Posted in Posted by Homer

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.

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GRASSLANDS, PART THREE

The farmers were slowly coming in from their work, muttering and eyeing up the soldiers. While the tax collector seemed to be one never wroth to take things slowly, the scribe started immediately, while most of the farmers were yet to arrive. He stepped forwards briskly over to Tries and Robert.

“You sir, the blacksmith, Tries of Shwalloum, I believe? May we examine your tax value?” He spoke politely, but firmly, as if he expected resistance. Moving on immediately, he examined his papers.

“you owe a total of… let’s see… oh, yes, 15 shillings. Can you please present the funds immediately and surrender them to the tax officer over by the booth? Thank you.” The young scribe was very set on protocol and formality, and seemed to be reading from a script. While Tries grumbled and trundled off to collect the funds, the scribe moved his studious attention to Robert. Robert sighed and started to display his collection of goods to the zealous scribe for “tax valuation”.

“You say this is all you sell?”

“This is my entire stock. I occasionally deal in other products but not much; as this is my main range, and well priced it is too. Would you like to examine my collection of writing inks? I have a couple of jars of black here, and even a blue and a red. May I give you an example of the product on the back of one of your parchments?” Robert displayed the varied range of inks to the young scribe, who had to smile at the irresistible merchant who was trying, in the middle of a tax valuation, sell some of his stocks before they were taxed.

Tries had just stepped out of his house, a bag of 15 shillings in his hand, when a shout broke out from the nearby scrub next to the town. The whole countryside of Varana had thick, tall grass undergrowth, with trees loosely scattered over the whole scrubland. Next to the road the spear grass was very tall, taller than a man, and quite thick, so that nobody could see through it. Out of there a brown horse, with a rider, burst out. He wore loose, yellow clothing which blended in with the surrounding countryside. In his right hand he held a small round wooden shield and in his left a heavy, metre long sword, weighted at the end.

“Freedom! Up and at them lads!” The mysterious rider bellowed at an unseen company.

The affect this appearance had on the village was dramatic. Some women screamed, while others, more collected, quickly gathered their children like a mother hen and rushed them inside the nearest hut. Soon all the women and children were hurrying like little hens towards the nearest cover, while the soldiers, a moment before slothfully relaxing, jumped to attention and grouped together. The scribe, who seemed to keep his head made a flying leap and landed underneath Robert’s wagon, and pretended to be dead.