Chapter 158 Traveling Through the Middle Ages 158

Chapter 158: Journey Through the Middle Ages 158

Mr. Wilder from Zeblan had already spent several months at Port Mark in Gaudenland, essentially overseeing the procurement, packaging, shipping, and dispatch of his wool since the Shearing Season that summer. Many cloth merchants and wool cloth manufacturers from Zeblan followed the same routine—coming to Gaudenland annually to purchase wool. The continuous maritime wool shipments lasted for months, only concluding just before Christmas.

Thanks to its proximity to Gaudenland’s high-quality wool-producing regions and its convenient port for returning to Zeblan, Port Mark gradually became one of the busiest ports for Zeblan merchants. Its peak season was the latter half of the year, almost entirely dedicated to wool exports... Consequently, a sizable Gaudenland customs office was established here, where wool bound for Zeblan was weighed and taxed.

At Port Mark customs, Mr. Wilder watched as the final 200 bales of his wool for the year were weighed before striking up a conversation with a familiar customs officer.

The customs officer recorded the quantity of wool Mr. Wilder was shipping, along with his personal details, and asked, "Will you be returning to Zeblan with the ship this time?"

"Yes, Christmas is approaching. No matter how busy one is, the holiday must be observed, mustn’t it? Even the most work-obsessed textile workers merely adjusted their Christmas break from February 2 to January 6... I haven’t been home for half a year and am eager to reunite with my family..." As he spoke, Mr. Wilder slid some coins under his paperwork discreetly handing it to the customs officer.

The customs officer understood perfectly, pocketed the coins, and completed the tax registration. Given their familiarity, he barely needed the papers for the formalities.

Out of goodwill from their past dealings—and, of course, the charming coins—the customs officer granted Mr. Wilder a slight tax discount. He also promised fast-tracked processing so the merchant’s chartered ship could depart as soon as possible. In a place like Port Mark, bribery was practically ubiquitous, and what Wilder's bribe was small change.

Earlier, he had already paid off port officials more generously to ensure smooth sailing up to this point of weighing and taxation. The groundwork had been thoroughly laid.

Soon after, Mr. Wilder left the customs office and began overseeing the loading of his goods onto the ship. Aside from the final 200 bales of wool for the year, there were also 50 bales of sheepskins. The sheepskins were packed not by weight but by count—200 skins per bale, totaling 10,000 skins for the 50 bales. And this was just Mr. Wilder’s final shipment to Zeblan for the year, a clear indication that he was a major wool cloth producer.

This was no exaggeration. Mr. Wilder was indeed a wealthy Zeblan merchant. His assets, including real estate and inventory, amounted to roughly £4,000—a fortune that dwarfed most merchants' assets. His considerable wealth at a relatively young age was due not only to his shrewdness and hard work over the years but also to his privileged family connections.

Mr. Wilder’s surname was "Bridge," a highly distinguished name in Rotmas, Zeblan’s largest city and port. The family’s main branch still held a baronial title and wielded real influence in the city government. Though Mr. Wilder belonged to a cadet branch—too distant now for any title—their shift into commerce had been remarkably smooth.

As for himself, aside from the substantial inheritance provided by his parents, he enjoyed a steady stream of privileges... though in medieval society, this was hardly worth mentioning.

After roughly three days, the ship carrying Mr. Wilder and his goods finally departed Port Mark under his urging. The vessel wasn’t chartered exclusively by him—his cargo alone couldn’t fill such an ordinary merchant vessel! In fact, this unremarkable vessel was carrying over 200 tons of freight this trip.

Apart from Mr. Wilder’s goods and those of three other merchants, there were also the captain’s and some of the crew’s personal shipments.

However, Mr. Wilder was a preferred customer, and the captain was well aware of the Bridge family’s influence. Though pressed for time, he said nothing, merely coordinating with another client’s schedule to ensure departure three days later.

