Chapter Ten
Two Speeches
As the jester capered away, King Darrow rose from his seat on the dais. The feasters’ uproar died down, and the king called down the center table to Aidan, “What think you of my jester’s pigeon pie, young Errolson?”
“Your Majesty, I think your jester uses the freshest meat of any chef I know.”
The great hall erupted again with laughter. The king, himself laughing, remained standing. When the room was quiet enough, he began his speech.
“Dear countrymen! New Pyrthen friends! We are gathered at Tambluff Castle on an important day in Corenwald’s short history. Today we join with Pyrth to say that we are no longer enemies but friends and partners; together we will build a better future.”
All applauded. Darrow looked at the Pyrthen delegation on his left and right. “Pyrthens, look around you. You sit among the Four and Twenty Noblemen of Corenwald. They all have raised their hands in battle against Pyrth. Today they extend their hands in friendship.”
Throughout the great hall, the Corenwalders applauded, nodding and smiling in the Pyrthens’ direction. The Pyrthens, on the other hand, looked as if they might collapse from boredom. They hardly bothered to acknowledge the king’s welcome. Darrow continued addressing the Pyrthens: “True, our two nations have not always seen eye to eye. But even when we faced you in battle, Corenwalders have always held the Empire of Pyrth in the highest esteem.”
“Hear, hear!” said Lord Cleland, raising his goblet in salute. Lord Radnor, who sat next to a member of the Pyrthen delegation, patted his neighbor on the back. The Pyrthen shot him a dirty look and turned his back to him. At the far end of the great hall, Errol snorted; a scowl began to form on his face.
“Corenwald is still a young nation,” continued the king, “a nation of explorers, of pioneers, of settlers. When we shaped a nation out of this vast wilderness, we did it alone; we had no other choice.”
Swept up in the spirit of things, Lord Aethelbert raised his goblet in a toast: “To self-reliance!” Lord Halbard and Lord Cleland fixed Aethelbert with a withering glare of disapproval. Confused and embarrassed, Aethelbert withdrew his toast.
King Darrow, ignoring the interruption, continued his speech. “But we cannot remain a nation of explorers and pioneers forever. The time has come for Corenwald to settle down, to grow up, to take our place among the civilized nations of the world.”
Now Lord Halbard raised his goblet and, looking in Lord Aethelbert’s direction, made a toast of his own: “To the partnership of nations.”
Sensing that this, and not self-reliance, was the theme of Darrow’s speech, the Four and Twenty and their sons joined the toast.
“Hear, hear!”
“To partnership!”
“Hear!”
Darrow picked up where he had left off. “Corenwald has been like an old alligator: slow to move, set in its wild ways, secure in its own thick skin and in its isolation from the rest of the world. But the river of human history continues to flow. We must wade out into its current and not remain, like the alligator, mired in a stagnant swamp.”
Aidan didn’t like the direction this speech had taken. Darrow, keeper of alligators, was the one who had established the alligator as Corenwald’s national symbol. And now the alligator had become his symbol for what is wrong with Corenwald? Aidan thought of Samson in his cage and wished he had left the poor beast alone.
“The friendship and alliance we celebrate tonight marks the beginning of a new era for Corenwald. No longer shall Corenwald be a hidebound old alligator alone in a swampy backwater. We shall be a full participant in the larger community of nations—a community that acknowledges the Pyrthen Empire as its leader.”
He bowed to the Pyrthen delegation as he said this. Then he threw both arms outward in a comprehensive gesture and boomed, “Behold the new Corenwald!”
The hall shook with the cheers and applause of the Four and Twenty and their sons. But Errol was not cheering. With a stern look he made sure his sons didn’t join in either. He sat as silent as a stone, his brow furrowed by a look of sadness and loss. He spoke to himself, “Alas for Corenwald.”
Darrow signaled for silence. The applause gradually subsided. When the audience was quiet, he spoke again. “Before we hear from our honored guests, I want to make a presentation.”
He motioned to his right, and a servant boy entered the great hall from the courtyard, leading a mule by the bridle. The mule was pulling a long, low wagon covered with a drape of blue silk richly embroidered with golden boars.
