***
In the days of Artur’s absence, Wyllem rallied the Rufoux to prepare the defenses of the camp. He drew a perimeter for the stockade, and helped select a stand of trees for cutting. Always cautious, Wyllem thought it wise to cut trees nearest the Rufoux fields; that way, if all went well, land would already be cleared to expand their planting, if they wished.
Pepin arrived back in the Rufoux camp with Carolingia and Melic woodsmen soon after Theodoric and the others had left on their journey. The line of men marched into camp with huge axes strapped upon their backs, singing in deep harmony to Pepin’s bright reed-playing. They all wore their traditional light armor and helmets, except Carolingia, who had chosen a frock of loosely woven vines, hanging from one shoulder, that showed her pale skin underneath.
“We have chosen the stand by the fields to begin cutting,” Wyllem told Pepin.
“Fine. You will want to strip the trunks of their branches and line them up beside the Alluvia,” replied Pepin.
“Why would we do that? We need the logs here in camp,” said Wyllem.
“Soon will the river’s flood be, correct? The ant is mighty to carry, but the pitcher will overflow his nest,” said Pepin.
“That may be true, I’m sure, but don’t we still need the logs in the camp?”
“The sweat of the brow is not as powerful as the rush of the current.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Frustrated, Pepin stopped short and stared blankly at Wyllem for a moment. Then suddenly he sprang up into a tree, sat on a low branch and withdrew into his head. He folded his arms and hunched over, and Wyllem stared as he went into something of a trance. Pepin began murmuring under his breath: “He does not understand, and I cannot make him understand. Why have you made the Rufoux thus? But he cannot help the way he is made. He has been accustomed to brute force all his life.”
Pepin was in consultation with his god. Wyllem watched this one-man conversation develop with not a little alarm. Pepin’s face took on alternating expressions as the exchange went from side to side.
“But how can it not be clear, even to Rufoux? He does not have the mind of a Melic, for I did not make him that way. You must make him see, Drueed, for I am unable. He does not hear the word of Melic wisdom. You must make him see, Melic, you must speak words he understands. The river soon will flood, and water will float the logs. Yes, I know, and certainly he knows as well. Why can I not make him put the two together? Because you have not really tried. Your pride in your intellect has stopped you. Does the fault lay at my feet, then, Drueed? Yes, you must speak so he can hear you, not to keep him ignorant. You say the truth. Yes, you have sought his help, but you refuse to help him in turn, because of your arrogance. Yes, Drueed, I see. Give me the words to tell him the river will lift the logs off the ground where they lay and take them to the camp. You know the words, Melic, that the river will lift the logs off the ground where they lay and take them to the camp. You must make him understand, Melic.”
He seemed to have forgotten that Wyllem still stood there, until suddenly he fell silent and looked out over the land.
“What if,” Wyllem said testily, as though unsure he should say anything, “we left the logs where they lay and let the flood waters float them to camp?”
“I said that already,” said Pepin, drained.
The woodsmen did just that, and the small team of Melics soon had hundreds of trees down, only low stumps left in the ground. The Rufoux took battle axes and hewed off the branches, throwing them to the side for use in the fires. The Melics showed them how to use swords to sharpen the logs at both ends, a more delicate task that required less than an ax. They showed the Rufoux women how to cut bark into strips and braid them into tough ropes to sling the walls together. Together they had stacks upon stacks of huge logs prepared for the stockade, carefully placed along the banks of the Alluvia to await the water’s coming surge.
As night began to fall, Rufoux sentries changed shifts in the forest, and a new guard went out to watch for Aoten attack. So far the giants had not realized the Rufoux grains had simply been moved into their village. The line of exhausted men trudged toward their huts past the exhausted line of Melics, headed back to their enclave in the branches for the night, each to their respective worlds. All the Melics retreated from the Rufoux village except for Pepin, still planning the stockade walls with Wyllem, and Carolingia. She swayed through the camp, casting sidelong glances to every man, challenging every woman with her beguiling eyes.