He could, sometimes, also be disingenuous. “Winter did rather more than freeze you in your tracks,” Hajjaj pointed out.
“Well, so it did,” Balastro said. “We had misfortunes; I can hardly deny it. But we have the Unkerlanters checked now, all along the line. And this year . . . this year, by the powers above, we’ll beat them once for all.” He sat up very straight, as if making his bearing serve as proof for his claims.
From what the Zuwayzi generals said to Hajjaj, and from what he could gather for himself, Balastro was telling the truth about what had happened: the Unkerlanters were no longer advancing against Mezentio’s men. How much the spring thaw had to do with that, Hajjaj wasn’t sure. He suspected no one else was, either. As for the future . . . “You said last summer that you would beat Unkerlant then. Since you were wrong once, why should I not think you’re wrong twice?”
“Because of everything we did to Unkerlant last year,” Balastro answered--he had answers for everything, as most Algarvians did. “If you hit a man once, he may not fall right away. But if you hit him again and keep hitting him one blow after another, he will go down.”
Unkerlant had hit Algarve one blow after another, too. Who would fall, as far as Hajjaj could see, remained anyone’s guess. But Balastro would doubtless have some compelling explanations as to why it wouldn’t be Algarve. Mentally stipulating as much, Hajjaj asked what he judged the more important question: “What sort of help do you need from us?”
“Our main effort this year will fall in the south,” Balastro replied. “We aim to finish taking away Unkerlant’s breadbasket; to lay our hands on the herds of horses and unicorns and behemoths she raises there and to seize the cinnabar mines in the far southwest. With all that gone, King Swemmel can hardly hope to keep standing.”
He was, Hajjaj judged, likely to be right; if Algarve could seize so much, Unkerlant would fall. Whether King Mezentio’s men could do what they had in mind to do, though, was another question. Hajjaj said, “I will not ask my sovereign to send Zuwayzi warriors to the far south. He would say no, and I would agree with him. If you need more men than Algarve can provide, you have Yaninan allies there.”
“So we do, and we’ll use them.” Balastro’s expression said exactly what he thought of Algarve’s Yaninan allies, but Hajjaj already knew that. The Algarvian minister went on, “Nor would I ask King Shazli to send brave Zuwayzin to a land in which bare skin is hardly a fitting uniform, however well it may fit.” He laughed.
“What then?” Hajjaj asked, though by now he thought he knew. Balastro had glided down this ley line before.
Sure enough, the Algarvian marquis said, “King Mezentio would have you strike hard at the Unkerlanters here in the north, to tie down as many of their men as you can and to keep them from sending reinforcements to put in the line against us.”
“I understand why you say this,” Hajjaj answered slowly. “But I would remind you, your Excellency, that Zuwayza has already done everything in this war that she set out to do. We have taken back the line set up in the Treaty of Bludenz, and more land beyond it. That suffices. The clanfathers would not rejoice to hear that they needed to send their men into new battles.”
“Would they rejoice to hear that everything they’ve won might be lost again through dithering?” Balastro returned.
Hajjaj had to work to hold his face impassive. Balastro had unerringly found the best argument he could use. But Hajjaj said, “I think we understand the notion of ‘enough’ better than you Algarvians. Some of the things you’ve done in your fight against Unkerlant--” He broke off. He’d long since made his feelings about massacring Kaunians plain to Balastro.
The Algarvian minister quoted another proverb in the original Kaunian: “ ‘For a good cause, wrongdoing is virtuous.’ “
Hajjaj didn’t know whether to admire Balastro’s gall or to be horrified by it. After a moment’s struggle, horror won. “Your Excellency, considering what your kingdom is doing, how can you in good conscience let that language flow from your lips?”
“They would have done it to us if only they’d thought of it,” Balastro said. Hajjaj shook his head. The Kaunian kingdoms had had a good many Algarvians under their rule when the Derlavaian War began. They hadn’t slaughtered them. Maybe, as Balastro said, they hadn’t thought of it. Hajjaj s guess was that they never would have thought of such an appalling thing.
He poured himself another cup of wine and tossed it down. That showed more of what he thought than he was in the habit of doing, but he couldn’t help it. “We are your cobelligerents, your Excellency, not your servants,” he said at last.
Balastro said, “This will serve your own interest as well as Algarve’s. If we are beaten, will you be better for it?”
That would depend on how badly you hurt Unkerlant before Swemmel’s men took you down, Hajjaj thought. Saying as much aloud struck him as undiplomatic. What he did say was, “This is a proposition I can take to his Majesty. The final choice lies in his hands.”
“Oh, aye, likely tell,” Balastro said. “Anyone who’s neither blind nor deaf knows where Zuwayza comes by her dealings with other kingdoms.” He pointed straight at Hajjaj.
“You are mistaken,” said the foreign minister, who knew perfectly well Balastro wasn’t. “King Shazli is his own man. Mine is but the privilege of advising him.”
Balastro’s laugh was loud and long and merry. “I haven’t heard anything so funny since the story about the girl who trapped the eel, and I was only twelve years old then, so I doubt that one would hold up. Yours will.”
“You do me too much credit,” Hajjaj said.
“In a pig’s arse,” Balastro said cheerfully. “But all right: we’ll play it your way. Since you know King Shazli so well, what do you suppose he’s likely to say about what you’ll ask of him?”
“I think he would be likely to ask the generals and the clanfathers for their views,” Hajjaj replied.
Balastro sighed. “I was hoping you--ah, that is, of course, King Shazli-- might make up ... his mind more quickly, but I suppose it can’t be helped. All right, your Excellency, I don’t suppose I can complain. But tell your generals and clanfathers not to take too long deciding, because this dragon is going to fly with you or without you . . . and Algarve will remember which.”
“I understand,” Hajjaj said. Unkerlant would not let Zuwayza out of the war; Algarve insisted Zuwayza go in deeper. Trapped, Hajjaj thought, not for the first time. Like all the rest of the world, we’re trapped.
Bembo and Oraste walked warily along the paths that meandered through the biggest park in Gromheort. The moon had set an hour before; they had nothing but starlight by which to see. No braver than he had to be, Bembo carried his stick in his hand, not on his belt. “Anything could be lurking in here,” the Algarvian constable complained. “Anything at all.”
“I’m not worried about anything” Oraste answered. “Anybody, now--that’s a different business.” His head kept turning now this way, now that.
So did Bembo’s. The bushes by the edges of the paths were shaggy and untrimmed; dead grass from the winter before remained tall enough for people to hide in it. “You’d think they’d do a better job of keeping this place up,” Bembo said.
Oraste laughed. “If they haven’t got the silver to repair most of their miserable buildings, what are the odds they’re going to cut the grass?”
That made an unpleasant amount of sense to Bembo. Even so, he said, “How are we supposed to catch anybody in this miserable place if they don’t?”