by David Weber
I’ve always known he was smarter than his grandfather, she thought. Is it possible that he’s also a lot sneakier? And that perhaps—just perhaps—he wasn’t in agreement with his grandfather’s political ambitions all these years? If he wasn’t, and if he was both smart and sneaky enough not to let his grandfather’ allies realize that he wasn’t . . .
Perhaps she’d been wronging Black Horse just a bit. It had still been a particularly stupid opening move, but was it possible the stupidity hadn’t been entirely self-grown? That someone else, someone like the Duke of Lakeland, might have suggested the ploy to him to deliberately maneuver him and his allies into a false step? One which would make it crystal clear to everyone, Charisian and Chisholmian alike, exactly where that line of battle was going to be drawn?
I really have to get to know Lakeland a little better, she told herself. If he’s truly that devious, I need to make certain he really is on the Crown’s side, too. Cayleb and I certainly don’t need him on the other side!
. IV .
Empress Sharleyan’s Dining Chamber,
Tellesberg Palace,
City of Tellesberg,
Old Kingdom of Charis
“Well, I think that probably went rather better than you’d anticipated, Rayjhis,” Sharleyan said cheerfully much later that evening as she dined with Gray Harbor and Archbishop Maikel.
“Actually, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor pointed out in a gently corrective tone, “I think it went rather better than either of us had anticipated.”
“Nonsense.” Sharleyan chuckled. “I never doubted for a moment.”
“Remember what I said about career changes, Your Majesty.”
Sharleyan laughed out loud and shook her head. Then she emptied her wineglass, and the archbishop refilled it for her.
“Thank you, Your Eminence,” she said.
“You’re entirely welcome, Your Majesty. Although, as a priest, I must feel some slight concern for the state of your soul if you continue to prevaricate the way you just did.”
“Oh, no, Your Eminence! You’re quite wrong. I didn’t ‘prevaricate’ at all. I lied.”
“Oh, that’s much better.” Staynair’s eye twinkled. “Or more direct, at least.”
“I try, Your Eminence.”
“Indeed you do, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor agreed. “And if I may be permitted to steer this conversation into slightly more serious territory, you have a point about how well things went today.”
“I know.” Sharleyan leaned back in her chair, her own expression more serious, and nodded. “Were either of you watching Black Horse after Duke Halleck cut his legs off?”
“What a charming turn of phrase, Your Majesty,” Staynair observed. She made a face at him, and he smiled, then shook his head. “Actually, I must confess that I wasn’t. May I ask why?”
“Because I’m not at all certain his stupidity was entirely his own idea,” Sharleyan said. She explained her own thoughts about the Duke of Lakeland, and both the first councilor and the archbishop looked thoughtful when she’d finished.
“Obviously, Your Majesty, you know both Black Horse and Lakeland far better than Maikel or I do,” Gray Harbor said. “I’d certainly like to think you’re right about this, though. Frankly, I suspect that arm-wrestling your Chisholmian noblemen is going to get exhausting fairly quickly.”
“It may,” Staynair said. “Then again, it may not. Obviously, if Your Majesty is right about Lakeland, it means we’ve managed to acquire an ally behind enemy lines, as it were. On the other hand, Halleck’s point that we can scarcely dictate to either kingdom’s parliament without infringing its prerogatives was a particularly nasty thumb in the eye for Black Horse and his friends. It wouldn’t happen, would it, that you and he might have discussed that before this morning’s session?”
“I suppose it’s remotely possible,” Gray Harbor admitted.
“I thought I detected your touch.” Staynair smiled. “At any rate, it’s probably going to cause at least some of Black Horse’s more conservative fellows to think hard about whether or not they want to undermine their own prerogatives back home. And I have to admit that I’ve been rather pleasantly surprised by the attitude of Archbishop Pawal’s delegates.”
“You have?” Sharleyan looked at him.
“Assuredly, Your Majesty.” The archbishop inclined his head in a seated bow. “On several levels. First and foremost because I’ve detected no reservations on their part about the legitimacy of our quarrel with the Temple Loyalists. One or two of them obviously have major concerns about precisely where we may be headed in a theological and doctrinal sense, but they clearly support our basic position about the corruption of Mother Church. Archbishop Pawal’s letters make it quite clear that he feels the same, and that he’s readily prepared to accept the Church of Charis’ existing hierarchy and the primacy of the Archbishop of Tellesberg, which is nothing to sneeze at. Emerald has already done the same thing, of course, but despite Princess Mahrya’s betrothal to young Zhan, the fact remains that most of the world is going to see Emerald as essentially a conquered province. Clyntahn and Trynair will be able to argue fairly convincingly that Cayleb constrained the Emeraldian Church to accept the Church of Charis.
“That’s not the case in Chisholm. Or, at least, not nearly as much the case. That makes Archbishop Pawal’s willingness to openly and willingly accept the Chisholmian Church’s position within the Church hierarchy both far more valuable and more courageous. He can’t hide behind the threat of Charisian bayonets, can’t pretend we ‘made’ him do it, yet he’s openly embraced the schism and its implications. The attitude of his representatives convinces me his letter is completely sincere, as well. Mind you, he’s already drawn my attention to several areas in Chisholm where both firmness and patience—and wariness—are going to be required, but overall, he’s managed to put to rest most of my most pressing concerns.
