“What use is a dead man to me!!! You say he’s the great bandit Hus, but you’ve chopped him into meat paste. Who the hell can recognize which Bastard he is?!” In the Tignes Lord's Hall office, Viscount Pierre cursed Sheriff Bob.
Bob’s fat face had turned the color of a pig’s liver.
Since early summer this year, after a cart of Viscount Pierre’s silk and spices was stolen by a bandit named Hus, the enraged Viscount Pierre had repeatedly dispatched the Sheriff with town guards to pursue the bandit. However, Sheriff Bob, who usually led a few ruffians in Tinietz to bully the good and oppress the weak, lacked the courage to pursue fierce bandits outside the city. He had led his men on several trips to the south, always returning empty-handed, and the exasperated Viscount Pierre issued a final ultimatum.
So, a few days ago, Bob led his men to casually chop down a few vagrants in the south, hacking one slightly stronger fellow a dozen times, and brought him to Viscount Pierre, attempting to muddle through.
Despite being scolded, Bob was not worried that Viscount Pierre would dismiss him from his Sheriff position, because he had a powerful backer. At this moment, his sister was perhaps secretly enjoying intimacy with the esteemed Lord Deputy of the Court in some corner, despite it being clandestine.
After his rant, Pierre felt much calmer. He had no intention of continuing to entangle with the fat pig in front of him.
“Bob, take a look at this.” Saying so, he tossed a parchment stamped with the seal of the Court Minister of Public Security to Bob.
Bob took it, opened it, and read it through, then shouted excitedly, “When did a Patrol Officer pop up? And they want us to provide support!!! To hell with the Patrol Officer, Tinietz’s public security doesn’t need any damned Patrol Officer.” Bob looked up and saw Viscount Pierre’s displeased expression, quickly stopping his shouting.
“What are you shouting about? The Minister of Public Security’s order is very clear: the Patrol Officer is to patrol the southern border, suppress bandits, and resist mountain barbarians. He won’t manage Tinietz City and won’t take your position.” Pierre leaned back in his chair, his right hand gently caressing his forehead.
“The Court has no money, but we have to supply the materials and equipment, and the credit still goes to the Minister of Public Security! That old man is quite the schemer.” Bob spoke disrespectfully.
“Bob, shut your stinking mouth. The Minister of Public Security is not someone your enchanting sister can afford to provoke. However, we ourselves are almost overwhelmed now. I have already ordered a continued increase in commercial taxes and entry taxes. After winter, we will recruit fifteen more town guards, so I will have one hundred Soldiers. Your Patrol Team should also recruit a few more to make it ten people. You remember this: no more recruiting those ruffians and scoundrels. You must at least stabilize the public security near Tinietz for me first. Other matters can wait until that Patrol Officer takes office.” After speaking, he sent Bob out.
“Art Wood Wells, Wells Family, there’s no such family in Burgundy Earl, is there? Where did he come from?” Pierre picked up the parchment, muttering to himself.
…………
“Master, I’m very curious, who exactly are you? Following you until now, I increasingly feel that you are not simple.” Ron lay in the carriage, chewing on rabbit meat, and said to Art, who was riding alongside.
Art smiled and said, “I’m also very curious. So, what kind of person do you think I am?”
Ron sat up, leaning on the side railing, and looked at Art’s eyes, answering very seriously, “The first time I saw you, I thought you were a Lord like a bandit who kills without batting an eye; after following you to the wooden cabin in the valley, I felt you were an extraordinary forest hunter; during this period heading north, you seemed more like a politician navigating the Court; but outside Tinietz City and in yesterday’s ambush, you transformed into a powerful and righteous wandering Knight.”
Art chuckled softly a few times, pointing to a bruised and purple strangulation mark on his neck, and said to Ron, “Have you ever seen a chivalrous Knight who was almost strangled to death by a bandit?”
“But you still killed that bandit!” Ron still greatly admired his Master.
“Ron, you’re right. If we hadn’t killed that bandit, our heads would be in the carriage now. You must remember, the best way to deal with an enemy is to kill him, and then add another sword strike.”
Ron turned his head to glance at the head by his feet, nodded, and silently chanted, “Kill him, then add another sword strike!”
At this moment, Odo, who was scouting ahead, walked up to Art with a broad axe and said, “Lord, it seems Tinietz is just ahead.”
“Hmm, Odo, keep a close eye on the grain cart.” Saying so, he spurred his horse forward…
The open ground outside Tinietz North City Gate was covered in excrement and urine, reeking to the heavens. In less than a month, the refugee shantytown had doubled in size. Compared to these dog-kennel-like huts built from dry branches and leaves, Odo’s hut at the base of Lucerne City wall was practically a noble Master’s mansion.
As the few of them passed with the grain cart, gazes like hungry wolves were cast from all around the shanties. Art rode ahead with his sword, Ron sat halfway with his bow, and Odo followed closely behind with his axe. They passed through tensely all the way, and upon reaching the city gate, seeing the few gate guards in the archway, the three finally breathed a sigh of relief.
