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Erntezeit-30-2493-Nachhexen-2-2494
Pov of Bretonnian merchant
"Alright, listen 'ere. From now ye be my workers. If folk ask ye somethin', point at me. I deal with it. Less ye speak, faster we done," I said while walkin' to the market to sell the goods I got from the Empire stalls.
I had me usual spot, where other traders came to buy. They took wine, cloth, dyes, candles, clothes, sold 'em from village to village. Plenty o' that in Marienburg, more now with trade growin' mad.
Soon as always, buyers came. I sold fast as I could. Times were bad, kingdom losin' lands, king makin' poor choice, knights with no fiefs crowdin' towns. They take what they can, livin' fat while we toil hard.
"You there, commoner!" said a knight, comin' with his men-at-arms. He pointed straight at me. "Have you any gold coins to deliver?"
"No, m'lord…" I answered, head down. "I always serve law proper. Only silver I got, as rule says." I dared not look him, else he call me rebel.
The knight muttered, then smirked. "Remember this: if you should ever hold gold… I shall take care of delivering it for you." Then he went on, doin' the same with other traders, like it were daily work.
Ain't strange seein' such things. Knights also steal folk. Many got empty lands in border duchies, no peasants there. So they grab people, make 'em work 'til they die. Miserable knights…
I hurried sellin' what I could. Trade no feel like trade no more, just strugglin' to live. When done, I bought supplies for caravan; had to go back Marienburg soon. Gathered me new "folk," loaded wagons, tied oxen, and left town.
L'Anguille still busy with trade, but times changed. Trade with Empire stuck. Neighbourin' duchies of new Imperial March ask heavy tolls, tryin' to claw back gold, only pushin' merchants north. There, taxes still high, but at least same.
Before leavin', I did what I always do: looked for more hands to join caravan. Never know when beasts or bandits strike—more and more these days… unless ye rather be robbed by Bretonnian nobles themselves, callin' themselves protectors while takin' all coin.
"Halt! Have you paid your taxes to our lord?" said a man-at-arms, eyes narrow, watchin' my wagons.
"Of course, I always pay me dues, to lord and to realm," I said, with fake smile well-practiced.
The guard frowned. "Why so many children in your wagons, merchant?" he asked, steppin' close to see the folk inside.
"Teach 'em work young," I said calm, showin' him the stamped tax paper. "Small hands still help with cloth an' clothes. I need folk if I keep trade with Empire."
He still doubted, then spat on ground. "If you paid, move along quick." He let us pass—seemed he couldn't even read the paper I showed.
I gave the word, oxen pulled wagons slow over the cobbles out the gate. Once past the castle, many sighed in relief. Hardest part done. Truth be, most o' me "workers" not real. They were peasants runnin' away. Kingdom give 'em no hope. Taxes too heavy, knights more cruel each day, and any fault met with rope or lash.
Me work had changed. I still hauled goods, aye, but now it just cover. Truth was, I take peasants out o' Bretonnia, bring 'em to the Empire. We put 'em in a walled town like naught happened. Wait some days 'til the hunt for serfs calm down, then I use tax papers to make 'em pass as hired folk. Merchants, so long as we pay, can bring people in.
Where else could they go? Only the Empire, maybe free from chains. It started with families seekin' sons, brothers lost after war. Some got luck, others not. Lords forced 'em out before they could be saved.
What began small grew big. No longer just few families—dozens, then hundreds. I not alone, but few can move folk quiet. Bretonnian folk settlin' in Empire soon saw truth: weren't the poor the problem, but knights, barons, dukes themselves—servin' the cursed Lady, bindin' us all to misery.
Help came quick: gold, food, contacts. With that, what was just rescue turned into a movement. Knights tried to stop us, but they were busy guardin' borders; an army sat always in the old duchies, and folk feared another Imperial invasion that, they said, would come to "liberate" us. While no freedom came, we had no choice but take the road ourselves, toward the Empire.
So we walked on, tryin' to look normal, stoppin' now and then to pick herbs or other things we could sell in Imperial markets. Had to look busy—empty wagons made folk suspicious.
Crossin' into Couronne, we paid the river toll and, like always, I played my trick. Set the net to work: spoke with peasants, found families ready to risk it. That same night, with other traders in the net, we moved dozens from nearby villages. We spent barrels o' wine to get guards drunk, so whole families slipped through from one night to the next.
Come mornin', when castle gates opened, we entered as simple merchants, carryin' wares like nothin' strange. We hid the runaways in cellars and lofts of friends still loyal in the town. Days went by, us watchin' knights marchin' the streets, desperate, huntin' for serfs. Disgustin', aye, but we expected it.
Luck weren't always with us. Fools got caught, punished in the square, whipped or hanged as warnin' to all. Still, for every one they caught, many more made it. Had to learn not to move when knights dragged one of ours, beatin' him near to death. Better keep still than die showin' heroics.
When the hunt cooled, when knights gave up—or more so, couldn't find us—we paid the tolls and set out back to the Empire. That road was watched by knights and an Imperial garrison, so the worst dangers were greed and laziness of lords, not common bandits.
Marchin' on, I heard thunder of a great army. Cannons boomed through the hills; some battle up there, though I knew not who nor why. Truth be told, I didn't care. We kept on 'til one of the new Imperial frontier towns, near Castle Tancred. Paid the Imperial dues, and I readied to send me folk away.
"Alright," I told 'em. "Go find the mayor. My work here's done. He'll ask ye things, answer straight. Sigmar's folk help brothers, even if ye don't know their faith."
"Is… there work?" one father asked, voice breakin' with relief.
"The Champion of Sigmar, lord of this land, gives jobs as town needs. Harvest done, so not the fields, but maybe carryin' goods or other chores. Pay's fair, ye won't starve like in Bretonnia. Depends on the season—spring brings more work—but now, likely movin' wares," I said calm.
"Thank ye for all," said a mother, holdin' her children close.
"Just doin' me duty," I answered. "Sigmar bless ye, have a good day." I turned and walked to the place where we were meant to gather.
Didn't take long to reach the tavern. Most were already splittin' the funds for the next trip; more gifts had come from towns supportin' us.
"How it go?" asked one trader when I came in.
"Fine… I reckon. They caught one of ours in Couronne. Hung him in the square… another victim o' them butchers," I said bitter.
"Blessed Sigmar watches him now. He knew what he did when he joined us, and his sacrifice saved hundreds, if not thousands. May he rest in Morr's gardens," said my companion.
"Aye… but they sharper now. We need another path. Each time harder, knights fillin' the roads with guards. Still, I pulled near a hundred out o' that hell," I said, droppin' into a chair.
"A hundred?" —the innkeep scratched in his book—. "That makes three thousand this week. We doin' well, though them extra guards will be trouble."
"What if we try Artois? Border with the March is wide, they can't watch all the ways," said another trader sittin' by me.
"Beastmen there, real nasty. We'd need armed escort. And bandits too… we'd lose many if we try that road," I answered.
"I know old men-at-arms, once served knights, now guardin' for Bretonnian traders. I could speak to 'em. If they agree, maybe we move through Artois woods," said the innkeep.
"Maybe… Think the Empire finish what they started? They had Bretonnia broken, but didn't take it all. Why stop?" I asked, lips tight.
"I doubt it," said the innkeep. "For some reason they stopped. Don't think they come again soon. The Champion of Sigmar looks elsewhere. So we keep on this road we chose… 'til the bitter end."
"To the bitter end," I echoed, liftin' me mug. More of our folk raised theirs. The thump of wood hit the table as we drank in silence, knowin' each trip was another gamble in a deadly game against our own lords.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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