1634 The Baltic War

  "Why," Philip IV demanded, "did Urban VIII grant the dispensations?"

  "Because our envoys were not able to prevent it," Olivares said frankly. "Nor did we have military forces close enough to Rome to send them there promptly enough to persuade the pope that his decision was not at all wise."

  "We will remember his action."

  "Yes, Your Majesty. That is a given."

  "Ecclesiastically, you say, the dispensations are impeccable?"

  "I am quite persuaded that Urban set the very best of his canon lawyers to studying the matter," Olivares answered.

  "Fernando's children then, by Maria Anna, will be impeccably legitimate, from a dynastic point of view?"

  "It would be almost impossible to get any other interpretation of the situation accepted. Barring, of course, denying the legitimacy of Urban VIII's election as pope." Olivares paused. "Nor am I sure that, in the long run, it would be to the interest of the House of Habsburg to make the attempt."

  The king looked at him.

  "I have provided you with the information, Your Majesty. In that other world, the queen died ten years from now. Your subsequent children by her, born in those ten years, were girls–although that is not to say that this will be the same in our new future. Still, we cannot rely fully on the hope of additional sons. Don Balthasar Carlos died, two years after her death. You remarried. The son born to your second marriage was incompetent to rule, incapable of begetting children. And Spain fell to the Bourbons."

  "France." Philip IV looked at his chief minister. "Anything but France, Gaspar. Anything but France. And Balthasar Carlos, according to the information you have brought me, died of smallpox. Introduce these up-time measures against smallpox into Spain. Now. We have a dozen years to ensure that, by the mercy of the holy mother, her son, and all of the saints, Balthasar Carlos does not die."

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  "And there is still my brother Carlos. The Grand Admiral still stands as a buffer between Fernando's offspring and Spain. We should be grateful for the arrival of Grantville, I suppose, since the political complications prevented our planned trip to Barcelona. It was in Catalonia that he contracted typhus, even though he died after our return to Madrid. Damned Catalans. Too many forget Carlos."

  Olivares tightened his lips. He and the king's next younger brother, second in line for the throne after the little prince Balthasar Carlos, were political opponents. He needed to say something neutral. Inoffensive. Philip IV had grown up with his younger brothers as his primary companions. They had studied together. Hunted together. There was a–camaraderie–there, with both of them, that he found difficult to overcome. "In that other world, Your Majesty, Don Carlos died young. Two years ago, of typhus. Not quite twenty-five years old. The authors of the encyclopedias in Grantville appear, almost, to have forgotten him."

  "This world, perhaps, will remember him better." The king of Spain rose from his chair, smiling thinly. "In any case, Gaspar, whatever your personal opinions, we must thank God that he is still alive and begin serious negotiations for his marriage. Under the circumstances, our cousin Cecelia Renata would be the best choice. However, there are others. Wladyslaw's half-sister in Poland. Anna de' Medici. Let one of the court painters begin the process of obtaining portraits."

  Olivares nodded. "Velasquez would be the best choice. Since we have learned that Rubens undertook this office for the 'king in the Netherlands,' it would be disadvantageous to Spain's royal prestige not to utilize a Spanish artist with equivalent prestige to undertake the preliminary contacts. Not that we can disguise the purpose of his efforts for long, in any case."

  "Let it be Velasquez, then. In the interval, in regard to my youngest brother, it is clearly too late for us to enforce my father's will. If Fernando will not become a priest to say masses for the soul of Philip III, then at least let him breed Spain heirs that are Habsburg rather than French. But we will deal with Urban VIII, who permitted this while he had broken off diplomatic relations with us, supposedly over the problems in Naples. Had intentionally broken them off, I am sure, to enable him to permit this. If, in fact, he did not instigate it."

  * * * *

  Rome

  "I am not sure," Urban VIII said, "that I care for radio as a means of communication. Every morning, every evening. These messages are like having a drummer constantly beating a rhythm in one's bedchamber. The worst is that the operators acknowledge to one another that they have received the messages as well as sent them. Which means, of course, that one cannot pretend, when convenient, that a letter must have been delayed in the mail."

