"A matter of days," the soldier replied, "less than a week. If the Imperial navy gets there first, of course, the job will be twice as hard."
Basso nodded. "Can we do it with two squadrons?"
"The Second Fleet consists of three full squadrons," the soldier recited. "Since our unit structure was copied from the Empire, in theory our squadrons should be equivalent to theirs. However, we have reason to believe that their new-generation warships are bigger and faster than ours and carry considerably more artillery and marines. At a conservative estimate, I would say that three of their squadrons would be equivalent to four of ours."
Basso had his eyes tight shut. "Then it'll have to be four," he said. "It's all right about the money, I'll think of something. Who's the best man to command?"
"Aelius," the soldier replied sadly. "In his absence, I really couldn't say. There are six or seven possibilities, with very little to choose between them." He smiled grimly. "Command of the navy has always been the reserve of the best Vesani families, and we haven't had to fight at sea for over a generation. We have some excellent theorists, but--"
"I'm sorry," Basso said abruptly, "I seem to be having trouble concentrating today. Go away and come back with a recommendation for who's going to command the fleet. Maybe by then my head'll have cleared."
"Do you want me to ask the clerks to draw up the mobilisation orders?" the soldier asked. "We need them in place before we can--"
"Yes, thanks, that's fine." The soldier noticed that Basso was squeezing his left hand extremely hard with his right. "If I can leave all the arrangements to you and your people, that'd be splendid. Thank you." It was a dismissal, and the soldier left.
It took Basso half an hour not to pour himself a large glass of brandy. Then he tried paperwork, but it might as well have been in a foreign language. He sent for Tragazes, and did nothing useful in the hour it took him to arrive.
"We need to borrow a million nomismata," Basso said. "Which of the banks has got that kind of money?"
Tragazes mentioned a few names. "But I doubt whether they'll lend to us," he said.
"Why not?"
"They suspect we're overcommitted," Tragazes said. "Which of course we are. Besides, they're struggling to maintain their own reserves."
Basso nodded. "What can we sell? Quickly, I mean. How about the shipyard?"
Might as well have asked him the way to the library. "No," he said. "It's a restricted asset. It can only be sold to the government or another Vesani-owned concern. Nobody who meets those criteria could afford to buy it."
"Sell it cheap," Basso said. "One million."
"Even at that price."
Basso drummed his fingers on his knees. "All right, then," he said, "how about our share in the Mavortine mines? We must be able to get a million for that, even in these awkward times."
"It's possible," Tragazes said quietly. "Would you like me to make enquiries?"
"Yes. No," Basso said quickly. "Enquiries will mean our stock'll crash overnight. Let's start at the beginning. Who's got that kind of money?"
The list was shorter than he'd expected. "And I think we can eliminate the Fair Outcome and the Herennii. They're extremely unlikely to do anything that would help us, even if they stood to make a lot of money."
Basso scratched his head. "All right," he said. "Sound out the Spiritual Union. Make it sound like we've got some really big thing going, so big we're happy to sell off the family silver to pay for it."
"I'll try," Tragazes said levelly. "Was there anything else?"
"I need a million nomismata in the next forty-eight hours," Basso said. "I think that's enough for you to be going on with."
Cinio wanted to see him, but he made excuses. There was a war supplies committee meeting; more excuses. He went home, spent a long time in the library looking for a book, then sat down by the window and started reading it. Velleius'
Noble History
; his mother used to read it to him when he was a boy and ill in bed, in between dosing him with her appalling medicines. He read two chapters, then put it back on the shelf.
Command of the fleet was awarded to Servilius Gnatho. Basso announced the appointment to the House when he informed them about the naval expedition to Voroe. He was, he said, exercising his prerogative power as First Citizen; therefore, there would be no debate and no vote. For security reasons, he was not at liberty to disclose why the expedition was necessary. He walked out of the chamber in dead silence, and went home again.
Gnatho wanted to see him. He didn't want to see Gnatho, but decided he had to. The new admiral of the fleet was about thirty-two years old, tall and remarkably handsome, a laureate of the Studium and author of several influential monographs on naval tactical theory. He'd been on a ship once, as far as Auxentia; he came home the long way, by land.
"I've got no idea whether you'll have to fight or not," Basso said. "It could be a false alarm, you could be on your way to the most important sea battle in Vesani history. If I were you, I'd assume the latter."
Gnatho was still stunned. He said: "Shouldn't we have seen this coming?"
Basso looked at him. "You're the bloody naval expert. Did you?"
"No." Gnatho licked his lips, like a cat. "I confess, the possibility didn't occur to me. However, I'm not in the inner loop for intelligence reports."
"There's just the one report, and you've just seen it," Basso said sharply. "Now you know just as much as I do. I assume you can take it from here."
Gnatho looked as though he'd been told it was his turn to muck out the lions. "Naturally you'll want to be consulted about the--"
"No," Basso said. "I don't know anything about naval warfare. Correction: I know just enough to be dangerous. Go away, get on with it and try not to spend any more money than you can help."
Naturally, Basso had Gnatho closely watched. As far as he could tell, from the reports and his extensive reading, everything was being done more or less right, and Gnatho certainly wasn't hanging about.
There were fifty thousand names on the naval reserve register; every Vesani with any seafaring experience was obliged to register, and in theory was subject to call-up on thirty-six hours' notice. Four squadrons called for twenty thousand men: ten thousand oarsmen, five thousand deck hands, four thousand artillerymen and marines and a thousand officers of various grades. Aelius had made sure the register was up to date, had stockpiled conscription notices and trained the City Guard for press-gang duty. Of the fifty thousand, twelve were unavailable because they were already at sea, serving on merchant vessels. The gangs had relatively little trouble catching the twenty thousand slowest-running draftees, who were rounded up in Portway Square, issued with three days' rations and basic kit, and marched down to the docks, where a hundred warships, built not by the government but by the Severus yards, were ready to be hauled out of their sheds, loaded and launched. It was a long time since the Vesani had had to make good on their boast that they could launch a fleet in forty-eight hours. To everybody's surprise, they were ready with forty minutes to spare.
