“Ah,” Ruvigny said. “I am not rich. At all. I live on my pay.”
“Ulfeldt is a lot older I am. And he was a traitor. He tried to give my brother’s throne to the Elector of Brandenburg. Captain von Bismarck’s Brandenburg. The one he says he came from.”
“I don’t believe that you can hold Bismarck culpable for the future actions of a husband you don’t have yet.”
“I still can’t believe Leonora was so foolish as to be loyal to him. He wasn’t even faithful to her, even though she remained obstinately and stubbornly blind to his betrayals of their marriage vows. Even when our own sister Elisabeth told her what was going on.”
“The Bible itself says that a wife should accept her husband’s guidance,” Ruvigny said. “Scripture says that a wife should submit to her husband. Respect him.”
“I should think,” Sophia responded, throwing her head back, “that it would work considerably better if she had a husband whom she could actually respect. It would certainly be a lot easier than two decades in a dank dungeon because a woman accepted her husband’s guidance. If you ask me,” she said decisively, “now that I think about it, that’s a bit too much for God to reasonably expect. Plus, in the New Testament, Sapphira got struck dead because she went along with Ananias, which is even worse than being in a dungeon, assuming that she went to hell for it, too. Which she probably did; I doubt that God undertakes half-measures when it comes to smiting somebody he wants to turn into an example of how not to do it.”
Ruvigny decided it would be prudent not to explore that train of thought further right then. He tilted his head. “Does it really concern you greatly, Your Highness, that Ulfeldt is 30 years old? I believe that he and I are almost exactly the same age; I may be the older.”
She looked at him consideringly. “You are quite slender, though, M. de Ruvigny. They say that slenderness compensates for a lot of other things in a man. Corfitz Ulfeldt has jowls. He tries to disguise them with that silly goatee, but anyone who looks at him can tell that they’re underneath. Also, he has a funny-shaped nose.”
She looked up at Ruvigny’s face consideringly. “Your nose is–impressively large.” She grinned. “Where did you get your scar?”
“In a duel, which is a different kind of stupid. I fought several duels when I was a young royal guardsman, but I believe that I have outgrown it now. Unless you’re a professional and practice regularly, or have a truly extraordinary natural gift, you no longer move as fast as you get older. You become slower to thrust; slower to parry. Even your eyes can betray you, becoming slower to focus. I once saw a great, but older, swordsman lose badly to a generally inferior opponent because he started to swivel and his knee did not follow the intention of his mind.”
Finally, finally, on another cold morning, Sophia had a chance to resume an interrupted conversation. “Have you had a chance to look at the encyclopedia for yourself? You did? Good. I’m sure you noticed that it doesn’t say very nice things about me, either. I don’t think I’m that awful. Honestly, M. de Ruvigny, I’m nowhere near perfect, but I’m not horrible. I know that Leonora is a lot smarter than I am. That’s not conceit on her part. It’s just the truth, and the two of us are always at daggers drawn. But I hate to think that historians argued over whether, in that world, I drove my husband insane directly, or just drove him to drink to the degree that the drink drove him into insanity. Even if he was Christian von Pentz, who is no bargain! I also don’t think that I am genuinely, truly, mad, like this kind of mad.” She twirled a finger around her ear on one side of her head. “Not that there haven’t been quite a few rulers in the Germanies who were mad, and all of us are related to one another.”
They had gotten rather far ahead of the rest of the group. She stopped, waiting for the others to get at least somewhat closer, digging the toe of her boot into the frozen gravel on the path. “In any case, I don’t want to end up with my brother Frederick putting me in a dungeon for 20 years, like he did to Leonora in the other world. Maybe Frederick won’t become king now, because not everybody is dying at the same time, so maybe my brother Christian will live longer in this world. Ulrik is still alive, which he wasn’t then, and he’s not at all as mean as Frederik is sometimes. Ulrik will have the USE, and Sweden and Princess Kristina, and the Union of Kalmar. Even if Kristina has the titles, it will really be Ulrik in charge, Papa says. So even if Frederick becomes king of Denmark, Ulrik could order him not to put me in prison. If Papa makes me marry Corfitz Ulfeldt and Ulfeldt is still enough of a stupid schemer to even look like he might be thinking about a remote possibility of committing treason, at least Ulrik will be the super-king, like Don Fernando is king in the Low Countries compared to the Stadhouder.”
Ruvigny revised his estimate of her political awareness considerably upwards. It might be rather tightly focused on her own prospective welfare, but the analysis was shrewd.
“You call yourself ‘stupid’ too often,” Ruvigny said.
Interlude
Frederiksborg, summer 1633
Mr. Avery sent our lady governesses a lot of questions after Miss Joanie wrote to him. He asked whether, if I was bad at music lessons on the pianoforte, I was able to sing a hymn or other song when someone else played it and I heard the tune. He asked whether, if I could not read well out of a book, I could remember a story when someone else read it to me. He asked whether, if I could not write out an answer to a question, at least not very legibly, I could give a clear answer orally. He asked whether, if I could not do arithmetic on my slate and write down the correct sum, I could do the reckoning in my head.