  "What is the decision of the canon lawyers?" Cardinal Francesco Barberini asked. "Are these messages valid dispensations, or must Don Fernando and Archduchess Maria Anna wait for paper copies?"

  "I sign the dispensations," the pope answered wryly, "before the radio operators send their versions bounding and bouncing through the air. The question, therefore, does not come up. Naturally, we will forward the signed paper copies, but the signature becomes valid when I place it on the document—not when the document arrives at its destination."

  "Naturally," Cardinal Francesco admitted.

  Father General Vitelleschi said. "Cardinal Mazzare tells me that up-time it was literally possible to have this radio beating a rhythm all the time. Father Kircher has confirmed this. A town did not just have one receiver, as the up-timers do here. Every carriage, every home, had these receivers. The broadcasters, if they had nothing significant to say, played music. Bad music often, and very loudly."

  "Whether you wanted it or not?" Cardinal Antonio Barberini the younger asked.

  "It was possible to 'turn it off'," Vitelleschi answered. "I am sure that I shall shortly understand it all better, when we open our own broadcasting station. Almost, I am tempted to travel to Germany, just to listen to it. Or, perhaps, if we are successful with Loyola University of the North and its radio, we could build one here in Rome."

  Urban VIII blanched.

  "Or possibly, just outside the borders of Venice. It might be quite useful in explaining to the republic's citizens that their rulers do not tell them 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.'"

  "Surely," Father Vitelleschi persisted, "we will want more than one."

  "Speaking of the mail," Cardinal Antonio Barberini the elder interposed, "I have received a very outraged letter from Dekan Golla in Munich. He informs us that Archduchess Maria Anna definitely did not leave the golden rose behind in her oratory when she left the Munich Residenz. He demands that the holy father write her and insist upon its return."

  "On the theory that marriage to Don Fernando is likely to be considerably more of a pleasure for her than marriage to Duke Maximilian?" Cardinal Antonio the younger asked. "Fernando is actually not bad looking. Certainly less prune-like."

  Vitelleschi looked at him.

  He looked down.

  "The rose was bestowed," Urban VIII said, "for extraordinary services to the church. Perhaps we should bide our time in the matter. If, of course, it has not simply been lost. Or stolen and melted down."

  Chapter 66

  Facinus Magnum Ac Memorabile

  Headquarters of Fernando

  King in the Low Countries

  outside Amsterdam

  Don Fernando's entire privy council had spent the previous evening discussing the question that Maria Anna had sent from Basel. Should she try to escape again? If so, which way should she go?

  "We have to get one of the radios in Brussels." His Majesty, still ordinarily addressed as Your Highness or simply as Don Fernando by his staff, got up from the table. "The one the up-timers placed in Antwerp is useful for the Wisselbank, of course, but Antwerp is not my capital. I feel as pinned to this camp by Fredrik Hendrik's radio as a butterfly must feel pinned to a display board in a cabinet of natural curiosities. I should go back to Brussels. For work, to Tante Isabella Clara Eugenia. Yet I remain here, waiting for the latest message that they deign to share with me
. I can't bear to be a hundred twenty miles away from their radio. My secretary must talk to the Jesuits at Loyola University of the North as soon as possible."

  "The up-time words," Cardinal Bedmar said, "are 'information junkie.'"

  Don Fernando scowled at him. "Where is everybody else?" he asked.

  "You're early."

  "When I arrive, it's time to start."

  "Your Highness, you are pacing."

  "Well, of course I am pacing. I have made a decision and I need to tell them about it."

  Eventually the remainder of his council made their way into the conference room. Don Fernando took his seat at the head of the table, looked at them, and asked a question. "What was the deciding event in the rise of the Habsburg dynasty?"

  "Your Highness?" Rubens said.

  "When you look at our history, what one event turned a family of minor south German and Austrian nobility into a dynasty that ruled much of the continent of Europe? What captured people's imagination?"

  "Emperor Maximilian's ride?" suggested his military adviser tentatively.

  "Very good, Miguel," Don Fernando answered. "A hundred fifty years ago. Now, where did Maximilian ride, and why?"

