“Anyone who will sell at a decent price. Most times, the small holders offer better prices, but they can’t supply all that we need. Right now, they’ve little to offer. The High Holders don’t want to sell because they don’t have to—not yet—and they think prices will rise.”
“Who are the High Holders most likely to have flour and potatoes?”
“Wystgahl has wheat corn and a mill, and Aramyn has potatoes and some flour, I’ve heard. Chaffetz has both.”
“Is Chaffetz the most powerful?”
“Don’t know as he’s the most powerful. Namer knows, he’s the most stubborn. Don’t go to him unless there’s nowhere else to turn.”
“Where is his holding?”
“He’s got lands everywhere. His chateau is some three milles due south, off the stone post road to Solis that follows the river until it crosses at the bridge some twenty milles south.”
“Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t visit those three and see whether they’d be amenable to selling some more provisions—at a decent price, that is?”
Heireg laughed gruffly. “You’d be the first governor to try, sir. Least in my time here. You get even close to a decent price from any of them, and I’d write a letter to Lord Bhayar spouting your praises.”
Quaeryt laughed. “I think you’ve made your point, Major.”
“Any other questions, sir?”
“Just a few. Do you know how many loaves of bread can be baked out of the flour in a single barrel?”
Heireg smiled broadly and shook his head. “The cooks and I go round over that. Should be around four hundred and a quint, according to their measurements. The best they ever do, from my figuring, is a shade over four hundred.”
“How much flour do you have now here at the post?”
“Three hundred barrels. With your full regiment, we’ll use close to two barrels a day.”
When Quaeryt finished asking questions, he thanked Heireg and left.
As he walked across the courtyard to join Vaelora, he knew one thing for certain. He was going to need a lot more flour … and that was just the beginning.
Nearly a glass and two quints later, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and Undercaptain Jusaph rode behind the scouts and ahead of the body of Third Battalion’s first company as they made their way up the gravel drive to the chateau of High Holder Chaffetz. A handful of men scrambled from out of a side gate toward the main entry, then came to a halt as they beheld the Telaryn uniforms and the company ensign.
Besides checking his shields and easing the mare closer to Vaelora’s gelding, Quaeryt ignored the handful of men-at-arms and reined up opposite the main center entrance to the old-style three-story chateau, with its thick stone walls and narrow windows on the two lower levels, and wide windows on the third level.
Then, after Jusaph drew up the company in formation facing the chateau, Quaeryt dismounted, handed the mare’s reins to the ranker who rode forward to take them, and walked up toward the entrance.
One of the iron doors opened, and a muscular figure in blue and white livery stepped out to meet Quaeryt. “High Holder Chaffetz is not presently available, sir.” The functionary glanced at Undercaptain Jusaph and the company drawn up along the gravel drive. “Would you be interested in talking with the steward?”
Quaeryt smiled politely. “I might send Major Heireg to see him, but my business is with the High Holder.”
“Sir…”
“I don’t believe that you offered me the chance to make myself clear. As the new governor of Montagne, I am here to see High Holder Chaffetz. If I find it difficult to see him, in turn, he will find it difficult to see me.”
The man froze for a moment.
“It might be best if you looked more closely inside the holding to see if he might be found to be available.” Quaeryt’s voice was pleasant. “Oh … and since my wife accompanied me, perhaps the lady of the chateau might wish to meet her while I discuss various matters with the High Holder.”
“I will inquire within, Governor, to see if I might have been mistaken. In the meantime, if you would care to enter…”
“I will wait. There is little point to entering if Lord Chaffetz cannot be found.”
When the door closed behind the functionary, Quaeryt turned and walked back to where Vaelora remained mounted.
“If he does not find the High Holder, and quickly, he is more of an idiot than he first appeared,” murmured Vaelora.
“It is clear that the post of governor here has not been what it should be. That is something we must remedy. Now … under the guise of chatter…”
“I’m to let slip who I am and that you are a longtime boyhood acquaintance of my brother,” finished Vaelora.
