Jesse frowned. "I'd think—"
"You aren't a French cardinal staring at a civil war in the making, Jesse. The only reliable, intact and powerful force Richelieu has at his disposal is Turenne and his cavalry. And guess where they are, now? We just got word about that yesterday, too."
Jesse thought for a moment, and then chuckled himself. "Billeted in the Louvre, I imagine."
"You got it in one. Richelieu needs Turenne to keep the lid on Paris, so he's not about to send him off to fight us. Turenne's got the only French army worth talking about, at the moment, if you don't count Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar—and Mike thinks it's not all that clear how much Richelieu can count on Bernhard these days. The key thing, though, is that those dangerous damn Sharps breechloaders of Turenne's are out of it for while. So, Gustav Adolf figures now is a good time to let his eager commanders on the ground bring him a lot of little Floridas."
"Floridas?"
"Never mind. Inside joke, I'll explain it to you later. I heard it from Torstensson."
Frank planted his hands on the armrests and heaved himself to his feet, grimacing as if he were engaged in one of the labors of Hercules. "Damn, I love these chairs. Gotta see if I can wheedle the Danes into giving us a couple for army headquarters. Which—you got it rough, flyboy, you surely do—the rotten bastards made us put in what's left of Copenhagen Castle. Stumble over the rubble on your way in, which is probably just as well 'cause it takes your mind off the stench coming from the harbor."
Once erect, he ambled toward the door. "Okay, I'll tell Mike you're a go if we need a fast horse out of Copenhagen for Eddie."
"So, what did you think of him?" asked Caroline, once they were settled in their chambers in Rosenborg Castle.
Princess Kristina frowned. "I don't know yet. He's very quiet. I'm not sure I like that. And I'm still angry at him. He blew up one of our ships! Almost blew up another!"
"Which took a great deal of courage."
Kristina rubbed her nose. "Well. Okay. Still."
"He's good-looking, you know, in a quiet sort of way," chipped in Lady Ulrike.
Kristina continued to rub her nose. "I guess."
Caroline and Lady Ulrike exchanged an exasperated glance.
"Your father is not holding a grudge over the matter," pointed out Lady Ulrike.
Silence. Then, with a little sniff, Kristina took her hand away from her nose and peered up at Caroline. "And where's the count of Narnia? I wanted to say hello to him. Congratulate him, too, for being such a hero."
Caroline had to restrain a smile. She'd finally gotten some more letters from Thorsten and had gotten his viewpoint on that business. Which amounted to bemusement at being told that he was a "hero" for doing something that was considerably less dangerous than any number of farm chores. Capturing a badly wounded young officer and an exhausted old one? Try tending to a lame horse, sometime. That critter can cave your skull in. Break a shoulder, easily. Not to mention what an ox can do to you.
But all she said was, "He hasn't arrived yet. Sometime this afternoon, supposedly. No fancy flying for him, you understand. He's just a sergeant. They're bringing him here on a merchant ship."
"Well, they shouldn't. He's a count and he should be an officer."
The seven-year-old girl wandered to a nearby window and looked out over the gardens below. After a moment, she said, "He rides a horse well. The Danish prince, I mean. Really well. I watched him carefully."
"Well, thank the Lord," murmured Lady Ulrike.
Chapter 67
"I can remember when this was easy," muttered Ulrik. "Not more than—at most—one out of hundred people in Copenhagen recognized me, unless I was wearing court dress. Even then, it wasn't more than one in ten."
Walking next to him, in the same sort of cheap and utilitarian clothing, Baldur Norddahl smiled thinly. "You were just a prince, then. Not the Danish national hero."
Ulrik scowled. "I was prepared for death and dismemberment. Not the destruction of what little privacy I had left."
"Oh, stop complaining." Whatever traces of formality had still been left in their relationship had sunk into the Øresund somewhere in the course of the battle. And the prince didn't miss it at all. He'd had very few close friends in his life.
"Not more than four people stopped to take a second glance, Ulrik, and I don't think any of them decided it was really you."
"Still. It's annoying."
A few paces farther down, Baldur put a hand on his arm. "This is it."