The Saxon Shore cc-4

by Jack Whyte

  This time I made no effort to restrain the tide of comment that swept around the hall, and to avoid the temptation of looking towards Lucius Varo and his group, who huddled tensely, whispering among themselves. I allowed my gaze to drift with apparent aimlessness around the room until it touched on the Ironhair faction. They were agog, straining their necks to watch Varo's people. Only Ironhair himself sat aloof, his face reflecting grave thoughts as he evidently wondered where this was going. Eventually, the tide of comments died down to a murmur, at which point Mirren, with his entitlement as president, rose to his feet. Silence fell again as he spoke.

  "Legate Commander Merlyn . . ." Even the phrasing of his address to me at this point had been rehearsed for effect, the emphasis on my titles of Legate and Commander clear yet subtle. He performed like a trained actor. "Let me be clear in my understanding of what you have said. You are expressing grave concern about the weakness of the Villa Varo?"

  "No, not at all." There was no trace of hesitation in my response. "You have misunderstood me if you draw that from what I said. There is nothing weak about the Villa Varo, nothing at all. Forgive me, I thought I had made myself quite clear." I turned my eyes from Mirren to the councilors. "The weakness I perceived, and to which I referred, is a collective weakness—a vulnerability within the Colony—brought about by the passage of time and a lack of foresight for which no one can be blamed. My image of eggs in one basket was not intended as a criticism of the Villa Varo in any way. It was a simple reference to a previously undetected weakness in our planning; the planning for survival in the face of chaos that has been the driving force behind this Colony since it began. I set out to speak of balance and the distribution of our resources. I have obviously caused you to lose sight of that, so let me return to it now. I see, fellow councilors, and I feel sure that you will, too, upon very little thought, an imperative need to convert a large part of each of our villa properties immediately to the growing of crops, and to reallocate much of our livestock among the remaining space."

  "But Commander!" Mirren was on his feet almost before my words were out, forestalling the shocked reaction of the Council, taking the winds of complaint out of their sails before they could begin to blow. I turned to face him as he challenged me.

  "Immediately? You said immediately. That is impossible."

  I eyed him, letting all see the curiosity upon my face and its slow replacement with a hesitant, but privately much-practised, smile. "How so?" I shrugged my shoulders. "As it appears to me, few things could be simpler."

  Mirren's mouth flapped as though he were bereft of words, and I thought again as I waited for him to resume that he would have made a wondrous actor. He turned towards the councilors on his left, as though beseeching them, and then swung back to me, spreading his arms in appeal. "How can you think it simple? With the exception of the Villa Varo, our villas are all run by herdsmen. Their skills are in livestock, as you pointed out, and are amply demonstrated by the welfare of their stock, but their talents rest there. They are not fanners, save of the simplest kind." He stopped, as though realizing the insult in what he had said, then charged on, apparently recovering himself. "I have no wish to disparage anyone, but they're not ploughmen, not growers of crops. To expect them to change such things immediately would be folly."

  I had allowed my smile to broaden as he spoke, a task made simpler by my admiration for his performance.

  "Folly in truth," I agreed when he had done, "had that been what I meant to imply. But I see I have again been less than exact in saying what I meant." I turned again to face my audience, holding up my hands. "Please, my friends, bear with me. I am a soldier, not a man of words. If you will hear me out, however, I will attempt again to clarify my thoughts." I paused, and felt their sympathy flowing around me, tempered by mild distress and perplexity.

  "I spoke of reallocation—of lands, and of stock. I see now that I should also have spoken of skills."

  Now I looked directly at Lucius Varo for the first time, knowing I had him in my grasp. "We have a rich resource in the Villa Varo. A heavy and potent concentration of the skills Mirren has just described as being lacking in our Colony. The farmers of the Villa Varo are the finest anywhere, even beyond our lands. From that point of view, they are the single greatest strength Camulod owns. Among them, they possess the power to train, to guide and to instruct—as thoroughly and conscientiously as our veterans will train our new recruits—the new farmers of Camulod. By spreading them judiciously among the villas, we can ensure that all the farming skills developed on the Varo lands for the past hundred years and more will spread to all our Colonists, to benefit the future for ourselves and for our children."

