“Not everywhere, Rebecca.” Frederik Hendrik cleared his throat. “As I recall, central Germany is still in the hands of the king of Sweden. Whom the French—and Danes—have now taken it upon themselves to attack also. With the Spanish—and English—having been so foolish as to sign their names to the enterprise.”
“But—” She broke off.
The prince was smiling gently. “Yes, yes. I realize that, at the moment, things look rather bleak for Gustav Adolf also. But—unlike me—he has not already lost most of his realm. And—also unlike me—he has been fortunate enough, or wise enough, not to have his populace paralyzed by endless disputes over religious doctrine. Indeed, from what I can see, he seems to be increasingly drawn toward your American-style . . . what shall I call it? ‘Arminianism Excelsior’?”
Rebecca laughed. “Hardly that, Frederik Hendrik! Arminianism is a religious doctrine itself. What the Americans preach—and practice—is something far simpler. ‘The separation of church and state,’ they call it. Worship whatever you will, however you will, and do so in peace. The state has no business in it—nor, on the other side, do the churches have any business meddling in state affairs.”
The prince grunted. “A month ago—a week ago, even—I would have said you were mad. And I am considered—accused, as often as not—of being an Arminian myself. Now . . .”
For a moment, he studied the same painting he had studied the day before. “Odd, isn’t it? The way your husband seems to force people to adopt his own practices in order to fight them. I’ve been getting continual reports, you know. The Dutch navy may be destroyed, but Dutch merchant vessels continue to ply their trade. It seems that Richelieu is setting up what he calls ‘religious havens’ in the northern towns and ports of France. Hoping, no doubt, to draw Protestant workmen there in order to build his own armaments industry. And now I hear that Earl Strafford has put a complete stop to any attempts to enforce strict religious adherence in England. Scotland too—even Ireland, if the reports are correct.”
He turned back to her, smiling. “Of course, what else can he do? He—like every statesman in Europe now, probably even the Tsar of Russia—knows what history is supposed to bring. So, trying to stop it . . . ha!”
He slapped his hands on his knees. “That is my plan. In the long run, obviously, I am counting on Gustav Adolf to humble my enemies. In the short run, I can simply try to hold on to what I can—Amsterdam above all else. To be honest, Rebecca, I do not see what you and the United States can do for me in the short run. Throw your support behind the king of Sweden, of course, which I am sure you will be doing. I think you would be wise, therefore, to leave Amsterdam now. For the next few days, I am fairly confident I can get you safely back to Germany. But once the siege closes in, you will be trapped here for months.”
Rebecca took a deep breath. “Well, actually, that is what I came here to tell you. I discussed this with my husband last night—no, you are right, we do not need great edifices for all forms of radio—and we are agreed.” She took another deep breath. “I, and the entire delegation, will remain here in Amsterdam. If for no other reason, both Michael and I feel that will be a dramatic public gesture making clear that the United States stands firmly with the United Provinces and has confidence in your survival.”
“As dramatic as possible,” grunted the prince. “The wife of the President herself. But—” He winced. “Rebecca, the risk . . . if I did not make it clear yesterday, the siege is going to be terrible. Disease alone—”
“That,” said Rebecca firmly, “is in fact the main reason I am staying. We cannot do much, obviously, to help you fight your Spanish enemies. Not directly, at any rate. But we can do something about the rest of it.”
After she finished explaining the American proposal, Frederik Hendrik arose and went over to the painting. He studied it for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, and then moved over to the next painting on the walls.