‘Demavend will not accept this,’ Philippa said laconically. ‘He will not give us the profits and revenues from the Valley of Flowers.’
‘On that issue,’ Francesca raised her eyebrows, ‘I am willing to engage in bilateral negotiations, I’m sure we can reach a consensus. A freehold is not required to pay tribute, but payment is not necessarily prohibited or excluded.’
‘And what about succession rights?’ asked Philippa. ‘What about the right of primogeniture? Agreeing to a freehold, Demavend will require guarantees of the indivisibility of the Principality.’
‘Demavend,’ Francesca smiled again, ‘may be fooled by my skin and figure, but you surprise me, Philippa. It has been a long, long time since I passed the age of being able to get pregnant. As far as birthrights and successions, Demavend has nothing to fear. I am the ultimus familiae of the royal house of Dol Blathanna. However, despite the age difference between me and Demavend, I will not be dealing with him, but his grandchildren’s great-grandchildren. I assure you, ladies that in this respect there are no disputes.’
‘In this, no,’ said Assire var Anahid looking the elven sorceress in the eyes. ‘But what about the Squirrels? What about the elves that fought on the side of the Empire? If I’m not mistaken, Lady Enid, they are most of your subjects?’
The Daisy of the Valley stopped smiling. She looked at Ida Emean the elf from the Blue Mountains.
‘Pro bono public …’ she began, but did not finish. Assire nodded her head seriously, indicating that she understood.
‘What can we do?’ she said slowly. ‘Everything has its price. War requires sacrifice. As it turns out, so does peace.’
* * *
‘It cannot be denied,’ the pilgrim said, looking thoughtfully at the elf, who sat motionless with his head down. ‘Peace negotiation are like a flea market. A bazaar. To buy something, others must be sold. That’s how the world works. The point is not to buy something that is too expensive …’
‘Or to sell for too cheap,’ finished the elf, not raising his head.
* * *
‘Traitors! Vile bastards!’
‘Sons of bitches!’
‘An’badraigh aen cuach!’
‘Nilfgaardian dogs!’
‘Silence!’ Hamilcar Danza yelled, banging his fist on the railing of the porch.
The crossbowmen in the gallery turned their weapons on the elves who crowded in the cul de sac.
‘Peace!’ Danza yelled even louder. ‘Enough! Shut up, officers! More dignity!’
‘You have the audacity to talk about dignity, scoundrel?’ shouted Coinneach Da Reo. ‘We spilled blood for you, curse Dh’oine! This is how you repay us? You send us to the oppressors of the North? As if we were criminals? Murderers?’
‘I said enough!’ Danza thumped his fist into the railing again. ‘Let’s be very clear about one thing, gentlemen! The agreements signed in Cintra, which were recorded the conditions of peace, imposes an obligation on the Empire by the Nordlings to issue war criminals …’
‘Criminals?’ shouted Riordain. ‘Criminals? You filthy Dh’oine!’
‘War criminals,’ Danza repeated carefully, ignoring the shouts and clamour of the encircled elves. ‘Those officers who are accused of terrorism, killing civilians, the torture of prisoners, massacring the wounded in hospitals …’
‘You sons of bitches!’ shouted Angus Bri Cri. ‘We killed because we were at war!’
‘We killed following your orders!’
‘Cuach’te aep ass, bloede dh’oine!’
‘The decision is made!’ Danza insisted. ‘Your insults and cries will not change anything. Please individually approach the guardhouse, please do not resist when being put into chains.’
‘We had to stay behind while they fled to the Yaruga,’ Riordain gritted his teeth. ‘We had to stay and fight as commandos. We were fools, gullible fools, we wanted to keep our military oath. Well now we will!’
Isengrim Faoiltiarna, the Steel Wolf, the legendary leader of the Squirrels, and now an imperial colonel, tore the silver rays of the Vrihedd brigade from his sleeves and threw them on the patio. Other officers followed suit. Hamilcar Danza, who was watching from the gallery, frowned.