  The one woman in the council answered immediately. "Across the continent, from Austria to the Netherlands, to save his fiancée, Mary of Burgundy, from being forced to marry the heir to the French throne," said Doña Mencia.

  Don Fernando smiled at her. "I knew it was a good idea to add a female mind to this group."

  "If you will pardon me, Your Highness," said her brother, Cardinal Bedmar, "I do not believe that I care for the direction in which this discussion is moving."

  "I know that I do not," said Miguel de Manrique.

  Don Fernando ignored them. "Now," he gestured dramatically, "at another crucial juncture for our dynasty, I face a problem similar to that of my great-great-great grandfather."

  "Is that the right number of greats?" the secretary muttered under his breath as he took notes.

  Rubens glared at him but Don Fernando seemed merely amused. "Of course it's the right number of greats." The young Habsburg prince waved his hand. "If there is anything our tutors insist that we learn, it is the family's genealogy."

  "Very well. Three greats."

  Rubens cleared his throat. "To get back to the point. Archduchess Maria Anna is besieged in Basel."

  "Not," Miguel de Manrique muttered, "by the French."

  Don Fernando waved his hand again. "A mere bagatelle. She would probably be besieged by the French if it were not for the fact that the king of Sweden has Louis XIII's few remaining forces fully occupied. In any case, being besieged by Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, even if he is no longer in French employ, is an adequate substitute. In no way will I let him get custody of her. Therefore, obviously, a mad romantic dash to save my bride is clearly in order."

  Don Fernando's military adviser buried his face in his hands, moaning dramatically.

  "That will take quite a while," Cardinal Bedmar pointed out. "It is over four hundred miles."

  "Not to mention a few problems in the way," added Rubens. "From a military standpoint, that is—not just pure transportation."

  Don Fernando ignored that also. "Time is of the essence," he proclaimed. "My plans will be turned upside down if either Duke Bernhard or the Basel city council get their paws on my bride. In Bernhard's case, unfortunately, that might be a quite literal description of the outcome and the political complications would be really distressing."

  "You cannot just wave your hand and make the either the distance or the problems go away, Your Majesty."

  "No," Don Fernando said. He beamed at them. "However, the solution came to me while I slept."

  "Whatever it is—" the cardinal began. He had become all too familiar with his ruler's moments of inspiration. "—it is too risky."

  "Now there's a comprehensive warning," Don Fernando said. "However, now that we have a treaty with the Swede..."

  "Yes, he may give us free passage through Mainz and the Palatinate, through the parts of the Rhine that he holds," Miguel responded. "But that still does not mean that we can move enough men, fast enough, to dislodge Bernhard from the position his army has taken up north of the Swiss border. Not even if we could afford to remove them from the Netherlands for that long."

  "No, no," Don Fernando said airily. "That is not the plan."

  The military adviser was beginning to get that sinking feeling in his stomach that came all too often when he dealt with his commander-in-chief.

  "I shall speak to Fredrik Hendrik today," Don Fernando said, "and see if he can arrange for us to borrow one of the marvelous airplanes. And a pilot, of course. Then I shall simply fly over the heads of all these obstacles, save Maria Anna from the bunch of villainous dastards, bring her back her to the Netherlands, and once again capture the imagination of all Europe. Just think of the songs. The poems. The Harlequin romances."

  "Oh," Rubens said. "Dear God, no!"

  "Oh," Don Fernando answered. "Oh, yes."

  * * * *

  Amsterdam

  "If he marries an Austrian Habsburg archduchess," Rebecca said, "the bona fides of what amounts to the new dynasty he will create will be impeccable. And if he rescues her from the clutches of Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, even the Habsburgs will have a face-saving way to agree to it. I certainly cannot imagine that the Habsburgs would ever consider accepting the marriage of one of their archduchesses to a heretic upstart—which, in their view, Bernhard most certainly is."

  "If he goes off to rescue her, it certainly would be cutting the Gordian knot for him," Mike mused.

