novelraw Chapter 341: Vassals
Chapter 341: Vassals
Arriving at the gates of the Royal Palace, Imon requested an audience with the Crown Prince. After waiting for a few minutes, he followed a guard into the grand hall.
The throne on the dais was empty. Fridleif and Heregyth sat on the left and right sides respectively, receiving the Duke's audience.
After exchanging some polite pleasantries, Imon reported the number and composition of his troops. The Crown Prince took the roster, skimmed through it, praised the Duke's loyalty once more, and invited him to the evening's Royal Banquet.
Leaving the Royal Palace, Imon headed to his own residence. Even though he spent very little time in Londinium, he still invested a massive amount of funds into the property to maintain his dignity as a Duke.
After settling his luggage, Imon took five guards out for a stroll. Nowadays, the population of Londinium exceeded thirty thousand. Its prosperity and wealth held an indescribable allure for visiting Nobles.
"These, those, and this one too. I will take them all."
Without realizing it, Imon had purchased a massive pile of seemingly useful goods. Suddenly, a strong, fishy stench caught his attention.
The group arrived at the dock area, where two Knarr ships were moored. Numerous Wooden Buckets were placed on the Deck, loaded with a massive amount of pickled Herring.
At that moment, the crew members were using fishing nets to load the Wooden Buckets, hoisting them into the carriages of rail Carts using a treadwheel crane. Curious, Imon approached a worker, who scratched his messy hair and casually replied:
"The King issued an order that during the training period, every soldier should receive half a pound of meat per day. The Cabinet did not provide beef, mutton, or Smoked Meat sausages, opting instead for the cheapest fish. The Cabinet placed orders with the fishermen, buying Herring or Cod every day and transporting it to the northern suburban camp via rail Carts."Half a pound of fish every day?
Imon felt the Cabinet's approach was extremely wise. If they had provided other types of meat, they likely would have gone bankrupt long ago.
"According to the fishermen, the Cabinet spends a thousand pounds of Silver every month purchasing fish. Add in the grain, Alcoholic Beverages, and other consumed Supplies, exactly how much money is this costing?"
He was astonished by the abundant financial power of the Royal Family. Back when his grandfather Ragnar was on the throne, he could never have pulled off such an extravagant display.
Recalling the past, Imon's mood darkened. He returned to his residence and slept for over an hour, only leaving for the banquet at dusk.
The Royal Banquet was of an exceptionally high standard. Imon did not focus his attention on the food and drink, but rather chatted with the other Nobles, attempting to gather more information.
He lowered his voice and asked Leonard, who was seated to his right, "Why are some people missing? Where did the Crown Prince, the Prime Minister, and Thorkel go?"
Leonard's face was flushed red, and he let out a loud, drunken hiccup. "They have duties to attend to and are incredibly busy all day. They often miss the Royal Banquets, unlike us idle men who have nothing to do."
Through their conversation, Imon learned the general situation of the field forces:
Butcherbird, Utgard, and Viper respectively served as the commanders of the three Field Divisions, while Thorkel led the Heavy Cavalry division. Due to a shortage of Military Officers, the students at the Army Academy had graduated early. Even sixty percent of the students at Lundinium University had enlisted, serving as grassroots Military Officers, Documents clerks, and Signalmen.
Regarding the Personnel Affairs arrangements of the King and the Cabinet, Imon held no complaints. He knew his own aptitude was Mediocre, and lacking the experience of studying at the Army Academy, he was completely unsuited for the current style of warfare.
During the previous long march, Imon had made several blunders. Left with no other choice, he could only delegate his authority to five noble scions, allowing these young academy graduates to coordinate various matters while the Duke himself acted as a nominal commander. At this moment, Count Ricard to his left joined the conversation, "His Majesty has mobilized an army of fifty thousand. What do you all think the target is this time?"
"His Majesty is different from Ragnar before him," Leonard explained. "He values land over a bit of gold and Silver. I believe his target is the territory of West Francia, which includes at least the most fertile lands like Paris and Orléans.
"I hope that after the war ends, His Majesty will grant me a large manor in Burgundy. The Wine produced there has an exquisite taste. Tsk, tsk, when that time comes, I will eat beef stewed in Red wine every single day. Have you guys tried this new dish? It requires Red wine, beef, Olive Oil, Onion, and pepper..."
To realize this beautiful dream, in addition to conscripting soldiers for the war, Leonard also purchased an extra five hundred pounds of War Bonds. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to Wigg's victories and did not think the man could lose, especially when equipped with nearly forty thousand sets of armor.
After chatting for a moment, the Minister of Justice, Om, came over carrying a jug of Sugarcane Rum. He grabbed a piece of pan-fried lamb chop, stuffed it into his mouth, and mumbled as he chewed:
"I do not care about land. I only want to personally kill that damned Traitor, Gunnar."
During the Battle of Auxerre eleven years ago, Gunnar had defeated Ragnar's forces, and Om's two sons had been captured. His Eldest Son had died of illness in a POW Camp, while his Younger Son had taken an arrow to the right arm. Due to a lack of proper care, after the wound healed, his arm's strength was vastly inferior to before, rendering him no longer suited for wielding a sword in battle.
At nine o'clock in the evening, Fridleif concluded the War Council and joined the banquet alongside the Prime Minister and others. Fridleif did not make much noise; instead, he sat quietly in his seat, observing everyone's expressions and who they were talking to, deducing the relationships between them.
Enduring until late into the night, the banquet finally came to an end. The heavily intoxicated Nobles were supported and escorted onto Carts, which transported them back to their respective residences. Exhausted, Fridleif returned to his room and recorded some personal insights in his notebook.
The next morning, Fridleif punctually attended the Cabinet meeting. Because he lacked administrative experience, he could not chime in on most of the topics. He could only force himself to remain calm and audit the ministers' discussions.
After it concluded, he handed the meeting briefing over to the intelligence agency to be transcribed into a specific cipher. This encrypted document was delivered by a rider to Plymouth, and then dispatched by ship to the front lines in Breizh.
Conversely, the letters Wigg sent back home from the front lines were similarly transcribed into cipher. Even if the messenger ship encountered a storm and accidentally ran aground in the Frankish-controlled zone, the enemy would be unable to decipher the contents of the letters.
Busy until noon, Fridleif had just eaten lunch when he suddenly received news that a new batch of Pecheneg riders had arrived at the docks.
In the half-year following the end of the war in Bulgaria, the price of Mercenaries from Eastern Europe had been steadily dropping. Britain had Rurik expand the recruitment scale, projecting the enlistment of over a thousand men this year.
He observed this group of Nomads. Some of the members had cold, ruthless faces, their eyes revealing an ill-concealed ferocity. They had undoubtedly engaged in numerous battles in Bulgaria.
'Their Horsemanship and combat skills meet the standard; their flaw lies in being difficult to discipline,' Fridleif thought. 'Father's primary goal in forming the Rangers is Reconnaissance, but these men are wild and untamable. While out on missions, it is highly likely they will abandon their duties and prioritize the Plunder of nearby Commoners.'
Under the watchful gaze of the Crown Prince, the three hundred Mercenaries headed to the eastern suburban camp for a brief, thirty-day training period. The war was urgent, and there was no more time left for them to adapt.