“Thank you for your statement, Mister Lee.” Onamingo turned to Kraki. “And how do you respond to the Hickoryan offer for justice?”
A tall brown haired man with a narrow face and Cordovan brown leather suit approached the bench. He said in a plaintive voice, “Your Honor, this brutal act of Lester Lambert warrants death under Herewardi Law with the only exception being the willing offering of a ten to one wergeld payment for such a heinous sin. Ten Hickoryan virgins for marriage to Herewardi men and that the virgins must be of Wool Folk choosing. It is the law of wergeld. The only other just payment is the death of the perpetrator. Which we of the Wool Folk, would quite frankly, much prefer.”
Onamingo nodded. He turned to Jon Dee Lee, “And what is your response to that?”
“We have no basis to offer anyone of our kind for such purposes, no matter how customary it is in Herewardi Law. No Hickoryan parent could suffer such a judgment. Why should others pay for the crime of Lester?”
“You may be seated. Gentlemen we are at an impasse. This case is not only about justice for one offense, but in the broader sense, to determine whether we as different cultures can abide one another’s presence. I charge the jury to render a fair and equitable decision by weighing both arguments. You will now convene in privacy to weigh the arguments of both parties, keeping in mind that this case has nearly brought our two communities to the brink of war. I will then hear your conclusions before I render a permanent third party, impartial judgement on the case. bailiff, escort the jury to my private chamber for their deliberations. We shall reconvene in four hours for the final rendering at the third point on the medicine wheel.” The gavel struck.
* * *
Sur Sceaf and Muryh ate dinner together in the king’s chamber. They had just returned to the atrium of the great Stone Hall when the bailiff emerged from the chamber of justice to call for all interested parties to return.
Once everyone was seated and the court reconvened, Onamingo called for the findings of the jury. A Sharaka juryman named She-Thinks-Alot arose and stated. “Your honor, we had four jurors vote for imprisonment in a harsh labor camp for five years and seven jurors vote for the death sentence. One juror was undecided.”
“Thank you for weighing the matter carefully. And now according to the cannons of the Syr Folk judicial system I must render a final and incontestable decision. In doing this, I am required to consider the decision of the jury as well as the arguments of both parties.” Onamingo paused, his expression carefully neutral as he pondered. Finally, he sat up straighter. Looked first at Lester, then at Leda, then declared. “It is my judgement, as the Righter, that Lester Lewis Lambert the Lesser will receive the brand of a besmieran, the labyrus, on his forehead and be banished forever from the Isle of Ilkchild and any Syr Folk lands forever after, upon penalty of death by bleeding should he ever return. So let it be written.” Then turning to the bailiff, he ordered. “Make it so.”
Amidst the buzz of comment Sur Sceaf turned to Muryh. “You see Muryh, all parties have agreed to Onamingo’s judgement, though each had wanted a different outcome. Jon Lee’s friendship with me will survive this. There will always be adjustments between different cultures, but I think we can find a middle ground. Thank the gods for Onamingo and his wisdom at finding a fair and acceptable way out of this mess.”
Muryh still didn’t look happy. “I still think it would have been better to go by Herewardi Law instead of doing all that pussy-footing to accommodate a pervert. Death would have been more merciful for us all.”
“I agree. I know it is hard for anyone to change. I told Jon, ‘had Leda been my daughter, I fear I would have slain Lester on the spot,’ and Jon rebutted, ‘Had Lester Lewis Lambert the Lesser been my son, I could not have borne his slaying well.’”
Muryh considered for a moment before admitting. “Perhaps Onamingo did balance the laws of both cultures and render proper judgement. But I still think our way is the better, it’s just not as conducive to intertribal harmony.”
Chapter 24 : Jon Dee Lee’s Young Blood Road Crew
It was a brisk autumn morning in mid November when Jon Lee pulled his goat skin gloves tightly over his sun tanned hands and grasped the reins of his bay mount, Forerunner, who churned the soft dry dirt with his dancing hooves like a prancing circus horse. As Forerunner snorted with the pending excitement that only horses can express so well, Jon Lee raised the brass bugle to his pursed lips and blasted the signal to gather. The young men, representatives of the many tribes on the isle, who had signed up for the exploration of roads crew, rushed about to gather their mounts and tools and gather around Jon Lee and Karl Throckmorton near the heavily loaded mule train.
