Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"We have never lacked prospective Colonists—our biggest problem in the past, in peaceful times, has been in controlling the influx of people seeking safety within our lands; people whose numbers, carelessly controlled, would quickly swamp our ability to provide the very things they seek: safety and security from hunger. That profusion of potential immigrants has provided us in the past with as many willing soldiers as we wished to hire and train. It will do so again today. I seek your formal approval in the dispatching of five teams of recruiters, veteran soldiers all, to raise an intake of at least another thousand replacements for the soldiers we have lost. We have the ability to feed and train such numbers, and the personnel to turn them into Camulodian troopers. More important than either of those, however, is the fact that, thanks to the death of the upstart Cornish king, as he styled himself, we have the time available to train them."

Their approval was instantaneous, a shouted chorus of assent.

"Thank you for that. The recruiting parties are prepared and will go out today." I folded up my scroll and stuffed it back inside the bowl of my helmet, which I then placed carefully on the floor by my feet, giving the three recording clerks against the wall—another innovation since my days of regular attendance here—time to write down the approval I had gained.

"Now," I resumed, changing the subject and arriving at my real agenda for the day. "The topic I will put before you next calls on both of the capacities in which I serve here. I bring it forward both from the viewpoint of our strength, which I am sworn to preserve and foster, and from the perspective of a councillor concerned with husbanding and expanding our resources." A brief pause produced only a silence of anticipation.

"I spoke earlier of the extent and disposition of our lands . . . I have concerns in that regard which I must place before you, and they have to do with balance, with moderation, with the distribution of our resources, and with weaknesses I have perceived within this week. As you all know, I have moved widely among you in recent days, and have had discussions with almost all of you on the conditions under which each one of you must do what Camulod and its people require of you." I looked from face to face, disliking the flattery inherent in the next words I would utter. "You are all people of intellect and probity. That's why you sit in this Council. Each of you knows the practical truth behind the old saying that only a fool carries all of his eggs in one basket, or places all of his precious glassware upon one shelf. . .

"And yet, in my travels about our lands, I have perceived—and I mean very clearly perceived —such an imbalance." They were listening closely. "Our livestock is numerous and healthy, but it has been reduced by more than two thousand horses. I have already dealt with that, but the lands allocated for those vanished horses have not decreased. We have vast areas of uncultivated grasslands at our disposal . . . going to waste after the years of effort that were spent winning them from the forest. Of all our fourteen villa estates, only one is dedicated completely to the raising of crops. Only one . . . the Villa Varo. It is well run, healthy and prosperous, and we all rely on it completely and quite literally for our daily bread, but God forbid we should ever be taken unawares by an incursion of hostile forces on the Varo lands! Were that to happen, we could, at one stroke, lose all our crops, or the vast part of them. That, my friends, constitutes eggs in one basket on a frightening scale . . ."

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."