1636: The Cardinal Virtues (37 page)

Chapter 47

Paris

Erik Hand did not go to the Louvre with great confidence about the outcome. His previous—indeed, his only—interaction with King Gaston had been peremptory.
Rude, actually
, he noted: Gaston had insisted that the USE was harboring a fugitive queen whom he had characterized as a traitor to the crown.

What he had believed—but could not be certain of—was that the USE knew nothing of Queen Anne’s whereabouts. He had told Gaston exactly that, but he’d as much as been called a liar to his face. The emperor, Hand’s cousin, had been enraged by the king’s imputations and Hand did not doubt that Gustav would have been willing to send his cavalry on a punitive raid into French territory to avenge the insult.

In the instance, cooler heads had prevailed—that would have been everyone else in the room—and no raid had materialized.

And, of course, Hand had been right. Anne was in Brussels with the Eternal Archduchess. Clearly Gaston would not be interested in revisiting that battlefield—there was nothing there for him but acrimony and embarrassment.

The king of France had something else in mind: whatever had made him want to arrest the young woman who was now sheltered in the USE embassy.

He’d known that he had done the right thing when he had refused to turn her over to soldiers of the king. Whatever she had done—and he expected that it truly was nothing at all—he wasn’t going to subject her to any species of royal justice coming from the Louvre. If that meant that there would be consequences for the USE, then so be it. His cousin Gustav II Adolf had told him to seize the high ground and hold it.

And by God, he would do so.

◊ ◊ ◊

“His Excellency, the ambassador for the United States of Europe.”

Colonel Hand walked slowly through the open doors and into the great audience hall. Dozens of people—perhaps a few hundred—were in attendance, more than he’d ever seen at a royal levee. At the far end of the room Gaston sat on an elevated throne; the queen’s seat was empty, and the place usually occupied by the duc de Vendôme was also vacant—no one had taken his place.

Hand made his way slowly toward the king. The others in the chamber stepped to the side as he approached, like the parting of a wave. The room became more and more quiet.

“Ambassador Hand,” Gaston said at last when Hand stood before him.

“Your Majesty.”

“We appreciate your prompt attention to our summons. Do you know why you are here?”

“I am here at your command, Your Majesty.”

“And why, of all people in Paris, would we choose so to command? We are obliged to call upon you as a representative of your people, well-known for their keen insight.”

There was a slight titter of amusement. Hand did not turn around, but said, “I think Your Majesty makes sport of me.”

“Colonel Hand,” Gaston answered, “We do not require your services for the purpose of entertainment. There are many”—he gestured to the crowd in the room—“who are much more amusing than you.”

Hand said nothing. He knew that Gaston would get to it eventually.

“You do not wish to oblige us,” Gaston said. “Very well, Colonel Hand: we will tell
you.

“You are now the
deputed
representative of the United States of Europe, sir, a country that did not exist five years ago prior to the event called the Ring of Fire. This country, which has spread and grown in every direction, has done more than simply upset the comity and balance of the nations of the world. It has introduced technologies and knowledge and . . .
ideas
that have never before been known.

“And at every turn, Colonel, these people—these
up-timers
—have proved themselves enemies of this country. Even now, your embassy shelters an up-timer who has betrayed our trust.”

The statement made the room even more silent, if that could be possible. Still, Colonel Hand saw no reason to respond; he waited for Gaston to ask him a direct question.

He did not have to wait long.

“Do you deny this, Colonel? These are not your people—you are a subject of the Swedish crown, not an—intruder—into our world. Are
you
going to defend them?”

“Yes,” Hand said after a moment. “Yes, Your Majesty, I will defend them. I am honored to represent my nation, and I am honor bound to hurl aside the calumnies that you choose to pronounce against it. What is more, the up-timer that so offends you has served you well and honorably for months, never betraying your trust—even though you have made her question that trust.”

Gaston was visibly angry but did not answer.

“I do not understand what has brought about this acrimony, Your Majesty,” Hand said. “It is impossible to deny that your nation and mine have come to blows as enemies, and that many brave men have died in these conflicts. But that time is
past
. We do not consider France an enemy. We have no desire to interfere in its internal affairs.

