‘I did,’ Dijkstra muttered. ‘But quietly. King Demawend of Aedirn is our guest in Tretogor. And Demawend has quite a precise moral judgement of Henselt’s deed. He customarily expresses it in blunt and ringing words.’
‘I can imagine,’ the King of Kovir nodded. ‘Let’s leave it for now, and glance at the South, at the River Yaruga. Attacking in Dol Angra, Emhyr simultaneously secured his flank by concluding a separatist treaty with Foltest of Temeria. But immediately after the end of the military operations in Aedirn the emperor broke the pact without further ado and struck Brugge and Sodden. Through his cowardly negotiations Foltest gained two weeks of peace. Sixteen days to be precise. And it’s the twenty-sixth of October today.’
‘It is.’
‘Thus the situation on the twenty-sixth of October is as follows. Brugge and Sodden occupied. The strongholds of Razvan and Mayena fallen. Temeria’s army defeated in the Battle of Maribor and repulsed northwards. Maribor besieged. This morning it was still holding out. But it’s already late evening, Dijkstra.’
‘Maribor will hold out. The Nilfgaardians didn’t manage to seal it off.’
‘True. They advanced too far, they overextended their supply lines, they’re imprudently exposing their flanks. They will call off the siege before the winter, withdrawing towards the Yaruga, shortening the front. But what will happen in the spring, Dijkstra? What will happen when the grass peeps out from under the snow? Come closer. Look at the map.’
Dijkstra looked.
‘Look at the map,’ the king repeated. ‘And I shall tell you what Emhyr var Emreis will do in the spring.’
*
‘They will begin an offensive on an unparalleled scale,’ announced Carthia van Canten, adjusting her golden curls in front of the looking glass. ‘Oh, I know that information isn’t sensational in itself. Old women enliven their laundry at every town well with stories about the spring offensive.’
Assire var Anahid was unusually tetchy and impatient today, but nonetheless managed not to ask why, in that case, she was bothering her with such unsensational information. But she knew Cantarella. And if Cantarella started talking about something she had her reasons. And she usually finished her statements with conclusions.
‘I know a little more than the hoipolloi, however,’ Cantarella continued. ‘Vattier told me everything, about the entire council with the emperor. And in addition brought me a whole briefcase of maps. When he fell asleep I examined them . . . Shall I go on?’
‘But of course, my dear.’ Assire squinted.
‘The thrust of the main strike is, of course, Temeria. The border of the River Pontar, along the line Novigrad-Vizima-Ellander. A force of the Central Army, under the command of Menno Coehoorn, will strike. A force of the Eastern Army will secure the flank, striking the Pontar Valley and Kaedwen from Aedirn . . . ’
‘Kaedwen?’ Assire raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that the end of the fragile friendship struck up during the sharing of spoils?’
‘Kaedwen is threatening the right flank.’ Carthia van Canten pouted slightly with her full lips. Her doll-like face was in striking contrast to the strategic grasp she was demonstrating. ‘The strike is of a preventive character. Assigned units of a group from the Eastern Army are to bind King Henselt’s army, to remove any thoughts of helping Temeria.
‘The Verden special operations group will strike in the west,’ the blonde woman continued, ‘with the task of capturing Cidaris and tightly sealing off the blockade of Novigrad, Gors Velen and Vizima. For the General Staff is taking into account the necessity of besieging those three strongholds.’
‘You didn’t name the two armies’ commanders.’
‘The Eastern Group, Ardal aep Dahy.’ Cantarella smiled slightly. ‘The Verden Group, Joachim de Wett.’
Assire raised her eyebrows.
‘How interesting,’ she said. ‘Two princes, offended by the removal of their daughters from Emhyr’s matrimonial plans. Our emperor is either very naive, or very cunning.’
‘If Emhyr knows anything about a plot by the princes,’ said Cantarella, ‘it’s not from Vattier. Vattier told him nothing.’
‘Go on.’
‘The offensive will be on an unprecedented scale. Taken together, including front line units, reserves, auxiliary and rear services, over three hundred thousand men will be taking part in the operation. And elves, naturally.’
‘Scheduled start date?’
‘Not yet set. Supplies are a key issue. Supplies means clear roads, and no one can predict when the winter will finish.’
