"It's the way!" someone shouted.
Paul spoke dryly, probing the emotional undercurrents. "Ways change."
An angry voice lifted from a corner of the cavern: "We'll say what's to change!"
There were scattered shouts of agreement through the throng.
"As you wish," Paul said.
And Jessica heard the subtle intonations as he used the powers of Voice she had taught him.
"You will say," he agreed. "But first you will hear my say."
Stilgar moved along the ledge, his bearded face impassive. "That is the way, too," he said. "The voice of any Fremen may be heard in Council. Paul-Muad'Dib is a Fremen."
"The good of the tribe, that is the most important thing, eh?" Paul asked.
Still with that flat-voiced dignity, Stilgar said: "Thus our steps are guided."
"All right," Paul said. "Then, who rules this troop of our tribe - and who rules all the tribes and troops through the fighting instructors we've trained in the weirding way?"
Paul waited, looking over the heads of the throng. No answer came.
Presently, he said: "Does Stilgar rule all this? He says himself that he does not. Do I rule? Even Stilgar does my bidding on occasion, and the sages, the wisest of the wise, listen to me and honor me in Council."
There was shuffling silence among the crowd.
"So," Paul said. "Does my mother rule?" He pointed down to Jessica in her black robes of office among them. "Stilgar and all the other troop leaders ask her advice in almost every major decision. You know this. But does a Reverend Mother walk the sand or lead a razzia against the Harkonnens?"
Frowns creased the foreheads of those Paul could see, but still there were angry murmurs.
This is a dangerous way to do it , Jessica thought, but she remembered the message cylinder and what it implied. And she saw Paul's intent: Go right to the depth of their uncertainty, dispose of that, and all the rest must follow.
"No man recognizes leadership without the challenge and the combat, eh?" Paul asked.
"That's the way!" someone shouted.
"What's our goal?" Paul asked. "To unseat Rabban, the Harkonnen beast, and remake our world into a place where we may raise our families in happiness amidst an abundance of water - is this our goal?"
"Hard tasks need hard ways," someone shouted.
"Do you smash your knife before a battle?" Paul demanded. "I say this as fact, not meaning it as boast or challenge: there isn't a man here, Stilgar included, who could stand against me in single combat. This is Stilgar's own admission. He knows it, so do you all."
Again, the angry mutters lifted from the crowd.
"Many of you have been with me on the practice floor," Paul said. "You know this isn't idle boast. I say it because it's fact known to us all, and I'd be foolish not to see it for myself. I began training in these ways earlier than you did and my teachers were tougher than any you've ever seen. How else do you think I bested Jamis at an age when your boys are still fighting only mock battles?"
He's using the Voice well , Jessica thought, but that's not enough with these people. They've good insulation against vocal control. He must catch them also with logic .
"So," Paul said, "we come to this." He lifted the message cylinder, removed its scrap of tape. "This was taken from a Harkonnen courier. Its authenticity is beyond question. It is addressed to Rabban. It tells him that his request for new troops is denied, that his spice harvest is far below quota, that he must wring more spice from Arrakis with the people he has."
Stilgar moved up beside Paul.
"How many of you see what this means?" Paul asked. "Stilgar saw it immediately."
"They're cut off!" someone shouted.
Paul pushed message and cylinder into his sash. From his neck he took a braided shigawire cord and removed a ring from the cord, holding the ring aloft.
"This was my father's ducal signet," he said. "I swore never to wear it again until I was ready to lead my troops over all of Arrakis and claim it as my rightful fief." He put the ring on his finger, clenched his fist.
Utter stillness gripped the cavern.
"Who rules here?" Paul asked. He raised his fist. "I rule here! I rule on every square inch of Arrakis! This is my ducal fief whether the Emperor says yea or nay! He gave it to my father and it comes to me through my father!"
Paul lifted himself onto his toes, settled back to his heels. He studied the crowd, feeling their temper.
Almost , he thought.
"There are men here who will hold positions of importance on Arrakis when I claim those Imperial rights which are mine," Paul said. "Stilgar is one of those men. Not because I wish to bribe him! Not out of gratitude, though I'm one of many here who owe him life for life. No! But because he's wise and strong. Because he governs this troop by his own intelligence and not just by rules. Do you think me stupid? Do you think I'll cut off my right arm and leave it bloody on the floor of this cavern just to provide you with a circus?"
Paul swept a hard gaze across the throng. "Who is there here to say I'm not the rightful ruler on Arrakis? Must I prove it by leaving every Fremen tribe in the erg without a leader?"
Beside Paul, Stilgar stirred, looked at him questioningly.
"Will I subtract from our strength when we need it most?" Paul asked. "I am your ruler, and I say to you that it is time we stopped killing off our best men and started killing our real enemies - the Harkonnens!"
In one blurred motion, Stilgar had his crysknife out and pointed over the heads of the throng. "Long live Duke Paul-Muad'Dib!" he shouted.