"How utterly delightful!" exclaimed Richelieu. "I've never
seen a cat with such delicate features. The coloration is
marvelous, as well."
For a moment, the aristocratic and intellectual face of
France's effective ruler dissolved into something much
more youthful. Richelieu ignored Rebecca Stearns entirely,
for a few seconds, as his forefinger played with the
little paws of the kitten in his lap. Rebecca had just
presented it to Richelieu as a diplomatic gift.
He raised his head, smiling. "A 'Siamese,' you call it?
Surely you have not managed to establish trade relations
with southeast Asia in such a short time? Even given your
mechanical genius, that would seem almost another
miracle."
Rebecca pondered that smile, for a moment, while she
marshaled her answer. One thing, if nothing else, had
become quite clear to her in the few short minutes since
she had been ushered in to a private audience with the
cardinal. Whatever else he was, Richelieu was possibly the
most intelligent man she had ever met in her life. Or, at
least, the shrewdest.
And quite charming, in person-that she had not expected.
The combination of that keen intellect and the personal
warmth and grace was disarming to someone like Rebecca,
with her own basically intellectual temperament.
She reminded herself, very firmly, that being disarmed in
the presence of Richelieu was the one thing she could
least afford. For all his brains and his charm, the
cardinal was almost certainly the most dangerous enemy her
nation faced at the moment. And while she did not think
Richelieu was cruel by nature, he had demonstrated before
that he was quite prepared to be utterly ruthless when
advancing what he considered the interests of his own
nation. La gloire de France was a phrase which rang
splendidly-but, like a sword, had a sharp edge to those
who stood in the way.
She decided to pursue the double meaning implicit in the
cardinal's last sentence.
"'Another' miracle?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "An
interesting term, Your Eminence. As I recall, the most
recent characterization you gave the Ring of Fire
was 'witchcraft.'"
Richelieu's gentle smile remained as steady as it had been
since she entered his private audience chamber. "A
misunderstanding," he insisted, wiggling his fingers
dismissively. Then, paused for a moment to admire the
kitten batting at the long digits. "My error, and I take
full responsibility for it. Always a mistake, you know, to
jump to conclusions based on scant evidence. And I fear I
was perhaps too influenced at the time by the views of
Father Joseph. You met him yesterday, I believe, during
your audience with the king?"
Another double meaning was buried in that sentence as
well. Subtly, Richelieu was reminding Rebecca that her
alternative to dealing with him was the rather childish
King Louis XIII-or, even worse, the religious fanatic
Father Joseph. The Capucin monk was close to Richelieu,
and was also the leader of the harshly intolerant Catholic
lay organization of France known as the Company of the
Holy Sacrament.
Rebecca controlled the natural impulse of an intellectual
to talk. In this, as in so many things, her far less
intellectual husband had trained her. Mike Stearns was a
trade union leader in his origins. So, unlike Rebecca, he
had learned long ago that the best tactic in negotiations
is often simply to say nothing.
"Let the other side do most of the talking," he'd told
her. "On average, I'd say anyone's twice as likely to
screw up with their mouth open than closed."
The cardinal, of course, was quite familiar with the ploy
himself. Silence lengthened in the room.
For an intellectual, silence is the ultimate sin. So,
again, Rebecca found herself forced to keep it zipped!
She took refuge in memories of her husband. Mike, standing
in the doorway to their house in Grantville, his face
somewhat drawn and unhappy, as he bid her farewell on her
diplomatic journey to France and Holland. The same face-
she found this memory far more comforting-the night
before, in their bed.
Something in the smile which came to her face at that
memory defeated the cardinal. Richelieu's smile never
wavered, true. But he did take a deep breath and, gently
but firmly, set the kitten down on the floor and left off
his idle playing.
"The 'Ring of Fire,' as you call it-which brought
your 'Americans' and their bizarre technology into our
world-was enough to confuse anyone, madame. But further
reflection, especially with further evidence to base it
upon, has led me to the conclusion that I was quite in
error to label your ... ah, if you will forgive the term,
bizarre new country the product of 'witchcraft.'"
Richelieu paused for a moment, running his fingers down
his rich robes. "Quite inexcusable on my part, really.
