CHAPTER 43
Amity
One small event can change the course of history. Months earlier in Amity, a young man on the edge of battle had lost his nerve. It was not unthinkable that he would turn and flee, for the fear of battle can unnerve the bravest of hearts. But when he lied and said that John Stafford had been killed in battle, he had set in motion a chain of events that had rocked Amity to its core.
Beginning in Zaraphath and spreading far and wide, it was rumored that John Stafford was dead. It did not matter that the story was untrue, for John Stafford was not around to prove he was still alive. Fear can make reasonable people do irrational things. Regional leaders who had depended on John Stafford for guidance were suddenly at a loss. Philip Stafford was young and inexperienced, and no other leaders stood out to take control. Into this vacuum of leadership created by one lie had stepped Master Devia.
Devia had long sought a leadership role in Amity. He had become the master of Green Meadow by becoming the wealthiest and most powerful man west of Zaraphath, but the leadership of Green Meadow was not enough to satisfy his lust for power. He wanted to rule all of Amity. He envied John Stafford and his sons for the respect they received throughout Amity. He longed to bark orders and make all people jump to do his bidding.
Devia had become quite adept at giving orders by building the largest overland freight company in Amity, and having made a fortune there, he had financed Samoth’s bid to take over the river business as well. The Crescent River ran almost the length of Amity and cut it nearly in half, dividing it into north and south. How best could he influence an entire nation but to control its main artery of commerce?
Though Devia did not control all business on the Crescent River, his influence there was growing. He had recruited most of Samoth’s barge men, and a good many louts up and down the river, with a promise of free Barleyman beer for their services. These men simply had to go into local grog shops and bad-mouth Stafford’s leadership while speaking well of Devia. Devia soon had a large following, especially on the river. When the rumor hit that John Stafford had been killed in battle, it was a logical step for these same men to insist that Devia be made king of Amity.
With fear and uncertainty controlling the majority of people, those who followed Philip Stafford were easily intimidated. Vocal opponents to Master Devia soon found themselves shipped to Green Meadow where they began the back-breaking labor of building a stone wall across the mountain pass to isolate Amity further from the rest of the world.
Into this mix of events, many in Amity’s population had been displaced. Well-meaning leaders had sent many of their people east, thinking they would be more secure if Amity were invaded, but this placed a huge strain on the food supply and housing in Amity’s easternmost cities. Refugees were growing impatient with the shortages inflicted by too many people and too little food. Riots were beginning to break out in Sebring and Waterfront, and people were afraid Philip Stafford was too young and inexperienced to resolve the issues.
Only one week into his leadership role in Amity, the streets of Waterfront were jammed with thousands of people shouting, “We want food! We want food!” The rowdier ones among the crowd swung sticks and threatened to break shop windows to steal the goods inside. Those who supported Philip were shoved around or beaten by those who supported Devia, and most of the older folks just watched in disbelief. Everyone was frustrated by the shortage of supplies and space. Rooms were full, pantries were empty, and most of the laborers had marched away to war.
Philip and his envoy pushed their way into the press of people, but their shouts of “Make way!” were drowned by the roar of the crowd. The rumors of John Stafford’s death had caused an unrest that the official communiqué of victory at Green Meadow had failed to dispel.
No one was satisfied. It appeared that a bountiful harvest waited in the fields, but there was no one to bring it in. What good was a victory at Green Meadow if everyone here was about to starve?
Philip shouted and waved in vain. “There’s a wagon!” he shouted to his aide. “Let’s see if we can get to it.”
The two men pushed and shoved their way toward a wagon caught in the mass of people. As they neared, Philip shouted to the driver, “May we use your wagon?”
The old man grinned a toothless grin. “Sure, son. But in this crowd, you won’t go far. I been setting here all morning, and old Betsy ain’t moved an inch.”
“I want to talk to the crowd,” Philip said, crawling into the seat beside the old man.
“This crowd ain’t much interested in talking, young man,” the old fellow said. “They want to see someone get hurt.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Philip said, climbing over the seat into the wagon box. For the first time, he could see the vast extent of the crowd. “Men and women of Amity!” he shouted.
“We want food! We want food!”
Philip watched as the crowd pushed and shoved each other rudely, and it was getting worse by the minute. He pulled a small silver trumpet from his cloak and placed it to his lips.
A clarion call echoed from the storefronts and buildings all around the square. The chanting stopped, and a wary silence ensued.
Taking quick advantage of the lull, Philip shouted, “Men and women of Amity, I have heard your call for food, and I have a plan.”
Few in this crowd actually knew Philip. Even those living in Waterfront or Sebring seldom saw him. He was a very private individual, keeping to his books, his friends, and himself. The crowd, unsure who was addressing them, remained silent long enough to hear more.
“Local farmers need labor,” Philip explained, “and you need food! The farmers have agreed to let anyone who helps them harvest keep one third of all they gather. We can solve two problems at once. The abundant crop will be harvested, and you will be fed.”