“If up-timers have found employment or involvement in the society of this great kingdom, it is with the blessing and the encouragement of the government of the USE—but no permission has been required. They have come to France on their own, not as agents of our government.”

“You dissemble with us, Colonel.”

“You call me a liar,” Hand said.

“Not a liar,” he answered. “Misinformed at the best, and badly directed at the worst.”

“A distinction without a difference,” Hand responded. “And one further thing, Your Majesty. If
ideas
are crossing the border, there is nothing that you, or anyone, can do about it. If that is what truly angers you, there is nothing that
I
can do about it.

“And there is nothing
you
can do about it either.”

He bowed and turned away, walking slowly and deliberately out of the audience hall. He waited for something to happen, or for Gaston—or anyone else—to say a word. But nothing ever came.

◊ ◊ ◊

The King’s Guardsmen at the entrance to the USE embassy had been instructed how to deal with anyone seeking to depart, and were particularly on the lookout for Terrye Jo Tillman—they even had a sketch of her face and a description. They were not so sure what to do when a group approached with the intention of
entering
the embassy—particularly a well-armed group.

Thus, when Maddox’s Rangers—not identified as such: merely a well-armed few dozen soldiers moving at a steady pace down the street—approached the gate to the embassy, the commander of the royal troops consulted with his two subalterns and then withdrew from their path. The rangers never stopped moving until they came to the gate; after a short discussion which the commander did not overhear, they were admitted, the gate closing behind them.

◊ ◊ ◊

Terrye Jo was standing on the balcony when the soldiers entered the embassy. She had not heard any fighting or gunfire outside, so it was apparent that they had not attacked: they were admitted as friends. It was quickly apparent why.

“Ms. Maddox?” she said, and the leader of the soldiers looked up from the foyer to see her standing above.

“Miss Tillman,” Sherrilyn said. She couldn’t help but smile. “Terrye Jo. I’d heard you were in Paris.”

“And I heard you were working for some French marshal.”

There was a long, awkward silence, during which the servant that admitted them had a worried look on his face—as if, somehow, allowing armed up-timers into the embassy hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Then Sherrilyn Maddox smiled and began climbing the stairs. Terrye Jo walked down and they met a bit below halfway; she offered her hand to her old teacher, who took it warmly.

“You don’t hold any old grudges, I hope.”

“Nah,” Terrye Jo said. “That was hundreds of years from now. You look good, Ms. Maddox.”

“Sherrilyn.”

“I’ll have to get used to that. But after the other stuff I’ve had to get used to, that should be easy. What brings you to Paris—and to the embassy?”

“Orders. I’ve been told that it’s not safe for up-timers in Paris at the moment, and that I should come and hide in the embassy.”

“I was told the same thing. I think I believe it.”

“I’m glad to see you,” Sherrilyn said, glancing back at her troop, which was watching the scene closely. “I was told that I wouldn’t be allowed to break you out of prison.”

“I wasn’t in—”

“Well, I didn’t know that. When I said that I was going to do it, I got all of the excuses you can imagine why I shouldn’t. So now I don’t have to disobey orders, or cause a diplomatic incident, or anything like that.”

“You’d have done that for me?”

“I’d have done that for anyone from Grantville. From what I’ve heard about prisons in this century—”

“I saw one.” Terrye Jo looked away, thinking for a moment about Miolans. “No thanks. I guess I’m stuck here as long as King Gaston is angry at me. The problem is—I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just a radio operator.”

“As I told you,” Erik Hand said, entering the foyer and looking around at the Rangers standing on all sides, “this was not about you, Miss Tillman.”

He removed his hat and stripped off his gloves, tossing them to the servant. “It is about arrogance and fear and a dangerous view of the world.”

“Ms. Ma— Sherrilyn. Let me introduce Colonel Erik Haakonson Hand, our ambassador to France. He’s the guy who brought me here and told me to stay put.”

