Posted in Posted by Homer

“That’s enough horse shoes to shod an army of horsemen, Tries.” Robert spoke up, breaking the silence. Tries jumped, and turned. Subconsciously his hand gripped a horse shoe  which lay nearby, then his eyes widened and relaxed.

“It’s you Rob. I heard you were in town.” Tries laughed rather nervously.

“you can put that horse shoe down, Tries, I won’t rob you.”

Tries laughed, and dropped the horse shoe. “Guess one gets nervous, with all these robbers around. I though you were trouble, creeping up on me like that.”

Robert nodded. He had heard tales of bandit trouble, although he hadn’t thought it to be in this district. Maybe it had.

“So, how’d you been?”  The trader asked.

“Fine, business has been a bit…” Just outside, in the village square, a trumpet flourish interpreted the burly blacksmith.

“Sounds like the royal tax-man himself.” Tries muttered as he strode outside to meet the summons.

Robert followed his friend out, as a merchant; he often simply travelled wherever the tax-collectors weren’t, so to speak, but if a tax-man did turn up, he simply paid his taxes and moved on. Varana was nominally ruled, and had been so for fifty years, by the king of Mershell, who had established minor barons to rule over the newly conquered territory under the feudal system. Unfortunately, the natives had been troublesome, and the barons’ control was limited to a few pockets ruled by iron men. Tax collectors, however, were sent out to the scattered villages by the minor barons, to collect their rents. The semi-nomadic, tribal communities of Varana made the traditional system of feudal service an interesting conundrum for the king’s officials.   

The sight that met Robert’s eyes was a little discouraging, and a little humorous at the same time. The tax-man was a short, fat man with narrow eyes and a large fist, and was sweating considerably as he set up his little booth next to the wagon which had just ridden up, driven by the baron’s men. Most of the men other than the tax collector were soldiers; armed in typical Mershellian fashion, with the gear soldiers used down south in Mershall. They were armed with a kite-shaped shield; a one-handed sword and most also had spears. Their helmets were simply metal caps with nose-guards, and they also wore armour. Their armour was the usual mail issue- mail rings linked together to form an protective garment which covered the chest and past the waist, where it ended in a skirt. The legs and arms were also covered in mail, but with leather mittens, instead of the normal mail ones worn in Mershell. Every soldier also wore a surcoat, which both allowed another chance to display their lord’s coat of arms, and also deflected the hot sun off their armour, which became like a metal oven when the sun was hot. The surcoat, and the emblem painted on the shields, was a dark red, with a white vine curling upwards.

The soldiers were the usual sort; thick-built, strong, and looked over all rather coarse. There was however, one other man other than the coarse soldiers or the pompous tax collector; he was a young man, dressed sensibly for the hot climate- a loose shift and breeches, and bore no weapons. Instead he carried a stylus and parchment, and was hurrying around seeing that the booth and all other equipment were set down carefully. He had blonde hair, and deep brown eyes, and was neither tall nor strongly built. It seemed that he was some kind of scribe, and was definitely a very zealous understudy of the older, less professional taxman. Finally, the tax collector’s booth was set up, the various papers were laid out, mostly by the bustling young scribe, and the tax collector sat down on his stool and awaited business."