‘What else did Vattier speak of?’
‘He was complaining, poor thing.’ Cantarella flashed her little teeth. ‘Complaining that the emperor had abused and reprimanded him again. Publically. The reason again was the mysterious disappearance of Stefan Skellen and his entire unit. Emhyr publically called Vattier a clot, said he was a head of a department which, rather than making people disappear without trace, are surprised by such disappearances. He constructed on the subject a malicious equivoque which Vattier, sadly, wasn’t able to repeat exactly. Then the emperor asked Vattier in jest if his failure meant some other secret organisation had been set up, kept confidential even from him. Our imperator is sharp. He’s close to the target.’
‘He is,’ Assire murmured. ‘What else, Carthia?’
‘The agent Vattier had in Skellen’s unit – who also vanished – was called Neratin Ceka. Vattier must have thought very highly of him, because he’s extremely dejected over his disappearance.’
I, thought Assire, am also left dejected by the disappearance of Jediah Mekesser. But I, unlike Vattier de Rideaux, will find out what happened.
‘And Rience? Has Vattier met him again?’
‘No. He didn’t mention it.’
They were both briefly silent. The cat in Assire’s lap purred loudly.
‘Madam Assire.’
‘Yes, Carthia?’
‘Will I have to play the role of the foolish lover much longer? I’d like to return to my studies, devote myself to scholarly work—’
‘Soon,’ Assire interrupted. ‘Just a little longer. Hold on, my child.’
Cantarella sighed.
They finished their conversation and bade each other farewell. Assire var Anahid shooed the cat from the armchair and reread the letter from Fringilla Vigo, who was residing in Toussaint. She fell into pensive mood, for the letter had troubled her. It bore some message between the lines which Assire sensed, but couldn’t grasp. It was after midnight when Assire var Anahid, the Nilfgaardian sorceress, started up the megascope and established telecommunication with Montecalvo Castle in Redania.
Philippa Eilhart was in a skimpy nightdress with very thin straps, and had lipstick traces on her cheek and cleavage. Assire made an immense effort of will to suppress a grimace of distaste. Never, ever, will I be capable of understanding it, she thought. And I don’t want to understand it.
‘May we talk freely?’
Philippa made a sweeping hand movement, encircling herself in a sphere of discretion.
‘We can now.’
‘I have information,’ Assire began dryly. ‘It isn’t sensational in and of itself, even old women at wells are talking about it. Nonetheless . . . ’
*
‘The whole of Redania,’ said Esterad Thyssen, looking at his map, ‘can at this moment field thirty-five thousand frontline troops, of whom four thousand are heavy armoured cavalry. Reckoning roughly, of course.’
Dijkstra nodded. The arithmetic was absolutely precise.
‘Demawend and Meve had a similar army. Emhyr annihilated it in twenty-six days. The same thing will happen to the armies of Redania and Temeria if you don’t reinforce them. I support your idea, Dijkstra, yours and Philippa Eilhart’s. You’re in need of troops. You require valorous, well-drilled and well-equipped cavalry. You need the kind of cavalry that costs around a million bizants.’
The spy nodded, confirming that this calculation couldn’t be faulted e
ither.
‘As you no doubt know,’ the king continued dryly, ‘Kovir has always been, is, and will be neutral. We are bound by a treaty with the Nilfgaardian Empire, signed by my grandfather, Esteril Thyssen, and the imperator Fergus var Emreis. The letter of that treaty does not permit Kovir to support the enemies of Nilfgaard with military aid. Nor with money for troops.’
‘When Emhyr var Emreis throttles Temeria and Redania,’ coughed Dijkstra, ‘he’ll look to the North. Emhyr won’t be satisfied. It may turn out that your treaty won’t be worth a hill of beans. A moment ago the talk was of Foltest of Temeria, who managed – by negotiations – to buy himself a mere sixteen days of peace with Nilfgaard—’
‘Oh, my dear,’ Esterad snapped. ‘One cannot argue like that. Treaties are like marriage: they aren’t entered in to with the thought of betrayal, and once they’re concluded one shouldn’t be suspicious. And if that doesn’t suit somebody, they shouldn’t get married. Because you can’t become a cuckold without being a husband, but you’ll admit that fear of wearing the horns is a pitiful and quite ridiculous justification for enforced celibacy. And cuckolds aren’t a subject for discussion in a marriage. As long as one doesn’t wear horns, that subject isn’t mentioned, and if one’s already wearing them, then there’s nothing to say. And since we’re talking about horns, how is the husband of the fair Marie, the Marquess de Mercey, the Redanian Minister of Finances?’
