Granting Gold

Lothar sat cross-legged on the bed, wiping the hand-and-a-half sword in his hands with white linen cloth.

The arming sword Count Werner had given him had already reached the end of its life.

This hand-and-a-half sword had been spoils taken after killing Avelardo.

Avelardo was dead, so the ransom had fallen through.

But by the rules, his armor and warhorse now belonged to Lothar as well.

His Arabian warhorse was no worse than Lothar's Nisaan warhorse.

Together with the full set of armor, even after depreciation, it could sell for nearly a hundred gold coins.

Prajna suddenly asked, "As a Champion Knight, what reward did Count Leopold intend to give you?"

Lothar smiled. "Leopold originally wanted me to become his vassal—the Baron of Vienna Forest Mountain—and even promised that I could be raised to count someday."

"But I refused. So in the end, it became financial support, along with a promise to supply us with provisions once we gained a foothold in the Holy Land."

"That promise was very broad. It might mean weapons and shields, armor and arrows, or perhaps food, seeds, blacksmiths, and craftsmen."

"There was no specific amount. How much I can actually get then will probably depend on my performance—whether I am worth Count Leopold's investment."

"That's perfectly normal."

Prajna nodded and offered no comment.

"Get ready for bed."

After extinguishing the lamp, Prajna lay flat on the thin blanket spread across the floor.

She fell asleep as she usually did.

But this time, perhaps because their intimacy had increased, the atmosphere between them was no longer as distant as before.

In the darkness, Lothar gazed at Prajna's flawless profile in the moonlight. He remained awake for a long time, only hurriedly closing his eyes when her eyelashes trembled, as though she were about to open them.

Early the next morning, Lothar visited Count Leopold again. He politely declined the luncheon and requested permission to depart.

From him, Lothar received a heavy pouch containing a full hundred Florin gold coins, minted by the Republic of Genoa in recent years and of far superior quality to Solidus gold coins.

Each Florin gold coin weighed 3.5 grams, one gram less than the newly minted Solidus gold coins of the Eastern Empire.

Solidus gold coin was merely a general term. It could refer to a Solidus gold coin or a Nomisma gold coin; in any case, both were gold coins issued by the Eastern Empire.

By standard, all Solidus gold coins weighed 4.5 grams.

It was simply that Solidus gold coins issued in different periods varied greatly in purity.

The Solidus gold coins newly issued by Empress Lagaya of the Eastern Empire were full-purity gold, roughly comparable in fineness to the Florin gold coins issued by Genoa.

This showed that the Empress intended to save the Eastern Empire's already disreputable monetary system, rather than simply indulge herself and rot away.

Otherwise, if things continued as before, the entire Eastern Empire's market would be flooded with currencies from Merchant Republics such as Genoa and Venice.

At this time, the gold-to-silver exchange ratio was twelve to one. In other words, one full-purity gold coin could be exchanged for twelve silver coins of equal weight.

But since silver coins generally weighed only a little over one gram, in theory, one gold Florin could be exchanged for roughly forty silver Dinars.

Of course, such exchanges were rarely possible in reality.

Because silver utensils were so widely used, the purity of most silver coins was even worse than that of gold coins. For example, a King of Gaul had once minted black coins containing only one-tenth silver.

The Eastern Empire had also had emperors who issued silver-plated coins with less than one-twentieth silver content. In some isolated regions, bronze coins with no circulation value at all were still in use even now.

This era was fractured and divided, with feudal lords everywhere capable of privately minting currency. The monetary system was truly chaotic.

Generally speaking, however, a pig was worth about 1.5 Florin gold coins at this time.

One Florin gold coin could buy fifty decent loaves of bread free of bran and grit.

A fine warhorse, like Lothar's Nisaan warhorse, cost around sixty Florin gold coins—six times the price of the steppe warhorses ridden by the Magyars.

As for a top-tier royal horse reserved for the royal family, it would cost roughly five hundred Florin gold coins.

An ordinary packhorse, meanwhile, was worth only five gold Florins.

The annual rent for an inn within the city was six Florin gold coins.

Building a castle cost roughly two thousand Florins.

A fine suit of chainmail worn by an elite soldier or lower-ranking knight was worth around thirty Florin gold coins; a custom-made full suit of knightly plate armor required fifty Florins.

A royal four-wheeled carriage cost roughly two hundred and forty Florins.

Of course, these were only rough figures. Actual prices fluctuated with supply and demand. Even in later ages, plague and city lockdowns could cause prices to soar, let alone in the Middle Ages.

After a drought, the price of bread might rise hundreds of times over under the price gouging of Jewish merchants.

Once the Jewish merchants had earned enough, shrewd local lords would often find an excuse to execute them and confiscate all their property.

This not only calmed the boiling resentment of the people, but also indirectly pried every last copper coin from between their subjects' fingers for their own enjoyment.

