However, in February 1699, Duke Joseph died suddenly, opening up the issue all over again. The Second Treaty of Partition, which had taken months of negotiation to conclude, had been ratified in the great hall of St. James Palace less than an hour earlier. William looked at his copy of the treaty on the map table in front of him – the signatures and wax seals on their silk ribbons barely dry. Under this new treaty, the Spanish territories in Italy would pass to France and the rest of the territories would pass to the Holy Roman Empire.
Spain wasn’t happy with this arrangement. Charles didn’t want his empire to be broken apart after all the effort it had taken to build and maintain it during the many wars that had raged across Europe over the previous century. Leopold wasn’t happy with the arrangement either, wanting the Italian territories for himself instead of having them go to France. William smiled to himself as he realized that the beauty of the treaty was that no one was completely happy with the terms; each was equally unhappy, thereby maintaining the appearance of fairness and the balance of power.
Most of the wars in Europe for the previous century had been primarily wars of religion, even though the control of various territories was their stated goal. England had suffered through several civil wars because of religion, and the Catholic House of Stuart grew increasingly at odds with its Protestant subjects. The Protestants looked for a way to depose the last Catholic monarch – a king who wanted to be an absolute monarch with no parliament setting limits on his power.
When William, then the Prince of Orange in Holland, married his cousin Mary Stuart, daughter of King James II of England, the Protestants in England saw William as the means to achieve their goals. In 1688, William invaded England at the request of Parliament, and James II fled to France with his Catholic son, James Francis Edward Stuart.
William, wanting to be King of England in his own right, proposed a joint-monarchy to Parliament; he and his wife Mary would share the monarchy and the power. Parliament agreed, and the Protestant reign of William and Mary began. When William left home to fight the many wars against France, Mary reigned as monarch. However, when William returned home, Mary relinquished power to her husband and allowed him to rule. The arrangement worked well for both of them and for the country.
When Mary died in 1694, William felt a great sense of loss. Mary had been his partner in ruling the country and had a great mind for strategy in both domestic and international affairs. They had no children, so the heir to the throne was Mary’s Protestant sister, Anne Stuart. But William’s father-in-law and brother-in-law were just across the Channel in France, waiting for their chance to return and reclaim the throne that William had taken from them. Yes, war was inevitable. All it needed was a trigger.
Pointing at the map, he asked, “How do we prevent it?”
“I really don’t think we can, Sire,” the earl replied after a moment.
“Then what do we do? Just sit here and wait for the next unexpected event to upset the balance of power all over again? Or do we start openly preparing for a coming war, which will then invite our enemies to do the same and end up leading us all into the very war we’re trying to avoid?”
William was tired of war, and he knew that the country was equally tired. Wars were expensive – both in the cost to mount a military campaign and in the loss of life. If sufficient spoils weren’t seized during the campaign, a war could end up bankrupting a country, leaving it open for invasion and yet another war. The last wars had taken their toll on the treasury, and William wanted to give his people a break from the constant fighting. England was a tiny country compared to the rest of Europe, although its colonial holdings were second only to Spain. The fighting ability of its people and the strength of its Navy kept the country safe, but there were limits. William worried that the country wasn’t ready to be pulled into another costly conflict with France.
The earl looked at the map intently. An idea had been forming in his mind, but he wasn’t sure it was developed enough to bring it up yet.
William saw his friend struggling with something and said, “Out with it, Daniel. What’s on your mind?”
The earl pointed to the Americas. “I think the key is here, Sire.”
William moved around the table to stand next to the earl. “Go on,” he said.
“We both know Louis wants control of the Spanish colonies in the Americas. Their wealth could finance a dozen wars against us – possibly even to victory. Spain’s military is spread thin trying to protect its colonies from us, from the Dutch, from pirates, and from the American natives. They don’t have enough of a navy left to protect their treasure fleets, and soon they’ll have to turn to France for help. Once that happens, you know a fair bit of the treasure will wind up in Louis’ coffers instead of Charles’. What we need to do is to stop, or at least reduce, the flow of treasure from the Americas to Spain and France.”
“You mean you want more privateers to harass the Spanish treasure ships?” William asked.
Privateers were authorized by Letters of Marque from the king to raid the merchant ships of other nations. Unlike pirates, who kept their plunder and promptly wasted it on gambling, carousing, and wenching, privateers turned over the bulk of their plunder to the king, keeping a portion for themselves to pay for the voyages and make the risk worthwhile. Privateers had been used by European monarchs for centuries as a way to steal wealth from their neighbors without an open declaration of war.
Several treaties to limit or abolish the use of privateers had been signed and broken over the years. The Spanish treasure fleets presented too inviting a target for any monarch or privateer to ignore. William already had a number of privateers in the Americas to prey upon French and Spanish shipping, as well as Dutch shipping.
Being Dutch himself, William often felt pangs of guilt about allowing Dutch merchant ships to be raided, but William needed the revenue. The Dutch had discovered ways to remain incredibly profitable in the Americas even during the worst conflicts, sometimes by supplying both sides with military stores.
“I’m not certain that privateers alone can do what needs to be done, Sire,” the earl replied, still looking down at the map. “We may need a stronger solution.”
“What are you suggesting, Daniel? That I send a naval squadron or two over there? If I send warships in to start attacking French and Spanish shipping, I’ll be the one who broke the treaty this time. I’ll be the one who starts the next war!”
The earl turned to face his sovereign and saw the concern on William’s face. Making a quick decision, he presented his idea.
A steward quietly entered the room, placed a wine flagon and two goblets on a side table, and quickly exited the hall. The two men talking didn’t even notice.
After several minutes, the earl fell silent. He watched the king’s face, trying to gauge what the king’s reaction would be.
William stared at his Secretary of State with a mixture of shock and disbelief. The earl’s plan was perhaps the most preposterous thing that anyone had ever suggested to him.
“Are you completely mad?!” the king demanded.
To the king’s surprise, the earl seemed to relax at this question. “I’m relieved you think so, Sire.”
“Why?” the king asked, confused by the earl’s reply.
“Because if you think that I’m mad for suggesting it, the other European monarchs will also think the idea’s mad and never suspect that you’re behind it. It’s supposed to be a very un-English idea, after all. It’s never been done, and if it’s done right you’ll have no problems being believed when you deny all knowledge of it.”
The king thought about this for a moment. The earl was right; no monarch would suspect England of doing anything this bold or dangerous. It was an act of war, but it was disguised in such a way that it had the potential to either delay the coming war or help in England’s preparation for war.
William turned away and walked toward the window in silence,