Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"It was on that day that this present Council was born." He swept his arm around the double circle of chairs. "The chairs were rearranged into a circle, so that thereafter all men should be equal in Council, and the rule was made that each man, entering the Council Gathering, should draw a stone at random from a closed bag. He who drew the black would be the leader for that day. Thus, Britannicus said, no man could gain position or influence for any length of time. He himself stepped down that day, and thenceforth sat in Council as an ordinary member—except that he was, of course, Caius Britannicus, extraordinary by any standards." A nervous whisper of amusement greeted his last remark, and he sat down.

"Thank you, Quintus Seco." I turned back to Mirren. "The wars are over, Valerius Mirren."

He drew himself to his full, imposing height and then bowed slightly from the waist. "Thank you, Merlyn Britannicus, I take your point. So is my term of office. The drawstring bag will be by the door at the next meeting of the Council."

I acknowledged that with a deep nod of my head and turned back to Quintus Seco. "Were there other rules made that day, Councilor Seco?"

Agnellus Totius forestalled Seco by the simple expedient of rising ahead of him and speaking without permission. "Aye, there were. The best of them followed the lines of the random selection of a daily leader and made collusion difficult—and it bore directly upon the elitism already mentioned, and upon your question to Rhenus there." His voice hardened and became accusatory. "No two men were to sit together more often than once in any seven sessions!"

Now there was uproar, and as it swelled, the rear doors opened and Titus stepped inside followed by two trumpeters bearing great, circular, bronze Roman cornua, or war horns. The brazen clamour of them shocked the gathering into silence.

"History repeats itself," I said quietly, into the stunned silence. "The wheel has turned full circle." I turned slowly to Peter Ironhair and pointed my finger at him. He sat frozen, watching me. Deliberately, I raised my other hand, pointing to Lucius Varo, although keeping my eyes fixed on Ironhair. "Let me speak plainly. The Farmers and the Artisans are finished; proscribed, and banned from this Council by my authority as Legate Commander of the Forces of Camulod."

Ironhair leaped to his feet, his face suddenly aflame with fury as he realized how he had been gulled. His entire body stiffened into a crouch, as though he were physically restraining himself from leaping at me. As he glared at me, his lips moving soundlessly, the surge of colour faded from his cheeks, leaving them pallid and gaunt-looking. I glared back at him along the line of my pointing hand so that my finger aimed directly between his eyes.

"Hear me! This is a matter that concerns the safety of the Colony, its unity of purpose and strength in the face of its enemies, and thus it comes within my jurisdiction. By my authority as Legate Commander of the Forces of Camulod," I repeated, "both groups stand proscribed, formally outlawed, by my decree, the written orders sealed with my seal, to take effect upon the closure of this Council session. Be warned. Both groups are noted; the names of all adherents registered. If either group assembles as an organized gathering of more than three from this day forth, it will do so under pain of formal, military displeasure, and will suffer the penalties of martial law according to the laws of Camulod. Banishment, with no recourse. This is not personal, but for the common good of this Colony. No former member of either group shall suffer any consequence, nor be removed from Council, but never again will two such factions function within this Council." I waited, counting silently to five. "Do I make myself clear?"

Apparently I had, for no one spoke.

"Very well." I lowered my pointing fingers and addressed the councilors at large. "We have achieved much here today, my friends, but I think our duties are concluded. I would suggest, if I might, that we gather again in one more week, this time in the tradition and according to the customs of the Council of the Colony, to plan our further actions." I turned back to Mirren. "Valerius Mirren, will you move to adjourn?"

Ironhair spoke into the hush before Mirren could respond. I made no effort to turn back to him. His words, low-pitched and choked with anger, were perfectly clear.

"Damn you, Britannicus, this is tyranny. What makes you think you can manipulate this Council to your twisted will? The thought is ludicrous! You come in here, after long years of unconcern, and try to win us with smooth words, masking your sudden, naked greed for power under a guise of caring. Where was your caring last year, and the year before, when Cornishmen were howling at our gates? And now you would use your family's name and your inherited position to decree to us, the people of Camulod, its Governors, how we must behave? I'll see you damned before I will submit to this. Look at me, damn you! You can't do this! No single person can!"

I stepped to where my helmet sat upon the floor, then bent and picked it up without looking at Ironhair. As I straightened, I glanced to the rear of the hall where Titus stood watching me. I nodded, and he turned and threw open the main doors. A few heads turned at the sound of marching boots as a file of armed men marched in and ranged themselves across the rear of the hall. Most eyes remained on me. I settled my helmet comfortably on my head and only then did I look at my new-made enemy.

"No single person has," I told him, keeping my voice level. "Camulod has done it. The decree is Law and you may disregard it at your peril. Tyranny, lest you think us unaware of what it means, is the bloody and violent rule of one brutal man who cares nothing for the property or the rights of others. My actions here result from the informed concern of others—all Colonists of Camulod—that you, Master Ironhair, might someday seek to set yourself upon the throne of Camulod." I adjusted my chin strap. "Camulod has no throne, Ironhair, merely a double circle of chairs, but it has a spirit—a spirit that may doze from time to time, but will never die—and while that spirit lives and breathes, no tyranny shall ever grow within our Camulod."

The breathless silence continued as I collected my cloak from the back of my chair and swung it hard over my shoulders, feeling the weight of it settle upon me like a cloak of iron ring mail. "Now my duty here is done and my responsibilities as Guardian of this place are many." I looked at him again. "Your duty, as a conscientious councillor from this day forth, yet lies ahead of you and I have not the slightest doubt you can do it brilliantly if you so wish. Valerius Mirren, may we now adjourn?"

As the hall began to empty, Peter Ironhair was left standing alone.

This time there was no throng of people waiting to applaud me as I left the hall. The Council had disbanded quietly, its members making their way to their separate destinations in silence, their minds dealing one way or another with all that had transpired that day.

I stopped by the Infirmary to let Lucanus know how things had gone, but he was not there. Ludmilla sat at Luke's table, writing diligently in a small, clear hand, adding to a long column of numbers that filled the page that lay in front of her. She had not heard me approach, in spite of my nailed boots, so total was her concentration. I stopped beyond the doorway, looking at her, seeing the way the light from an open window brought out the lustre in her hair, making its blackness shimmer. As I stood there, hesitant to interrupt her and aware of an unusual tension in my guts, she looked up and saw me.

"Commander Merlyn, good day. Is there something I can help you with?"