Once again, I have to thank everybody who reads this story! Everything I know of Dutch traditions, I've taken from the great book Daily Life in Rembrandt's Holland, by Paul Zumthor. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it's a bit slow!
'Cause I don't Want Enough, I Want it All
When they returned to the camp, grey clouds had gathered overhead to hide the sun and blue sky. Wind had picked up again, tugging at clothes and unbound hair. Judging by the restlessness of the horses, it was safe to assume that a storm was brewing. But for the moment, the weather held its breath, allowing the small party of four to reach the safety of the camp unhindered. As soon as they reached the gate of the wooden palisade, they were intercepted by half a dozen soldiers in red uniforms. Security had been increased throughout the camp, and even if the uniformed men and women recognized the emperor's family, they still stopped them to ask questions. Alfred, of course, being the oldest and highest ranked officer, spoke for them all. He was friendly to the soldiers, polite, but direct. It showed in his tone of voice that he didn't much like to be questioned, but was nonetheless willing to allow it. He explained their little sortie as a need for fresh air and to stretch their legs. The soldiers didn't look very suspicious. Most of them knew either Alfred or Dan after all, and at least two had been treated for wounds by Mathilda. Nonetheless, the royal children were scolded for leaving the camp without telling anybody and without taking bodyguards with them. They accepted the rebuke meekly before being waved away.
As soon as they were inside the palisade, they climbed down their saddles and pulled their horses towards the many stables. Many carts had been brought around tents and pavilions so their inhabitants could start packing for the journey towards Amsterdam. Wooden boxes were being put back together for storage and a great number of bags had been sewn up during the last few days. It was a common sight for an army on the march. Moving was part of war, after all, and the people who followed the army had become masters had packing and unpacking effectively.
Alfred and Dan bid Mathilda good day, and they went their separate ways. Dan was on guard duty later on and Alfred was supervising the training of new recruits. Mathilda probably wouldn't see them again for a few days. Given their different occupations, weeks could pass before they had the chance to sit down and chat for more than a few hurried minutes. In the midst of the battles, Alfred and Dan were too busy fighting, and afterward, Mathilda was too busy patching up the fallen soldiers. It was mostly when the emperor decided to call a stop and the army built up a camp that they could really take the time to sit down and talk.
She looked at their retreating back and sighed lightly. Her precious brothers. They made this living hell of a war that much more tolerable. She felt a rush of love for them, so much that she almost ran after them to hug them. She resisted the urge, of course, but barely. There was no telling when the three of them would see each other again. Anything could happen, even inside the camp. She wished their quarters weren't so far, that she could keep an eye on them to make sure they didn't get into mischief. Dan had always been prone of getting into trouble. Nothing very serious, thankfully, but Mathilda had lost count of how many times Alfred had to speak on his cousin's behalf so he wouldn't be punished too harshly. Not that Dan wasn't smart, but he was the type of boy who acted before thinking. It wasn't always a good idea in ordinary life, and a death sentence in waiting on the battlefield. Each time he went into a fight, Mathilda was half certain she'd get the sad news that he'd been killed. She was pretty sure she aged ten years every time her boys were engaged into anything involving the use of weapons.
Silent Klaas and she reached her tent, weaving through empty carts and hurrying servants. Everything was in such a frenzy that she nearly missed it. Above the flap of her tent had been hung a wreath of greenery. Surprised, she stared at it, sure that it hadn't been there when she left earlier in the morning. The wreath wasn't very big, but the colourful flowers and the long green grass had been tied together appeared to be out of season. She hadn't seen flowers so bright for months now. And they seemed real, not the kind of ornaments women made of paper to add some cheerfulness to their tents.
"So he's courting you," Klaas said dully, eying the wreath as if it were coiled serpents really to strike at him. "How romantic."
"I beg your pardon?"
He jerked his chin towards the wreath. "It's a sign of courtship."
"Who's courting me?" Mathilda asked dumbly, blinking. "I've never heard of men doing such a thing to court a girl."
"It's a Dutch thing. A man who wishes to approach a girl ties a flower or a wreath of greenery above her door." He scowled. "Or above her tent's flap, I guess."