The governess sent her answers. The music teacher, the tutors for French and German, the chaplain, everyone.
No matter what Leonora said when she read Mr. Avery’s letter to everyone, he said in it, after he had read the answers to all his questions, that I was not stupid.
Chapter 38
November 1636
Shortly thereafter, the king summoned the “Dutch captains” back for a confidential meeting. “I don’t have much time this morning,” he said abruptly. “I have now considered everything that Frederik Hendrik wrote.”
Considering that neither of them still had any idea what the Stadhouder had written, there wasn’t much they could say to that.
Bismarck responded by getting straight to the issue of money. Perhaps, a little too directly to the point. Christian IV frowned mightily.
“Of course,” Ruvigny said soothingly, “We understand entirely that you as a member of the Union of Kalmar prefer for Grand Duke Bernhard to maintain strong ties of loyalty to Lutheranism.”
Bismarck nodded firmly. “Given his prior acceptance of a subsidy from a Catholic cardinal, and that his most firm ally just now is the leader of the French Huguenots ...” He paused for maximum effect. “Well, as exemplified by the fact that we, his envoys to a Lutheran ruler, are ourselves both Calvinists ... and the Grand Duke’s at least tacit cooperation with Leopold Cavriani and all of the ties that brings with it to Calvinist bankers and merchants all across the continent... Perhaps his attachment to his faith might become shaky.”
Privately, subvocally, he absolved his conscience for his having said this on the grounds of the grand duke’s utmost financial necessity. He had never seen the slightest indication that Bernhard might be shaky in his faith.
“I don’t have any objection to Calvinists,” the king said. “It’s a reasonable theology. More reasonable than Lutheranism, which contains multiple internal contradictions that cause the pastors to mutter that a person just has to take this or that on faith. How often have We been lectured by Our chaplains on the inability of unaided human reason to discern divine things? Isaiah 55:8-9. They love those verses. Way too much, if you ask me! But, as I’ve told little Kristina a couple of times, Calvinism may make intellectual sense, but Lutheranism makes political sense–at least for us, in the here and now. So don’t try that tactic in your efforts to milk the Danish treasury on behalf of your master.”
&nb
sp; Bismarck nodded. “‘For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,’ declares the LORD. ‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.’ However, I believe that reliance on First Corinthians 1:18-20 is even more common. ‘For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, ‘I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the cleverness of the clever I will set aside.”’ That refers back to Isaiah 29:14, of course. ‘Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?’ But then it all connections connects to verse 25, ‘For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.’”
“That may be. However.” The king leaned back in his chair. “What other reasons do you have to persuade me, as you act as advocate for the position that it makes sense for me advance my own money to prevent Bernhard from falling into bankruptcy?”
Ruvigny smiled. “Practical reasons, Your Majesty. Purely practical. If he is not in a position to resist another French invasion of Lorraine, or at least to significantly aid the king in the Low Countries in resisting, then inevitably the USE will be drawn into a conflict on a second front, which will end up costing the Danish portion of the Union of Kalmar a lot more than a simple subsidy to the grand duke paid out now will subtract from your treasury.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Christian IV wobbled a little as they passed a pair of footmen, putting his hand on Ruvigny’s shoulder for stability as they made their way from the dining room to the king’s private study.
Ruvigny thought back to the three-hour formal meal they had just finished. The king had been drinking copiously. Not enough, though, given his usual level of consumption, to cause him to stumble. There had been nothing shaky about the king’s footing before he noticed that he was being observed. He wondered if he was about to observe a one-man performance of in vino veritas, or, if not truth, precisely, then in vino some kind of dramatic oratorical presentation designed to reveal the royal intentions without any obligation for the performer to assume responsibility for the eventual outcome.
Christian sank into his chair.
Ruvigny remained standing.
“Fatherhood is not an easy thing,” Christian began in a deeply morose tone of voice. “I would not compare my woes to those of Lear, afflicted by ungrateful daughters as he was, however much my late sister Anne liked that man Shakespeare’s plays. To be sure, Lear only had three of them. I have six alive just by Kirsten, not to mention the little one. And troublesome sons, as well.”
Ruvigny cleared his throat.
“They keep wanting to marry inappropriate individuals and not to marry those I have chosen for them.” Christian glared at the new ceramic tile stove that was keeping the room quite comfortable. “Even when circumstances have changed and the choices are no longer as appropriate as they appeared to be at the time We made the arrangements.”
The king looked up at the carved ceiling. “Now if Sophia should happen to elope, that would be a way for Us–ah, put that for her–to avoid the marriage that Ulfeldt wants now–a way that might appeal to her. It would also be a way for Us to avoid the Ulfeldt marriage without seriously offending a high percentage of the Danish nobility, for the blame would fall on her–the whole court knows that she is temperamental and hostile in her very nature–rather than on Us. Ulfeldt is not going to give up on his ambition to marry one of Our daughters. Elisabeth and the others are still much too young for marriage–the twins haven’t even attained the age when they may give consent. Elisabeth, luckily, is still validly betrothed. Right now, the broken contract with Leonora is the only real leverage Ulfeldt has to prevent me from expelling him from the court and confining him to his estates with a generous guard of honor to make sure that he stays there. As long as he stays here at court, he will continue to on pressure for a marriage with Sophia, as compensation. How pleasant it would be if that obstacle to getting him out of the way just... Well, if it were no longer present.”
