Bjorn sat hunched over the table, writing on the version of paper he had created. The surface was rough and uneven. It was ugly compared to the paper of in his past life and the smooth parchments, but it cost far less to produce than animal skins stretched and scraped thin.
Building anything is really costly, or maybe we are just too poor. He had thought hard about what to construct first with the silver in his treasury.
The obstacle to expanding was clear: maintaining a large force of warriors through raiding alone was unsustainable. Right now it is. But he wants to expand, more men need more food, more weapons and soon the expensive armors.
And if he wanted to expand his kingdom, he would need to stay home instead of sailing west for treasure. That meant drawing from his existing treasury, watching it shrink with each passing season. Invading neighboring kingdoms would cost more resources than he could recover after winning them.
He needed a reliable source of income that would support a larger standing army without depending solely on raids. Something that would last forever and will expand with him as well.
There was another problem. He needed more skilled craftsmen, but most craftsmen were controlled by the chieftains who ruled their own territories.
The chieftains controlled their own lands and the labor in their lands, the resources, the production. Not Bjorn. That had always bothered him. A king should not have to make a deal with his own subjects for things like this.
He started forming a plan.
His first thought was to create a formal guild of craftsmen, but that would require negotiations with every chieftain family. He would have to convince them to surrender their craftsmen to royal control. They would refuse immediately. No chieftain would willingly give up that kind of power.
So instead, he decided on a different approach: train people himself. Build his own pool of craftsmen from scratch. He would also need to start taking captives from the west, people with skills. Stonemasons, metalworkers, weavers. And he would need translators to communicate with them. Monks, perhaps. Some of them spoke multiple languages.
The guild was impossible for now. But he could achieve the same centralization through a slower method—train people, attract talent, and outcompete the chieftains' workshops. Eventually, his craftsmen would become the best, and others would come to him naturally.
He pushed the paper across the table toward Athelstan, who sat across from him.
Athelstan picked it up and read silently for a moment. Then he spoke. "So it is a hall where craftsmen and apprentices work, learn, and live together.
"And a gathering place for free men, freed thralls, and foreigners who wish to master their craft under the King's protection." Bjorn added.
Athelstan nodded then continued reading aloud. "Four main workshops, each divided by wooden partitions for safety and noise. A central hearth burns day and night, giving light and warmth to all sections."
He paused and looked at Bjorn. "Ironwork Section. Eight to twelve members, led by a Master Smith. The forge stands closest to the sea wind for better draft. Apprentices stoke fires and hammer small blades while thralls carry charcoal and bog iron. They produce weapons, farm tools, and jewelry."
Athelstan kept reading. "Woodwork Section. Eight to twelve members, led by a Master Carpenter. They produce tools, furniture, and simple ship parts like oars, benches, and ribs."
"Textiles Section. Six to ten members, led by a Master Weaver. Set near the wall for good light and ventilation. They produce wool cloth, sails, and clothing. Mostly women work here, along with a few older men and thralls trained on the looms."
"Stonework Section. Four to six members, led by the Anglo-Saxon Master Mason. The quietest and dustiest corner, filled with chips of granite and slate. They produce grindstones, building blocks, hearthstones, and ornamental carvings. Most of their work supports royal construction and maintenance in Kattegat."
Athelstan set the paper down. "So each section is guided by a Master, assisted by people who know their crafts and apprentices."
"Yes. It's a skill based command. You command by skill, and not by birthright. And the best apprentices, after several years will earn something like... let's call it the King's Mark, signifying royal trust and mastery over their craft."
Athelstan asked. "How long will it take to build? And what about the cost?"
Bjorn handed him another set of papers. He read what was written even when Athelstan began reading silently.
"Preparation will take six weeks at most. Foundation and framing will take fourteen. Roofing and finishing will take six to eight weeks."
"Regarding the resource costs, we will not go above fifty pounds of silver. Maybe not even forty."
"Then we need to pay the workers who will work. One Anglo-Saxon stonemason, skilled and paid for expertise in foundation and hearth work. One pound of silver."
"Ten carpenters, skilled for framing, roofing, and partitions. Half a pound each for six months. Total: five pounds of silver."
"Thirty thralls, unskilled. They handle digging, hauling, and thatching. The cost is food and shelter—grain, fish, basic lodging. About one-twentieth of a pound each for six months. For thirty thralls over six months, that comes to four and a half pounds of silver."
"And finally one overseer. He supervises construction. One and a half pounds of silver."
Athelstan paused to calculate. "So the construction cost is twelve pounds total."
Bjorn nodded then leaned forward. "Once the Hall of Craft is fully operational, costs shift to wages and maintenance for the fifty workers and apprentices, plus upkeep of the hall and tools."
He paused, then added, "These are annual costs, starting after construction is complete. I haven't decided exactly their exact pay, just an estimate."
Bjorn let Athelstan read this silently.