‘Your Majesty,’ Dijkstra bowed stiffly, ‘has enviable informants.’
‘Indeed I do,’ the king conceded. ‘You’d be astonished how many and how enviable. But you, too, can’t be ashamed of your own. Those you have at my courts, here and in Pont Vanis. Oh, I’ll wager each of them deserves top marks.’
Dijkstra didn’t even blink.
‘Emhyr var Emreis,’ Esterad continued, looking at the nymphs on the ceiling, ‘also has a few good and well placed agents. Which is why I repeat: Kovir’s raison d’état is neutrality and the principle of pacta sunt servanda. Kovir doesn’t break treaties. Not even in anticipation of the other side breaking a contract.’
‘May I observe,’ Dijkstra said, ‘that Redania isn’t urging Kovir to break pacts. Redania is by no means seeking an alliance or military aid against Nilfgaard. Redania wishes . . . to borrow a small sum, which we shall return—’
‘I can just see you returning it,’ the king interrupted. ‘But these are academic deliberations, for I shan’t loan you a farthing. And don’t ply me with duplicitous casuistry, Dijkstra, it suits you like a bib suits a wolf. Do you have any other, serious, intelligent and apposite arguments?’
‘I do not.’
‘You were lucky,’ Esterad Thyssen said after moment’s silence, ‘that you became a spy. You’d never have made a career in commerce.’
*
The length and breadth of the world, all royal couples had separate bed chambers. The kings – with extremely varying frequency – visited the queens’ bed chambers, and it also happened that queens paid unexpected visits to the kings’ bed chambers. Afterwards the spouses returned to their own chambers and beds.
The royal couple of Kovir were an exception in this respect too. Esterad Thyssen and Zuleyka always slept together – in one bed chamber, on an immense bed with an immense canopy.
Before falling asleep, Zuleyka – after putting on her spectacles, in which she was ashamed to appear before her subjects – customarily read her Good Book. Esterad Thyssen usually talked.
That night was no different. Esterad put on his nightcap and picked up his sceptre. He liked to hold his sceptre and play with it; he didn’t do it officially for he feared his subjects would accuse him of being pretentious.
‘You know, Zuleyka,’ he said, ‘lately I’ve been having queer dreams. I’ve dreamed of that witch, my mother, I don’t know how many times. She stands over me and repeats: “I have a wife for Tankred, I have a wife for Tankred”. And she shows me a pretty, but very young girl. And do you know, Zuleyka, who that girl is? It’s Ciri, Calanthe’s granddaughter. Do you remember Calanthe, Zuleyka?’
‘I do, my husband.’
‘Ciri,’ Esterad went on, playing with the sceptre, ‘is the one Emhyr var Emreis reputedly wants to marry. A bizarre marriage, astonishing . . . How, damn it, ought she to be a wife for Tankred?’
‘Tankred –’ Zuleyka’s voice faintly altered, as it did whenever she spoke of her son ‘– could do with a wife. Perhaps he would settle down . . . ’
‘Perhaps,’ Esterad sighed. ‘Though I doubt it, but perhaps. In any case, matrimony is some sort of chance. Hmmm . . . Ciri . . . Ha! Kovir and Cintra. The Yaruga estuary! Doesn’t sound at all bad, not at all bad. An alliance would be fine . . . A nice little coalition . . . Well, but if Emhyr has his eye on the filly . . . But why is she appearing in my dreams? And why the hell am I dreaming that sort of nonsense? At the Equinox, do you recall, when I woke you. . . Brrr, what a nightmare that was, I’m glad I can’t remember the details . . . Hmmm . . . Perhaps we ought to summon an astrologer? A soothsayer? A medium?’
‘Madam Sheala de Tancarville is in Lan Exeter.’
‘No.’ The king grimaced. ‘I don’t want that witch. Too clever. A second Philippa Eilhart is springing up under my nose! Power appeals too much to these clever women, one should not encourage them with favours and familiarity.’