Mathilda's eyes went wide. Oh. She didn't have to ask who was the Dutchman who had tied the wreath above the door of her tent. Her face heated and she rapidly looked away. How odd. Why was the man chosen by her father trying to woo her if it were certain they were going to get married? It was not as if he needed her approval. Her treacherous eyes found their way back again to the wreath. It was quite of a sweet tradition, she thought. Her romantic heart beat just a tiny bit faster at the thought that a man had taken the time to find flowers and grass, and to weave them together for her. It made very little sense why Jakob Rijnder would take the time to do such a thing, but he had done it nonetheless. She couldn't help wonder why, while a part of her was simply too moved to care much. She scolded herself silently. At her age, it didn't do to be so romantically naïve and so easily touched by such a simple gesture. It was only flowers, after all.
She suddenly felt keenly Klaas' presence by her shoulder, and she turned to glance at his face. His expression was smooth as always, but there was a tightness to his jaw. Mathilda couldn't help wondering what he was thinking about. He was still probably enraged that this Jakob Rijnder had stolen his throne and put his family in danger. And maybe he didn't like the idea that she was to become some sort of accomplice to his treachery. No matter that they had already decided to take the Dutch throne back to give it back to its rightful owner, for the moment, it was still occupied by Jakob and would remain so until they succeeded. And let's say, for argument's sake, that they failed. Did that mean that Mathilda would have to marry Jakob? (If she didn't get executed for treason first, of course.) She shied away from that thought. She knew she'd have to contemplate it later. It was a possibility, after all. Later, but not right now.
"Is there something I'm supposed to do about this?" Mathilda asked, gesturing towards the pretty colourful wreath.
Klaas shrugged. "Well, think about it. That's a Dutch thing. You seemed never to have heard about this tradition before now. It would be suspicious if you were to do something about it."
"That's true. Let's say I don't do anything. Just tell me what a Dutchwoman could do."
"She can either throw it to the ground. It means a refusal. Or, if she accepts the courtship and returns the man's feelings, she puts a little basket full of sweets or flowers. And at that point, most couples start exchanging notes. They conceal them amongst the flowers."
Mathilda blinked, honestly surprised. "That is very romantic. I never expected something like that. It's much more personal than the way we do things in England." She turned to consider the wreath. "And if I were to throw it to the ground, would Jakob stop pursuing me?"
"No. He'd probably replace it with a bouquet or something like that. And anyway, I doubt you can really refuse him."
She sighed. "You're right. I'll leave the wreath there. One way or another, I'm not supposed to know what to do with it." She looked up towards the cloudy sky, trying to gauge the hour of the day. "I'll spend the afternoon in the medical tent, I think. I miss my patients. Will you be alright on your own?"
Klaas scoffed. "Of course, mother. I'll just wait here for you to come back like a good dog."
Mathilda couldn't stop herself from laughing. "You're not a dog!" She smiled. "Wait for me here like a good husband while his wife goes to work."
"Hmpf, as if I'd be a good husband."
She pulled a face. "No, I doubt you'd be one now that you mention it. Anyway, you know where to find me should any trouble arises. Behave yourself, Klaas."
She cheerily waved at him as he left, and Klaas only rolled his eyes. She knew he'd be alright on his own. While she wasn't around, he spent most of his time resting and walking around the camp, trying to build up his lost strength. He was almost back to his old self, she felt. The pallor of the past few days had left his face and the feverish light had left his eyes. He no longer got tired as easily and some kind of restlessness had settled over him. She guessed he yearned for his homecoming. She understood. She was in a hurry to get him out of here too. Not that she didn't appreciate his brooding presence, but she knew they were living on borrowed time. It was only due to the anonymity provided by the impressive number of soldiers in her father's army that nobody had realised Klaas didn't belong here. The fact that he kind of lived in her shadow helped. Nobody would dare question the judgement of a person from the royal family. However, she had no idea how long and how far this protection would stretch. She had been acting oddly, very out of character. There was no telling that someone might not start questioning her judgement. Her father didn't surround himself with idiots, after all. He liked men keen of intelligence and fast of thinking. It didn't mean they would suspect or even notice Klaas, but she would be under their scrutiny, something to be avoided at all costs.
She changed into the less constricting dress she had before leaving her tent. Mathilda looked up towards the cloudy skies, a prayer on her lips. She had never been the most devout, yet she dared hope that there was some sort of higher being. Who was he (or she or it or they?), where did he live, and why he allowed monstrous things such as wars to take place, well, she didn't know. Yet maybe this being answered prayers once in a while. So she prayed for a little more time. Just a tiny bit, just until they were ready. It wasn't much. Not a big wish or a huge demand. Just something that would maybe save lives in the long run. Please, just a bit more time so we can set our plan in motion. So we can all be safe.
In a way, some higher being heard her plea. She got more time. Much, much more than expected.