'Twenty to thirty free craftsmen, paid half a pound to one pound per year each, plus food. If it's twenty craftsmen and at half a pound each, that is ten pounds. For thirty craftsmen at one pound each, that is thirty pounds. So somewhere between ten and thirty pounds per year.'
'One Anglo-Saxon stonemason, paid one to two pounds per year for his expertise.'
'Five to ten thralls or freedmen. Food and shelter costs about one-twentieth of a pound each per year. For five, that is a quarter pound. For ten, that is half a pound.'
'Ten to fifteen apprentices, paid one-tenth to one-fifth of a pound per year each, plus food. For ten apprentices at one-tenth of a pound each, that is one pound. For fifteen apprentices at one-fifth of a pound each, that is three pounds.'
'One overseer, paid two to three pounds per year.'
Athelstan looked up. "The overseer is certainly paid generously."
Bjorn nodded. "He is a loyal person, so we must show our gratitude for them."
Athelstan nodded, then started calculating the total wage. "Total wage cost ranges from about sixteen pounds to forty-one pounds per year, depending on how many workers you employ."
He continued. "Then we have the repairs to thatch, walls, and hearth. Cost: one to two pounds per year."
"Tool restocking. Forges, looms, anvils. Minor purchases like charcoal. Cost: two to three pounds per year."
"Total maintenance cost: three to five pounds per year."
"Total annual operational cost: nineteen to forty-six pounds per year."
Athelstan set the paper down. "So you will sell a large part of what is produced and keep the rest for your own needs."
Bjorn shook his head slightly. "Yes, but not quite."
Athelstan waited.
Bjorn gestured to the papers. "The output is split. Fifty to seventy percent is sold. We trade it in markets for silver, maximizing revenue. Thirty to fifty percent is kept. We use it for my needs, which reduces the amount I have to purchase elsewhere. Ten to twenty percent is distributed to craftsmen as shares, as incentives. That comes from the kept portion."
Athelstan nodded slowly. "That is smart. Keeping them loyal through profit-sharing. And how much could this hall produce per year in terms of revenue?"
Bjorn handed him another paper.
Athelstan's eyes widened. "Three hundred and forty-five pounds per year?" His mouth hung open slightly. "Is that not excessive? And what about the resources required to produce these goods?"
Bjorn shook his head. "That is me being very optimistic. The worst we could make is one hundred and twenty pounds per year. And the resources will not exceed sixty pounds per year in cost. We still must pay for bog iron, timber, wool, flax, and dye to whichever families control those resources. We cannot simply take them from their lands without compensation."
Athelstan kept reading. 'The Hall of Craft produces five hundred to eight hundred items per year. We sell three hundred to five hundred items, which is fifty to seventy percent. Swords, which cost one and a half to two and a half pounds each. Items kept for royal use number one hundred fifty to three hundred. Shares for craftsmen, ten to twenty percent, range from seventeen to fifty-three pounds per year.'
Bjorn spoke from the side. "Let us even push the resource costs to one hundred pounds of silver per year. In the worst case scenario, we still make twenty pounds of silver profit. In the best scenario, we make two hundred and forty-five pounds of silver profit."
Athelstan calculated in his head. "Then you subtract the annual wages of the workers from that. In the worst case, that leaves you with perhaps five pounds profit. In the best case, over two hundred pounds profit."
Bjorn nodded. "Exactly. And consider this: people are getting richer from the raids to the west. As the chieftains continue to grow wealthy, their demands will grow as well. The same for their warriors and their families. I believe we can expand production in the future to generate one thousand pounds of silver per year in revenue. Maybe even more. This is just a rough estimate based on current conditions."
Bjorn gestured to the paper. "Turn it over."
Athelstan flipped the paper and began reading aloud. "Drinking Hall."
He glanced at Bjorn, then looked back down. "Twenty-five to thirty meters long. Ten to twelve meters wide. Five to six meters high." He paused. "That is a large building. Just like the hall of craft."
Bjorn nodded. "Yes. The ground floor will be the actual drinking hall. There will be a central hearth for warmth and atmosphere, with smoke ventilation through openings in the roof. Long tables and benches for one hundred to one hundred twenty seated patrons, plus standing room near a wooden bar. The walls will be wattle-and-daub or wooden planks. The roof will be thatched or turf for insulation. And it will serve as a social hub for drinking, feasting, and storytelling in all seasons, especially during winter."
Bjorn continued without waiting for questions. "The upper floor will be divided into lodging rooms. Ten to fifteen rooms, each three meters by three meters. Each room can accommodate two to four people, so in total we can house thirty to forty travelers. There will be a corridor two meters wide, running through the center or along the side, with wooden stairs leading up from the main hall. The purpose of this floor as you guessed from it's name, is lodging for traders, travelers, or warriors passing through Kattegat. It will generate steady income."