‘This demonstration is unnecessary,’ he said. ‘In your place I would not so rashly abandon the imperial insignia. It is my duty to inform you that the negotiated peace will guarantee a fair trial, mild sentences and early amnesty for imperial …’
The cul de sac of elves burst into a grim laugh, thundering between the stone walls.
‘Furthermore, I want to warn you,’ Hamilcar Danza said curtly, ‘that we will only send thirty-two officers to the Nordlings. We will not surrender any of the soldiers, who you commanded, not one.’
The laughter ceased as if cut by a knife.
* * *
The wind blew on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks and smoke which filled the eyes. They hear a howl from the pass.
‘With the trade,’ the elf said, breaking the silence, ‘everything was for sale. Honour, loyalty, a noble’s oath, common decency … simple goods have value only as long as there is demand for them. If there was not, then it was thrown in the dustbin.’
‘On the rubbish heap of history; said the pilgrim. ‘You’re right, sir elf. That’s what I found, there in Cintra. Everything had a price. And was worth as much as what you could get in return. Each morning began like a stock market. And like a real stock market sudden ups and down were continuously occurring. It was difficult to escape the impression that someone else was pulling the strings.’
* * *
‘Did I hear you right?’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen asked slowly, his tone and facial expression giving the impression of mistrust. ‘Are my ears deceiving me?’
Berengar Leuvaarden, special envoy of the emperor, did not bother to respond. He leaned back in his chair, holding his cup of wine which he rocked rhythmically from side to side. Fitz-Oesterlen was offended; he then put on a mask of contempt.
‘Either you’re lying, you son of a bitch, or you want to dupe me. Either way, I’ve uncovered you. So I’m to understand,’ he sniffed, ‘that after far-reaching concessions on borders, war captives, the recovery of loot, on the question of the Vrihedd brigade officers and Scoia’tael commandos, the emperor commands me to reach an agreement and accept the impossible demands of the Nordlings regarding the repatriation of settlers?’
‘You understand perfectly, Ambassador,’ said Leuvaarden, characteristically dragging out his syllables. ‘Indeed, I am full of admiration for your comprehension.’
‘The Great Sun, Lord Leuvaarden, do you in the capital ever meditate on the consequences of your decisions? The Nordlings are already whispering that our empire is a colossus with feet of clay! Even now they cry out that they won, beat us and drove us out! Does the Emperor realise that to give further concession will mean accepting their arrogant and unreasonable ultimatum? Does the Emperor understand that they will treat this as a sign of weakness which could have dire consequences in the future? Does the Emperor understand, finally, the fate of several thousand of our settlers in Brugge and Lyria?’
Berengar Leuvaarden stopped rocking his cup and stared at Shilard, his eyes as black as coal.
‘I have given My Lord Baron an imperial order,’ he said. ‘When the Baron returns to Nilfgaard he can personally ask the Emperor why he issued such unreasonable orders. He may also want to reprimand the Emperor. Scold him. Why not? But alone, without my mediation.’
Oh, thought Shilard. I know. Sitting here before me is a new Stefan Skellen. And I’ll have to deal with him just like Skellen. But it is clear he did not come here for no reason. The order could have been brought by a regular messenger.
‘Well,’ he said, outwardly calm and confident. ‘Woe to the vanquished. The imperial order is clear and specific, I will therefore execute it. I will do everything to make it look like the outcome of negotiations and not complete defeatism. I understand these things; I’ve been a di
ploma for thirty years. And my family for four generations. We are a significant, influential and rich …family …’
‘I know, I know, of course,’ Leuvaarden interrupted with a smile. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
Shilard bowed slightly and waited patiently.
‘My dear Baron,’ began the envoy, rocking his cup again, ‘your difficulties in understanding the imperial order arose because you surmised that the victory in the war is inextricably bound up with an absurd waste of material resources and human lives and is achieved by someone waving a flag and shouting, “Everything I see is mine! I won!” A similar opinion is, unfortunately, fairly widespread. But for me and the people who have put their trust in me, we don’t think so. Victory is supposed to look like this – the defeated have to buy goods from the winners, and do it gladly, because the goods of the winners and better and cheaper. The winners currency is stronger than the currency of the defeated and the vanquished and they begin to have more confidence in their own. Do you understand me, Baron Fitz-Oesterlen? Are you slowly beginning to distinguish the winners from the losers?’
