Two Crowns for America

by Katherine Kurtz

  The King had bowed his head during Saint-Germain’s recitation, steepled fingers lightly tapping across his lips, but he raised his head and glanced aside as the other paused for breath.

  “Francis, I should like to say something here, if I may,” he murmured.

  Saint-Germain inclined his head. “Of course, Sire.”

  Charles drew a deep breath and let it out gustily.

  “Dr. Ramsay. No king could ever ask for more loyal subjects or friends,” he said quietly, “but I must acquaint you with some of the realities of my present situation. Five years ago, when you and your Bostonians first offered me a Crown, it seemed clear to me that though the time was not yet, it still might come. I was then but recently married and held fervent hopes of an eventual heir—for without a son to carry on my royal line, any Crown I might wear would be of the most ephemeral sort, especially as the years pass and my life winds toward its close.”

  He drew a deep breath before continuing, as if bracing himself against painful recollection.

  “I must accept that the years are passing, and I yet have no male heir—nor chance of one, if I leave Europe, for my queen would never follow me to the New World. In whatever time remains to me, I can spare concern for but one Crown—if I can secure it—and that must be the Crown of Scotland. This can be accomplished only from a European base. And if, by chance, I should be blessed with a son, his place will be here, not in the New World. I was foolish to think otherwise.”

  “It could have worked,” Andrew murmured.

  “Twenty years ago, perhaps,” the King allowed, touching a grateful hand to Andrew’s sleeve. “But I trust that all of you see why I must again decline Dr. Ramsay’s kind offer, even sweetened by the gracious gift of gold he has recovered at such effort.”

  “You can at least take the gold,” Ramsay broke in, appalled and nearly in tears at the King’s rejection. “It is yours. It has always been yours.”

  Charles shrugged, a tiny smile playing across his lips. “No, it was French and Spanish gold raised in my behalf, but it was never mine. And though it might have made a difference had it reached me even twenty years ago—but no. It did not, and it can make little difference now, in the purpose for which it was intended. Again, I fear it comes too late.”

  “Not entirely,” Saint-Germain said, intervening at last.

  All eyes turned in his direction.

  “Sadly, His Majesty is correct in stating that there now is little likelihood of regaining his Crown, whether from an American base of operations or from here,” Saint-Germain said. “But there is a way in which the gold might still be employed against the Hanoverian Usurper, if not directly to Stuart benefit.”

  At the King’s look of question Saint-Germain went on.

  “Let the gold be used in the American war effort, Sire. You know from your own studies that the American Army is in desperate need of the most basic necessities—of muskets, powder, and even the barest essentials of warm uniforms and boots. Such a sum as Dr. Ramsay has procured could make a vital difference for General Washington’s cause. And who knows? Perhaps he is destined to wear the Crown that you have been denied.”

  Andrew glanced aside at Saint-Germain, concern creasing his forehead.

  “Is it a Crown for which you have been preparing him, sir?” he murmured.

  “For a victor’s Crown, yes,” Saint-Germain replied. “For any other—that must be for him to decide, or perhaps for a Higher Authority than any in this room. You have seen Washington placed upon the Master Tracing Board. You have assisted in preparing him to choose wisely regarding his destiny. I had intended him as a dux bellorum, and perhaps a Stuart regent. With Stuart aspirations now to remain focused in Europe, that same man might make a wise and benevolent King of America—if he will take the Crown. But I must remind you that America is but part of an even larger plan, whose scope extends across an ocean and includes France and, indeed, all of Europe.”

  “Francis is correct,” the King whispered into the silence following the Master’s words. “I know now that the quest to regain my Crown does not lie in America; I think it never did. The colonies of the New World provided a safe haven for many of those who supported my cause in ’Forty-Five, and kept alive a dream far larger than any one man.

  “Most sought only the restoration of my Stuart line—and I myself saw only in those terms for many years. But far more important is that one day Scotland should become an independent nation once again, free of Hanoverian tyranny. I think and pray that this desire for independence shall endure for as long as there is a Scotland, whether or not another Stuart King of Scots is ever fated to wear fair Alba’s Crown.

