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Crusade, but the Crusades have emptied our Treasury. The people have given, and given generously, yet we still owe millions to those damned merchant bankers – and still they prosper, still they gain in influence – and
still they buy our children
.’
    If four-fifths of the wealth plundered in the Crusade had not gone into the private hoards of certain royal personages, perhaps the Imperial Treasury would be better off
, Gyle reflected, glancing at Calan Dubrayle, who seemed to be stifling the same thought.
    Mater-Imperia Lucia sat again, her face still flushed with passion but her voice colder now. ‘Let me be frank, gentlemen: the throne has never before been so weak – not through any weakness in the emperor,’ she added hastily, as Constant stirred, ‘for though only a child at the time, Constant was both wise and bold, ordering the Second Crusade and strengthening our hold on the Hebb Valley. But the merchants are buying our souls, turning Kore’s chosen people into a nation of shopkeepers.’
    ‘We have other enemies too: Duke Echor of Argundy, the former emperor’s brother, has made it clear he covets the throne, and all of Argundy marches to his tune. That my son’s only uncle plots treachery boils my blood. He too must be destroyed. And’ – she looked about to spit – ‘another
contamination
has crept into this realm: Antiopian slaves, brought here to do the work of honest men of Yuros. I have no quarrel with slavery – that, after all, is the only thing Sydians are good for – but to permit these
mudskins
into our midst goes too far – they
must
be exterminated!’
    Gyle noted Dubrayle suppressing a groan. The Treasurer made a pretty mint from taxes on slave-trading, he recalled.
I bet you won’t want that trade closed down
…
    Lucia looked nothing like a saint now. ‘These are our enemies, gentlemen: the merchants, Duke Echor, the mudskins and Meiros. Him above all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘They must all die.’
    She stopped, grim-faced, and the room fell silent. The men at the table nodded agreement, and Gyle felt it prudent to do likewise.
So that is how saints think
.
    Lucia gestured at Belonius. ‘Our good friend Magister Vult has come to us with a solution to all of these problems. I will now hand over to him, so that we may hear firsthand his plan to save our realm.’
    Vult stood instantly and bowed. ‘Most Sainted Lady, no one could have summarised our position better. Let me start by properly introducing Gurvon Gyle, my friend and colleague, whose network of informers has enabled us to pull this plan together. Gurvon’s eyes and ears are everywhere – he is probably the best-informed man on Urte.’
    Gyle resisted the urge to give them his best
I know who you sleep with
look.
    Vult breezed on, ‘My plan deals with the three main issues Mater-Imperia Lucia has outlined for us: the Merchants, Duke Echor, and the heathens of Kesh. Put simply, we’re going to destroy them all, and it starts, as Mater-Imperia has told us, with the Bridge. The Leviathan Span begins at Pontus and runs more than three hundred miles to the Dhassa coast, never deviating an inch. It is a remarkable construction.’
    ‘A demon’s device,’ muttered Betillon.
    Yes, but one you’ve prospered mightily from
, thought Gyle.
    Vult continued, unperturbed, ‘Twenty-three years ago, in 904, Emperor Magnus marched four legions across the Bridge. Antonin Meiros could have stopped us, and slain tens of thousands of Rondian soldiers and civilians – at the cost of destroying his own construction. Every man would have perished, and in all likelihood the emperor would have fallen in the turmoil that followed. But Meiros and his Ordo Costruo failed to act, allowing Emperor Magnus to seize the Bridge – and Hebusalim.
    ‘When the Bridge closed again we hoped we had done enough. The merchant guilds had lost vast amounts and many were ruined. But our air-fleet has limited resources and the garrison at Hebusalimwas