Marcomann had used.
Demansk's lips twisted into a grimace. Technically, the expression might be called a "smile." But there was no humor in it.
"Relax," he commanded. "I am as well aware as you are of the dangers involved. Which is why my proposal, I believe, accomplishes three salutary goals. It locks out Albrecht, it keeps any of us from becoming a dictator . . . and it allows me the chance to accomplish a personal goal which is rather dear to my heart. Vengeance."
Not surprisingly, it was Jeschonyk who first understood. Tomsien was . . . not stupid, no; but not quick-witted, either.
"Ah," murmured the old Speaker Emeritus. "I see."
"I don't," said Tomsien crossly.
Jeschonyk waved a languid hand. "Demansk will allow you to command the southern provinces, facing the barbarians with most of our army. Since I'm too damn old anyway to take the field any longer—Preble was it, for me—I'll remain here in the capital exercising political control. Which frees him up to put paid to the stinking Islesmen altogether."
Tomsien's eyes widened. It took him longer to see a point, perhaps, but he was quite intelligent enough—experienced enough, at least—to see the implications once he did.
The real threat of a new dictator would come from whichever Confederate official could conquer large new territories on the continent. That alone would provide them with the land grants needed