Whether there was a rebellion or not, the people of Macragge always enjoyed a better standard of living than those on Holy Terra. Their average life expectancy had even reached the astonishing age of thirty.
Of course, those thirty years weren't measured by standard Terran time. A day on Macragge was equivalent to three days on Holy Terra, so thirty years there worked out to at least ninety years by Terra's reckoning—far ahead of most other human worlds.
Watching Hogg sit beside her and shovel food into his mouth, Mrs. Euten beamed as she kept passing him plate after plate, afraid her precious boy wouldn't get enough to eat. It was the sort of thing where a mother thought you hadn't eaten enough, and Guilliman was left with nothing.
The lord of the 500 Worlds, and he couldn't even get a bite to eat at his own table. If word got out, people would laugh at him.
To get his mother to pay him a little more attention, Guilliman ordered the kitchen to send out more food. What was the harm in eating a few extra bites? How much could that little shrimp eat? The House of Macragge was rich enough to afford it.
As one empty plate after another was cleared away, Guilliman's mood shifted a little after three full tons of food had been consumed in half an hour. Then The Angel, Dorn, and even Omegon joined the eating, and the great Guilliman could barely hold it together.
"Are you all Ogryns? How can you eat so much? Did you come here just to stuff your faces?"
Nothing served at the feast was cheap. At the very least, it was expensive produce grown naturally. Even the little red fruit decorating the plates cost more than a full set