salats of boiled, peeled onions with vinegar, oil, and pepper; rich mutton broth; small pastries with hot sauce; chicken breast in aspic with sweet mustard; roast venison with out-of-season asparagus grown in the queen’s hothouse in Copenhagen; stuffed oranges; crousets; pickled olives; white manchet loaves; and much more that I cannot recall.
I kept one eye on the king in case my brief prayer was answered and he choked on a bone or a mouthful of gristle. He did not choke, but let the cooks fill his plate over and over while he chatted with Kirsten and the others. For some time the conversation remained on the excellent food before the talk strayed to the king’s mission.
“My queen, you are at last safe in my keep here,” the king said. “I am now free to ride forth and slay all those on Zealand who sought to ally themselves with Gustavus.”
“Will it be a lengthy war?” Kirsten picked at a stuffed capon, pushing it around her plate without eating a bite. “Will it be a dangerous employment, my lord?”
“Who can say, my lady?” The king chewed a mouthful of venison and glanced up at the ceiling. “War is ever an excellent danger for a man. Are there no eels tonight?”
“None,” the queen said.
“But I like eels.”
“Is this dinner not in my honor, my lord?”
“All this food,” the king said, gesturing at the many dishes spread before us. “All of this, and no eels for the king?”
“I will send for the cooks,” Tristram offered.
“Nay,” Vibeke said. There was a moment of quiet as we all looked over at the girl. She wore a dress of crimson and white with gold insets in the sleeves and the same amber necklace she’d had earlier. Vibeke held out a hand, palm upward, toward the king. “His Majesty sleeps fitfully when he’s eaten eels, Sir Tristram. His doctor forbids it, just as you are forbidden to drink wine.”
Kirsten turned to Ulfeldt, smiling. “Is your daughter now the surgeon’s assistant, that she knows these things?”
“Nay, lady,” Vibeke said. Her hand was still held out over her plate and she gazed into some dark corner of the hall. “I have heard you remark yourself at the king’s poor sleep when his Majesty’s diet is of eels. And earlier tonight Sir Tristram told me himself that he is ever thirsty yet nothing is given him to drink but milk and water, by order of the physick. Indeed, his cup even now is full of water, is’t not, my lord Tristram?”
“Aye, lady. It shames me like nothing else to say it and I pray you all keep my secret.”
“It is no secret if Vibeke hath heard it,” Christian said with a sharp laugh. “All her life she hath spoken whatever comes into her head. When I was a boy, I made the error of telling Vibeke that I stole a plate of tarts from the kitchen to give to my groom for his family. The cooks learned of it within the hour and I was beaten for it.”
“As you deserved.” The king laughed and slapped Christian on the shoulder.
“I have since learned to keep secrets.” Vibeke toyed with her string of amber beads.
“Indeed?” Kirsten turned again to Ulfeldt. “What sort of secrets does your daughter imagine herself to keep, my lord?”
“Lady, I know not.” Ulfeldt shifted in his chair to face Vibeke and frowned at her. “Daughter, what hidden knowledge can you have?”
“I do not like to say, my lord.” Vibeke opened her mouth wide and then closed it with a snap. “To tell my secrets would be to tell my secrets. You have told me openly my whole life that to be open with that which should stay hid is to endanger the realm, and therefore the wisest course is to keep a closed mouth.”
“Vibeke would surely be wisest to keep a closed mouth,” Kirsten said, smiling at Ulfeldt. “A nation should guard herself constantly, lest some villain enter her gates and breed discontent. We must all be wary.”
“Aye, majesty.” Ulfeldt nodded and brushed a clove from his beard. “Daughter, take heed of the queen’s good advice, for she is a woman of experience.”
“Father, I am not unexperienced. You are mistaken to think I carry about the innocent head of a maiden, for I have lived all my life at court.”
“Enough,” the king said. “Enough, I say. In my own experience I have found that every woman says too much. I am yet desirous of eels, but I shall feast