She clutched the baby to her chest-the rather bewildered baby, judging from his expression-and babbled on:
"Better knowm as Benedict Spinoza, after they expelled him and he went to live with the Mennonites who took him in-an expert lens-grinder too, he was-although that's what probably killed him, ruining his lungs with the dust-and that won't happen now-be sure of that, my husband's a union man-oh, I must tell Michael! We'll adopt him ourselves!"
She thrust the child back into Gretchen's arms, and raced for the stairs leading up to the radio room. "Who is on duty? Jakob?"
"Yeah, he's up there, Becky. He's-"
No point in continuing, so Jimmy fell silent. Rebecca had already reached the first landing, her footsteps-normally so light-sounding like a herd of stampeding buffalo. They could hear her shouting to the radio operator in the room above. "Quickly! Quickly! While the window lasts!"
Everyone still in the room stared at the baby. The infant returned their scrutiny with one of his own. He seemed a bit puzzled by it all.
Which would not be surprising, of course, since the adults were more than simply puzzled. As the minutes went by, in fact, and the enormity of the event came into clear focus, they were downright aghast.
"We can't let this happen, buddy," muttered Jimmy. "I mean… it's like a crime against nature, or something."
"You got that right," said Jeff firmly. He reached over and lifted the baby out of his wife's arms. Then, holding him up, gave the little boy a look of stern resolve.
"Don't worry, kid. We'll protect you. Think of us as your uncles, or something."
"First thing we do is get him a little Caterpillar hat," opined Jimmy. "Then-fast as possible-teach him D D."
Jeff nodded. "And I'll tell you what, Jimmy. I actually tried to read the Ethics once. Got through the first chapter. This kid is gonna make a great dungeon master."
"You idiots," growled Gretchen. "Think big for once, can't you? If the boy can write great metaphysics, sure as hell he can write great political tracts."
"Teach him to ride a horse, maybe," chipped in Heinrich, ever the practical man.
"Naw, screw that," countered Jeff. "I've still got my dirt bike, y'know. Get this kid up on it-fast as possible, before he's totally ruined. Betcha I can take up a collection and have a little leather jacket made up for him. Then-"
"Oh, yeah!" exclaimed Jimmy. "That's perfect! I even got a spare one at home!"
"-put a Harley-Davidson decal on it. Plastered right across his little chest. For the arms, maybe-"
That was as far as he got. Rebecca, moving in her usual light-footed and graceful manner now, had come back into the room. Just in time to hear the last exchange.
"Hillbillies!" she shrieked. Snatching Baruch from Jeff's hands, she retreated into a corner; clutching the baby to her chest and bestowing upon everyone in the room the glare of a mother determined to save her child from the Devil's horned and cloven-hoofed minions. "You have no respect!"
The next day, the destiny of yet another child was determined; and those of all the world's children poured into a new mold.
When he came to Luebeck's Teuffelsorth Bastion, shortly before noon, Colonel Ekstrom found his king already there; leaning on the wall and gazing out over the Trave River toward the Baltic. The colonel was not surprised. In the middle of a campaign, Gustav Adolf frequently took only a few hours sleep. The king, at such times, seemed to have an almost boundless store of energy.
Ekstrom had not gotten much sleep himself, the night before, and was still feeling the effects of it. As Gustav Adolf's only staff adviser in Luebeck, Ekstrom had been a part of the seemingly endless negotiations which had kept both him and his monarch in Luebeck's radio station until well after daybreak.
The negotiations were over. This initial round, at least. The terms of the bargain were established. Clearly enough, at any rate, to get them through the current war. And perhaps beyond it-perhaps, even, well beyond it.
It remained for Gustav Adolf to make his decision. Yes or no. At the close of the negotiations, the king had announced that he would make the decision only after having gotten some sleep.
The man at the other end had not objected. That also had not surprised Ekstrom. He had never personally met Michael Stearns, but hours of nonstop negotiations give one a sense for such things. Stearns had not only the skill of an expert negotiator, he also had its vital secret: confidence.
Not bluster, not threat. Confidence. Confidence in himself, first. Then, as well, the calm certainty of a man that his demands were just-the core of them, at least-and that he would get what he wanted. Sooner or later, so why not make it sooner and save everyone time and grief and trouble?
The king of Sweden, of course, possessed that same confidence in himself. Until the past twelve hours, Ekstrom would have sworn he had the same calm certainty in the justness of his cause.
Today, however, he was not sure. He studied his monarch for a moment, as the huge king himself was studying the horizon. Trying to find perspective, perhaps, in that great vista.
Gustav Adolf must have heard his footsteps. Without taking his eyes from the horizon, the king spoke.
"Yes, I was right. Best to make this decision after some sleep. Most of all, make it in the sunlight. Richelieu is wrong, you know."
Ekstrom wasn't certain what the king meant by that remark. But he asked no questions. He was quite sure Gustav Adolf would explain.
"Yes, the Ring of Fire was a warning from God. But it was not a warning concerning ends. It was a warning-to the world's princes-of what means He would tolerate. I am quite sure of it, now. It is as clear to me as that horizon."
The horizon was actually a bit murky, as was common for the Baltic this time of year. But Ekstrom understood that the king was not referring to clarity of vision, so much as depth of perception.
He nodded. "So, you will accept."
"Yes," announced the king. "I will accept."
Ekstrom's eyes moved further east along that horizon, in the direction of his own homeland. "Well. We will still have Sweden, of course."
Gustav slapped the top of the wall. "More than that, Nils! Soon enough!" He pointed toward Denmark. "I will have the Union of Kalmar, damn me if I won't. On Swedish terms, this time, not Danish. And just to make sure that drunken bastard Christian understands what is coming-and soon!-I have decided to create a new Swedish peer. There were only twelve, before I made Julie Mackay a baroness. Time to add another."
He turned his head and gave the colonel a very cheerful grin. "I think it has a nice ring to it, myself. Sharon, baroness of Bornholm."
Ekstrom matched the grin. The large island of Bornholm was perhaps the single most strategic position in the southern Baltic. It was also Danish territory.
"Send the message, Colonel. One word will suffice. 'Yes.' "
Still, Ekstrom hesitated. "Are you-" He steeled himself. He was the only royal adviser in Luebeck, after all. True, the king could speak to Torstensson over the radio. True again, Torstensson had advised the king to accept the terms. But Oxenstierna was absent and unreachable, and Ekstrom felt a certain responsibility to try his best to fill the great chancellor's place.
"Kristina-perhaps-"
"Enough, Colonel. I say the answer is 'yes,' and I will not quibble. Besides…"
The king returned his gaze to the horizon. "Let the world think of her as a 'hostage,' if they will. I do not. And neither, I am quite certain, does Michael Stearns. I have studied the man, Colonel. Very carefully, these past two years. I do not believe-any longer, if I ever did-in predestination. That, too, is the message of the Ring of Fire. I do, on the other hand, believe in character."