Chapter 19: The Gift of Gold
Lothar sat cross-legged on the bed, wiping the hand-and-a-half sword in his hands with a white linen cloth. The arming sword Count Werner had gifted him had finally met its end. This hand-and-a-half sword in his possession was a spoil of war, obtained after killing Abelardo.
With Abelardo dead, the ransom was forfeit, but his suit of armor and warhorse, according to the rules, now belonged to Lothar. Abelardo's Arabian warhorse was no worse than Lothar's own warhorse. Including the full suit of armor, even accounting for depreciation, it could fetch a high price of nearly one hundred gold coins.
Banu suddenly inquired, "As the champion knight, what reward is Count Leopold planning to give you?"
Lothar smiled. "Leopold originally wanted me to become his vassal—Baron of the Vienna Woods—and even painted me a pretty picture of being promoted to Count in the future. However, I refused. So, it was ultimately changed to a monetary sponsorship and a promise to send us supplies once we've established a foothold in the Holy Land."
"This promise is very broad. It could mean providing us with weapons, shields, armor, and arrows, or perhaps grain, seeds, blacksmiths, and craftsmen. There's no specific amount, but how much we can actually get will likely depend on my performance and whether Count Leopold deems me worthy of investment."
"That's quite normal." Banu nodded, offering no further comment. "Prepare for sleep."
After extinguishing the lamp, Banu lay down on the thin blanket on the floor, going to sleep as usual. But this time, perhaps due to their increased affection, the atmosphere between them wasn't as distant as before.
In the darkness, Lothar gazed at Banu's perfect profile under the moonlight for a long time, unable to fall asleep until her eyelashes fluttered slightly, as if she were about to open her eyes, at which point he hastily closed his own.
***
Early the next morning, Lothar visited Count Leopold again, politely declined an invitation to a noon banquet, and requested leave to depart. From the Count, Lothar received a heavy pouch containing a full one hundred Florin gold coins, recently minted by the city-state of Genoa, their quality far surpassing that of the Solidus.
Each Florin gold coin weighed 3.5 grams, one gram lighter than the newly minted Solidus gold coins of the Eastern Empire.
"Solidus" was a general term; it could refer to the Solidus coin itself or the Nomisma coin—both were gold coins issued by the Eastern Empire. By regulation, all Solidus coins were 4.5 grams. However, the purity of Solidus coins issued in different periods varied greatly.
The new Solidus coins issued by Empress of the Eastern Empire were of full gold content, nearly matching the purity of the Genoese Florins. This indicated that the Empress intended to salvage the Eastern Empire's already notorious monetary system, rather than being a decadent ruler solely focused on her own pleasure. Otherwise, if things continued as before, the entire Eastern Empire's market would be flooded with the currencies of commercial city-states like Genoa and Venice.
In this period, the gold-to-silver exchange ratio was twelve to one by weight, meaning one gold coin of full purity could be exchanged for twelve silver coins of equal weight. However, since silver coins often weighed just over 1 gram, a gold Florin could theoretically be exchanged for about 40 silver coins.
In reality, such an exchange was often impossible because, due to the widespread use of silver for tableware and other items, the purity of most silver coins was even worse than that of gold coins. For instance, a King of France once minted "black coins" with only one-tenth silver content. Emperors of the Eastern Empire also issued silver-plated coins with less than one-twentieth silver content. Some isolated regions even still used bronze coins with no real circulation value.
In this era, due to fragmentation and the prevalence of feudal lords who could privately mint currency, the monetary system was utterly chaotic.
Generally speaking, however, a pig was worth about 1.5 Florin gold coins. One Florin could buy fifty loaves of good-quality bread, unadulterated with bran or grit. A superior warhorse, like Lothar's, cost around 60 Florins, six times the price of the horses ridden by the Magyars. A top-tier, royal-grade steed could cost about 500 Florins. As for packhorses, the best asking them, was worth only about five gold Florins. The annual rent for an inn in the city was 6 Florins. The construction cost of a castle was roughly 2,000 Florins. A suit of fine chainmail worn by elite soldiers or lower-ranking knights was worth about 30 Florins; a custom-made full suit of knightly plate armor required 50 Florins. A royal-grade four-wheeled carriage would cost around 240 Florins.
Of course, these were just approximate figures; actual prices would fluctuate with supply and demand. Even in later ages, prices could skyrocket due to plagues, city lockdowns, and other factors, let alone in the Middle Ages.
A drought could cause the price of bread to soar hundreds of times over, driven up by Jewish merchants. After the Jewish merchants had made their money, astute local lords would often find some pretext to execute them and confiscate all their property. This not only pacified boiling public resentment but also indirectly extracted every last copper from the commoners' fingers for the lord's own enjoyment.
