With delegations from all three duchies, not to mention most of the important high nobility of the kingdom in attendance, such an occasion would be ideal for the Crown to quietly and informally propose policy changes. I was starting to become shrewd enough about these sorts of things to suspect as much, but Pentandra was good enough to confirm it for me at our meeting at the Order, the day before the ceremony.
“I’ve heard that the topic of discussion at the reception will be tribute,” Pentandra told me, as we mingled in the Very Important Nobles section of the massive foyer, sipping wine. “Taxation. Revenue.”
“Isn’t that a perpetual topic?” I pointed out.
“Of course,” she shrugged. “But there are problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“The specifics are unimportant, but the basic problem is the transition from being three separate governments into one,” she explained, slipping into the mode of lecturer. “The re-organization and centralization of power has been happening with typical feudal efficiency, but there has been resistance. And problems with funding,” she added, warily.
“The temporary structure of each of the Duchies surrendering a portion of their tribute is unpopular in some circles. Including the Royal Family. They just aren’t getting the revenue their new ministries require. They’ve sustained the government on a patchwork of loans and pledges, but it’s pathetically inefficient and expensive.”
“Isn’t all government?”
“Well, of course – but when it impedes the implementation of policy, it becomes a problem. Tavard is determined to re-conquer rebellious Enultramar – as his own.”
“Oh, I’m aware. He was my houseguest a few weeks back, remember? Sevendor is inadvertently paying for about seven or eight ships, I figure. He’s assembling a fleet at Bonicavela, even now, but ships are expensive. We made him pay for our gold. We rung a lot of rights and privileges out of him for it.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” Pentandra mocked, wryly. “Our Master of Waves has been keeping close eye on the Bonicavela fleet. Tavard’s captains have even hired some Wilderlords to go – that raised some eyebrows, but it’s mercenary work. We aren’t worried, confidentially. He’s been pledging future loot, positions, and revenues from there to secure the few ships he’s been able to gather. But they are not nearly enough to fight past the fleets and conquer the rebels.”
“In any case, the rumor is that this dedication ceremony is an excuse, as is traditional, to discuss convening the greater royal court and make policy resolutions, after due consultation. A gathering of all the counts in the kingdom, known as a Curia. They get called from time to time to discuss important changes in policy affecting everyone. This one is to revolve around the proposal that the Kingdom assess tribute revenue directly from the counts, not the dukes.”
“Now that is interesting,” I nodded.
In practice, counts tended to wield a lot of authority, but don’t play a large roles in the civil affairs of a region. That’s the barons’ role. Counts were the noble military officials charged with keeping the fortifications and defenses of their counties in repair, entitled to a share of tribute from each barony and independent domain. My recent experience with Dranus had given me a lot of insight into the position.
They had the power to fine their barons if they failed to meet his standards in training their men or maintaining their keeps, roads, and bridges. They could even levy tolls on roads against the wishes of a baron, if they wanted. Additionally, they could assess scutage fees on monasteries and temples, guilds and other enterprises, and they were entitled to their choice of lands as heriot if one of their barons died. But they left civil and criminal administration to the baronies, while they oversaw the military.
In practical terms a count rarely did any of that – himself. He delegated those duties to his noble staff. In many cases the office passed from father to son of a noble house with the confirmation of the barons of the county – not the Duke. Nor was the office eternal. As counties were reorganized and changed hands, some houses retained the title, if not the office. These “court counts” often ascended to the ducal service in those cases, acting as diplomats or envoys, advisors or ministers. Count Angrial was a court count, for instance.
But the real counts, the ones who took their responsibilities seriously, could amass great fortunes, power, and even challenge ducal authority in the performance of their duties. And they could be changed. Depending upon the traditions of the county, an unpopular count could be replaced by the barons in his realm. But not by the Duke. While the sitting Castali duke accepted the count the barons elected – selected– he had no initial say on the candidate.