Over the past few months, Mr. Wilder had shipped several batches of goods to Rotmas Port in Zeblan, though he hadn’t personally accompanied them—his apprentices had handled those trips. This time, personally accompanying the shipment after a long absence from sea travel, he stood on the deck watching the sailors work, the stuffy hold air making him queasy.

He wasn’t the only one with that idea. Upon reaching the deck, he spotted a gentleman standing by the railing. He recognized the man—another Zeblan wool buyer who had come to Gaudenland. They had often crossed paths in Port Mark, though they were merely acquaintances.

Noticing Mr. Wilder’s approach, the man raised a hand in greeting and said with casual friendliness, "Returning to Rotmas for Christmas as well? Ah, the weather’s bitterly cold... The wool market’s been good this year, hasn’t it? Premium wool from the best regions remains as affordable as it’s been the past three years. The only hitch is that new rule—buy three bales of top-grade wool, and you must take one of last season’s. What a headache!"

He was referring to a recent Gaudenland law requiring forced bundling—for every three bales of premium wool purchased, buyers must also take one bale of "out-of-season" wool (wool from the current shearing season was "in-season," while out-of-season wool came from the previous year or even earlier).

This was essentially forced bundling, and no one was happy about it—after all, out-of-season wool usually remained unsold precisely because of inferior quality! And after a year in storage, who knew what additional flaws might have developed? Untreated wool wasn’t exactly a product that keeps well.

Of course, the fact that the man could mention it so casually suggested he’d already found a workaround—either bribing officials to falsify records and avoid purchasing out-of-season wool altogether or having a ready market for lower-quality wool. After all, the vast quantities of sub-premium wool produced annually still had to go somewhere.

Mr. Wilder had no interest in probing how this casual acquaintance had resolved the issue. He simply nodded and said, "It is indeed troublesome, but the Gaudenland Wool Guild knows full well that such inconveniences aren’t enough to make us abandon their wool... If we don’t buy from Gaudenland, where else would we go?"

"The Gaudenlanders boast of having the world’s finest wool. That may not be entirely true—I’ve heard some regions produce wool that matches or even surpasses Gaudenland’s best. But those places either have logistical challenges or yields too low to match Gaudenland’s stable, large-scale supply."

"Given that stable, abundant supply, Gaudenland wool does have genuine advantages. Especially with Zeblan so close, allowing for cheap North Sea shipping... We truly have no better alternatives at present."

The fellow merchant couldn’t help but nod in agreement. "True. A few years back, I heard Iberian wool was also excellent. Shipping it entirely by sea wouldn’t cost much more than Gaudenland’s, and without all those taxes. But after a couple of trial runs, I returned to Port Mark... Iberian affairs can be messy. They lack unified organization, and their guilds often hinder business rather than help."

"And while they claim their wool is second only to Gaudenland’s, a quick inspection shows that aside from the very best batches, most are clearly inferior. The master craftsmen I work with refuse to accept such wool—they’ve always woven only the finest woolens."

"You’re a cloth merchant, then..." Mr. Wilder found this unsurprising but couldn’t help remarking.

"Yes... whereas you’re a wool cloth manufacturer." The man chuckled and waved a hand. "Manufacturers are far rarer than merchants, though lately many cloth merchants have considered shifting into manufacturing. I’ve been contemplating it too. But the upfront investment is substantial, and the risks increase, so I’m still hesitating."

The difference between a cloth merchant and a wool cloth manufacturer lay in the word "manufacturer." Merchants didn’t engage directly in production—their role was more about managing the production chain, handling sales. Typically, they purchased wool from rural areas, then handed it off sequentially to washers, spinners, dyers, weavers, fullers, and finishers.

During this process, they would retrieve the wool or semi-finished woolen cloth after each production step, pay the workers, and then pass the materials to those responsible for the next step. These workers did not have the employer-employee relationship seen in later eras, nor did they use the means of production provided by the cloth merchants—it was more akin to contract processing. Thus, production remained highly independent.

Only at the very end, with the finished product in hand, would the cloth merchants sell the woolen cloth, either wholesale or retail.

