Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

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.