Chapter 175 Traveling Through the Middle Ages 175

Chapter 175: Through the Middle Ages

Since the yarn from Horn Manor officially went on sale, the cloth merchants became increasingly amazed by the day.

To be honest, when they first made purchase agreements with Horn Manor’s spinning mill, they thought they were the only buyers! After all, Mr. Ross had mentioned such a large output of yarn that they naturally assumed it was the total production of Horn Manor’s spinning mill.

Otherwise, how could a rural estate like Horn Manor produce so much yarn? Even with spinning wheels, it shouldn’t be possible—while raw wool could be sourced from elsewhere for processing, increasing labor wasn’t so easy. Horn Manor was, after all, a rural estate, and most of its population was still engaged in farming and herding!

As for transferring workers from other manors, that was also difficult. During the busy farming season, every manor was strapped for labor. That’s why larger manors with influence often commandeered serfs from smaller ones during peak seasons to ensure their own production.

Expanding the population of a manor to ensure enough hands during busy periods was unrealistic. The number of people a manor could support was fundamentally determined by its land. Supporting more people without the means to sustain them would create far bigger problems than a temporary labor shortage!

In short, at first, everyone believed they were Horn Manor’s sole buyer, and that fulfilling their orders would take time. Yet, every time they went to collect the yarn, it was delivered on time and in full, as if Horn Manor had surplus to spare.

Under such circumstances, it was only natural to press for details. Mr. Ross wouldn’t reveal everything, so he simply said, “Our spinning mill’s output has indeed exceeded expectations. Once the spinning wheels are mastered, the speed of yarn production increases. I believe spinning wheels are the future—hand-spinning, no matter how skilled, has its limits, but spinning wheels? Who knows how far they’ll go?”

Having seen the spinning machines, Mr. Ross couldn’t help but extoll the virtues of machinery in Louisa’s tone. But the cloth merchants only vaguely grasped his meaning, nodding along without fully understanding.

Of course, such “secrecy” couldn’t last long. Though news traveled slowly in those days, the cloth merchants who had dealings with Horn Manor knew each other. A chance discussion about Horn Manor’s yarn sales would quickly reveal the truth—and indeed, within a month of the shearing season, two or three merchants had already compared notes.

But it wasn’t just those three merchants with prior agreements. Mr. Ross had taken the initiative to reach out to three more through his own connections. These new buyers, unfamiliar with Horn Manor’s capacity, placed even larger orders based on Mr. Ross’s promises and their own needs.

“Incredible, truly incredible!” one younger merchant exclaimed. “How can Horn Manor produce so much yarn? I’ve heard they’ve bought wool from other manors and even wash and card it themselves! But that doesn’t explain their output!”

A burly merchant waved it off. “Since Horn Manor stopped selling raw wool, it was obvious they’d process it themselves. It’s no big deal—if others can enter the trade, why not Horn Manor? They might not be part of the guild, being rural folk… but we’re from Provins [a textile hub]. Why should we care if they’re in some Lagny guild?”

The third merchant agreed. “Exactly! As long as there’s yarn, who cares where it comes from? Maybe Horn Manor gathered all the dedicated spinners from nearby manors to boost production. After all, full-time spinners are either spinsters or widows—no land to tend, readily reassigned between estates under the same lord!”

“Hah! That’s what I envy about rural landlords—their serfs are so obedient, completely at their mercy. Urban laborers would never obey so readily,” the burly merchant laughed.

“Serfs come with their own troubles. Even in bad harvest years, you can’t just dismiss them. How else would you farm next season? In the city, we can lay off workers or halt operations during hard times and restart when things improve,” the younger merchant pointed out pragmatically.

While the merchants noted Horn Manor’s unusual output but dismissed deeper concerns, the spinning mill was working at full capacity.

Originally, the manor had only a dozen or so dedicated spinners. But soon, occasional spinners—women who had long earned extra through spinning—heard about the wages and sought work at the mill. Worried about losing this vital income, they approached Mr. Ross, who, seeing the increased wool supply, took them on. Those who adapted well to the spinning machines stayed, while others were kept in reserve for later needs.