As Jon Lee reviewed the young men before him, most under the age of seventeen, he was pleased that they were attentive, and in most cases, properly attired. Redelfis and his twelver were proudly clad in their red uniforms. Even the Cerulean swine herders, whom Pita insisted stay behind to learn the Syr Folk ways wore Herewardi clothing, although brighter in colors than any of the others wore for such an occasion.
When the company had fully assembled, Jon opened with the mission statement: “Brethren of Syrdom, we have been commissioned by the swan lord, Sur Sceaf, to embark on a mining expedition amidst the great building projects that are already going on in this land. We hope to find valuable raw materials, ores, and rare minerals to serve our comforts and needs. This is a serious and necessary expedition and not just a camping trip. We will be responsible for the mapping and staking out of mining fields we find and building trails and roads as we go.”
He paused to stare at two boys who were shoving one another. “Now listen up, you two! You have all been assigned to a pack, which will consist of ten to twelve youths and one adult. Stay with your pack, love your pack, become your pack, and learn to think like a pack. Observe the behavior of Redelfis’ twelver and how well they operate as a wolf pack.” Forerunner snorted and nodded his head up and down which caused the youth to stir with laughter. “Observe how the young blood twelver always operates as a cohesive unit under Redelfis’ directions. See that you do likewise. You may visit other packs in our night camps, but during movements we stay together at all times, for order, protection, and roll calls. No one, at any time wonder off alone. I have charged Redelfis’ twelver to correct any infraction within your packs. I charge you to strictly adhere to what they tell you to do. We have not yet decided whether to place a young blood fyrd member in each pack or not, but you should know by the end of this week. Additionally, the young blood fyrd is accompanying us for added safety and protection. Now mount up and move out in your packs!”
Pointing from his mount at the large man standing nearby, he explained. “Karl Throckmorton is our quartermaster, and has the charge over the mule train and supply wagons. You Quailor youth will be our muleskinners and assist Karl in his wagon train. By now everyone should be clear on their places.”
Karl stood up from his wagon seat, gave a snap of his whip, launching his sorrel mule team forward. The caravan of mule skinners did the same. Redelfis’ twelver brought up the rear. As planned, they sent two riders up each side of the caravan and then back down again, rotating in set order, for they were in a constant state of training. The crushed tar weed under the hooves incensed the air as they made their way through fields of star thistle and giant dandelions. Occasionally, they encountered large patches of spineless cacti and Karl’s skinners hacked off the tender slabs to be fried up with the next meal while hungry mules partook of their share.
After they had been on the trail for several hours, Jon’s son, Custus Ruhm Lee, on his grey dappled stallion, sidled up next to his father. He had named his steed ‘Journeyer.’ It was the only grey Hanovarian born that year. Jon made sure his son and his friends, Eldon Seamisch, and Arnold Loosestrife, were assigned to his pack, because Sur Sceaf wanted the next generation of leaders to be forged together through such bonding experiences.
Jon’s pack, consisted of Herewose, son of Pyrs
yrus, who had been made the youthleader of his pack. In his company rode Alfheah the son of Sur Sceaf, Going Snake, the son of Mendaka, Fidra and Woody the Blue, the sons of Pita, and Bnimin, Rabbi Amschel’s youngest son as well as the three Jywds, Fairchild, Sunchild, and Immachild, the three of which would soon be drafted into Pyrsyrus’ navy at the end of the expedition. Finally, the pack was capped off by Russell and Ev’Rhett, the puckish twin son’s of Sur Sceaf whom everyone had given Jon ample warnings about.
Will I ever remember all the connections? This is the cream of Syrdom and I must make these boys into a tight knit community during this endeavor.
Shortly after their midday meal, the caravan passed by the settlement of Elfwine. Which, according to the accounting map, consisted of twenty thousand Herewardi and around five thousand Hickoryans. Its large water wheels churned out water to flood the fields where previously rice, corn, and barley had been grown.