So Lothar's entire fortune now consisted of one hundred gold Florins, eighty gold Solidus, nearly five hundred silver Dinars, two silver goblets gifted by Otto, two steppe warhorses, one Nisaan warhorse, one Arabian horse, and two packhorses.

As well as an extra set of fine chainmail and a Bucket Helm.

A considerable portion of the silver coins had come from the ransoms Hans earned after defeating his opponents.

This money could probably equip ten soldiers in leather armor armed with iron swords and spears, or hire a small mercenary band of thirty to fifty men to serve him.

"Sure enough, war burns money. Making a name for myself in Jerusalem won't be easy either."

"The battlefield isn't a tournament ground. Individual valor will never match a well-trained army—at the very least, Hans and I can't."

Lothar took stock of his little treasury and sighed.

Prajna was a melee, defense-oriented retainer who could protect herself on the battlefield, but expecting her to sweep through enemies invincibly would be difficult.

When he returned to the inn, Ryan had already settled the room bill, packed all their baggage, and was waiting outside with the horses.

"My lord, this is your mount. The food and feed for the horses are all prepared. When shall we depart?"

Ryan bowed humbly, his face full of reverence.

Moder, meanwhile, walked up to the warhorse and crouched down, preparing to serve as Lothar's mounting step.

Ever since Lothar defeated Avelardo, the werewolf knight, yesterday, the way Ryan and Moder looked at him had become entirely different.

They practically revered him as a god.

Hans, on the other hand, remained as he always had, with no real change.

To him, Lothar killing a werewolf was only natural. Even the famed Hell Gatekeeper served the lord; a mere werewolf was nothing at all.

Lothar's face turned stern as he stopped Moder. "Stand up, Moder!"

"If I needed servants, I would spend money to buy them. But what I need now are brave warriors who can fight, not lowly servants. Never behave so humbly before me again."

"Ryan, the same goes for you."

As the two stared blankly, Lothar swung himself onto his horse and snorted. "We leave at once!"

In truth, a loyal servant could often display considerable usefulness on the battlefield, such as the Mamluk cavalry of the Ayyubid Empire.

But Lothar simply could not accept such degrading treatment of people.

He still had a long way to go before fully integrating into this world, but Lothar would rather never integrate at all.

In the afternoon, Lothar's party stopped before a Small Town.

It was a town that had been ravaged by fire. Ruin stretched as far as the eye could see, and the pungent smell of smoke and burning made the group frown deeply.

A decapitated man lay beside the road, his mouth, nose, and wounds covered in dense swarms of flies crawling in and out.

As soon as the hoofbeats drew near, they rose into a black storm.

Scavenging wild dogs tore at corpses in the ruins that had begun to rot beneath the scorching summer heat. Even at the sight of people, they showed no fear.

The experienced old soldier Moder said gravely, "These bandits left not long ago. There are still embers in the ruins."

Lothar frowned. "Doesn't the Babenberg border patrol care?"

"They probably did. Look at those corpses—there are chafing marks on their bodies and necks from wearing armor. He was likely a soldier, but his armor was stripped away."

"Can you find them?"

Lothar's tone was calm. Such things happened every day. They were a reflection of this era. It was not just bandits; even conflicts between nobles often led to villages being looted.

Men and women alike would be seized and taken back as serfs, while the old, weak, sick, and disabled would all be killed to lessen the burden.

From ancient times to the present, the lives of the lowborn had never been worth much.

After observing carefully for a while, Moder nodded. "No problem. They were not in a hurry, and they took prisoners, baggage, and livestock with them, so they were moving slowly. We can definitely find them by following these wagon tracks."

Lothar turned back and said to the others, "Some say that in war, nobles provide weapons and equipment, the rich provide money and food, and the poor provide their children. When the war ends, nobles win glory and achievement, the rich gain even more wealth, and the poor can only search for their children's graves."

"Even the best war is worse than the worst peace."

Lothar's gaze swept across the corpses. An old man still clutched a farm tool split apart by a blade, and an arrow had pierced through his neck.

But the arrow had certainly been retrieved afterward.

The life of such a lowborn man was not even worth burying with a single arrow.

"But war will never disappear."

"I cannot change this era, but I swear that if I become a lord, I will do everything in my power to protect the people of my lands, eradicate bandits, and keep enemies beyond my borders."

Ryan and Moder showed astonished expressions.

In this era, there were scarcely any who would use words like "my people."

Were serfs people too?

"Moder, lead the way. We leave at once to catch those bandits and send them to Hell in the name of the Heavenly Father."

He had to admit that a large part of his reason for pursuing the bandits was to complete the milestone.

But another considerable part of him hoped to save those people who had been taken away.

Kill those cruel bandits—blood for blood, tooth for tooth.