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 Nearing the center of the village, they noticed approaching them a singular company of men. Three old men, dressed in their Sunday best, were carrying a cerise red, silver-edged flag unfurled from a tall, beautifully carved and silver-encrusted pole. The flag was suspended by a large silver-trimmed chain, carved out of one solid piece of wood.

The three old men marched along slowly. They stopped in front of each homestead and called its owner by name. When one of its occupants appeared, they called out to him:

“Come tomorrow to the folk-mote!” and marched on.

“What in the world are they doing?” asked Tuhar, as the old men neared them.

“Why haven’t you ever seen anything like this before?” asked Maxim unbelievingly.

“No, I haven’t. We have no such custom in Halich,” replied Tuhar.

“They are the town-criers, summoning the people to the folk-mote,” replied Maxim.

“Oh, I thought they were priests carrying a church banner!” laughed Tuhar sarcastically. “In our section, when a meeting is called, it’s done quietly, passed on by word of mouth from house to house.”

“Well, here the call to meeting is made by the district heralds and standard bearers who go through the streets summoning each citizen by name. They will call you also, Boyarin.”

“Let them call. I won’t come! Your folk-mote can have no interest for me. I am here by the will of the king and can hold my own meetings whenever I think it is necessary to do so.”

“You will call a town meeting yourself?” exclaimed the