“I support Duke Edmund in this,” Mike Spehar, the representative from Westphal said. He was a tall, fair man who had dressed for the meeting in armor. “The most important thing that a preindustrial republic must have is a well-distributed armed class. Failure to have such inevitably leads to the establishment of feudalism.
“I am not a duke anymore, Baron Longleaf,” Edmund snapped.
“You are still listed on the Society rolls as such,” Spehar said. “And it is that which I propose to amend. Many of the towns are developing from the skills of society members or those associated with them. Many of the towns have already reestablished a meritocratic aristocracy. And some that are holding out against the idea are doing so because of the existing rolls. My proposals fall into that area.”
“Mike, you’re nuts,” Edmund replied. “First you rail against feudalism and then you want to bring in its trappings?”
“We’re not just accepting society position gratis in Westphal,” Spehar replied. “As I said, a meritocratic-based aristocracy. Instead of a Senate elected by the states or the state legislatures, a House of Lords, so to speak, that would have both hereditary aristocracy and members with lifetime appointments for particular merit. The latter, especially, would represent a true ‘higher house’ and the hereditary aristocracy could be used to woo those who are avoiding entry due to loss of privilege.”
“You’re talking about dictatorial warlords like that bastard down in Cartersville,” the representative from Chitao snapped. “They’re exactly what we want to eliminate!”
“And how would you eliminate them?” Spehar replied with a frown of contempt. “You’re planning on disarming your citizens. Are you planning on winning them over by smiling a lot or by selling your daughters?”
“Gentlemen!” Sheida snapped. “Calm down. All right, that is two proposed modifications to the base document. I’m sure there will be more. We will all have a chance to present them and look them over, then we can get down to editing and arguing. For now, we’ll just let them be presented. Without commentary.”
This is going to be a long night, Edmund thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kane woke Herzer well before dawn with the bad news that he was in charge of making breakfast. Herzer tried not to grumble and wandered out into the predawn darkness. He was presented with the materials and then Kane went back to bed.
Herzer had learned to use flint and steel to start a fire while woodcutting and it only took him ten or twenty tries to get the fire going. The first few that started went back out before he had a solid base and it took six or seven tries to get the tinder going each time. Finally he had a good roaring fire and it was time to start the mush. He lugged a bucket of water from the nearby stream and poured it in the kettle, then set the kettle on the fire while he went to get another bucket. Then he had to figure out how much of the cornmeal would make a good mush. He finally settled that question, by which time the water was starting to boil. He added the meal, which stopped the boil, then went to find more wood.
By the time he got back the concoction had boiled over and put the fire out.
There were a few coals left and he carefully nursed them to start a new fire, then went and got more wood and started all over again. He finally had a steady fire going, and the mush bubbling, by the time Kane reappeared.
“What’d you put in it besides meal?” Kane asked, taking a spoonful. “That’s going to take a long time to cook down.”
“I had some trouble,” Herzer admitted, as if the wet ashes from the first fire weren’t proof enough.
“I’ll get some additions,” Kane muttered, then wandered back to the building he and Alyssa shared.
When Kane came back he took over the fire and set Herzer to feeding the horses. It was a huge herd and like all horse herds extremely hierarchical. Kane had somewhere obtained a large quantity of hay and Herzer attempted to distribute it by spreading it around, one forkful at a time but that didn’t work very well. The senior horses, a group of mares, had finished their share by the time he’d made his tenth trip and were driving the low-rank horses, including his own Diablo, off the piles. He was also getting worried about the health of the horses since the kicking and squealing was not only getting loud but vicious.
“Won’t work like that,” Alyssa said, walking over to him as he came back with another load. She was yawning and the squealing of the horses had clearly woken her but since he was sweating freely in the early morning cool he wasn’t exactly heartbroken.
“With so many of them and all in a group, all you can do is pile it up in one place,” she said. “It helps to move it to where they can get at it from every side.”
She went into the corral with a halter and returned with one of the Hanarahs that she then hooked up to a small cart. Between the two of them they loaded the cart with hay, then Alyssa drove it into the corral while Herzer fended off the horses that tried to bolt through the gate. Once inside Herzer stood in the back of the cart and forked hay to the horses as Alyssa drove it through the paddock at a slow pace. Along the way she kept up a running commentary about the horses that showed that not only did she know them all by name but their individual quirks and their place in the hierarchy.
By the time they got back, the rest of the riders were up and the mush was done. It was the recipient of some comments.
“Damn, Kane,” one of the riders muttered, taking a bite of the mush. “You’re not only ugly, you’re a damned bad cook. Why’d Alyssa ever marry you?”
“Well I am a bad cook,” Kane admitted, with a grin. “But this particular mess is all Herzer’s fault. And the reason Alyssa married me had nothing to do with my kitchen skills.”
“Wow, Herzer,” Alyssa added. “If the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach, you’re in big trouble.”
Herzer took a bite of the mush and grimaced at the burned taste. “I guess,” was all he said.
Hoping that the morning’s fiascoes were past him, Herzer finished his food quickly and went looking for his horse.
Diablo seemed less than thrilled to see him and Herzer wondered if playing polo the day before had been a good idea. But he had held back a handful of the cornmeal and it was appreciated, so it was a horse in a much better mood that he led out of the paddock.
He saddled up himself this morning, remembering to get the horse to suck in its gut when he tightened the girth. Horses had a tendency to inhale and “blow themselves up” when the girth was being tightened. That way, as soon as the rider was done, they could let the air out and get some looseness in the girth. Diablo was just about as bad as a “normal” horse on that score but it sort of made sense; wearing a girth was a bit like a corset for a horse.
On the other hand, if the girth wasn’t as tight as possible, the saddle would slip off and the rider would find himself lying face down in the dirt.
Herzer got all the straps in place and mounted creakily. All his “riding” muscles had stiffened up and it was positively painful to swing his leg over the horse’s back. But once he was up there he started to loosen up and as he moved Diablo around so did the horse. He took him through a few of his paces to get the kinks out then rode back to the camp at an easy canter.