Once I had time to ponder the matter, I realized that I
had veered perilously close to Manicheanism." With a
little chuckle: "And how long has it been since that
heresy was condemned? A millennium and a half, ha! And
here I claim to be a cardinal!"
Rebecca decided it was safe enough to respond to the
witticism with a little chuckle of her own. Nothing more
than that, though. She could practically feel the
cardinal's magnetic personality drawing her in, and didn't
doubt for a moment that Richelieu understood the power of
his own charm quite well. By all accounts, the cardinal
was a chaste man. But 'seduction' was a term which had
more than one application. Time after time, Richelieu's
rise to power and influence had been eased by that
personal grace and charm-and, with other intellectuals,
the suppleness of his mind. Were she not, for all
practical purposes, the envoy of a nation at war with
Richelieu, she would have enjoyed immensely spending a few
hours with one of Christendom's most prodigious intellects
discussing the theological implications of the strange
event which had brought an entire town of people into 17th-
century Europe from a place centuries in the future
called "the United States of America."
Silence, woman! Obey your husband!
And that thought, too, reinforced her own serene smile. In
truth, Mike Stearns was very far removed from
a "patriarch." He would be amused, Rebecca knew, when she
told him of her self-admonition. ("I will be good God-
damned. You mean that for once you listened to me?")
It was another little defeat for Richelieu. Something in
the set of his smile-a trace of stiffness-told her so.
Again, the cardinal ran fingers down his robe, and resumed
speaking.
"No, only God could have caused such an incredible
transposition of Time and Space. And your term 'the Ring
of Fire' seems appropriate." Very serene, now, his
smile. "As I'm sure you are aware, I have long had my
agents investigating your 'United States' in Thuringia.
Several of them have interviewed local inhabitants who
witnessed the event. And, indeed, they too-simple peasants-
saw the heavens open up and a halo of heatless flame
create a new little world in a small part of central
Germany.
"Still-" he said, abruptly, holding up a hand as if to
forestall Rebecca's next words. (Which, in fact, she'd had
no intention of speaking.) "Still, the fact that the event
was of divine origin does not lead to any certain
conclusion as to its purpose."
And here it comes, thought Rebecca. The new and official
party line.
She was privileged, she realized. Her conversations with
the courtiers at the royal audience the night before had
made clear to her that France's elite was still groping
for a coherent ideological explanation for the appearance
of Grantville in the German province of Thuringia. Having
now survived for two years-not to mention defeating
several attacking armies in the process, at least one of
them funded and instigated by France-the Americans and the
new society they were forging could no longer be dismissed
as hearsay. And the term "witchcraft" was ... petty,
ultimately.
Richelieu, she was certain, had constructed such an
ideological explanation-and she would be the first one to
hear it.
"Have you considered the history of the world which
created your Americans?" asked Richelieu. "As I'm sure you
also know, I've obtained"-here came another dismissive
wiggle of the finger-"through various means, several of
the historical accounts which your Americans brought with
them. And I've studied them all, very thoroughly."
That's a given, thought Rebecca. Somewhat glumly, because
it was only a "given" in retrospect. At the time, it had
never occurred to her, or Mike, or any of the leaders of
their new United States, that history books would rapidly
become one of the most prized objects for espionage.
Technical books, yes; blueprints, yes; anything which
would enable the United States' opponents to steal some of
their incredible new technology. But ... high school
history textbooks?
In retrospect, of course, the thing was obvious. Any ruler
or political figure in the world, in the summer of the
year 1633, would eagerly want to see what lay in store for
them in the immediate years to come. And the consequences
of that knowledge would be truly incalculable. If a king
knows what will happen a year or two from now, after all,
he will take measures to make sure that it either happens
more quickly-if he likes the development-or doesn't happen
at all, if otherwise.
And in so doing, of course, will rapidly scramble the
sequence of historical events which led to that original
history in the first place. It was the old quandary of
time travel, which Rebecca herself had studied in the
science fiction novels which the town of Grantville had
brought with it also. And, like her husband, she had come
to the conclusion that the Ring of Fire had created a new
and parallel universe to the one from which Grantville-and
the history which produced it-had originally come.
