A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  Clearly, the most contentious issue was the loss of absolute independence from other clans. Yet most men seemed to accept that the old ways would never return. By the end of the first hour, the discussions focused on the Seaborn Clan’s future and not its past. Yozef was encouraged by the tenor and perceived that at least a few of the men wanted to continue after the break for mid-day meal. However, Yozef demurred, saying that he thought all parties had a good basic understanding of his views. He insisted that the afternoon be taken up by his meeting with individual Seaborners, some of whom were at the meeting, plus Abbot Rupasz of St. Eflin’s and two prominent merchants whom Maera and Shurla had researched. The latter meetings would be held at the St. Eflin’s Cathedral complex.

  Yozef and Maera did not meet and speak alone again until retiring to their room that evening, though they caught glimpses of each other once near the cathedral. In their familiar pattern, Yozef felt physically tired and mentally drained, while Maera was energized.

  “The situation in the schools wasn’t as bad as I feared, though not as good as I’d hoped. The classes held at St. Elfin’s were barely acceptable for the younger children but more of a problem for the older ones.”

  “But isn’t that the same as we’ve seen elsewhere?” asked Yozef.

  “True, but we may have to take a stronger approach to bring the schools up to a higher standard. However, a more serious issue is they aren’t following the Paramount’s directives as much as they should about educating the girls. Here in Brudermyn, it’s not too bad, but I managed to get to two surrounding small towns, and the percentage of girls is obviously way too low. I plan on checking the situation in at least a few villages while we’re on the tour, plus the village of Nollagen and the town of Grastor before we leave. I anticipate we’ll see the same problem there. Worse is what I hear from the lone agent Sissel has here.”

  Maera sighed, sat on the bed, and started removing her shoes.

  “Rula Fanon is the only agent Sissel has on Seaborn, but fortuitously she’s a medicant known for her midwife skills. This gives her more reasons to move around Seaborn than most clanspeople do. Sissel was lucky to recruit her, and only because she had come to Orosz City to attend one of Diera Beynom’s sessions on teaching new procedures.

  “According to Rula, the education situation on North and East islands has hardly changed. On North Island, many boys only get two or three years of education, and too many of the girls, none at all. Rula says that as far as she can learn about East Island, no girl attends school. According to her, the island boyerman is a tyrant.” Maera laughed. “Rula’s exact words were quite a bit more explicit, regarding the boyerman’s anatomy and what he should do with parts of it.”

  Yozef cursed, wadded the shirt he just taken off into a ball, and threw it into a corner. He took a deep breath and sighed.

  “It’s not unexpected, given the province’s physical isolation. This just emphasizes that we need to have a stronger eye on the province than on most of the others.” He paced back and forth, mumbling to himself. She was patient. She knew he valued her input. She recognized that he was mulling over a problem, and when he came up with a proposed solution, he would check with her. While she waited, she glanced over the bound notebook she’d used to take notes during the day. Ten minutes passed.

  “How about this?” he said. “I’ll tell Hetman Seaborn that I want to have closer contact with his clan and will have a representative come to Seaborn to work with him to facilitate our communications for the planning and implementation of ideas that we discussed. There’s bound to be an influx of people anyway, and I’ll propose it as a way to facilitate visitors. I won’t say anything right away . . . hmmm . . . maybe that’s not going to work. I was about to say that after this person has been here a while, I can slowly have him or her get involved in the schools. But now that I think about it, it’s best to be right up front, just not propose it as the person’s primary responsibility. I’ll think about how to frame it. I want to avoid giving the hetman direct orders if I can help it.”

  “I’ve a suggestion to add to that,” said Maera. “Thala Seaborn. You haven’t met her yet. She’s the middle daughter of Yulan. She’s something of a mystery in the hetman’s family. As we both know, the daughters of hetmen often end up in political marriages into other clans. I don’t know if it was explicit or not, but everyone seems to think that Thala will go her own way. Despite some resistance from her family, she’s training to be a medicant. She even accompanied the Seaborn men to the battle of Orosz City, serving as an aide to Rula but also participating in the battle. I’ve a suspicion that we could recruit Thala to help Rula keep an eye on the schools. She could be an inside contact to the Seaborn family as well.”

  Yozef appeared dubious. “She sounds like someone who could be outspoken. That might only make things harder. This needs some level of diplomatic skill.”

  Maera nodded. “I’ll check with Rula to see what she thinks.”

  “How about the rest of your day? You and Shurla meeting with the brothers and sisters?”

  “No problem, although I was somewhat disappointed in the quality and breadth of interest of their few scholastics. Again, it’s a problem with the province’s isolation, providing so few opportunities to exchange ideas. I’m not sure what can be done about that. It seems bound to be a one-way street as far as talent goes. I don’t see any reason for many mainland scholastics coming to Seaborn, but I can anticipate that current talented scholastics or those who arise later might find themselves moving off Seaborn.”

  “Well . . . let’s not get into that yet. If it develops as you say, it should seem like a natural progression, rather than something the Paramount had a hand in. What about the medicants and theophists?”

