Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(47)

“Oh, that’s not even the worst part.” Eddie tried not to succumb to the urge to whine, which was attempting to overwhelm the none-too-high walls of his Manly Reserve.

“Oh?” Simpson now seemed more amused that sympathetic.

“Admiral, you haven’t heard the latest roster of my fellow-travelers. Essentially, Anne Cathrine, not being a genuine princess, doesn’t warrant genuine ladies in waiting. So we get a collection of other problematic persons from, or associated with, the Danish court, plus naval wives who have been given land grants in the New World.”

One of Simpson’s eyebrows elevated slightly. “But Christian IV doesn’t have any New World land to grant.”

“Not yet.”

Simpson frowned. “I see. So I’m guessing that, along with the not-quite royal contingent, we have a just barely official entourage of courtesans, councilors, and huscarles? Some of whom enjoy special appointments by, and are probably assigned to carry out undisclosed missions for, His Royal Danish Majesty?”

“Yep, pretty much, sir.”

Simpson nodded. “Yes, leave it to him to sneak in something like this in exchange for the ships he’s committing to the expedition. Given the condition in which we received those hulls, I’m not so sure he isn’t getting the better end of the deal.” Simpson fixed Eddie with a suddenly intent stare. “Has he either intimated or overtly instructed you to take any orders directly from him?”

“No, sir. Why?”

Simpson rubbed his chin. “Well, because technically he could try to work that angle.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

Simpson steepled his fingers. “In recognition of your marriage and service, Gustav made you Imperial Count of Wismar. That made you imperial nobility of the USE. Technically. And that made it easy—well, easier—for Christian to get the nobles of his Riksradet to accept your creation as a Danish noble, too.”

Eddie blinked. “Sir, I’m not a Danish noble. Not really.”

“No? If I’m not mistaken, one of Christian’s wedding gifts to you was land, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Some miserable little island in the Faroes. I think it has a whopping population of ten. That includes the goats.”

Simpson did not smile. “And since your received the land as part of a royal patent, you were made a herremand, weren’t you?”

“Uh—yes, sir. Something like that. I didn’t pay too much attention.”

“Well, you should have, Commander. You became Danish nobility when you accepted that land. And therefore, a direct vassal of King Christian IV. Who, unless I’m much mistaken, has bigger things in mind for you. In the meantime, we’d better inform the task force’s captains that, in place of all that pipe they were going to be hauling, they’re going to be billeting more troops. A lot more troops.”

Eddie was relieved. The mission was no longer purely reconnaissance, although that was not common knowledge. Not even among all the members of the ER Department. “How many more sir, and where from?”

“Just under four hundred, Commander. And all from the Lowlands.”

“So they’re Dutch.”

Simpson shook his head. “No. They’re from the Brabant.”

Eddie stared. “From the Spanish Lowlands?”

Simpson simply nodded.

“Sir—we’re taking Spanish soldiers to fight for us in the Spanish-held New World?”

“Commander, here’s what I know currently. The troops are being provided by the archduchess infanta Isabella. As I understand it, these troops will have sworn loyalty to her nephew Fernando the king in the Low Countries, but not her older nephew, Philip the king of Spain.”

“But Fernando is Philip’s younger brother, his vassal—”

“Precisely. And that’s why we’re going to stop our speculations right there, Commander. The story behind Fernando sending troops with us to assist Dutch colonial interests in the New World is one that is well above your pay grade at this early point in the process. I know that because it’s above my pay grade. I am not yet on the political ‘need to know’ list. And I suspect the mystery will remain right up until the infanta’s troops are being berthed aboard your flotilla. Which probably won’t happen until the very last possible day.”

Eddie shook his head. “Every day, this ‘little reconnaissance mission’ not only gets bigger and more complicated, it gets increasingly surreal.” Eddie glanced at the map of the Caribbean that Simpson had produced from his own folders. “Hell, we can’t even be sure that there are any remaining Dutch colonies for us to help. And vice versa.”