After his ale, Gerin went out to the peasant village close by the keep. He had a pretty good notion of how the village stood for supplies and how much it could spare when his vassals and their retainers started arriving for the fight against Adiatunnus. The short answer was, not much. He wanted to see by how much the long answer differed from the short one.
The old village headman, Besant Big-Belly, would have whined and wheezed and pleaded poverty. His replacement, Carlun Vepin’s son, was working in the fields as Gerin approached. The Fox nodded approvingly. Besant hadn’t been fond of work of any description. Since his passing, yields from the village had gone up. That probably meant Gerin should have replaced him years before, but far too late to worry about that now. One of the five hells was said to have enormous water wheels in which lazy men had to tread forever, emptying buckets of boiling water onto themselves. For Besant’s sake, Gerin hoped that wasn’t so.
When Carlun spotted Gerin, he came trotting over to him. “Lord prince!” he called, giving the Fox something between a nod and a bow. “How may I serve you this afternoon?”
“How’s your store of grain and beans and smoked meat and such holding up?” Gerin asked, hoping he sounded casual but doubting he sounded casual enough to make Carlun give him a quick, rash answer.
He didn’t. The headman’s face was thin and clever. “Not so well as I’d like, lord prince,” he answered. “We had a long, hard winter, as you must recall, and so didn’t get to plant till late this spring. The apples haven’t been all they should on account of that, either and the plums are coming in slow, too, so we’ve been drawing on the stores more than I would if I had other choices. Cabbages have done well, I will say,” he added, as if to throw the Fox a bone of consolation.
“Let’s have a look at the tallies for what you’ve used up,” Gerin said.
“I’ll fetch them, lord prince.” Carlun trotted off toward the wattle-and-daub hut he shared with his wife and their four—or was it five?—children. He came out a moment later with a couple of sheets of parchment.
Even before the werenight, Gerin had begun teaching a few of the brighter peasants in his holding to read. His time in the City of Elabon had convinced him ignorance was an enemy as dangerous as the Trokmoi. When he’d begun his scheme, he hadn’t thought of its also having thoroughly practical uses: a man who could read could keep records much more accurate than those proffered by a man relying solely on his memory.
Carlun probably inked his pen with blackberry juice, but that didn’t bother the Fox. Neither did the headman’s shaky scrawl. Here was the barley, here was the wheat—Gerin took a look at the records, took a look around the village, and started to laugh.
“Lord prince?” Did Carlun sound a trifle apprehensive? If he didn’t, he should have. But he did: he was clever enough to know he hadn’t been clever enough with the records.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you’re going to cheat me,” Gerin said. “Not mentioning the storage pits off to the east there and hoping I wouldn’t notice doesn’t do the job. I remember you have them even if you didn’t write anything about them here.”
“Ah, a pestilence!” Carlun said, like the Fox, he kicked at the dirt in anger and frustration. Carlun World-Bestrider, for whom he was named, had been the greatest emperor in Elabonian history. Now he saw even his little headmanship in danger. If Gerin raised someone else to take his place, he’d never live it down, not if he stayed in the village till he was ninety. “What—what will you do with me, lord prince?”
“Hush. I’m not finished here yet,” Gerin said, and then fell silent again while he methodically went through the rest of the parchment Carlun waited and squirmed. The Fox looked up. “You’re right. The cabbages have done well.”
Carlun jerked as if a wasp had stung him. Then he realized Gerin hadn’t ordered him cast down from his small height. Gerin, in fact, hadn’t said anything about his fate at all. “Lord prince?” he asked in a tiny voice, as if not willing to admit hope still lived in him.
“Oh, aye—about you.” The matter might have slipped Gerin’s mind. He turned brisk: “Well, it’s simple enough. You can’t be headman here any more. That’s pikestaff plain.”
Carlun took the blow like a warrior. “As you wish, lord prince,” he said tonelessly. “Dare I ask you to give me leave to travel to some village far away in the lands you hold? That way, maybe, my family and I will be able to hold up our heads.”
“No, that’s impossible,” Gerin said, and, for the first time, Carlun’s shoulders slumped in dismay Gerin went on, “Can’t do it, I’m afraid. No, I’m going to move you into Fox Keep instead.”
