A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

It was a busy stall, of varnished wood. It needed two butchers on it to deal with the long lines of customers that it often got. Two men worked behind the counter, their sleeves rolled up and a cleaver never far from their hand. One of them noticed Oliver, and hurriedly bowed. Everyone nearby hurried to do the same. Once more Oliver acknowledged them with a mere raised hand.

"How is business?" Oliver asked, taking a step closer. They were rather busy serving customers, but now that the line had ground to a halt anyway, Oliver supposed he might as well take the opportunity to ask.

"G-good, my Lord," the man said. "Miss Felder ensures we get what we need, and people like what we sell. It's as good as it could be."

"Any new customers from out of town?" Oliver enquired.

"There's been a few – merchants and the like," the man said. "But then there always is, my Lord. People want to try new things, and it's well known that Miss Felder only sells the best meat, hunted by the best."

Here too, it seemed to Oliver that he would not find any answers as to the source of his discomfort. Seeing that the queue was struggling to progress, Oliver wished the man a good day and continued on.

"It seems as if you're looking for something, my Lord," Jorah commented.

"I am," Oliver admitted. "There's a feeling of offness that I can't quite put my finger on. I do not know where I am to find it, or even whether I should trust the feeling."

"A feeling of offness, you say, my Lord?" Jorah said, considering it. "Do you have any idea what it might relate to? If you can give us directions, we can order the men to search."

"I do not know," Oliver sighed "Would that it were so easy. At the very least, it seems that the marketplace is in good order. Have the soldiers been able to do their job easily enough, despite these crowds?"

"There have been instances, as there always is," Jorah said. "Petty thievery from those out of town. The soldiers hardly need do anything. The villagers keep the outsiders in check before anything can get out of hand."

"How common are we talking?" Oliver asked.

"Rare, my Lord, very rare. We'd be lucky to see it daily," Jorah said. "I think that to be a remarkable thing, when one compares it to larger towns, or cities. Where I grew up, there always seemed to be something going on. Solgrim is very much an enigma in that regard."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Oliver asked.

"I would have thought you to know that better than me, my Lord," Jorah said. "Do you not see the way the villagers look at you as you walk? They look at you as a man looks to a hero. There's passion in their eyes. They're proud of what we are achieving here. So are the men.

There's a strength and unification in that feeling. It keeps everyone bound together, and prevents even outside chaos from taking much of a root."

"Is that how you see it?" Oliver said quietly.

Jorah tilted his head. "Of course. How could I see it any other way? I've heard tales of the Battle of Solgrim enough by now to know that their feelings are well deserved. You are very much the heart of this village my Lord."

"Ah…" Oliver said, as the dots finally sat together for him. The heart of the village, was it? "What happens if such a heart disappears for nearly three years, Judas? That certainly seems to me like a recipe for problems."

His feeling of unease grew tighter, as he had the sense that he'd hit upon the heart of the problem. Before Jorah could speak up to reassure him, Oliver came to a solution himself.

"I will need to speak to them," he said, clenching his fist. He had much experience speaking to men now, and inspiring them. "I shall have to reassure them, so that the faith that they've built up does not go to waste. There is much progress to be had here in Solgrim, I won't allow it to perish because of my whims."

Jorah smiled. "Very good, my Lord."

…

…

A week passed, as Oliver spent the last of his time in Solgrim, reviewing the construction and tending to any minor problems that he could. His main effort though was simply to exert himself. He made time to speak to as many villagers as he could, listening to what they had to say about recent occurrences, to see if he could gather anything new from them.

Most of what he was told was what he expected to hear, but occasionally, he would hear something that would make him aware of matters that he'd overlooked.

One such matter was that of the blacksmith. For as big as their village had grown, they hadn't employed any new blacksmiths. It was a matter of pride for Solgrim that they even had a blacksmith in the first place. That was a kindness that Ferdinand Blackwell had done in his time ruling over it – a boon that had kept them going for nearly a decade.

Now it was clear that they needed to expand the amount of blacksmiths they had available. Even the blacksmith himself, when Oliver had spoken to him, seemed to be in support of that fact. He had an excess of business, so excessive that it won him no extra money, but simply gave him extra stress. He welcomed the thought that there might be new blacksmith shops popping up.

"Letters," Greeves said gruffly, slapping two letters on Oliver's table.

"I thought we were going to speak about the matter of the blacksmith," Oliver said, wrinkling his nose at the mail. He was quite sure that it wouldn't be anything that he wished to read.

"Yes, yes," Greeves said. "I've looked into it. I think I can entice a couple in. There's always apprentices who've just completed their apprenticeship, and are looking to make a start for themselves. If you offer them a shop, more cheaply than elsewhere, they're sure to flock."

"I suppose so," Oliver said.