Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

Lucius Varo was young, in his mid-twenties I gauged, some seven or eight years younger than I. He was a politician by nature, using his fresh, open good looks to insinuate his will upon other, weaker men and bend them to his wishes. He had been appointed to the Council two years earlier, while I was suffering from my memory loss, and had established himself as a constant presence ever since. True to his nature, he had done nothing to which anyone might take exception for the first year or so, content merely to bide his time while making himself helpful, amenable and valuable to all. Only in recent months had he begun to emerge clearly as an organizer, using the combined weight and influence of his supporters to influence decisions taken in Council so that they fell to his advantage. Within a close-knit society that had no use for or need of money, he had amassed wealth of another kind: power and influence. His great-grandfather had been one of the Colony's first and finest farmers, whose entire lands had been dedicated from the outset to the provision of edible crops, rather than to the sustenance of livestock. Over the years, that emphasis had produced, unwittingly, an anomaly, an aberration, within Camulod: a concentration of power amounting to a virtual monopoly of a unique kind within the holdings of the family Varo. Much of the finest arable land in the Colony lay in these holdings, and an agglomeration of the Colony's finest agricultural workers had grown up there, owing their allegiance and their welfare to the owner of the Varo estate, originally Quintus Varo and then, upon his death, his only son Quintus Secundus, who had been known to everyone as plain Secundus and had served the Colony and its Council all his life. His son, Quintus Tertius, had continued the tradition until he died tragically while still a young man, killed in a fire. Tertius's son Lucius had then inherited the Varo lands and title, and his father's place on the Council.

With the advent of the fourth generation of Varos, an unhealthy change had arrived in Camulod. People began to grow aware, although but gradually, that the instant and welcome assistance that had been ever available from the Villa Varo, while still available, now bore with it a duty of acknowledgment and obligation that had never before been necessary. Now, in return for favours smoothly granted, each supplicant was expected, rather than simply encouraged as in the past, to align himself with the house of Varo on matters of policy and internal Colony procedures having to do with the acquisition and administration of land holdings. So smoothly had this transition been achieved, however, that it had occurred without resentment and almost invisibly, until several months before, when several people began to remark pointedly upon the proliferation of support for Varo's many new initiatives, and upon the not so simple fact that, in order to achieve anything in the way of change or progress in land ownership or management, ordinary Colonists now had to deal specifically with Lucius Varo.

Although in possession of this information for less than a single hour, I was already convinced that something would have to be done about the affable Lucius Varo and his dangerous ambition. Camulod had no need of men like him, or of the peril his incipient lust for power embodied. There was no room for politicians in our Colony.

A movement at the far end of the room attracted my attention and I saw that my two old friends the Legates, Titus and Flavius, had entered the hall. They did not move forward, but stood attentively against the rear wall, their arms crossed in front of them, both in full armour. I smiled at them, but they were both too far away to see it. Would these two old war-horses ever stop wearing armour, I wondered, even in times of peace? I thanked God that they were here and well, though both far advanced in years. Their presence offered me an anchor. I had not seen either of them since my return but determined to seek them out as soon as I was free of this meeting.

The Speaker's Chair in front of me was still unoccupied, and Mirren, the current president of the Council—the office was another innovation—had not yet entered the hall, although I had seen him outside and exchanged greetings with him. I allowed my eyes to drift now towards my right, to the other faction that I had identified. Peter Ironhair, its prime motivator, was deep in conversation with the man called Rhenus who had accompanied him when he sought me out in the courtyard earlier. Neither man had noticed my gaze turn their way. I took in every detail I could see of Ironhair, whom I would not have known had I not been warned of him. Peter Ironhair was a newcomer to Camulod, but a highly gifted one. He was a metalsmith, a trade honoured in Camulod since the time of Publius Varrus, and he had arrived in the Colony some five years earlier, rising soon thereafter, thanks to his natural skills and despite his extreme youth, to become one of the prime armourers of the Colony. That position had earned him his place in the Council, which he had held, to great acclaim, for almost three years. He, too, I estimated, was seven or eight years younger than I—like Varo, in his mid-twenties. He was a big man, as one might expect of an ironsmith, his hair iron-grey, prematurely whitened in spite of his youth and obvious health. He was gesturing to Rhenus, and from where I sat I could clearly see the massive rippling of the muscles in his arm. He was dressed well, no sign of the working smith in his garments. He glanced up and saw me watching him, but his expression remained unaltered. I knew, however, with complete conviction that he had noticed my gaze and chosen to ignore it. I looked beyond him, casually, at the people seated behind him, several of whom were leaning forward, listening intently to what he was saying. I counted thirteen in his group. Thirteen of his adherents, plus fourteen of Lucius Varo's amounted to twenty-seven men of the total forty-two on Council. Twenty-seven votes, a clear majority should the two groups ever arrive at a common goal, and close enough, singly, for either party to threaten a serious disruption to the business of the Council.

Aunt Luceiia had informed me that the two group leaders detested each other, and that Peter Ironhair's faction had emerged apparently solely in response to the formation of Varo's group. I had no idea at this point of what his power base was built upon. I knew only that, collectively, the two groups were referred to by the Colonists at large as the Farmers and the Artisans. I found it galling that such clear and disparate interests had been permitted to emerge so quickly, and so far I had no idea of how I would disband and nullify them, but I knew that much of my concentration would be given in the near future to that end. Fortunately, I knew also I would not lack assistance. Luceiia Britannicus herself was a fearsome adversary for either group and for any combination of the two, and Lucanus had assured me of the support of Titus and Flavius and many others among the most respected and admired members of the Council.

A bustle at the rear of the hall announced the arrival of Mirren, the delinquent president. A tall, imposing man, another descendant of one of the Colony's founding families, he now raised his arms for attention, speaking above the babble as he strode to the Speaker's Chair.

"Your pardon, all of you, for having kept you waiting. You know I would not normally do so." He arrived at the Chair and nodded to me before turning back to face the Council, holding his arms aloft in a plea for silence. In the hush that followed, he cleared his throat and spoke out strongly.

"I have just returned from the main gates. The train of wounded soldiers for which we have been waiting has just come into sight and I fear it is larger and more awful than we had expected. I have a report of six hundred and more injured men, some of them fit to walk, but more unable. There is work for everyone this day in settling them and arranging for their care, so this meeting must be short and to the point." He turned to glance again at me and nodded.