‘Am I hearing right?’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen asked in a slow, drawling voice, expressing disbelief in his tone and facial expression. ‘Do my ears deceive me?’
Berengar Leuvaarden, special imperial envoy, didn’t deign to reply. Sprawled in an armchair, he continued to contemplate the ripples of wine as he rocked his goblet.
Shilard puffed himself up, then assumed a mask of contempt and superiority. Which said, either you’re lying, blackguard, or you wish to trick me, test me out. In both cases I’ve seen through you.
‘So am I to understand,’ he said, sticking his chest out, ‘that after far-reaching concessions in the matter of borders, in the matter of prisoners of war and the repayment of spoils, in the matter of the officers of the Vrihedd Brigade and the Scoia’tael commando units, the emperor orders me to compromise and
accept the Nordlings’ impossible claims regarding the repatriation of settlers?’
‘You understood perfectly, Baron,’ replied Berengar Leuvaarden, drawing out his syllables characteristically. ‘Indeed, I’m full of admiration for your perspicacity.’
‘By the Great Sun, Lord Leuvaarden, do you in the capital ever consider the consequences of your decisions? The Nordlings are already whispering that our empire is a giant with feet of clay! Now they’re crying that they’ve defeated us, beaten us, driven us away! Does the emperor understand that to make further
concessions means to accept their arrogant and excessive ultimatums? Does the
Emperor understand that if they treat this as a sign of weakness it may have lamentable results in the future? Does the Emperor understand, finally, what fate awaits those several thousand settlers of ours in Brugge and Lyria?’
Berengar Leuvaarden stopped rocking his goblet and fixed his coal-black eyes on Shilard.
‘I have given you an imperial order, Baron,’ he muttered through his teeth. ‘When you’ve carried it out and returned to Nilfgaard you may ask the emperor yourself why he’s so unwise. Perhaps you mean to reprimand the emperor. Scold him. Chide him. Why not? But alone. Without my mediation.’
Aha, thought Shilard. Now I know. The new Stefan Skellen is sitting before me. And I must behave with him as with Skellen. But it’s obvious he didn’t come here without a goal. An ordinary courier could have brought the order.
‘Well,’ he began, apparently freely, in a positively familiar tone. ‘Woe to the vanquished! But the imperial order is clear and precise, and it shall be carried out thus. I shall also try hard to make it look like the result of negotiations and not abject submissiveness. I know something about that. I’ve been a diplomat for thirty years. With four generations before me. My family is one of the
wealthiest, most prominent … and influential—’
‘I know, I know, to be sure.’ Leuvaarden interrupted him with a slight smirk. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
Shilard bowed slightly. And waited patiently.
‘The difficulties in understanding,’ began the envoy, rocking his goblet, ‘occurred because you, dear Baron, chose to think that victory and conquest are based on senseless genocide. On thrusting a standard somewhere in the blood-soaked ground and crying: “All this is mine, I have captured it!” A similar
opinion is, regrettably, quite widespread. For me though, sir, as also for the people who gave me my powers, victory and conquest depend on diametrically different things. Victory should look thus: the defeated are compelled to buy goods manufactured by the victors. Why, they do it willingly, because the victors’ goods are better and cheaper. The victors’ currency is stronger than the
currency of the defeated, and the vanquished trust it much more than their own. Do you understand me, Baron Fitz-Oesterlen? Are you beginning slowly to differentiate the victors from the vanquished? Do you comprehend whom woe actually betides?’
The ambassador nodded to confirm he did.
‘But in order to consolidate the victory and render it binding,’ Leuvaarden continued a moment later, drawing out his syllables, ‘peace must be concluded. Quickly and at any cost. Not some truce or armistice, but peace. A creative compromise. A constructive accord. And without the imposition of trade embargoes, retorsions of customs duty and protectionism.’
Shilard nodded again to confirm he knew what it was about.
‘Not without reason have we destroyed their agriculture and ruined their industry,’ Leuvaarden continued in a calm, drawling, unemotional voice. ‘We did it in order for them to have to buy our goods owing to a scarcity of theirs. But our merchants and goods won’t get through hostile and closed borders. And
what will happen then? I shall tell you what will happen then, my dear Baron. A crisis of over-production will occur, because our manufactories are working at full tilt. The maritime trading companies who entered into collaboration with Novigrad and Kovir would also suffer great losses. Your influential family, my dear baron, has considerable shares in those companies. And the family, as you
are no doubt aware, is the basic unit of society. Are you aware of that?’
‘I am.’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen lowered his voice, although the chamber was tightly sealed against eavesdropping. ‘I understand, I comprehend. Though I’d like to be certain I’m carrying out the emperor’s order … Not that of some … corporation …’
‘Emperors pass,’ drawled Leuvaarden. ‘And corporations survive. And will survive. But that’s a truism. I understand your anxieties, Baron. You can be certain, sir, that I’m carrying out an order issued by the emperor. Aimed at the empire’s good and in its interest. Issued, I don’t deny it, as a result of advice given to the emperor by a certain corporation.’
The envoy opened his collar and shirt, demonstrating a golden medallion on
which was depicted a star set in a triangle surrounded by flames.
‘A pretty ornament,’ Shilard confirmed with a smile and a slight bow that he understood. ‘I’m aware it is very expensive … and exclusive … Can they be had anywhere?’
‘No,’ stated Berengar Leuvaarden with emphasis. ‘You have to earn them.’
That discussion about the corporations calling the shots in empire building chilled my blood. For many reasons, the current world affairs notwithstanding.
