter walk along the ramparts, according to Brown nicknamed the “Lovers’ Walk” for its seclusion and romantic flowers and vinery.
Upon reentering the patio Brown caught the glance of Strom, who had just appeared on the patio. “Beauregard, I’ll let you introduce young Mr. Wake here around to our collection of intrigues and scoundrels, if you would be so kind, my friend. For I see that I have to now attend to the German Federation’s diplomat, who seems to be getting a bit vociferous with the bishop over there—you know how much care Prussians always seem to require.”
Strom introduced Wake to his wife Christine, a pretty blond with a Midwestern accent and a shy manner—the very opposite of her husband. Then they toured the patio, speaking with various guests. He recognized some of them, including Vice Admiral Drummond and the bishop of Genoa. At the corner of the patio, near a niche in the rampart, Wake heard the guttural voice again and saw Strom tense.
“Ach, Herr Strom! How good it is to see you. And your handsome wife.”
The severe-looking, middle-aged man addressing the Stroms clicked his heels and bowed violently to Christine. Wake had heard of such a gesture, but never actually seen it done. It appeared ridiculous.
“Thank you, Mr. Moltke. And it is always interesting to see you. May I present Lieutenant Peter Wake, of our navy. He is our naval representative at the moment while the squadron is away. Lieutenant, Mr. Karl von Moltke is the German Federation’s consul general for northern Italy.”
Wake felt like a bug being examined by a naturalist as Moltke surveyed him, then said perfunctorily, “Lieutenant Wake, a pleasure, of course, to meet you.”
“And an honor for me to meet you, sir.” The name was familiar to Wake, so he added, “Von Moltke? Any relation to the famous field marshal who won the war against France recently?”
Wake saw that it did the trick. Moltke stiffened his spine even more and almost clicked his heels again. He ventured a slight, very slight, smile. “Yes, of course. I am honored to be a first cousin of the world-famous Helmuth Karl Bernhard von Moltke, Field Marshal of all German Forces and Chief of the General Staff. Our fathers were brothers and our family is from Mecklenburg-Schwerin, the ancestral home of the greatest of the warriors of our nation. Naturally, I am a warrior as well. In artillery—the king of battle, as Carl von Clausewitz, another Prussian warrior, has presented forth. Perhaps you know of him?”
What a pompous windbag, thought Wake, who decided to show Moltke that Americans were not that ignorant. “Yes, sir, I am aware of him. Clausewitz certainly did have experience in war. He was involved in several losing battles and got captured by the French in eighteen-o-six. I think that losing frequently teaches more than winning, especially if it’s the French you lose to. And, of course, Consul General, it was Napoleon who named infantry as the queen of battle and artillery as the king of battle. Napoleon really was pretty good at using artillery. Carl von Clausewitz expounded further on that in his