By the time full-scale production began, more than twenty spinners were working daily, producing over four hundred pounds of yarn. At market prices, the highest-quality hand-spun yarn sold for 2 pence per pound, while yarn spun on wheels (used solely for weft threads) fetched 1.5 pence per pound for Horn Manor’s output.

In other words, the mill’s daily production was worth nearly 3 pounds!

Three pounds may seem trivial—but while Louisa treated such amounts lightly, it was never a small sum. At 3 pounds a day, annual revenue would approach 1,000 pounds! How many people in those days earned that much? Even most nobles lacked such income.

Of course, gross revenue wasn’t pure profit. Despite using new carding and spinning machines and lower wool costs, the profit margin up to yarn production was only about 50%—unusually high for handicraft production at the time, thanks to the machines’ efficiency.

At that rate, Horn Manor’s washing, carding, and spinning operations would yield an annual profit of 400–500 pounds. A staggering sum for a single estate—imagine scaling this to ten estates, bringing in 4,000–5,000 pounds a year!

No aristocrat—let alone a monarch—could ignore such income.

But this model couldn’t expand indefinitely. Not every estate had the means to replicate Horn Manor’s success. Those without local wool production or affordable sourcing lacked the foundation for a spinning mill.

Unlike cities, which thrived as transport hubs with established supply networks, rural estates depended on local resources. Even so, the northern Low Countries’ wool industry had gained an edge—proof that cost advantages in raw materials became decisive at scale.

Thus, estates best suited for spinning mills were those already producing large wool quantities, ensuring nearby sourcing and competitive costs. Concentrating dedicated spinners—even transferring them from other estates—was feasible, as merchants had noted: full-time spinners, often spinsters or widows without families or land ties, were readily reassigned.

Moreover, this way, they wouldn’t lose their jobs just because regional yarn production became concentrated in those estates.

As for the part-time rural spinners, firstly, as part-timers, the issue wasn’t as significant. Secondly, since hand-spun yarn was of higher quality, it was likely that warp threads—especially for high-end fabrics—would continue to rely on hand-spun yarn for a long time. Thus, hand-spinning work would probably remain viable, and might even become more sought-after due to supply shortages!

Additionally, the reason the Hornbeam Estate’s spinning workshop model couldn’t expand indefinitely was also market-related… Yarn was indeed in high demand now, but market demand had its limits! One didn’t even need to consider demand peaking—just imagine what would happen once more spinning workshops using spinning machines emerged, and these machines gradually appeared in cities. The competition they’d face would quickly reveal the ceiling.

If Louisa had wanted to keep the technology under wraps, she might have monopolized this advantage for decades, earning decades of excess profits. But the thing was, she had no such intention.

Louisa’s idea was simply to start in her own estate, setting an example and establishing a model. Later, others could follow her lead, both out of habit and because of the laws she’d put in place. Eventually, productivity would improve, benefits would be widespread, and even the poor spinners could share in some of the gains…

So the real focus wasn’t money—it was the impact of this endeavor. And the impact would take time to show. At this stage, it wasn’t very visible—for the spinning workshop, it meant a few hired workers within the Hornbeam Estate, a small number of people earning higher incomes. Beyond the workshop, the yarn produced by the Hornbeam Estate flowed into the broader textile industry, hardly making a dent!

In fact, Louisa herself didn’t pay much attention to the sale of that yarn. She knew it would take time, and the real results would come later.

Now, she was already considering the flying shuttle loom… Yes, it wasn’t the right time to introduce it immediately. It would be better to wait until yarn supply exceeded demand—when weaving couldn’t keep up with spinning. But as they say, "Failing to plan is planning to fail." Besides, having recently worked on the spinning machine, she figured she might as well start now.

The flying shuttle loom was trickier than the spinning machine, so it made sense to develop it in advance and keep it as a technical reserve for the time being.

To this end, Louisa selected two people for the task. One was naturally her chief mechanical designer, Leon. The other was Antoine, who was currently working secretly in a small estate in Troyes, manufacturing table clocks—recently, table clocks had become all the rage. Even though only a handful could afford them, everyone was buzzing about them!

