British hegemon

Chapter 131 Chaos is Approaching

On March 5th, Earl and his party, who had been away for nearly a month, returned to Arran Island exhausted and dressed like beggars.

A pot of minced meat and wheat porridge, two roasted chickens, three loaves of bread, and half a barrel of beer were devoured by the three devils in a whirlwind. Even a beggar would feel sorry for them.

After the group had eaten and drunk their fill, Roger called them aside to his study. Earl, with his ponytail, recounted from memory everything he had seen and heard over the past month, with Gray Rat and the henchmen occasionally adding to his account.

That's basically all the information we have about the Earl of Carrick. They should be in a castle somewhere in the east now. Also, we've heard about the black coal you mentioned. Many blacksmiths in England use this stone as fuel for iron smelting. The blacksmiths at Dumfries Castle know about it, but currently there's only one mine in northeast Glasgow that specializes in mining it.

"Alright, we'll talk about the black coal later. Go find the old steward right away to collect double pay and a bonus, then go home and rest for two days."

Robert Bruce finally took action. Roger rubbed his hands together excitedly and paced back and forth in the study. "Someone, go to the training ground and call Marne and Olaf. I have something to discuss with them."

The next day, a ship loaded with grain and iron entered the port.

The Kirk came from Ireland and brought Roger 80,000 pounds of grain and 2,000 pounds of iron.

Roger was delighted with the shipment of grain and iron, but the news brought by the ship made him nervous. The Dublin Parliament announced King Edward's decree, prohibiting the export of all grain, ironware, horses, and other goods to Scotland, as well as Scottish wool and other items, to the south. They also began to requisition provisions and warhorses to be transported to the northern border of England.

Meanwhile, the English blocked the northward passes and sea routes, and Roger's uncle Geoffrey suspended the original shipping routes. Roger's goods had to go around the west coast of Ireland to go south, and Geoffrey temporarily only accepted the salt trade with Roger.

The steward who came with the ship told Roger that Jeffrey would send someone to a port on the west coast to receive the goods.

This undoubtedly dealt a heavy blow to Roger's fledgling "ocean trade".

Roger had no choice but to both intensify his efforts to purchase and stockpile grain at high prices from various places, and work day and night to produce salt and textiles, taking advantage of the fact that the English maritime ban had not yet completely blocked the way out of Arun Island, to quickly transport the grain in and sell the goods.

An incredibly busy March.

"Sir, we have already rented all the boats on the island, even the small fishing boats."

"Baron John sent someone to tell you that you've gone mad, as you've already driven up grain prices around Aran Island by 20%."

"And besides, your coffers are almost empty again."

The old steward was frowning. Recently, the simple dock in Ramlash Village has been bustling with boats coming and going every day, carrying barley, wheat, oats, rye, peas, broad beans, black beans, and any kind of food that can fill one's stomach and is easy to store. Milk House Manor accepts all such grains.

The manor's granaries were overflowing with grain, and even the makeshift thatched huts built by the craftsmen were filled with grain of various grades.

He simply couldn't understand his master's crazy behavior.

Roger, who had taken off his cotton armor and helmet, was soaked in sweat by the fence of the training ground outside the Milk House Manor.

He took down the sheepskin water bag hanging on the fence, filled it with a large mouthful of lukewarm well water, wiped his sweat, stared at the soldiers practicing horseback riding and sword fighting not far away, and replied without turning his head: "Continue to stockpile grain, and use the money for building a chapel for the old lady first."

The old butler waved his hands repeatedly, "No, no, the old lady said that the chapel must be built after the summer grain harvest, this money cannot be touched."

Roger glanced at the old butler. "Use the money first. Wolf and Toland sailed to Islay and the west coast of Ireland to deliver the goods. Once the money from that shipment is returned, we'll make up the difference immediately."

The old butler was about to offer further advice when Roger raised his hand to stop him, "How much grain is left in the manor?"

The old steward sighed. "At the beginning of the month, Ireland delivered 80,000 pounds, and in the middle of the month, we bought 70,000 pounds from the surrounding areas at high prices. Adding last year's surplus grain, the total is 220,000 pounds, which is equivalent to 3,790 bushels."

"If we're frugal, this is enough to feed everyone at Milk House Manor for two years."

"Sir, we've recently spent 127 pounds on food alone, which is an enormous sum."

"Furthermore, I must remind you that, according to your agreement with the Irish businessman, you are required to pay the Dublin Chamber of Commerce a sum of sixty pounds in principal and interest by the end of June."

"Since the beginning of the month, all the soldiers, servants and employees of the Milk House Manor have been paid with equivalent grain instead of wages, but this still can't stop the money from being spent like water every day."

Roger simply grunted in agreement. "Got it. Keep doing as I say. I'll figure out the money."

Roger sensed something was amiss and explained again, "Old friend, in prosperous times you buy land, in chaotic times you stockpile grain. War is coming again, we need to speed up our grain stockpiling."

After saying that, Roger put on his cotton armor and helmet again and shouted at the figure not far away, "Blackie, bring my horse over, let's practice one more time."