There was an uneasy silence as people began to digest the offer. Suddenly a woman in the crowd spoke. “You mean, I’ll have to go to the field and work like a man?” The lady was dressed in very stylish attire and looked unaccustomed to manual labor.
Several in the crowd laughed, but most remained silent.
“Yes,” Philip answered. “I’m afraid we all must do things we have never done before, but our heavenly Father has provided enough food for everyone, if we are willing to work for it.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” someone shouted. “You sit in your castle while people serve you, Philip Stafford!”
Philip wanted to see his accuser. The voice sounded familiar, but the crowd was too large to identify one voice.
“You want to put us to work, do you?” someone else shouted. “Go to work yourself. We want food!”
“I’ll work beside you in the fields!” Philip shouted, but the people had taken up the chant for food, and his voice was lost. Suddenly rough hands grabbed Philip and dragged him out of the wagon. Several boisterous fellows had decided to let the crowd make sport of Philip Stafford.
Philip’s aide was on the opposite side of the wagon and could not get to the men, but the old fellow in the wagon came to life. Swinging his staff with a quickness that surprised everyone, he whacked one thug soundly on the arm. The crowd could hear the crack above the chant. The injured man dropped Philip, but the other fellow turned to the old man, ready for trouble. At that moment, Philip’s aide freed his spear from the press of people, and its sharp tip pressed into the bully’s flesh.
The chanting stopped with the sudden flurry of activity. “Stop this!” Philip shouted as he freed himself and climbed back into the wagon. “There is no need for violence. We are all in this together! Over five hundred men and women are inside the fortress, and soon they will be hungry too.” Philip drew his breath, and this time the crowd let him continue. “It is written in God’s Word that if a man will not work, he shall not eat. In our present situation, I think we must apply those words to women and children as well.”
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br /> “But I don’t know how to reap grain,” one woman called.
“I will work beside you,” Philip said. “We will learn together. The farmers will teach us!”
A calmness began to settle over the crowd when a familiar voice again shouted, “Look, Stafford, I already have two families with me. What more do you want?”
The crowd stirred uneasily. Philip wished he could see his antagonist.
Suddenly the old man in the wagon stood to his full height and raised his staff high above the crowd. Some thought he was about to strike Philip, but instead he dropped to his knees and offered his staff to Philip. Many felt sorry for the old fellow.
Philip was embarrassed, and he wished he could pull the man to his feet. “Don’t do that!” he insisted.
“Master Stafford!” the old man said. “I did not realize who you were. Forgive me and take me into your service.”
Many an old heart was moved by the scene. Loyalty to the Stafford family ran deep in Waterfront, especially among the older generation. There were grandmas and grandpas all over the square who suddenly felt quite young again. They began to surge forward, shouting, “Take me into your service as well, my lord!”
Philip raised his hands and shouted. “People, you may serve Amity and yourselves by dispersing this crowd today and preparing yourselves for work tomorrow. Meet me in the fields outside town, and we will serve Amity together.”
Beginning with the eldest, the crowd began to disperse, each man and woman to their home. Philip’s words made sense. They could serve both Amity and themselves. There were lots of people in the crowd that day who hoped their neighbors hadn’t seen them. Tomorrow this gathering would be judged as a huge mistake.
Across the square, shielding himself from view, a tall man watched as the crowd trickled out of the market, leaving Philip and his aide alone with the old man in the wagon. The quiet observer pressed his lips together in a hard line. “I’ll get you next time, Philip Stafford,” he said.
A fortress of gray stone surrounded a tower of grace and beauty in Green Meadow. The fortress was for Master Devia’s protection, and the tower was for his inspiration and comfort. Originally built as a sanctuary for those seeking religious guidance, the tower had become a palace of sorts, where Master Devia held court over his growing dominion. A grand throne sat upon the dais in his sanctuary, and there Devia reclined upon thick cushions, with elegant carpets at his feet. A silver platter filled with pastries sat near his throne. He motioned with his fingers to four men standing in chains before him. “Captain, who are these men?” he asked.
“They are laggards, sir,” the captain of the bodyguard replied.
“What were they doing?” Devia asked.
“They were burying their dead, Your Majesty,” the captain answered.
Devia pointed to one man in the group and said, “You look able to speak for the others. How do you answer the charge?”
The man stepped forward timidly. “Master Devia—”
The captain of the bodyguard struck the man savagely and shouted, “You will address our Lord as Your Majesty!”
The man cringed and began again. “Your Majesty, we were only trying to bury our dead! I lost a son.” He indicated another man. “And my friend lost his wife. These other two”—he pointed to the other men—”were just helping us bury our dead.”
“Times are tragic,” Devia moaned. “You have seen for yourself the horror of war: dead bodies everywhere. To search for and bury each person individually would require a vast amount of time and manpower.”
“But, sir,” the man began, “Master Stafford left many men for this very purpose.”
