"My friends, my countrymen, we are invaded!" he cried, and Sabrino, to his relief, found he had no trouble hearing. "All the Kaunian countries want to gnaw our bones. The Jelgavans are attacking us in the mountains, the Valrmierans have swarmed out of the marquisate on this side of the Soretto they stole from us in the Treaty of Tortusso, and Forthweg's fierce cavalry sweeps over the plains in the northwest. Even Sibiu, our own blood kin, plunges the dagger into our back, assaulting our ships and burning our harbors. They think - they all think - we shall be meat for their butchering. My friends, my countrymen, what say you about that?"

"No!" Sabrino shouted it at the top of his lungs, along with everyone else. The roar was terrific, overpowering.

"No," Mezentio agreed. "We have done nothing but take back that which is rightfully ours. Even doing that, we were calm, we were reasonable. Did we war with the traitor Duke of Ban', Alardo the lick spittle? We had every reason to war with him, but we let him live out his long and worthless span of days. Only after the flames claimed his carcass did we reclaim the Duchy - and the people of Bari welcomed us with flowers and kisses and songs of joy. And for those songs of joy, we are plunged into a war we do not want.

"My friends, my countrymen, did we claim the Marquisate of Rivaroli, which Valmiera cut from the body of our kingdom after the Six Years' War for their foothold on this side of the Soretto? We did not. We do not, though King Gainibu's men mistreat the good Algarvians who live there. I thought no one could doubt the justice of our claim to Bari.

It seems I was wrong.

"It seems I was wrong," Mezentio repeated, bringing his right fist down on the waist-high marble balustrade.