8 HIGH POLITIC

Although the day was bright outside, little light could seep through the leaded panes and what little light there was had been cut off by heavily looped curtains. There were candles down the long table and in brackets on the walls. In the marble fireplace at the high end of the room a small flame smouldered under the stone cupids; before it three men were standing, with goes of brandy in their hands. Baron Brunivar was recognizable by his description—tall, with a mane of white hair and a firm-set mouth that made one think of the word “nobility” without reference to civil condition. He was talking with a short, round man who looked as jolly as he could possibly be and a dark, grave-faced lord who held a kitten in his arm till the little thing struggled to be set down, whereupon it played round his feet, catching for the shoe-laces. In spite of his solemnity, this would be Florestan, the Laughing Chancellor; he was known to favor cats.
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In a moment he looked around and signed to Tuolén the head butler, who rapped a little silver bell on the table. All the men from various corners of the room gathered. Three of them were episcopals in their violet robes with flowers of office. Florestan quietly waited till all were at rest, his visage in calm lines (but Rodvard could see just enough of his eyes to catch an intimation that this might be a grim business). He tapped the bell once more.

“My lords, if you were ignorant of this convocation’s purpose, you had not been summoned; therefore, let us leave all preliminaries and turn straight to the matter of Her Majesty’s finance.”

Pause. The apple-faced man said; “What’s there to say of it?”

“That it is a very dangerous thing to have the court in poverty when we are threatened with this question of the succession.”

The faces along the table watched him attentively, all set in varying degrees of stubbornness, and as the kitten scratched at the leg of his chair, he reached down to pet it. “My lords, this has now grown so grave that we can dissolve our troubles only by measures never taken before; all the old means eaten up. Yet we still want money to pay Her Majesty’s army, which is not only a disgraceful thing but also a perilous. Those who should protect us may become our persecutors.”

The little round man’s smile was jolly as before, his voice not; “Your Grace, a bug close to the eye may look as big as a lion. Is there proof of true disaffection?”

A man with silver-streaked hair and the breast-star of a general on his silk nodded gloomily. “I bear such proof. This brawl among the Red Archers of Veierelden has been given a light appearance; but my men have looked into it, and it runs deeper than you think. Namely, they were shouting for the restoration of Pavinius to the succession. We hanged one of his emissaries, a Mayern man.”

“Pah,” said the round man. “Since he was exiled every ruction has been a shout for his return. They do not mean it.”

“Dossola will never bear a king who is himself the leader of a sect opposed to true religion,” observed one of the episcopals. “Even his one-time followers of the Amorosian faith have rejected him.”
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Florestan held up his hand. “My lords, you wander. I summoned you here on this matter of finance to say that it is within the powers granted to me as minister by the Queen’s Majesty to establish by decree the new form of tax-payment proposed by our good friend, the Count Cleudi. Yet as some of you have been good enough to let me know this plan will never succeed, I now ask what other you propose.”

“It is a plan to steal from the nobles of the land, and it will surely not be borne,” said a long-faced man with great force.

Said one of the episcopals; “The estates of the Church must of course be exempt from this plan; for it would be an affront to the most high God to make his spiritual ministers into tax-gatherers for the lesser, or civil estate.”

Chancellor Florestan threw back his head with a burst of laughter so heartily sustained that it was not hard to see how he had won his calling-name. “The same spiritual ministers,” he said, “have little trouble with their consciences when it is a question of collecting taxes to their own benefit. No, I do not contemplate that the lords episcopal shall be exempt, however ill that sits, and I tell you plainly that I will enforce this plan with every strength there is. Come, my lords, you waste my time, which belongs to the Queen; and so dissipate her resources. I ask again; who has a sharper scheme than Cleudi’s?”

Now they burst in on him with a flood of words like so many dogs barking, which he hardly seemed to hear as he leaned down to pet the kitten. Rodvard, watching the calm indifferent face, could not catch a clear vision of the eyes in the candlelight and flow of movement. He saw Tuolén advance to pick up one of the glasses, with his eyes fixed on the horsefaced lord who had been so vehement (and it came to him that Florestan must know there was another Blue Star in the room, and be concealing his thought from reading). The Chancellor reached over to tap his bell once more.

“We will hear the Baron Brunivar,” he said.

The lord he mentioned turned a stately head, (but though he was squarely in face, Rodvard could only make out a thought troubled and urgent; nothing definite.) “Your Grace,” he said, “when I first learned of this plan, I thought it was put forward merely to provoke a better. Now I see that it is not, and though I have no plan for raising more money, only for spending less, I ask you to think what will happen if you persist in it. More taxes cannot be borne by the commonalty; they’ll rise, and you’ll have Prince Pavinius over the border with a Mayern army at his back.”