As she ruminated, Richelieu had been studying her. The
intelligent dark brown eyes brought their own glum
feeling. And do not think for a moment that the cardinal
is too foolish not to understand that. He, too,
understands that the history which was will now never be-
but also understands that he can still discern broad
patterns in those events. And guide France accordingly.
His next words confirmed it. "Of course, the exact events
will be different. But the basic framework of that future
world is clear enough. I believe we can summarize it with
that term you favor so much: democracy. Or, as I would put
it, rule by the masses. Because, to be frank, all the
various political structures which that future world
exhibits show the same basic characteristic. The authority
of an established aristocracy and royalty discarded; all
power vested in the 'people'; whether that people be
called 'citizens' or 'the proletariat' or 'the Volk.' No
rein, no check, no limits of any kind placed upon their
desires and ambitions."
The wiggling fingers, this time, were not so much
dismissive as demonstrative. "All the rest follows. The
massacre of six million of your own fellow Jews, to name
just one instance. The atrocities committed by such
obvious monsters as Stalin and those Asian fellows. Mao
and Pol Pot, if I recall the names correctly. And-let us
not forget-the destruction of entire cities and regions by
regimes which, though perhaps not as despotic, were no
less prepared to wreak havoc upon the world. I will remind
you, madame, that the United States of America which you
seem determined to emulate in this universe did not shrink
for an instant from incinerating the cities of Japan-or
cities in Germany, for that matter, who are now your
neighbors. Half a million people-more likely a million,
all told-exterminated like so many insects."
Rebecca practically clamped her jaws shut. Her instincts
were to shriek argument in response. Yes? And the current
devastation which you have unleashed on Germany? The
Thirty Years War will kill more Germans than either world
war of the 20th century! Not to mention the millions of
children who die in your precious aristocratic world every
year from hunger, disease and deprivation-even during
peacetime-all of which can be quickly remedied!
But she remained true to her husband's advice. There was
no point in arguing with Richelieu. He was not advancing a
hypothesis to be tested, here. He was simply letting the
envoy from the United States know that the conflict was
not over, and would not be over, until one or the other
side triumphed. For all the charm, and civility, and the
serenity of the smile, Richelieu was issuing a declaration
of war.
And, indeed, his next words: "So it all now seems clear to
me. Yes, God created the Ring of Fire. Absurd to label
such a miraculous event a thing of petty 'witchcraft.' But
he did so in order to warn us of the perils of the future,
that we might be armed to avoid them. That we might be
steeled in our resolve to create a world based on the sure
principles of monarchy, aristocracy, and an established
church. Perils of which, my dear Madame Stearns, you and
your people-meaning no personal disrespect, and implying
no personal sinfulness-are both the agents and the
embodiment."
The cardinal rose gracefully to his feet and gave Rebecca
a polite bow. "And now, I'm afraid, I must attend to the
king's business. I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris, and
if I may be of any assistance please call upon me. How
soon do you plan to depart for Holland? And by what
means?"
As quickly as I can, by any route available. But she
restricted herself to a hesitant, almost girlish: "I'm not
really sure. Travel from here to Holland is difficult,
given the nature of the times."
Richelieu's charm was back in full force, as he escorted
her to the door. "I strongly urge you to take the land
route. The Channel-even the North Sea-is plagued with
piracy. I can provide you with an escort to the border of
the Spanish Netherlands, and I'm quite sure I can arrange
a safe passage through to Holland. Yes, yes, France and
Spain are antagonists at the moment. But despite what you
may have heard, my personal relations with Archduchess
Isabella are quite good. I am certain the Spaniards will
not place any obstacles in the way."
The statement was ridiculous, of course. The very last
thing the Spaniards would want to see was a diplomatic
mission headed by the wife of the President of the United
States perched in Holland, which the Spaniards had been
trying to reconquer for half a century. Little, that
United States might be. In physical size, simply the old
regions of Thuringia and western Franconia-a small enough
piece of Germany. Granted, by German standards the United
States was an important principality. Only Saxony had a
larger population. But its population was not even
remotely as large as either France or Spain's.
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