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where Wanda is," he muttered.
"That's right!" she said.
"We're not joiners, we're loners," Scot said. "That's our style."
"So lets live our style," Lucy said. "I like it here."
"Maybe we could negotiate with the Saxons," Scot said. "Find the
peaceful compromise. Brother Paul would approve that."
"Maybe so," Brand agreed dubiously.
"Do you think they would honor a flag of truce?"
Brand shrugged. Lucy shrugged.
"All right. I'll try it," Scot said. "I'll go alone. If I don't come back, you
two go to the Order fast."
But both shook their heads. "I'll never leave you," Lucy said flatly.
And Brand added: "We're in this together."
"But they could simply lay hands on us all!"
"Not me," Lucy said. "I bite."
Scot eyed faint marks on his forearm. "I know."
"We might have to fight," Brand said, as if testing the water. "Band
together with other settlers. United front."
"No! There has to be " He broke off, unable to convince even himself.
"Anyway, the others can't leave their farms for any such campaign."
"Brother Paul fought," Lucy argued.
"Naw not the same," Brand said. "He never fought me he only
showed me." But he brightened. "I could show a Saxon, though the
same way."
"Single combat," Lucy agreed. "Only gentle, Brother Paul's way. You
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could do it, Brand. He taught you how."
"Yeah." Brand smiled. "He wouldn't say no to that."
Scot realized he had overlooked a subtle but pervasive change in the
man. Brand really cared what Brother Paul thought. Brand was now a
convert not to the Holy Order of Vision, but to at least part of its
philosophy. He was sincerely trying to practice nonviolence. "Well,
we can try it," he said.
"First we got to alert the neighbors," Brand said.
They did that, then went north. Finding the Saxons was no problem: a
party was already heading south, following Scot's prior trail. Another
primitive skill: sniffing out faint trails. He had not thought to erase
his tracks.
Scot halted, waiting for them to come up. The party consisted of two
horse-drawn wagons and three outlying horsemen. The men wore
cloth trousers, heavy leather slippers, sleeveless shirts and thick
woolen capes, each a different color. The leader had a horned helmet,
and a two-foot scabbard hung at his side.
Twentieth-century America! Who would have believed it!
"Saxons, all right," Lucy murmured.
The horsemen reined in smartly, their steeds trampling the earth very
prettily, the picture of animal health and vigor. Nomads took good
care of their animals.118
Scot raised his right hand. "We come to parley," he said.
The wagons drew up. They were simple wooden-sided affairs with
spoked metal-banded wheels. From one of them descended an older
man garbed in a gray tunic, with a brass collar around his neck. The
gaze from the shadow of his hood was piercing.
"A Druid!" Lucy whispered.
"We have come to take you into our culture," the Druid said.
Scot shook his head. "We do not wish to enter your culture, no offense
intended. We want to be left alone."
"We are prepared to take you by force," the Druid said without
animosity. "But we hope you will see the advantage of joining us, once
you understand our system."
"We would like to parley with your leader."
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The lead horseman put his hand on his sword. But the Druid, the
evident commander of this party, stopped him with a gesture. "It is
your right. We are governed by law."
I hope so, Scot thought. "May we accompany you to your leader in
peace?"
The Druid smiled. "You may. Flag of truce. Please join me in my
wagon."
And so, nervously, they rode in style along the overgrown highway to
the Saxon camp. Their host turned out to be a former professor of
law, an intelligent and knowledgeable man. He called himself simply
the "Priest of Lugus," explaining that Lugus was the Celtic God of the
Harvest very important.
He was able, in this guise, to draw upon his legal expertise to settle
quarrels and assist in organizing their growing tribe: a better life than
he had before. The arthritis that had made him ineligible for
emigration had now largely abated, and he attributed this to the
satisfaction of his present mode.119 "With the exclusion of the sick, the
insane and the criminal from emigration," he remarked, "the country
should by this time have been overrun by nuts. But the average
person is healthier in every respect than before. Like me. Like, I am
sure, you." He was not embarrassed to call himself a Druid, practicing
magic in the service of one God among many. "Each culture develops
the system that suits it best," he said. "Lugus and the other Gods serve
us as well today as the Christian God served us five years ago. I believe
in Lugus; when I invoke his name he answers. Without him we would
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