Darrow turned to the Pyrthens. “I have a gift for Emperor Mareddud. It’s a bit of living sculpture that I conceived of myself. It serves as a symbol of the new Corenwald. I call it The Wilderness Improved or Samson Gilded.”
With a theatrical flourish, Darrow snatched away the drape to reveal a golden cage. Inside the cage was a huge golden statue of an alligator. Only it wasn’t a statue. It was Samson, Aidan’s alligator, and he was covered from snout to tailtip with gold paint.
Darrow had envisioned his “living sculpture” as a great golden alligator with snapping jaws and flashing eyes, roaring impressively at the assembled onlookers. It was to be a magnificent spectacle, an image of the swamp’s primeval energy harnessed and improved by human art and industry. But things were not going according to Darrow’s plans.
The artists who painted Samson had drugged him, feeding him chunks of meat soaked in a sleeping potion. They had no choice, really; they couldn’t possibly paint an eighteen-foot alligator that was fully alert and functioning. But the effects of the potion were just wearing off when Samson was wheeled into the great hall. The poor alligator was in a stupor. His head swung listlessly from side to side. His tongue lolled out of a half-open mouth. His cloudy eyes were empty of the fiery rage that had so terrified the gatekeeper and the butcher only hours before. Once a worthy adversary for all five of Errol’s sons and ten field hands, now Samson was a pitiable sight. Aidan felt ashamed for having played a part in this ugly spectacle.
A shocked gasp went up from the assembly, followed by a brief confused silence. Then a quick-thinking flatterer among the Four and Twenty started clapping. The sound of one man clapping quickly became a smattering of applause, and soon the great hall shook again with the approval of the Corenwalders. They managed to convince themselves that the gilded alligator was a clever and artistic representation of the new Corenwald, not merely a petty king’s embarrassing effort to impress the emperor of Pyrth.
King Darrow basked in the applause of the nobles and made a couple of dramatic bows in the direction of the Pyrthens before returning to his seat, quite pleased with himself. The Pyrthens struggled not to laugh at the vain and silly king of Corenwald.
Errol’s face reddened. Worry and sorrow were replaced by anger that King Darrow would so abuse a gift given out of loyalty and love. For the first time in his life, Errol felt real anger toward his king. He was just as angry at the Four and Twenty, the greatest men of Corenwald, now making Pyrthens of themselves, and doing a poor job of it. But the greatest portion of his anger he reserved for the Pyrthens. In their displays of friendship, they had found a surer way to destroy Corenwald than any battle plan they had ever devised.
Their enmity had always galvanized Corenwald. As pressures under the earth shape and squeeze rough carbon into diamonds, so the constant threat of the Pyrthens’ tyranny had crystallized the Corenwalders’ love of freedom into a hard and brilliant thing. But as impervious as the Corenwalders had been to outside pressures, they seemed to have no defense against the flattery of false friendship. Every diamond has its flaw, and as Errol watched his comrades in arms—even the high king of Corenwald—bowing and nodding to their old enemies, he realized how craftily the Pyrthens had wheedled themselves into position to crack Corenwald wide open.
When Darrow had taken his seat, one of the Pyrthens rose to make a speech on behalf of his countrymen. To the Corenwalders’ surprise, it wasn’t the ranking m
ember of the Pyrthen delegation who rose, but a junior member, seated four places down on Darrow’s left. He was a smirking fellow not much older than Brennus.
“King Darrow, Corenwalder friends,” he began, “we thank you for your hospitality. We have found the evening to be most … ahem … entertaining. Like you, we have great hopes that our alliance will prove useful. Decades of fighting have been as futile for Pyrth as they have been for Corenwald. We look forward to many happy years of friendship and mutual benefit.” The noblemen and their sons clapped their agreement.
The Pyrthen continued, “And as proof of our friendship and regard, I am pleased to announce that the Pyrthen Senate has voted to cement our alliance even further. They have voted to annex Corenwald as a member state of the Pyrthen Empire.”