The village of Elfwine was on the west side of the river Mahallah, north and west of Hockney-in-the-Hole which straddled the entrance to the Shenandoah Valley and new merry land settlements of the Hickoryans, consisting of thirty-thousand and seven thousand settlers respectively. This mission and route was chosen by Sur Sceaf and Jon to serve a two-fold purpose. The first was to map out a road through the jungles of the north and the second was to locate precious minerals and metals for Govannon. This trip would also help him estimate the amount of manpower needed for the daunting task of building a road over the mountains and through the thick jungle all the way to the Moon Door.
After five hours of travel, in which Jon was pleased to note that the wolf packs were sticking together well and operating properly, the company broke into open savannah land where he signaled for them to stop for their evening meal. Towards twilight they found a meadow with silver, moss-covered rocks in an open oak grove that had a nearby spring. There they set up their camp for the coming night fall.
As Karl was putting on the food at the chuck wagon where the Quailor cooks assisted in preparing the meal, Sur Sceaf’s son Aelfheah, requested, “Master Jon, instead of a mid-day nap, may we have your permission to race our horses. I want to pit my white against Ruhm’s grey Hanoverian colt.”
Seamisch shouted, “Well, you can kiss your white horse’s ass goodbye because Journeyer will take him every time.”
Jon conceded, “You may have a horse race. I think it would be both team building and entertaining.” He smiled and admired the energy the youth were demonstrating.
Swiftly, the boys measured out the mile course. The course was set at the edge of their camp to a large cluster of opuntia cacti about a half mile out in the savannah. Several individual riders and a troop of ten hunters from the nearby village of Eweward, a town of Herewardi to the north, just happened to be passing and stopped to see what all the commotion was about. Jon greeted them and explained what their mission was and that they were using their down time for a horse race. They gathered around to inspect the horses lining up.
Aelfheah boasted, “I am sure my horse White Ghost, can take any other horse.”
Jon could not resist saying, “Isn’t it apparent. Aelfie, that all who entered this race feel the same about their mounts? Let the race determine the best horse and not the loudest mouth. Boasting must be as boasting does.”
Ruhm said, “You Herewardi are always peacocking. Well, let’s just see what your horse has got.”
Redelfis entered his horse, a three year old, bred from Catalpa called Prairie Fire. “This, my friends, is the finest paint in all the land. Let me show you boys the glory of a mountain bred pony.”
“Sure as hell, I can’t ride my mount in a race. Most of your horses couldn’t even carry me.” Karl declared, being the heavy man that he was. “So I’ve picked lightweight Fidra here to ride my sorrel mule, Hazzard, in the race.”
The excitement in the company was brimming and flooding over. Jon Lee even suppressed the urge to run his own horse when he noticed the men of Eweward were fast laying bets down. And no one could sit still while bets and boasts went flying. The young bloods and villagers of Eweward pressed and pushed one another to see the starting line. Karl walked over and growled. “I said no one past this line.” He quickly pushed people back and re-drew the starting line with his boot heel, flared his nostrils, and stared daringly at the crowd until he was sure they would honor the line.
When all the participants were mounted, Karl held a red scarf up and called out, “Riders, take your mark.” Lightning like, Journeyer, Ruhm Lee’s grey Hanovarian steed began to bolt forward. It seemed like an eternity before he managed to pull the steed back. When he finally had the stallion back under full control, Karl yelled, “Get set.” He dropped the red scarf and at the same time yelled out, “Go!”
The boys screamed and shook their arms amid shouts of encouragement as Redlfis’ Prairie Fire took a clear lead. Seconds later, Journeyer pulled out in front, tearing up sod as he went. The riders all got tight on the turn around the cacti and then Aelfy’s White Ghost took the lead. By the fourth quarter it was Prairie Fire, White Ghost, and Journeyer leading neck to neck when suddenly, Hazzard the mule with a burst of speed passed all three, finishing three lengths before the others, with Journeyer second and Prairie Fire third.
It took a clutch of six young bloods to heave Karl up as the victor, screaming, laughing, and dancing.