  “As for your United States, you have yet the hope of throwing off the yoke of the Hanoverian oppressor. More battles are still to come, but in General Washington you have a noble leader who can lead you to the final victory. Whether it will be as king, I do not know. My studies lead me to wonder whether a new dispensation perhaps is intended for the New World, in which kings shall have no part. Perhaps the time of kings is past, even here. Francis can tell you of stirrings even now in the rest of Europe—in France, in particular.”

  He paused as Saint-Germain laid a hand lightly on his sleeve.

  “Yes, I know, I digress,” he murmured.

  “No, it is important that they hear these things,” Saint-Germain replied. “But Your Majesty’s loyal Bostonians are waiting for your response to their offer, and I think you must be less candid with them than you have been with James and the others. Fortunately, their discernment will be somewhat diminished from the very excellent wine they have been imbibing for the past little while. Perhaps you would allow me a few minutes with Dr. Ramsay in private, before he accompanies you back to the audience chamber.”

  Inclining his head for answer, the King got to his feet, everyone else rising as well, as the King set his hand on the arm Andrew offered and started toward the door.

  “Justin may stay,” Saint-Germain added, forestalling Justin’s departure as the rest, save Ramsay, started to follow the King.

  Justin turned in time to catch the gesture that Saint-Germain sketched in the direction of the door, aware of a lessening in the tension of the air around him. When the others were gone, leaving Ramsay standing alone in the center of the room, Justin subsided quietly onto his chair again, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, for Saint-Germain now was approaching the apprehensive Ramsay with single-minded purpose.

  “I now require your utmost cooperation,” the Master said softly, fixing Ramsay with his darkling gaze as he stopped a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. “It is not my intention that your Bostonians should learn the details of what has just transpired. Most especially, I do not wish them to learn what is to happen to the gold. It is the King’s, to dispose of as he chooses, but I think they would not understand the larger perspective in which our Stuart prince has learnt to move, while others focused on a lesser dream. He will make a gracious speech, declining the Crown but accepting the gold for use in the Stuart cause. You must make no indication, then or later, that any further agenda is in operation. Will you give me your assurance in that regard?”

  Slowly Ramsay nodded, his eyes never leaving Saint-Germain’s.

  “Excellent. I know that you will not disappoint me again. I wish your attitude to be disappointed but resigned—and confident that the King best knows his mind in the pursuit of his Crown. If you offer no further speculation, I believe your followers will not dispute the point. Are these instructions clear?”

  Ramsay swallowed self-consciously, aware that Justin saw and heard all.

  “Your instructions are clear,” he murmured.

  “And given that the King’s decision has been freely made, have you any hesitation about accepting it? Answer truly.”

  Ramsay sighed and shook his head.

  “Good. I think we understand one another at last. One final thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe you have
a talisman not belonging to you. I must ask for its return.”

  Looking shamefaced and embarrassed, Ramsay delved quickly into a waistcoat pocket and produced the lapis pendant and gold coin on their iron chain.

  “I never meant to keep it,” he said hastily, dropping the mass into Saint-Germain’s outstretched hand. “I only took it because I was afraid they’d use it to track me.” He grimaced, looking even more abashed. “Of course, I’d already told them what I was going to do. It wasn’t difficult to guess where I was going, or to get here before me. Did they set me up from the beginning?”

  “No, they prepared for contingencies,” Saint-Germain replied. “From the moment you first mentioned the possibility of recovering the gold, they guessed that you might attempt to take matters into your own hands. That is why I had Simon send Justin to help search out the gold. Andrew and Justin also had their instructions.”

  Ramsay sighed and bowed his head, shaking it slowly.

  “I didn’t know,” he murmured.

  “You were not meant to know.”