  “The theophists I met seem on the conservative side but not aggressively so. However, I believe I caught some hints that the situation on North and East islands can be difficult. When I tried to inquire further, I met their obvious reluctance to talk about their theophist brothers and sisters on the other islands.

  “As for medicants, I believe things are on firmer ground. The ones I met seem committed to whatever new procedures are available and effective. Rula helps in this regard, as does Thala. It’s the one area where she’s had her father’s ear.

  “Oh, and something else. I want to leave Shurla here to continue looking into the St. Eflin’s library. She’s ecstatic about the old records she’s barely had a chance to look at. I haven’t checked with her, but I’m positive she would much rather stay in the library than travel with us. She certainly hasn’t shown much enthusiasm for the tour, and after seeing the library, I doubt she would enjoy the sights.”

  “Well, you and Shurla decide. I’ll talk with Yulan tomorrow. Also, with the Fuomi captain. His sloop is due to wait here until it’s time for us to leave. She would then have . . . what . . . six or seven more days before going on the ship to meet us at Grastor.”

  Maera smiled. “I’m sure she wants more time, but she can make a list of a few of the most important records to be copied and sent to her. If those and what she sees while we’re here are important enough, we can arrange a longer visit for her and possibly me in the future.

  “Oh . . . before I forget, Yozef. Did you find out if Senwina and her children are back in Nollagen?”

  “No. Yulan anticipated my asking about them and claims they are doing well. He said they initially returned to Nollagen, but I guess there were too many hard memories. They’re now living with relatives north of Brudermyn.”

  The next morning, as they finished dressing for the day, Maera remembered something.

  “Oh . . . before I forget. I need you to intercede with Yulan. Rula tells me there’s a nine-year-old girl who’s the best sa’anolor player on Seaborn.”

  “Sa’anolor?” She had referred to the board game similar to GO on Earth. Watching Maera play the better local players in Abersford’s original Snarling Graeko pub, Yozef had recognized her intellect. Yozef found
he couldn’t beat her . . . a fact that was occasionally confirmed as the years passed. With there being no traditional custom, such as tournaments or clubs, Maera played only occasionally.

  “Yes. The girl’s name is Omelia Starstyn. She was something of a sensation for a while until her father decided it was inappropriate for a girl to beat men at any game. About a year ago, he forbade her to play again. See if you can get Yulan to have the father let Omelia and me play a game or two. I’d like to do it during the festival activities, so we have a chance to gather a crowd.”

  Yozef smiled. “And you figure if the Paramount’s wife plays the game with the girl in public, then the father and more Seaborners will decide nothing is wrong with a female doing better than a man in at least some activities?”

  “Why, dear,” Maera said dryly, “such a thing never occurred to me.”

  “And I suppose you wouldn’t mind if the Paramount wanted to watch the games?”

  “Thank you. I was sure you would be enthused about the idea.”

  CHAPTER 32

  GAMES

  The roar of a dozen 12-pounder cannon echoed across the bare valley. A Seaborn dragoon battalion maneuvered in company formations to face an imaginary Narthani infantry force prepared to attack. The 12-pounders were aligned on a crest at one side of the valley. Yozef was tempted to intervene once he realized the intent of firing over the battalion as it moved into position. He bit back the initial temptation for fear the Seaborners would take it as his questioning their competency. By the time he changed his mind, it was evident that only the single salvo had been intended.

  “God’s Mercy!” muttered Synton Ethlore from his horse six feet from Yozef’s. “So, what do you think, Paramount? Is this evidence of their confidence in handling the cannon, or are they recklessly stupid?”

  “Hush,” said Yozef as he looked around. They were far enough from other Seaborners that he thought Carnigan’s and Toowin’s were the only ears close enough to hear the question.

  “Later on, I’ll look for a chance to suggest to the hetman that 12-pounder practice could be restricted to static positions and not supporting the dragoons.”

  The cannon had arrived in Seaborn four months earlier. Yozef had noticed several of them prominently positioned near the Brudermyn harbor. Their purpose was more political than practical. A new generation of 12-pounders was gradually being deployed after Mark was satisfied with the new cannon boring machines. The more uniform bores and shot allowed less hot gases to escape, propelling the shot with more force and giving a greater range. Combined with better elevation screws and experiments with various copper and tin ratios, this had resulted in stronger barrels, although they were slightly harder to cast and bore. Mark believed these should be the last generation of bronze cannon before they produced the first breech-loading steel cannon, which he optimistically predicted would take two years.

  The existing bronze cannon had been either made by the clans or captured from the Narthani, whose cannon’s bronze composition was unknown. This precluded the Caedelli from melting them down and recasting them. New cannons replaced older ones, most of which were either shipped to the northern Landolin kingdoms for use against the Narthani or melted and the metal used for various implements. A few cannon served as part of the monuments to the Narthon war, or, in the case of a dozen 12-pounders, had been sent to Seaborn Province to eventually be moved to clan redoubts.