  I allowed them to digest that thought for a moment, expecting young Varo to protest. He sat silent, however, and I continued. "What I am proposing will require much work, and even some short-term upheavals on the Villa Varo as the task progresses; it will call for much planning by all of us, and a careful reckoning of skills and requirements, but it is far, far from impossible, given the goodwill of all concerned."

  Ironhair's face was aglow. He saw the discomfiture and confusion of his enemy, and recognized the end of Varo's bid for power. I knew with complete conviction that he had not seen beyond the moment and had no idea that he was also witnessing the beginnings of his own downfall. A rough, loud voice broke into the stillness, emanating from the back row of chairs.

  "By all the ancient gods, Merlyn Britannicus, I think you have it! I stand with you!"

  As the man who had shouted rose to his feet, the entire assembly broke up in a storm of support for my proposal. I glanced at Mirren who looked back at me and shrugged his shoulders, his wide-eyed, sheepish gaze a portrait of astonished innocence. I nodded to him, indicating for anyone watching that I was finished, picked up my helmet from the floor and returned to my chair, where I was immediately besieged with heavy-handed congratulations on my clear thinking and vision. I bore the plaudits modestly, watching and waiting. In spite of my concession of the floor, I had not yet completed this day's tasks.

  The storm of applause and the confusion that ensued until order was restored within the hall had given Lucius Varo time to collect his thoughts, and he was on his feet immediately the session recommenced, seeking recognition from Mirren in the Speaker's Chair. Mirren recognized him, and a total hush fell upon the assembly. Varo instantly became aware of the intensity of the silence, and I saw the realization bloom within his eyes that he stood alone, his position evident to all. He knew he was trapped and that any overt resentment he betrayed towards my suggestion would be an admission that he sought to preserve his own well-being ahead of the welfare of the community. Nevertheless, to give him his due, he fought courageously and his counter-argument was articulate and reasoned. It would, he said, bring too much hardship to bear on the highly organized Varo estates to make such sweeping changes so suddenly. I He and his assistants would require time to plan an orderly conversion—far more time than I had indicated would be available. Adhering to the timetable I had decreed would invite chaos and confusion to flourish, to the detriment of everyone in Camulod.

  It was a valiant effort, but fundamentally flawed, for every attentive councillor had marked that I had set no rigid timetable. Yet Varo spoke with authority as though I had, and none interrupted him to point out that I had specifically referred to the requirement for him and his people to be allowed time to plan their changes. No sooner had that thought occurred to me, however, than Peter Ironhair stood up and was given the right to speak. He launched at once into an attack on Varo's argument, recalling and repeating verbatim my own earlier words, throwing them down like a challenge in front of Lucius Varo, daring him to object further. When Ironhair sat down, looking pleased with the impression he had made, no other sought immediate permission to speak, and I stood up again, my eyes on Rhenus, who had been pounding Ironhair's shoulder in approval of his fiery speech.

  "Commander Merlyn." Mirren's voice was calm. "Do you have
anything to add?"

  I affected not to have heard him, keeping my eyes on Rhenus and allowing puzzlement to show clearly upon my face. Mirren coughed.

  "Commander Merlyn? You wish to speak?"

  "What? Oh, no. Pardon me, I merely had . . ." I moved as though to sit and then straightened again. "Yes, if I may speak again?"

  "Of course you may."

  "Thank you. I was surprised to see . . ." Frowning now, I stepped to my right to confront Rhenus, who sat back and looked at me in surprise. Every eye in the room was watching me. "Pardon me," I said. "Your name is Rhenus, is it not? You are a newcomer to Camulod since I was injured, if I recall correctly. I met you at last week's meeting?"

  "Yes." From the look on his face, he thought I was losing my mind again. I turned back towards the Speaker's Chair, then swung back to Rhenus. "You sat in that same chair then, did you not?"

  He frowned. "I did."