Ambassador Fitz-Oesterlen nodded to confirm.
‘But in order to strengthen and legitimise the victory,’ Leuvaarden said dragging out his syllables, ‘a peace must be signed. A soon as possible and at any cost. Not a ceasefire or truce, but a real lasting peace. A strong contract that will build and exclude implementation of economic blockades, retaliatory tariffs and trade protectionism.’
Shilard nodded earnestly.
‘We destroyed their industry and agriculture, according to a predetermined plan,’ Leuvaarden continued calmly. ‘We did this in order to deprive them of their own goods so they have to buy ours. But our merchants and products will not cross through closed or hostile borders. What will happen then? I will tell you what will happen, dear Baron. We will create the crisis of overproduction, because our manufactures are working full speed, hoping to export. Large losses will also be felt by the maritime trade, the result of cooperation with Novigrad and Kovir. Your influential family, dear Baron, have significant participation in such societies. And family, as you are no doubt aware, dear Baron, are the basic building blocks of such societies. Did you know?’
‘I know,’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen lowered his voice, even though he knew that the chamber was reliably secure against eavesdropping. ‘I understand. However, I would have assurance that I’m following the orders of the Emperor … And not some … corporation.’
‘Emperor’s pass,’ said Leuvaarden. ‘Corporations remain. And survive. I understand your concern, Baron. You can be sure you are fulfilling the order of the Emperor, which was issued in the interest and for the good of the Empire. I do not deny, however, that our Emperor was issued some advice from certain corporations.’
The envoy unbuttoned his collar and pulled out a gold medallion, on which was displayed a burning star inside a triangle.
‘An impressive decoration,’ Baron Fitz-Oesterlen showed his understanding. ‘Without a doubt, very expensive … and elitist … Is it possible to buy it somewhere?’
‘No,’ replied Berengar Leuvaarden. ‘It is necessary to earn it.’
* * *
‘If the gentlemen and the lady will allow,’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen’s voice took on a familiar tone which testified to what he was about to say, was considered important. ‘If the gentlemen and lady will allow, I will read the content of the message from His Majesty Emhyr var Emreis, but the Great Sun, Emperor of Nilfgaard …’
‘No, not again,’ Demavend gritted his teeth. Dijkstra quietly moaned. None of this escaped Shilard’s attention.
‘The imperial message is long,’ he admitted. ‘I will summarise it, and limit myself to the most important points. The Imperial Majesty expresses his satisfaction over the course of the deliberations so far and welcomes the achieved compromises and reconciliations. His Imperial Majesty wishes to make further progress in the negotiations and to conclude them with mutual benefit …’
‘Let’s get to the point,’ said Foltest, ‘And quickly! Let’s conclude the mutual benefits and return home.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Henselt said, who was farther from home than anyone. ‘Let us get this over with, or we’ll be here until winter.’
‘We have one more compromise,’ said Meve. ‘An issue that we have touched on only a few times in passing. Perhaps out of fear that it would cause us to quarrel. It is time to overcome that fear. The problem will not disappear by not talking about it.’
‘Right,’ said Foltest. ‘We must resolve the status of Cintra, the inheritance to the throne and Calanthe’s successor. The issue is complicated, but I have no doubt we can handle it ourselves, right, Your Excellency?’
‘Oh,’ Fitz-Oesterlen smiled diplomatically and enigmatic. ‘I’m sure the question of succession to the throne of Cintra will go smoothly. The solution is simpler than you probably expected.’
* * *
‘I submit for discussion,’ Philippa Eilhart announced in a tone that did not invite discussion, ‘the following proposal – the territory of Cintra’s trusteeship. I entrust this mandate to Foltest of Temeria.’
‘Foltest’s holdings are growing too fast,’ Sabrina Glevissig said with a scowl. ‘Brugge, Sodden, Angren …’
‘We need,’ said Philippa, ‘a strong state at the mouth of the Yaruga. And in the Marnadal Stairs.’
