by Jack Vance
“This ‘befuddling’ seems a clever plot in itself,” said Glyneth. “Is it effective?”
“I will know better after I identify the spies.”
Glyneth asked: “Certainly our own spies keep watch on Casmir?”
“Not as carefully as he watches us. Still, we are not utterly overmatched.”
“In some ways, it seems an interesting business,” said Glyneth. “I wonder if I would do well as a spy.”
“Beyond a doubt,” said Aillas. “Beautiful girls make excellent spies! Still, they must be dedicated to their work, and take the good with the bad, since the choicest items are usually told to them in the dark.”
Glyneth made a scornful sound. “And these are the spies you befuddle all night long, and make their lives easy, rather than hanging them on the gibbet!”
“Ha! No such luck! Casmir is not so considerate! He subverts one of my close counselors instead. Needless to say, impart this knowledge to no one!”
Dhrun said: “It must be a strange feeling to look from face to face and wonder which conceals the spy.”
“It is just that, indeed.”
Tristano asked: “How many are the suspects?”
“They are my six august and irreproachable ministers: Maloof, Langlark, Sion-Tansifer, Pirmence, Foirry and Witherwood. Each is a lord of the realm! In all logic each should be as faithful to me as the moon to the sun. Nevertheless, one of the lot is a traitor. I say this with embarrassment, since it grinds at my self-esteem.”
“And how will you find him out?”
“I wish I knew.” For a period, while the stars moved across the sky, the party discussed schemes for exposing the traitor. At last, when candles guttered low, they rose yawning to their feet and took themselves off to bed.
III
THE VISITORS MADE READY to return to Domreis. Glyneth and Dhrun, as they watched the preparations, became ever more restless; Watershade would seem quiet and lonely when the company had gone. Also, both had become intrigued by the mystery of the highly-placed spy. At the last minute, the two decided to join the group returning to Domreis, and hastily made their own preparations.
Across the Ceald rode the party, now five: up to Green Man’s Gap where, as was the custom, all turned for a final glimpse of Watershade, then down Rundle River Valley to Hag Harbour and a night at the Sea Coral Inn. Then: an early departure, with harness jingling loud in the pre-dawn chill and up over Cape Haze with the first red rays of day shining wan on their backs, and, early in the afternoon, arrival at Domreis.
Aillas was not deceived as to the purposes of Dhrun and Glyneth. He took them aside and cautioned them to the most extreme discretion. “This is far from a game of quick wits and good-fellowship! There are lives at stake and Casmir cares nothing of how he spends them!”
“He must be a strange, harsh man!” said Dhrun.
“He is indeed, and one of his spies watches us at close range, as we might watch chickens going about their affairs in the barnyard.”
Glyneth asked in perplexity: “This spy of course is a traitor, but what could be his purpose? Where is his gain?”
Aillas shrugged. “Perhaps he spies from caprice, from the thrill of playing a dangerous game. Certainly he will be the most suspicious of men, alert to every glance and whisper, so be subtle!”
“I think that you can trust us,” said Dhrun with dignity. “We are not absolute fools; we do not intend to glance and nudge each other, or peek quickly, then whisper together.”
“I know this very well,” said Aillas. “In fact, I am curious to learn your opinions!” And Aillas thought to himself: Who knows? One or the other might perceive discords or inconsistencies overlooked by others.
For such reasons Aillas arranged a banquet to which he invited his ministers and a few others. The event took place on a cheerless afternoon, with the wind veering down from a hard blue sky. With garments flapping and hands to hats, the dignitaries rode out along the causeway to Miraldra. In the foyer they were met by Sir Este the Seneschal, who conducted them to the smallest of the banquet halls. Here, Aillas with Dhrun and Glyneth awaited the company.
On this informal occasion the six ministers were seated in order of their arrival, three to each side of the table, without reference to precedence. Beyond were placed Sir Tristano and two noblemen of foreign parts. The first of these was a gentleman tall and spare, with a wry long-jawed face, who called himself Sir Catraul of Catalonia. He wore strange and lavish garments and powdered his face in the style of the Aquitanian court. Dhrun and Glyneth could barely restrain their merriment to see Shimrod bedizened in such gorgeous fashion.
