“That doesn’t mean it will all be clear sailing,” Dirk warned. “The lords won’t give up even this much of their power willingly. Some of them will try to avenge themselves on single serfs or even small groups of them. The councils will call for justice according to their charters, and will probably have to enforce it.”
“Someone has to be issuing orders to make sure everyone learns how to use a quarterstaff and a bow, and keep them practicing.”
Coll scowled, his massive reluctance weakening for the first time. “Yes, I can see that.”
“The lords might even send out spies and bribe villagers to find out who the cell members are,” Gar said, pressing his advantage. “Then they’ll have their soldiers sweep down on them some night and murder them all.”
“You’re saying we must always have armies of outlaws in the forests, ready to be called up to counter such a strike,” Coll said grimly.
Dirk stared in surprise. “Yeah, great idea! I hadn’t even thought of it. You do have the talent you need for the job, Coll.”
“No, not I!” the serf cried in alarm.
“Who else?” Gar asked. “The lords will probably even try attacking all the serfs together, to intimidate the councils and force them to identify themselves and surrender. You’ll have to be ready to call for them all to fight back. And don’t forget to save a large reserve in case it’s a diversion.”
“You see, there has to be somebody at the top to give orders,” Dirk insisted.
“But what if the lords should win!”
“Make sure they don’t,” Dirk said simply.
But Gar nodded with understanding. “It’s a very real danger, Coll. The history of old Earth, where the first people came from, tells of peasant rebellions every hundred years or so, and tells also how the lords put them down with brutal force. You’re never done winning freedom. You have to fight for it in every generation.”
“ ‘The price of freedom is constant vigilance,’ ” Dirk quoted, “so somebody always has to be a sentry, somebody always has to be watching for signs of trouble and head it off or at least be ready for the fight when it comes.”
“Worry,” Gar counseled, “but don’t worry too much. None of those medieval peasant revolts were anywhere nearly as well organized as yours. But the knights do have a huge advantage.”
Dirk nodded. “Horses, armor, and all the weapons—plus constant practice. They’re professionals, trained to war from birth.”
“So you have to make sure your peasants are trained from birth, too,” Gar reasoned.
“But how can we be sure the knights won’t win?”
“You can’t.” Dirk’s tone hardened. “You can never be sure—but your secret network gives you a very good chance of winning again and again, until a new generation of lords accepts the councils as part of the way the world is.”
“But that network has to be efficiently and wisely run,” Gar said, “which means there has to be somebody running it who understands how the system works, and how to use it.”
“No peasant can know that!”
“You can,” Dirk pointed out. “We’ve been explaining it to you step by step as we set it up. In fact, Coll, you’re the only man in Aggrand who has even a chance of making it work.”
“But I don’t want it!” Coll protested. “All I want is to marry Ciare and spend my life with her and our children!” Dirk turned to Gar. “That’s the best kind of boss—the one who doesn’t want the job, but loves the work.”
“I don’t!”
“Don’t try to tell us that,” Gar said with a hard smile. “You’ve thrown yourself into this whole task heart and soul, until you thought it was over.”
“But it’s never over,” Dirk said softly, “not really. So if you want to be sure Ciare and your children are safe from the noblemen’s whims, you’ll have to keep the network going.”
Coll stared, appalled as he realized Dirk spoke the truth. “Has she said she’ll marry you yet?” Dirk asked gently. “I—haven’t asked,” Coll said through stiff lips. “Not really, not formally.”
“Then you’d better ask her, hadn’t you? And if she says ‘yes,’ tell her what she’ll be getting into, and why you need to do it. Then if she still says she’ll marry you, you’ll know she’s in love with you.”
Coll asked her that afternoon—but he reversed the order.
17
Ciare saw Coll coming back toward the stage and turned to him with a glad cry that froze on her lips when she saw the grim set of his face. She ran to him, hands out to press against his chest. “Coll! What troubles you?”
“Can you come aside with me?” Coll asked. “There’s much I need to tell you.”
“Of course.” There were chores to do and her part in making dinner, but Ciare knew urgency when she saw it. Her friends would understand.
They paced out of the inn yard and into the center of the village common. Coll was silent until they were sitting on an old stump beneath a grandfather oak.
“They want me to be the master of all the serf councils,” Coll said abruptly.
Ciare stared at him in shock, feeling that she was seeing his set profile for the first time. There was a strength there that she had never seen before, and the beginnings of wisdom. Her eyes filled with tears, for she suddenly understood what he had come to tell her, that a simple player-lass could never be a fit consort for the secret master of all the common folk. But she resolved on the instant not to hold him back—she knew that thwarted destiny makes a bitter man. Calling all her actress’s skills to her aid, she forced a bright smile and said, “Oh, Coll, how wonderful!”
But he heard the tremor in her voice and turned to her, distressed. “If you don’t want it, I’ll tell them no! I still can—and a life with you is worth far more to me than any position! ”
She stared at him, shocked again, then melted into his arms, pulling his head down for his lips to find hers, and let her mouth melt into his. When they finally broke apart, gasping, she managed to say, “But can’t you be the Serf Master and still be my husband?”
“I can,” he said gravely, looking straight into her eyes, “but it could be very dangerous. Spies might find me out and take us all to the torture. Worse, they might torture you to make me obey. I can’t take that chance with your pain.”
She reached out a trembling hand to touch his face and smiled through her tears. “Silly boy! Don’t you see that I’d rather risk death than lose you? Besides, we’ve learned how to keep secrets, we player folk, and how to keep them from the knowledge of any town dweller or soldier anywhere! No, Coll, you can be the Serf Master and my husband—if you wish it.”
“I don’t wish to be Serf Master,” he said truthfully, “but I do want to be your husband.” He slipped down on one knee, taking both her hands between both of his, staring up at her with absolute concentration. “Ciare, will you marry me?”
She sat immobile for a moment, her eyes filling with tears, feeling that all her dreams had come true. Then she laughed and took his face in her hands to shower dozens of kisses all over his eyes, his cheeks, and finally his mouth. When they broke apart, she whispered, eyes still closed, “Yes, Coll. Oh, yes, I will marry you.” Then she opened her eyes, staring at him almost indignantly. “But you must be Serf Master, too!”
His face was transfigured with joy, but he protested, “I have no property, no money—and I don’t know how to be anything but a farmer and a soldier!”
“And a master of rebellion,” she reminded him. “Well, then, since you know nothing else, you’ll have to learn to be a player—if Master Androv will have you.” She intended to make good and sure that he would.