"In the Vilaine River basin, the flax usually follows the river all the way to Nantes. If there’s high demand, it might go south from Nantes and be sold in Naples or Castilla. It’s mainly the southerners who buy it," Royce said, seeming to guess what Eric was thinking. He bowed humbly and respectfully.
"I don’t want to see your flax in Mann or Normandy. Other than that, I don’t care what you do," Eric said, his gaze hardening.
"Yes, yes, of course. Whatever the Lord says. Due to the blockade on England in recent years, the supply of northern wool has dried up, and the wool industry has declined. As a result, flax sales have been especially good, getting better every year.
I believe that after the Michaelmas Festival—no, in the next quarter, our profits will rise again. Sal Village will certainly be able to provide the Baron with a higher tax yield then."
"I will be expecting it."
Eric then prepared to lead Eleanor away, only to find she was no longer by his side. She had run over to the horses and was holding up her skirt with one foot in a stirrup, waiting for Eric to help her up.
Eric mounted his horse and called out to Zogo, signaling for him and his men to take charge of the two carriages.
As Sal Village receded into the distance, Eleanor let out a sigh of relief.
"That so-called ’custom’... it only started after you took over, didn’t it," Eric said, reaching out and pinching Eleanor’s ear.
"Er... possibly... maybe... perhaps... I’m not sure. But at least... I’m sure I wasn’t the only one doing it. Not just me." Eleanor chuckled, trying to ease the awkwardness.
"Zogo," Eric said, looking at the Knight beside him.
"For the past few years, no one has had high expectations for tax collection. In fact, many Knights are unwilling to manage village affairs at all, be it providing relief or collecting taxes.
Everyone was focused on dealing with Elijah’s harassment of the Baroness. Before the Baron’s return, it was a threat to the survival of Fougeres Castle.
Sal Village was an anomaly; it always managed to pay its taxes. The Knight acting as the tax collector naturally wouldn’t ask too many questions."
"Is there something wrong with Sal Village?" Eleanor asked, turning her head.
"Is that warden here often?" Eric asked Zogo, ignoring her question.
"Yes. And quite frequently, you could say. Every time he visits, he gives each family a piglet. You won’t find anyone there who doesn’t have a good word to say about Royce."
"There must be more to it," Eric noted, his perception sharp.
"Yes. It’s a good place for debauchery. A woman named Mia has a brothel there, several houses host high-stakes gambling, and there are more taverns than churches," Zogo confirmed with a nod.
"A hedonistic Babylon. I imagine it has no shortage of visitors."
"Indeed, the town has many visitors, mostly Sailors, which has shaped the character of the place. My Lord, if I may ask, is there a problem with Sal Village?
Now that you bring it up, I find myself rather curious," Zogo said, looking toward Eric.
"A little sleight of hand with their currency. But they seem to know their place, and what they hand over is genuine, so I can’t be bothered to pursue it.
However, once the plague in Mann is gone, this practice must stop. Every village must provide detailed accounts when paying taxes."
"I want to ride in the carriage next time," Eleanor said, pushing Eric’s hand away.
"If it’ll make you care more about managing the domain."
"Once a year," Eleanor said, holding up a single finger and waving it in front of Eric’s face.
"Why not once a decade?"
"Deal!"
Eric: "..."
...
Afterward, Eric had Zogo transport the tax grain back while he and Eleanor continued their inspection of the other villages.
Of course, they couldn’t visit them all. The plan for the day had been to visit five, the five largest villages in the Fougeres Castle domain.
The villagers were thrilled to see the Lady who had provided them with relief, but Eleanor herself was not quite as happy.
She wasn’t fond of such lively scenes. In that, she was the opposite of Emma.
After touring the third village, she made up her mind to return to the castle.
"I’ll go again next time, when the weather is nice."
"And what do you consider nice weather?"
"On any day that isn’t windy, rainy, snowy, frosty, sunny, or cloudy... I can go on all the other days."
Eleanor sat on a patch of dry grass, leaning against Eric’s shoulder and waving a piece of sweet flag in her hand as she spoke with perfect seriousness.
"You might as well say you’ll go when the sun rises in the west."
"You said it, not me," Eleanor mumbled indistinctly, chewing on the sweet flag.
"Then what do you do in the castle all day? There’s only one maid, Ejiva."
"There’s lots to do. I can sleep in until noon without being disturbed, play chess with Ejiva, and I have many interesting books. A lot of them are from... what’s that word again? Cordo-y? Dor? Oh, right, it’s called Córdoba.
The merchants from Loire Castle pick out a few good books for me every year, books on making scented oils. Occasionally, Miss Annie, the eldest daughter of the Count of Nantes, or Lady Raine, or the Lady of Le Mans will bring their friends to visit me, and we’ll have a tea party..."
As Eleanor chattered on enthusiastically, Eric suddenly shot to his feet.
"What’s wrong?"
Eric didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
A group of Knights was escorting a magnificent carriage. The two Knights at the head of the procession carried banners embroidered with a coat of arms: a blue field with a red-and-white stripe running diagonally from the top left to the bottom right.
’Who could it be?’
’The old man wouldn’t ride in such a gaudy carriage.’
’Emma?’
"Eleanor, wait here for a moment."
Eric patted Eleanor on the head, then swung himself onto his horse and gestured for ten of his Knights to follow him.
The approaching party was moving slowly, likely to accommodate the passenger in the carriage, so it didn’t take long for Eric to catch up.
Eric led his Knights to block their path.
The sudden maneuver startled the Warhorses of the two lead Knights, causing them to whinny and rear up.
Behind them, a group of Knights warily drew their Longswords.
In response, Eric’s Knights drew their own Longswords.
The two groups faced off, and the atmosphere grew tense.
"Excuse me, sir, is there some urgent matter that requires you to block our path?"
A young man who looked like the leader rode out from among the Knights on a white horse.
He was slender with long brown hair and a string of silver earrings in his right ear. He really didn’t look like a Knight.
The young man seemed to have poor eyesight, completely unaware that his horse was steadily drifting closer to Eric.
He was squinting, his neck craned forward, trying to get a clear look at Eric’s face.
"Alright, Otto, stop squinting with those bad eyes of yours. Can’t you recognize my voice?" Eric said with a smile, looking at the young man.
"Eri—" the young man named Otto cried out in shock.
But before he could get the name out, Eric clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Let’s skip the clichéd reunion. Who’s in the carriage?"
The young man’s name was Otto. He was a Lombard from Southern Italy and the husband of Bohemond’s sister, Emma.
That made him a sort of brother-in-law to Eric. His nickname was "Otto the Good."
Being a good person was his greatest strength, and also his greatest weakness.
"It’s—"
Just as Otto was about to speak, the carriage window slid open.
A girl, not much older than Jeanne, stuck her head out. Her platinum-blonde hair seemed to glow in the sunlight, and her pretty features were scrunched up in pain. "Otto, why have we stopped again? Can you please hurry? I’m dying here."
"Helia?" Eric dismounted and strode quickly toward her.
"Brother? What are you doing here?"
Helia looked surprised, momentarily forgetting her pain. She opened the carriage door and stumbled out, leaning against its side for support.
Though only fifteen, she was already quite tall and looked like a beautiful adult woman, making it easy to forget her age.
She was Eric’s half-sister, Helia. While his stepmother was harsh and detestable, Eric’s relationship with his half-sister was fairly good.
"I’m guessing you have an upset stomach again," Eric said, pinching Helia’s ear.
"Yesterday in Anjou, Helia just had to eat the roasted quail. This morning, this is the result," Otto explained with a shrug.
"It was obviously a problem with the cheese you brought!"