Across from Shimrod sat Yane, who had darkened his skin, concealed his chin behind a black beard and his hair under a turban. He called himself Sir Hassifa from Tingitana, and spoke almost no words whatever.
When his guests were seated, Aillas rose to his feet. “Today I give welcome to my cousin, two grandees from far lands, and six gentlemen who are not only my advisers but also my friends, trusted and true! I wish to introduce you to my son, Prince Dhrun, and to my ward, Princess Glyneth! First, from Dascinet, Lord Maloof of Maul House.”
Maloof, who was robust, of no great stature, with black curling hair and a short thick beard framing a round pale face, rose to his feet. He bowed with a flourish of the hand toward Glyneth and sat once again.
Aillas spoke: “Lord Pirmence of Castle Lutez!”
Pirmence rose and bowed: a gentleman somewhat older than Maloof, slim and handsome, with silver-gray hair, disdainfully arched eyebrows, a short silver-gray beard, and features of fastidious distinction.
“Lord Sion-Tansifer of Porthouse Faming!”
Sion-Tansifer, oldest of the ministers, and easily the most brusque and truculent, stood stiffly erect. His field of knowledge was military strategy, in its most conservative and orthodox phases, and Aillas found his views interesting more often than useful. Sion-Tansifer was valuable for a different reason: his opinions, often couched in the form of dogmatic truism, annoyed the others and diverted their criticism from Aillas himself. Sion-Tansifer subscribed to the chivalric ideal and on this informal occasion bowed first to Princess Glyneth, then to Prince Dhrun, allowing gallantry to over-rule the dictates of precedence.
“Lord Witherwood of Witherwood House!”
Lord Witherwood, a gentleman of middle years, was pallid and thin, with haggard cheeks, eyes of intense black and a mouth clenched as if to control great inner energies. He was passionate in his convictions and impatient with orthodoxy, a trait which endeared him not at all to either Sion-Tansifer or Maloof, the first of whom Witherwood considered a narrow-minded martinet and the second a niggling and fussy mother hen. He acknowledged the introduction with a pair of cursory nods and subsided in his seat.
“Lord Langlark of Black Chine Castle!”
Langlark, as if gently to admonish Witherwood for his brusque behavior, rose ponderously and bowed right and left in grand style. A portly gentleman of undistinguished appearance, Langlark nevertheless contributed humour, moderation and practicality to the deliberations of the council. Aillas tended to find him the most supportive of all his ministers.
“Lord Foirry of Suanetta.”
Foirry performed a pair of polite, if perfunctory, bows. He was slight and somewhat hunched at the shoulders, and, though not so old as Maloof, he had gone bald save for a fringe of black curls. Quick movements of the head, darting brown eyes, with a lean hooking nose and a cynically curling mouth, gave him a look of minatory vigilance. Foirry’s moods were mercurial, and sometimes his points of view as well, since he liked to consider an issue from every side, and tended to argue with its proponents in order to test the strength of their concepts.
“Sir Tristano is of course well known to you. Beyond sit Sir Catraul of Catalonia and Sir Hassifa of Tingitana.”
The banquet proceeded: at first sedate and guarded, with Lord Sion-Tansifer stonily silent. Lord Pirmence attempted conversation first with Sir Catraul, then Sir
Hassifa, but receiving only blank looks and shrugs of incomprehension, turned his attention elsewhere.
Meanwhile Glyneth and Dhrun studied the six ministers in minute detail. They discovered that each was in some degree a specialist, with his own area of expertise. Maloof controlled the exchequer, advised in regard to the imposition of taxes, fees, rents and imposts. Witherwood worked to codify the judicial systems of the land, reconciling regional differences and making the laws universally responsive, to persons of high and low degree alike. Sion-Tansifer, a relict from the reign of King Granice, advised as to military organization and strategy. Foirry was an expert in the field of naval architecture. Pirmence, who had traveled widely, from Ireland to Byzantium, was in effect the Minister of Foreign Affairs, while Langlark had been commissioned by Aillas to establish at Domreis a university of letters, mathematics, geography and the several sciences.
Aillas, also studying the six ministers, felt a peculiar chilly emotion compounded of mystery and awe, and even something of terror. One of the six who sat so placidly at his table, eating his food and drinking his wine, was a traitor: a creature working to his defeat and doom. Which of the six? What might be his reasons?
