by David Weber
“I’m afraid great rank and great responsibility bring with them their own limitations, Your Majesty,” Zebediah said sympathetically.
“I know.” Cayleb sighed, then drew a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
“Forgive my manners, Your Grace,” he said. “Here I stand, keeping you talking on deck, rather than getting you into the shade and offering you some refreshment. Will you join me in my cabin?”
“I would be honored to,” Zebediah assured him.
“Well, I thought that went rather well,” Cayleb remarked, some hours later as he stood on Empress of Charis’ quarterdeck once more, watching Zebediah’s ornate barge pull back towards the city.
“You did, did you?” a deep voice asked, and Cayleb smiled up at Merlin. The two of them stood by the rail, with one of the quarterdeck carronades between them, and out of easy earshot of anyone else, as long as they kept their voices down.
“Of course I did,” the emperor replied, returning his attention to the departing barge. “Didn’t you?”
“I think Grand Duke Zebediah thinks you’re still a drooling teenager, at least when your ‘advisers’ aren’t around,” Merlin said.
“So do I,” Cayleb said with obvious satisfaction, and Merlin snorted.
“All well and good to be ‘underestimated,’ Cayleb. As long as someone like Zebediah doesn’t end up underestimating you so badly he does something stupid, that is. Something that gets a lot of people killed.”
“I agree.” Cayleb looked back at Merlin, his expression serious. “I think, though, in this case, that Nahrmahn was probably right. Zebediah knows he doesn’t have any choice but to give us the basing rights I demanded from him. And of course he showed more than a flicker of interest in the notion of his remaining as the first-ranking noble of Zebediah when we formally add the island to the Empire. And he fully intends to be my loyal and supportive ally and vassal right up until the first opportunity he sees to leave a dagger planted between my shoulder blades.”
“Which is precisely why it may not be a good thing for him to underestimate you too badly.”
“You’re missing my point, Merlin. It’s not a question of if he’ll see an opportunity to betray me; it’s only a question of when. And, that being the case, I’d really prefer for him to feel overconfident, rather than underconfident. I don’t want him to be so afraid of me that he actually ends up taking effective precautions. For that matter, I’d just as soon have him make his try before we’re directly engaged against the Church’s own forces. Better to have him hatch some sort of treason when we’re not distracted by a more serious threat, don’t you think?”
“You may well have a point,” Merlin said slowly. “I’m not sure I agree with your logic, but I have to admit that it is logical. It seems a bit . . . convoluted, though.”
“There are times, Merlin, when I find it easier than usual to believe you really did grow up in that ‘Terran Federation’ of yours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Merlin’s left eyebrow arched, and Cayleb chuckled harshly.
“In a more kindly and straightforward world—like the one you grew up in, at least where its politics were concerned—I’d just go ahead and quietly remove Zebediah. I’d ‘fire him’ as Grand Duke, and find someone else for the job. Preferably one of my Charisians who I know is loyal to me and deserves a proper reward for his services. Unfortunately, I can’t do that. Or, rather, I could, but only at the expense of making the next noble who might be tempted to reach an accommodation with me wonder if I plan on stripping him of his titles as a present for one of my favorites as soon as it’s convenient, as well.
“I didn’t greet Nahrmahn with open arms just because of his diplomatic contacts, or his undeniable value as an adviser, Merlin. And while it’s fortunate that he’s actually a rather likable old bugger—when he’s not trying to assassinate me, of course—I planned on treating him as if I’d liked him even if he’d turned out to be an unmitigated pain in the arse. But I didn’t greet him so warmly or betroth Zhan to Mahrya on the basis of those things. I did it because it sent a message to other princes, other dukes and earls. And that message was that I was prepared to be reasonable and pragmatic, not to insist upon vengeance. And that so long as a man honors his promises to me, I’ll honor my promises to him . . . including the promise that he’ll be allowed to keep his titles, and to pass them on to his heirs in the fullness of time. Unless, of course, he does something which gives me legitimate grounds to attaint him for treason. If he does that—if he obviously breaks his oaths, obviously supports my enemies—then I’ll be totally justified in stripping him of his titles and crushing him like a bug. But I need him to give me that obvious justification if I don’t want others to regard me as capricious and untrustworthy.”
Merlin stroked his waxed mustachios, his expression thoughtful, then nodded slowly.
“You’re right, that aspect of it hadn’t occurred to me,” he admitted.
“That’s what I meant about believing you grew up somewhere else. It’s second nature to a dynast like me or Nahrmahn to think in those terms. Or, at least, it’s second nature to think that way if we’re reasonably intelligent dynasts. Which brings me back to my original point about the advantages of having Zebediah underestimate how smart I really am.”
“You know, Cayleb, it’s rather unsporting of you to challenge an unarmed man to a duel.”
“Oh? Is that what I’ve just done?”
“No, it isn’t. It’s just the closest analogy I can come up with . . . at least until I think of something even nastier.”
MARCH,
YEAR OF GOD 893
. I .
Tellesberg Palace,
City of Tellesberg,
Kingdom of Charis
“I never imagined Admiral Rock Point was going to find this sort of evidence,” Sharleyan Ahrmahk said as she finished scanning the last page of the admiral’s report and laid it on the conference table in front of her.
