Jingo

we’re about to set thousands of our countrymen against one another, aren’t we?”
    “Indeed, sire.”
    “So what does the maniac want to do? Tell me there’s no hard feelings?”
    “Broadly speaking, sire…yes. I understand the motto of his old school was ‘It matters not that you won or lost, but that you took part.’”
    The Prince’s lips moved as he tried this out once or twice. Finally he said: “And, knowing this, people still take orders from him?”
    “It would seem so, sire.”
    Prince Cadram shook his head. We can learn from Ankh-Morpork, his father had said. Sometimes we can learn what not to do. And so he’d set out to learn.
    First he’d learned that Ankh-Morpork had once ruled quite a slice of Klatch. He’d visited the ruins of one of its colonies. And so he’d found out the name of the man who had been audacious enough to do this, and had got agents in Ankh-Morpork to find out as much about him as possible.
    General Tacticus, he’d been called. And Prince Cadram had read a lot and remembered everything, and “tactics” had been very, very useful in the widening of the empire. Of course, this had its own drawbacks. You had a border, and across the border came bandits. So you sent a force to quell the bandits, and in order to stamp them out you had to take over their country, and soon you had another restless little vassal state to rule. And now that had a border, over which came, sure as sunrise, a fresh lot of raiders. So your new tax-paying subjects were demanding protection from their brother raiders, neglecting to pay their taxes, and doing a little light banditry on the side. And so once again you stretched your forces, whether you wanted to or not…
    He sighed. For the serious empire-builder there was no such thing as a final frontier. There was only another problem. If only people would understand…
    Nor was there such a thing as a game of war. General Tacticus knew that. Learn about your opposite number, yes , and respect his abilities if he had them, certainly. But never pretend that afterward you were going to meet up for a drink and charge-by-charge replay.
    “He could well be insane, sire,” the general went on.
    “Oh, good.”
    “However, I’m told that he recently referred to Klatchians as the finest soldiers in the world, sire.”
    “Really?”
    “He added ‘when led by white officers,’ sire.”
    “Oh?”
    “And we are offering him breakfast, sire. It would be most impolite of him to refuse.”
    “ What a good idea. Have we got an adequate supply of sheeps’ eyes?”
    “I took the liberty of telling the cooks to save some up for this very eventuality, sire.”
    “Then we must see he gets them. After all, he will be our honored guest. Well, let us do this thing properly. Please try to look as if you hate the taste of cold steel.”
    The Klatchians had set up an open-sided tent on the sand between the two armies. In the welcome shade a low table had been laid. Lord Rust and his company were already waiting, and had been for more than half an hour.
    They stood up and bowed awkwardly as Prince Cadram entered. Around the tent the Klatchian and Ankh-Morpork honor guards eyed one another suspiciously, every man trying to get the drop on the others.
    “ Tell me…Do any of you gentleman speak Klatchian ?” said Prince Cadram, after the lengthy introductions.
    Lord Rust’s grin stayed fixed. “Hornett?” he hissed.
    “I’m not quite certain what he said, sir,” said the lieutenant nervously.
    “I thought you knew Klatchian!”
    “I can read it, sir. That’s not the same…”
    “Oh, don’t worry,” said the Prince. “As we say in Klatch, this clown’s in charge of an army ?”
    Around the tent, the Klatchian generals suddenly went poker-faced.
    “Hornett?”
    “Er…something about…to own, to control…er…”
    Cadram smiled at Lord Rust. “I’m not entirely familiar with this custom,” he said. “You often meet your enemies before battle?”
    “It is considered honorable,” said Lord Rust. “I believe that on the night before the famous Battle of Pseudopolis officers from both sides attended a ball at Lady Selachii’s, for example.”
    The Prince glanced questioningly at General Ashal, who nodded.
    “Really? Obviously we have so much to learn. As the poet Mosheda says, I can’t believe this man .”
    “Ah, yes,” said Lord Rust. “Klatchian is a very poetic language.”
    “Excuse me, sir,” said Lieutenant