“The problem is that the ducal courts are being reluctant in fulfilling their pledges of tribute to the Crown. Remere sends steady partial payments, but is perpetually in arrears because the Remeran ducal court still sees the Crown as a low priority.
“Castal started out faithfully enough, but the demands of the royal court soon outpaced their ability to pay, and then Tavard started diverting funds from the budget to pay for his toy fleet. Only diminished Alshar has sent its proper payment, based on the lands we control. That is a fraction of the other two duchies,” she reported. “And it’s only been recently that it’s been paid up-to-date.”
“So Rard wants to by-pass the dukes entirely, and get his taxes from the men responsible for upholding the military might of his kingdom. That makes sense.”
“Which also presents problems,” Pentandra observed. I nodded. I knew what she was getting at.
I paid a portion of my tribute every year, about one tenth of the part I sent to Duke Tavard, to old Count Lensely. Technically that money, and revenue from estates associated with the office, was to be re-invested in the maintenance, repair, training and preparation of the county for war.
Practically, most of the major keeps, bridges, and roadways in County Lensely were in decent shape, the men were well-trained and well-armed, and adequate stores for siege or invasion were laid in, so that rich stream of revenue tended to collect in Old Lesley’s coffers. It was a positive consequence of institutional efficiency. That was one reason why counts tended to be such prestigious and wealthy men: they soaked up revenues like a dry rag, especially in peacetime. All that gold was too alluring for Rard to ignore.
That didn’t mean the counts were willing to give it up. The ancient tradition demanded that the counts’ first priority be the defense of the realm, not obedience to the crown – or the coronet.
They swore fealty to their immediate overlords, but it was a different oath than we barons swore. They swore their duty to the gods before they spoke of their rightful lords. That was why they foreswore personal vendettas or wars of conquest, and even acted as arbiters in squabbles between vassals. They had the option of enforcing a duke’s edicts, or passing them along to the barons for enforcement.
They didn’t even pay regular tribute to the dukes, just a token stipend. Their revenues were intended to be invested in defense. That was another reason why counts tended to accumulate revenue. They didn’t split with upstairs.
They were an independent bunch, when it came to their traditional rights, and footing the bill for the kingdom’s infrastructure was not going to be popular, without some concessions.
“The purpose behind the proposal is to shift the burden of taxation from the dukes – who are complaining bitterly – to their great nobles whose support Rard is about to ask for,” she explained.
“You would think the dukes be happy with that,” I chuckled. “I know Remere is pissed that Alshar is getting a forbearance on their fair portion of expenses, and I can imagine Tavard is bitching to his daddy behind the palace doors.”
“Oh, they are,” Pentandra nodded. “Of course, that forbearance is the price Rard pays for Anguin’s loyalty,” she reminded me. “Nor can his Wilderland possessions be expected to supply the revenue assessed on his entire duchy, not when the best part is in rebellion.”
> “I’d suspect that Rard is using that forbearance as an excuse to allow Tavard to prosecute his invasion,” I reasoned. “Which will also give him excellent position to deny Anguin his rule there, in anything but name.”
“Alshar is submitting our proper share of tribute,” Pentandra declared, defensively. “A paltry amount, compared to Castal and Remere, but we’re sending every penny we’re collecting. But that’s part of the point,” Pentandra continued. “Rard is dependent on the good graces of the dukes for his funds. By shifting the taxation to the counts, he removes a burden from the dukes . . . but he also removes their ability to block his revenues. Which is an exercise of power that they will object to.”
“Paying taxes is power?” I asked, amused.
“Not paying taxes is power,” she corrected. “Think of it this way: Rard has three villages in his domain, one rich, one powerful, one neither. If the headmen of the rich and the powerful villages decide to rebel and not pay their taxes, what recourse does he have?
“But by circumventing the dukes and making the financial survival of the kingdom the responsibility of the counts, he prevents the dukes from being able to rebel against his policies on their own. He also elevates the power of the counts,” she added, slyly.
