Among the crowd, Licerio could pick out a few faces—guild members from Rosea, and above all, Lucano and Valente. He could not read their expressions clearly from where he stood, but he knew they could not be happy.
Many lords and kings of this age underestimate the power of common people, having never seen what they can create when they come together; Licerio had. The masses could change the course of history.
Now it would be far harder for the guilds to act openly against him—because if they had any intelligence at all, they would not want to turn every person in the village against them by blocking the creation of a school for their children.
Licerio waited for the crowd to settle before continuing, covering many details about the school—how children could attend and how he would recruit people to teach different trades. Toward the end of the speech, he could no longer find Lucano or Valente anywhere in the crowd; they had gone. He delivered the final part with a half smile and a more relaxed tone.
When it was over, the people in the square were still celebrating, their excitement uncontained. Licerio and López stepped away from the platform and lingered nearby, watching the people talk among themselves—every face wearing a broad smile.
Somehow, music started up somewhere in the square. Then a few people were dancing near the makeshift stage. Sharp-eyed vendors noticed the opportunity and quickly brought their goods out into the street.
That formerly quiet square filled with music, dancers, and people celebrating—using the festival to release the happiness and excitement that had been building in them all along.
Licerio was so absorbed watching it all that he did not notice three girls had approached him, tugging at his clothes to get his attention. He looked down at the three girls beside him—though they trembled slightly at the sight of his position, they had come to him with eyes full of longing and delight.
He ruffled the hair of the girl who had tugged at him and crouched down, bringing himself to their level.
"And what could these little ones want with me?" he asked with a light smile.
"My mama said we should come and play with you — she said you looked sad." The girl grabbed his hand and pulled with everything she had. "Come on, let's play," she grinned, showing all her teeth.
The girl did not have the strength to move Licerio—but in that moment, his body did not try to resist her, and he let himself be pulled along.
López followed behind Licerio with a wide smile and quickly lost himself in the atmosphere, dancing with some village girls and alternating between beer and wine.
Licerio, by contrast, was stiff—drinking a little wine, celebrating with the village men, and playing with a group of children that included the three girls who had dragged him into the party.
The children wove through the crowd as they played. One boy was being chased by a friend, looking back with his tongue out and laughing—when he ran straight into a man who was celebrating and fell to the ground.
The man turned in annoyance, eyes narrowed and jaw set, ready to unleash his irritation on whoever had hit him.
When he saw it was a child, his face softened into a warm smile. He crouched down and helped the boy up, dusting him off and sending him on his way. Go on—run, before your friend catches you.
The boy took off at a sprint, his friend right behind him, and the man plunged back into the celebration.
Licerio could not remember the last time his shoulders had hung like this—loose, light. As if someone had cut the strings holding them up. His movements began to follow the rhythm of the music, and before long a village girl had pulled him into a dance.
His movements flowed without effort, holding the rhythm and guiding his partner through the steps.
Licerio spun her, and her skirt rose like the wings of a butterfly. She laughed in surprise, and as she fell back into his arms, the crowd watching them held its breath. Someone dropped a beer jar. No one picked it up. Everyone was watching.
The sun had long since gone when Licerio felt the tiredness settle into his bones. He looked around for López and found him laughing in the middle of a group of young people. With a gesture, he let him know it was time to go.
Both walked with easy, unhurried steps toward the castle to rest.
With the first light of dawn breaking over the horizon, Licerio and López rode out on horseback toward home.
On the way, they stopped at a small river to rest and let the horses drink. Nearby they found wild fruit, which they ate before touching the dried meat they had packed for the journey.
They reached the manor with the sun at its highest point, which had been beating down on them relentlessly the whole way.
Quiet days followed, giving Licerio a well-earned rest. In his office, a desk with every inch of its surface covered in documents, rolled hides, and books. Licerio blew on his tea, which sent ripples of heat into the air.
He was taking a break from his work, using the tea to relax before carrying on.
During these quieter moments, he liked to keep thinking through things—though the topics he took up in these breaks were always relatively simple ones, just enough to clear his mind.
Right now he needed to think through a significant problem for the school: the children's labor. From a young age, children were already being used to till and tend the fields—necessary for the family to earn enough to live on.
But this issue could be addressed with the royal gift and the tax exemption for the next three years. For now, he could reduce the taxes on farmers, allowing children to attend school without straining the household—and he had a year to find a more lasting solution.
Beyond that, he also had to accept that no more than a quarter of the children in each territory would be able to attend; to address this, he had two possible approaches. The first was to make the classes semi-open—allowing many more children to attend informally, even if they did not receive the same level of attention as enrolled students for now. The second was to bring in capable adults from various villages and put them through the classes so they could then go back and teach the children and other adults in their communities.
On one side of the office, the steady scratch of Lecaro's quill on paper broke the quiet of Licerio's corner. Lecaro had been taken on as his provisional secretary.
After a moment, Licerio finished his tea and was about to return to work when a series of even knocks came at the door.
"Come in," he said, setting his cup on the table and straightening up.
The door opened, and the steward entered, approaching the desk.
"My lord—a letter from the Count of Trosia." The steward delivered the letter with both hands.