The Laughing Chancellor turned his head and said to his own writer at the side table; “Be it noted that Baron Brunivar spoke of treason and wars in the west, where his seignory lies.”
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White eyebrows flashed up and down over Brunivar’s orbits. “You shall not make me a traitor so, Your Grace. I have stood in the battlefield against this Pavinius when he was Prophet of Mancherei, with all Tritulacca to aid him; and there were some who fled.” He looked along the table. “It is not exterior war I fear, but Dossolans at each others’ throats, and an unpaid army against us.”

Florestan’s voice tolled; “Write it down that the Baron Brunivar doubts the army’s loyalty to Her Majesty.”

Brunivar’s face became a grimace, but he plunged on. “Let me beg Your Grace: could not enough be saved on the household budget for the spring festival to keep the army happy for long?”

“Write it down that the Baron Brunivar declares Her Majesty to be extravagant.”

“I’ll say no more. You have my completest word.”

Said Cleudi lightly; “I thank you, my lord Brunivar, for having shown that no plan but mine will do.”

Brunivar’s mouth flew open and shut again. Said one of the episcopals; “Let us think if there be not another plan. I have heard that in some of the estates of Kjermanash, when extraordinary measures are needed, they have a tax on flour which is levied at the mill; most collectible, since no one can avoid it if he wishes to eat bread. Could not a similar be laid here?”

Florestan’s lips twitched. Brunivar struck the table. “I said I’d done, but this outdoes all. My lord, in the west it is exactly that our people have not coppers enough both to buy bread and pay their present taxes that has roused our troubles. Will you starve them?”

The little fat man said; “Yet the present revenues are not enough.”

A general murmur. Brunivar stood up in his place at the table. “My lords,” he said, “I am forced to this issue. The burden lies not on the court alone, but on all of you. The popular can pay no more; whatever comes, must come from our estates. It has been so since the Tritulaccan war and the loss of the Mancherei revenues that kept us all in luxury. We in the western seignories have made some sacrifice toward the happiness of our people, out of free will and the love of humankind. We have been without the troubles that vex such seignories as yours, Your Grace of Aggermans—” he looked at the round man “—and without witchings. And this, I think, is because we show some love for those we rule.”
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Cleudi lifted his hand for speech and the Chancellor signed to him. He said; “I speak here under permission, being a foreigner, and not familiar with these new religions that have vexed and divided the ancient realm of Dossola and its former dominion overseas. I would ask whether the Baron Brunivar’s talk of love for humankind places him more definitely with the Amorosians who follow the first doctrine of the Prince-Prophet, or with those who now accept his word?”

Head bent to set down these words, Rodvard did not catch a glimpse of Brunivar’s face at this accusation, but he heard the quick gasp of breath that was covered by Florestan’s laughter. The Chancellor said; “My lords, and fellow-scoundrels of Baron Brunivar’s accusation, I think this most happily clears the air. You see where the true resistance to Count Cleudi’s plan for taxes lies, and on what ground. Will you make yourselves one with that purpose, which is clearly nothing but the establishment over us of Pavinius and his form of witchcraft?”

His eyes swept the table, and the noble lords and episcopals stirred in their seats, but nobody said a word. “Now I’ll add more. You are jealous of your privilege, my lords, as to this new plan, and fear the government will be the only gainer. By no means; it is only a device of finance which will in the end work favorably for all. You are charged with the taxes due from your seignories, yes. But when this happens there is created a class of financial paper which, having value, can be bought and sold; I mean the warrants drawn by the court on you for the tax-monies. Good; Her Majesty’s government will sell these warrants at discount to Zigraners and others who love to speculate. There’s a fine speculation; for instance, will the tax on the province of Aggermans yield twice what it did last year—or the half? Thus the paper will change hands; but at every change of ownership in the paper, the government takes a small tax on the transaction, small enough not to discourage the purchase and sale. Thus we are provided instantly with the full treasury we must have, obtaining it from the sale of the warrants; and at the same time we have a steady source of income, while you, my lords, lose nothing.”

The small fat man who had identified himself as the Duke of Aggermans spoke up; “It all sounds very well, but why must the nobles of the realm be converted into money-grubbing tax-gatherers as though we had Zigraner blood? What! Can you not cheat the speculators as well by selling them paper on taxes collected direct, in the name of the Queen?”
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The Laughing Chancellor flung out a hand. “Why, touching your first question, my lord, you’ll be no more a tax-gatherer than you are today; only the agents who now speak in Her Majesty’s name will be by degrees transferred to your service. From this you’ll benefit; for some of these taxes will be paid in early and you will have the handling of the monies until the government’s paper against you falls due. As to the second, why if we are to enlist the speculators to our work, it must surely be through having papers of different values, which go up and down from one seignory to another, instead of all being equal, as the government’s own obligation is.”

