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"What do you propose to do with Franconia?" he demanded. "Or the 'Priests' Alley'?"
The king was silent. Mike pressed on. "Or with the Palatinate—both the Upper and the Lower? Or with Swabia and Württemburg?"
Gustav's heavy jaws tightened. "There must be an established church."
Again, Mike didn't need to wait for the translation. He shrugged his shoulders. "For a Corpus Evangelicorum, well and good. As long as it's restricted to Lutheran north Germany. Pomerania and Mecklenburg you control directly. Brandenburg–Prussia and Saxony are technically your allies. If you can convince them to join, Lutheranism is not an issue."
Mike waited for Rebecca to translate. The king glowered at the use of the word "technically," but issued no verbal protest. What was there to say?
Mike continued. "But how do you propose to establish Lutheranism as the official church of central Germany? Most of which, except for Hesse-Kassel and Thuringia, is Catholic."
The king was now glaring fiercely. Mike matched the glare. "And we control Thuringia. And we will not accept an established church. The separation of church and state is one of our fundamental principles!"
Glare.
Glare.  Rebecca managed not to laugh. Just barely. Melissa had once explained to her the "modern" notion of the so-called alpha male. At the time, Rebecca had found the logic of the argument highly suspect. But now, watching her husband and the king of Sweden, she admitted that the concept had a certain validity. Other than the fact that they were matching wills over power rather than females, the two men in the library reminded her of nothing so much as a pair of bull walruses during mating season.
She decided to intervene with the voice of feminine reason. Rebecca wasn't quite certain where Michael was going with his argument—they had barely had time to exchange an embrace and a few words before he insisted on this private meeting with "Captain Gars"—but she thought she could guess. Many times—many times—Michael had spoken to her of his greatest fear. That the new United States he was trying to forge would become another of Europe's tyrants instead of a school for humanity's future.
"Perhaps—" She cleared her throat. "Perhaps a compromise might be possible."
Two pairs of glaring blue eyes were now transferred to the female in the room. Rebecca managed to bear up under the burden. Quite easily.
"Yes, I think so." To the king, in quick, velvety German: "You must remember, Your Majesty, that my husband is accustomed to the clarity and simplicity of his traditional political arrangements." To Michael, in quick, hissing English: "Get off your high horse!"
Neither man quite understood what she had said to the other. They were suspicious, but . . .
Rebecca struck while the iron was confused.
"Yes, a compromise! In those principalities of the future realm—let us, for the moment, simply call it the Confederation of Europe—which are directly ruled by the Vasa dynasty as such, Lutheranism will of course be the established religion. But in those principalities—"
Mike and Gustav both erupted. Mike with a loud snort, the king with words.
"Nonsense!" bellowed the king. "The principle of monarchy cannot be compromised! Intolerable!"
Rebecca glided through his outrage unscathed. "Well—of course not. But, Your Majesty, remember that the principle of monarchy resides in your personage as Gustav II Adolf Vasa, King of Sweden. Not—"
She slid in the knife: "—in your persona as Captain Gars."
The king's jaws snapped shut. Michael goggled at her.
"Captain General Gars, I should say," Rebecca continued. "The title will naturally be hereditary, running through the Vasa line of Sweden. But since the captain general, as such, is not a king . . ."
She let the words, and the implication behind them, trail off into silence. Michael, unaccustomed to the arcane logic of feudalism, was confused. But the king, after a moment, began to smile. The blue glare in his eyes faded, replaced by thoughtfulness. He did understand the logic.
"Hm," he mused. "Interesting. As a purely military figure, the captain general would have no personal prestige bound up with any particular church. A monarch derives his authority from the hand of God, and must naturally support God's lawful church. But a captain general could—speaking abstractly, for the moment—leave strictly religious matters to the parsons." A bit sourly: "And priests, of course."
Mike had been able to follow the German exchange well enough. "And the rabbis," he insisted.
Gustav cast him another glare, but it was brief. He waved a thick hand. "Yes, yes—surely. Once the principle is established, the rest follows."