Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter Four: Gifts Can Solve Problems

But the Minister of Public Security was not about to let him off so easily. “The Minister of War and I both hold you in high regard, so you mustn’t disappoint us.”

Hearing this, Berion quickly bowed again. He knew that if he did not pledge his loyalty now, he would offend the Minister of Public Security and the northern lords behind him. “Berion Tuck will be forever loyal to you, my lord. Your favor and support are the foundation of my existence; my life and my sword shall always serve you.”

The Minister chuckled heartily. “No, not to serve me, but to be loyal to our sovereign and to serve our monarch. Of course, your words are not entirely correct, but I can sense your sincerity. In the future, your deeds will speak for themselves.” Clearly, Berion’s show of loyalty pleased him.

“I will never disappoint you, my lord,” Berion replied earnestly.

“Good. Now, let us discuss your fief.” As he spoke, the Minister had a servant spread a large map across the table. Taking a charcoal pencil, he drew a circle. “Your knighting ceremony will be held three days from now, and your fief lies within the Direct County, bordering my own Alpine Province. We shall be neighbors from now on.”

Berion eyed the circle the Minister had drawn and asked in puzzlement, “My lord, this is a woodland, marked only by an outpost. Why is there no village indicated?”

Still smiling, the Minister replied, “That outpost, along with the woodland and surrounding meadows, will be your fief—a territory spanning over eighty thousand acres, larger than most fiefs held by knights in the duchy. Don’t be deceived by its current state; with careful management, it can be prosperous. Besides, you’re not being sent there merely as a lord—you will also serve as Deputy Sheriff of the Direct County, tasked with eradicating the bandits plaguing Stagwood. That’s a heavy responsibility, and not one I would entrust to anyone but a trusted confidant. You ought to thank me!”

As he listened, Berion cursed inwardly. These men were awarding him a patch of forest for his fief, expecting him to clear it himself—on top of that, they wanted him to risk his life hunting outlaws! The poorest reward, the most thankless work, and he was to be grateful? Grateful to their ancestors for eight generations, perhaps.

Though he seethed inside, Berion kept up a show of gratitude—after all, a man must bow beneath a low eave. He thanked the Minister profusely, “Thank you, my lord. I will surely make something of myself.”

Perhaps feeling a twinge of guilt, the Minister added, “Though your land is only woodland for now, you can recruit some refugees or purchase a few serfs to clear it. In two or three years, you’ll have broad fields, so there’s no need to worry. What’s more, I’ve secured that outpost to serve as your manorial residence—it’s not much, but you will have a castle to anchor your lordship.”

Berion knew full well that the grand words of this high official were meant to placate him, but he could only go along with the charade. If one hoped to earn respect, one had to prove one’s strength—something Berion currently lacked in the eyes of the great nobles. Still, whether the fief was good or bad, at least in this strange new world, he would have a place to stand. With patience and effort, even poor land might flourish.

After expressing his gratitude and renewed loyalty, Berion took his leave. By now, dusk had fallen. He bought a ham, some sausages and dried meat, and a cask of ale on the street, and made his way to his uncle’s house. Becoming a landed knight was a cause for celebration for the whole Tuck family, and besides, he had no wish to squeeze into the dormitory tonight—so he would trouble Uncle Rudy instead.

As soon as Berion entered, Sir Rudy eagerly inquired about the outcome. Berion recounted his meeting with the Minister in detail. At first, Sir Rudy was elated, but as he listened to the end, he sighed. “Our family has been knights for generations, but we are still the lowest of the nobility, with no powerful patrons at court. Why would they ever grant us a fine fief?”

While his uncle spoke, Berion placed the food on the table and opened the ale, pouring a glass for each of them. After a hearty drink, Berion said, “Uncle, no matter what, I am now a landed knight. I never dared dream of this before.”

Sir Rudy shook his head. “Foolish child, it’s only a patch of forest. You have not a single subject. And you’re to serve as Deputy Sheriff for bandit suppression, but you have neither money nor men to raise troops. Without soldiers, you can’t complete your task, and you’ll be punished.”

At that, Berion suddenly realized—he might have eighty thousand acres of woodland and an outpost, but not a soul to command. What use was a commander with no one to lead? He hung his head in dismay.

Seeing Berion’s dejection, Sir Rudy smiled. “Don’t fret, child. Your father has three villages and a market—he can spare you twenty or thirty serfs. And there are prisoners in the garrison jail, already meant for penal servitude as serfs. I can arrange for you to buy a batch at a low price. You have nothing to worry about.”

Berion couldn’t help but smile. He still had his family to rely on. “Thank you, Uncle. Once I am invested, I’ll rush home to beg Father for support—and see if he can lend me some money.”

At the mention of money, Sir Rudy sighed. “Ah, I haven’t saved much over the years. Otherwise, I could have lent you some to bring to the Minister’s house. You don’t know it, but while the northern ministers scorn the southern ones who buy their titles, they themselves are plenty greedy in private. If you’re willing to spend a little, you can still win some benefits from them—like a court stipend for recruiting soldiers, or weapons and armor.”

Berion’s eyes lit up. In his previous life as a salesman, he often gave gifts to important clients and key contacts—how could he have forgotten that in this world? Especially when facing ministers who openly accepted bribes. If he brought gifts, he would surely win favors.

