Chapter 14 I Never, Ever, Watched Soap Operas
Magdeburg
Rebecca Abrabanel pried two clutching and screaming children loose from her skirts while she talked. “Sepharad, Baruch, stop that this instant! So, you see, Michael, the first requirement for a successful royal mistress, or ducal mistress, for that matter, is that she have a complaisant, or complacent, husband who will be proud and happy to bestow his name on any possible consequences of the relationship.”
The USE prime minister hunched his shoulders, their youngest offspring, baby Kathleen, having just emitted a belch of amazing dimensions accompanied by part of her last meal. “This, I take it, was the missing element that led to the unfortunate death of the late duke of Lorraine.”
Rebecca looked as solemn as anyone could have been expected to look, given the absurdity of the tale she was narrating.
“For some months, the gentleman was not much in evidence. Possibly Charles could be forgiven for making the assumption of complacency. Or complaisancy. Whichever would be appropriate. Then, suddenly, he appeared at this rural château where they were disporting themselves, catching the pair in flagrante delicto. Morally outraged, sword in hand, he retrieved his marital honor by running both of them through with a sword, in the most time-honored manner.”
“Convenient.” Balthasar Abrabanel’s eyes twinkled. “We’re sure it happened that way?”
“By chance,” Francisco Nasi rolled his eyes, “by chance, he was accompanied by a half-dozen impeccable eye-witnesses. Their veracity is attested to by none other than Doña Mencia herself. You remember her, don’t you––Cardinal Bedmar’s sister who is Maria Anna’s lady-in-waiting. She is well-acquainted with them. The rumor that a couple of them held the duke and the pretty Beatrice down to simplify and expedite the running-through process is, probably, sheer embroidery.”
“Becky.”
“Yes, Michael.”
“Just for the record, I would like to file he the information that up-time I never, ever, watched soap operas and never, ever, wanted to.”
“Duly noted.”
“That protest now being on record, what happened next?” The USE prime minister handed Kathleen off to an entering nursery-maid, swabbed at his shoulder, and tried to get his mind focused on politics again.
“Well, it seems that the outraged husband escaped. The general assumption is that he is now on his way back to his ancestral estates in the Franche Comté, where he will become the problem of Bernhard and Claudia. Wherever he is headed, though, he is carrying a personal safe-conduct signed by Isabella Clara Eugenia.”
“There are rumors,” Francisco Nasi added, “that he is also carrying a personally signed letter to the effect that if Bernhard wants continued complacency, or complaisancy, from the indomitable Isabella in regard to his annexation into the County of Burgundy of those portions of her appanage once comprised by the Franche Comté , he will see fit to leave the gentleman to while away his time in rural tranquility on said estates.”
“It is really a rather elegant solution,” Becky pointed out.
“From the tone of your voice, I am guessing that there is more.”
“Well the duke is dead now,” she answered at her most innocent.
“Thoroughly so, I gather.”
“Which means that Duchess Nicole is a widow.”
“Surely she is not prostrate with grief.”
“By no means. But she is available. Unless she enters a convent, slams the door behind her, and takes perpetual vows, there remains the question of her next marriage.”
“Within a week of the abrupt termination of her last marriage?”
“Of course. Now in regard to Henriette,...” She turned around. “Sepharad, Baruch. Stop that this very instant.”
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“It took some fancy footwork,” Mike said, “but I have managed to postpone the signing of any modus vivendi treaty with Bernhard in regard to Burgundy on the grounds of the still-unsettled conditions in Lorraine. Of course, it’s not that hard to persuade Gustavus into dragging things out as long as possible until he absolutely has to issue that apology that Bernhard wants.”
Frank Jackson snorted. “The truth is, you don’t want to be ‘present at the creation’ of this one. It’s close enough to the changeover that you intend to duck out and let Wettin shoulder the responsibility for this particular kettle full of very smelly fish.”
Mike didn’t answer.
“Not that I blame you,” Frank added.