At this the silence in the room was broken by guffaws. The outlandishness of it was more than those in attendance could let pass without a nervous reaction. But the Clerk himself was not laughing.
"You need not answer," the herald went on, "we can all read it ourselves in the Book of Frames, the story of which is carved into the stone of our public square although all but the village idiots have forgotten what it means. You were chosen for your office by the people of the land, as were the other courtiers and officials of the throne. And together you are empowered to command, rather than to advise, the king."
At this point the Clerk objected, suggesting that the herald was painting in black and white what should be a subtle tale of grays and shadows. But the herald replied as follows:
"You are certainly correct, Mr. Clerk, that the king must have his kingly powers, but please tell the people assembled here who has the power to create a war, the king or the crowd we currently mislabel the royal court?"
The Clerk had to acknowledge that it was the latter.
"And," the herald went on, "when the king removes gold from the counting house and spends it on his wars, whose decision is it for that gold to be removed, yours or his?"
The Clerk cleared his throat and coughed. He began to speak of other things, but the herald insisted until the Clerk admitted that the power was his together with his fellow courtiers and attendants.
"Now," said the herald, "let us speak of war. You spend our crops and the blood of our young men, and off you are now on your way to foreign courts to borrow more war monies that we will have to repay and more. Your heralds tell us that our distant wars, to which we give so much, benefit those against whom they are waged. But there was war in this land itself in a long forgotten age, and let me remind us all of what that war was made. In the words of the invading commander, we were forced to endure . . .
"'The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
'Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
'Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
'And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
'Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
'Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
'Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
'At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.'
"Have we utterly forgotten? Now, tell me, honored Clerk, which is the more honest view of war, that of your heralds with their purple sashes and glistening gossip or that of one who has taken part in the unspeakable horrors on which you -- You, Sir -- waste our toil and our cherished children?"
The Clerk did not dispute the herald's depiction of war, and on the contrary described it in still more hideous terms. But what, asked the Clerk, would the herald have him do, refuse the king his money and risk the wrath of the royal throne and of half the court besides?
The herald had expected this response, but he looked slowly around him at each of the assembled villagers, staring intensely at each one of them in turn, before directing his gaze at the Clerk and remarking only this:
"You are not alone."
"You need not answer," the herald went on, "we can all read it ourselves in the Book of Frames, the story of which is carved into the stone of our public square although all but the village idiots have forgotten what it means. You were chosen for your office by the people of the land, as were the other courtiers and officials of the throne. And together you are empowered to command, rather than to advise, the king."
At this point the Clerk objected, suggesting that the herald was painting in black and white what should be a subtle tale of grays and shadows. But the herald replied as follows:
"You are certainly correct, Mr. Clerk, that the king must have his kingly powers, but please tell the people assembled here who has the power to create a war, the king or the crowd we currently mislabel the royal court?"
"And," the herald went on, "when the king removes gold from the counting house and spends it on his wars, whose decision is it for that gold to be removed, yours or his?"
The Clerk cleared his throat and coughed. He began to speak of other things, but the herald insisted until the Clerk admitted that the power was his together with his fellow courtiers and attendants.
"Now," said the herald, "let us speak of war. You spend our crops and the blood of our young men, and off you are now on your way to foreign courts to borrow more war monies that we will have to repay and more. Your heralds tell us that our distant wars, to which we give so much, benefit those against whom they are waged. But there was war in this land itself in a long forgotten age, and let me remind us all of what that war was made. In the words of the invading commander, we were forced to endure . . .
"'The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
'Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
'Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
'And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,
'Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
'Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
'Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
'At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.'
"Have we utterly forgotten? Now, tell me, honored Clerk, which is the more honest view of war, that of your heralds with their purple sashes and glistening gossip or that of one who has taken part in the unspeakable horrors on which you -- You, Sir -- waste our toil and our cherished children?"
The Clerk did not dispute the herald's depiction of war, and on the contrary described it in still more hideous terms. But what, asked the Clerk, would the herald have him do, refuse the king his money and risk the wrath of the royal throne and of half the court besides?
The herald had expected this response, but he looked slowly around him at each of the assembled villagers, staring intensely at each one of them in turn, before directing his gaze at the Clerk and remarking only this:
"You are not alone."
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