Book 2, Chapter 20: Cousin’s Castle

It took the better part of a day and we passed through several towns, had a picnic on a hillside between them. If the duke remained annoyed at my outburst, he didn’t mention it again. He went on to discuss the towns, their specialties and so on, and I did my best to nod and smile and not get pulled into another difficult to navigate conversation.

At each village, peasants lined up to get a look at us. The kids waved and smiled and ran around, but some of the adults scowled. Some held their children to keep them still as we marched on. Given that we had over a thousand cavalry riding with us, it must have been a little parade for them to watch as we continued down the road.

For me, the land looked both beautiful and sparce. So many trees, fields of wheat blowing in the wind, deer off in the distance from time to time, birds and insects everywhere, then large, wooden houses, smithies and a shop or two, maybe a dozen people milling about, maybe hundreds in the larger villages.

The closer we got to the castle, the more people I saw working in the fields. Some plowing, even this late into the season. Others moving large stones to the edges of fields, doing various work that I couldn’t make out, perhaps weeding, some leading flocks of sheep, cattle. The village surrounding the castle was larger than the others, more buildings, more people, more active.

We passed a bustling market, a few taverns, a slaughterhouse, a water wheel where flour was milled. “One excellent source of taxes,” he said.

“The water wheel?”

“The peasants must mill their grain at my wheel, and I charge money for the service.”

“Huh. Ok. What if they mill some at home?” I wasn’t even sure if that was possible, having never seen unmilled grains before.

“They most certainly do. But they have to mill a certain weight of grain here each year or face punishment.”

“You punish people for not using state services?” I couldn’t imagine such a thing, but I guess the duke here would never be voted out of office.

“Of course. The land is mine, these people live here at my pleasure, and the money is used to pay soldiers who protect them.”

“Ah.” A form of land-tenant feudalism, probably with a hefty amount of skimming. “Do they have to have their animals brought to your slaughterhouse, too?”

“No, but part of taxation is . . .” he went on to describe how each farming house owed him a certain number of eggs, chickens, cattle and sheep each month and if not those, then labor. It must be nice to be the sole owner of land, the sole owner of the military. I guess, wow, that included me. I wondered if the duke here owed me taxes.

Regardless, villagers lined up to watch us pass. Instead of resentment, we got cheers and waving this time. It sure seemed as though they liked him.

From there, the road led to his castle. It was impressive. On a hill, we first passed a thick outer wall with its own guard towers. Then, a large field between it and the castle itself.

“Here is where your forces will encamp. A freshwater spring lies over there and past it, a latrine creek.”

“Huh. I mean, great. Those don’t overlap, do they?”

He laughed, “No, not at all. The latrine creek follows a different path down the hill, into a slough. We toss unruly drunks in there as punishment.”

“Oh my god.”

“Not too many repeat offenders.”

“Do they survive the ordeal?”

“Of course! It’s only criminals whose hands and feet are chained who don’t.”

“Oh, wow. I see.” I needed to change the topic, “How long has the castle been in your family?”

“Two generations now. My great grandfather was awarded it in the first Ketzillian war. We’ve been successful at expanding its borders and making them safe.”

“Safe from monsters?”

“That’s mainly it. And the Laemacians.”

I was reminded of my skin color and presumed history, but if he was, he didn’t mention it. Why would he consider marrying someone who reminded him of those who’d invaded his land and killed his family? Power, I guess. Or maybe he wasn’t a racist and I was over thinking things. He certainly wasn’t as sexist as most men I’d encountered here. A pragmatist then, seeing through the superficial details. Good thing he didn’t know this body very well or perhaps he’d see through me, too.