‘They’ll all have t’ be comin’ t’ yer Grace – hat in hand – t’ git th’ manpower fer ploughin’, plantin’, an’ harvestin’,’ Killane said.
‘That’s more or less what I had in mind, Killane,’ I told him smugly. ‘Now, then, let’s get back to the location of my manor house. I want it to face the lake and to be bordered on one side by the river, but set it on a hill to avoid any spring floods.’
When spring arrived, I opened the little vault I had hidden under the hearth in my bed-chamber, quite nearly emptied it of all my surplus money, and sent Killane north to buy materials, hire workers, and begin the construction. ‘Don’t butcher my forests building roads,’ I told him quite firmly.
‘An’ how am I supposed t’ git all that marble t’ th’ buildin’ site, Lady-O?’ he demanded in some exasperation.
‘Killane, dear boy,’ I explained patiently, ‘the building site is right beside that river. Build some barges and float the marble to where you’ll need it.’
He blinked. ‘I hadn’t thought o’ that,’ he admitted. ‘Tis a wonderful clever person y’ are, me Lady.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll be after sendin’ y’ reports on me progress from time t’ time, but I’d take it as a kindness if y’d stay away until if’s all finished. I won’t be after needin’ y’ lookin’ over me shoulder every step o’ th’ way, don’t y’ know.’
‘I’ll be good,’ I promised a bit meekly.
I lied about that, of course. I flew north at least once a week to see how things were coming along, but I didn’t really see any need to let him know about those visits.
Actually, I was far too busy that summer to stand around watching the construction of my manor house. I issued the proclamation emancipating my serfs, and the priests of Chaldan immediately went up in flames. The Arendish clergy was deeply involved in the feudal system, and they recognized the dangers posed by the existence of vast tracts of unserfed real estate adjoining church lands. I was denounced from pulpits from Seline to Sulturn as an ‘abolitionist’. The term didn’t really take hold, though, since the sermons were delivered – for obvious reasons – to increasingly empty churches. The high priest of Chaldan, who owned vast estates down in Mimbre, made a special trip to Vo Wacune to advise me that if I didn’t rescind the emancipation of my serfs, he’d have no choice but to excommunicate me.
That doesn’t really concern me, your worship,’ I told him. ‘I don’t serve Chaldan, you know. My Master’s his older brother, Aldur. Why don’t we just let the two of them hammer this out? The next time you talk with Chaldan, tell him what I’ve done and have him take it up with my Master.’
He stormed away, spluttering to himself.
My major concern that summer revolved around the fact that there wasn’t really anything remotely resembling a legal system in Arendia. The dukes ruled by decree in each of those duchies, and their decrees were largely based on whims. In addition to being profoundly unjust, that approach to law was decidedly inefficient. I was certainly not going to spend all my time settling disputes and passing judgement on wrong-doers. I needed a body of written laws and fair judges who at the very least could read those laws. What passed for laws in Arendia at that time – and to some extent still does in that troubled land – were little more than a set of arbitrary rules protecting the privileges of the nobility. If there happened to be a dispute between a baron and an ordinary freeman, the baron always won. I’d encountered some of the same kind of thing on the Isle of the Winds during my stay there, and one of Kamion’s major chores had been the codification of the laws. I had certain advantages Kamion hadn’t had, though, so I sent my thought out to the twins and asked them to plunder my father’s – and uncle Beldin’s – libraries for me. I wanted every law-book available.
Then I sent a pair of Killane’s nephews – and a sizeable herd of pack-mules – to the Vale to pick them up for me.
The Arendish Council met at the Great Fair about midsummer that year, and I noted a number of searching looks thrown in my direction as we settled down to business. Quite obviously Alleran, Corrolin, and Nerasin had expected me to be too busy – and too frantic – to even attend the annual get-together.
‘Any problems, Aunt Pol?’ Alleran asked almost hopefully.
‘Nothing particularly significant,’ I replied with a slight shrug. ‘My vassals are beginning to realize that when I say something, I really mean it.’
‘Rumor hath reached me that thou hast emancipated all the serfs on thine own estates,’ Corrolin noted. ‘Was this truly the course of wisdom? Dost thou propose to farm those extensive lands by magic?’
‘Good grief, no, Corrolin,’ I told him. ‘I’ll hire my former serfs to do that for me.’
His eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open in sheer astonishment. “Thou wouldst actually give a serf money?’ he exclaimed.
‘Unless he wants something else,’ I replied. ‘A good ox, maybe, or a new suit of clothes.’ I frowned. ‘The only problem I see with money lies in the fact that serfs can’t count past ten – nine if they happen to have lost a finger. That’s going to make payday very tedious. I may have to build some school-houses on my estates to give my former serfs the rudiments of arithmetic and a nodding acquaintance with reading.’
‘Monstrous!’ Nerasin exclaimed. ‘You can’t teach serfs how to read!’
‘Why not? Educated workers would probably be more efficient than untutored ones, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Lady Polgara, there are hot-heads out there who’ve been writing all sorts of inflammatory nonsense. If the serfs can read, they might get their hands on documents that could start a revolution!’
‘Revolutions are healthy, Nerasin. They clear the air. You probably wouldn’t be where you are today if Earl Mangaran, Baroness Asrana and I hadn’t removed your uncle from the throne in Vo Astur, would you? Happy workers don’t revolt. It’s when you start mistreating them that they come after you with pitchforks. That’s not going to happen in my realm.’
‘I’d sooner bite out my tongue than to try to tell you what to do, Aunt Pol,’ Alleran said, ‘but don’t you think you’re moving a little fast?’