A small military officer-like gate guard, with a short sword hanging from his waist, swaggered over, holding his belt, and stopped Art’s horse. He looked up at the person on the horse and sternly shouted, “Dismount! Goods entering the city pay commercial tax, and people entering the city pay entry tax.”
Art had no intention of dismounting and paying taxes. He now held an official position appointed by the Court, even if it was just a commoner official, he was not an ordinary commoner. He pointed his sword at the grain cart behind him and said fiercely, “This is military grain, how dare you collect tax?”
He then patted his chest and said, “I am a Patrol Officer appointed by the Court. Do I need to pay tax to enter the city?”
The small military officer immediately became angry upon hearing this. Since becoming this squad leader, no one had dared to speak to him like this. Patrol Officer? Where did a Patrol Officer come from!
“Riding a broken horse and you think you’re a Master? Do you have an official sealed document?” The small military officer concluded that the man in front of him was putting on an act to avoid paying taxes.
“Odo, get my official sealed document.” Art said with a smile to Odo.
Odo understood, took a bloody head from the carriage, and threw it into the small military officer’s arms. The small military officer was instantly startled, and the head fell to the ground, rolling to Art’s horse’s front.
Art dismounted, bent down, picked up the head from the ground, and brought it to the small leader’s eyes, “Look closely, this is my official sealed document.”
The small military officer was already too shocked to speak by the sudden fright.
Art turned to the few guards behind the small military officer who were pointing spears at him and said, “I am the Border Public Security Patrol Officer appointed by the Court Minister of Public Security. I am taking office in Tinietz today. Quickly clear the way.” Saying so, he handed the head to Odo, remounted, and spurred his horse forward. The guards had no choice but to lower their short spears and make way…
Art rode on his horse, filled with emotion. In the past, every time he entered the city, he would smile apologetically and try every means to pay a little less tax. Today, returning to Tinietz, he could ride straight in. Art liked this feeling.
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“You are Art?”
“Esteemed Viscount Pierre, I am Art Wood Wells. This is my letter of appointment.” Art respectfully handed the letter of appointment to Pierre.
Pierre took the letter of appointment with one hand and said, “What happened to your neck?” He noticed the deep bruise on Art’s neck.
Art roughly recounted the ambush by several bandits in the northern forest the other day.
“Lord, that’s how it happened. Now, the heads of those two fellows are at the Lord's Hall entrance.”
“Hmm, it seems the Minister of Public Security chose the right person to appoint you as Patrol Officer. Art, where are you from? I don’t seem to have heard of a Wells Family in Burgundy.” Pierre looked down, flipping through Art’s letter of appointment, and asked casually.
“Lord, I am not from Burgundy, I am from Lombardy.” Art replied.
“A Lombardy man, then how come you~”
“Lord, my father was Bishop Olov Hannes’s religious guard when he was in the Holy Land.” Art could not reveal his identity for now, so he stated the identity Bishop Olov Hannes had fabricated for him and presented the Bishop’s private letter to Viscount Pierre.
Pierre took the private letter, broke the wax seal, and read it carefully, muttering “No wonder” to himself. Then he put down the private letter, straightened his back, and said to Art, “No wonder you are so brave. So, you were Bishop Olov’s religious guard. Thank you, Bishop, for your concern for me. Please convey my regards to him.”
As a titled noble, Pierre had long heard rumors of Olov’s impending promotion to Bishop of the Lusesen Diocese. However, Tinietz did not belong to the Lucerne Diocese. He would show Bishop Olov sufficient respect, but only that.
“Art, both the Minister of Public Security and Bishop Olov hope that Tinietz and the Southern Border region will support the Patrol Officer. However, you should know that I nominally govern one city, four castles, and fifteen villages, but apart from Tinietz and two small nearby manors, all other places are fiefdoms of various Lords and nobles, and I have no control over them. My grain and taxes are barely enough to maintain Tinietz City.” Pierre was afraid Art would ask for money and grain.
“Furthermore, as you can see, war is breaking out all over the southern continent. Tinietz is almost becoming a refugee camp for Provence, and I still have to squeeze out money and grain to relieve the refugees to prevent them from causing trouble. Besides money, grain, and supplies, I will give you whatever else I can!” Pierre looked at Art with a sincere expression.
Art had long guessed that Pierre would not give him any substantial support, but he still put on an extremely disappointed expression, lowering his head and remaining silent for a long time.
“Lord, but the Minister of Public Security told me before I left that the Tinietz region would definitely support me, and he also asked me to show the Marquis a stable southern border within a year. Without any money, grain, or supplies, my Patrol Team simply cannot be formed. How can I report back to the Minister of Public Security and the Marquis?” Art invoked the prestige of the Marquis and the Minister of Public Security.
“Art, it’s not that I don’t want to support you, but look, how chaotic Tinietz has become? I have already raised taxes three times. Now I can only barely maintain the status quo.” Pierre crossed his arms, looking distressed.
Art again lowered his head in silence.