He smiled an oily smile as the statement settled over the great hall. The Corenwalders stared at the Pyrthen diplomat, their brows knitted in confusion. They had heard this sort of language from the Pyrthens before. Four other times the Pyrthen Senate had voted to annex the island of Corenwald. And each time, the Pyrthen army had launched an invasion of Corenwald to enforce the senate’s vote.
Errol sat up a little straighter. Maybe the Pyrthens would press their advantage too far. Maybe the old familiar talk of annexation would rouse the warlike spirits of the complacent noblemen and their king.
“Our previous offers to admit Corenwald into the empire have met with unfortunate hostility on your part,” continued the Pyrthen. “But we are encouraged by the spirit of cooperation that has been expressed here tonight.”
A buzz rose in the room as the Corenwalders began to whisper among themselves. The speaker raised his voice to be heard. “And well you should cooperate. The Four and Twenty Noblemen of Corenwald will continue to hold the lands they now hold … as long as they comply with the empire and its agents.” The buzz began to die down.
“Should you, Corenwald’s nobility, prove yourselves loyal subjects of the empire,” he continued, “all the rights and privileges of Pyrthen citizenship will be extended to you and your families.”
A smile of satisfaction formed on the Pyrthen’s face. His audience was beginning to come around. Allowed to keep their huge estates, offered a chance at Pyrthen citizenship, the noblemen of Corenwald weren’t likely to cause any trouble. And without the support of the noblemen, what trouble could the commoners cause?
The Pyrthen went on. “This island, which you have called Corenwald, will henceforth be known as the Eastern Province of the Pyrthen Empire.” The buzz of whispered conversations began again.
“Oh, and there is one more thing,” he continued. “In the next day or so, Pyrthen warships will land on the western coast of Corenwald … or, should I say, the Eastern Province. The imperial army will set up a base on the Bonifay Plain, for the defense of the empire’s interests here in the Eastern Province … and, of course, for the protection of provincial subjects such as yourselves.”
Chapter Eleven
A Hasty Council
The great hall was as silent as a tomb. King Darrow’s face was blank, the pale gray of cold ashes. He slumped in his chair. He had been so focused on making friends with the Pyrthens that he had neglected the possibility that he might yet have to make war against them. Every eye in the room went from Darrow to the Pyrthen orator, then back to Darrow, looking for some sign of what to do, what to think. But the king sat motionless.
After several long seconds, the silence was broken by the crash of a heavy fist hammered once on the table at the far end of the room.
“Never!” The voice of Errol echoed around the sandstone walls. “Never! Never! Never! Never!”
Errol rose from his bench and stalked slowly toward the head table, his finger pointed at the Pyrthen diplomat who still stood there. Errol’s face was scarlet, almost purple with rage. A throbbing blue vein had appeared on his forehead.
“Bring your warriors, Pyrth! Bring them by the shipload! We will leave them scattered on the battle plain, food for crows and buzzards!” The Pyrthen’s confident smile melted under the heat of Errol’s warlike glare. He took a step back as the tough old Corenwalder continued his slow approach.
“You are young yet, Pyrthen—too young to have sailed with the last invading army that dared set foot on Corenwald. But ask your countrymen there.” Errol pointed at two Pyrthen delegates who were closer to his own age. “I daresay they remember how Corenwalders welcome invaders.”
The vein in Errol’s forehead was still pounding out the drumbeat of war. He continued toward the head table with slow steps. The Pyrthen, though he was already separated from Errol by the heavy walnut table, got behind his chair, in case the old man vaulted the table.
When Errol was only a few steps from the dais, Lord Radnor leaped up from his seat at the head table and put himself between Errol and the young Pyrthen. “Lord Errol,” he began. His nervous grin looked more like a grimace of pain than a smile. “Let’s not be hasty. No one said anything about an invasion.”
“This boy just said the Pyrthens are setting up an army encampment on Corenwalder soil.”
“Yes, for our protection,” answered Lord Radnor with a nervous little laugh. “The treaty does state that our armies will cooperate to defend our mutual interests.”
“Radnor,” answered Errol with a grim chuckle, “you are not a naïve little boy! You are a nobleman of Corenwald and one of the craftiest. This is an invasion, whatever the Pyrthens say about ‘protecting’ us. From whom do we need to be protected if not this clutch of rattlesnakes?”
