The Elder Lands - Chapter 18

Lucan was seated in front of his father’s desk in the study, getting an earful. Even Thomas, who was standing behind his father, had disapproval written all over his face.

“Disaster might as well have struck our lands,” his father said, his voice deep and tired. He’d exhausted most of his shouting earlier. Most of it.

“Father,” Lucan said beseechingly. “Why won’t you hear me? They can do the work. The roads can be done by harvest time. Then merchants will flock to us more than ever before. And the laborers only need to be fed. We’d only need to spend coin on the stone from Sir Upton’s quarry.”

“And where do you think that coin comes from?” his father growled. “We sell last year’s stockpile of grains, which you’ll be feeding your laborers. We get most of our taxes in grain, and now we’ll have to store it all in place of what will be used to carry this weight you’ve burdened us with. We should send them back.”

“No!” Lucan shouted in spite of himself. “We need them if we’re to build the roads swiftly. Relying on local laborers to both maintain the estate and build roads will take long, very long. And sooner or later they’d have to go back to their farmland, likely before we’re done. The merchants will make up for the lost coin, Father. And harvest is near. There’s nothing to fear from using our stockpiles this late in the season. It’s not like we’ll starve within two months. Besides, Sir Wolfe was already disconcerted enough by the refugees’ presence by the time I’d taken them off his hands. He won’t allow them to step foot on his lands again.”

“You’d be relying on chance too much, son,” his father said, sighing. “Four hundred people! Where will they live? What will we do with them after you’re done with this ambitious undertaking of yours?”

“For now, we can put them in the east, between the two canals, southwest of the fishermen’s hamlet. They can build their own shelters there,” Lucan said. “Later, perhaps we could expand the bailey–”

His father scoffed. “More expenses.” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, as though dealing with one of the messes Lucan had created as a child.

“Perhaps the bailey will be busier then,” Lucan said. “When my venture succeeds–”

“Wishful thinking,” his father interrupted him again. “You only see what you want to see, son. You forgo everything else, everything you should watch for and guard against, like ruin. What do you know about administering a fief? You ought to wait years, if not decades, before making these decisions on your own.”

“Well, Father,” Lucan said, firming himself, lips pressed and back straight. “Like I said before, if you want me to partake in your responsibilities, I won’t settle for wearing armor and looking imposing.”

His father’s face hardened, and the way his jaw locked made it seem as though he was gritting his teeth. “Very well, Lucan,” he said. “Per your words about responsibility, you ought to know now that these people are your responsibility. They better not starve. They better not break the King’s law. And they certainly better not end up causing a revolt in our lands. I won’t have the Zesh name become a laughingstock. Do you understand?”

Lucan frowned but nodded gravely. He would make it work. His father was content with what he had, and there was nothing to disdain about that. But Lucan didn’t have to be of the same mind.

It was noon now. The refugees had arrived with him near the motte-and-bailey last night, taking the hard ground outside as bedding. Thankfully, it wasn’t winter yet.

Thomas, looking neutral now, finally spoke, his tone soft. “If they are to be moved, it ought to be soon. There has already been a small incident with the locals. If we leave that many people with nothing to do near the farmers, there are likely to be many more.”

“So be it,” Lucan’s father said. “Have them move between the branches of the river, near the fishermen.”

Lucan had been to the fishermen’s hamlet twice. It was built on the bank of the northern branch of the canal. With the land so rocky and barren there and between the two branches generally, they could only subsist on fishing, and there weren’t many residents there. The refugees would be given the land southwest of the hamlet, wide open, and ample but not arable. He hadn’t brought them here to farm after all. They would also be allowed to cut down hardwood from the eastern forest to build their homes.

Thomas soon left the study to heed his father’s command, getting the refugees settled in that stretch of land.

His father was silent for a while, perhaps thinking, perhaps discreetly observing him. Lucan himself was swimming among a dozen thoughts. A bit of worry had crept into his gut after his father’s warning that there would be consequences he wasn’t aware of. What was he to do, though? Let an opportunity go? He’d made a decision, and so it was made. Hadn’t his father told him once that it was better to make a bad decision than not to make one at all?

His father finally broke the silence. “What then will you have them begin with?”

Lucan cleared his throat. “We’ll feed them and let them rest for the day. Then some of them will stay to build shelter for everyone. And some others will begin laying the foundation for the road. We ought to begin in the west, where our road splits off from the High Road, so that passersby may notice the change. Hopefully, word will reach those who matter soon after.”

“I suppose we ought to send for the stone from Sir Upton’s land,” his father said, sounding suspiciously helpful.

Lucan didn’t immediately reply, and perhaps noting the hesitant look on his face, his father continued: “Even if I don’t agree with your plans, I will seek neither to push you to failure nor to watch you idly while you fail.” He sighed, muttering, “gods know you’re doing enough of that yourself.”

Lucan set his jaw, nodding. “So you will help me see this through, Father?”

“Yes.” His father nodded. “But don’t forget…”

Lucan nodded along. “It’s my responsibility now.”

“Now then,” his father said, his voice loud with exhalation. “You were supposed to come back from Sir Wolfe’s lands having improved.”

“I did.”

“I suppose when I saw you coming back trailed by four hundred people, I lost that thread of thought,” his father said, chuckling ruefully. “I haven’t even asked Lee yet how well you’ve done.”

Lucan hoped what he did had been enough, because he didn’t know what else he could’ve done to live up to expectations. He’d ended up inadvertently going up against something even a reckless adventurer wouldn’t have gone against at his stages of the Blessing, not that he’d known how dangerous the beast was when he’d faced it. If he had, he’d have probably run to hide behind Sir Wolfe. Thankfully, he’d not shamed himself like that, and had also still kept his life.

Lucan smiled. “I believe I have given a good enough account of myself.”

“You ought to show me before you tell me then,” his father continued. “In the training yard.”

Lucan sighed. “Of course, Father.”