Aillas looked sideways to Dhrun, and felt a swelling of pride for his handsome young son. He looked to Glyneth, and felt a surge of different emotion. She sensed his attention and, turning to meet his eyes, smiled and gave her head a shake to indicate her bafflement; the mystery was beyond her understanding.
The banquet proceeded. The first course, a mince of olives, shrimp and onions baked in oyster shells with cheese and parsley was followed by a soup of tunny, cockles and winkles simmered in white wine with leeks and dill. Then, in order, came a service of broiled quail stuffed with morels, served on slices of good white bread, with side dishes of green peas; artichokes cooked in wine and butter, with a salad of garden greens; then tripes and sausages with pickled cabbage; then a noble saddle of venison glazed with cherry sauce and served with barley first simmered in broth, then fried with garlic and sage; then honeycakes, nuts and oranges; and all the while the goblets flowed full with noble Voluspa and San Sue from Watershade, along with the tart green muscat wine of Dascinet. Despite long association the ministers were not easy with each other and, as the banquet progressed, each tended to assert his views with ever more vehemence, so that each came to seem a caricature of himself, and evidence of discord began to appear.
The most severe of the group was Sion-Tansifer, veteran of a dozen campaigns; his grizzled hair twisted and grew askew where scars marred his scalp. His statements were couched in biting, crisp accents, as if each yielded an unassailable truth; those who disagreed earned sideglances of contempt.
Maloof, sitting opposite, tended to qualify all his opinions, so that, compared to Sion-Tansifer, he seemed somewhat vague and indecisive.
In contrast to both was Pirmence, a person suave and handsome, of grand address, easy wit and an unshakable vanity. Pirmence had traveled far and Castle Lutez was said to be a treasure-house of beautiful objects.
Langlark, plump, florid, and modest, used a tactic of half-rueful, half-perplexed self-deprecation which by some devious means made the arguments of others seem foolish and overheated. Often he pointed out simplicities which everyone else had overlooked, and Pirmence took great care not to run afoul of Langlark, who was perhaps the single minister more subtle than himself.
Witherwood, neat and precise, attacked views which he considered illogical with vicious fervor regardless of person; Aillas had often felt the sting of his criticism, and Maloof despised him utterly. Foirry spoke little and listened to others with an air of sardonic amusement, but when aroused he could be almost as acerbic as Witherwood.
During the venison course, the conversation veered toward the South Ulfland involvement5, and few optimistic opinions were heard.
Maloof spoke in measured detachment: “It is an uncomfortable land, all rocks and moors, with here and there a bog, or a ruined hut. It may at some time yield a bare sustenance to its folk, but only if they till their soil with the same zeal they use toward killing each other. The Ulfs are a brutal people!”
“A moment!” cried Glyneth, speaking for the first time. “I was born at Throckshaw, in North Ulfland, and my parents were by no means brutal. They were kind and good and brave, and they were killed by the Ska!”
Maloof blinked in embarrassment. “My apologies! I overspoke, of course! I should have said that the South Ulfish barons are a warlike folk, and that prosperity will come only with a cessation of their feuds and raids.”
Sion-Tansifer gave a disparaging grunt. “This on the day gold coins fall from the sky in the place of hail. The Ulfs cherish vendettas as a dog his fleas.”
Pirmence said: “Ten years ago I had occasion to visit Ys. I then traveled the overland road to Oaldes. I saw very few folk: herdsmen and crofters, and fishermen along the shore. The land is windy, open and generally empty, and here is its single advantage: it will provide holdings for all our younger sons, if King Aillas so dispenses.”
“The country is empty for good reason,” stated Foirry. “If the mountain barons released all those immured in their dungeons or stretched out on their racks, the land might even be over-populated.”
The literal-minded Maloof raised his eyebrows in consternation. “Why have we ventured into this unhappy land? We waste toil, blood and gold on warlike sorties! The Ulfs are nothing to us!”
“I am their king,” said Aillas in a mild and reasonable voice. “They are my subjects. I owe them justice and security.”