Woolen cloth producers, however, were different. They often participated more deeply in the production process, directly controlling one or even several stages—typically those occurring after the woolen cloth was already woven, such as fulling [felting process] and finishing. These steps, though seemingly simple, required significant manpower and substantial capital to execute effectively.

Moreover, centralizing these processes led to significant cost reductions.

Fulling might appear to be just a post-weaving wash, but it greatly influenced the final quality. As entire bolts of heavy woolen cloth soaked in water, their weight increased dramatically, making the subsequent *tentering* (stretching the cloth on frames) process impossible for a single person to manage alone. Machinery was usually required, along with ample manpower.

The multiple small steps involved in finishing—raising the nap, shearing, dyeing (if the wool or yarn hadn’t been dyed earlier)—were even more beyond the capacity of cottage workshops. While such workshops had managed in the past, the increasing use of machinery and the influx of larger capital made them unable to compete with well-funded factories in terms of efficiency and cost.

Mr. Wilder was not one to hoard trade secrets or believe that fewer competitors were better. Hearing the other man’s interest, he casually shared some insider knowledge about woolen cloth manufacturing—all truthful, meant to serve as a reference. This back-and-forth made the naturally sociable cloth merchant even more eager to engage with him.

Two men who had known each other for years suddenly grew close due to this coincidental voyage, becoming friends by the time the ship reached the port of Rotmas. They even agreed to visit each other during Christmas—both being Rotmas natives, their woolen cloth businesses were also based there.

After the ship docked at Rotmas, they had to go through customs again. Even within the same lord’s territory, taxes seemed to multiply at every city gate. Since the County of Zebland and Gordenland were separate nations, customs inspections were unavoidable.

Once these formalities were settled, Mr. Wilder stored the newly arrived wool and sheepskins in his warehouse. Even if some were meant for immediate production, they would have to wait until after Christmas—most workers would be on holiday anyway, so there was no rush.

"My dear, I must go to the guild. You’ll have to prepare for Christmas alone today." Just as Mr. Wilder was about to help his young wife with holiday preparations, a messenger from the Woolen Textile Guild arrived, summoning him to a meeting. It seemed important, so he quickly apologized to his wife and hurried to the guild hall.

He traveled by boat—Rotmas, as a port city, sat at the confluence of two rivers, its streets crisscrossed with waterways (though not quite a "water city"). Boats were simply more convenient than carts for getting around. Mr. Wilder’s own home had a private dock at the back, facing a small canal, making boat travel his default mode of transport.

Wrapped in his black fur coat, he glanced at the bleak winter scenery along the riverbanks, the familiarity of the sight relaxing him somewhat.

Bored, his gaze fell on a half-built church in the distance, noting how much progress had been made in the past six months. A devout man, he remarked to the ferryman, "The new church looks much better than it did in spring."

The ferryman, well-informed, replied, "Mr. Bridger, you left for Gordenland early this year, so you wouldn’t know. It’s the Count’s generosity—he set aside a portion of Zebland’s revenues for donations. Our neighborhood’s new church received a particularly large sum… With such funding, construction naturally sped up."

"The Count, ah! He seems a decent lord these days—not interfering much, nor raising taxes. A far cry from his predecessors," Mr. Wilder mused.

Cities in Zebland, like many independent-minded commercial hubs of the time, bristled with defiance. Yet, such lucrative places were tightly controlled by their lords, rarely gaining true autonomy. Rotmas, as Zebland’s capital, had long been under the direct watch of the Count of Zebland.

But since Guillaume became Count of Zebland—first preoccupied with eastern campaigns, then ascending as Crown Prince of Vason—his attention had shifted. This laissez-faire approach had allowed Zebland greater freedom in recent years. For many commercial cities, a hands-off lord who kept taxes low was already a blessing.

