1633:The Danish Scheme (3 page)

Looking at the map on the wall, the prince saw a pattern and realized what the acquisitions would do. “You’ll make the North Sea a Danish lake! And provide stopping points to the New World. We can expand west, but where will we find the people to settle the land?”

Christian simply smiled. “That’s what I need the Englishman for.” He drained the flagon and held it out to the servant. “Bring me another!”

October 1633, London
 

Sir Thomas waited, alone, to present the Danish proposal to King Charles. The debate with Scheel had been long and vocal during the voyage, whether he should do it alone or with the Danish Chancellor. They hadn’t resolved the issue until they had arrived at their lodgings in London. A heated discussion in the inn’s taproom between two patrons had convinced Scheel that Charles would not 
appreciate
 a foreigner at the meeting. The Chancellor had nearly choked on his drink when the nearby discussion was ended with one patron slamming his tankard down and roaring out, “I don’t care what you think! My cousin’s a guard at Court and I tell you, he’s seen Charles have foreigners thrown out who presume to petition the Crown. The only ones who get a hearing are Englishmen who are in favor with Wentworth or mercenaries with companies for hire!” Once he could speak coherently, Scheel turned to Sir Thomas, “You’re right. If even commoners are privy to such details on the King’s attitude, it must be true. You present it to Charles alone.” Sir Thomas smiled. The two shillings he’d paid the actors had been well spent!

When Sir Thomas and Chancellor Scheel presented the Danish request for a meeting with the King, Thomas Wentworth had demanded that they simply tell him about the proposal and he would make the presentation. Wentworth had once been a friend, but the changes in Court had changed him, for the worse. Rumor said that his relationship with Charles was rocky and other factions were using that to advance themselves. As far as Sir Thomas could tell, Wentworth had been too nice to handle the intrigues of court. Before he could phrase an appropriate reply, Chancellor Scheel had simply stared Wentworth down, informing him that, “King Christian directed that Sir Thomas, 
and only Sir Thomas
 , was to present his proposal to Charles. You may attend. It makes no difference to me. But if you try to interfere, I will return to Denmark and Charles will not be pleased when word finally reaches him why I was here!” Wentworth acquiesced, but the look he gave Sir Thomas promised a payback in the future.

Two days later, Sir Thomas waited outside the audience chamber, alone, to present the treaty. The door to the audience chamber opened. Sir Thomas picked up the leather case containing the proposed treaty and was ushered in. As he entered, he was struck by the differences between the Danish and English courts. Where Christian had simply his council present, Charles was surrounded by a host of court favorites. Two small dogs sat at his feet and another was in his lap. Wentworth stood beside the throne, twisting his moustache in boredom, ready to offer advice. Charles looked irritated and waved Sir Thomas to come forward.

The King wasted no time getting to the point. “Sir Thomas, I understand that Christian has sent you here to make a proposal. What does the old drunkard want now?” Two of the nearby courtiers tittered at the implied insult.

Bowing low, Sir Thomas opened the case and withdrew the proposed treaty. “Your Majesty, King Christian requested that I present this proposal to you.” He handed the treaty to the King. “He has been informed by the French of your need for funds and wishes to provide what assistance he can. He proposes to settle a long outstanding debt between our countries.”

Avarice and confusion were both evident on the King’s face. “And what is this 
debt
 that he has sent you here to settle? And how much is it?” Avarice had won out.

“Sixty thousand florins, in gold, to settle the dowry for Princess Margaret. His Chancellor accompanied me on my voyage and brought the funds with him. He awaits your Majesty’s direction where to deliver the funds.”

“And what does he expect in return? I know he’s too tight to do this just from the goodness of his heart!” The crowd of courtiers laughed at the King’s jest.

“He wants to redeem the islands that were pledged as earnest for the debt, the Shetland and Orkneys.” Sir Thomas had closely watched the King as he made the presentation. At the mention of gold, Charles had taken the bait. Now he had to seal the deal.

Wentworth whispered a long explanation to the King. Charles scowled at Wentworth like he’d bitten into a lemon. He finally gave a grudging nod of dismissal and turned back to Sir Thomas. “We’re familiar with that agreement. Why should I settle for the same amount as was pledged all those years ago? Surely I deserve interest on the funds pledged!”

