Hospitality at Spearpoint
However much the knights grumbled, the administrators could hardly conjure preparations out of thin air for something no one had ever planned for.
Sir Padobesi looked around with a look of sheer disbelief. There truly seemed to be no preparations whatsoever. The harbor was as placid as any ordinary day, and merchant ships were drifting peacefully upriver.
Carquilano County — a domain owned by the Emperor's family and administered in the Viscount's stead — sat at the far southern tip of the peninsula. Ringed on its landward side by a curving wall of mountains, it traded more with the duchy across the water than with anyone else.
That closed-off geography had served it well through all the chaos convulsing the peninsula, but still...
Then the sea should have been guarded, obviously! The knights were dumbfounded by the administrators' complacency. Surely they should have done something — anything — to turn away the ships coming in, or made landing impossible even at the cost of lives.
"Orders came down from above to treat our distinguished guest with the utmost courtesy! Were we supposed to turn his ships away after that?"
The administrators had plenty to say in their own defense. The command from above was one thing, but there was more to it than that.
Even if they had tried to block the fleet, would it simply have waited? Blood would have been spilled on the spot.
"Why all the commotion on such a fine day?"
Johan, the man responsible for every bit of this uproar, approached with perfect composure. The administrators bowed their heads and scrambled to show deference — partly because of the order from above, and partly because of the soldiers filing in behind him.
"The men seem worn out from the voyage, so I'd like to receive provisions and drink."
"W-we will have it prepared shortly."
"I appreciate your generous charity. And Sir Padobesi — don't be too hard on your subordinates. The fault lies with those above who failed to prepare properly."
"W-we were never even informed that you were coming, my lord—"
"?"
"Ah, well. It seems there was some misunderstanding. In any case, lead on. I've no intention of standing here all day."
Johan cut the administrator off mid-sentence. The hardest part was already done, after all. Once ashore, everything that followed would be easy.
He had simply seized on the moment his opponent was flustered, and fortune had favored him.
"McCalde. Why the uneasy face?"
"The preparations for building siege engines are sorely lacking, my lord."
"...Did I not tell you this landing was made with no intention of a siege?"
"Can any man know what tomorrow brings? To him who prepares stone and timber..."
"I know the dwarven proverb well enough — fortune favors him who does."
When Johan showed he remembered their saying, McCalde's face brightened.
"If it comes to that, I will use every means at my disposal to procure whatever materials you need. You have my word."
"Thank you, my lord!"
Once the dwarves withdrew, the captain sent from the Republic approached Johan, and Johan's expression lightened.
"We are anchored, my lord."
Bishop Biagione had worked diligently to repay what he owed Johan, and the result was Giada Zepol, newly selected to command the ship. He was the bishop's cousin, one of the Republic's captains — and above all, a man faithful to his own greed.
Offer him a suitable profit, and he would serve Johan more loyally than the Republic itself.
"A brilliant stratagem, my lord. The Emperor's nobles won't know which way is up."
"And how are things in the Republic?"
"Well... much the same as ever. Some are anxious, some are calling for us to join hands with you..."
The Republic had many enemies, which was precisely why it needed Johan at its side — but his rise had been too alarmingly fast. Voices warning against him kept surfacing within the Republic, steady and persistent.
"Still, no one will interfere with this venture. The Republic needs the Edene Sea, after all."
The Edene Sea off the Republic's coast was nothing less than its lifeline. To sail it safely, even the Republic required Johan's cooperation.
That was why the Viscount had to be won over — to fully dispel the misunderstanding that the Republic had colluded with the Emperor. The Republic's people were pouring as much heart into this affair as Johan himself.
"We have come to pay our respects to Count Yeats!"
Word that an army had made landfall must have spread quickly, for a party of envoys came galloping from the distance, kicking up clouds of dust. Several men who looked to be nobles hastily dismounted their horses and hurried into the camp. Under ordinary circumstances they would have moved with more leisure, minding their dignity — but they plainly had no room for such niceties.
"My lord. Hearing rumors that you had arrived with your soldiers, we came at once."
Aola, the Viscount's eldest daughter, spoke with a formal bow. Johan recalled what Nyanyaga had said, and Giada beside him murmured low.
She is quite capable. I'd advise you not to underestimate her.
I don't underestimate Esteban, either.
"Quite right. I have been resting comfortably, treated with every courtesy."
Aola nodded. She made no complaint — no protest that such a large force violated custom, no demand that the soldiers be sent back at once. She knew well enough that such words would accomplish nothing.
That alone earned her a fair measure of respect.
"I have come to attend upon you, my lord. I ask that you grant me the honor of serving you."
"If the preparations are finished, there is no reason we cannot depart. Is the county properly readied?"
Aola's eyebrows lifted. Johan's words had grazed her pride as a noblewoman.
"We are prepared to receive guests at any hour, my lord."
Even in a situation that should have sent him into a panic, the Viscount responded with as much calm as he could muster, and it was thanks to his composure that his retainers gradually collected themselves as well.
"Summon every mercenary in our service. We must prepare for any eventuality."
"Have no fear, my lord. The castle walls are solid and high, our stores are plentiful. We could hold out for years."
"Has a battle even begun yet? We must first hear what the Count intends."
"What does he intend? He means to take it at spearpoint, that's what!"
"If he wanted a fight, wouldn't he have sacked the harbor first? Reports say it has been remarkably quiet."
"Then perhaps this is not war, but a display of strength — to gain leverage for the negotiations."
"He marches an army to our doorstep and we're meant to sit down and negotiate? If we trust our walls and fight, so be it — there is no need to entertain talk from a man like that!"
"Master of the watch. If we refuse to negotiate, the Count may simply plunder everything around us instead."
"......"
