and we didn’t declare a decisive victory until two years ago. Credit-wise, we’re pushed to the brink. Our markers with the Bank of the Rhone, not even counting interest, are over—”
“So raise taxes,” Theodosius snapped.
“We’ve already
done
that, Your Excellency. Three times in the last decade. We can only squeeze so much before we risk open revolt.”
The emperor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The
people
will help us win this sacred war. Think on it, gentlemen: the Third Crusade. Pope Carlo will put out the call. We can levy peasant troops from every arm of the Empire, and the Church’s reach will bring support from nations outside our borders. Even Itresca and Vel Hult will be obliged to send tribute to keep good relations with Carlo. We can
get
the men. All we have to pay for is arming and feeding them.”
General Baum gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “It’s…not that simple, Your Excellency. There are countless other factors. Besides that, you can’t win against a force like the Oerrans with untrained troops, no matter how many you bring to bear. We would need veteran regiments backing them up. Knights, cavalry, siege engines. That’s how your father did it.”
Theodosius held up a finger, eyes going wide. “That’s it. We’ve raised taxes too much? So be it. Once the call to crusade goes out, we extend our hand to the minor gentry. Especially the ones in the outer provinces that spend all their time squawking. Tell them that if they lend veteran troops to the cause, we’ll grant them tax amnesty for the duration of the crusade.”
The treasury man’s jaw dropped. “But, but, Your Excellency, we need
those
funds to pay the loans we’ve already—”
“I’ll be in my rooms, dictating a letter to Carlo. The rest of you put your heads together. I want a workable battle strategy by tomorrow morning.”
The emperor strode out of the council chamber, leaving a dead silence in his wake.
“I’m going to say it just once, so no one else has to,” Baum finally grumbled. “That lunatic is going to run straight off a cliff and drag us all down with him. Fettel, where do we really stand with the Bank of the Rhone?”
The treasury man gave a helpless shrug. “Conquering the Terrai gutted us. Once we pushed deep enough in-country, the cost of running the supply lines alone was crippling. We’re on the mend now, but that doesn’t mean a thing if we go right back to pouring money into another war.”
“So that’s a dead end?”
“Not…not necessarily. Unlike the Terrai, the Oerrans actually have valuable resources. If we’ll put certain guarantees in writing—promising a percentage of the plunder if we’re able to seize the Caliphate’s gold mines, for instance—the bank may extend us enough credit to arm and feed a peasant levy.”
Baum slouched back in his chair. “And if we make that guarantee and can’t pay up when the bill comes due?”
“They’ll want collateral against such an event. Steep collateral.”
“What about other sources?” Minister Zellweger asked. “We can find other creditors, spread the pain out a bit. Who does the Holy Father use? The Banco Marchetti, isn’t it? If this is to be a genuine crusade, I’m sure Pope Serafini can provide us with an introduction.”
Minister Wruck squinted at him. “Take coin from a Mirenzei moneylender? Best count your fingers afterward.”
“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree, but this is a special case. The involvement of the Holy Father ought to keep any man honest, even a banker. I say we approach the Marchettis for partial funding and the Bank of the Rhone for the remainder.”
There were more arguments—there always were—but eventually the meeting disbanded for the night. The emperor’s advisors, grim-faced and tired, went their separate ways. For Zellweger, that meant making a beeline for his office deep inside the bowels of the keep, pausing only to
“So raise taxes,” Theodosius snapped.
“We’ve already
done
that, Your Excellency. Three times in the last decade. We can only squeeze so much before we risk open revolt.”
The emperor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The
people
will help us win this sacred war. Think on it, gentlemen: the Third Crusade. Pope Carlo will put out the call. We can levy peasant troops from every arm of the Empire, and the Church’s reach will bring support from nations outside our borders. Even Itresca and Vel Hult will be obliged to send tribute to keep good relations with Carlo. We can
get
the men. All we have to pay for is arming and feeding them.”
General Baum gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “It’s…not that simple, Your Excellency. There are countless other factors. Besides that, you can’t win against a force like the Oerrans with untrained troops, no matter how many you bring to bear. We would need veteran regiments backing them up. Knights, cavalry, siege engines. That’s how your father did it.”
Theodosius held up a finger, eyes going wide. “That’s it. We’ve raised taxes too much? So be it. Once the call to crusade goes out, we extend our hand to the minor gentry. Especially the ones in the outer provinces that spend all their time squawking. Tell them that if they lend veteran troops to the cause, we’ll grant them tax amnesty for the duration of the crusade.”
The treasury man’s jaw dropped. “But, but, Your Excellency, we need
those
funds to pay the loans we’ve already—”
“I’ll be in my rooms, dictating a letter to Carlo. The rest of you put your heads together. I want a workable battle strategy by tomorrow morning.”
The emperor strode out of the council chamber, leaving a dead silence in his wake.
“I’m going to say it just once, so no one else has to,” Baum finally grumbled. “That lunatic is going to run straight off a cliff and drag us all down with him. Fettel, where do we really stand with the Bank of the Rhone?”
The treasury man gave a helpless shrug. “Conquering the Terrai gutted us. Once we pushed deep enough in-country, the cost of running the supply lines alone was crippling. We’re on the mend now, but that doesn’t mean a thing if we go right back to pouring money into another war.”
“So that’s a dead end?”
“Not…not necessarily. Unlike the Terrai, the Oerrans actually have valuable resources. If we’ll put certain guarantees in writing—promising a percentage of the plunder if we’re able to seize the Caliphate’s gold mines, for instance—the bank may extend us enough credit to arm and feed a peasant levy.”
Baum slouched back in his chair. “And if we make that guarantee and can’t pay up when the bill comes due?”
“They’ll want collateral against such an event. Steep collateral.”
“What about other sources?” Minister Zellweger asked. “We can find other creditors, spread the pain out a bit. Who does the Holy Father use? The Banco Marchetti, isn’t it? If this is to be a genuine crusade, I’m sure Pope Serafini can provide us with an introduction.”
Minister Wruck squinted at him. “Take coin from a Mirenzei moneylender? Best count your fingers afterward.”
“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree, but this is a special case. The involvement of the Holy Father ought to keep any man honest, even a banker. I say we approach the Marchettis for partial funding and the Bank of the Rhone for the remainder.”
There were more arguments—there always were—but eventually the meeting disbanded for the night. The emperor’s advisors, grim-faced and tired, went their separate ways. For Zellweger, that meant making a beeline for his office deep inside the bowels of the keep, pausing only to
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