“On another level, however, and the one which actually brought it to mind at the moment, I’ve also read his instructions to his representatives where the Imperial Parliament is concerned. Essentially, they’ve been instructed to take their lead from myself in political as well as temporal matters, and he’s impressed upon them that it is his desire, as their archbishop, for them to assist the Crown in whatever ways may be possible.”
“Oh, good.” Sharleyan nodded in satisfaction. “Mahrak—Baron Green Mountain—and Mother both told me they expected something very like that from him. I’m glad to see they were right.”
“They most certainly were, Your Majesty.”
“And,” Gray Harbor said, his satisfaction undisguised, “the delegates from the Chamber of Commons are already forming working partnerships with their counterparts here in Charis. Zhak Blackwyvern and Sir Samyl Waismym tell me that they’ve already been in conversation with a Wyllym Watsyn and Tobis Samylsyn, Your Majesty.”
“I know both of them well.” Sharleyan nodded again. “Watsyn, especially, has been one of Mahrak’s closer allies in the Commons for years. I’m not a bit surprised he’s taking the offensive here in Tellesberg, as it were.”
“It’s my impression that that’s exactly what he’s doing,” Gray Harbor agreed. “Although Zhak tells me he’s gotten the impression that Master Samylsyn may have more substantial reservations about our ‘schismatic’ policies than Master Watsyn does.”
“Really?” Sharleyan frowned slightly, then gave her head a little toss. “That could well be. Tobis is an extraordinarily loyal man by nature. He isn’t the very smartest man in the world, but he’s uncommonly levelheaded, which is one reason he and Watsyn usually work in tandem. Watsyn can be downright brilliant, but he can also be a bit . . . erratic, from time to time. Tobis helps keep him centered. But Tobis also extends that loyalty of his to more than just the Crown. In fact, that’s one of the things I’ve always liked most about him; he brings that same steadiness, that same sense of responsibility, to all of the important things in his life. And the Church is important to him.”
“Is that likely to become a problem, Your Majesty?” Gray Harbor’s eyes were much more serious than they had been. “From what Zhak had to say, both he and Sir Samyl believe Watsyn and Samylsyn may well be the two most important delegates from the Chamber of Commons.”
“They almost certainly are the two most important delegates,” Sharleyan agreed. “And I suspect that one reason Tobis was chosen was because the other members of the Chamber know he has at least some doubts about the schism. He’ll abide by whatever instructions they sent with him—or, at least, if he decides he can’t abide by them in good conscience, he’ll resign and withdraw from the process rather than violate them—but I’m sure there are quite a few other Chamber members who have reservations of their own. They trust his integrity, and they also trust him to address those reservations.”
“Should I seek to set to rest any concerns he might have, Your Majesty?” Staynair asked quietly.
“I think that would be a very good idea,” Sharleyan said after a moment. “I don’t think you’re going to have to go looking for him, though, Your Eminence. Unless I’m very mistaken, he’s going to come to you. As I say, he’s very levelheaded, and I believe, now that I’ve thought about it, that he’ll probably want to discuss those reservations of his directly with you at the earliest possible moment. And I think he’ll do his best to listen to what you have to say with an open mind, when he does.”
“I can ask no more than that of any man.” Staynair smiled another of his serene smiles. “If he’s truly willing to listen, I expect God will be able to make Himself heard, even if He has to use a fallible conduit like myself.”
Sharleyan shook her head. In most men in Staynair’s position, that last sentence would have been an example of pure false modesty. In Maikel Staynair’s case, it was entirely genuine.
“You may not be able to ask more than that of any man, Maikel,” Gray Harbor’s voice was considerably more sour than the archbishop’s, “but I could wish that you got it a bit more often.”
“And what brought that on, My Lord?” Sharleyan asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“That idiot Kairee, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor growled. “I wish I knew what the Commons were thinking when they added him to their list of delegates!”
Sharleyan grimaced. Traivyr Kairee was one of the handful of Charisian delegates about whom she cherished serious reservations. She, too, had wondered what could possibly have inspired the rest of the House of Commons to choose him to help speak for them, and she still hadn’t been able to come up with an answer she liked.
“Most of it was simply wealth talking, Rayjhis,” Staynair said, his tone considerably calmer than the first councilor’s. “Do I really have to explain to you just how many other members of the House of Commons owe him money, favors, or both?”
“No,” Gray Harbor groused.
“Well, I think that’s probably the primary reason, right there.” The archbishop shrugged slightly. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he called most of those favors in to get himself selected.”
“I have to say I agree with Rayjhis,” Sharleyan said, and the harshness in her voice surprised even her just a bit.
Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk had come to love Charis, and most of the things about it. Not everything, of course, but most things. Traivyr Kairee, on the other hand, represented almost everything she disliked about Charis. He was fabulously wealthy (due as much to his father’s efforts as to his own), and every negative stereotype the rest of Safehold cherished about Charisians fitted him like a glove. He was greedy, scheming, and totally unconcerned about the well-being of his workforce. He was one of the manufactory owners who’d campaigned most vigorously against the new child labor laws, and she knew Ehdwyrd Howsmyn and Rhaiyan Mychail both despised him and didn’t particularly care who knew it. From all she could see, he felt exactly the same way about them, with the addition of intense resentment for the fact that both of them were substantially more wealthy even than he was.
Sharleyan would have been prepared to regard the man distastefully on that basis, alone, but she had her own deeply personal and individual reasons for loathing Kairee. Although he had substantially moderated his strident criticism since, he’d made no secret of his original opposition to the decision to defy the Group of Four’s authority. Sharleyan was less surprised about that than some had been. For all his ostentatious devotion to the Church—and whatever else she thought of him, no one could dispute the fact that he’d always given generously to the Church—it was readily apparent to her that he’d never even made a gesture towards applying the Writ’s admonitions of brotherhood to his own hapless employees, nor was there any evidence of any particular righteousness in his own life. In fact, in her opinion, he’d been a perfect fit for the Group of Four. His “gifts” to the Church, like his highly public lip service to the Church’s teachings, had represented an attempt to bribe God, not any sort of genuine, heart-deep piety. Which meant the Church of Charis represented a challenge to the swindle he’d spent his life perpetrating upon God and the archangels.
Sharley, you just might be being a little harder on him than he deserves, she reminded herself.
Maybe I am, herself replied. Then again, maybe I’m not.
Despite his efforts to downplay his original opposition to Charis’ rejection of the Group of Four, Kairee remained at best only imperfectly resigned to the existence of the Church of Charis. He’d embraced at least the form of the Church’s reformation in Charis, but Sharleyan was one of those who doubted that his heart was truly in it. The war against the Church was simply producing too many contracts, worth too much money, for him to stand on principle and let all those lovely marks fall into someone else’s cashbox.
That would have been more than enough to prejudice Sharleyan against him, but he hadn’t stopped there. Her uncle, the Duke of Halbrook Hollow, was one of the twenty or so wealthiest men in the Kingdom of Chisholm, and Kairee had spent the last couple of months enticing him into investing in Kairee’s various Charisian business enterprises. It wasn’t that Sharleyan resented her uncle’s involvement in Charisian ventures, but if he was going to invest with anyone, why couldn’t it have been with someone like Howsmyn or Mychail? Someone who was at least remotely principled?
He’s preying on Uncle Byrtrym’s principles, she thought resentfully. He knows how unhappy Uncle Byrtrym is with my decisions, and he’s using his own reputation for dedication to the Church to convince Uncle Byrtrym to pour money into his pocket! By now, Uncle Byrtrym is convinced Kairee is actually his friend—one of the very few friends he has here in Charis—and the last thing I need is for the uncle whose loyalty to the Church of Charis is already questionable to be publicly spending time with someone with Kairee’s reputation!
She closed her eyes for a moment, scolding herself yet again. Her uncle could scarcely be blamed for associating with one of the handful of Charisians of rank or wealth who didn’t eye him with open suspicion. And although she’d dropped a few hints to Halbrook Hollow, she couldn’t bring herself to be any more explicit in her efforts to drive a wedge between him and Kairee. She ought to. She knew she ought to. But he had so few friends in Charis, and she was the one who had compelled him to come here. However much she might detest Kairee, he obviously saw the man in quite another light.
And it’s always possible your view of Kairee is distorted specifically because you resent Uncle Byrtrym’s relationship with him, she told herself.
“I would be considerably happier myself if Kairee were far, far away from not just the Imperial Parliament, but from the House of Commons, as well,” Archbishop Maikel admitted. “On the other hand, perhaps it’s as well to have him where he is.”
“And why might that be, Maikel?” Gray Harbor asked tartly. “Aside, of course, from the convenience of always knowing where he is when it’s time for the headsman?”
“Because, Rayjhis,” Staynair said, “he’s not unique. He’s far more irritating than many, more visible than
most, and almost certainly more hypocritical than anyone else I can think of right offhand, but not unique. There are many others here in Charis, and in Chisholm, who undoubtedly feel the same way he does.”
He didn’t even glance in her direction, Sharleyan noted, remembering another conversation with him.
“It’s important that those who do not agree with the Church of Charis not be deprived of their own right to a public voice,” the archbishop said. “This is a struggle over principles, over the right and responsibility of individuals to make choices, and as Cayleb’s said, we cannot win a war for freedom of conscience if we deny freedom of conscience to those who simply happen to disagree with us. If that means we must put up with a few Kairees, even in Parliament, then that’s a price we must be willing to pay.”
“In theory, I agree,” Gray Harbor said. “And God knows I’ve spent enough time in politics to realize that genuinely trying to listen to opposing viewpoints is always messy. But Kairee—” He shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “Why couldn’t the Temple Loyalists at least have chosen themselves a spokesman who had an ounce of genuine principle somewhere in his bones?”