Roger Taylor - Caddoran

The cause of the uproar and Bowlott’s frenzy was a new Senator – not a Moot General member, but an Outer Moot Senator no less. His name was Draferth and, unusually for the Outer Moot, he was a staunch and raucous member of the Strivers Faction. But then everything about Draferth was unusual, Bowlott had reflected more than once since he had arrived to take up his seat. Not the least of Bowlott’s complaints about him – and Welt’s and Bryk’s, his ostensible leader – was that he seemed to be completely oblivious to the nuances of the Moot’s intricate proceedings. For one thing, he possessed an almost overwhelming obsession with the views of his electors – a trait which was well-known to be highly undesirable in a Senator. How could a man preserve any sense of objectivity in handling matters of social consequence if he kept listening to the people who would be affected by it?

The very manner of his gaining his position was a measure of his unsuitability. His predecessor had vacated his seat in circumstances which had united the Moot in their efforts to garnish his name with honour and praise. The unexpected and noisy arrival of his wife at a house of interesting repute which he was visiting ‘on Moot business’, had coincided with his attempt to test an emergency exit from a first-floor window. Unfortunately, in the confusion between fulfilling his Moot duties and greeting his dutiful and concerned spouse, he stepped through the wrong window and fell into a manure cart. Subsequently there was some debate as to whether his death was due to the fall or his lying face downward in the ordure for a prolonged period, but either way there was enough uncertainty, in the local Wardens’ view, to exonerate the short-sighted farmhand who eventually unloaded him with the aid of a pitchfork.

The seat had been held by the Keepers for as long as anyone could be bothered to remember and Draferth had been offered the position as the Strivers’ representative in the Little Acclamation that followed, solely in the hope that he would be humiliated by the Keepers’ representative – a man of towering patrician dignity whose contemptuous disregard for the views of others would make him an ideal Senator. In this, however, they had underestimated Draferth’s wilful nature and, in a quite unprecedented manner, he had actually sought out the favours of his would-be electors. Consequently, attendance at the Little Acclamation had been unusually high, no less than one in fifteen of those eligible making themselves heard, and Draferth had been swept to victory on a tide of indifference.

All bad enough in itself, Bowlott and the Inner Moot members had agreed, but the Moot was a stern and ancient institution. Its elaborate proceedings and rituals were ideally suited to crushing independence and rational thought in newcomers.

And indeed Draferth had suffered some harrowing humiliations within days of arriving at the Moot. So much so that he had eventually retreated into a surly silence. Bowlott had warmed to him a little at this; it was the Moot’s protective embrace – all part of the young man’s maturing.

Now however, Draferth was on his feet and causing real trouble.

‘Down! Down!’ Bowlott was screeching, trying to make himself heard above every other Senator shouting the same. In the end, he stood up and raised his staff to strike the floor. In his haste he neglected to step down from his footstool and he staggered as he drove the staff vigorously down towards a floor which was some distance below where he expected it to be. Krim’s twitch spread to both cheeks at this reckless treatment of his handiwork.

It was Bowlott’s near tumble that brought a silence to the Moot Hall – part of it a shocked hush, part of it smothered laughter.

Bowlott levelled the staff at Draferth. ‘Senator, I ordered you Down, did I not?’

Barking tones of agreement came from the Hall generally, and from Welt and Bryk particularly.

‘I will not yield, Striker,’ Draferth shouted. ‘Nor need I. I have the right to be heard.’ He touched the red kerchief wrapped untidily around his head.

Bowlott’s hands began to emulate Krim’s face as they opened and closed about the staff in frustration. It did not help that a few isolated voices were also being raised in agreement with this protestation. Welt and Bryk and their immediate underlings swivelled in their seats in an attempt to search out the guilty parties, but to no avail. Glowering, Bowlott sat down again, unable to prevent himself emitting a petulant snort.

The damned upstart was right! Normally, speakers in the Moot were chosen by Bowlott who, unless he had some scheme of his own afoot, usually worked from a list supplied to him by the faction leaders. Technically, however, anyone wearing Akharim’s Kerchief was entitled to talk on any subject for as long as they wished – Krim flinched openly as Bowlott ground his foot into the stool. It was Welt’s fault, for sure. It was not possible to set aside this peculiar practice, it was too well defined in the Treatise, but it was a long-established, if unstated agreement that Welt, as the leader of the Keepers, the Moot’s dominant faction, would look to the ‘safe-keeping’ of Akharim’s Kerchief – ‘for the general well-being and smooth managing of the Moot’.

Now, somehow, Draferth – of all people – had the thing! There was no saying what the day’s business was going to degenerate into; Draferth was young enough to stand there for hours and he was capable of saying anything! Still, Bowlott began to muse darkly, when the wretched man had finished his antics, he would ensure that he suffered for it. And for a long time. And that oaf, Welt, too, for letting this happen. The prospect made him feel a little easier. Something useful could probably be salvaged from this if he kept his wits about him. Tentative plans began to form. Firstly he would have to find out exactly what had happened – it was obviously an action ‘liable to bring the Moot into disrepute’. Then he would have to decide what to do about it. Once that was done, he could set up an Official Inquiry to produce this decision as an ‘independent’ conclusion. All quite routine, really. In the meantime he had to get through whatever it was that Draferth was going to rant about. It was not an edifying prospect. He began picking irritably at the cushion under his right hand. As the stubby nails began to snag at his precious stitching, Krim gave up all attempt at restraining his twitching face.

‘Continue,’ Bowlott snapped churlishly.

‘Thank you, Most Worthy Striker,’ Draferth said with cold insincerity.

‘Get on with it,’ several Senators called out at once.

Resting his head on his hand, Bowlott casually covered his mouth to prevent any sign of amusement showing; however the man had won the opportunity to speak without restraint, let him see if anyone would be prepared to listen. And let him find out how difficult it would be even to speak once the Striker eased his firm grip on the proceedings.

‘Worthy and most worthy Senators,’ Draferth began.

The sound of sheep penetrated the momentary lull that followed. More than a few Senators took considerable pride in the accuracy of the animal noises which they could offer to the Moot’s debate, some even seeking private tuition from public entertainers. It provoked the inevitable jeering laughter, but there were also some angry voices raised. Bowlott frowned and his eyes flicked rapidly from side to side in search of the culprits. In the course of this he scowled at Welt and Bryk. What were these two playing at? First the Kerchief fell into the wrong hands, now it seemed that Draferth had actually got allies in the Hall. Bowlott’s mouth tightened.

Draferth, obviously unsettled by the opposition he was meeting, but grimly determined to speak, turned towards the offender. ‘We’ll see who’ll be the shorn and who the shearer when this matter is over,’ he said, to a chorus of catcalls and further farmyard impressions.