Ursula Le Guin - The Eye of the Heron

“Big farms, that means?”

“Yes. Big farms; large fields, planted in one crop, for efficiency. My idea is to pick managers from among our best young men; to give each a large region to run, an estate, and enough peasants to work it; and let him run it as he wishes. Thus more food will be produced. The excess population in Shanty Town will be put to work, and kept under control, to prevent any more talk about independence and new colonies. And the next generation of City Men will include a number of great estate owners. We’ve kept close together for strength long enough. It’s time, as you said, that we spread out, use our freedom, make ourselves masters of this rich world of ours.”

Herman Macmilan listened, smiling. His finely cut lips had an almost constant smile.

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “Not a bad idea at all, Senhor Councillor.”

Falco bore with his patronizing tone, because he had decided that Herman Macmilan was a man he could make use of.

“Consider it,” he said. “Consider it for yourself.” He knew young Macmilan was doing just that. “How would you like to own such an estate, Don Herman? A little—what’s the word, an old word—”

“Kingdom,” old Burnier supplied.

“Yes. A little kingdom for yourself. How does it strike you?” He spoke flatteringly, and Herman Macmilan preened himself. In the self-important, Falco reflected, there is always room for a little more self-importance.

“Not bad,” Macmilan said, nodding judiciously.

“To carry out the plan, we’ll need the vigor of you young men, and the brains. Opening up new farmland has always been a slow business. Forced labor is the only way to clear large areas quickly. If this unrest in Shanty Town goes on, we can have plenty of peasant rebels to sentence to forced labor. But, since they’re all words and no actions, they may have to be pushed, we may have to crack the whip to make them fight, we may have to drive them to rebellion, you understand? How does that kind of action strike you?”

“A pleasure, senhor. Life’s boring here. Action is what we want.”

Action, Falco thought, is also what I want. I should like to knock this condescending young man’s teeth out. But he is going to be useful, and I shall use him, and smile.

“That’s what I hoped to hear! Listen, Don Herman. You have influence among the young men—a natural gift of leadership. Now tell me what you think of this. Our regular guards are loyal enough, but they’re commoners, stupid men, easily confused by the Shanty-Towners’ tricks. What we need to lead them is a troop of elite soldiers, young aristocrats, brave, intelligent, and properly commanded. Men who love fighting, like our brave ancestors of Earth. Do you think such a troop could be brought together and trained? How would you suggest we go about it?”

“All you need is a leader,” Herman Macmilan said without hesitation. “I could train up a group like that in a week or two.”

After that night, young Macmilan became a frequent visitor at Casa Falco, coming in at least once a day to talk with the Councillor. Whenever Luz was in the front part of the house it seemed Macmilan was there; and she took to spending more and more time in her own room, or the attic, or the garden sitting room. She had always avoided Herman Macmilan, not because she disliked him, it was impossible to dislike anyone so handsome, but because it was humiliating to know that everybody, seeing Luz and Herman say a word to each other, was thinking and saying, “Ah, they’ll be married soon.” Whether he wanted to or not he brought the idea of marriage with him, constraining her too to think about it; and not wanting to think about it, she had always been very shy with him. Nowadays it was the same, except that, seeing him daily as a familiar of the house, she had decided that—although it was wasteful and a pity—you could dislike even a very handsome man.

He came into the back sitting room without knocking at the door, and stood in the doorway, a graceful and powerful figure in his tightly belted tunic. He surveyed the room, which faced inward on the large central garden around which the back part of the house was built. The garden doors stood open and the sound of fine mild rain falling on the paths and shrubs of the garden filled the room with quietness. “So this is where you hide away,” he said.

Luz had risen when he appeared. She wore a dark homespun skirt and a white shirt that glimmered in the dim light. Behind her in the shadows another woman sat spinning with a drop spindle.

“Always hiding away here, eh?” Herman repeated. He came no farther into the room, perhaps waiting to be invited in, perhaps also conscious of his dramatic presence framed in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Don Herman. Are you looking for my father?”

“I’ve just been talking to him.”

Luz nodded. Though she was curious to know what Herman and her father talked about so much lately, she certainly wasn’t going to ask. The young man came on into the room and stood in front of Luz, looking at her with his good-humored smile. He reached out and took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. Luz pulled away in a spasm of annoyance. “That is a stupid custom,” she said, turning away.

“All customs are stupid. But the old folks can’t get on without them, eh? They think the world would fall apart. Hand-kissing, bowing, senhor this and senhora that, how it was done on the Old World, history, books, rubbish … . Well!”

Luz laughed in spite of herself. It was fine to hear Herman simply brush away as nonsense the things that loomed so large and worrisome in her life.

“The Black Guards are coming on very well,” he said. “You must come see us train. Come tomorrow morning.”

“What ‘Black Guards’?” she asked disdainfully, sitting down and taking up her work, a bit of fine sewing for Eva’s expected fourth child. That was the trouble with Herman, if you once smiled or said something natural or felt like admiring him, he pushed in, pushed his advantage, and you had to snub him at once.

“My little army,” he replied. “What’s that?” He sat down beside her on the wicker settee. There was not enough room for his big body and her slight one. She tugged her skirt out from under his thigh. “A bonnet,” she said, trying to control her temper, which was rising. “For Evita’s baby.”

“Oh, God, yes, what a breeder that girl is! Aldo has his quiver full. We don’t take married men in the Guards. A fine bunch they are. You have to come see them.”

Luz made a microscopic embroidery knot, and no reply.

“I’ve been out looking over my land. That’s why I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“I didn’t notice,” said Luz.

“Choosing my property. A valley down on Mill River. Fine country that is, once it’s cleared. My house will be built up on a hill. I saw the site for it at once. A big house, like this one, but bigger, two stories, with porches all round. And barns and a smithy and so on. Then, down in the valley near the river, the peasants’ huts, where I can look down on them. Bog-rice in the marshes where the river spreads out in the valley bottom. Orchards on the hillsides—treesilk and fruit. I’ll lumber some of the forests and save some for coney hunting. A beautiful place it’ll be, a kingdom. Come and see it with me next time I go down there. I’ll send the pedicab from Casa Macmilan. It’s too far for a girl to walk. You should see it.”

“What for?”

“You’ll like it,” Herman said with absolute confidence. “How would you like to have a place like that yourself? Own everything in sight. A big house, lots of servants. Your own kingdom.”

“Women aren’t kings,” Luz said. She bent her head over a stitch. The light was really too dim now for sewing, but it gave her the excuse not to look at Herman. He kept looking at her, staring, his face intent and expressionless; his eyes seemed darker than usual and he had stopped smiling. But all at once his mouth opened and he laughed, “Ha, ha!”—a small laugh for so big a man. “No. All the same, women have a way of getting what they want, don’t they, my little Luz?”