“Neither did Clyntahn . . . or Graivyr, Your Majesty,” Baron Wave Thunder agreed. Cayleb’s old spymaster, who remained responsible for both espionage and security in the Kingdom of Charis—which was rapidly coming to be known as “Old Charis” in order to distinguish it from the new empire to which it had given its name—nodded at the sheet of paper the empress had just set aside. “Trust me, it never even occurred to them that this sort of documentary evidence might fall into anyone else’s hands, and especially not ours!”
There was considerably more satisfaction in Wave Thunder’s tone, and he smiled nastily.
“Not only that,” he continued, “but their reports about the Massacre are only the tip of the iceberg, Your Majesty. We got all of the Church’s files from Ferayd, and they were so confident that they didn’t take even the most rudimentary of precautions. We have complete copies of half a dozen of their most secure ciphers now. Obviously, they’re going to change them as quickly as they can, but it’s going to take time. And even after they change them, there’s no telling what older documents we might come into possession of. And that doesn’t even begin to consider all of the other documents and files the Admiral’s shipped home.”
He shook his head, his expression almost reverent.
“We’re going to need months just to sort through it all and catalogue it. I can already tell you, though, that there’s an incredible amount of . . . potentially embarrassing information in here.”
“I realize that, My Lord,” Sharleyan said. “At the moment, however, I’m afraid my own attention is rather more sharply focused on those reports about the Massacre. And on the consequences for the report writers.”
“Admiral Rock Point carried out his instructions from you and His Majesty to the letter, Your Majesty,” Rayjhis Yowance pointed out. The Earl of Gray Harbor was the first councilor of Old Charis, and was clearly on the way to becoming first councilor of the Empire of Charis, as well. Some people might have expected all of that to mean Cayleb had left him home in order to be c
ertain Sharleyan didn’t get carried away by an overly inflated notion of just how much authority she truly possessed. No one seated in this council chamber was likely to make that mistake, however, and Gray Harbor’s voice was both respectful and perhaps just the tiniest bit apprehensive.
“Don’t worry, My Lord.” Sharleyan smiled at him, and that smile was cool. “I agree that the Admiral did precisely what he was instructed to do. And I approve his actions completely. I can see why Cayleb and the rest of Charis have so much faith in his judgment. I simply never anticipated that he would have such clear-cut evidence upon which to proceed. Or, for that matter, that so many of Clyntahn’s inquisitors would stand self-convicted.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I think that if anyone had anticipated that they would, those instructions might have been somewhat more limited,” another voice said, and she turned her head to look at the speaker.
Paityr Sellyrs, Baron White Church, sounded worried, almost querulous. In fact, Sharleyan thought sourly behind her calm expression, he sounded downright whiny. White Church was the Keeper of the Seal for Old Charis, and he had quite a few useful political allies here in Tellesberg, which she suspected helped to explain how he’d come to hold his present office. If she had anything to say about it, however (and she did), he would not be the Empire’s Keeper of the Seal.
“I disagree, My Lord,” she said now, calmly but with absolutely no hesitation. “If there had been a hundred guilty men—or a thousand—and not sixteen, the sentence would have been no less just, and its execution would have been no less appropriate. I’m surprised, My Lord. I am not dismayed.”
“Your Majesty,” White Church said, “I’m not suggesting you should be dismayed. Nor am I suggesting that these men, priests or not, didn’t amply merit the punishment visited upon them. I’m only saying that to effectively cast the heads of no less than sixteen consecrated priests at the Group of Four’s feet may not have been the most productive thing we could have done.”
Gray Harbor started to say something, then paused as the empress smiled affably at White Church. Given that smile, and what he’d seen so far of this young woman, he rather doubted that his intervention was either necessary or desirable.
Sharleyan considered White Church, her head cocked slightly to one side, for two or three heartbeats. It wasn’t so much what he’d said as the way he’d said it. She’d heard that same patient tone of voice before, although not recently; the survivors among her councilors had learned better from the unfortunate fates of those who had adopted it. She watched him, recognizing the patronizing edge of his own smile, and wondered if he had the least idea she could see it. Probably not, she decided. He wasn’t actually stupid enough to deliberately provoke her, after all. That, unfortunately, wasn’t quite the same thing as saying he was smart, however.
He’s Cayleb’s Keeper of the Seal, Sharley, she reminded herself. You don’t know all the reasons Cayleb might have chosen him. And even if you did, you aren’t the one who appointed him to the Council. So do you really want to do this?
Yet even as she asked herself that question, she knew the answer. It was the same answer Mahrak Sahndyrs had taught a frightened girl-child so many years before. She could rule, or she could simply reign. She’d made that choice when she was barely twelve, and Cayleb Ahrmahk hadn’t married her because she was weak.
“Allow me to explain to you, My Lord,” she said, speaking coolly and precisely, “why your concern is groundless.”
White Church seemed to stiffen in his chair as her tone registered, but she continued as if she hadn’t noticed.
