'That is probably a good idea.' Gerin listened to her read. Every sentence seemed to come with more confidence than the one before it. Now that she'd grasped the principle, she was showing she could apply it. Some men took years to reach the place where she'd come in moonturns. Some men gave up in dismay and never got there at all.
He was proud of her, and pleased with himself for having guessed so well where she would fit into the life of Fox Keep and the human fabric of the holding as a whole. She and Fand didn't fit; Van had foreseen that more clearly than he had himself. And Van and Fand still seemed to be getting along as well as Fand ever got on with anyone.
Under the usual busy stir of his thoughts, Gerin remembered something else as well-Selatre had reached out and taken his hand. He didn't know how much that meant; he didn't know if it meant anything. Of one thing he was sure: he wanted to find out.
Rain plashed down on Castle Fox, filling puddles in the courtyard and turning the ditch around the palisade to the muddy beginning of a moat. Harvest lay far enough ahead for the peasants to look on the storm with relief rather than alarm.
In any other year, that would have made Gerin do the same. Now a cloud-filled sky and curtains of water kicking up myriad splashes everywhere only raised his hackles; the wet weather reminded him too vividly of the storm that had rolled through the day his band of warriors fought the pack of monsters.
Planting his feet with care on the slippery steps, he mounted to the palisade and peered south. He could see the peasant village near the castle. The broad thatched roofs of the huts there would keep most of the rain away from the walls of wattle and daub, but he knew serfs would be patching them with fresh mud after the downpour rolled away eastward.
Beyond the village, at the edge of visibility through the rain, lay the woods. Gerin wished he could peer inside them, see into each windfall and cave, under each fallen tree. He feared monsters sheltered in some of them. He did not have the men he would have needed to form a cordon around his entire border, but without such a cordon, how was he supposed to hold off the creatures?
He was thinking so hard, he did not notice anyone coming up to join him until footfalls jarred the timbers beside him. Van wore a conical hat of woven straw that kept the rain off his face. 'Wondering what's out there, Captain?' the outlander asked.
'I know what's out there,' Gerin answered glumly. 'I'm wondering how close it is and how soon we'll have to worry about it right here. But as a matter of fact, when you asked I was wishing bronze were cheaper.'
'Begging your pardon, Fox, but I have to tell you I don't follow that one,' Van said.
'If bronze were cheaper-if we had more copper and especially more tin-we could afford to make more weapons. Then the peasants could have 'em, and that would give them a better chance of killing the monsters instead of getting eaten.'
'Mm, likely you're right.' Van's features turned blunter and harder as he frowned in thought. 'But even if you are, I'd lay you five to one that a lot of your vassal barons wouldn't fall in love with the idea of giving their serfs swords and spears and helms and cuirasses.'
'For fear the arms would get turned on them instead of the monsters, you mean?' Gerin asked. Van nodded. So did the Fox. 'Not many of my vassals need to worry overmuch, I think; they know I don't put up with some of the things that go on in other holdings. But if the idea ever spread through the northlands, I'll not deny a good many barons would have cause to fear their peasants would revolt. I can think of half a dozen I'd rise against in an instant if someone put a sword in my hand.'
'Oh, aye, more than that.' Van's big head bobbed up and down again. 'But here's a question for you, Fox: suppose you put swords and spears in the hands of a lot of your serfs. When the time comes to pay the dues they owe you, aren't they going to go after your collectors instead of handing over the grain and ale and such? They'll be protecting themselves, so why should they go on paying you to do it for them?'
'That's-a good question,' Gerin said slowly. 'They all turn into villagers like the ones who tried to waylay us, is that what you're saying?'
'That's just what I'm saying,' Van agreed.
Gerin thought for a while. 'Do you know, it's very likely they would,' he said at last. 'The way of life we have here looks as it does because bronze is so scarce and costly. Peasants can't afford to get their hands on arms and armor: not enough bronze to go around. Things would be different if there were.'
'Better? Worse?'
'Damn me to the five hells if I know,' Gerin answered. 'But different they'd surely be. Like those footholders Duin the Bold came up with a few years ago, before he died in the fight against Balamung: what with everything else that's gone on since, I haven't had the chance to explore what all they're good for, but it's plain they make riding a horse and staying on its back a lot easier than that ever was before. If you can really fight from horseback, what point to chariots?'
'Maybe you can fight from horseback,' Van said. 'You're a goodsized man, aye, but alongside me you're a stripling. The horse that could bear my weight, especially in armor' -he slapped his broad, bronze-covered chest-'hasn't been foaled yet. If it's not the chariot, I'm a foot soldier.'
'That's not the point,' Gerin said. 'Chariots are like any of the rest of our weapons; they're scarce and hard to come by. More men could be warriors if they just had to lay hold of a horse and some arms rather than a team and a car to go with it.'
'Then you'd best start showing them those footholders and what to do with 'em,' the outlander answered. 'We're going to need as many warriors as we can muster, and that soon, too.'
'I know-sooner than I can train them into being proper horsemen, the more so as I'm nowhere near a proper horseman myself.' Gerin sighed. 'If only that monster of Balamung's hadn't killed Duin when he kicked out. Our little pepperpot would have had all of us riding whether we wanted to or not.'
'He rode ideas even harder than you do, and that's a fact,' Van said. 'You're better at picking the ones to ride, though; I give you so much.'
'Such generosity,' Gerin said in tones far drier than the weather. 'Suppose I did teach a good many men, barons and peasants both, to ride and fight from horseback…' His voice trailed away. Actions had inevitable consequences; on that philosophers and historians agreed. The trick was to reason out what they might be before you acted, instead of getting caught by surprise later.
His best guess was that large numbers of warriors on horseback would prove as revolutionary as large numbers of bronze weapons in the hands of the serfs. If one lord in the northlands succeeded in forming a good- sized force of cavalry as opposed to chariotry, the rest would have to imitate him or go under. Since a man wouldn't need as many resources to maintain a horse as he would for a team and chariot, vassal barons' holdings could shrink until, after a couple of generations, it might be hard to tell a poor baron from a prosperous peasant.
Gerin had been teaching bright serfs their letters. Did he really want to arm them, too? Was he ready to unleash more great change on a land that had seen too much too fast of late?
For the moment, the decision was out of his hands. The monsters were forcing the pace of change, not he. But if they were put down at last Van cleared his throat, bringing the Fox's thoughts back to the here and now. The outlander said, 'Captain, what is it you've done to put Fand in such a swivet? Last night she was going on about the sheep's eyes you were casting at Selatre till I all but had to hit her over the head with an ale jar to make her leave off.'
'I've done nothing of the sort,' Gerin said indignantly. 'I've spent time with her, aye, but I have to if she's to learn her letters and be able to go through the books in the library and find out what's in them. You hit the mark there at the start-having Selatre here hasn' t set right with Fand, and she blames me, not you, that Selatre's here.'
'She said you were pawing Selatre when she walked by the library the other day,' Van said, doubt in his voice. 'Not that I'd care to believe Fand over you, mind, but she says she saw it with her own eyes.'
'She didn't,' Gerin insisted. 'You think Selatre would stay here for a moment if I tried pawing her? As a matter of fact, she put her hand on mine, not the other way round.'