‘You’re right, as ever, my husband.’
‘Hmfff . . . But those dreams . . . ’
‘The Good Book –’ Zuleyka turned over a few leaves ‘– says that when a man falls asleep, the gods open his ears and speak to him. Whereas the prophet Lebioda teaches that when gazing on a dream, one either sees great wisdom or great foolishness. The art is in recognising it.’
‘A marriage of Tankred with Emhyr’s betrothed is not exactly great wisdom,’ Esterad sighed. ‘But while we’re on the subject of wisdom, I would be immensely pleased if it came to me during my slumbers. It concerns the case with which Dijkstra came. It concerns a most trying case. For you see, my dear beloved Zuleyka, good sense permits us not to rejoice with Nilfgaard pushing northwards hard and liable any day to seize Novigrad, for from Novigrad everything – including our neutrality – looks different than from the distant South. Thus it would be good if Redania and Temeria were to hold back Nilfgaard’s advance, in order to push the invader back across the Yaruga. But would it be good, were it done using our money? Are you listening to me, my most beloved wife?’
‘I am, husband.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘All wisdom is contained in the Good Book.’
‘But does your Good Book say what to do if some Dijkstra shows up and demands a million from you?’
‘The Book,’ Zuleyka blinked from over her spectacles, ‘says nothing about base mammon. But in one passage it says: “to give is a greater happiness than to receive, and supporting a pauper with alms is noble”. It is said: “give away all, and it shall make your soul noble”.’
‘And makes the purse and breadbasket empty,’ Esterad Thyssen muttered. ‘Zuleyka, is any wisdom to be found in the Book concerning business apart from passages about noble free distribution and alms-giving? What does the Book, for instance, say about equivalent exchange?’
The queen straightened her spectacles and began to quickly turn over the pages of the incunabulum.
‘Measure for measure,’ she read.
Esterad was silent for a long while.
‘And perhaps,’ he finally drawled, ‘something more?’
Zuleyka returned to turning the pages of the Book.
‘I have found,’ she suddenly announced, ‘something amongst the wisdom of the prophet Lebioda. Should I read it?’
‘If you would.’
‘The prophet Lebioda: “in sooth, support the pauper with alms. But rather than give the pauper an entire watermelon, give him half a watermelon, for a pauper is liable to lose his wits from happiness”.’
‘Half a watermelon.’ Esterad Thyssen bristled. ‘You mean half
a million bizants? And do you know, Zuleyka, that to have a half a million and not to have half a million is a whole million together?’
‘You didn’t let me finish,’ Zuleyka scolded her husband with a harsh look over her spectacles. ‘The prophet goes on: “better even is to give the pauper quarter of a watermelon. And it is even better to cause that some else give the pauper a watermelon. For in sooth, I tell you there will always be someone who has a watermelon and is inclined to share it with the pauper, if not out of nobleness, then out of calculation or on some other pretext”.’
‘Ha!’ The King of Kovir thumped his sceptre down on the bedside table. ‘In sooth, the prophet Lebioda was shrewd! Instead of giving, cause someone else to give? That appeals to me, those are in sooth flowing words! Study the wisdom of that prophet, my darling Zuleyka. I’m certain you will discover among it something that permits me to solve the problem of Redania and the army that Redania wishes to raise using my money.’
Zuleyka leafed through the book for a long time before she finally began to read.
‘“A pupil of the prophet Lebioda once spake to him: ‘teach me, master, how I am to act. For my neighbour is desirous of my favourite dog. If I give him my pet, my heart will break from sorrow. If, though, I do not give it, I shall be downhearted, for I shall pain my neighbour through my refusal. What to do?’ ‘Do you have,’ asked the prophet, ‘something you love less than your pet dog?’ ‘I have, master,’ the pupil replied, ‘an impish cat, a tiresome pest. And I love him not at all.’ And thus spake the prophet Lebioda: ‘Take that impish cat, that tiresome pest, and give it to your neighbour. Then you will know happiness. You will be rid of the cat, and will delight your neighbour. For most often it is so, that our neighbour does not desire a gift, but to be given’.”’
Esterad was silent for some time and his brow was knitted.
‘Zuleyka?’ he finally asked. ‘Was that really the same prophet?’
The Saga of the Witcher Page 137