“As you may recall, we’ve already informed the Group of Four, and the Council of Vicars, for that matter, that we reject their authority. That we know them for who and what they are, and that we intend to hold them accountable for their crimes against not simply the people of Safehold, but against Mother Church, and even God Himself. Are you suggesting that, having so informed them, the proper course of action when men of proven guilt—men whose written reports, whose own testimony, shows the pride and satisfaction they took in ordering the murder of children—fall into our hands is that we shouldn’t execute justice upon them?”
“Your Majesty, I only—”
“Please answer my question, My Lord.” Sharleyan’s voice was noticeably frostier. “Is this a time to demonstrate weakness? To suggest not simply to the Group of Four, but to all of Safehold, that we do not truly have the strength of our own beliefs? The confidence of our own principles?”
White Church’s expression was acutely unhappy, and his eyes flitted around the council table, as if seeking someone to save him from the empress’ ire. What he saw were a great many eyes which obviously agreed with her, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“No, Your Majesty. Of course not!” he said.
“I’m glad we find ourselves in agreement on such a fundamental principle, My Lord,” she told him, holding him impaled upon her hard, brown gaze. “I love the shedding of blood no more than the next man or woman,” she continued. “Moreover, the Emperor and I have made it as clear as humanly possible that the Empire of Charis will not simply murder people because they disagree with us, or because they are opposed to the Church of Charis and our conflict with the Group of Four. But the corollary of that must be equally clear.” She released him from her gaze at last in order to let her eyes sweep around the rest of the table. “We will punish the guilty when their guilt be proven, and the vestments they have perverted and betrayed will not protect them. Unlike them, we will not shed innocent blood, but we will hold them accountable for all of the blood they have shed. Is there some reason anyone seated around this table has failed to grasp that essential point of our policy?”
No one spoke. In fact, Gray Harbor thought, the odds were good that very few of them were even breathing at the moment, and he was almost certain White Church wasn’t. The empress had never even raised her voice, but the Keeper of the Seal looked remarkably like a man who wished he could melt and ooze down under the council table.
Idiot, the first councilor thought without much pity.
In some ways, it wasn’t all that difficult to sympathize with White Church. Part of his worries was easy enough to understand in terms of simple human self-interest. White Church was a wealthy man, but most of his personal and family wealth was tied up in trade, and in the sizable merchant fleet they collectively owned. No doubt he was delighted that Rock Point had managed to recover all but two of the ships originally seized in Delferahk, yet a part of him seemed unable to grasp that the confrontation between Charis and the Temple had moved into a realm which made even the trade vital to the Empire’s existence a secondary issue. Perhaps that wasn’t so surprising, since any Charisian understood, on an almost instinctual level, just how vital that commerce was. Unfortunately, deep down inside somewhere, White Church obviously wasn’t able to recognize the need to prioritize on a realistic basis. Or, at least, to set aside his own, personal interests in the interests of Charis as a whole. Anything likely to interrupt the Empire’s trade, to close ports to those ships of his, threatened his family’s future, and he’d been a persistent voice of caution from the beginning.
But there were other reasons for his position as well, and most of them were considerably less self-interested. That didn’t mean Gray Harbor agreed with them, but at least he understood the reasoning behind them.
The responsibilities of the man’s office included the official drafting and receipt of the Kingdom’s diplomatic correspondence. He was accustomed to thinking not in terms of great and sweeping struggles, but in terms of communications between a relatively small number of people whose decisions governed the fates of realms. He hadn’t yet made the transition to understanding that the forces unleashed here in Charis went far beyond the councils of kings and princes, or even priests and vicars. Those decision-makers remained vitally important, but the tides against which they must contend had fundamentally changed.
Unfortunately, if White Church hadn’t already grasped that, it was unlikely he ever would. And whether he had the wit to do that or not, he was obviously tone-deaf where the realities of the new Charisian political equation were concerned.
He probably thinks Sharleyan belongs in the royal bedchamber, pregnant and punching out heirs to the throne, Gray Harbor thought bitingly. As if Cayleb would have married a mere brood mare! Or as if she were likely to put up with that kind of kraken shit!
“I’m relieved and gratified to discover we’re all in agreement upon that point, My Lords,” the empress observed now, her smile marginally warmer. “I trust we won’t find it necessary to . . . revisit it in the future.”
White Church seemed to cringe ever so slightly, although she wasn’t even looking in his direction as she spoke. Then she sat back in her chair at the head of the table.
“Clearly, Rayjhis,” she said to Gray Harbor, deliberately using his first name, “we have to consider the fact that the execution of so many priestly murderers is going to have an impact both in Zion and elsewhere. I would appreciate it if you and Baron Wave Thunder—and you, Your Eminence—” she added, glancing at Maikel Staynair, “would give some thought to that very point. I’d like your analysis of how the more immediately important rulers are likely to react.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor murmured. “Do you have any particular concerns you’d like us to consider?”
“Obviously, in many ways, I’m most interested in how the Group of Four is likely to respond. I realize, however, that any advice you could give me on that particular topic would be little more than speculation. By all means, go ahead and speculate—I have great respect for your judgment, and I’d like to hear anything you have to say about it. I’m more immediately concerned, however, with people like Lord Protector Greyghor, and perhaps King Gorjah.”