“Exactly … and anything else that will quietly terrify his wife or daughter or whoever entertains you.”
Vaelora just smiled.
Less than half a quint passed before the iron doors—both of them—opened, and a man and a woman appeared.
“Governor … Lady … welcome to Chaffhyem,” declared the man, his voice a resonant tenor. “We had not expected you, or we certainly would have prepared a more appropriate welcome.”
Quaeryt held out a hand for Vaelora to dismount. She did so gracefully, and delicately, rather than in the athletic and more powerful manner with which Quaeryt was most familiar. Then the two of them advanced.
“High Holder Chaffetz, I am Quaeryt, and this is my wife, the Lady Vaelora.” Quaeryt could sense the puzzlement behind Chaffetz’s polite smile as the High Holder took in Quaeryt’s brown scholar’s garb. “We arrived in Extela late on Mardi, and this is the first moment we have had to call on you. I do apologize for the suddenness, but I fear that you and I have matters of a less than routine matter to discuss. My wife prevailed on me to let her accompany me, and since it has been many years since she was last here, I had hoped that she and your lady might have a chance to become acquainted while we discuss more serious matters.”
“Of course … of course. Do come in.”
Quaeryt ignored Chaffetz’s forced heartiness, and he and Vaelora followed the couple inside the chateau. He did keep light shields around them both, just in case, although he doubted that Chaffetz was likely to be hasty in any action.
Once inside, they stood in an entry hall some five yards wide and less than ten deep, with a polished floor of black stones set in white mortar. Beyond the entry hall was a grand staircase and, just before it, a corridor that ran the length of the chateau, one branch to the left, the other to the right.
“If you would accompany us…” Chaffetz gestured to the staircase.
“Thank you.”
At the top of the wide staircase, also of black stone, if with balustrades of well-polished and ancient goldenwood, the High Holder’s wife escorted Vaelora to the left.
Chaffetz led Quaeryt to the right, past two closed doors and to a third that was open to a long and narrow study. Only the side walls held floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the wood was of old oak. There were three wooden armchairs, if with leather padded seats, around a small table at one end of the chamber, and a desk with a similar chair behind it at the other end. Chaffetz gestured to the table and took one of the chairs, seating himself easily and immediately. Quaeryt took the one that left the third chair between them.
“For a call of courtesy, Governor … ah…”
“Quaeryt.” Quaeryt ignored the fact that Chaffetz had not offered any form of refreshment.
“Governor Quaeryt,” Chaffetz continued smoothly, “I am surprised that you found it necessary to bring such … an entourage, and even your wife.”
“As you may have heard, the lava rendered the old palace and the governor’s quarters uninhabitable, and I thought my wife might appreciate seeing a place of more refinement than the senior officers’ quarters at the south compound.”
“Ah … yes.” After the briefest hesitation, Chaffetz went on. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a governor who had your apparent … training.”
“As a scholar? No. There have been few.” None, in fact, of whom Quaeryt knew. “But Lord Bhayar felt my background would be useful here in dealing with the problems.”
“Where were you before, if I might inquire?”
“I was princeps of Tilbor.”
“Ah … that explains it. You have both knowledge and experience in dealing with supplies and disorder. Tell me. Have you known Lord Bhayar long? In a close personal sense, I mean? I can recall when he summered here as a youth.” Chaffetz smiled warmly, but condescendingly.
“Not that long compared to some,” replied Quaeryt thoughtfully, letting the silence draw out for several moments. “Fifteen or sixteen years. We had the same tutor in Solis. He was trained in warfare and politics. I was trained at sea and in scholarship.” Every word he spoke was true, if not quite in the way he implied.
Chaffetz continued to smile, but Quaeryt sensed that the High Holder was far warier than he had been moments before.
“Might I ask … if you would not mind, what forces you brought—you did bring forces, did you not?—to restore and maintain order in Extela?”
“At present, we have two battalions. Within a few days we will have a full regiment.” Quaeryt smiled. “We came ahead while the engineers were repairing the main bridge in Gahenyara.”
