“I feel for your position, Governor, but I must look to my future as well.” Chaffetz smiled with false sympathy.
“I fear you do not understand. Your wife has been talking with mine, I believe. I suggest … in fact, I insist that you talk with your wife before you make any decisions you will regret.”
“Governor … I must protest…”
“Talk to your wife.” Quaeryt smiled coldly. “I will wait.”
Once Chaffetz left the study, Quaeryt walked to the narrow second-level window nearest one of the ancient oak bookcases and glanced out. Behind the chateau was a walled and slightly sunken garden with paths edged with cut black stone and surfaced with glittering white gravel. A boxwood hedge maze was centered on a fountain depicting a partly draped woman above an empty fountain pool. While there were trimmed juniper and pfitzer topiary sculptures in places, most of the trees were deciduous and leafless.
At the sound of bootsteps on the marble of the corridor Quaeryt turned and waited for Chaffetz.
The High Holder closed the door and walked to the edge of the table. His face was flushed, and he was trembling ever so slightly, largely with suppressed rage, Quaeryt suspected.
Quaeryt waited.
“You … you have placed me … in a situation…”
“No…” replied Quaeryt. “Circumstances and Lord Bhayar have placed us both in difficult situations. I am offering you an eighth part more than you would have received for the flour had there been no disaster, and one part in four for the potatoes. I am not commandeering your goods-and that I could have done.”
“I doubt-”
“Do not doubt. The regiment that I command fought and destroyed the hill holders of Tilbor, and the least of them had many times the armsmen you could muster. This is Lord Bhayar’s ancestral homeland. He would not see it prostrate. Nor would I. Nor would he think you were being unduly harmed by taking an extra profit of one part in eight. The other High Holders will take the same terms.”
“You leave me no choice.” Chaffetz’s voice was hard. “But Lord Bhayar will hear of this … high-handed effort.”
“Times leave me no choice,” Quaeryt replied. “Nor do I have time to bicker and bargain, not while people are starving.”
“You will regret this … in time.”
Quaeryt smiled and said warmly, “I do hope, for your sake, that it does not come to that.” He smiled. “Now that we have settled that, we should join the ladies, don’t you think?”
“You think, Governor…”
“No … High Holder, I know, and I know Lord Bhayar far better than do you. The last thing he wants is to be petitioned by a High Holder who is only making a significant profit, rather than an exorbitant one.” Quaeryt gestured toward the study door. “We should talk with the ladies, and you can tell us all about your holding and about that magnificent walled garden I observed through the window.”
“You don’t…”
Quaeryt image-projected total self-assurance.
Chaffetz seemed to shrink where he stood. Then he took a slow breath. “I suppose that would be for the best.”
Quaeryt had no doubts that Chaffetz would never forget or forgive, but then, the man would never have offered reasonable terms for his goods except in the face of greater power. That, he’d come to learn, was true of most High Holders.
24
Quaeryt and all but one squad of his entourage, as High Holder Chaffetz had termed it, left Chaffhyem at slightly after ninth glass and arrived before the more modest chateau of Aramyn by two quints past noon. The squad that had been detached, at Vaelora’s suggestion, was stationed on the post road to intercept any messenger that Chaffetz might be sending to Solis. Quaeryt did not intend to stop any such message, merely to delay it, add a message of his own, and send it on its way, but with the regular post rider to Solis. If Chaffetz dispatched no messenger, Quaeryt would simply report on his acts and the responses of the High Holders. What he didn’t want was an inaccurate and inflammatory letter going directly to Bhayar, not without the full story.
Aramyn’s chateau was not of stone but of a yellowish red brick, and appeared to be far older than Chaffetz’s hold. It sat on a low rise in the middle of a park, set in turn in the middle of a vast expanse of fields and a few meadows. Aramyn was better informed, inclined to be more hospitable, or had better trained functionaries, because Quaeryt and Vaelora were immediately invited inside and promptly joined by the High Holder and his wife.
Almost as quickly, Quaeryt found himself in a goldenwood-paneled study, whose shelves were crammed with books, standing talking with Aramyn, who showed little sign of offering a chair or wishing to seat himself. The High Holder had thinning black hair and a narrow face, with deep-set brown eyes separated by a straight thin nose. His forehead was furrowed, although his skin elsewhere was largely unwrinkled. Quaeryt judged him to be some fifteen or twenty years older than Quaeryt himself.
“Governor, I take it that this is not exactly a visit of courtesy, even with your wife accompanying you.” Aramyn paused. “Her name-Vaelora. It is not exactly common. I can recall only one other woman by that name, although she was but a child of four or so the last time I cast eyes on her. Also, while you are certainly no stripling, you are on the young side to be appointed a regional governor.”
“I’m arriving from the position of princeps of Tilbor.”
“Most interesting, I must say. I take it that you were involved in the last battles against the hill holders.”
“I was involved in the entire campaign and wounded in the final battle,” Quaeryt admitted.
“I wondered. I notice you have a slight limp.”
Quaeryt did not disabuse Aramyn’s conclusion, but waited to hear what else the other had to say.
The older man smiled. “Even more interesting. A scholar who has seen battle and who has served as a princeps married to a woman named Vaelora. You are both fortunate and unfortunate, Governor.”
“Might I inquire as to why you think so?”
“Much will be expected of you, in terms of accomplishment and loyalty. Perceived loyalty can often conflict with accomplishment. That has proved to be especially true, given the temperament of the descendants of Lhayar.”
Quaeryt certainly couldn’t disagree with Aramyn’s assessment.
“What are you here to ask?”
“For you to sell me supplies-at the price of nine silvers a barrel for flour and five coppers for two bushels of potatoes.”
Aramyn nodded. “You offer a modest profit. Might I ask why you are not commandeering those supplies?”
“I have no interest in forcing High Holders to pay to help others, since much of what I buy will help feed those left in Extela. I’d prefer that they not feel obligated to complain to Lord Bhayar.” Quaeryt grinned. “And that, if they do, he can see that they have no cause for such.”
“I will meet your terms, Governor. I have two requests, however. First, that you inform Lord Bhayar that I have done so without complaint.” Aramyn paused. “It is no secret that my sire and Lord Bhayar’s sire did not see eye to eye. I would wish that be laid to rest.”
“And second?”
“The answer to a question. How did you ever persuade her to marry you?”
Quaeryt couldn’t help but laugh. When he regained his composure, he replied, “I didn’t. Bhayar commanded us both. He said that I needed to be tied more closely to him, and that she needed to be married to someone suited to her-and quickly, so that he could actually spend time ruling.”
A broad smile crossed the lips of the High Holder. “Only someone trained as a scholar would be bright enough for her, from what I have heard. He must have known you well, then.”
“We had the same tutor years ago, and I have served him, on and off, since then.”