Eric picked up a handful of silver pence and held it out in front of Dean Royce.
"And another thing. Where is the village chief of Sal Village? The land tax should be his responsibility. Even if Sal Village is part of your Parish, you are, at most, responsible for tithes. You’re overstepping your authority.
Furthermore, if you’re going to pay the land tax, you should present detailed ledgers for us to verify.
What do you think you’re doing, just dropping the money here like this?"
Eric sounded quite aggressive.
"Sir Knight, it’s like this. Sal Village doesn’t grow wheat; we grow flax. Once the flax is harvested, we send it to Brittany and Normandy and give it to the linen merchants there. They process the flax into linen cloth.
Of course, we also have small workshops in our village that specialize in making linen cloth. Aside from meeting the village’s own needs, we sell the surplus to nearby cities. The river next to Sal Village is a tributary of the Vilaine River, which has given the village a small ferry landing.
This makes producing and selling the flax quite convenient. The buyers are mostly city-dwellers, which is why we pay our taxes in currency."
Royce bowed to Eric, his attitude exceptionally humble, leaving no room for complaint.
"As for the ledgers, it has always been customary for us to pay taxes this way. Lady Eleanor can attest to this. If her ladyship has other requirements, we will prepare them next time."
Royce glanced at Eleanor, hoping she would come to his rescue.
Eleanor nodded at Eric.
"The land tax Royce pays is certainly the full amount. It’s at least thirty pounds each time, which is already a very high rent."
Nearby, Royce sensed Lady Eleanor’s deference toward Eric. He walked over to Knight Commander Zogo’s side and asked in a low voice, "Commander Zogo, is this Knight the new tax collector, or...?"
Zogo didn’t answer immediately, instead looking toward Eric.
Eric was pleased with Zogo’s performance and nodded at him.
Only then did Zogo speak. "Before you stands the rightful Lord of Fougeres Castle, Baron Alan. He returned two days ago, and we were just about to announce the news to his subjects. Dean Royce, you may address your requests directly to the Baron."
"Th-this..." Dean Royce hurried before Eric, bowing humbly once more. "My Lord Baron, please forgive my earlier disrespect. I have long heard of your glorious deeds. You swore an oath upon the Cross to expand the domain of the Lord of Heaven and fight the Heretics of Iberia.
Your Devotion is so great that it moves even a Cultivator like me, one who has sworn to dedicate spirit and flesh to God. Compared to you, my own cultivation since childhood seems utterly insignificant.
I firmly believe your Devotion and bravery have surely pleased God. Your return is proof of that."
Dean Royce was laying the flattery on thick.
Eric had no interest in his contrived sycophancy. He noticed a silvery-white powder on the hem of the Dean’s Monk’s Robe.
"Alright, we’ll let this matter drop for now, but don’t let it happen again. Now, I will take my wife to meet our subjects in Sal Village. We will celebrate my return, and I will thank them for respectfully paying their taxes to my wife, Eleanor, during my absence.
Even during these recent, sorrowful times, so full of tragedy."
Eric took Eleanor’s hand and made to cross the bridge into the village.
His sudden movement caught Eleanor by surprise. She didn’t have time to lift her dress, and the hem was unfortunately splattered with specks of mud, making her frown.
Furthermore, Eleanor noticed the poultry droppings on the bridge, which, mixed with the rainwater, created a truly ghastly sight.
Dean Royce panicked. He scurried in front of Eric, and several of the other Cultivators quickly followed suit.
"M-My Lord Baron, please wait."
"What is it?" Eric put on an angry expression. "Do you intend to stop my wife and me from seeing our subjects? An act which is entirely legal and reasonable."
"No, no, not at all! Uh, it is perfectly reasonable for the Lord Baron to visit his subjects. After all, your return is a cause for celebration from any perspective. It’s just... it’s just that the villagers of Sal Village are not in a state to see you right now.
Two days ago, a few Sailors came to the village ferry. They were carrying some disease, and now many of the villagers have fallen ill. I fear for you, my Lord Baron, and for Lady Eleanor..."
"A disease?"
"Yes. I believe it may be a plague. The village chief of Sal Village has already succumbed, which is why I, on behalf of the Parish, am handling the tax matters he was responsible for. I pray it will not affect next season’s tax collection."
Royce clutched his chest, a sorrowful look on his face. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he looked toward Eleanor.
"The village has been in chaos these past few days because of this, so we haven’t had enough time to prepare the welcome that Lady Eleanor always requires."
"I don’t like it here." Eleanor looked at the filthy bridge ahead and squeezed Eric’s hand. "I don’t want to go in. Not at all. Really."
She thought she could even smell a strange odor in the air.
Although her tone wasn’t forceful, and she seemed to be leaving the decision to Eric, she had already made up her mind: she was not going in.
"Where do you normally sell your flax?" Eric released Eleanor’s hand and looked at Royce.