The Lord's Investiture

I settled the books—Marco's haul, the balance still in my hands, and everything we had earned since—and tallied it all into one account.

I had the coin to clear the balance at last, so I went straight to the House of Nobles. Viscount Baran received me with open pleasure.

"It's been a while."

"The balance is ready. I've come to settle it."

"Good. Come with me."

Under the viscount's guidance I passed into the royal castle. The House of Nobles might broker the deal, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but the power to grant a title and a fief belonged to the king regardless, which meant the formal warrant had to be issued from the castle itself. I met the Minister of the Royal Household, signed what papers remained, and paid the balance—eight thousand three hundred and seventy gold, the nine hundred and thirty of the deposit set aside.

Once the money was in, the steward told me he would fix a date and send word. While I waited on the reply, I set Marco to buying what the territory would need. The long caravan run had swollen our holdings at a stroke, and the headcount most of all; even the spatially expanded trucks were nowhere near enough.

We would need draft beasts in any case, so I had him sweep the kingdom's markets for horses, carts, cattle, and chickens. He bought two hundred carts, two hundred head of cattle, and a hundred pack horses, and I placed an order for another two hundred carts for the oxen and horses to draw. For the stock farms I added a hundred pigs and a thousand chickens.

Then I called at the Mage Tower and purchased golems for the earthworks of building a fief. Sand golems—ten of them, five hundred gold apiece. Oxen and horses had hard limits once the works grew large. Hands I had in plenty, but time was money, and I had learned in my own flesh that spending early, finishing fast, and earning fast was the better bargain.

The tower also offered to hire out a mage who specialized in civil works.

"A hundred and ten gold for a month's engagement. It sounds dear, but consider it. Whether a mage is on the site or not, the difference in the work isn't even comparable. Look at the figures closely and you'll see it is anything but a losing trade."

He wasn't wrong. Felling timber, cutting ground, compacting earth—magic and raw manpower were worlds apart. But I had more than enough ways to cover that on my side, so I declined for the present. Coin was already due to leave my hands in more places than one or two.

Once the numbers climbed into the thousands, the food alone was no small matter. Whatever else I bought in Burgos, provisions were better taken from Earth than from the kingdom. Neither quality nor relative price would bear comparison. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I took two spatially expanded trucks and drove north. Two days later I rolled into Damascus, and in the old bazaar I bought rice, wheat, oats, corn, and potatoes in bulk for rations, then iron farm tools and daily necessities by the armful. The expansion let me haul the equivalent of ten trucks, packed to the beams with food and supplies, back to Gaia.

In the meantime, the day of my audience with the king was set.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The royal castle of Burgos. Tall pillars stood in ranks down both sides of the great hall, and beyond the long carpet, raised a few steps upon the dais, the king sat his throne.

Standing before a king. I'm tense.

The knights lined to left and right drew their bastard swords and set them upright before their chests. Then the trumpets broke out—pa-pa-ra-pam, pam-pam-pam, pa-pa-ra-pam—and Viscount Baran, at my side, gave the signal. Forward.

I hadn't been this nervous since the day I walked in as a groom. I went slowly, stopped before the king, and, just as I had practiced, sank to one knee.

A moment later the king rose from the throne and came down at an unhurried pace. The minister attending him followed, a longsword borne across both hands. Before me the king drew the blade the minister held out and laid the flat of it upon my shoulder.

"Do you swear, henceforth, to serve the Kingdom of Burgos as its loyal subject?"

"I swear it."

"Will you do your utmost to protect the honored fief granted you, and the people of that fief?"

"I swear it."

"The honor is mine, Your Majesty."

And with that, the formalities were finished at last. I was a lord in truth.

I led the great column north. Unlike the rest of the continent, the Transilia country had never been given imperial roads, so the march alone devoured time. Nearly two thousand people slogged along a narrow, sucking track. The trucks and the two hundred carts made it a little easier, and still it took a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠full seven days to reach the village at the heart of Transilia.

We'll have to lay the roads first.

But the moment I arrived, that thought changed.

What is this?

