Negotiation (3)

Countess Antanau came to the negotiation table far more readily than expected.

Under the Duke’s permission, Ren and Erika were allowed to draft the proposal themselves. It consisted of roughly five articles in all.

They read more or less as follows.

That was the sum of it.

Drafting the thing had been a genuine ordeal. Favoring only one side was out of the question. No matter how much a lord might dread war, the moment the blade touches his own throat he will always bite back.

The sharp scent of ink filled Ren’s nose. Written in Erika’s neat, elegant hand, the paper looked at first glance like a refined letter of state; its contents, however, were a rope binding Countess Antanau hand and foot.

Ren stared down at the cold sheet lying on the table. One-sided advantage simply would not do. Lords of any rank would never calmly sign a document that strangled their own house, war or no war. He had tried to strike a balance, yet he still feared it might not be enough.

Information, above all, was desperately scarce. He knew next to nothing of the two realms’ history; the best he could manage was rough inference from the history of his previous life. Wars were usually fought either for the sake of tradition or for the sake of money.

The latter motive was preferable. Once a man learned he would earn nothing, he would refuse the fight. The former left one facing armies whose brains had melted under the curse of ideology and who charged like madmen.

In the end he found himself sharing a carriage with Countess Antanau. He had intended to travel separately, but she had requested it herself and refusal was impossible. Erika could simply keep her mouth shut if she wished; Ren, having orchestrated the entire negotiation, had no such luxury.

“…Ewaz.”

She broke the silence at last. Gone was yesterday’s haughty air; she now wore the carefully composed face of a leader. She had discarded the showy gown meant for displaying wealth and instead wore armor made expressly for her. It did not cover her from head to toe: the lower half was leather trousers reinforced only at the knees with iron greaves, while the thighs were wrapped in chain; the chest was layered with soft cloths carefully quilted together. Her long, carefully tended hair of the day before had been gathered into a practical ponytail.

“…I have read the draft treaty.”

She returned the proposal Ren had given her. Her voice trembled faintly, yet she no longer looked like a woman drowning in terror. There ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a new hardness, a steelier resolve, about her.

Countess Antanau absently stroked the scabbard at her hip. The sword was the emblem of a house that held the border marches; the blood of previous counts and the flesh of their enemies still clung to it, in spirit if not in fact.

And I will not be the one who ruins that inheritance with a single mistake.

The terms were clearly disadvantageous to her. Of course there would be ways to exploit them later, yet the knowledge that all of this had begun over a single luxury item only deepened her guilt and the crushing weight of responsibility.

The androgynous boy seated opposite her was utterly merciless—colder even than she, as though he possessed no emotions at all. He was younger than she, and of common birth, worlds removed from the nobility. How could such blood have been born among the lower orders?

This treaty amounted to nothing less than pressing her forehead to the dirt before the Duchy. Economic dependence was only the beginning; under the name of alliance her soldiers might be used at the Duke’s whim. And then there was the Ewaz Merchant Group—the hired negotiators of the Duchy itself.

She had expected them to profit, of course, yet she had never imagined they would write their own direct involvement so brazenly into the text. They had even forbidden the use of mercenaries to drive them out, sealing the border against all armed intervention while carefully labeling themselves a “non-military force” so they might enter freely. It was thoroughly underhanded.

In politics, of course, that was simply intelligence: reaping every benefit while suffering none of the cost. She herself was no master of such games. She was not skilled at politics; even her competent rule of the county was merely the continuation of the system her father had left her.

“…You are no merchant. You are a swindler.”

“I think it preferable to war. The Duke has no intention of yielding an inch, I am sorry to say.”

At Ren’s words the Countess’s expression darkened further. If these talks collapsed, war would follow at once. Should the Lanzknecht ever set foot in her lands… her domain would become hell itself. And if she were defeated and captured—

…Would they even bother collecting a ransom for me?

She had never even married. She had no wish for that particular ending. As a lord she was duty-bound to place her domain first, yet before she was a lord she was still a woman, was she not? Was this truly a world so cruel to women? No… it was cruel to everyone.

She remembered eavesdropping on her own people. Thankfully none of them had complained that their lord was a woman. They merely muttered that she was young and weak at politics, or that she seemed to believe any luxury good would solve every problem. Because the tea leaves had cost so much, she had decided to buy a cheaper grade even if the quality suffered a little.

And that was the mistake.

At least the Ewaz Merchant Group would set the prices. Could she trust them? No—they would simply use the arrangement to plant their influence in her territory. Raise the price, and if she refused, force her to accept the rest of the treaty… truly a ruthless commoner.

…

The carriage jolted. The road home was far from smooth.

The negotiation itself had ended more smoothly than expected. The Duke already seemed drunk on victory. He was satisfied with the articles Ren had presented, though he voiced a mild complaint about why a merchant house needed to be involved at all.

Ren merely observed that watching commoners manage money was preferable to watching nobles quarrel over it, and the Duke swallowed the line without a second thought.

Where had the man’s sharp mind gone? At their first meeting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had seemed an arrogant yet capable leader; now he looked upon Countess Antanau with nothing but the gaze of a victor regarding a little girl.

The reverse was equally true. The young countess who had once boasted of her troops with such pride now merely pressed her seal to the treaty like a girl whose spirit had been thoroughly broken. She offered almost no resistance—or rather, she could not. This negotiation was the last means of preventing war. Direct talks between the two of them would only have ended with both sides invoking pride and honor until nothing was possible. That was precisely why diplomats existed.

Dragging the matter out with endless letters was equally impossible; the Countess’s economic losses would only mount. Both sides understood this was the least bad option remaining.

“…You’re more impressive than I thought, Ren.”

Erika lit a lantern as she spoke. The interior of the covered carriage was piled high with goods. The Duke, still intoxicated by his own triumph, had given them a generous sum of silver as a reward, along with a portion of the luxury tea leaves, adding that he looked forward to future dealings with the Ewaz Merchant Group.

“I did it because I could.”

“This is more than a satisfactory result—it’s exceptional. Even veterans who have worked here for years would have struggled to pull this off. …Thanks to you, we’ll be able to open a branch in this region.”

Erika offered the praise without flourish. She might well be right. For a first operation it had been remarkably successful. They had expanded their influence in the area and secured the Duke of Ranel’s favorable regard as well.

Of course, the moment they became unnecessary they could be discarded as easily as a flipped palm. To nobles, commoners made excellent tools, yet they would always be seen as creatures who chased survival rather than loyalty. And that assessment was not wrong.

In this age the concept of the nation was still thinner than people liked to believe. Looking at the western Geryan Federation one might wonder otherwise, yet such peculiar polities had existed even in the real Middle Ages. Most likely they were uniting against the threat of northern Jotunheim and the Minotaur Great Empire beyond the southern ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ahana Desert. People always flocked together when faced with terror.

Erika reached out and gently ruffled Ren’s hair. When he looked up she was smiling faintly. The expression was unexpectedly lovely, and a small warmth stirred inside him.

At the same time he told himself he had no right to such feelings. He was the one who had abandoned his family and his village and run away.

The thought darkened his face once more. Erika’s own expression returned to its usual blank mask. She simply sat down beside him and held out a loaf of bread she said she had bought in the County of Antanau.

Unlike the bread he had eaten in Bitensi, this one was pure white.