Radu Pasha fishes a scroll from his robes. 'Dread Lord, it would seem that another campaign against Persia is in the offing. Since peace now reigns in Mittelheim, the Sublime Porte thinks that there is no reason why you can't spare your troops for the fight. The Grand Vizier has ordered that you prepare in spring to mobilise your army and lead it to the muster of imperial troops in Istanbul, in preparation for a march to the Persian border.
Casimir groans. 'Spring break in Isfahan. Lovely. Is everyone else going?'
'I understand, Aweful One, that messages as we speak are landing on the palace doorsteps across the Balkans'.
'Persia', says Casimir, angrily. 'Persia', he says again, as if trying the word on for size. 'Persia, Persia, Persia'.
Radu nods sympathetically. 'I remember, Lord, that you have been there'.
The Hospodar nods wearily. 'I have. It's too hot in the summer, and it's too cold in the winter. Spring is too much like autumn; and autumn is too much like sitting on an ice block while hostile locals pelt you with scorpions. It's as unpleasant as England, but with more aubergines. But really, the main problem with Persia is that it is full of angry, angry Persians. No, I don't think that we really want to go to Persia'. Casimir subsides into resentful silence.
There is some splashing and then some raucous giggling from the pool.
'Stop that!' shouts Radu to the miscreants, 'the under sevens are in there tomorrow'. He then waits as the the hospodar cracks his knuckles.
'Lately', says Casimir slowly, 'being hospodar has been really rather trying. And now, Istanbul is making things even worse. It's even affecting my appetite. Am I losing weight?'
'Surely not lord!' replies Radu, feigning a shocked tone. Actually, Casimir has looked a little leaner of late. However, Radu isn't fool enough to say so. The hospodar is sensitive about his weight - or rather, any indication that he lacks it. The hospodar is keenly aware that losing weight would be a dangerous sign of weakness, signalling either either that he could't afford enough food or that he cared what other people thought. In Zenta, it is wise for the ruler to maintain recognisably hospodar levels of corpulence.
'Lately', says Casimir slowly, 'being hospodar has been really rather trying. And now, Istanbul is making things even worse. It's even affecting my appetite. Am I losing weight?'
'Surely not lord!' replies Radu, feigning a shocked tone. Actually, Casimir has looked a little leaner of late. However, Radu isn't fool enough to say so. The hospodar is sensitive about his weight - or rather, any indication that he lacks it. The hospodar is keenly aware that losing weight would be a dangerous sign of weakness, signalling either either that he could't afford enough food or that he cared what other people thought. In Zenta, it is wise for the ruler to maintain recognisably hospodar levels of corpulence.
'But, Dread Lord, the Sublime Porte's logic sadly is irrefutable. With the situation now so peaceful in the lands of infidel Mittelheim, there is really no reason why we need to keep our army here'.
Casimir gives this some thought. 'Too peaceful to require our army here?' says the hospodar, fiddling idely with one of the tassels on his turban. 'Well, let's see what we can do about that then, shall we? I have an idea. Where's that Bachscuttel ambassador? Get a scribe here as well - it would appear that we have received another letter! We just need to get the contents right!'
Casimir gives this some thought. 'Too peaceful to require our army here?' says the hospodar, fiddling idely with one of the tassels on his turban. 'Well, let's see what we can do about that then, shall we? I have an idea. Where's that Bachscuttel ambassador? Get a scribe here as well - it would appear that we have received another letter! We just need to get the contents right!'
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