The Baltic War(290)

Lefebvre grinned, and lapsed for a moment into informality. "You're still only twenty-two years old, Henri. You've got no business thinking like this, yet."



Turenne shrugged. "Alas, life seems determined to age me quickly. What's that American expression? The witty curse, I mean."



Lefebvre understood immediately. "It's Chinese, actually. The Americans steal like magpies, when it comes to language. 'May you live in interesting times.' "



"Yes, that one. We're in interesting times, I'm thinking, Francois. So best we get more interesting than anyone. And do so very quickly."



The siege lines of the Spanish army in the Low Countries,

outside the walls of Amsterdam



"All the troops are back in the trenches, Your Highness," said Miguel de Manrique. "It went very smoothly. No problems at all."



"Thank you, Miguel." The cardinal-infante nodded toward the man standing next to him, the artist Rubens. "Give the details later to Pieter. He can include them in the letter we'll be sending to my brother, the king of Spain. Explaining that, unfortunately, the mule-headed intransigence of the archbishop of Cologne prevented us from passing through Munster to come to the aid of the French at Ahrensbök."



Understanding that he'd been given a polite dismissal, the Spanish general bowed and withdrew. When he was gone, Don Fernando gave the walls of Amsterdam no more than a glance before he resumed his conversation with Rubens.



"Months? I'd had the impression all along that you wanted me to hasten the process, Pieter."



The artist pursed his lips. "Well . . . not exactly. I simply felt you were overly concerned with the reaction of the court in Madrid. Which—I will be blunt here, Your Highness—is going to be a furious one, no matter when you make public the formal decision. And would have been, at any time, and under any conditions. The count-duke of Olivares is probably the most flexible of that lot, but that's not saying much."



The Spanish prince smiled. "About like saying that oak is a bit less rigid than steel, yes. I grant you that. But I still don't understand why you think we should keep delaying for several more months."



Rubens wagged his hand, back and forth. "I propose to delay only some things, Your Highness. You should propose an immediate and full cessation of hostilities. A cease-fire on all fronts. And when I say 'immediately,' I mean within the hour. By tomorrow morning, from what Rebecca Abrabanel told me yesterday evening, the Achates and its accompanying ships will arrive in Amsterdam. In fact, they've already entered the Zuider Zee. They could be here sometime tonight, from what she says, except that her husband is deliberately delaying their progress."



He gave the prince a quick glance. "The reason for which, I trust, is obvious."



Don Fernando scowled. "Obvious indeed. The ruthless bastard wants to sail into the harbor in broad daylight, just to rub salt into the wounds."



"Only if the wounds are still open, Your Highness. Yes, he's ruthless, but he's not actually a bastard. Had he chosen to, he could have left you no way to avoid the public humiliation."



"Well . . . true enough." For a moment, the young and bold prince surfaced. "Are you sure—I mean, we've had no direct reports—"



"Please, Your Highness. No direct reports? I remind you that you spoke yourself—just yesterday—to our ambassador in Copenhagen, when you crossed into Amsterdam under flag of truce. Or do you think American technical wizardry allows them to mimic voices over the radio?"



"Ha! The old donkey's voice, maybe. But not his irritating mannerisms, which I remember from when I was a boy. But I wasn't referring to that, Pieter. I don't doubt one of their ironclads could ruin our fleet blockading Amsterdam—although I will remind you that the Danes did manage to sink one of them. But Stearns does not have an ironclad at his disposal. He only has . . . well . . ."



Don Fernando's voice trailed off, as the young and impetuous prince sank below the surface again, replaced by the canny scion of Europe's canniest royal family. "Well, fine. One of those paddle-wheeled things, that seem to be as dangerous to ships as the ironclads, if not to heavy fortifications. I grant you that."



"I'll add into the bargain that Stearns apparently sailed right up the Thames to get his people out, the English Navy be damned. And I'll also add that while, yes, the Danes managed to completely destroy one of the USE's ships and even disable one of the ironclads, they only did so because of the recklessness of a Danish prince who was not the heir to the throne. I trust . . ."



"Not likely!" the cardinal-infante barked, almost laughing. "No, I'm afraid my reckless days are now behind me. And at the tender age of twenty-three! Is there no justice?"