No surprise—this was a feudal society, where the nobility set the trends, and showing off was basically the driving force of the economy. A gadget like this, perfect for noblemen to show off with, was guaranteed to be a hit!

Of course, while the number of buyers wasn’t large, it still fully occupied the small workshop hidden in the estate—so much so that they were so backlogged they had to schedule production! In fact, they had already recruited more craftsmen and increased manpower, but output still couldn’t keep up. Because, as expected, it wasn’t just catering to the Western market—there was the East too!

The merchants who had previously profited from re-exporting glass mirrors naturally took an interest in re-exporting table clocks as well.

In just the first half of this year, they had already received orders for 30 clocks—50% more than the previously estimated maximum annual production capacity of 20. No surprise they had to hire more hands. More importantly, just think—30 clocks meant serious money!

The cheapest model produced by the Brudo Clock Workshop, with a plain enamel (copper-bodied) casing, went for 1,700 pounds a pop. As for those with a bit of gold, silver, or gemstone embellishment, the price could shoot up to 2,000 pounds.

For 30 clocks, let’s calculate at 2,000 pounds each—after all, if you could drop 1,700 pounds on a clock, what’s another few hundred for some bling? So an average of 2,000 pounds per clock was reasonable. That amounted to 60,000 pounds in sales. Subtracting material and labor costs, the expected profit so far this year was still in the tens of thousands of pounds.

And the year was only half over! Who knew how many more orders would come in the second half?

This financial situation left Count Balzac over the moon with the profits, and his trust in Louisa grew even stronger. Now, whatever Louisa suggested, he was all in—sugar, glass mirrors, and table clocks, three cash cows, each raking in more than the last. The once highly valued sugar had become the least profitable of the three. It just proved—in a feudal world, nobles were the easiest marks.

But it wasn’t that straightforward. Sugar still had vast market potential, and as production increased, it would only grow larger. Luxury goods like glass mirrors and table clocks had a much lower ceiling—once everyone who could afford one had one, sales would dry up. By then, even price cuts wouldn’t help much, because once a luxury item got cheap, it was dead in the water!

But that was a problem for the distant future. The Middle Ages weren’t the modern era—luxury goods didn’t cycle through trends so quickly. So there was no need to worry about that now.

For the time being, the clock business was printing money, and pulling manpower away from the workshop was difficult. On one hand, they were hiring, not firing. On the other hand, it was also for the sake of technological secrecy—everyone could see how expensive the clocks were. Though no one knew exactly how many had been sold, people had their own rough estimates.

Under these circumstances, some inevitably grew tempted. However, no one even knew where the clock workshop was located, making industrial espionage impossible. So those with designs on the technology focused on disassembling existing clocks to replicate them. After all, unlike glass mirrors, which relied on chemical reactions, the mechanical structure was visible! Reverse engineering seemed quite promising.

The only problem was the high cost—even the cheapest clock cost 1,700 pounds!

But with even bigger profits at stake, some bit the bullet. Among the 30 orders received this year, some might well have come from these would-be imitators. The workshop staff weren’t too worried, though. For one, even with a superior prototype to copy, it had taken them two years to replicate it. Now, without a similar timeframe, others wouldn’t succeed.

Secondly, that was assuming everything went smoothly. Special alloys like those Antoine had developed? Replicating those would require sheer luck. And luck was the most unpredictable factor—they might get everything right and produce a copy in two years. Or Lady Luck might abandon them entirely, leaving them with nothing even after decades.

By the time imitations did emerge, the workshop would already have an established reputation, making it hard to be overshadowed. Not to mention, by then, they might have even better products—they still had that superior prototype, after all, and were constantly striving to match the original clock’s performance.

Originally, Antoine had been part of this effort, and no one else could have pulled him away. But if Louisa wanted to reassign him, it was as simple as a word. As for whether Antoine himself was willing—of course he was!

Though continuing to study clocks was fascinating—the more he examined the "prototype," the more incredible he found it, even doubting whether he could ever reproduce something of the same technical caliber—nothing topped the thrill of something new. Louisa wouldn’t have called on him without reason; there must be some new invention in the works!