Devia bristled. “Is John Stafford the master of Green Meadow? Is John Stafford even here? Does he even care about your dead? No! All he cares about is waging war and bringing destruction to others. You and I are the only ones who are here to deal with reality!”
The men did not answer.
“It takes far too much time to bury your dead,” Devia said. “Do you not realize that we could be attacked again? Where will you hide if an enemy invades?”
Several thought of saying that they might hide in Devia’s fortress, but none dared say anything.
“We have no protection,” Devia proclaimed. “There is nothing to prevent countless armies from marching into Amity! The wall is of paramount importance. It must become the top priority in every heart! Every able-bodied man must put his back into the labor!”
“But the dead—” one man began.
“The dead will not defend you,” Devia shouted. “The wall will!”
“We can’t leave our dead exposed!” one of the four implored.
“Pile them and burn them,” Devia snapped. “That is an order!”
“But, sir …” The men began to plead.
“Guards!” Devia shouted. “Give each of these men forty stripes. Maybe they will learn to obey my orders without question. Get them out of here!”
“Please, sir,” the leader of the group cried. “Have mercy on us!”
Devia smiled as several guards dragged the men from the room.
Following the battle of Green Meadow, work on the wall had progressed at a furious rate. Every horse, wagon, shovel, and pick was conscripted for the job. All the men Stafford had left behind joined the men and women of Green Meadow. They threw themselves into the work. At first they were afraid of another attack, and later they became even more terrified of Master Devia’s strong-arm tactics. No one wanted to see his wife or child flogged, so everyone fell in line. Within one week, the wall’s foundation was laid.
As the wall began to grow, so did frustration among the workers.
“There will be no break for lunch today,” the foreman told a group of workers.
Men stationed near the wall began to grumble. “Hard labor makes for huge appetites.”
“And a saucy tongue calls for a whipping block,” the foreman shouted.
“I’m not your slave!” another man shouted.
“You are not your own either,” the foreman said. “If it were not for Master Devia’s kindness, you would have been killed during the battle.”
The men were silent.
“Are there any more complaints?” the foreman asked.
No one stirred. Despair began to prevail. People felt trapped. How could anyone break Devia’s control?
“Then get back to work!” the foreman shouted.
The streets of Green Meadow were busy. Everywhere, homes ruined during the battle were being dismantled. Men tossed blackened stones into waiting wagons.
“You would have men tear down their own homes?” a newcomer asked the foreman.
“The quarries are too slow. Work on the wall will progress much quicker if we use the dressed stone we find here,” the foreman answered.
“Shouldn’t these people be rebuilding their homes? Where will they live?” the man asked.
“There is room in the fortress for them,” said the foreman.
“That may be fine during a time of war, but they can’t live there forever!” the man said.
“Who said anything about forever? First we have to build the wall and prepare for winter. There will be plenty of time to build homes next spring,” said the foreman.
“You expect people to live in cramped squalor for nearly a year?” the man asked.
“They have no choice!”
“Women and children must go to the fields. Now, move it!” The officer shouting orders was clad in crimson and white. No one knew where he had come from, but he seemed to have the authority of Devia behind him.
“Wait!” one man shouted. “My wife is expecting a baby. You can’t ask her to plant beans and potatoes!”
The officer wheeled about to face the man. With one swift movement, his sword rested at the man’s neck. A wicked sneer crossed the c
ommander’s lips. “Do you want this community to starve?”
The workman was angry, but he did not answer. His wife clung to his arm and whispered, “I’ll go! Don’t anger him! What would I do if he were to kill you?”
“You’ve got a smart woman there, mister,” the officer snarled. “Don’t anger me! You know food is short already. If crops aren’t planted, there will be no harvest before winter, and then we’d all be hungry, right? Master Devia is looking out for all our best interests.”
“May I go in her place?” the man asked.
“Men work the wall; women and children, the fields,” the officer said, looking around the compound. “Now, let’s have no more delay. Move out!”
As the officer turned and walked away, the man muttered, “Just one time, I’d like to find that guy without his weapons.”
“I’ll be fine,” the woman said to her husband. “Don’t anger them again. Remember Martha’s husband? I couldn’t bear being a widow.” Her brown eyes met his.
“All right,” the man whispered, “but they’d better not hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “Now, hurry before he comes back.”
One by one, the men went back to work on the wall, but everyone wondered who the redcoats were that were replacing the commanders of Amity.
Katherine had persuaded the cook to leave the kitchen door ajar to allow her entrance. She stole quickly through the darkened halls of Stonewall to the balcony door. Looking around to see if anyone was watching, she lifted the latch and stepped quietly into the night air.
She was hoping to surprise Philip after his hard day in the harvest field, but when she turned, she jumped with fright. An old man stood staring at her.
She gasped. “Lord Rhoop! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were here.” She wheeled around, searching frantically for the door latch.
Beyond the Fire Page 43