  "Yes, I remember you came in with Peter here, but I met you outside." I turned back towards Mirren. "I must ask your indulgence, sir, and that of the Council, but I had thought—" I broke off again, as though collecting my thoughts, then said, "Valerius Mirren, may I speak, not of the current debate, but of procedure?"

  Mirren nodded, his face dubious.

  " Thank you." I continued to look around me as I paused, pretending uncertainty. "It has been several years since I have sat in Council, but there are several things I find confusing here. Changes, it seems, to what I knew in the past."

  "What do you mean, Commander Merlyn? Can you cite an example?"

  Now I gazed at Mirren directly. "Yes, Valerius Mirren. You."

  Someone among the councilors giggled nervously, and several people shifted uncomfortably. Mirren, however, faced me calmly. "I don't know what you mean, Commander."

  "You presided at the last meeting, did you not?"

  "I did. I am president of the Council. That is my duty."

  "Since when, sir? That is an innovation."

  He nodded. "It is. An innovation passed by the Plenary Council three years ago, when we were embroiled in war. It was deemed then that the presence of a president would create stability in Council, with so many decisions having to be made each week that passed. The custom of a simple session leader, different each time, became impractical for purposes of continuity under emergency conditions, and so the Council voted to elect a leader to maintain order and to co-ordinate developments in Council with consistency, for one year, until such times as peace returned to Camulod."

  "Like a Roman Consul."

  He nodded. "That is correct, exactly."

  "And you are the third such president?"

  "I am."

  "I see." I turned to face the councilors, scanning their faces and naming the eldest among them, allowing iron to enter my tone now. "Lars Nepos, Quintus Seco, Agnellus Totius. Were any of you present on the occasion Caius Britannicus stood down as leader of this Council?" All three had been there, and all stood up and said so. They were the eldest of the Elders. I addressed them courteously. "Can any of you tell us what you recall of that occasion?"

  They looked at each other and nodded back and forth, and Quintus Seco drew himself erect. "Aye," he said, his voice still strong and hale for all his age. "I can recall it clearly." He looked around to ensure that he had everyone's attention. "On that day, there was chaos in the hall, screaming and arguing. Some of us almost came to blows. Publius Varrus silenced us by blowing on a horn. Britannicus drew his sword and stabbed it upright into the tabletop, prepared to clear the room, which was in his own home, the Villa Britannicus. I had never seen him so angry. He condemned the lot of us as petty, squabbling children fighting among ourselves for prominence and personal aggrandizement, and threatened to withdraw from the Council and never return. He pointed out, for all of us to see, that what he called a spirit of elitism had invaded our proceedings, and he demanded that it had to be stamped out, immediately, if we were to survive. He harangued us for piddling, personal jealousies and political manoeuvring to the detriment of all with which we had been entrusted. He made us all ashamed.

  "It was on that day that this present Council was born." He swept his arm around the double circle of chairs. "The chairs were rearranged into a circle, so that thereafter all men should be equal in Council, and the rule was made that each man, entering the Council Gathering, should draw a stone at random from a closed bag. He who drew the black would be the leader for that day. Thus, Britannicus said, no man could gain position or influence for any length of time. He himself stepped down that day, and thenceforth sat in Council as an ordinary member—except that he was, of course, Caius Britannicus, extraordinary by any standards." A nervous whisper of amusement greeted his last remark, and he sat down.

  "Thank you, Quintus Seco." I turned back to Mirren. "The wars are over, Valerius Mirren."

  He drew himself to his full, imposing height and then bowed slightly from the waist. "Thank you, Merlyn Britannicus, I take your point. So is my term of office. The drawstring bag will be by the door at the next meeting of the Council."

  I acknowledged that with a deep nod of my head and turned back to Quintus Seco. "Were there other rules made that day, Councilor Seco?"

  Agnellus Totius forestalled Seco by the simple expedient of rising ahead of him and speaking without permission. "Aye, there were. The best of them followed the lines of the random selection of a daily leader and made collusion difficult—and it bore directly upon the elitism already mentioned, and upon your question to Rhenus there." His voice hardened and became accusatory. "No two men were to sit together more often than once in any seven sessions!"