The bystander sees clearly what the actor misses. His uncle’s words opened Berion’s mind and swept away his gloom. That night, uncle and nephew drank themselves into a stupor. The next morning, Sir Rudy was already gone—his responsibilities for the city’s defense kept him busy from dawn to dusk.

Berion rose, tidied himself, took twenty gold coins and two hundred denars from his purse, packed them into several bags, saddled his horse, and headed straight to Warehouse Street, where the great merchants kept their stores. He entered a large warehouse and exchanged his twenty gold coins for two thousand denars—since gold rarely circulated in the markets, and these coins, looted from the Duke’s personal treasury by bandits, might be risky to spend openly.

With the silver in hand, Berion went to Artisan Street, where he bought a gilded bronze statue of a knight for five hundred denars in a coppersmith’s shop, and a fine deerskin-covered wooden box for fifty denars in a woodworker’s. He filled the box with a thousand denars in silver, nearly to the brim, then placed the bronze statue inside. Gazing at his gift—worth fifteen hundred denars—Berion felt the sting of parting with so much money. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. He could only hope the Minister’s reward would be worthy of such a generous offering.

The Minister’s mansion stood in the official quarter, in the upper city of Valombre, near Warehouse and Wine Streets—not far at all. Berion stopped at an inn on Wine Street for a simple meal, then went straight to the Minister’s house.

At the gate, the guards saw the Tuck family crest on Berion’s clothes, but since he was not yet formally invested and looked so young, they mistook him for a knight’s squire and treated him with disdain. After all, minor knights and their squires flocked to petition the Minister daily, and such low nobility were beneath their notice.

Berion had no choice but to resort to the power of money. He handed over a small purse with ten silver coins. At once, their attitude changed. One guard went inside to report, and soon the steward emerged. The steward had heard the Minister speak of Berion several times these past days, and so his manner was the opposite of the guards—very courteous.

He led Berion to the reception room, ordered refreshments brought, then told him to wait, warning that the Minister’s return time was uncertain. Berion thanked him both verbally and with a purse of twenty denars, asking the steward to arrange a meeting as soon as the Minister came home.

Weighing the purse and finding it pleasingly heavy, the steward assured Berion he could wait in comfort, and promised to inform the Minister immediately upon his return. Fortunately, Berion’s luck was not too bad. After five tankards of ale and a plate of cured pork, he was finally summoned to meet the Minister.

The steward led Berion to the study and withdrew. Berion entered and bowed respectfully. The Minister was in a good mood. “Sir Berion, what brings you to this old man’s house?”

“Is it so strange for me to pay my respects to the lord I most revere?” Berion replied, standing and placing the box on the Minister’s desk, opening it for him to see.

When the old man saw the pile of silver and the gilded knight statue, he hesitated. His Alpine Province was one of the richer regions of the North, but compared to the South, it was only modestly prosperous. Few friends or subordinates had ever given him such a lavish gift. Was Berion hoping to beg for a better fief?

At that thought, the Minister’s expression grew stern. “Sir Berion, what is the meaning of this? Are you trying to ask for a different fief? That is impossible. The Duke’s decision is final—it cannot be changed.”

Berion realized the misunderstanding and quickly smiled. “My lord, I swear by the Fire God, that was never my intention. I am very satisfied with the fief the Duke has granted me, and would never dare to ask for another.”

“Very well. As long as it’s not about changing your fief, you may speak of anything else.” The Minister relaxed—fief assignments could not be changed, but other favors were negotiable.

“My lord, as you see, I have only land, but no subjects. Without people, I cannot raise troops to fight the bandits, and so I will soon fail as Deputy Sheriff, and be unable to pay the annual taxes to the court.” Berion feigned grievance.

The Minister nodded. “You are right. It would not do to send you alone.”

Sensing an opening, Berion pressed his advantage. “Moreover, my lord, my fief lies between Alpine Province and Janwickshaw. If I had an elite force, I could escort merchant caravans to Alpine Fort and serve as your shield in the northwest. My lord, I hope you can help me secure some people and arms. If that is not possible, then at least grant me a three-year tax exemption and some financial assistance.”

Persuasion was less effective than profit. Berion laid out the benefits clearly, and the Minister understood: if he helped Berion establish himself, Berion would clear out the bandits from Stagwood, making trade between Alpine Fort and Janwickshaw more secure, and serve as a bulwark for his lands.

The Minister pondered quietly for a moment, then spoke. “I must admit, you are not only a brave knight, but a man of wisdom—and, it seems, of tact as well.” He pointed at the gift on the table.

“Here is what I can do: I will request some serfs for you, but no more than twenty; arms and armor I can also procure, but again, not in great number. As for financial rewards, I cannot say what the Duke intends—you will know on the day of your investiture. But during the early years of developing your fief, you may be exempt from taxes. I will do my best to secure this, though I cannot promise how many years.”

Tax exemption was a significant boon. Otherwise, if taxes were levied by land area, Berion would lose money each year just to hold his fief. So when the Minister agreed, Berion’s face lit up with excitement.

“Thank you, my lord. Your generosity shall be remembered by me and my descendants for all time.”

“Enough, young man, no need for such effusive thanks. I have high hopes for you—do not disappoint me,” the Minister said with a smile.

“Of course, my lord,” Berion replied.

“Well then, come drink with this old man. Someone sent me a few casks of Sarion wine the other day—far finer than the ale of Valombre. Today, you shall taste it with me.” With that, he led Berion off to drink.