“Convenient,” Ragnar muttered.
Oswald nodded. “Everything is for the lords’ convenience—and protection; those roads follow the high ground, and give the King a quick way to send a strike force to reinforce any lord who’s having trouble—not that this particular king seems about to do much. So any ideas we can plant in a lord’s retinue, will go right out to the country with him.”
“Are there no roads that connect town to town?” Siflot asked.
“Yes, dirt roads, only wide enough for one cart at a time. But I see your meaning, friend, yes.” Oswald nodded. “Your best bet is to go from village to village, singing for your supper. Let’s get together on the lyrics, though, eh?”
Siflot smiled and ducked his head in answer. It was their first reminder that Oswald was in charge, and that whatever they were going to do, they were going to do it his way.
“So much for Propaganda of the Word,” Oswald said. “We’ll plant ideas, in conversation or in stories or, best of all, songs. People will repeat the message more often if we can hit upon a tune that catches on—and they’ll repeat it with less distortion, because of the rhyme. In fact, I’ve worked out a few variations on popular songs already—if we change them as they circulate, we’ll get across some basic ideas of human rights.”
“I could redo Robin Hood so that his band voted on decisions,” Siflot offered.
Master Oswald nodded. “Good idea, but not yet. Right now, just having Robin Hood at all, is enough. Same idea for Propaganda of the Deed—no terrorism, no bombings, just helping serfs escape and teaching them how to defend themselves in their hideouts. If we can build up a few bands of free men, word will spread, and other people will get the idea.”
Magnus frowned. “But if they gain too much fame, the lords will send armies to wipe them out.”
“Unfortunate, but probably unavoidable,” Oswald agreed. “If they make a gallant last stand, though, it will fire the minds and hearts of serfs everywhere—if we make sure they hear about it.”
Magnus stood immobile, telling himself that Master Oswald couldn’t really have meant that to be as cold-blooded as it sounded.
“But if we can build up large enough bands,” Ragnar objected, “couldn’t they strike back at the lords?”
“I said, not yet.” Oswald held up a hand. “We’re not after a revolution here—that’s standard SCENT policy. If we overthrew the lords right now, who would take their place? Just peasants who were rougher and tougher than average—and the first thing you know, you’d have the same system in place all over again, but with different masters. Only this time, they’d know what to watch out for, and they’d be even tougher to overthrow. No, we’ll work the fundamental concepts of democracy into their culture first, then move toward a new system one change at a time. That way, when the lords are finally kicked out, they’ll stay out, and government by the people will have a chance.”
“All right,” Lancorn said. “Technological determinism. We introduce a technological innovation—say, the printing press—and it will cause a change in the economy, which will cause a change in the social structure, making the middle class dominant. That will cause a change in the political structure, making them move toward parliamentary government-and that would change the value structure.”
This time both Allouene and Oswald shook their heads, and Allouene said, “No major technological innovations—that’s the cornerstone of SCENT policy. Bring in earthshaking inventions like that, and the social change will be an explosion, not normal growth. The society will tear itself apart trying to readjust, and thousands of people will be maimed and killed in the process. The English Civil War was a mild example—but ‘mild’ only because the technological innovations had been imported two hundred years before. Even with that much time, the society still couldn’t adapt fast enough to avoid war.”
“Besides,” Oswald said, “technological innovations don’t come just one at a time. The printing press wouldn’t make much difference without the rise of a literate merchant class to read the books.”
“And the middle class rose because of better ships and better navigation equipment, such as the astrolabe and the pendulum clock.” Lancorn nodded, chagrined. “You can’t take just one.”
“Not even in a culture that doesn’t know anything about modern technology,” Master Oswald confirmed. “But here, the lords do know about the astrolabe, the compass, the pendulum clock, and the printing press—and they know about the English Civil War, too. Worse, they know about the French Revolution, when the social changes had been dammed up too long and broke loose in a flood. So they’re very wary, very watchful—and at the slightest sign there was a printing press around, they’d track it down, break it to splinters, and kill the printer.”
“I thought you were a merchant,” Ragnar said, frowning. “Can’t you justify new and improved transportation?”
“Such as the steam engine?” Oswald shook his head. “They’d be onto me in a minute. I do my trading by ox-cart and wagon. It’s enough to keep a merchant prosperous, and keep the necessary minimum of trade going. But any sign of improvements, the lords would eliminate instantly—I’ve seen it happen. One merchant started building his own roads, going places the lords didn’t want—and he disappeared in the middle of the night, was never heard from again. Another one started to set up an exchange network with other merchants—and they all disappeared. No, the aristocrats know what new inventions and new systems mean, and they make sure they don’t happen.”
“Well, won’t they stop our songs?” Lancorn asked. “They can’t, even if they outlaw them—people will just sing them in secret, and that by itself will stimulate the spirit of defiance. But more importantly, you need to come up with stories and songs that the lords themselves will like, and that are such good fun, and seem so innocent, that any aristocrat who starts analyzing them for messages will be pooh-poohed by his fellows.”
“How can we do that?” Lancorn asked.
“Try,” Oswald suggested. “The Robin Hood ballads were just as popular in the medieval courts as they were in the peasant villages. Nobody wants to identify with the bad guy, after all. Technological determinism ends with a new political system developing a new value-system, and that means the pyramid can be worked in reverse—change the value system, and you can change the political structure.”
Magnus shook his head. “They will not allow it. These lords are firmly entrenched, from what you say; only war will rid the serfs of their yoke. The lords have the monopoly on violence, after all.”
“True,” Oswald admitted, “but if we do the groundwork well enough, we can keep it down to a series of skirmishes. We have to prepare for that outbreak, or you’ll have nothing but an abortive rebellion with an awful lot of dead peasants, and nothing but worse oppression for the survivors.”
They were all quiet, looking at one another, recognizing the truth in Oswald’s words.
“For now, breakfast.” Oswald rolled up the map. “Then you can start roaming the city—and looking for weak spots in the social wall.”
The day passed quickly, in a dizzying kaleidoscope of dialects and locations—markets, workshops, churches, prison. Before long, Siflot was juggling in front of an audience, then demonstrating his expertise as an acrobat, which none of his team had known about. He brought home quite a haul in copper coins, too.