At this point, the senior member of the Pyrthen delegation stood up and supported his junior delegate by the elbow, as if he were in danger of falling over. “I think we’re finished here,” he announced. He turned to King Darrow. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
Then he gestured toward Errol as he addressed the assembly of Corenwalders. “I hope you do not let this lunatic draw you into his madness. We have come here in friendship. Our warships come here in friendship.” He hesitated, obviously aware of how ridiculous this statement sounded. “Do not court destruction at the hands of those who would be your friends.”
He motioned toward the rest of the Pyrthens, and they stood to leave. Leaving through the door he entered, he called back over his shoulder, “If you need us, you can find us on the Bonifay Plain.”
When the Pyrthens were gone, Errol turned and spoke to his countrymen. “From the time our ancestors first came to this island, the Pyrthens have sought to crush the dream that is Corenwald.”
Radnor interrupted, “But Errol, you forget: Corenwald is not a dream. Corenwald is a kingdom. And kingdoms survive and prosper by making friends with the neighbors they cannot conquer.”
Errol turned back toward Radnor. “Yes, Radnor, Corenwald is a kingdom. But first it was a dream. And the kingdom cannot stand without the dream. Our fathers dreamed of a land apart from the world Pyrth controlled. A land where power and privilege were used to serve the greater good, not to lord it over the weak. A land where even the poorest citizen could expect justice and dignity.”
Radnor clasped his hands in front of him, in a gesture of earnestness. “It was a fine dream, Errol. It still is. But it doesn’t change the plain fact that the Pyrthens can crush us. We all admire your courage, Errol, but we must be reasonable. The Pyrthens are hardened veterans, with the riches of a vast empire behind them; we don’t even have a standing army, only untrained farmers and shopkeepers who don’t know the difference between a halberd and a hauberk.”
Radnor turned toward the rest of the assembly now, appealing to his fellow nobles’ good sense. “The Pyrthens have made us a generous offer. We can join the greatest empire the world has ever seen and never shed a drop of Corenwalder blood. Or we can march out to a war we cannot win and put our homes and families in the path of devastation. There are worse things than being citizens of a great empire.”
Errol’s face grew red again, and the vein in his forehead was again visible. “You as
tonish me,” he spluttered. “For thirty-three years—in four different invasions—the Pyrthens brought the weight of a mighty empire to bear on this little kingdom. But the men and women of Corenwald proved themselves stronger even than the Pyrthens. We fought for something higher than mere conquest or the exercise of power. More to the point, something higher fought for us.”
Errol pushed the right sleeve of his robe up to the elbow and pointed at a long dent of a scar along the back of his forearm, a gash made by a Pyrthen battle-ax. “Many such wounds I got and gave so that Corenwald would never play the lapdog to Pyrth. Many such wounds I got and gave so we could live in a kingdom unlike other kingdoms.”
He stretched his hands out toward his countrymen. “And so did each of you, the Four and Twenty of Corenwald. There’s not a single coward among you.” He looked into the eyes of Radnor. “Radnor, I owe my life to your acts of bravery on the fields of Berrien.”
He walked toward the middle of the great hall. “Those may have been different times, but those weren’t different people. That was us. You, Cleland. You, Clovis. You, Grady.
“And yet it wasn’t really us. We overcame because the One God fought on our behalf—the God who asks only that we act justly, love mercy, walk humbly.” He gazed out at the ridiculously ornate robes of his countrymen.
“Radnor is right; our chances of defeating the great empire are impossibly slim. But no slimmer than at any other time the Pyrthens landed on our shores.
“It has been nearly ten years since the fourth western invasion. Ten years of peace and leisure. In our comfort, we have forgotten that virtue is hard. In our wealth, we have forgotten that freedom is expensive. We have come to love what the Pyrthens love.
“So now the Pyrthens are on our shores, intent on swallowing up the nation our fathers built out of pure wilderness. And we have lost the will to drive them out. Why? Because they have offered to let the Four and Twenty keep their estates. Because we can keep living our easy lives if we cooperate with our invaders.”
The Bark of the Bog Owl Page 7