Sir Thomas had been waiting for that question. “Your Majesty, you have received interest on those funds. The rents and incomes from those lands have inured to the Crown all these years. That was the reason why the lands were pledged, so that you wouldn’t have to deal with something as degrading as usury while the funds were owed.”

Charles still looked like he’d bitten into something sour, but the thoughts of what an extra sixty thousand florins 
in gold
 would buy won out. Wentworth started to say something, but Charles waved him off with his lace handkerchief, his contempt apparent to all in the room. “Very well, I’ll agree.” A page stepped up with a writing table. Charles dipped a quill in an ink stand and signed with an angry flourish. “Just make sure the funds are delivered to the palace today!” The page heated a wax stick over the document and then Charles smashed his ring in the pool of hot wax, sealing the agreement.

Sir Thomas bowed, but remained. “I have one more request, Your Majesty, if I might?” Charles gave a brief wave of the kerchief to indicate he continue. “I have sent a number of requests to court to confirm whether the exploration company I had proposed chartering had been approved. To date I have heard nothing. I had hoped this was due simply to replies being lost between London and Copenhagen.”

Wentworth smiled and leaned forward again to say something to Charles. This time the advice seemed to please Charles. The King smirked and then answered. “Your requests were not misplaced. They were ignored! My treaty with France has placed those lands beyond my authority to give.” From behind the throne, Wentworth beamed. “If you persist in pursuing this effort beyond this date, the Crown will view that as treason and deal with it accordingly!” Throughout the crowd, there was a scattering of feral smiles from those that saw a possible rival squashed before he could even become a remote threat.

Sir Thomas maintained a straight face. He had anticipated the answer. There was no reason to give Wentworth and his faction something more to gloat about. It simply was time to get out of England and return to Denmark. At least there was a possibility there for his plans. Still, returning to his estate in Woodford before the return voyage filled him with pain.

* * *

The ride to Woodford, just outside London, was brief. As the carriage approached the parish church, he rapped on the ceiling to signal the driver to stop. The cold, bitter wind blowing the low clouds across the sky were a perfect reflection of his emotions. It seemed just like yesterday that he’d received word from his attorneys’ that his wife had died from one of the fevers that had swept through London last winter. They had laid Eleanor to rest at St. Mary’s in the family’s plot.

Theirs had been a marriage that had grown through the years. She’d always been there for him in their nearly twenty years of marriage whenever he returned from travels. She’d even gone with him to Constantinople, but this last trip, she’d wanted to stay home. The posting was supposed to have been short and she wanted to have the house ready for him when he returned from this last assignment from the King. Now he had one last duty.

He entered the graveyard next to the church and walked slowly to the family plot. A freshly carved stone immediately caught his eye. “
Here lies Lady Eleanor Roe, Much Beloved Wife of Sir Thomas Roe”.
 An urn, with faded flowers from summer stood nearby. A blank space next to the stone’s inscription was left for his final resting place. As he stood there, Sir Thomas reminisced on all the wonderful times he and Eleanor had shared. Quietly sobbing, he said softly, “Ellie, I have to leave England for a time. I don’t know when I’ll return. Most likely ‘twil be to join you. Forgive me for not being here when you needed me the most. May God keep you in the Grace and Peace you deserve.” After a short, silent prayer, Sir Thomas made his way slowly back to the carriage to finish the trip to his home.

As the carriage pulled up in front of the manor, he noticed that the staff had maintained the house in good order. Michael, the doorman, hurried to open the door. “Welcome home Sir Thomas! We’ve been expecting you. It’s just Matilda and me here now, but if you’re planning to stay, I know how to reach the rest of the staff that’s still in the village.” He noticed Sir Thomas’ red rimmed eyes. “I see you’ve already stopped by the church. I’ve made sure her favorite flowers were there during the summer. I knew you’d want that. We all miss Lady Eleanor deeply.” He bowed his head in sympathy.

“Thank you Thomas, I know Ellie would have welcomed the flowers. As to your other question, I don’t plan on staying. I’ll be closing up the house and moving out of the country. If you and Matilda are willing, I’d like you to accompany me when I return to Copenhagen. There will always be a job for the two of you.”