The village before my eyes was so wretched it could not be set beside any city I had seen. Behind a rough timber palisade stood barely a hundred thatched huts. A clearing beside the central well, and behind that a so-called village hall that was little more than a roof on posts. That was all of it. I felt as if I had been sold a fraud, but there was nothing for it.

On arrival I summoned the village head at once. The man they brought out flung himself down, face rigid with fear, his whole body trembling fine as wire. Mercenaries aside, anyone would be frightened to see more than a thousand people arrive at a stroke.

"Here. The fief contract and the letter of appointment bestowed by His Majesty. Confirm them."

The village head lifted his head and carefully checked the writing on the parchment and the seal stamped beneath it.

"I receive my lord."

"Good. First, report the state of the village."

Respect—that sort of thing was for people who already knew what to do with it. Give it too soon and you only sowed confusion.

"Yes, my lord. The village is ninety-nine households. One hundred eighty-seven men. One hundred fifty-five women. Three hundred sixty-two in all."

In this age, children were not counted among the population. If every house had at least three or four, the true number would still only come to around eight hundred.

"Far too few. Where did the rest of my people go?"

"Well... because of the taxes. Some of them went into the mountains..."

I had heard as much. People who hated the tax fled into the forest and scratched out a living on slash-and-burn plots. Understandable enough. Taxes in this era took nearly half of what a man made, and in the worst places they took eighty or ninety percent. But that was someone else's trouble. On my land I was not going to look the other way.

"Village head. You can get word to the swidden folk, can't you?"

"I... that is... it's been so long since I lost contact that I don't really..."

"Lie to me and I'll take your head."

"N-no! Spare me, my lord!!"

"Send word. Tell them to return to the village. They have one week. Anyone who comes back within that time will not be charged for what came before, and I will give them farmland and food. But any slash-and-burn farmer who does not return will be stripped of a subject's rights, dragged in, and made a slave."

"Y-yes. Understood, my lord."

"And today is the day I take office, so prepare a feast. A festival to mark the lord's investiture."

"A... a festival?"

"Eat, and enjoy yourselves. Listen to me from here on, and I'll lay a road of flowers under your feet."

At the word festival, the villagers' faces twisted. A festival, to their ears, meant the grain they had scraped together and the livestock they had raised through hardship were about to be slaughtered and eaten. But they could not defy a lord who commanded thousands, so they gathered helplessly in the center of the village.

And the moment they saw what was spread before them, the people of the fief doubted their own eyes.

"Wh-what is all this?"

"What's that? That's meat, isn't it?"

"There's a cauldron that big?"

"Look over there—they're lighting fires everywhere."

Dozens of hearths had been set, and turning on the long spits above them were butchered cattle and pigs, plain as day. Fat dripped in strands and burst into savory flame over the coals. Sizzle—hiss—sizzle. In the cauldrons a meat-and-vegetable soup, heavy with oil, greens, and potatoes, boiled hard, while bread poured from the ovens and stacked high to one side. Along the browned crust of the meat roasting over the fire, cooked flesh was carved without pause and heaped onto plates. On the mats spread across the center lay enough food for a thousand people to eat their fill and still have more.

Through the stunned adults, children drawn by the smell squeezed out, drooling, and ran toward the food as if spellbound.

"We're eating!"

"M-meat! Meat!!"

"Give me some too!"

"Waaaaah!! Me too—give me meat, meat!!!"

The adults who saw the children rush in went pale. They were terrified of a beating if anyone ate without the lord's leave. A lord's authority was not tax alone; it was judgment and punishment. He could make a crime and punish it himself, and if you displeased him, you could lose your head and have nothing to say about it.

A great table was set in the middle, and before anyone quite noticed, the lord had taken the central seat. He looked over the gathering and spoke.

"An order. Anyone who does not eat his fill will taste the rod."

The people of the fief doubted their ears—and then, all at once, every one of them threw himself at the food and ate as if possessed. I looked down on them, lost to their eating, and unhurriedly took up fork and knife. The dishes set aside for the lord had been made specially by Blondie and the other slaves who could cook, with spices and seasonings brought from Earth. I cut into a steak done medium, put it in my mouth, and watched my people with satisfaction.

"My people eat well. Keep eating well from now on—and keep listening to me."