When the sack came off her head, she was in her little cabin with two men: a brute and an angel. The brute was a thick-set boer, who had managed the gunny sack and borne most of her weight. He was immediately dismissed and sent out by the angel: a blond Dutch gentleman, so beautiful that Eliza was more inclined to be jealous of, than attracted to, him. “Arnold Joost van Keppel,” he explained curtly, “page to the Prince of Orange.” He was looking at Eliza with the same coolness as she was showing him-obviously he had little interest in women. And yet rumor had it that William kept an English mistress-so perhaps he was the sort who could love anything.
William, Prince of Orange, Stadholder, Admiral-General, and Captain-General of the United Provinces, Burgrave of Besancon, and Duke or Count or Baron of diverse other tiny fragments of Europe,*entered the cabin a few minutes later, ruddy and unshaven, slightly blood-flecked, and, in general, looking anything but Dutch. As d’Avaux never got tired of pointing out, he was a sort of European mongrel, with ancestors from all corners of the Continent. He looked as comfortable in that rough boer’s get-up as Monmouth had in Turkish silk. He was too excited and pleased with himself to sit down-which anyway would have led to a tedious welter of protocol, since there was only one place to sit in this cabin, and Eliza had no intention of vacating it. So William shooed Arnold Joost van Keppel out of the place, then braced his shoulder against a curving overhead knee-brace and remained on his feet. “My god, you’re but a child-not even twenty yet? That’s in your favor-it excuses your foolishness, while giving hope that you may improve.”
Eliza was still too angry about the gunny sack to speak, or even to give any sign that she’d heard him.
“Don’t delay writing a thank-you note to the Doctor,” said William, “if it weren’t for him, you’d be on a slow boat to Nagasaki.”
“You are acquainted with Doctor Leibniz?”
“We met at Hanover about five years ago. I traveled there, and to Berlin-”
“Berlin?”
“A town in Brandenburg, of little significance, save that the Elector has a palace there. I have various relations among the Electors and Dukes of that part of the world-I was making the rounds, you see, trying to bring them into an alliance against France.”
“Evidently, without success-?”
“ Theywere willing. Most Dutchmen were, too-but Amsterdam was not. In fact, the Regents of Amsterdam were plotting with your friend d’Avaux to go over to the French so that Louis could wield their fleet against England.”
“ Alsowithout success, or someone would’ve heard about it.”
“I like to flatter myself that my efforts in northern Germany-aided to no small degree by your friend Doctor Leibniz-and d’Avaux’s exertions here, produced a stalemate,” William announced. “I was pleased to have fared so well, and Louis was furious to have made out so poorly.”
“Is that the reason he raped Orange?”
This made William of Orange very angry, which Eliza considered to be fair exchange for the gunny sack. But he mastered his rage, and answered in a tight voice: “Understand: Louis is not like us-he does not trifle with reasons. He is a reason. Which is why he must be destroyed.”
“And it’s your ambition to do the destroying?”
“Humor me, girl, by using the word ‘destiny’ instead of ‘ambition.’”
“But you don’t even have control over your own territory! Louis has Orange, and here in Holland you skulk about in disguise, for fear of French dragoons-”
“I am not here to rehearse these facts with you,” William said, now much calmer. “You are right. Furthermore, I cannot dance or write poetry or entertain a company at dinner. I’m not even a particularly good general, never mind what my supporters will tell you. All I know is that nothing that opposes me endures.”
“France seems to be enduring.”
“But I will see to it that France’s ambitions fail, and in some small way, you will help me.”
“Why?”
“You should be asking how. ”
“Unlike le Roi, I need reasons.”
William of Orange thought it was amusing that she thought she needed reasons, but killing a couple of French dragoons had put him into a playful mood. “The Doctor says you hate slavery,” he offered. “Louis wants to enslave all of Christendom.”
“Yet, all of Africa’s great slave-forts belong to the Dutch or the English.”
“Only because the duc d’Arcachon’s navy is still too incompetent to take them away from us,” William returned. “Sometimes in life it is necessary to do things incrementally, and that goes double for a Vagabond girl-child who is trying to do away with a universal institution such as slavery.”
Eliza said, “How remarkable that a Prince would dress up like a farmer and go on a boat-trip only to edify a Vagabond girl-child.”
“You glorify yourself. First: as you have already pointed out, I always go incognito in Amsterdam, for d’Avaux has assassins all over the city. Second: I was going back to the Hague anyway, since your lover’s invasion of England has imposed certain obligations on me. Third: I have got rid of your escorts, and brought you to this cabin, not to edify you or anyone else, but to intercept the messages d’Avaux hid in your baggage.”
Eliza now felt her face getting hot. William eyed her bemusedly for a few moments, and decided, perhaps, not to press his advantage. “Arnold!” he shouted. The cabin door opened. Through it, Eliza could see her things spread out all over the deck, stained with tar and bilge-water, some of the more complicated garments ripped into pieces. The luggage given to her by d’Avaux had been broken up into fragments, now being peeled apart layer by layer. “Two letters so far,” Arnold said, stepping into the cabin and, with a little bow, handing over sheets covered with writing.
“Both encyphered,” William observed. “No doubt he’s had the wit to change over to a new code since last year.”
Like a rock that had been struck by a cannon-ball, Eliza’s mind split into a few large independent pieces about now. One piece understood that the existence of these letters made her a French spy in the eyes of Dutch law, and presumably gave William the right to inflict any imaginable punishment on her. Another part was busily trying to figure out what d’Avaux’s plan had been (this seemed an over-elaborate way of mailing some letters!-or perhaps not?), and yet a third part seemed to be carrying on polite conversation without really thinking (maybe not such a good idea, but-). “What happened last year?”
“I had d’Avaux’s previous dupe arrested. The messages he was carrying to Versailles were deciphered by my cryptologist. They had to do with all the fine things Sluys and certain Amsterdam Regents were doing on behalf of Louis.”
This remark, at least, gave Eliza something to think about other than Doom and Rage. “Etienne d’Arcachon was visiting Sluys several weeks ago-but apparently not to discuss investments…”
“She stirs-the eyelids flutter-I do believe she is about to Wake Up, sire,” said Arnold Joost van Keppel.
“Would you get that man out of my cabin now, please?” said Eliza to William, with evenness that surprised everyone. William made some subliminal gesture and van Keppel was gone, the door closed-though the shredding and seam-popping noises now redoubled.
“Is he going to leave me with any clothing at all?”
William considered it. “No-except for one garment-the one you are wearing now. You will sew this letter into the corset, after Arnold has made a copy. When you arrive in Paris-exhausted, dishevelled, sans escort or luggage-you’ll have a magnificent tale to tell, of how the cheesemongers molested you, slew your traveling-companions, rifled your bags-and yet you’ll be able to produce one letter that you cleverly secreted in your undergarments.”