~*~
King Motte of Gotrox sat at the head of a long table of carved marble, only half listening to the weekly reports from his kingdom’s ministers. His foreign minister, a relatively thin stoutfolk man with a bulbous pink nose, peered through a pair of half glasses at a piece of paper holding the seal of the Kingdom of Westgrove.
“Your Majesty, fellow ministers,” he began as he always did—as they all always did, “we received this dispatch from the Westgrovian Embassy yesterday evening. They are letting us know their kingdom will be conducting troop movements and training exercises near our common border this coming winter. They assure us these maneuvers are simply for training and not an aggressive move on their part. They guarantee no hostile intent and trust we will not be alarmed.
“Also, our Department’s Start of Autumn Festival office party will be held ten days from today. It will be a potluck. If any of the employees from your departments wish to attend, just let my personal assistant Agnes know what they’ll be bringing so she can cross it off the list.”
King Motte, who often dozed through these weekly staff meetings, took notice and focused his gaze through shaggy brows at the Foreign Minister. “What was that?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, not you, of course, Your Majesty. You are more than welcome to attend without bringing a dish.”
“Not that! The first thing.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Um, the Westgrovians will be doing some troop training this winter. Here’s the dispatch right, um, here.” He passed the paper along through the intervening ministers to the end of the table.
The king examined it for a couple minutes and passed it to one of his other ministers. “What do you make of this, Bailey?”
The Minister of Defense read the dispatch slowly then looked toward his sovereign. “It seems odd to me, Your Majesty. I know of no special reason for them to be conducting such large exercises so close to our border. It will be considerably expensive for them to move the troops, supplies, and equipment required for such an exercise, especially at that time of year. Also, it is not in accordance with their normal training methods, which, like ours, concentrate on range training and one on one practice at arms. Field training exercises are normally at squad or company level. Never have they done anything so large.”
“Yes, quite so,” the king replied. “It’s uncommon. So why are they doing it? Speculate.”
“Well, it could be as they say, and they are changing their training procedures by adding some large scale field exercises. The border would be a logical place to hold them. Or,” he went on, tapping the edge of the paper on the table, “they may perceive a threat from us and are moving troops into defensive positions. But I know for a fact our troops have done nothing they should consider threatening, so I don’t see how this could be the case.
“The only other possibility I see is that they are planning to attack us, but that also seems unlikely. For one thing, there’s no reason for such an action. Relations with Westgrove have never been better. And, if they were planning to invade, why warn us months in advance about their troop movements? It just wouldn’t make sense.
“Of the three, I think the most likely explanation is they really are planning on doing some large scale force-on-force and force-on-target type military training near the border. But as to why, I can’t say.”
“May I speak, Your Majesty?” asked a soft voice from the far end of the table.
The king stared with dark, intense eyes at the Holy Order’s representative. The Gotroxian monarch nodded slowly without saying a word.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I don’t mean to disagree with our respected Minister of Defense in an area where he is clearly the resident expert,” he began diplomatically, in an oily way, which always made the king suspect obsequious insincerity, “but I believe I must in this case for the sake of the kingdom.” He kept his eyes on the king as though trying to gauge the reception of his words.
“I believe Minister Bailey has overlooked one thing. King Leonard of Westgrove must be aware that we soon find out about anything of significance happening within his kingdom. We have an active trade with Westgrove, and merchants carry news along with goods. Also, as the good Minister of Security himself has admitted several times in these meetings, we have paid informants who keep us apprised of the goings on there. Any preparations they might make to move a large number of troops would soon be impossible to conceal and word would reach us.
“If King Leonard had not notified us in advance that this was a simple training exercise, we would become alarmed and position our own troops into defensive positions before his forces could make an assault.
“I am not saying the diplomatic dispatch you hold in your hand is a ruse, necessarily. What I am saying is it could be. If they were planning to invade us, such a tactic could keep us off our guard until it is too late. I beg that you consider this as a viable possibility.”
The king gazed around the room, examining the faces of all those assembled. His own face, he knew, showed no emotion.
Completing his sweep, he refocused his attention on the Order’s representative. “Thank you, Master Block. I shall consider what you have said.”
He turned to the Foreign Minister again. “Whitmedal, am I correct in that we have a mutual protection treaty with Eastfield?”
“Um, yes, I believe that is true, Your Majesty,” the man with the rosy nose replied.
“Good, I’d like to send a dispatch. Come to think of it, make it two dispatches. Come see me in three hours. For now, this meeting is adjourned.”
Chapter Nine