  "No. He cut the knot when he signed the treaty. But he has to make it work. It is this planned marriage that really makes the treaty and the new title of 'king in the Low Countries' feasible for him. Without it, his brother is almost certain to offer far more strenuous opposition. And with Maria Anna as his wife, he can perhaps tell his Austrian Habsburg relatives to 'take a hike,' too. The Austrians can't do anything about it. The Spanish Habsburgs don't begin to have the military strength to force Don Fernando to do anything, any more. They cannot dictate to him. But if he marries Maria Anna, they can all pretend that they don't need to."

  "Which brings us back," Fredrik Hendrik said, "to this astounding request. Will Gustav Adolf agree?"

  Mike smiled. "Actually, I think he'll be quite charmed by the idea. And even if he isn't, I am well-nigh certain that King Christian would be."

  Everyone stared at him. Mike's smile became positively seraphic. "The constitutional situation with the new Union of Kalmar is still vague, in many respects, but one thing is definitely established—Denmark's military remains under the direct control of Denmark's king, not the High King of Kalmar. And King Christian has insisted on establishing, formally, his own Danish air force. To be sure, it's an air force with neither planes nor pilots."

  "But..." Rebecca said. Mike continued right on.

  "But—you were there, yourself, sweetheart, when they cut the deal—it was agreed that until such time as Denmark could develop its own air force, the High King of Kalmar would place one of the USE's planes, with a trained pilot, at the disposal of the King of Denmark. Should he happen to need it. And Christian immediately took advantage of the offer, just so he and his future daughter-in-law could have joy rides, if nothing else. One of the Gustavs has been stationed at the airfield outside of Copenhagen ever since, with a pilot always present. Jesse Wood still hasn't stopped grousing about the waste of precious resources."

  "But..." said Fredrik Hendrik.

  Mike shrugged. "Look, folks. Everybody including Christian IV understands that this is mostly a face-saving measure, and that if he were to try to use his official power against any real military interest of Gustav Adolf, there'd be all hell to pay. But Christian could certainly argue that this was no military matter at all, simply one monarch doing a favor for another in a purely personal matter.

  Rebecca, normally quite imperturbable, pra
ctically spluttered. "Purely 'personal' matter! We are talking about the formation of a new European dynasty, Michael!"

  "Sure. So what? All that matters is that Christian would have a formal excuse—and both he and Gustav Adolf would know perfectly well that what's really involved is an arm-wrestling match to see exactly where the power of Denmark ends and the power of the Union of Kalmar begins."

  Rebecca sat back in her chair, her expression clearing. "Oh. I see."

  A moment later, Fredrik Hendrik leaned back also, adding a little laugh into the bargain. "Michael, you are wasted on a republic. Machiavelli himself would say you are the perfect model of his prince."

  Mike gave him a grin. "Oh, that's silly. I think republics provide much more of an interesting challenge, when it comes to political skullduggery." In a more serious tone, he added: "The point is, Gustav Adolf is no dumber than Christian IV. So I think he'll agree right off, if for no other reason than just to avoid the arm-wrestling match with the Danes."

  After a moment, with his best butter-wouldn't-melt-my-his-mouth expression, Mike added: "Especially once I point out the danger to him."

  * * * *

  The answer from Copenhagen came almost as instantly as Mike predicted.

  Do it, said the message from Gustav Adolf. Use Colonel Wood himself.

  * * * *

  The Spanish siege lines, outside Amsterdam

  The negotiations involved a great deal of risk assessment. Not just the obvious risk that the plane might fall out of the air. Neither Don Fernando nor his advisers really minded that. He would not be in more danger of falling out of the air than he would be of dying in a military action on the ground. Those things were in the hands of God.

  No. There were other risks. They had to negotiate the plane's point of departure and where it would arrive. Nobody mentioned the Saint Bartholomew's day massacre out loud, but it was certainly at the back of almost everyone's mind. That, too, had involved a treaty, a wedding, Catholics and Calvinists. There were still those who called for revenge, a half-century later. Might the Dutch use this device to entice Don Fernando into their clutches? If he landed in the midst of General Horn's army, which would be necessary, would the Swede's men allow him to leave again? Would they wait until he rescued Maria Anna from Basel and then hold them both? Don Fernando's diplomats were nervous.