Karl had with him the Prince of Hesse-Cassel, who had lately married his sister; this professional soldier had lately been serving the States-General, and was regarded by the King as a good general, but he gave him little confidence and no affection.
This Prince was with the King when the Swedish camp was being laid down before the heights of Fredrikssten, and Karl, in high spirits at the thought of the approaching struggle, spoke with him in a more friendly spirit than was his wont.
“Ah, Prince,” he said, “when we have taken Frederikshald, Norway will be ours.”
“How long does your Majesty think to take in subduing Norway?” asked the German courteously.
“I should have taken it last year,” replied the King, “but for the provisions.”
He had made the same mistake he had made in the Ukraine—that of moving his army too far from his base, and had had to return to Sweden with starving troops.
“Six months,” he added; “then, at last, I shall see Stockholm again—a pity Count Piper is not here to hear me say that,” he smiled.
It was eighteen years since he had seen his capital, to which he did not intend to return till he was triumphant.
“Let us go and look at the trenches—these engineers are very slow,” continued Karl; he called an officer and bade him fetch M. Mégret, the French engineer who was conducting the siege.
It was a bitter night but cloudless; there was no moon; the stars glimmered hard and clear as if cut from crystal in the dark sky.