"Below ground, there will be a cellar for storage. Eight to ten meters long, six to eight meters wide, dug beneath the hall. Secure storage for tavern supplies—ale, mead, food, firewood. This ensures consistent service and creates opportunities for trade."
"And outside, there will be stables for horses. Ten to fifteen stalls at most."
Athelstan shuffled through the papers. "And the revenue?"
Bjorn pointed. "Yes. It is right there."
Athelstan found the section and read it carefully. "The drinking hall charges for mead, ale, and food. One silver penny per drink. Two to three pennies per meal. If you have fifty to one hundred patrons daily, that generates fifty to two hundred pennies per day. Over a year, that is 18 to 73 pounds of silver."
"Lodging charges 2 to 5 pennies per person per night. If you have twenty to thirty occupants nightly, that generates 40 to 150 pennies per day. Over a year, that is 15 to 55 pounds of silver."
"Stables charge 1 to 2 pennies per horse per night. If you have 5 to 10 horses nightly, that generates 5 to 20 pennies per day. Over a year, that is 2 to 7 pounds of silver."
Athelstan looked up. "Total annual revenue: 35 to 135 pounds of silver."
Bjorn leaned forward, his expression serious. "The revenue is important, yes. But the real value is not the silver itself. It is the jobs that will be created by this drinking hall. We will need a manager or overseer—one to two positions. Servers and cooks—six to ten positions. Brewers and provisioners—two to four positions. Lodging attendants—two to four positions. Guards for security—two to four positions. Stable hands—one to two positions. Craftsmen for maintenance—one to two positions, part-time work."
He paused. "The pay for all these workers will be no more than twenty pounds annually. The construction cost will not exceed one hundred pounds of silver."
Bjorn sat back. "But do not forget the long-term economic benefit. The tavern attracts merchants, which increases trade in goods like furs, amber, and iron. That boosts Kattegat's importance as a regional trading center even further. Employing fifteen to twenty-seven locals and thralls stimulates the economy because those workers spend their wages locally, which supports farmers, fishermen, and artisans. And once I see that this tavern is successful, I will create more of them in every trading hub we control. And once our population increases, we will add a second tavern here."
Bjorn looked at Athelstan and smiled. Then he glanced down at the table where the papers lay scattered. He had not told Athelstan the entire truth about the tavern. What he said was accurate—it would generate income and create jobs.
But its real purpose was something else. It would serve as an intelligence network. His spies would work there, listening to travelers, gathering rumors, tracking the movements of enemies and rivals. Information was as valuable as silver.
Athelstan frowned slightly. "How will people pay? You do have many silver pennies now, but what about the future?"
Bjorn shook his head. "That is true. The numbers I gave you are just equivalents to what things will cost in the future. I simplified it that way because I cannot mint coins yet. I do not have the necessary knowledge to do so, unfortunately. So coins will have to wait until I bring experts who can solve this problem."
Athelstan tilted his head. "Just like the stonemason?"
Bjorn nodded. "Just like the stonemason." He paused. "Did you have a fruitful conversation with him?"
Athelstan nodded.
"Good. I am leaving him under your care. Try to teach him our language and customs, what to say and what to not say. If he does something stupid, even i can't save him." Bjorn paused for a second, then his tone softened. "Did he bring that nostalgic feeling toward home back to you?"
Athelstan shook his head. "No."
Bjorn laughed quietly. "Ah, Athelstan, Athelstan. You are still terrible at lying."
Athelstan smiled faintly. He remained silent for a while, and Bjorn did not force him.
"Did you know that I cannot remember exactly what home looked like anymore? I cannot remember the smell of the soil or the feel of the stone cloisters or the sound of bells at dawn."
Bjorn stayed silent. He just listened.
Athelstan went quiet for a moment, staring at the table. "Three years have changed me more than I ever imagined they could."
He looked up at Bjorn. "So I do not think I want to return there. No, I do want to return, but I cannot do it. I am afraid that no one will recognize me anymore. And I fear that God might not recognize me either."
Bjorn studied Athelstan's face carefully before speaking. His voice was calm but firm. "Then do not go back. You have a place here now. And I need you more than anyone else does. More than your God, if you can believe that."
He paused, and a faint grin formed on his face. "Besides, I doubt your God would sit through this without falling asleep."
That made Athelstan laugh, it was an honest laugh, not a bitter one.
Bjorn's tone softened again. "And you are the only one who can understand the importance of these plans, my friend."
Bjorn held out his hand across the table. "And home... Home is not a place, Athelstan. It is where a man is needed. Where his life has meaning and purpose. And you... are needed here."
Athelstan took his hand, gripping it firmly. He smiled, but his mind wandered even as he held Bjorn's grip. You care for everyone around you. But who watches over you? Who cares for you when the weight of everything presses down on your shoulders?
The thought was brief, but it stayed with him. Athelstan squeezed Bjorn's hand a little tighter, silently promising himself that he would not let the visionary young man he admired carry that burden alone.