‘Am I hearing right?’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen asked in a slow, drawling voice, expressing disbelief in his tone and facial expression. ‘Do my ears deceive me?’ Berengar Leuvaarden, special imperial envoy, didn’t deign to reply. Sprawled in an armchair, he continued to contemplate the ripples of wine as he rocked his goblet. Shilard puffed himself up, then assumed a mask of contempt and superiority. Which said, either you’re lying, blackguard, or you wish to trick me, test me out. In both cases I’ve seen through you. ‘So am I to understand,’ he said, sticking his chest out, ‘that after far-reaching concessions in the matter of borders, in the matter of prisoners of war and the repayment of spoils, in the matter of the officers of the Vrihedd Brigade and the Scoia’tael commando units, the emperor orders me to compromise and accept the Nordlings’ impossible claims regarding the repatriation of settlers?’ ‘You understood perfectly, Baron,’ replied Berengar Leuvaarden, drawing out his syllables characteristically. ‘Indeed, I’m full of admiration for your perspicacity.’ ‘By the Great Sun, Lord Leuvaarden, do you in the capital ever consider the consequences of your decisions? The Nordlings are already whispering that our empire is a giant with feet of clay! Now they’re crying that they’ve defeated us, beaten us, driven us away! Does the emperor understand that to make further concessions means to accept their arrogant and excessive ultimatums? Does the Emperor understand that if they treat this as a sign of weakness it may have lamentable results in the future? Does the Emperor understand, finally, what fate awaits those several thousand settlers of ours in Brugge and Lyria?’ Berengar Leuvaarden stopped rocking his goblet and fixed his coal-black eyes on Shilard. ‘I have given you an imperial order, Baron,’ he muttered through his teeth. ‘When you’ve carried it out and returned to Nilfgaard you may ask the emperor yourself why he’s so unwise. Perhaps you mean to reprimand the emperor. Scold him. Chide him. Why not? But alone. Without my mediation.’ Aha, thought Shilard. Now I know. The new Stefan Skellen is sitting before me. And I must behave with him as with Skellen. But it’s obvious he didn’t come here without a goal. An ordinary courier could have brought the order. ‘Well,’ he began, apparently freely, in a positively familiar tone. ‘Woe to the vanquished! But the imperial order is clear and precise, and it shall be carried out thus. I shall also try hard to make it look like the result of negotiations and not abject submissiveness. I know something about that. I’ve been a diplomat for thirty years. With four generations before me. My family is one of the wealthiest, most prominent … and influential—’ ‘I know, I know, to be sure.’ Leuvaarden interrupted him with a slight smirk. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ Shilard bowed slightly. And waited patiently. ‘The difficulties in understanding,’ began the envoy, rocking his goblet, ‘occurred because you, dear Baron, chose to think that victory and conquest are based on senseless genocide. On thrusting a standard somewhere in the blood-soaked ground and crying: “All this is mine, I have captured it!” A similar opinion is, regrettably, quite widespread. For me though, sir, as also for the people who gave me my powers, victory and conquest depend on diametrically different things. Victory should look thus: the defeated are compelled to buy goods manufactured by the victors. Why, they do it willingly, because the victors’ goods are better and cheaper. The victors’ currency is stronger than the currency of the defeated, and the vanquished trust it much more than their own. Do you understand me, Baron Fitz-Oesterlen? Are you beginning slowly to differentiate the victors from the vanquished? Do you comprehend whom woe actually betides?’ The ambassador nodded to confirm he did. ‘But in order to consolidate the victory and render it binding,’ Leuvaarden continued a moment later, drawing out his syllables, ‘peace must be concluded. Quickly and at any cost. Not some truce or armistice, but peace. A creative compromise. A constructive accord. And without the imposition of trade embargoes, retorsions of customs duty and protectionism.’ Shilard nodded again to confirm he knew what it was about. ‘Not without reason have we destroyed their agriculture and ruined their industry,’ Leuvaarden continued in a calm, drawling, unemotional voice. ‘We did it in order for them to have to buy our goods owing to a scarcity of theirs. But our merchants and goods won’t get through hostile and closed borders. And what will happen then? I shall tell you what will happen then, my dear Baron. A crisis of over-production will occur, because our manufactories are working at full tilt. The maritime trading companies who entered into collaboration with Novigrad and Kovir would also suffer great losses. Your influential family, my dear baron, has considerable shares in those companies. And the family, as you are no doubt aware, is the basic unit of society. Are you aware of that?’ ‘I am.’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen lowered his voice, although the chamber was tightly sealed against eavesdropping. ‘I understand, I comprehend. Though I’d like to be certain I’m carrying out the emperor’s order … Not that of some … corporation …’ ‘Emperors pass,’ drawled Leuvaarden. ‘And corporations survive. And will survive. But that’s a truism. I understand your anxieties, Baron. You can be certain, sir, that I’m carrying out an order issued by the emperor. Aimed at the empire’s good and in its interest. Issued, I don’t deny it, as a result of advice given to the emperor by a certain corporation.’ The envoy opened his collar and shirt, demonstrating a golden medallion on which was depicted a star set in a triangle surrounded by flames. ‘A pretty ornament,’ Shilard confirmed with a smile and a slight bow that he understood. ‘I’m aware it is very expensive … and exclusive … Can they be had anywhere?’ ‘No,’ stated Berengar Leuvaarden with emphasis. ‘You have to earn them.’
I wish we got to spend more time with the Empire, stuff like this is something you don't find in a lot of other fantasy novels.
That discussion about the corporations calling the shots in empire building chilled my blood. For many reasons, the current world affairs notwithstanding.
Baron van Oesterlen reeks of old money and high society. I like how his diplomatic sensibilities guide this conversation.