“We suspected this from the tone of your message, Sir, and we do want to stay with you. There is one thing though that we’re not sure you know about. The letter probably crossed paths with you on your trip here.” He turned toward the front door and motioned, as if calling someone. The door opened and a slim dark haired young girl stepped out. “This is Agnes Roe, your cousin’s child. She arrived last month. Both of her parents died in the plague and she had nowhere else to go. She’s been a big help since she arrived and we hoped you might find it in your heart to let her stay.” The look of fear and concern on his face was mirrored by the young girl.

Sir Thomas stared at the young lady he hadn’t seen in years. The last time had been when her parents came for Eleanor’s thirty fifth birthday celebration. All he remembered was a little girl that was fascinated with his books. Now, she was a scared young lady waiting for her fate to be spoken. His heart caught in his throat. He and Eleanor had so wanted children, but what was a widower to do with a nearly grown child? His emotions must have been evident as Agnes’ wan smile seemed to fade. 
Well, this surely must be God’s answer to my prayer!
 He quickly took a deep breath and answered, “Welcome child! I may not have much experience as a parent, but I’m sure you can help me learn!” Extending his hand, he let her lead him into the manor. For a brief moment, the sun broke through the clouds.

November 1633, New Amsterdam Harbor
 

The two Dutch 
fregätten
 floated quietly, wrapped in a white shroud, waiting for answers. The dense fog that had settled over the New Amsterdam harbor was both a blessing and a curse. It hid them from potential enemies but made navigation hazardous and obscured what was happening onshore. That something 
was
 happening was evident to the ships’ captains. The muffled cries and the reflection of flames in the night fog were noticeable, even out in the harbor off Fort Amsterdam. The 
Friesland
 and the 
Rotterdam
 had used the full moon to approach the coast and then used the cover of the harbor fog to sail unobserved into the anchorage. When the disturbance on shore became evident, they had quietly sent their crews to quarters, with their guns loaded but not run out.

Captain de Groot strained to make some sense out of the lights from shore. Ever since the decision to try and reach New Amsterdam after the defeat at Dunkirk, he’d worried that they might not reach the colony before their enemies. It appeared that the worst had happened. After a hurried discussion with Captain van den Broecke, he used the fog and darkness as cover to send his last remaining boat ashore with his first officer to scout the situation. The boat was now overdue and he was worried.

Visibility was down to ten yards. Every swirl of the fog brought visions of a French or English ship bearing down with guns run out. Finally, he could wait no longer. He picked up a speaking trumpet, and stepped to the railing. He made sure the trumpet was directed at the 
Rotterdam
's aftercastle, away from shore and possible foes, and hailed the ship. "Joris, my boat is overdue and I have no others left to send. Can you send one? We must know what's happening." He placed the trumpet to his ear to catch the reply. Instead of the expected answer, a laugh could be heard close by on the water. He reversed the trumpet and hailed the 
Rotterdam
 again. "Hold off, we've heard something." Slowly a lantern became visible through the fog. It came roughly from the direction the ship's boat had taken earlier when it headed toward shore.

"Ahoy, the 
Friesland!
 Where the hell are you?" The shout was loud enough to carry across the harbor. It was the first officer, Pieter de Beers, and he was obviously drunk.

De Groot raced to the opposite rail, fear for his ship making a cold knot in his gut. A drunken sailor revealing their presence to possible enemies was the last thing he needed. If the French or English had somehow beaten them to New Amsterdam, they could be facing serious opposition. Surprise would be their only hope if they were outnumbered. The boat bumped alongside and he hissed down at it, "Quiet you fool! You'll give us away. Come aboard and make your report." Oars creaked loudly as they were shipped and stored. Tjaert silently gnashed his teeth in frustration at the commotion.

De Beers boarded slowly, holding onto a rum bottle. When he reached the deck, he swayed more than the wave motion would account for and there was a broad smile on his face. Tjaert could smell the rum half way across the deck. De Beers gave an exaggerated salute, still holding the bottle. "Everything is fine, sir. The town is just celebrating a successful harvest. The director general extends his greetings . . . " He raised the rum bottle. " . . . and an invitation to both crews to join the celebration." He extended the bottle to his captain.