“That’s almost inspired. In Remere and southern Castal, the counts and viscounts are largely nominal offices, but this could reinvigorate some old houses. Particularly if Rard agrees to allow an increase in county revenues to off-set the tax. And legally empower counts to enforce it.”
“Making the organization of the kingdom rest on the military, instead of the political, is a shrewd but dangerous move,” I nodded. “It keeps the great houses from getting too powerful. But it allows the counts to rise to real political power. Since Rard predicated his realm on a military matter, and we continue to be at war, there’s a certain sense to that. But I can also see how that will upset the current order terribly.”
“The clergy, the merchant houses, and the cities would be relieved,” she pointed out. “They’ve been whispering worriedly that Rard would levy taxes on them. Depending on how Rard presents his case, this could work . . . for the moment. Just by shifting the flow of coin from the barons and dukes.”
“That depends entirely on how he spends the money,” I observed. “Building a decent palace is one thing. Investing in a fleet for a foolish assault on Enultramar is another. Tavard plans on landing on the exterior coast, and try to lead a column north over the wasteland.”
“That’s his plan?” she asked, incredulously.
“What else can he do?” I shrugged. “Rard can’t get his nobles to move. Tavard doesn’t want to move, unless he’s in charge and can get the credit. The royal house has to avenge the slight, or Rard appears weak to his nobles. Since he can’t spend five to ten years besieging the place from the north, he’s going to try to win a contest at sea. By sending his valiant son to do the deed.”
“He’s going to lose,” Pentandra said, flatly. “And that’s Alshari territory. That’s the heart of Alshari territory. That will make a lot of people in Alshar, north and south, upset.”
“I know,” I sighed. “That’s only one of a number of things that trouble me about his plan. If he sinks all that money to the bottom of the sea, he won’t be able to rule.”
“And if he wins, against all reason and the whims of the gods, he deprives Anguin of his patrimony,” Pentandra sighed.
“If he’s dependent upon the counts for his revenue, not the dukes, that becomes far less of a problem.”
“So it does,” she sighed. “Min, I can’t invest all of this time and energy into Anguin’s success just to see it taken from him.”
“If it’s a choice between that and an organized kingdom, he may have to bide his time and let his heirs press their claim,” I said, unhappily. “I like the lad, too, and I’ve backed him as much as I can. But there is more at stake than one duke’s fortunes.”
“Agreed,” Pentandra said, reluctantly. “But let’s see if we can avoid that sort of unpleasantness.”
Our discussion proved prophetic, in the mundane sort of way. After the ceremony at the new palace, the reception was heavy with high nobility. Between the wine and the introductions, I met a half-dozen sitting counts, and there were several more in attendance. Viscounts, too, as well as important burghers, invited especially for the occasion.
I started keeping track, after a while. Rard’s operatives, a crowd of senior clergy and important officials, sought out the counts and made a point of taking a private moment to speak with each of them. From the expressions on their faces, revenue was the subject. Nothing else can produce that kind of look on the face of a noble.
All three Dukes were there, of course. Tavard staked out one end of his parent’s new house, under a portrait of Duke Donrard, with select members of his court while Anguin defiantly stood near a statue in an alcove – the short-reigned Duke Astin of Castal, who I discovered was an ancestor of his. The old Duke of Remere toddled around in a circle as he mingled. He was too mature to indulge in the kind of pissing contest his younger peers were waging; this was just another party, just another reception.
Rard and Grendine looked as splendid as the tailor’s art could contrive, but both looked considerably older and more worn, despite the festive occasion. I hung back from the reception line – there were far too many nobles who’d never even met Their Majesties before, and wanted to bask in their gracious glory.
Instead I made my way to Tavard’s end of the hall, first. He was my liege lord, after all, and had recently been my guest. He spotted me at once, and welcomed me to his circle with poorly-feigned enthusiasm.
“Ah, Spellmonger! What do you think of my father’s new hall?”
“It is as grand and magnificent as his rule, Highness,” I assured the prince. “I cannot wait to see it finished.”
