The shrewd Meyer at last spoke.
“Sir Lawrence, while part of my role entails protecting the forest from illicit logging, my main responsibility is actually to make sure no one lets their livestock roam and graze on the grasses without express permission.”
“Livestock manure is gold for the fields. Whether scattered seeds of wheat yield three or seven times the amount planted depends entirely upon whether or not the field has been treated with a veritable deluge of manure. And the quality of that manure is affected by how much the livestock has been fed.”
It was not unusual to find wheat fields that only produced three times the amount of seed planted. That was only enough to feed the farmhands because after setting aside the seed needed for planting the next year, nothing would be left. A year of bad harvests would plunge many farmers into immediate poverty. Regions known as breadbaskets that lined their market stalls with heavy-laden bags of wheat needed a yield that was five times greater than the amount of seed they planted. Even lands known for being fertile would thank God for a rich harvest that offered sevenfold yields.
Lawrence finally managed to understand this with the knowledge he gleaned from his days as a traveling merchant only because it strayed close to the markets, which he understood well. To think that fertilizing the land with livestock manure was this important, and that the forest’s undergrowth was critical to raising livestock.
He had spent quite some time traveling from village to village dealing in wheat during his merchant days, so Lawrence thought he knew everything there was to know, but it turned out there was plenty he had not learned about at all.
“If Lord Tonneburg proceeds with cutting down the forest, then not only will we be forced to contribute labor, but the forest will lose its undergrowth, the livestock in the area will grow skinny, the wheat fields will wither like a dried-up river, and all of us will lose our livelihoods.”
Holo, who had spent centuries in a wheat field, understood where the conversation was going from the very beginning, and in all likelihood had subtly turned Lawrence toward this problem.
When that thought crossed his mind and Lawrence looked to the side, he saw Holo glowering at him from atop the driver’s perch.
He thought she might be angry about the danger to the wheat fields, but from the way she refused to meet his gaze had him belatedly realizing something else—farming techniques that used livestock manure were more beyond a spirit of the forest than a merchant like Lawrence.
Then he recalled how, after commanding the harvest in Pasloe for centuries, she had been rendered obsolete and had practically been chased out due to advancements in human agriculture. The mayor still rambled fervently about tree types and how the undergrowth grew in relation to them, and the relationship between livestock grazing periods and the wheat harvest, but not once did God come up.
The era in which people left offerings in the dark, sunless forest to pray for a good harvest had long since passed. Holo was more than ready to protect the forest, but the forest was no longer home to beings like her.
“Do you understand, Great Merchant?”
This brought Lawrence back to the moment, and his gaze turned from Holo to the mayor.
“The Tonneburg Woods supports the wheat harvest at its very foundations in every place reachable from here by cart. But our lord has forgotten how the land operates and has been taken for a ride by those blasted sea dwellers,” the mayor spat.
Meyer added, “Seaside ports operate on vastly different logic from landlocked settlements. To them, wheat is but one of many products that pass through their walls. They likely think they can simply import wheat from overseas with their boats to sell them at a high price during years of bad harvest.”
To Lawrence, who once gladly took on whatever product he thought might make him a quick profit and carted them from town to town, this statement was a bit hard to swallow.
“But the reason Lord Tonneburg made an agreement with Karlan is, well…there is a sort of rationale to it.”
Just as Meyer spoke, the crude road—nothing but cut grass to mark where one was meant to walk—became the familiar sight of packed earth, and Lawrence caught sight of small clearings and farmland along the treeline.
It seemed the local wheat harvest ended long before Salonia’s—perhaps they reaped the wheat earlier.
“It is not just our lumber that Karlan is after. They want to build a road through the forest and change the maps.”
“The maps?” Lawrence asked in turn.
As he did, the center of the village came into view. In the center square stood a modest market, stalls lined with harvested grain and other miscellaneous vegetables, as well as honey and the bounty of fruit trees harvested from the forest. A great number of people and carts packed the rows, more than the size of the market might’ve suggested.
It was the familiar sight of a small, yet lively farming village.
“Lord Tonneburg wants to sacrifice the forest to ensure this market remains on the map.”
As Lawrence began to nod, he realized something was strange about that statement.
“But if the forest is cut down, then this place would vanish, too.”
Though the village sat beside a deep, dense forest, it did not seem as though its main industry revolved around lumber. What supported its economy was the forest’s fertility, which greatly benefited the soil and the livestock.
“Lord Tonneburg believes the scent of wheat and honey can be replaced with metal and coal.”
“Those metalworking shops will fill this entire region with the smell of burning wheat fields.”
Meyer had mentioned that Lord Tonneburg had made a miscalculation at the checkpoint tavern.
And that miscalculation would not only affect the Tonneburg Woods, but also the vast majority of Salonia’s wheat fields.
At last, Lawrence began to understand—this was one appraisal that they could not afford to get wrong.