The general said; “The monies must come soon, if we’re to have peace with the army.”

Florestan stood. “The session may be considered closed.”
II

Outside the hall it was a shock to come into bright flowers and green. The sun was just plunging down behind the low green hills westward, the birds singing sleep-songs and everything in perfect peace, not a leaf in movement. Tuolén the butler tapped Rodvard on the shoulder and when they were together in his cabinet, brought forth a bottle of Kjermanash ceriso, held it up to contemplate the ruby glow against the falling light and poured into goblets of crystal.

“You found it diverting, Ser Bergelin? His Grace is very astute.”

Rodvard, sipping, perceived that a reply was asked. “Did he convince them, then?”

“Where were your eyes? Ah, over your papers. But surely you saw enough to know that conviction was beyond His Grace’s purpose? The lords episcopal will never be convinced; the lords militant are convinced already. Did you watch Brunivar when Cleudi accused him of being a follower of Pavinius, whether as Prince or Prophet?”

“No, I was writing.”

“It would have been worth your trouble. There was that something like a golden flash which always comes when a man discovers that what he has said in innocency may be taken as the product of a guilty mind.”

“Guilty?” Rodvard’s surprise broke through the guard he had set on his thought. “I am new to this Blue Star, but saw no guilt, only an honest man who would help others.”

The butler’s permanent smile came up out of his crystal. “Honest? Honest? I imagine Brunivar may answer to that. A tradesman’s quality at best; I look for it in dealers who furnish the court with pork. But in high policy, that type will hardly gain one more than a length of cold ground—which it will now do for Brunivar.”
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Rodvard looked down. “Then—then His Grace was playing a game with Brunivar, to—”

“To make this public confession that he is either an Amorosian or a follower of the Prince. As you clearly discovered. The episcopals can never let that fall. They can no more have a man of such opinions as regent-apparent than they could have Pavinius for king. So now there will be an accusation and a trial and Brunivar walking the walk to meet the throat-cutter on the scaffold, for I doubt they can afford banishment. Not while Her Majesty insists on carrying through the old King’s will that makes Brunivar regent-apparent for his honesty if the throne falls vacant. But mark the astuteness of His Grace, who at the same time destroys the popular party by taking off its best leader. But I do not think more will be until after the spring festival, since to condemn Brunivar now would give him the cancellation of punishments which the festival entails.”

He gave a grunting laugh, drained his ceriso, refilled his own goblet and brought Rodvard’s up to the brim, while the latter’s thoughts whirled wildly, to cover which he asked; “The short man, always smiling, though he spoke so sourly, was the Duke of Aggermans?”

“Yes. One to watch. I have caught him thinking of schemes by which he may one day reach the Chancellor’s seat. That is why he opposes Cleudi. . . . Ser, why are you so deep in turmoil of mind?”

“I—I suppose it must have something to do with Baron Brunivar,” said Rodvard (not daring to try to conceal). “I have always heard him well spoke of as a man who thinks of the benefit of others than himself.”

The steady smile became a chuckle. “So he does. These are the most dangerous kind in politic. The next step beyond thinking on the good of others is deciding what that good will be. A privilege reserved to God. But is not His Grace astute?”

“Yet it seems to me shocking that a man who has done no wrong—”
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“Ah, I see where you lead. Ser Bergelin, wrong is not in acts alone, or else every soldier would be a criminal, but in the thoughts with which they are done.” He tapped the jacket just over his heart, where the Blue Star would hang, and for the first time the smile left his face. “When you have borne one of these baubles as long as I, you will learn something—namely, that few of us are different from the rest. I saw a man in a dungeon once, a murderer, whose thoughts were better than those of the deacon who gave him consolation. To my mind, that is. You or another might take those same thoughts for hideous. Take now your Baron Brunivar, who seems so lofty to you because on one range of topic his desires chime with your own. Yet you are not his identical; watch him, I say, and you will find his gold more than half brass in another light. Wrong? Right? I do not know what value they have to one who wears the Blue Star.”
III

Let conscience die. The hours wheeled timeless past as they so often do when there is a change in outer circumstance so sharp that landmarks vanish. Let conscience die; was it true? Rodvard thought of the high ideals of service with which he had joined the Sons of the New Day—was any purpose as good as another? Lalette; his mind shot off on a sudden tangent of tenderness toward her, who fairly desired to be a good partner, it might be for her own interest, but still making two instead of one against a world; and Mathurin came in.

When he was told that Baron Brunivar was likely to be condemned only for being the best man in the state and its appointed future regent, his eyes burned like coal-fires; he said; “It is the thing we need; the people will not bear to hear it; they will rise. First gain for your Blue Star, friend.” He ran out with his nose sharpened by excitement, his eyes glowing like those of a rat.