So, Lothar's current total assets consisted of: one hundred gold Florins, eighty gold Solidii, nearly five hundred silver Denarii, two silver goblets gifted by Otto, two steppe warhorses, two high quality warhorses, and two packhorses, as well as a spare suit of fine chainmail and a great helm.
A significant portion of the silver coins was ransom Hans had obtained from defeating opponents. This sum of money could probably arm ten soldiers in leather armor, equipped with iron swords and long spears, or hire a small mercenary company of thirty to fifty men.
"Indeed, warfare is just burning money. It won't be so easy to make a name for myself in Jerusalem." Lothar sighed as he tallied his small treasury. "The battlefield is not the tournament ground. The role of individual valor can never compare to that of a well-trained army—at least, Hans and I can't."
Banu was a melee, defensive retainer who could protect him well on the battlefield, but expecting her to sweep away all enemies was somewhat unrealistic.
When he returned to the inn, Ryan had already settled the bill, packed all their belongings, and was waiting outside with the horses. "Milord, this is your mount. Food and fodder for the horses have been prepared. When do we depart?" Ryan bowed humbly, his face full of awe.
Moder, on the other hand, went to Lothar's warhorse, knelt, and prepared to act as a mounting block for him. Ever since Lothar had defeated the werewolf knight Abelardo yesterday, his and Moder's expressions when looking at Lothar were entirely different from before. It was practically reverence, as if for a god.
Hans, however, remained as usual, unchanged. In his view, it was only natural for Lothar to kill a werewolf; even the renowned Gatekeeper of Hell served their lord, so a mere werewolf was nothing.
Lothar sternly stopped Moder. "Stand up, Moder! If I need slaves, I will buy them with money. But what I need now are brave and skilled warriors, not lowly slaves. Never behave so humbly before me again. Ryan, you too."
As they stared, somewhat stunned, Lothar swung himself onto his horse and snorted, "We depart immediately!"
In truth, a loyal slave could often be quite effective on the battlefield, like the Mamluk cavalry of the Ayyubid Sultanate. But Lothar absolutely could not accept such demeaning behavior. He still had a long way to go before fully integrating into this world, but Lothar would rather he never fully integrated.
***
In the afternoon, Lothar's party halted before a small town. It was a town that had been ravaged by fire, a scene of devastation with ruins everywhere. The acrid smell of smoke and burning assailed their nostrils, causing the group to frown deeply.
A decapitated man lay by the roadside, dense swarms of black flies crawling in and out of the deceased's mouth, nose, and wounds. As the horses approached, they stirred up a black storm of insects. Predatory wild dogs tore at a corpse in the ruins, already somewhat decayed by the summer heat, showing no fear even at the sight of humans.
Moder, an experienced old soldier, said gravely, "These bandits left not long ago. There are still embers in the ruins."
Lothar frowned. "Don't the Babenberg border patrols do anything about this?"
"They probably did. Look, several corpses have pressure marks on their bodies and necks from wearing armor. He must have been a soldier, but his armor was stripped off."
"Can you find them?" Lothar's tone was calm. Such things happened every day; it was a microcosm of this era. It wasn't just bandits; even nobles, in their feuds, often raided villages, capturing men and women as serfs and killing the old, weak, sick, and disabled to reduce burdens. The lives of commoners had never been worth much, throughout history.
Moder observed carefully for a moment, then nodded. "No problem. They didn't leave in a hurry and took captives, baggage, and livestock, so their speed isn't fast. If we follow these cart tracks, we'll definitely find them."
Lothar looked back at his companions and said, "Someone once said that in war, nobles provide weapons and equipment, the rich provide money and food, and the poor provide their children. After the war ends, nobles achieve glory, the rich gain more wealth, and the poor can only search for their children's graves."
"Even the best war cannot compare to the worst peace." Lothar's gaze swept over the corpses. An old man still clutched a farming tool snapped by a sharp blade, a penetrating arrow wound in his neck. But the arrow itself had surely been retrieved. The life of such a commoner wasn't even worth the price of an arrow for a burial offering.
"But war will never disappear."
"I cannot change this era. But I swear, if I become a lord, I will do everything in my power to protect the people of my lands, to clear out bandits, and to defend against enemies from beyond."
Ryan and Moder looked astonished. In this era, very few would use a word like "my people".
'Do Serfs count as people too?'
"Moder, lead the way. We set out immediately to catch these bandits and, in the name of the Heavenly Father, send them to hell." He had to admit, a large part of his motivation for hunting the bandits was to complete the milestone. But a considerable part was also the hope of rescuing those who had been abducted, and to kill those cruel bandits—blood for blood, a tooth for a tooth.