“I see you have obeyed me,” Hand said. He walked to the foot of the stair; the two up-timers descended to stand on the level with him.

“I didn’t really have much choice.”

“In the last few years,” Hand said, “I have been surprised to see how often up-timers do things even when they ‘have no choice.’ If we want to talk about something unavoidable, let us discuss
my
orders from my cousin the Emperor. He told me to ‘seize the high ground and hold it.’”

“Meaning?” Terrye Jo asked.

“Meaning, Miss Tillman, that when Gaston d’Orleans, king of France—”

“So he says,” Sherrilyn interrupted, and a number of the Rangers murmured agreement. Hand turned around and looked; evidently his glance was enough to silence them.

“Gaston d’Orleans,” he repeated, “king of France, saw fit to accuse up-timers of being enemies of his country. Not just you, Miss Tillman, or even you, Colonel Maddox, but
every
up-timer. As for those of us who make common cause . . .” he placed his hand on his breast and gave a slight bow. “We are complicit as well.”

“What did you tell him?”

Hand smiled. “I expressed my surprise at this position, I rejected his accusations, and I turned my back and walked out.”

Sherrilyn whistled through her teeth. “That must’ve gone over like a lead balloon.”

Hand paused for a moment, considering the phrase, and then said, “I did not stay to hear the king’s reaction. But no one stopped me from leaving the audience hall, or the Louvre. I was not forced to defend my person with my ceremonial sword or my one good arm.”

“So what happens next?” Terrye Jo asked.

“You leave the country,” Hand answered. “I was not sure how we would be able to guarantee your safety, but I think a solution has presented itself. Colonel Maddox, your government prevails upon you for a favor—to escort Miss Tillman back to the USE.”

“Wait—” Terrye Jo said. “Wait. You’re
sending me home
?”

“I am trying to protect you from conflict which is surely coming,” Hand said. “At any time, King Gaston may decide to attack this embassy and provoke war with the United States of Europe. There is no way your safety can be guaranteed.”

“I didn’t ask for a guarantee, Colonel. And I can take care of myself.”

“I tried to use that line too,” Sherrilyn said. “They sent me here.”

“I’m not running home,” Terrye Jo said. She put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at Colonel Hand and Sherrilyn Maddox.

“You are being foolhardy and headstrong,” Hand said. “I would not tolerate such insolence from you if you were my daughter.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing you’re not my father,” she snapped back. “My father is Joe Tillman, and he taught me how to use a rifle. He also taught me that when things got hairy it was time to stand up, not time to run.”

“Brave words.”

“I’m an
American
,” Terrye Jo said. “Gaston doesn’t scare me, and neither do the people working for him.”

Hand sighed. “I cannot force you to leave.”

“You’re damn right you can’t. I guess you’d better think of something else.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Gaston could not readily refuse an interview with a prince of the blood, even after the public rebuff from the Swede. He did not particularly want to converse with the prince de Condé: the older man had never especially favored him.

He was determined to make the interview short, and decided to have him present himself in the garden. The day had been sultry and humid; no one would want to spend more than a few minutes there. He waited in an arbor, where at least they would be out of direct sunlight.

“Your Majesty,” Condé said when he was announced. He bowed, and Gaston nodded distantly, as if it was no more than a tiring formality.

“Cousin. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“I need the answer to a particular question, Sire.”

“Please ask.”

“Where is Cardinal de Tremblay?”

Gaston frowned. He had been expecting some comment on his exchange with the irritating Colonel Hand, or an inquiry about the announcement by Archduchess Isabella regarding the traitor queen, or something to do with César.

“I have not seen that villain since the coronation, Henri. Why would he possibly interest you?”

“He is missing.”

“As far as I know, he vacated the palace, apparently along with much of the devil cardinal’s effects, and has scarcely been heard of since. My mother complains no end about it. I think she simply didn’t like finding cat hair everywhere.”

“I rather think it is more than that, Sire. He was taken to the Grand Châtelet.”

“How do you know that?”

“My source is impeccable. He was treated most roughly, and has not emerged. I wish to know what has been done with him, and if he is still alive.”