The first, and best, copy of the great map had been pasted to the top of a table in the cabinet room. The idea had been to have little statues carved to represent the various units, but nobody had got around to it. Basso had therefore sent out for a dozen chess sets. The castles stood (reasonably enough) for castles. The knights were Hus cavalry units. Archpriests, black queens and black kings were infantry divisions, represented according to size and quality. The white king was Aelius. White pawns were Vesani auxiliary units. The black pawns were the enemy.
It had been a good enough idea at the time, but it didn't work. There simply wasn't enough room on the one road that led into the forest for such a large number of pieces. Someone had suggested removing them all and replacing them with dried beans (each with the name of its unit inscribed on it in tiny letters), a suggestion which made Basso angry. He'd had all the chess pieces packed away and replaced with small wooden chips.
A great many people wanted to know where he was. A smaller but significant number knew he was in the war room, as it had become known, but nobody was being let through without explicit instructions. Gnatho had been in there, for about ten minutes, on his way to the docks. Tragazes had spent an hour in there, and come out looking as though he'd died peacefully and been skilfully embalmed. Various clerks from the Bank had been in and out; nobody knew who they were, and they wouldn't speak to anybody. A few servants had gone in with food and drink, or to empty the chamber pot. They were slightly more forthcoming, but not much--
"What's he doing in there?"
"Sitting."
"What else?"
"Nothing. Just sitting."
"Where?"
"By that big table with the map on it."
"He must be doing something."
"No."
A secretary was sent for, and came out holding a letter, his hand carefully clamped over the address. Furio, the interior minister, stood in the ante-room doorway and wouldn't let him past.
"Show me the letter," he said.
The secretary apologised. Not allowed. Very sorry. Furio stayed where he was.
"Let the man go," Sentio said. "He's only doing his job."
"I want to know who he's writing to."
The secretary cleared his throat. That, he said, polite and sad, was unfortunately not possible. Furthermore, he had to insist that the minister stand aside and let him through. He was, he pointed out, authorised to use force if obstructed.
"Like hell you are," Furio said. "I'm a member of the cabinet and an elected representative of the Vesani people. Lay one finger on me and I'll have you strung up."
The secretary repeated his request twice. Then, moving deceptively quickly, he grabbed Furio's arm, twisted it behind his back, moved him eight inches to the right and left the room through the resulting gap.
There was a long silence after that. Then Sentio said, "I think I'll go back to my office now. If anyone wants me, I'll be there till sixish."
The room emptied quickly. Furio hung on for a while, with only the guards for company, then left the House and went home to draft his resignation.
Three days after the fleet sailed, Melsuntha came. She told the guards she wanted to see her husband. Sincere apologies; not possible.
"Tell him I'm here," she said.
They did. Still not possible. She left immediately.
There were several emergency sessions of the House. Since the First Citizen was not present, and since he had not replied to the members' demand that he appoint a deputy to take his place while he was indisposed, no motions could be officially lodged and no votes taken. This didn't stop the House from debating, lodging motions and voting on them, even though they all knew they were wasting their time. Among the motions passed was one to strictly curtail the First Citizen's prerogative powers, with particular regard to the declaration and conduct of war and the right to govern without the House in wartime. Written copies of these motions were taken to the war room, but the guards were under orders not to take in anything from the House in session. The leaders of the Opposition therefore tried stuffing them under the door, but there wasn't quite enough room; they got stuck halfway and stayed there.
The leading experts in constitutional law, two lecturers from the Studium, were sent for. They told the House that no established procedure existed for the removal of a First Citizen who became insane during his term of office. The nearest thing they could come up with was a general bill of impeachment, which would require the assent of two-thirds of the members of the House, together with certificates from the Patriarch of the Studium and the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces. A motion was passed by the House amending these provisions--a simple majority would henceforth suffice, and the certificates were dispensed with. When they went to stuff a copy of this under the war-room door, they discovered that their earlier communiques were still there, still stuck, and there wasn't room to get even the corner of the page into the crack.
The Optimate faction, which had grown considerably since the fleet sailed, chose a new leader: Raetius Stabularius, head of the Fair Outcome Mutual Bank, brother-in-law of the chairman of the Spiritual Union, the new owner of the Severus shipyard and a considerable portion of the Charity & Social Justice's stake in the Mavortine mines.
Stabularius, or his advisers, came up with a new approach. A man convicted of a serious criminal offence, such as murder, could not be First Citizen. Should the offence be committed while the First Citizen was in office, he could only be tried for it if he was impeached first. But (Stabularius argued) if the offence had been committed many years before Bassianus Severus was elected to office, the requirement for impeachment would not apply; he could be tried,
in absentia
if need be, and if convicted would automatically be discharged from office. Furthermore, if a House committee, on taking relevant advice from leading experts, were to declare him insane and therefore unfit to plead, he could be tried
in absentia
even if he was physically present in the City.
In the event, it was a close-run thing. The only vote needed was to ratify the selection of the committee to hear the medical evidence. The Optimates lost the vote, though only by six wards. Government supporters claimed that even if the vote had gone the other way it would've been invalid, since neither the First Citizen nor his appointed deputy had been present in the Chamber when it was taken; a fact which, though perfectly true, appeared to have slipped the minds of the assembled membership when the vote was called for.