“Have you seen the plans? It won’t be finished in your lifetime, Baron,” smirked Count Moran, never too far away from Tavard.
“Then His Highness will have a legacy of construction to complete in his own reign,” I returned, smoothly. “And how is His Little Highness, and the princess?”
“The baby thrives. The Princess . . . she’s become very devout, after our pilgrimage,” Tavard frowned. “Between the baby and her devotion, she has an unceasing line of priestesses haunting her chambers. She sends her regrets, but feels indisposed for public gatherings,” he explained, irritated.
“We so enjoyed your visit to Sevendor,” I replied, as serenely as possible. “I do hope you both can return, and soon.” I didn’t mean a word of it, but Tavard and Moran both nodded as if I’d been sincere. “Perhaps at the next Magic Fair? While I cannot promise the presence of the gods, it’s rather exciting, in its own way.”
“I expect to be abroad, next autumn, I’m afraid,” Tavard said, with a faint smile on his face as he referenced his invasion plans. “But another time, perhaps, Spellmonger,” he said, dismissing me with his eyes. I took the hint, made an excuse, and wandered back down the long hall.
Quite by surprise, the Duke of Remere tracked me down for a few words. I’d met the gentleman a few times, at various court events, but we’d never spoken at length. To find him seeking me out was unusual.
“Spellmonger!” Clofalin began, capturing my attention. “A word?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” I bowed. “What can I do for Remere, today?”
“It’s what you’ve already done that’s at issue,” he said, moving closer. “Before I left home I received word that one of my counts has been challenged. It turns out the challenger is your man, a fellow named Dranus?”
“Magelord Dranus was, until recently, employed by me as my court wizard,” I agreed.
That took the man aback. He snorted, amused. “The mighty Spellmonger? Has a court wizard?”
I shrugged. “I hate paperwork, Your Grace,” I admitted.
That amused him, as well. “So, what can you tell me about this man, this Dranus?
Why on earth would he challenge a count?”
“The current Count of Moros is a probationary and temporary appointment, from what I understand, held by the younger half-brother of Dranus,” I explained. “Now that Dranus has had his noble title restored to him, he feels his brother does the county a disservice. It is duty that obligates him to take this step.”
“Ah, a man of duty,” he nodded, pleased. “What kind of man is this Dranus? Did he leave your service in good standing?”
“A good one, I’d say,” I decided. “He provided exemplary service as court wizard. He is a highly talented mage, as well as an adept administrator. His experience in war is limited, but he is not afraid to take up arms, and has been studying the art of command. He is well-spoken, respectful, and a loyal Remeran. His character is sufficiently high to warrant granting him a witchstone,” I offered. “I do not just hand those out like holiday sweets,” I reminded him.
“No, no you don’t,” he agreed. “So, this is a dynastic thing?”
“Essentially,” I admitted. “I have never met his brother, but I can attest to both the character and competence of Dranus, as well as his trustworthiness. Were I a duke,” I added, “I would delight in having him as my vassal. Indeed, had he not had other business, I’m certain I would have granted him lands myself. I hate to lose competent people,” I sighed.
“That we can agree on,” he grunted. “I tend to leave affairs in the north to be settled by the locals, but some are alarmed that a wizard would make such a bold move on a territorial lord.”
“Dranus inherited lands in Moros,” I pointed out. “That gives him standing in the county’s council. He is not an usurper.”
“Neither is he a knight,” His Grace pointed out. “Nor a man with much military background, from what I understand.”
“And from what I understand, the office of count tends to require more attention to quills than quintains,” I replied, referring to the post at which young knights tilted to practice for battle. “He might not be a heroic champion on the field. But he knows how to organize and maintain an organization. He pays exquisite attention to detail, and he has a subtle and thorough mind. It may amuse you to know that I would likely hire him back, despite the competency of his replacement, if I could.”
Necromancer: Book Ten Of The Spellmonger Series Page 33
