Demansk’s lips twisted into a grimace. Technically, the expression might be called a “smile.” But there was no humor in it.
“Relax,” he commanded. “I am as well aware as you are of the dangers involved. Which is why my proposal, I believe, accomplishes three salutary goals. It locks out Albrecht, it keeps any of us from becoming a dictator . . . and it allows me the chance to accomplish a personal goal which is rather dear to my heart. Vengeance.”
Not surprisingly, it was Jeschonyk who first understood. Tomsien was . . . not stupid, no; but not quick-witted, either.
“Ah,” murmured the old Speaker Emeritus. “I see.”
“I don’t,” said Tomsien crossly.
Jeschonyk waved a languid hand. “Demansk will allow you to command the southern provinces, facing the barbarians with most of our army. Since I’m too damn old anyway to take the field any longer—Preble was it, for me—I’ll remain here in the capital exercising political control. Which frees him up to put paid to the stinking Islesmen altogether.”
Tomsien’s eyes widened. It took him longer to see a point, perhaps, but he was quite intelligent enough—experienced enough, at least—to see the implications once he did.
The real threat of a new dictator would come from whichever Confederate official could conquer large new territories on the continent. That alone would provide them with the land grants needed to cement the loyalty of a large enough army. The Western Isles, even all of them put together, did not allow for that even if conquered. The Isles were, and always had been, places for traders and fishermen and pirates. There simply wasn’t enough acreage to create a large new layer of propertied men who could serve as the base of support for a dictatorship.
That was not the least of the reasons, of course, that the pirates of the Isles had been tolerated for so long. Yes, they were a pestiferous nuisance. But they posed no real threat to the Confederacy—and there simply wasn’t enough to be gained by their conquest to make the effort seem worth it.
Unless . . . the man who led that effort had a serious personal grudge to settle.
Tomsien’s eyes grew heavy-lidded, as he studied his fellow Justiciar. Demansk could practically read his thoughts.
What an idiot. She’s just a woman, after all, even if she is his daughter. And for that he’s willing to give me the lion’s share of the army?
Demansk waited. Tomsien was not someone who could be rushed into a decision, anyway. And Demansk was quite sure that Tomsien had heard tales of Demansk’s unseemly toleration of his daughter’s outlandish ways.
He dotes on her. Always has, the fool. Odd, really, for such a man to have such a weakness. Almost effeminate, for all his skill at war.
When he needed to be, Tomsien could be decisive. “Done!” he barked. “As long as you give me the southern provinces—and a personal assurance.”
Demansk frowned. “My word has never—”
“Damn your ‘word,’ Demansk!” snapped Tomsien. “Don’t play the honorable old-style Vanbert nobleman with me. It’s a rotten world today—rotten through and through—and you know it as well as I do. Facts are facts. I want a personal assurance. Something a lot more tangible than words.”
Demansk ran fingers through his beard. “I see. Very well. My son Olver—”
“No! Your oldest son, Demansk. Barrett it’ll be or there’s no deal.”
“He’s already married,” protested Demansk. But the tone of the words was mild.
Tomsien’s grimace was not quite a sneer. Not quite. “Have him put her aside. He’ll do it, don’t think he won’t. And the courts certainly won’t be an obstacle—not after our ‘triumvirate’ is in place.”
Jeschonyk chimed in. “Your daughter-in-law’s family aren’t all that well placed, Demansk. They’ll say nothing, if they’re slipped some quiet bribes.”
Demansk had expected this moment to come. So he was a bit surprised at how difficult it was to keep his rage from showing. It helped that he understood the reason. Tomsien, for all his slow way of thinking, had clearly assessed Demansk’s oldest son quite accurately.
Barrett was . . . not the son that Demansk wished he were. His daughter, the youngest of his four children, seemed to have gotten twice her share of Demansk honor—and all of it taken from the oldest. Barrett Demansk was a typical scion of the modern nobility. Ambitious, greedy, and—Demansk didn’t doubt it any more than Tomsien—would be quite willing to discard a wife who had already borne him a child in order to make a more advantageous match.