  Many other Narthani cannon were recast as menorah-shaped torch holders for special events. The largest had been used at Orosz City for the ceremony declaring Yozef Paramount Hetman. Small versions were sent to each clan capital as trophies. Yulan intended that the menorah brought to Brudermyn on this visit be placed at the harbor not far from the cannon. Yozef saw no reason to tell the Seaborners that the cannon placed near the harbor would serve little purpose if there were a serious invasion with the intent to capture Brudermyn.

  Yulan Seaborn moved his horse closer to Yozef’s, leaving his oldest son and heir, Santee, talking with another man and scowling.

  “I’m afraid Santee is still irked that he’s not down there leading the battalion you see. I have followed your principle, Paramount, that military leaders should be the most qualified. Mykroft attended the military academy in Orosz City, so he is formally the commander of the Seaborn military. He’s given Santee and Reezo as much as he can from what he learned. Reezo is down there commanding a platoon. He’s been doing that only in the last month, but he’ll be leading the two squads accompanying your party on the tour before you leave Seaborn.

  “In the case of a full deployment, Mykroft would be in overall command of our two main battalions and all other units, with another officer commanding this battalion while Santee commands the other battalion. I’m afraid it will take time for our people here, and I’m sure the other provinces, to fully accept that command does not automatically come with birthright.”

  Yeah, well . . . I notice it’s still your sons moving to the top of the list, Yozef thought. There’s a good chance others here are as capable or even more so, but at least this is progress.

  The four companies of the battalion had taken up skirmish positions facing the enemy position. One out of every four men held four horses, while the other three men formed the firing line. Yozef watched, noting that they performed the basic maneuver reasonably competently. The problem was that the display had to have been choreographed—practiced enough times to impress a visiting Paramount. It was time to throw in a wrinkle or two. It was a purpose of war games to introduce the unexpected.

  “Hetman, the battalion has assumed a reasonable position for firing at the Narthani as long as the position will be abandoned before long. Unfortunately, word has come that the battalion has got to hold its position at all cost, with no retreat. They have two hours to prepare for a Narthani infantry attack across a three-hundred-yard front. The Narthani will be supported by nine-pounder cannon firing canister.”

  Yulan’s brow wrinkled as he digested the words he had just heard. Yozef glanced at the other men who had moved their horses close enough to overhear. He believed he caught an incipient grin from Zalzar. He thought Santee also understood what Yozef was doing but hesitated to preempt his father.

  Moments later, Yulan sensed Yozef’s meaning and was reassured by Yozef’s grin and eyes that his intent was not to embarrass Seaborn.

  “Ah . . . you want to see how the men react to something not planned. Very clever, Paramount. The men have practiced different scenarios, but let’s see what happens when the unexpected happens, and they know they’re being watched and judged.”

  Yulan turned to Santee. “Ride like the Narthani are on your heels, and get to Mykroft. Tell him to dig in to fight to the last man to save all of Seaborn.”

  The heir whirled his mount and raced down the slope without giving words of acknowledgment.

  “Don’t worry, Yulan, if things look chaotic. That’s the nature of a real battle. However, you should incorporate frequent surprises into future training. Drilling the basics is essential because the men will need a degree of automatic reaction, but after the basics are ingrained, then it’s time to work on their flexibility and response to the unexpected.”

  Mykroft must have been alerted to his brother’s approach and rode to meet him. They reined in their horses yards from each other. What they said couldn’t be heard, but after a quick glance from his brother to the hillcrest observers, Mykroft whipped his horse back to the battalion. Bugles could be heard, men on horseback—presumably, officers—galloped to Mykroft and only seconds later raced back to the units. Men on the firing line turned to meet men pulling four horses. Gear was pulled from saddles, and all the men ran back to the firing line, leaving the horses free to stand, wander, or trot away.

  The men were digging a trench line. Current Caedellium army SOPs (standard operating procedures) in such a dire situation were to prepare at least a four-foot-deep trench with excavated soil piled toward the enemy—allowing minimal protection
from Narthani musket and canister fire while the defenders reloaded their muskets.

  By the time Santee returned, an issue was evident.

  “Uh . . . Santee . . . do I see correctly that not all the men are using digging tools?” asked Yozef, smiling.

  Yulan had been sitting back in his saddle, watching the valley below in a relaxed pose—until he heard Yozef’s question. He jerked forward, and his eyes narrowed as he focused harder on what was happening. Almost a third of the men were on their knees, digging with knives and pulling dirt away by hand.

  When Yulan recognized the Paramount’s point, he looked at a now red-faced Santee. No words were needed for the heir to know his father expected a response.

  “I’m afraid some of the men neglected to bring their entire required dragoon kit,” said Santee. “Mykroft was aware of the problem and had already chastised several officers. However, it was too late to do anything about it and be here on time for the demonstration. I can assure you, Paramount, that such a lapse will not happen again.”

  “I have every confidence,” said Yozef, not specifying whether he had confidence or pessimism about the error recurring.