“And what is this matter of less than routine that brings you to Chaffhyem?”
“Grain and supplies, both for the garrison and for the city.”
“I am always most willing to supply both. Of course, in a time when both are difficult to find…” Chaffetz shrugged. “We all do what we must.”
“I am most certain, and in complying with Lord Bhayar’s commands, I will also do what I must. I am seeking several hundred barrels of flour and an equivalent amount of potatoes…”
“They can be had … of course … but I must insist on payment in hard coin.”
“You will receive payment in such … but I do doubt that Lord Bhayar would be pleased with the term you used … that you must … insist.”
“A figure of speech, surely.”
“I understand that the winter price of flour was eight silvers a barrel.”
“That was before the difficulties in Extela, Governor.”
“So it was. So it was. And for that reason, I will buy four hundred barrels of flour from you at nine silvers a barrel … and the flour will be the best you have. As for the potatoes, I will buy five hundred bushels at five coppers for every two bushels.”
Chaffetz’s mouth dropped open. “Those terms are preposterous … Governor. When grain is so dear…”
“There are costs, and there are costs,” Quaeryt said gently. “If people get so desperate that those remaining leave the city and seek food where they can find it … that will ravish the small holders who have no walls and armsmen. In turn, that will reduce the tariffs I will have to collect for years to come. I will, of course, have to explain to Lord Bhayar that the desire to extort exorbitant profits on the part of the High Holders was the cause of this disaster, and I am rather loath to do this. Nor do I wish to use soldiers against poor starving people. If that were to occur I would lose some soldiers and blacken Lord Bhayar’s name.”
“I feel for your position, Governor, but I must look to my future as well.” Chaffetz smiled with false sympathy.
“I fear you do not understand. Your wife has been talking with mine, I believe. I suggest … in fact, I insist that you talk with your wife before you make any decisions you will regret.”
“Governor … I must protest…”
“Talk to your wife.” Quaeryt smiled coldly. “I will wait.”
Once Chaffetz left the study, Quaeryt walked to the narrow second-level window nearest one of the ancient oak bookcases and glanced out. Behind the chateau was a walled and slightly sunken garden with paths edged with cut black stone and surfaced with glittering white gravel. A boxwood hedge maze was centered on a fountain depicting a partly draped woman above an empty fountain pool. While there were trimmed juniper and pfitzer topiary sculptures in places, most of the trees were deciduous and leafless.
At the sound of bootsteps on the marble of the corridor Quaeryt turned and waited for Chaffetz.
The High Holder closed the door and walked to the edge of the table. His face was flushed, and he was trembling ever so slightly, largely with suppressed rage, Quaeryt suspected.
Quaeryt waited.
“You … you have placed me … in a situation…”
“No…” replied Quaeryt. “Circumstances and Lord Bhayar have placed us both in difficult situations. I am offering you an eighth part more than you would have received for the flour had there been no disaster, and one part in four for the potatoes. I am not commandeering your goods—and that I could have done.”
“I doubt—”
“Do not doubt. The regiment that I command fought and destroyed the hill holders of Tilbor, and the least of them had many times the armsmen you could muster. This is Lord Bhayar’s ancestral homeland. He would not see it prostrate. Nor would I. Nor would he think you were being unduly harmed by taking an extra profit of one part in eight. The other High Holders will take the same terms.”
“You leave me no choice.” Chaffetz’s voice was hard. “But Lord Bhayar will hear of this … high-handed effort.”
“Times leave me no choice,” Quaeryt replied. “Nor do I have time to bicker and bargain, not while people are starving.”
“You will regret this … in time.”
Quaeryt smiled and said warmly, “I do hope, for your sake, that it does not come to that.” He smiled. “Now that we have settled that, we should join the ladies, don’t you think?”
“You think, Governor…”
“No … High Holder, I know, and I know Lord Bhayar far better than do you. The last thing he wants is to be petitioned by a High Holder who is only making a significant profit, rather than an exorbitant one.” Quaeryt gestured toward the study door. “We should talk with the ladies, and you can tell us all about your holding and about that magnificent walled garden I observed through the window.”