“Lord prince, I—” Carlun suddenly seemed to hear what the Fox had said. He gaped. “Into Fox Keep?” His gaze swung toward the timbers of the palisade. “Why?”
With a lot of lords, the question wouldn’t have needed asking. You brought a peasant inside a keep so you could take all the time you wanted tormenting him with all the tools you had. But Gerin did not operate that way, and never had. He took a certain somber pride that his serfs understood as much.
It was, evidently, the only thing Carlun understood. In an exasperation partly feigned and partly quite genuine, Gerin said, “Father Dyaus above, man, don’t you see you’re the first of all the peasants I’ve taught who’s ever tried to cheat me with words and numbers?”
“I’m sorry, lord prince,” Carlun said miserably. “If only I could have another chance, I’d serve you well.”
“I’ll give you another chance,” Gerin told him, “and a proper one this time. How would you like to keep accounts for all the lands I hold, not for this one little village? I’ve been doing it myself, but each day is only so long. Oh, I’ll look over your shoulder, and so will Selatre, hut I’ve dreamt for years of finding a man at home with numbers to whom I could give the job. If you’re at home enough with numbers to try cheating with them, you may be the man to try. If you make good, you’ll be better off there than you ever could be here, headman or no. Are you game for it?”
“Lord prince!” Carlun fell to his knees. “I’ll be your man forever. I’ll never cheat again, not by so much as a bean. I’ll do whatever you ask of me, learn whatever you set before me—”
Gerin believed the last part. He was less sure of the rest. He’d been down to the City of Elabon and seen how arrogant imperial treasury officials—indeed, all imperial officials—could get. He didn’t want men acting in his name behaving like that. Going through histories and chronicles, though, warned him they were liable to behave like that no matter what he wanted them to do. Despite Carlun’s fervent protestations, they were also likely to see to it that silver and grain and other good things ended up in their hands rather than in the treasury.
“Get up,” he told Carlun, his voice rough. “You’re already my man forever. I’ll thank you to remember it in better ways than this.” He shook the offending parchments in Carlun’s face. The headman quailed again. Gerin went on, “The other thing to keep in mind is, you’re like a dog that’s bitten once. If you cheat again and I find out about it, you’ll wish you’d never been born, I promise you that. I’ve never crucified a man in all the years I’ve ruled this holding, but that would tempt me to change my mind.”
“I already swore, lord prince, I’d not take even a bean that wasn’t mine, and I meant every word of what I said.” Carlun gabbled out the words. Was he trying to convince himself as well as the Fox? No, probably not, Gerin decided. He meant what he said—now. But it was a rare treasurer who died poor. Gerin shrugged. Time would tell the tale.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you—too much,” Gerin said, with a grin lacking only Geroge’s fangs to make it truly fearsome. Carlun had picked a stupid way to cheat the first time. As he got more familiar with the numbers he juggled, he was liable to get more adept at concealing his thefts, too. Again, though, time would tell. “Go on, go let your wife know what we’re going to do, then head up to the keep. Tell Selatre what I’ve se
nt you for—and why.”
“Y-yes, lord prince,” the newly promoted larcenous headman said.
But when he turned to go, Gerin held up a hand. “Wait. If you’re leaving the village, with whom should I replace you?”
An evil gleam kindled in Carlun’s eyes. ‘The one who complains most is Tostrov Waterdrinker. I’d like to see how he’d shape in the job if he had it.”
“Tostrov?” Gerin rubbed his chin. “Aye, he does complain a lot, doesn’t he? But no, he has no other virtues I can think of. No one would pay him any mind. Try again, and seriously this time.”
“Aye, lord prince.” Carlun hesitated, then said, “The man my sister married, Herris Bigfoot, is no fool, and he works hard. People respect him, too. You could do worse.”
“Mm, so I could. I’ll think on that,” Gerin said. He slapped the parchments against his knee. They made a dry, rustling sound, as if they were dead leaves rubbing one another. “Now, back to the business I came here for. With that stored grain you didn’t bother writing down”—he watched in some satisfaction as Carlun went pink—“how are you fixed for stores?”