  “No, I mean that I didn’t realize that we were part of such an enormous plan,” Ramsay said. “And maybe I wasn’t meant to know that, either. Perhaps if I’d had more faith …”

  Saint-Germain nodded slowly, silent for a long moment.

  “I think,” he finally said, “that perhaps your vision is clearer now than it has ever been. I should like to ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor? Of me?”

  Saint-Germain inclined his head. “Some years ago you gave me your obedience in the Great Work set before us. For whatever reason—and perhaps my guidance was unclear—you deviated from the Tracing Board set before us.”

  “I truly regret that.”

  “I know that you do. And I see a place for you still, if you desire to continue in the Work. Indeed, I was counting on your assistance in the weeks and months to come—but only if you freely choose to participate, and only if you give me your unqualified promise to abide by my direction in the future, even if you do not always understand it.”

  “You—you’re offering me another chance?” Ramsay whispered.

  “I am.”

  “But—I betrayed you!”

  “And have repented,” Saint-Germain replied.

  A sob escaped Ramsay’s lips, his tight-leashed composure deserting him at last. Burying his face in his hands, he started to sway on his feet. Saint-Germain caught him under one elbow and signaled Justin to come take charge of him, the two of them guiding him back to sink down onto the chair he had occupied earlier. While he sobbed, Saint-Germain returned to his own chair, tendering a sympathetic nod when the doctor at length dared to lift his tearstained face from his hands, his eyes red with weeping.

  “You haven’t yet said whether you accept my offer,” Saint-Germain said, not unkindly.

  Wiping a sleeve across his eyes, Ramsay rose a little unsteadily and came to kneel at the Master’s feet, offering his joined hands in a sign of homage.

  “If you will have me, I give you my obedience in the Great Work,” he said as the Master’s hands enfolded his. “I regret my previous lapse, and I vow not to repeat it, God aiding me.”

  “I receive your obedience in the Great Work and vow to uphold your endeavors in good faith,” Saint-Germain replied. Removing his hands from Ramsay’s, he briefly laid them on the doctor’s head in blessing, then bent forward to kiss him on both cheeks and raise him up.

  “Now,” the Master said, rising and beckoning to Justin, “please see that Rheinhardt provides a basin and towels so that James can wash his face. Lucien and I shall accompany His Majesty, since the Bostonians know him as the King’s cousin and will assume that I am a royal adviser, but I wish a few words with His Majesty before we go in.”

  The return of King and courtiers to the audience chamber a short while later gave no hint of what had transpired a few doors away. The prince and Saint-Germain accompanied Justin, Ramsay, and Rheinhardt as the King made his way back to the gilded chair on its riser. Andrew and Arabella observed through spy holes accessible from the adjacent robing room.

  “Gentlemen, I thank you for your patience,” the King said as the Bostonians set aside wineglasses and congregated at the foot of the riser, where the casks of gold had been pushed against the step. “Dr. Ramsay and Mr. Carmichael have presented a fascinating account of the state of affairs in America, and of General Washington’s growing success against the Hanoverian forces.

  “However, I must allow that I find the situation entirely too precarious yet to risk what is likely to be my final bid to regain my Crown. I am grateful for your continued support and pray that one day I shall be able to fulfill your hopes regarding my royal line, but for now I fear I must again decline your very gracious offer. In the meantime, be assured that the gold you have recovered in my behalf shall be used in no wise other than to torment the House of Hanover.”

  As the King went on, wooing and encouraging, Justin marveled at his skill, for never once did the King stray beyond the literal truth, or say anything other than complimentary to the efforts of his loyal listeners. Concluding with an invitation to dine with him that evening, and to stay the night before departing on their journey home, he gave them into the care of the faithful John Stewart to arrange accommodations, and retired for well-earned rest before he must face them again as a gracious host.

  The next morning, after Ramsay and Justin had set out with the Bostonians on the road back north across France, Saint-Germain summoned the remaining members of his Inner Lodge to an upstairs sitting room for a final briefing before they also should set out for home. The King had remained abed after the previous day’s exertions—indeed, after the exertions of the past several days, for Andrew, Arabella, and the prince had arrived nearly a week before Ramsay and his party.