“I can see the problem,” Ruvigny said in the most noncommital voice he could summon up at the moment.
“Encyclopedias don’t say much,” the king continued, “and the residents of Grantville do not seem to have had any special interest in the history of Denmark. However, as Our staff has analysed what has been found in their libraries, it appears that We attempted to tie the loyalty of the great Danish noble houses to the throne by marrying Kirsten’s daughters to their heirs. This policy failed, badly. The situation is in serious need of a rearrangement. I will not find myself confronting a ‘Sons-in-Law Party’ in this world.”
“May I ask if you can see an alternative path?” Ruvigny hoped that he was displaying a due amount of discretion.
Christian suddenly switched from the plural We of formal royal discourse to the informal I used by lesser mortals than monarchs.
“I am a forgiving father, of course, known to be absurdly indulgent of all of my children.” He nodded to himself in the large mirror that was hung at one side of the room. “Even the ones I may privately find wanting. You have seen Sophia dance–just at the small gatherings after dinner. Not in a ballroom, where she is even worse. Awkward; no grace; always watching where she puts her feet down rather than laughing and chatting with her partner as she should.”
Interlude
Frederiksborg, early winter 1633
Sophia was crying with frustration because her math was wrong again. Sixes turned into nines on her slate. Sevens wandered away into a list of ones. The tutor had yelled.
“We all disappoint someone, little girlie, pardon me, My Lady,” Mr. Hank said. “Look at my family. Dad’s not a king, but he’s an aeronautical engineer. He was ambitious, went out into the world from Grantville and pulled himself up by his bootstraps. But he married his hometown sweetheart, who didn’t even finish high school, and ended up with four redneck kids. Carole’s a beautician; Karen runs a bridal shop. My brother Farrell did at least get an advanced degree; he has a master’s in Industrial Arts Education. I guess the closest here down-time would be someone like a master stonemason who spends all his time teaching others. But I just finished high school and threw a few technical courses on top of that. I’m not going to claim that Dad isn’t, at some level, disappointed that we didn’t go out and do even better than he had, because he is. All you can do is the best you can.”
November 1636
“I am a generous father, too. Generous to a fault. Other than being the acknowledged daughter of a king, Sophia is no bargain. The girl cannot write a fully coherent sentence such as one would expect of an adult, much less an entire letter. She can’t even copy a letter that her governess writes out for her in a fair hand; not without getting many of the letters upside down and backwards.”
He stroked his beard. “Still, she appears to find you attractive. Or, at least, not unattractive. She might accept my marrying her to you without recriminations. Or, at least, without violent rebellion accompanied by vicious tantrums–which, given her nature, would be advantageous. Aside from removing her from my court at a politically very awkward juncture, what would you have to offer?”
“Nothing more than my ties of clientage to the duc de Rohan and my sister Rachel’s marriage to the earl of Southampton in England. I am of the untitled nobility, petit noblesse, and my family has no wealth to speak of. My father held three estates, which my mother now manages. There were two other boys, both dead now, so I’m the only heir. The estates are all small, but allowed him, and allow me, to be called seigneur. I live on my army pay and can scarcely support the style of life expected of a captain. However, I live within my means. I have no debts to cover.”
“Frankly spoken.” The king stood up and walked over to the windows, pulling back one of the heavy draperies that kept out the winter drafts. “What is the minimum dowr
y that would induce you, enable you, to get Sophia out of Denmark and, not coincidentally, off my hands and out of the clutches of Corfitz Ulfeldt’s greedy ambition?”
“I have always thought...thought that if I were to have enough capital to enable me to afford to pursue a diplomatic career...that would be my ideal...but I didn’t really have any expectations.” Ruvigny was trying to think, literally on his feet. “I’d always assumed, well, hoped for, if God granted me entirely unexpected good fortune, that a dowry somewhere in the neighborhood of 150,000 French livres would be perfect. I’m not immediately sure how that coverts into Danish rigsdaler. But that was when I presumed my possible bride might be the daughter of a banker or prosperous merchant. To provide the appropriate level of support for the daughter of a king....”
He shrugged his shoulders. “With some invested capital, though, because of Rachel’s extraordinary marriage and the clientage it should bring me, I can hope for significant advancement that would bring me income and assets as I rise in the service of the duc de Rohan. I would prefer a civilian role. For me, army service has simply been a way to support myself. The Huguenot cause will need a permanent diplomatic advocate to the French government, whatever the French government may turn out to be in the next few years. Or a representative to the English throne, whatever may be happening in England. A broker to the Swiss bankers, whatever happens in Burgundy. If there is what Gerry Stone would call ‘start-up money’ from a dowry, I can find a path.”
Ring of Fire - 1635_ The Legions of Pestilence Page 30