After a while, Pierre reluctantly said, “How about this: I will allow you to collect public security taxes from all villages and towns in the county yourself. How much you collect is entirely up to luck. Additionally, you can set up a checkpoint on the southern border trade route and collect commercial taxes for one year. All the money collected will be used for your Patrol needs.”
Art cursed inwardly. The villages and manors in the county were all fiefdoms of Knights and nobles. Not to mention whether he could collect public security taxes in villages already brutally exploited by their Lords, he probably wouldn’t even enter the village before those Lords, who regarded their territories as forbidden possessions, would lead troops out to attack; setting up a checkpoint to collect commercial taxes seemed feasible. In normal times, Tinietz City paid taxes at a rate of one-tenth. Even after deducting the portion submitted to the Court, it could collect nearly thirty marks (about four thousand five hundred fenny) per month. This money would be enough to sustain sixty or seventy Soldiers for a month. But now, with war in the south and the north-south trade route cut off, most merchants had stopped their trade activities, except for a very few large merchant groups with armed escorts who dared to pass through the chaotic southern border to trade in Burgundy. Setting up a checkpoint on the border to collect taxes, Art would only encounter beggar-like vagrants and large merchant groups he couldn’t afford to provoke.
“Lord, you know the current situation. It’s impossible to collect public security taxes from the Lords. Now, with war in the south and the trade route cut off, setting up a checkpoint on the border to collect taxes is also useless.”
“Then what do you want? Tell me your thoughts.” Pierre was getting a little impatient.
“Lord, the Patrol Team is responsible for patrolling the southern border. We cannot be stationed in Tinietz City. So, I would like to ask you to allocate a small piece of un-fiefed land forty miles south of Lane, at the foot of Bore Mountain, to the Patrol Team as a base, and allow me to recruit vagrants to reclaim land and farm for military use.” Art put forward his first request.
Pierre thought for a moment. The foot of Ramel and Bore Mountain was a border area, the southernmost tip of Burgundy Earl. It had been neglected for years, so temporarily allocating it to Art was fine. He nodded and said, “That’s a neglected wilderness and dense forest. As long as you can grow food, it’s all yours; I won’t take a single grain. However, you must recruit vagrants outside Tinietz City.”
“Since Tinietz won’t provide me with supplies, my Soldiers also need to survive. Therefore, the spoils from suppressing bandits will be for my own use and will not be handed over.”
“As long as you can obtain them, I agree.”
“Finally, I hope you can allocate five hundred pounds of grain, ten long spears, three broadswords, five heavy hammer axes, and a batch of winter clothes and tents to me. It would be even better if you could allocate a few more shortbows.” Art knew that Pierre couldn’t possibly allocate so many weapons; he was just asking for the moon.
“Don’t even think about grain; I know you brought a large cart of grain from the north. If it weren’t for you forming a Patrol Team, I would have wanted to take half of it. As for weapons, I can give you eight short spears, one broadsword, and three battle axes/heavy hammers. There are no winter clothes or tents whatsoever.”
“Don’t rush to thank me; I have conditions. First, you must form a Patrol Team of no less than ten people before spring wheat sowing next year and begin patrolling the Southern Border to maintain public security. Second, you must not plunder vagrants or merchant groups under the guise of patrolling. If you dare to plunder the Lords’ villages, that’s up to you. Third, the bandits and mountain barbarians you apprehend must first be handed over to me, and I will execute them or escort them to the Court. Of course, I won’t take your credit for free: sixty fenny for an ordinary bandit, two hundred fenny for a small bandit leader, five hundred fenny for a major leader, and wanted great bandits will be calculated separately. However, you must be able to prove they are bandits, so it’s best not to just chop off heads to cheat money.”
“How about it?” Pierre stared into Art’s eyes.
Art thought for a while, felt the conditions were not excessive, and nodded in agreement.
“Good, let’s do it this way. You are now the Tinietz Southern Border Public Security Patrol Officer.” Saying so, he picked up the bronze bell on the table and shook it, and the guard outside the door pushed it open and entered.
“Jerry, take this newly appointed Patrol Officer to the Scribe. Tell him to issue a proclamation announcing the Patrol Officer’s assumption of duty.”
Art followed the guard out the door. A round-headed, fat-faced man was walking into the door. The two brushed past each other. The fat-faced man glared at Art, then turned back into the room resentfully.
Sheriff Bob entered the room with a look of indignation. “Lord, you actually still gave that fellow weapons, and even let him set up a checkpoint to collect taxes!”
“Bob, did you see the heads outside the Lord's Hall?”
“I saw them.”
“Do they look like the heads of bandits and robbers?”
“I didn’t look closely, but one of them looked quite similar.”
“That’s it then. He came with Bishop Olov Hannes’s private letter and two bloody ‘gifts’. Could I let him return empty-handed? If you can bring me the head of a real bandit, I’ll give you weapons too.”
“Lord, I~”
“Alright, if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, you may withdraw.”
“I came to discuss increasing the Patrol Team’s wages.”