novelraw Chapter 137: Rye Bread
Chapter 137: Rye Bread
Ch 137: Rye Bread
Since Herigifu gave birth to a second son, Vig’s worries dissipated, and he went out to inspect the Four Northern Counties.
Order was still stable in Edinburgh and Stirling, but when he arrived in Glasgow, he found that local residents were gathering in front of the North Temple gate. Hundreds of Gaels, armed with wooden sticks and pitchforks, had the air of being ready to rebel at any moment.
Having caused such a disturbance during his inspection, the Shrike, Earl of Glasgow County, felt ashamed and requested troops to quell the rebellion.
“Sir, there is no need to worry. Glasgow has two hundred garrison soldiers and a Mountain Infantry Company. There are also twenty-eight knightly manors nearby; in case of need, each manor can provide at least eight militiamen.”
After hearing the report, Vig realized that they held the advantage and felt slightly reassured. “No rush. Let’s talk first. If we cannot reach an agreement, then we will fight.”
Sending the Shrike to muster the troops, Vig entered the temple hall and had the shield-bearer summon five elderly Gaels, asking the translator to relay:
“I am the Duke of Tyne, what is going on?”
In the confused account of the elderly Gaels, dozens of townspeople had developed a strange illness, suffering from constant pain and experiencing strange hallucinations, muttering blasphemous words about evil spirits and forest sprites.
Given the townspeople’s hostility towards the Vikings, they instinctively suspected that a Viking shaman had used black magic to try to harm them. Magic?
Vig dismissed this unrealistic idea and inquired about the details of the victims, discovering that all fifteen were the poorest of the poor.
“No wealthy victims?”
The leading elder nodded. “None.”
It seemed, therefore, that this was not a contagious disease but a case of poisoning from eating some spoiled food.
Vig summoned the families and had the clerk register the food they had eaten during that time, including bread, fish, and various vegetables.
“Only these?” Vig had his subordinates pay some silver pence to purchase all the food from the victims’ homes and transport it to the temple for inspection.
Ransacking the wooden crates of ingredients, he looked slightly puzzled.
“The staple food is only rye bread, and the loaves are similar in size and shape. Hmm, is it from the same bakery?”
The leading elder explained: “Rye bread is the cheapest, and we usually dip it in fish soup or vegetable soup for dinner.”
Amidst the elder’s rambling, Vig obtained the information about the bakery and ordered the shield-bearer to bring the shopkeeper and the shop’s raw materials.
The bread-making ingredients consisted of a large crate of rye, mixed with some strange ergot, cylindrical, 1-2cm long, and pointed at both ends.
According to the fat shopkeeper, the ergot was already mixed in when he bought the rye from the peasants.
“Is that so?” Vig wasn’t sure about the specific effects of this thing. After a moment’s consideration, he ordered the shopkeeper to go outside the temple gate and eat the rye bread he had sold, in public.
“Just eat a little, consider it a treat from me.”
Looking around at the many fierce soldiers, the shopkeeper, with a mournful face, tore off a small piece of bread and swallowed it down with clean water. About ten minutes later, he suddenly began to dance and act in a strange and frenzied manner.
Seeing this, the watching Gael residents were in an uproar, believing it to be demonic possession. Two shield-bearers held the shopkeeper down and poured a large amount of water into him with a wooden ladle to induce vomiting, until his consciousness returned.
“No, it’s not my fault, those damned farmers are to blame, it’s not my fault.”
At this point, the Gaels’ hostility gradually subsided. Worried about punishment from their lord, the most nimble of the peripheral people began to flee. Under their lead, the size of the crowd quickly diminished, eventually leaving only dozens of victims’ families and five elders.
“Very well, the matter is clear. It was this strange ergot that caused the deaths; there was no magic.”
（Note: This substance is ergot, which usually parasitizes rye and is toxic.）
Vig had no interest in making things difficult for these residents; instead, he turned to the shopkeeper. “Lead the way. Find those farmers who sold the poisonous rye, and you might receive a pardon.”
By this time, the Shrike had mustered the troops. Vig left the garrison behind and led the Royal Guard, the Mountain Infantry Company, and the knights out of Glasgow, following the shopkeeper to a village ten miles away.
Vig, mounted on his grey horse, looked towards the increasingly rugged terrain to the north. “Why didn’t you buy rye closer to town?”
The fat shopkeeper whimpered, “The local villagers approached me, saying they had a bountiful harvest of rye and that the price was low.”
Approached him?
Vig’s eyes narrowed, and he instinctively dismounted, his gaze sweeping across the farmlands on either side of the road and the woodland behind them, trying to spot any hidden ambushes.
“The situation has changed! Form battle formation!”
Receiving the order, the four hundred men changed from marching column to a line formation. Vig issued the order: “Knights and mounted mercenaries advance, sealing off the outskirts of the target village. Do not charge, wait for reinforcements!”
Forty warhorses thundered off. Vig had the swift Mountain Infantry Company execute a forced march to quickly catch up with the cavalry.
With the first two units departing, he led the remaining two hundred men behind, including fifty Guards and one hundred and fifty militiamen from the knightly manors.
After walking along the road for about three hours, Vig reached the target village. Scattered across the nearby fields were fifty corpses, including a small number of Indigo Raiders.
“Two rebel armies mixed together?”
He shifted his gaze to the village. The Mountain Infantry blocked the two small paths leading out of the village, while the main street at the village entrance was open, guarded by cavalry.
Listening to the soldiers’ rising and falling breaths, Vig looked up at the sky. The autumn sun was setting, and it was less than three hours until nightfall.
Time was pressing; he didn’t want to drag it out until night. After a hasty half-hour rest, he had the cavalry and militiamen guard the intersections, while the Guards and Mountain Infantry launched a strong assault.
Under the cover of archers, the Guards approached the village entrance with round shields, successfully breaking through the enemy’s shield wall, and began to purge the remaining rebels house by house.
For some reason, these enemies’ fighting spirit was extremely tenacious. A few minutes later, the enraged Mountain Infantry chose to set fire to the village, using the flames to force the enemy to flee the courtyards, then using javelins and arrows to kill them one by one.
With nearly ninety percent of their comrades dead, the remaining twenty Gael rebels surrendered. Their commander, Hugh, Lord of Glasgow, had been killed by the cavalry before the siege began.
“Hugh is dead?”
Vig was overjoyed. He had the prisoners identify the body to confirm the death of this major threat, and then he looked at the cavalry. “Who did it?”
A young mounted mercenary stepped forward, introducing himself as Utgard and publicly claiming the merit.
“Good, good.”
For nearly a year, the situation in Glasgow had been the most unstable, with disturbances breaking out from time to time. The most crucial reason was Hugh’s survival. With his death, the remaining rebels could only retreat to the Northern Mountains, and Glasgow would enjoy a period of peace and stability.