“Because he was granted a tract on Iceland.” Anne Cathrine shivered. “It is not a very nice place to be a landholding noble.”
“You mean, sort of like the Faroes?”
“Hush, Eddie! You must know that Father did not give you that land for any reason other than to furnish you with the highest title he might within the nobility of Denmark. And, I suspect, as an entrée to greater things.”
“So I’ve suspected, also.” He crossed his fingers, offered silent thanks to John Chandler Simpson.
She looked at him. “Then you are indeed learning the ways of these times, Eddie. Which is necessary, I am afraid. Now, the person you must be most careful of is Hannibal Sehested.”
“You mean the guy who displaced the captain from his cabin on the Patentia? I met him at court, just this spring. Seems like a nice enough guy. Shrewd, though.”
“He always has been a nice enough fellow in his behavior toward me, too, Eddie. But he is also, as you observe, shrewd, and history showed that he was shrewd enough to advance his fortunes in your up-time history’s Danish government. Even though he made himself an enemy of the man who was to become its most influential member, Corfitz Ulfeldt.”
“The guy who was a traitor, up-time?”
“Yes, the man who was to betray my father. And who would have married my sister Leonora in just over a year.” Again, she looked over her shoulder at the shorter of her two “ladies,” but this time the glance was both protective and melancholy. “Corfitz was already betrothed to her, you know. Had been since 1630.”
“But . . . but she was only nine years old!”
Anne Cathrine nodded gravely. “Eight, actually. And here you see the fate of the daughters of kings who are not also full princesses. We are objects of exchange, no less than we are objects of Father’s genuine love. He arranges marriages that ensure the nation of secure bonds between the king and his nobles, since familial ties to the throne are craved above all things by men of that class. And if, thanks to those ties between crown and Riksradet, we all live in a time of domestic harmony, prosperity, and peace, then would we king’s daughters not be ungrateful if we failed to consider ourselves ‘happy’?”
Eddie mulled that over. “That’s what I call taking one for the team. And doing so for the rest of your life.”
“If by that you mean it is a sacrifice, well—I think so, too. Although many thought me ungrateful for feeling that way.”
“Well, they can go straight to—okay, I know that look: I’ll calm down.” Hmmm: calming down—that reminds me. Eddie turned so his back was to Ove Gjedde. “So, while we’re dragging out the dirt on the Danish upper crust, tell me: what do you know about Captain Gjedde? He’s the one guy that the admiral and I couldn’t find anything useful about. Seems he led the expedition to set up your trade with India, but after that, not much.”
Anne Cathrine frowned. “I am sad to say that I do not know much more of him than that. I do know that Father respects him, but—well, Captain Gjedde is not an exciting man. As you have remarked to me several times on our journey thus far. And he is still recovering from wounds he suffered in the Baltic War. From fighting against your Admiral Simpson’s timberclads, if I recall correctly.”
Oh. Well. He must really be a big fan of up-timers, then. Particularly the ones who had a direct hand in blasting his ship to matchsticks . . .
Evidently, Anne Cathrine could read the expression on his face or was displaying an increasing talent for honest-to-God telepathy. “No, I do not think his reticence is caused by your being an American. He is more mature than that, and has seen his share of war. Like many older military men, he does not confuse the actions of following a king’s order with the will of the men who must carry it out.”
“Yeah, he looks old enough to have achieved that kind of perspective. What is he? Sixty, sixty-five years old?”
Anne Cathrine looked somber. “Forty-one.”
“What?”
“He was always a somber, old-looking man, but his wounds from the Baltic—they drained him. He has not been at court since he suffered them, last year. But then again, he was never much at court. He doesn’t enjoy it. And while Father respects his abilities, Captain Gjedde is not the kind of man that he takes a personal interest in. The captain excels at navigation and can predict the weather like a wizard from the old sagas. But he does it all quietly, calmly. Not the type of man to capture Father’s often mercurial imagination.”
“Not like young Lord Bjelke.”
“No, indeed. And of course, Father’s interest in Bjelke is also self-protective.”