“Bah!” snapped Witherwood. “The argument fails. Suppose suddenly you were acclaimed King of Cathay; must we then send a flotilla of ships and regiments of Troice soldiers to guard their security and see to their justice?”
Aillas laughed. “Cathay is far away, South Ulfland is near at hand.”
“Nevertheless,” said Maloof stubbornly, “I feel that the proper use of your revenues is here, among your own people!”
Sion-Tansifer issued a surly pronouncement: “I confess that I am not happy with this expedition. The rogue barons guard their glens like wolves and eagles! If we killed them all, as many more would hop from the gorse to take their places, and all would be as before.”
Langlark looked across the table with brows knitted, in his customary expression of perplexity. “Do you suggest that we abandon this wide land? Is such a surrender to our advantage? Pirmence definitely exaggerates the case; the land is not without resources, and was once considered a rich kingdom. The mines yield tin, copper, gold and silver, and there are wide deposits of bog iron. In other times, cattle and sheep grazed the moors and the fields were planted to oats, corn and barley.”
Sion-Tansifer gave a grim chuckle. “The Ulfs can keep their ‘wide land’ and enjoy their splendid wealth, with my compliments and indeed my gratitude, if they will strike back the Ska and spill their own blood in the process. Why should we pull their chestnuts from the fire? For wealth? There is none at hand. For glory? Where the glory in chasing bog-trotters over the moors?”
“Hm ha!” Pirmence patted his silver-gray beard with a napkin. “You are mordant in your views!” He looked up the table toward Aillas. “Sir, what do you say to these carkers and pessimists?”
Aillas leaned back in his chair. “I have spoken at length on this topic; are your memories all so short? I will repeat myself. We have occupied South Ulfland in search of neither wealth nor glory nor fallow land, but for one reason only: survival.”
Sion-Tansifer gave a skeptical shake of the head. “Either I am stupid, or the concept is at flaw.”
“This is a judgment which perhaps only King Aillas will care to make,” suggested Pirmence delicately.
Aillas laughed. “Obviously Lord Sion-Tansifer’s alternatives are not exclusive.” He looked around the table. “Who else would wish to withdraw from South Ulfland? Maloof?”
“The venture is a serious drain upon the exchequer. I feel competent to say no more.
”
“Pirmence?”
Pirmence pursed his lips. “We are there! Difficult if not impossible to disengage now with honour.”
“Langlark?”
“Your arguments are compelling.”
“Witherwood?”
“I feel that we have cast our dice on a very long roll. I hope that good luck goes with us.”
“Foirry?”
“Our ships own the sea. So long as this is the case, Troicinet need not fear.”
“Sir Tristano, what is your opinion?”
Tristano hesitated a moment, then: “Let me ask this: what might be the consequences if indeed we relinquished Kaul Bocach and Tintzin Fyral and departed South Ulfland?”
Aillas said: “The hour in which we abandoned South Ulfland, King Casmir, after pinching himself to make sure that he was awake and then dancing a brief jig of sheer joy, would march his troops north on the double-quick. Later, at leisure, with all his armies at the ready, he would attack Dahaut from two directions, and in a month King Audry must flee to Aquitania or die. Casmir would then bring Cairbra an Meadhan the Table and Evandig the Throne to Lyonesse Town, and name himself King of the Elder Isles. In the Mermeil estuary he could and would build a flotilla adequate to land his troops on Dascinet, and we would be lost. By moving into South Ulfland we have thwarted Casmir’s plan, and have forced him to a more difficult program.”
“You have quite convinced me,” said Sir Tristano. “Lord Sion-Tansifer, what of you?”
“In all due respect, the premises are at fault. At this moment Casmir can march north up the Trompada and never set foot into South Ulfland.”
“Not so,” said Aillas. “He would find himself immediately at war with us, and his logistics would be impossible. So long as we held South Ulfland and the Teach tac Teach, Casmir would never dare the Trompada. Using only local troops, we could interdict him with ease.”
Maloof spoke almost querulously: “Why all this talk of menace and hostility? Have we not ratified treaties of peace with Lyonesse? Why presume the worst case? If we show Casmir that we truly want peace, then he will reciprocate in kind, and there need be no more bluster, or clanking and clashing of weapons, which can only exacerbate the case.”