“You don’t…”
Quaeryt image-projected total self-assurance.
Chaffetz seemed to shrink where he stood. Then he took a slow breath. “I suppose that would be for the best.”
Quaeryt had no doubts that Chaffetz would never forget or forgive, but then, the man would never have offered reasonable terms for his goods except in the face of greater power. That, he’d come to learn, was true of most High Holders.
24
Quaeryt and all but one squad of his entourage, as High Holder Chaffetz had termed it, left Chaffhyem at slightly after ninth glass and arrived before the more modest chateau of Aramyn by two quints past noon. The squad that had been detached, at Vaelora’s suggestion, was stationed on the post road to intercept any messenger that Chaffetz might be sending to Solis. Quaeryt did not intend to stop any such message, merely to delay it, add a message of his own, and send it on its way, but with the regular post rider to Solis. If Chaffetz dispatched no messenger, Quaeryt would simply report on his acts and the responses of the High Holders. What he didn’t want was an inaccurate and inflammatory letter going directly to Bhayar, not without the full story.
Aramyn’s chateau was not of stone but of a yellowish red brick, and appeared to be far older than Chaffetz’s hold. It sat on a low rise in the middle of a park, set in turn in the middle of a vast expanse of fields and a few meadows. Aramyn was better informed, inclined to be more hospitable, or had better trained functionaries, because Quaeryt and Vaelora were immediately invited inside and promptly joined by the High Holder and his wife.
Almost as quickly, Quaeryt found himself in a goldenwood-paneled study, whose shelves were crammed with books, standing talking with Aramyn, who showed little sign of offering a chair or wishing to seat himself. The High Holder had thinning black hair and a narrow face, with deep-set brown eyes separated by a straight thin nose. His foreh
ead was furrowed, although his skin elsewhere was largely unwrinkled. Quaeryt judged him to be some fifteen or twenty years older than Quaeryt himself.
“Governor, I take it that this is not exactly a visit of courtesy, even with your wife accompanying you.” Aramyn paused. “Her name—Vaelora. It is not exactly common. I can recall only one other woman by that name, although she was but a child of four or so the last time I cast eyes on her. Also, while you are certainly no stripling, you are on the young side to be appointed a regional governor.”
“I’m arriving from the position of princeps of Tilbor.”
“Most interesting, I must say. I take it that you were involved in the last battles against the hill holders.”
“I was involved in the entire campaign and wounded in the final battle,” Quaeryt admitted.
“I wondered. I notice you have a slight limp.”
Quaeryt did not disabuse Aramyn’s conclusion, but waited to hear what else the other had to say.
The older man smiled. “Even more interesting. A scholar who has seen battle and who has served as a princeps married to a woman named Vaelora. You are both fortunate and unfortunate, Governor.”
“Might I inquire as to why you think so?”
“Much will be expected of you, in terms of accomplishment and loyalty. Perceived loyalty can often conflict with accomplishment. That has proved to be especially true, given the temperament of the descendants of Lhayar.”
Quaeryt certainly couldn’t disagree with Aramyn’s assessment.
“What are you here to ask?”
“For you to sell me supplies—at the price of nine silvers a barrel for flour and five coppers for two bushels of potatoes.”
Aramyn nodded. “You offer a modest profit. Might I ask why you are not commandeering those supplies?”
“I have no interest in forcing High Holders to pay to help others, since much of what I buy will help feed those left in Extela. I’d prefer that they not feel obligated to complain to Lord Bhayar.” Quaeryt grinned. “And that, if they do, he can see that they have no cause for such.”
“I will meet your terms, Governor. I have two requests, however. First, that you inform Lord Bhayar that I have done so without complaint.” Aramyn paused. “It is no secret that my sire and Lord Bhayar’s sire did not see eye to eye. I would wish that be laid to rest.”
Princeps: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio Page 17