1633

'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.'

'Indeed. And you are already well liked by the residents of Amsterdam. Far more so, if you will pardon my frankness, than was your intolerant half-brother Mauritz. Which brings me to the next point. As I am sure you know-better than I do-the existing structure of authority in the city is, ah-'

'As ragged as a pauper's cloak. Half the town council has already fled. Half the remainder will have done so within three days. For all practical purposes, the city is falling under the control of the civic militia. Which-' His head rose a bit. '-is most favorably inclined to the House of Orange. So I can't say I'm all that sorry to see the rats scampering away. Frankly, it will make things easier for me.'

Rebecca cleared her throat. 'Easier still, I think, if the growing militant sentiment of the city is channeled, organized, given-at least for many-a clarion call and symbol of resistance.' She cleared her throat again. 'This is, ah, somewhat delicate…'

***

When Rebecca finished, the prince broke into laughter.

'Richter? You brought that lunatic here with you?'

'She is not a lunatic. Quite a dear friend of mine, as a matter of fact.' Rebecca shifted a bit in her chair. 'I grant you, she has a reputation. Grant you, also, the reputation is not entirely undeserved.'

'Ha! Which is the reason, of course, that you never mentioned her name when you arrived. 'One of my servants,' I believe you said, if I recall my spies' reports correctly.'

There didn't seem to be any point to denying that, so Rebecca didn't bother to try. Besides, the prince didn't really seem angry. Amused, more than anything else.

'Frederik Hendrik, she is a superb organizer. Public orator too, I might add. And you will need that organization, Prince. The chemical substances we will bring to the city-smuggle them in somehow; my husband says he can do it-are not a magic wand. They need to be dispensed in a rational and organized manner, and combined with measures-strict measures-of public sanitation. No civic militia is set up to oversee something like that. Whereas the Committees of Correspondence can and will.'

She ran her hands down her thighs, smoothing the rich fabric. 'I do not propose that you acknowledge her publicly, of course, or give the Committees themselves any official sanction. That would be most indelicate, given your need to maintain the loyalty of the noblemen in Overijssel. But here in Amsterdam…'

The prince leaned back in his chair, his eyes growing slightly unfocused. 'Yessss… The men guarding the walls will be simple workmen, more often than not. Many of them, apprentices. Essential to keep their spirits up, I agree. Will agree further, for that matter, that I wouldn't mind at all seeing the civic militia organized along less purely military lines.' He frowned. 'That always starts causing its own trouble, the longer a siege goes on. The soldiers start taking advantage… Still…'

He chuckled. 'Talk about a Devil's bargain! You offer to free me from plague, with one hand, while handing me a different sort of epidemic on the other.'

Many times, Rebecca had found Gretchen's unrelenting attitudes somewhat annoying. But now, she discovered-not for the first time-that annoyance only went so far. Much as she liked this particular nobleman, she had no doubt at all where she stood in the great chasm which ran through European politics.

'Call it that if you will,' she said, as harshly as she'd ever spoken in her life. 'But that 'epidemic' is, in the end, the one which can cure the other. Choose, then, Prince of Orange.'

He didn't hesitate for more than a few seconds. 'Oh, I'll take my chances with Richter. One enemy at a time.'

Rebecca smiled. 'Exactly what my husband says.'

After she returned to the U.S. delegation's quarters, Rebecca plopped herself onto a couch next to Gretchen. 'You're on,' she said.

Gretchen sniffed. Rebecca smiled. 'I knew you'd wait for permission.' Her eyes were drawn to the door leading to the kitchen. There seemed to be an unusual amount of noise coming from within.

'We have guests?'

'Three apprentices,' Gretchen replied. 'Two journeymen also. All employed in the copper-working shops here in Amsterdam. Heinrich and I met them yesterday. And the daughter of the master craftsman one of the journeymen works for. They're affianced.'

That was a common enough situation. What was not common, of course, was to have such a group gathered in the kitchen of what was, technically, a prestigious and snooty foreign delegation's quarters. Rebecca didn't know whether to sigh or giggle.

She giggled. Impossible not to, given the bet she'd made with Frederik Henrik.

'By the way,' she added casually, fluffing her hair, 'the prince of Orange says he'd like to meet you. He's quite curious. It would have to be a very discreet meeting, of course, so you'd need to use the servants' entrance.'

'The prince of Orange can kiss my sweet German ass. Discreet is fine. He can wear a disguise. The servants' entrance is out.'

'Exactly what I told the prince you'd say,' said Rebecca cheerfully. 'Now what shall I spend the money I won on?'

'With a siege coming? Get salted herring.'

PART V

The gold mosaic of a wall

Chapter 33

'Oh, for the love of God, husband!' exclaimed Amalie Elizabeth. The wife of the landgrave of Hesse-Kassel rose from her chair and stalked over to a nearby desk. Angrily pulling open a drawer, she withdrew a thick sheaf of letters and waved it in his direction.

'How much longer will you nurse these foolish dreams of yours? Do you really think these-' Here she shook the letters fiercely. 'These posturers! These cretins! These petty-'

She broke off, slapping the letters down on the table and taking several deep breaths. Her pretty face was flushed with anger.

Wilhelm V of Hesse-Kassel grimaced. Seated next to him on the luxurious couch in the salon, Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar tried to keep himself from smiling.

'Those are, ah…'

Amalie gave him a sour glance. 'You know perfectly well what they are, Wilhelm, even if you've never seen them. My husband here-' She jiggled the letters in the direction of the landgrave. '-has been trying for a year now to get the nobility of the Confederated Principalities of Europe to form a common bloc. The smaller princes and nobles, that is. Squeezed the way we are between the king of Sweden, the princes of Saxony and Brandenburg-now, most of all, by the Americans-'

She broke off, sighing. 'I told him from the beginning it was pointless. May as well try to herd cats. Particularly vain and lazy and stupid cats, to boot.'

The landgrave avoided her stony gaze. 'And to what end?' she demanded. 'Would you like to know, Wilhelm? Here, I'll read some of them to you! You're an old and close friend of the family, so why not?'

Hesse-Kassel scowled, but did quite dare to object. The landgravine picked up the top letter from the pile and began reading.

'This one is from-well, never mind-but it's a report of a conversation at a dinner table, shortly after my husband's first circular letter went out. Sophia von Markenfeld is reported to have said to her husband: 'Albrecht, I wouldn't trust this for a moment. The count of Sommersburg is certain to be allied to Hesse-Kassel. And do you remember how Sommersburg cheated me out of great-aunt Leopoldine's garnet-and-pearl necklace that she always said that I should have, but he put it into the probate and his daughter Louisa ended up with it?'

'Then, needless to say, Georg von Gluecksburg jumped in-oh, yes, Wilhelm, of course he was there-do you think he wouldn't have been-'

It was Saxe-Weimar's turn to grimace. Von Gluecksburg bore a remarkable physical resemblance to a piglet. The resemblance was by no means superficial.