“Ah, forgive me for prying-I forget that you are incognito, ” said the Duke of Monmouth, his eyes straying momentarily to the black sash that d’Avaux had given her. “That, and your coy silence, speak volumes.”

“Really? What’s in those volumes?”

“The tale of a lovely innocent cruelly misused by some Germanic or Scandinavian noble-was it at the court of Poland-Lithuania? Or was it that infamous woman-beater, Prince Adolph of Sweden? Say nothing, mademoiselle, except that you forgive me my curiosity.”

“Done. Now, are you that same Duke of Monmouth who distinguished himself at the Siege of Maestricht? I know a man who fought in that battle-or who was there, anyway-and who spoke at length of your doings.”

“Is it the Marquis de-? Or the comte d’-?”

“You forget yourself, Monsieur,” said Eliza, stroking the velvet sash.

“Once again-please accept my apology,” said the Duke, looking wickedly amused.

“You might be able to redeem yourself by explaining something to me: the Siege of Maestricht was part of a campaign to wipe the Dutch Republic off the map. William sacrificed half his country to win that war. You fought against him. And yet here you are enjoying the hospitality of that same William, in the innermost court of Holland, only a few years later.”

“That’s nothing,” Monmouth said agreeably, “for only a few years after Maestricht I was fighting by William’s side, against the French, at Mons, and William was married to that Mary-who as you must know is the daughter of King James II, formerly the Duke of York, and Admiral of the English Navy until William’s admirals blew it out of the water. I could go on in this vein for hours.”

“If I had such an enemy I would not rest until he was dead,” Eliza said. “As a matter of fact, I do have an enemy, and it has been a long time since I have rested…”

“Who is it?” Monmouth asked eagerly, “the one who taught you to skate and then-”

“It is another, ” Eliza said, “but I know not his name-our encounter was in a dark cabin on a ship-”

“What ship?”

“I know not.”

“What flag did it fly?”

“A black one.”

“Stab me!”

“Oh, ’twas the typical sort of heathen pirate-galleon-nothing remarkable.”

“You were captured by heathen pirates!?”

“Only once. Happens more often than you might appreciate. But we are digressing. I will not rest until my enemy’s identity is known, and I’ve put him in the grave.”

“But suppose that when you learn his identity, he turns out to be your great-uncle, and your cousin’s brother-in-law, and your best friend’s godfather?”

“I’m only speaking of one enemy-”

“I know. But royal families of Europe are so tangled together that your enemy might bear all of those relations to you at once. ”

“Eeyuh, what a mess.”

“On the contrary-’Tis the height of civilization,” Monmouth said. “It is not-mind you-that we forget our grievances. That would be unthinkable. But if our only redress were to put one another into graves, all Europe would be a battleground!”

“All Europe is a battleground! Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Fighting at Maestricht and Mons and other places has left me little time for it,” Monmouth said drily. “I say to you it could be much worse-like the Thirty Years’ War, or the Civil War in England.”

“I suppose that is true,” Eliza said, remembering all of those ruined castles in Bohemia.

“In the modern age we pursue revenge at Court. Sometimes we might go so far as to fight a duel-but in general we wage battles with wit, not muskets. It does not kill as many people, and it gives ladies a chance to enter the lists-as it were.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever fired a musket, mademoiselle?”

“No.”

“And yet in our conversation you have already discharged any number of verbal broadsides. So you see, on the courtly battle-ground, women stand on an equal footing with men.”

Eliza coasted to a stop, hearing the bells of the town hall chiming four o’clock. Monmouth overshot her, then swooped through a gallant turn and skated back, wearing a silly grin.

“I must go and meet someone,” Eliza said.

“May I escort you back to the Binnenhof?”

“No-d’Avaux is there.”

“You no longer take pleasure in the Ambassador’s company?”

“I am afraid he will try to give me a fur coat.”

“That would be terrible!”

“I don’t want to give him the satisfaction… he has used me, somehow.”

“The King of France has given him orders to be as offensive as possible to Mary. As Mary’s in love with me today…”

“Why?”

“Why is she in love with me? Mademoiselle, I am offended.”

“I know perfectly well why she is in love with you. I meant, why would the King of France send a Count up to the Hague simply to behave offensively?”

“Oh, the comte d’Avaux does many other things besides. But the answer is that King Louis hopes to break up the marriage between William and Mary-destroying William’s power in England-and making Mary available for marriage to one of his French bastards.”

“I knew it had to be a family squabble of some sort-it’s so mean, so petty, so vicious.”

“ Nowyou begin to understand!”

“Doesn’t Mary love her husband?”

“William and Mary are a well-matched couple.”

“You say little but mean much… what do you mean?”

“Now it is my turn to be mysterious,” Monmouth said, “as it’s the only way I can be sure of seeing you again.”

He went on in that vein, and Eliza dodged him elaborately, and they parted ways.

But two hours later they were together again. This time Gomer Bolstrood was with them.

ACOUPLE OF MILES NORTH of the Hague, the flat polder-land of the Dutch Republic was sliced off by the sea-coast. A line of dunes provided a meager weather-wall. Sheltering behind it, running parallel to the coast, was a strip of land, frequently wooded, but not wilderness, for it had been improved with roads and canals. In that belt of green had grown up diverse estates: the country retreats of nobles and merchants. Each had a proper house with a formal garden. The bigger ones also had wooded game-parks, and hunting-lodges where men could seek refuge from their women.

Eliza still knew little about Gomer Bolstrood and his scheme; but it was obvious enough that he was in league with some merchant or other, who was the owner of one such estate, and that he had gotten permission to use the hunting-lodge as a pied-a-terre. A canal ran along one side of the game-park and connected it-if you knew which turns to take-to the Haagsche Bos, that large park next to the Binnenhof. The distance was several miles, and so it might have been a morning’s or an afternoon’s journey in the summer. But when ice was on the canals, and skates were on the traveler’s feet, it could be accomplished in very little time.

Thus Monmouth had arrived, by himself, incognito. He was seated on the chair that Bolstrood had likened to an ogre’s throne, and Eliza and Bolstrood were on the creaking faggot-chairs. Bolstrood tried to make a formal introduction of the Client, but-

“So,” Eliza said, “as you were saying a short time ago: fighting battles with muskets and powder is an out-moded practice and…”

“It suits my purposes for people to think that I actually believe such nonsense,” Monmouth said, “and women are ever eager to believe it.”

“Why-because in battle, women become swag, and we don’t like being swag?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ve been swag. It didn’t suit me. So, for me, your little lecture about modernity was inspiring in a way.”

“As I said-women are eager to believe it.”

“The two of you are acquainted-?-!” Bolstrood finally forced out.

“As my late Dad so aptly demonstrated, those of us who are predestined to burn in Hell must try to have a bit of fun while we are alive,” Monmouth said. “Men and women-ones who are not Puritans, anyway-know each other in all sorts of ways!” Regarding Eliza warmly. Eliza gave him a look that was intended to be like a giant icicle thrust through his abdomen-but Monmouth responded with a small erotic quiver.