He thought about adding something like, If you still tell me you’re starving, I’m going to open up those storage pits and see for myself. In the end, he didn’t; he wanted to see how Carlun would react without the goad. The headman hesitated, visibly thinking through the answers he might give. Gerin hid a smile: no, Carlun wasn’t used to dealing with someone who was liable to be trickier than he. After a pause that stretched a couple of heartbeats too long, he replied, “Lord prince, we’re—not too badly off, though I hate to say that so early in the year.”
“And you have plenty of cabbages,” the Fox added. Carlun squirmed. “Well, never mind that. We’ll need some of what you have, to feed the warriors who’ll be gathering here for war against Adiatunnus.”
Carlun licked his lips. “You’ll be drawing more than the customary dues from us, then?”
Was that a hint of reproach in his voice? It was, the Fox decided. He eyed Carlun with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. The headman would not have dared protest to any other ruler in the northlands: of that Gerin was sure. Most overlords thought, What does ruling mean but taking what I want and what I’m strong enough to grab? But the Fox, so far as he could, tried to substitute custom and even the beginning of law for naked theft.
He fixed Carlun with an unpleasant stare. “I could say the overage is forfeit as punishment for trying to cheat me.” After watching the serf writhe, though, he said, “I won’t. It’s not the village’s fault you cheated. It had better not be, anyhow.” He stared again.
“Oh, no, lord prince,” Carlun said quickly. “My idea. All mine.”
No one from the village had come to complain he was cheating the Fox. Maybe the other peasants hadn’t known. Maybe they’d hoped he’d get away with it. No proof, and Gerin didn’t feel like digging. “I’ll believe you,” he said, “No, I won’t simply take it. For whatever we exact over the set dues, I’ll ease your labor in the forests and on the Elabon Way and such.”
“Thank you, lord prince,” Carlun said. Before Germ could find any other awkward questions with which to tax him, he hurried back toward the village. The Fox had told him to do so, after all, and didn’t take offense.
Still holding the parchments, Gerin stood a while in thought. From what he knew of Herris Bigfoot, Carlun’s brother-in-law wouldn’t make a bad headman. The only trouble he foresaw was that he hadn’t taught Herris to read. Record-keeping here would go downhill for a while.
Or would it? Herris wasn’t stupid. Maybe he could learn. You didn’t need to know much in the way of reading and writing to keep track of livestock and produce. The Fox shaded his eyes with one hand and peered out over the fields. He was starting to have trouble reading these days, having to hold manuscripts farther from his eyes because his sight was lengthening. Out past arm’s length, though, nothing was wrong with the way he saw.
There stood Herris, talking and laughing with a woman who, Gerin saw, was not Carlun’s sister. He shrugged He hadn’t heard anything to make him think Herris was doing anything scandalous, so he wouldn’t worry about this. He went over to Herris, noting as he did so that the barley was coming in well.
Carlun’s brother-in-law watched him approach. Herris’ friend quickly got back to work weeding. “You want something with me, lord prince?” Herris asked. “I saw you talking with Carlun, and—”
“How would you like his job?” the Fox asked bluntly.
The woman busy pulling weeds let out a startled gasp. Herris scratched his head. He didn’t look or act as sharp as Carlun, but Gerin knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything. After the pause for thought, Herris said, “It depends, lord prince. How come you don’t want him there no more?”
Gerin nodded in approval—loyalty to your kin seldom went to waste. He explained the new post for which he wanted Carlun (though not the cheating that made him think Carlun might be right for it), finishing, “And he said you’d do for headman here. Thinking about it, I’d say he’s likely right, if you want the job.”
“I do, lord prince, and thank you,” Herris said. “I’d’ve felt different, I expect, if you were giving him the sack for no good reason.”
“No,” Gerin said, again not mentioning he had a good reason if he wanted to use it. He smacked the rolled-up parchments against his leg once more. “There is one other thing—I know you don’t have your letters, so I’m going to want you to learn them if you can. That way, you’ll have an easier time keeping track of things here.”