"True enough… Rumor has it this year’s generosity stems from the Count’s autumn marriage to *Louisa of Brudo.* To share his joy with his subjects, he’s been lavish with donations… Oh, and this Christmas, the Count and Countess will be celebrating in Rotmas!"

Even in Gordenland, Mr. Wilder hadn’t been cut off from news. He was well aware of his liege lord’s marriage to Brudo's heiress—a union of great significance, arguably the year’s most important wedding.

One was the Crown Prince of Vason; the other, Brudo's heiress. Their status alone was lofty, but the implications ran deeper—Brudo lacked male heirs, meaning Louisa would inherit it all. In time, if she bore a child of *House Luopei,* Brudo would merge with the royal domain.

No other marriage alliance could have reshaped Vason’s politics so profoundly.

"This might be a good thing," Mr. Wilder remarked upon hearing of the Count’s visit. "Even in Gordenland, I’ve heard *Louisa of Brudo* is a noble who supports commerce. Since her return to Brudo’s court, she’s worked to improve its commercial environment."

His reasoning was simple: with such a wife’s influence, the Count might grow more favorable toward commerce—a boon for Zebland’s merchants.

With these thoughts, the boat finally docked at the Woolen Textile Guild’s wharf. Mr. Wilder stepped ashore with his attendants, straightened his coat and hat, and strode inside. The guild hall, one of Rotmas’ finest buildings, stood as a testament to the woolen industry’s central role in the city.

Though many commercial cities of the era relied on textiles (a dominant sector in pre-industrial economies), few were as monocultural as Rotmas, where nearly everything revolved around woolen cloth production.

Take Provins, for instance—where 3,000 of 5,000 households worked in textiles—yet it still had other industries: rural vineyards, thriving winemaking, and a robust pastoral industry producing wool, hides, and meat. Even its recent perfume boom, though sparked by Louisa’s influence, had roots in existing craftsmanship.

Rotmas, by contrast, concentrated every step of woolen cloth production (except sheep-rearing and shearing) within its walls. This chain of over a dozen processes sustained the vast majority of the population, with the rest providing services to support them.

As soon as Mr. Wilder entered the entrance hall, he encountered familiar faces—invariable colleagues among Rotmas’ established woolen cloth producers. After exchanging pleasantries, they went upstairs together, realizing they’d all been called by the guild master for the same meeting.

When they arrived, the meeting room already had people in it, and a few more trickled in afterward. The guild secretary, who presumably had the attendee list for the day, saw that most had arrived and went to the adjacent room to summon the guildmaster—it must be noted that the head of Lottmas' Woolen Textile Guild also served as the city's mayor.

He was truly one of the most powerful figures in Lottmas. If one were to count those of comparable influence, you could count them on one hand across the entire city.

Once the guildmaster arrived, everyone learned that the purpose of gathering the guild's key members was to prepare for welcoming the Count. On this matter, the guildmaster hoped the members of the Woolen Textile Guild could do their part, making every effort to please the Count and the Countess. And by "pulling their weight," it naturally meant those with money should contribute—after all, in the prevailing understanding of the time, you couldn't schmooze nobility without opening your wallet.

This wasn’t purely about bowing to authority, however. The guildmaster had his own rationale and explained to everyone: "You’ve all heard that the Count’s new wife, Louisa of Brudo, is a noble with good business sense and deeply cares about urban development. So, I hope to leverage her influence to secure better conditions for the woolen textile trade."

What did "better conditions" mean? Nothing more than a bit more freedom and a bit less taxation.

Yet, simple as it sounded, these were difficult to achieve. Setting aside "freedom" for the moment, just reducing taxes meant cutting into the lord’s income. For the vast majority of lords at the time, that was tantamount to taking money from their own pockets to subsidize merchants—as if that would ever happen!

The guildmaster’s proposal left everyone somewhat hesitant. If things truly unfolded as he envisioned, the investment would undoubtedly pay off tenfold or a hundredfold in the future. But the question was—would such flattery actually work? Even if it did, and the Countess was willing to help, could she genuinely influence the Count on such matters?