  Now there was uproar, and as it swelled, the rear doors opened and Titus stepped inside followed by two trumpeters bearing great, circular, bronze Roman cornua, or war horns. The brazen clamour of them shocked the gathering into silence.

  "History repeats itself," I said quietly, into the stunned silence. "The wheel has turned full circle." I turned slowly to Peter Ironhair and pointed my finger at him. He sat frozen, watching me. Deliberately, I raised my other hand, pointing to Lucius Varo, although keeping my eyes fixed on Ironhair. "Let me speak plainly. The Farmers and the Artisans are finished; proscribed, and banned from this Council by my authority as Legate Commander of the Forces of Camulod."

  Ironhair leaped to his feet, his face suddenly aflame with fury as he realized how he had been gulled. His entire body stiffened into a crouch, as though he were physically restraining himself from leaping at me. As he glared at me, his lips moving soundlessly, the surge of colour faded from his cheeks, leaving them pallid and gaunt-looking. I glared back at him along the line of my pointing hand so that my finger aimed directly between his eyes.

  "Hear me! This is a matter that concerns the safety of the Colony, its unity of purpose and strength in the face of its enemies, and thus it comes within my jurisdiction. By my authority as Legate Commander of the Forces of Camulod," I repeated, "both groups stand proscribed, formally outlawed, by my decree, the written orders sealed with my seal, to take effect upon the closure of this Council session. Be warned. Both groups are noted; the names of all adherents registered. If either group assembles as an organized gathering of more than three from this day forth, it will do so under pain of formal, military displeasure, and will suffer the penalties of martial law according to the laws of Camulod. Banishment, with no recourse. This is not personal, but for the common good of this Colony. No former member of either group shall suffer any consequence, nor be removed from Council, but never again will two such factions function within this Council." I waited, counting silently to five. "Do I make myself clear?"

  Apparently I had, for no one spoke.

  "Very well." I lowered my pointing fingers and addressed the councilors at large. "We have achieved much here today, my friends, but I think our duties are concluded. I would suggest, if I might, that we gather again in one more week, this time in the tradition and according to the customs of the Council of the Colony, t
o plan our further actions." I turned back to Mirren. "Valerius Mirren, will you move to adjourn?"

  Ironhair spoke into the hush before Mirren could respond. I made no effort to turn back to him. His words, low-pitched and choked with anger, were perfectly clear.

  "Damn you, Britannicus, this is tyranny. What makes you think you can manipulate this Council to your twisted will? The thought is ludicrous! You come in here, after long years of unconcern, and try to win us with smooth words, masking your sudden, naked greed for power under a guise of caring. Where was your caring last year, and the year before, when Cornishmen were howling at our gates? And now you would use your family's name and your inherited position to decree to us, the people of Camulod, its Governors, how we must behave? I'll see you damned before I will submit to this. Look at me, damn you! You can't do this! No single person can!"

  I stepped to where my helmet sat upon the floor, then bent and picked it up without looking at Ironhair. As I straightened, I glanced to the rear of the hall where Titus stood watching me. I nodded, and he turned and threw open the main doors. A few heads turned at the sound of marching boots as a file of armed men marched in and ranged themselves across the rear of the hall. Most eyes remained on me. I settled my helmet comfortably on my head and only then did I look at my new-made enemy.

  "No single person has," I told him, keeping my voice level. "Camulod has done it. The decree is Law and you may disregard it at your peril. Tyranny, lest you think us unaware of what it means, is the bloody and violent rule of one brutal man who cares nothing for the property or the rights of others. My actions here result from the informed concern of others—all Colonists of Camulod—that you, Master Ironhair, might someday seek to set yourself upon the throne of Camulod." I adjusted my chin strap. "Camulod has no throne, Ironhair, merely a double circle of chairs, but it has a spirit—a spirit that may doze from time to time, but will never die—and while that spirit lives and breathes, no tyranny shall ever grow within our Camulod."