Herris pointed to the accounts Carlun had kept “May I see those, lord prince?” Gerin handed them to him. He unrolled them and, to the Fox’s surprise, began to read them out. He stumbled a couple of times, but did well enough on the whole.
“I know I didn’t teach you your letters,” Gerin said “Where did you learn them?”
Herris looked worried. “Am I in trouble, lord prince?” Only after the Fox shook his head did the peasant say, “Carlun taught ’em to me. He didn’t know he was doing anything wrong, swear by Dyaus he didn’t. He learned ’em to me and a couple-three others, he did. It was a way to pass the time, nothin’ more, that’s for true.”
“It’s all right,” Gerin said absently. “Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head, altogether bemused. So they’d been learning letters in the peasant huts, had they, instead of rolling dice and drinking ale? No, more likely alongside of rolling dice and drinking ale. A lot of nobles in the northlands reckoned serfs nothing more than domestic animals that chanced to walk on two legs. The Fox had never been of that school, but this caught him off guard If you let learning put down one root, it would put out half a dozen on its own—unless, of course, the Trokmoi yanked them all out of the ground “Can you write as well as read?” he asked Herris.
“Not as good as Carlun can,” the peasant answered, “but maybe good enough so you can make out the words. The numbers, they’re not hard.”
“No, eh?” Was he boasting? Gerin decided to find out Take a look at the numbers on these sheets here. Tell me what you think is interesting about them.”
Herris scratched his head thoughtfully, then went over the records his brother-in-law had kept Gerin didn’t say anything, but rocked from heels to toes and back again, giving Herris all the time he wanted. He couldn’t think of a better test for the prospective headman’s wits and honesty both.
He was beginning to think Herris either less honest or less bright than he’d hoped when the peasant coughed and said, “Uh, lord prince, is there another sheet somewheres?”
“No.” The Fox kept his voice neutral. “Should there be?”
“You said you were giving Carlun this fancy spot at Fox Keep?” Herris asked Gerin nodded. Herris looked worried. “Him and me, we’ve always got on well. I’d hate to have him think I was telling tales, but … we’ve got more grain than these here parchments show.”
“Herris!” The woman who was weeding spoke
his name reproachfully. Then, too late, she remembered with whom he was talking. She bent down and started pulling plants out of the ground as fast as she could.
“Good,” Gerin said. “You’ll do. You’ll definitely do.”
“Lord prince?” Herris was floundering.
“I never told Carlun not to cheat me,” the Fox explained. “Of course, that was only because it hadn’t occurred to me he’d try, but still, the fact remains, so how am I to blame him? In a way, I’m glad to see learning take hold, with him and with you. But only in a way—bear that in mind. I’ve warned him what will happen if he tries any more cheating, and I would advise you to think very hard about that, too. Do we understand each other?”
“Oh, yes, lord prince,” Herris said, so sincerely that he either meant it or was a better liar than Gerin thought One way or the other, the Fox would find out.
Chariots began rattling into Fox Keep, by ones and twos and sometimes by fours and fives. As they arrived, Gerin’s vassals hung their armor on the walls of the great hall. The firelight from the hearth and torches made the shining bronze molten, almost bloody. That seemed fitting, for bloody work lay ahead.
Bevander Bevon’s son said, “Lord prince, is all quiet with Aragis the Archer? If the grand duke gets wind of what we’re about here, he’s liable to jump us while we’re busy.”
“I’ve worried about the same thing myself,” the Fox agreed, eyeing Bevander with considerable respect. The man was not the greatest warrior the gods ever made, but he knew intrigue. He and his father and brothers had fought a multicornered civil war for years; any man who couldn’t keep track of who’d last betrayed whom soon paid the price.
Bevander went on, in meditative tones, “Or, on the other hand, Aragis might want to let us fight Adiatunnus and then attack. If we and the Trokmoi were both weakened, he might sweep us all into the Niffet and style himself king.”
“If he wants the title, he’s a fool, and whatever else Aragis is, he’s no fool,” Germ answered. “I have a better claim to call myself king than he does, by the gods, but you don’t see me doing it. If any man styles himself king, that’ll be a signal for all the other nobles in the northlands to join together and pull him down.”
King of the North Page 5