Besides, he was a family man now. While he and his wife could tolerate living in seclusion in a small estate, wouldn’t it be better if they didn’t have to?

So when Louisa summoned him, he happily packed up and moved his family to Lagny. And just as he’d expected, Louisa tasked him with collaborating with a mechanical designer to develop a new type of loom. Antoine didn’t know much about looms—after all, he specialized in precision mechanics, while Leon worked on large-scale machinery. But just hearing Louisa describe this new loom piqued his interest.

According to Louisa, he was the key to the new loom! The most groundbreaking feature of the new loom was its 'flying shuttle,' and for the flying shuttle to function, a suitable spring mechanism was required—the crucial aspect of springs wasn’t their shape, but the material's ability to return to its original form after bending and deformation.

Thus, the so-called mainspring, even if it didn’t resemble the coiled spring in later people's minds, was also known as the mainspring, flat spiral spring, or coil spring. Additionally, there were flat springs called leaf springs. As for things that were merely spiral-shaped without elastic deformation, people wouldn’t even call them springs.

Antoine was pivotal in the development of the mainspring used in table clocks! Now, employing him to create the coiled spring needed for the flying shuttle might seem unrelated, but it was right up his alley!

After assigning Antoine and Leon to develop the flying shuttle loom, Louisa set the matter aside for the time being. After all, there was no rush—it was merely a technical reserve, to be deployed only when the spinning machines led to an oversupply of yarn. And that could be years away!

After this, Louisa took a short break, though it didn’t last long—less than half a month.

Because news arrived from the battlefield: Guillaume, leading the 'royal army,' had achieved a great victory, completely defeating the rebel forces led by the Duke of Fujing... To be honest, in the constant skirmishes of the Middle Ages, having a military genius on one’s side provided a great sense of security.

Now that the war was nearing its end, the main battles were over, leaving just the economic and political reckoning, along with some cleanup work. At this point, Louisa obviously had to go and welcome Guillaume back—though she could have just gone to Xidai and joined the others for the victory celebration. However, those around her disagreed, believing she should show more enthusiasm.

Others could do as they pleased, but she was the Crown Prince’s beloved consort—how could she act the same as everyone else?

Remembering how devoted Guillaume was to her, Louisa couldn’t bring herself to object. So she packed up and prepared to travel further west to meet Guillaume on his return journey.

"Speaking of which, Prince Philip’s wedding must be around the corner," Gina suddenly brought this up while they were packing. This wasn’t without reason—Prince Philip’s marriage was closely tied to this war.

After Prince Philip and Louisa had their engagement dissolved, no new betrothal had been arranged. Queen Anna had lofty ambitions and refused to let her child become just another land-poor noble, fading into obscurity among the nobility after Louis III’s death. Her previous arrangements—betrothing Prince Philip to Louisa and scheming for Princess Barron for her younger son Francis—showed just how high her expectations were.

Finding marriage prospects of Louisa and Princess Barron’s caliber wasn’t easy, and Queen Anna had remained patient, never settling for less—indeed, she had been patient, mainly because Louis III’s death could come at any time, at which point Prince Philip’s value in the marriage market would plummet.

The son of a king and the brother of a king (not born of the same mother)—were they really the same?

As for why this war was connected to Prince Philip’s marriage, it was because the Duke of Fujing and his followers had lost and now had to face the consequences! While the medieval system didn’t allow for outright stripping of titles—doing so would provoke other lords, who would fear the same fate—letting them off without consequences was impossible.

One of the penalties was that their daughters would have to marry beneath their station, and despite the lower status, the dowries couldn’t be reduced. Especially for families that had lost their men in battle, leaving them vulnerable to inheritance claims—such benefits would naturally go to the victors.

With Guillaume’s victory, the noble families aligned with him would soon be celebrating weddings.

As for Philip, it was because his father, Louis III, had promised to compensate him. At the time, even Zebulan had been offered as compensation, but now that he could become king, he couldn’t casually part with such important territory. So, taking advantage of this opportunity to arrange a suitable bride for Philip was a decent compromise.