He let it sink in, for a moment. That latest would further confuse and demoralize Albrecht’s now half-routed supporters. Obviously speaking on behalf of all three of the proposed new Triumvirs, Demansk was making it clear that there would be no reprisals against Albrecht—or, by implications, his supporters.
Not immediately, at least. In the longer term, who was to say? But all the men in the Council Hall were experienced maneuverers. “The long run” . . . was later. Today they were looking at a major political defeat, and Demansk had just shown the rats the hole in the corner. He could see the benches stirring as men began whispering new offers and deals to each other.
It was time to drive home the spike. “I repeat: all naval forces—as well as whatever auxiliary support is needed for them. Never before in Vanbert’s history has this been done. And do it we must—if I am to lead the expedition which will finally rid us of the pirates of the Isles. For I propose to conquer the Western Isles, and make them a new province of our Confederation.”
That statement brought instant silence to the chamber. He could practically see the thoughts racing through the heads of the Councillors.
On the one hand:
Giving Demansk authority over all naval forces would give him considerable military might. The more so when all the possible implications of “whatever auxiliary support is needed” was added onto the balance.
On the other hand:
The Councillors, like all Confederates, thought in terms of armies, nor navies. Navies were simply not capable of conquering half a continent. Not even though a Vanbert navy was really more of an army on ships than a “navy” in the way that islanders thought of it.
It simply didn’t matter. Every Councillor knew the basic arithmetic, if not the exact figures. Give Demansk every ship in the Confederate fleet, including the ones besieging Preble—even build as many new ones to add to it—and there still wasn’t room on those wooden seagoing forts for more than . . .
At most, one fourth of the Confederation’s forces. In practice, given the need to maintain the siege at Preble—and still under Albrecht’s command—Demansk simply wouldn’t have the forces available to impose himself as a dictator.
All that was needed was the final indirection. Demansk took a sudden step forward—almost a lunge—and extended both arms directly before him, hands clenched into fists. A mighty resolve made. “I will give you the Islands, fellows of the Council. And I will have my family’s vengeance.”
The last sentence was practically snarled. Which, in truth, took no histrionic effort at all. Vengeance was indeed something Demansk would obtain. In passing, to be sure. But given his reputation for simplicity . . .
What might come after never crossed the Councillors’ minds. It was plain to see, as each face grew slightly slack with easing tension. Some so slack as to almost indicate derision. Every man in the Council knew that Demansk’s daughter was being held in seclusion on his estates. Shamed, once, by her violation; twice over, by bearing a pirate’s bastard.
They had it all now. The assurance of divided power; the most dangerous to be given the smallest spear—and now, even his personal motive, as far as possible from the grandiose dreams of a would-be dictator.
Quaryn himself led the hail which rose from the floor, calling for an immediate vote. Hands stretched wide; left hand in a fist, right extended wide—all in classic style. A pity that he stumbled slightly rising to his feet, true; but the Council was as inclined to be charitable toward small lapses in that moment as was the new Triumvirate itself.
* * *
Afterward, of course, the new dispensation took not long to manifest itself. As he strode down the steps of the hall, being almost assaulted by the roar of the crowd in the Forum—the professional rumor-spreaders were already at work—thirty men trotted forward to join his sons at his side.
There would be no pretense of indifference here. The men were all veterans of Demansk’s First Regiment, and they took up positions all around him and his heirs. Shields up; assegais ready. No potential assassin was allowed to get within twenty feet of the new Triumvir as he passed across the Forum.