That single remark shut every mouth in the room. Hiding behind the castle walls would let them hold out, certainly — but the villages outside would be stripped bare to the last plank.
And of all seasons, it was harvest time — the situation could hardly have been more favorable to the enemy.
"Prepare to receive him properly. Summon the minstrels, the musicians, the jesters — we shall hold a feast."
The Viscount evidently understood all of this too, for he never even considered breaking off the negotiation. He resolved to entertain the guest as custom demanded — no, more lavishly than custom demanded.
Once a man was welcomed as a guest, the host's honor rested entirely on how he was received. The expense would be enormous, but no noble worth the name ever pinched pennies on such things.
"You will invite the Count inside the castle, my lord?"
"If not that, then what would you have me do?"
"He came at the head of all those soldiers, and now he's to enter with only a handful of men? What could the Count possibly fear, that he would do such a thing?"
"Why have you been taking the Count's side all this while?"
"I'm not taking anyone's side! I'm asking that we think reasonably!"
"Enough! It is not an unreasonable thought. Pitch tents on the plain and make ready to receive him there. Our own soldiers will be present as well, so he will try nothing foolish."
"Oh. Is there a festival on?"
"Preparations for receiving a distinguished guest."
Aola's answer was brief, but her voice was brimming with pride.
Tents blanketed the field to its farthest edge, and crowds had gathered to gawk at the sight. It was a familiar scene — Johan had seen something much like it before the Duke's castle.
But the Duke had deep pockets, while the Emperor was busy sinking deeper into debt, hiring mercenary companies by the thousands across the Empire.
Can they really afford this extravagance? Johan wondered. Everything he'd heard through various channels said the Emperor's coffers were far from full. To throw a feast this lavish, in such a manner...
Though, of course, it wasn't the man who had caused it all who would have to worry about footing the bill.
"Hahh..."
"Is that the new Count?"
The mercenaries encamped on the Viscount's side eyed the banners approaching in the distance with rising tension. Even they had heard of Johan's reputation.
And the mercenaries beneath those banners were no ordinary sellswords either — as fellow men of the trade, they had every reason to be nervous. If it came to a fight, wouldn't they be the first ones thrown against them?
As Johan drew closer, the nobles came out one by one, banners raised, to offer their greetings. Their attitudes ran the full gamut. Some looked as if they were taking his measure; some were plainly wary; and some showed... curiosity and goodwill in equal measure.
"The Emperor has made far too many mistakes. Look, my lord — see how men like these already come crawling out."
"Do not harbor empty hopes before you have even met the Viscount, Sir Giada."
"I know, my lord. Though surely some among them are here to keep us in check."
Giada's words soon became reality. One of the nobles, after greeting Johan, made an unusual proposal.
"A contest with the bow?"
"Merely a small diversion, Count."
The man's one arm was noticeably thicker than the other — clearly a master archer.
Beside him, Aola was visibly wrestling with herself over whether to intervene.
It sounded like a simple pastime, but to win here would be a boast for a lifetime — and a boost to the Viscount's camp into the bargain.
This gathering was, in name, an occasion of hospitality and fellowship; in substance, it was a battlefield where blades were simply left unswung. Showing weakness here was unthinkable.
But wouldn't it needlessly antagonize the Count? If one of their knights happened to win, the Count might well take offense. She couldn't be certain it was the wise choice.
"Very well. Let us try it."
"Will you summon a champion?"
"No. I will shoot myself."
At Johan's words, Gofredo allowed himself a satisfied smile. Defeating a Count's champion was an honor, certainly — but beside the honor of defeating a Count in person, it was nothing at all.
And Count Yeats was a opponent overflowing with worth. A knight whose exploits shone like the sun itself — was he not?
"We shall contest it here."
"?"
At the suggestion that they shoot here rather than seeking out some other ground, Gofredo simply nodded.
He was confident of victory on any field, in any circumstances. Such was Gofredo's mastery of the bow.
"......"
I do feel a little sorry for him.
"A fine contest."
From the moment Johan had accepted the match, he had always intended to borrow the power of Balkalmur. No mere archer could hope to beat a bow blessed by a heathen god and guided by a malevolent spirit.
Gofredo wore the expression of a man who had seen a ghost, unable to force out another word. Only after his squire cleared his throat was he able to manage a bow of his own.
"Tr-truly magnificent archery, my lord. I learned for the first time today that you were so deeply versed in the bow as well."
"Merely good fortune. Your own skill was superb, Sir."
At Johan's words, the onlookers burst into cheers. They were the Viscount's people, but in a contest like this, the applause belonged to the victor by right.
Besides, Johan guarded himself carefully against the nobles under the Viscount, but he had never aroused the same wariness among the serfs and common merchants below them. If anything, the tales circulating about him painted him as an exceptional knight.
Having witnessed that knightly prowess with their own eyes, they could hardly help cheering. Gofredo withdrew with a face full of grief. He had meant to perform brilliantly for his lord's sake — and had managed only the opposite.
"My lord."
"What is it?"
"That archery was not humanly possible."
"The contest is already over."
Gofredo answered his squire firmly, but the man only shook his head.
"I know it. Had he not borrowed the power of sorcery, would such archery even make sense?"
"A Count is free to use a bow and arrows imbued with magic. Press the point, and all you accomplish is making me a laughingstock. Don't you understand that?"
"That is not what I mean. I'm saying that if the Count's camp holds a mage capable of enchanting arrows — then on your order, I will seek him out and buy his services."
"...!"
In honesty, Gofredo had not paid his squire's words much heed. To look at superior skill and cry sorcery was proof of greenness in itself.
But if it were true...
"Enough. The contest is finished."
The squire muttered something under his breath, plainly unsatisfied.