"Chaos, chaos, do you really wish for chaos to come?" The old butler sighed softly, shaking his head as he walked toward the bustling Milk House Manor.

Outside the Milk House Manor, in a stone warehouse, wooden shelves were filled with various weapons and armor. Knight squire and manor soldier Maren was explaining the situation to Roger, "Sir, the blacksmiths have forged thirty spearheads and ten short swords, and the damaged weapons have also been repaired. The weapons in the warehouse are now enough to arm at least forty soldiers."

"However, there's still not enough armor. The swords and spears made by the blacksmiths in the manor are acceptable, but armor is..."

Maren had been in charge of the management and maintenance of the weapons and armor of this armed force. Since the intelligence squad led by Earl the Ponytail returned to the island, Roger had begun to stockpile food and forge weapons. The old steward and his team were in charge of stockpiling food, while Maren was in charge of supervising the blacksmiths forging weapons.

The batch of iron sent from Ireland was of good quality, and the newly put-in water-powered blowers also played a role. A few half-baked blacksmiths, led by two newly-minted weapons craftsmen, added quite a few sturdy pieces to the warehouse.

Roger casually picked up a willow-leaf-shaped winged spearhead, weighed it in his hand—it was heavy enough—and wiped the blade with his thumb; it was sharp enough.

"My lord, these spear tips are all forged from fine iron, and the spear shafts are almost finished as well."

Roger nodded, put down the spear, and picked up a short sword to examine it.

Leather scabbards are expensive, so the short swords made by the manor are all made with oak scabbards glued together with fish glue, and the scabbards are tied with leather cords for easy hanging.

The wooden scabbard was rather rough in its workmanship. When the short sword was pulled out with a little force, the workmanship became even rougher, and even the marks of hammering were clearly visible. Fortunately, the thickness of the blade and the sharpness of the edge were acceptable.

Compared to the knight's sword at Roger's waist, the short sword made by Milk House Manor was practically a cheap imitation, but it could still kill, and that was enough.

"How much would it cost to make a short sword like this?" Roger asked casually.

Marne paused for a moment, not understanding the meaning of "cost," but guessing that Roger was asking about the price.

This stumped him; he had never calculated the cost of making weapons.

"This~"

Roger sighed inwardly. Right now, he was still lacking talent, especially management talent. "Since you are in charge of the army's weapons and armor, you should also be in charge of these things. In the future, when the army grows larger, we will have to learn to calculate costs."

Maren was baffled. How many men could a knight command? Even the Baron of Arlen Island had at most a hundred or so soldiers under his command.

"Sir, we need to allocate horses to the soldiers, but we are still one horse short." At present, there are ten full-time soldiers in the Milk House Manor, but there are only nine rideable horses in the manor's stable. The mixed horse is not suitable for military use and has been assigned to the old steward. The remaining eight horses need to be divided among the ten people.

The bald man's move to Glasgow can be temporarily ignored, but he's still a step behind.

Roger picked up a set of repaired cotton armor and tugged at it hard. It was quite sturdy. He casually replied, "We'll leave Earl the ponytail for now. He's leaving Arlen Island again tomorrow. When he comes back, Isle of Aylay will send a batch of Fjord Horses."

Marne nodded. "Alright, let's wait until Earl with the ponytail leaves tomorrow before dividing the horses, so he won't feel disappointed."

Marne was always meticulous, but Roger had no time for such details. "Have the weapons, armor, and supplies for the long journey been finalized?"

"I have discussed this repeatedly with several sergeants who have experience in long-distance land warfare, and Olaf has made a list, which is already in your study."

"What are the main limiting factors affecting long-range cross-border operations? I mean, logistical support." Roger asked a question that was even harder for people to understand.

Fortunately, Marne was already used to looking for keywords in Roger's seemingly random remarks. After a moment's thought, he came up with "horses, food, and disease."

"Did you take these limiting factors into account in your list of supplies?"

"We've already considered it. We'll bring our own horses, some food and fodder, and replenish them along the way."

"As for illness," Marn paused for a moment, "our soldiers are all strong and brave warriors, they don't get sick so easily."

Roger nodded helplessly. The only professional doctor on the island was the fat monk, and there was also a part-time barber. Their methods of treating diseases were surprisingly consistent—sending patients to God for further treatment.

Therefore, when faced with slightly more complex illnesses, Roger could only raise his hand, shrug his shoulders, and shake his head.

After Marx and Eng finished their report, they asked in a low voice, "Sir, is something truly momentous about to happen?"

Roger nodded.

"It's not Aran Island, is it? The matter of Aran Island doesn't require you to prepare military equipment for a long journey, besides..."

Before Marne could ask any more questions, Roger raised his hand. "I know you're all confused, but I can tell you for sure that chaos is about to begin."

"But I regret to inform you that I do not know where the chaos began. Perhaps it was in the east, or perhaps in the south. This is a question that needs to be answered by Earl and the others."

Damn my half-baked historical knowledge. If I had known I would use that knowledge in my life, I should have listened more carefully when the Scandinavian smugglers were telling their grand historical tales back then.