‘It cannot be denied,’ Sile de Tansarville nodded, ‘we need it. But they need Emhyr var Emreis. And I recall that our goal is to compromise, not conflict.’
‘A few days ago Shilard suggested,’ recalled Francesca Findabair, ‘that Cintra will be divided with lines into two demarcation zones, a southern zone and a northern zone …’
‘A foolish idea,’ said Margarita Laux-Antille. ‘Such a division does not have any meaning and only becomes the seed for future conflict.’
‘I believe,’ said Sile, ‘that Cintra should be turned into a condominium state. Administration of the territory should be engaged by both commissioners from the northern kingdoms and the Empire of Nilfgaard. The citadel of Cintra would acquire the status of a free port … You wish to say something Lady Assire? I’m used to representing my thoughts coherently and in full form, but for now … I’m listening.’
All the sorceresses turned their sights to Assire var Anahid, the Nilfgaardian witch did not look the least bit embarrassed.
‘I recommend,’ she said in her pleasant, calm voice, ‘that we focus on other issues. And leave Cintra alone. I have been told about something, which I have not had time to tell you ladies. The case of Cintra, dear colleagues, is already resolved and settled.’
‘What?’ Philippa’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Triss Merigold sighed audibly. She already knew. She had already guessed what it meant.
* * *
Vattier de Rideaux was sad and depressed. His beautiful and passionate lover, golden-haired Cantarella was leaving him, suddenly and unexpectedly, without giving a reason or explanation. For Vattier, this was a low and terrible blow, he had left crestfallen, nervous, distracted and dazed. He had to pay attention, be careful and on guard and not to say something stupid while talking to the Emperor. Times of great change did not favour the nervous and incompetent.
‘The merchants guild,’ Emhyr car Emreis said frowning, ‘we have already paid for their invaluable help. We have granted them sufficient privileges, more than what they got from the previous three emperors together. In addition, we are indebted to Berengar Leuvaarden for his help in uncovering the conspiracy. He has received a high and lucrative position. But if he is incompetent, despite his merits, he will be shot from a catapult. Make sure that he knows this.’
‘I will, Your Majesty. And what of Dijkstra? And his mysterious informant?’
‘Dijkstra would sooner die than reveal who his informant is. However, give Dijkstra a fee for the information, which literally fell from the sky … But what? Dijkstra would not ta
ke anything from me.’
‘If You Majesty will allow …’
‘Speak …’
‘Dijkstra would be happy to accept other information. Something that he doesn’t know, but would like to know. We could reward him with just such information.’
‘Excellent, Vattier.’
Vattier de Rideaux sighed with relief. Because he had discreetly turned his head away, he was the first to notice the approaching ladies, the Countess Liddertal and the young blonde that was entrusted to her care.
‘They’re coming,’ he pointed out with a movement of his eyes. ‘Your Majesty, let me remind you … The reason of state … In the interest of the Empire …’
‘Enough,’ Emhyr var Emreis interrupted reluctantly. ‘I said, I will consider. Think about the case and make a decision. And then I will inform you what the decision is.’
‘Very well, Your Majesty.’
‘Anything else?’ The White Flame of Nilfgaard said impatiently, tapping his glove on his hip. ‘What are you waiting for, Vattier?’
‘The issue of Stefan Skellen …’
‘No mercy. Death to traitors. But after a fair trial.’
‘I understand, Your Majesty.’
Emhyr deigned not to look at him as he said goodbye with a bow and withdrew. Stella Congreve was waiting. And so was the blonde girl.
Here comes the interest of the Empire, he thought. The false princess, the false Queen of Cintra. The sovereign to the area around the mouth of the Yaruga River, which is so important to the Empire. Here she comes, looking down, terrified, in a white silk dress with green sleeves and a necklace in shallow neckline. At Darn Rowan I complimented her dress and jewellery selection. Stella knows my tastes. But what am I supposed to do with this doll? Put her on a dresser or mantle?
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06] Page 42