“Put me down boys,” Karl shouted. “We’ve got more important matters to attend to.”
“What would that be?” yelled Heinrich, one of the Quailor youth.
“First off, my safety, and secondly, I’m starved.”
The boys laughed as they set him on his feet again.
Soon Karl had steaming pots of vittles and platters of bread lined up outside the chuck wagon. The young bloods flew to the wagon like birds to a feeding station and before long laughter filled the camp as they gathered in groups with their vittles to discuss the excitement of the race.
The Herewardi from Ewewood had been invited to join them and eagerly accepted.
Aelfheah feigned humility, hung his head, and said, “I concede defeat and confess my pride, but in reality my horse was not herself today.”
A couple of jeers went up from the youth and all the Ceruleans were gathering around Fidra the blue when Keith, a Hickoryan young blood, taunted, “Well, you can boast all you want about your white horses, but our Hanovarians showed they can beat them today.”
Redelfis slapped him on the back, “Well done, anyway, Aelfy.”
“No, no, I’m almost sure my horse would have won if she wasn’t having a bad day,” Aelfy declared.
Jon Lee commented to Karl, “Who would have ever thought a half-ass is faster than these bred for speed horses. Mules are without pride of ancestry and have no hope of posterity, yet old Hazzard trumped some of the best horse flesh on this island and that with an inexperienced horseman.”
After a hearty meal of squab and rabbit, beans, and cactus slabs, they washed it down with barley brew. Upon finishing his meal, Jon took out his note pad and before the light faded he made a note that he needed to straighten the road out through this neck of the land. After writing, he carefully measured and marked the future road on his map.
Jon asked Redelfis to join his son’s wolf pack for the evening. Redelfis talked about his years of knowing Sur Sceaf, while the wolf packs set up their camps and gathered sufficient fire wood for the evening.
Campfires burned throughout the night and laced the air with alder smoke and oak. As Jon stood next to his campfire, he and Karl chatted. “Since Govannon has charged us with the task of locating iridium and ruthenium. I’ll look for it everywhere we go. He said to search for it in the star craters, as that is where it is most often found.”
Karl said, “I could make my own map, but I think it would save us time if I just marked it on your map.”
“Most certainly. No sense in duplicating efforts.”
“Please feel free to stop me, if you feel the need for furthe
r exploration in any area.” Karl grinned. “You know, of course, what is going to happen. Every time we stop, the boys will want another rematch.”
Jon laughed. “All the better since it will go toward Sur Sceaf’s goal of building camaraderie and leadership.”
Karl smiled. “Smart man, Sur Sceaf! But then I knew that from the moment we met. That’s why I convinced you to join us. My friend, you won’t find any greater freedoms than here on this isle.”
“I agree, but it took me some time to believe that. I’ve had too many dealings with Dominikers and that makes for mistrust of anyone else.”
Jon looked through the snaking smoke of the encampment and saw animated campfire councils going on throughout the grove. “It is probably midnight. I had better sound the bugle for lights out.”
* * *
Morning came like the fall of a mighty timber to the boys who had stayed up late way into predawn or uht as the Herewardi call it. Consequently, Jon found the young bloods lingering in their bed rolls as he passed tent after tent. Jugs of moonshine lay empty around the campfires and only the youths of his wolf pack and Redelfis’ twelver were up and moving as were the Quailor youth, whom he presumed had not imbibed any of the hard alcohol. Fetching a large pan and spoon, he walked up and down the camp banging and clanging. He was greeted with groans and curses as one-by-one the boys came tumbling out of their tents. He returned the pan to the cook, then waited until they were all lined out.
He stood with his hands on his hips and shouted out, “Alright, you sorry sons of bitches, you all look like you haven’t slept for a week. I let you have free rein last night, but that ends right now. I will not endure another night of such drunken shenanigans. From now on you will behave like responsible young men and not like a bunch of hillbillies out on a drinking spree. I give you fair warning that if I find so much as a drop of grog or moonshine anywhere in camp or within an arrows shot, that person will wish he were skinned alive, because I won’t give him a moment of reprieve.”
The Bok of Syr Folk Page 41