  Their first night there Andrew had worn the glass eye the King had sent him, underlining their reunion with a poignancy that seemed to revitalize the King. Charles had borne up well in the days that followed, spending many a contented hour walking in the palazzo’s gardens with his old friend, but they had known the reunion must end abruptly once Ramsay arrived, for the Master had his schedule, which must move forward. The strain of finally meeting with the Bostonians gave Saint-Germain the perfect excuse to insist that the King keep his leave-taking brief and retire early with a sleeping draft. He would not wake until long after all of them were gone.

  Consequently, the atmosphere at table that morning was as if the King had departed, not as if Andrew, Arabella, and the prince were preparing to depart. A noble sword lay on the table around which they gathered—the King’s contribution to the ritual still to be enacted in behalf of George Washington, an ocean away. Also under scrutiny were copies of a proposed scenario for the ritual, which Saint-Germain had prepared.

  “This is the Sobieski sword,” the Master said, pushing it across to Andrew. “It has come down from the time of the King’s great-great-grandfather, King John the Third of Poland, who stopped the Turks at the gates of Vienna in 1683. The victory was a notable one, against great odds. Afterward the King is said to have declared, ‘Venimus, vidimus, Deus vicit’—‘We came, we saw, God conquered.’ Accordingly, Charles felt that it would provide a fitting symbol of sovereignty, a potent link between the Old World and the New—and also a token of his personal endorsement of what is to be done.”

  Andrew closed his hand around the wire-wrapped hilt and withdrew the blade a few inches from the scabbard, then shoved it home and laid the weapon back on the table.

  “I take it that this is to represent the sword the General saw in his dream?” he said.

  “As part of the matrix, yes,” Saint-Germain replied. “But you will wish to pair it with his own.”

  “How much am I to say of its source?” Andrew asked. “Do you wish him to know of the Stuart connection with all of this?”

  Saint-Germain smiled. “I think that if you are to offer him a true Crown, not just a victor’s laurel, he had best
know the whole of it. He is aware of your Jacobite connections. He’ll not remark on the fact that you have been in contact with Charles. I will give you further on that, before you leave.”

  “What of the other elements?” Arabella asked. “Do you truly mean us to retain James, as originally intended?”

  “I do,” the Master replied. “This has been a time of testing for him, but I believe he shall prove equal to the challenge. But if he should prove false after all that has happened, and after the assurances he gave me yesterday, Lucien is prepared to step into his place. The adjustments would be troublesome, but not insurmountable.”

  Andrew had been glancing over the pages of the scenario and glanced up at the Master’s comment.

  “What of Washington himself?” he asked. “Will he make the necessary adjustments? Not to James, but to this whole situation.”

  “Not even I can predict that with certainty,” Saint-Germain said with a tiny smile. “All of you know him far better than I. Is he inclined toward an earthly Crown, or has the war taught him that America is not for kings?”

  Andrew nodded slowly. “The precise form of our offer will need to be carefully considered. Perhaps it’s well that we have a sea voyage during which to refine every aspect of the plan.” He glanced at the prince. “You’ll take the gold to Lafayette?”

  The prince smiled. “Actually, I shall take the gold to one of Eli Levi’s brokers here in Florence and obtain a letter of credit, which I shall take to Lafayette. The broker can also arrange to transmit the commission still owing to Dr. Falk. I fear that, amid all the diversion of our recent chase, Dr. Ramsay neglected to compensate the good Ba’al Shem for his services.”

  “The Ba’al Shem will be grateful,” Saint-Germain replied. “Which reminds me: Dr. Ramsay returned the Ba’al Shem’s talisman before he left. I shall be certain that it reaches its rightful owner—though without its golden companion.” He produced the gold coin with a sleight-of-hand gesture, still with its frame and ring attached, and placed it in Arabella’s hand.