He peered intently at Macurdy. “And you said?”
“I agreed to talk to you about it. What I want to do now is look at all the factors. What about the Marches? The empire conquered them and holds them down, and I suppose it taxes them. What if they revolt when we march in?”
“Unlikely.”
“Why unlikely?”
“I suppose Sarkia thinks they will.”
Macurdy nodded.
“Sarkia believes what she wants to. I’ve only been in two of the March kingdoms, but that’s two more than she has, I have no doubt. And they were conquered, true enough, but oppressed? Under imperial hegemony, they’ve grown richer, their conditions of life are improved, they rule themselves better, and they no longer fight each other. There are probably resentments, maybe some with good cause, but the people I did business with—merchants and prosperous farmers—like things the way they are. I expect the rest don’t feel too differently.
Macurdy pursed his lips. “What armies do they have?”
“The March kingdoms? Militias. Of volunteers. My impression is, they don’t take it seriously. They know, even if Sarkia doesn’t, that the empire will protect them. So they don’t consider themselves threatened.”
“What about the ylvin garrisons?”
“What I’ve read is, one fort in each March kingdom, with a cavalry cohort stationed there.”
“And how ready do you suppose the empire is for war?”
“Hmm. Probably not very. But it could get ready fast enough, if it felt threatened.”
Wollerda peered intently at Macurdy. “You’ve said this is desirable because it would unite the southern lands. And it is desirable, even if it’s temporary, because once it’s been done, it’ll be easier to do again. So I’m in favor of union in the form of alliance, if the terms are right. It can discourage the empire from another attack, perhaps more ambitious than the last one. But to actually invade it?” He shook his head.
Macurdy sipped tea. “Suppose we didn’t reach the empire itself.” Taking a thick rectangle of folded linen from his tunic, he spread it on the table between them, a map of the empire and the Marches, that Kithro had gotten him. “Suppose we only got to here,” he said pointing.
Wollerda examined it critically. There were two tiers of kingdoms in the Marches. The southernmost were the so-called Outer Marches, its kingdoms bordering the Big River. North of them were the Inner Marches, bordering on the empire. Macurdy rested a large fingertip on the northern tier. “If we only got that far before our momentum was blunted, it would still cause a hell of an uproar.”
Wollerda looked at him thoughtfully. Macurdy went on. “If, with Sarkia’s help, we brought in all the kingdoms along the Green River between the Eastern Mountains and the Muddy, and all those between the Big River and the Middle Mountains . . .”
Wollerda shook his head. “Not enough. The emperor could bring a bigger army against us. Bigger and better.”
“How quickly? Would the Throne Army be bigger than ours? Or would he have to wait until the ducal armies arrived? And how long would that take?”
Wollerda shook his head disapprovingly. Macurdy continued. “They’ll hear about us getting ready, but how seriously will they take us? According to Sarkia, the kingdoms south of the Big River have never united to do anything.”
His gaze was intent now. “Imagine the dukes meeting with the emperor in Duinarog.” He pointed at the ylvin capital, on the river between the Middle and Imperial Seas. “Might it run about like this? ‘Mr. Emperor, the Marches have their militias. Let them fight the southerners; it’s their land and their responsibility. And if they can’t manage, you’ve got enough soldiers yourself; that’s what we pay taxes for. Besides, those Rude Landers will never get across the Big River. They’ll be fighting each other before that.’ ” Macurdy looked quizzically at Wollerda. “Like you said, it’s a big empire, and most of those dukes would have a long way to march, or ride. Hauling weeks of supplies with them, supplies they probably don’t keep on hand in the first place. Supplies it would take awhile to round up. And think of the expense!