Chapter 24 - the New Plan II
Ryeamund kept his old friend Freyer with him almost constantly. Ryeamund felt nostalgically good walking the wooded hills with him, and it felt great when they were cutting wood together again. Freyer laughed at how soft the trees were up here. Real professional woodcutters did not cut wood like rank amateurs, as farmers might removing the occasional tree that needed to be gone out of their field. They attacked the trunk, with a fervent and heavy rhythm.
They were each cutting a similar sized pine down, sort of a friendly race to see who was going to fell their own tree first, when Wulfgar and Arroch both rode up on horses, each leading another horse in tow behind them. Ryeamund smiled and waved the men back, but it was unnecessary; Wulfgar and Arroch both had enough experience to stay well away from danger. Despite all precautions and experienced planning, everyone knew a tree could, despite all attempts otherwise, fall in any direction it chose to. Or, start to fall one way and suddenly kick and buck unexpectedly.
When the trees were both felled, Ryeamund and Freyer mopped their foreheads with their tunic sleeves and ambled over to see what Wulfgar wanted. They were both sweating fairly heavily, despite the cooling weather. It was the steward; he had requested an audience with the both of them.
Ryeamund and Freyer each rode one of the extra horses to see what the steward needed of them. On the way, Ryeamund explained how pleasant of a man the wise steward was to deal with, for Freyer's benefit.
As it turned out, the special group of Ravens that Wulfgar had dispatched to the south-lands were finally back with their report from their mission. They had stayed in the woods off the roads, and observed where the armor and weapons being produced in the war villages were being carted off to.
As it turned out, a series of gigantic wood barns had been constructed out in the middle of nowhere, and the war material was being stockpiled in them. The descriptions of the buildings intrigued Ryeamund. Rows of trees straight up, with metal banded timbers running across the tops and bottoms formed each wall. A stockade fence type of affair. The Ravens drew in the soft dirt to explain the construction.
Ryeamund's idea, was how wonderful would it be, if they could either steal or ruin all the armor and weapons. The Ravens were experts at getting in and out of enemy encampments, and particularly late at night. But, there was far too much stuff to cart it off, they would need an army to do that.
Because Ryeamund had been a woodcutter, and a tree man at that, he knew it was easily possible to climb such walls of upright timbers. Because Ryeamund had also been a blacksmith, he knew he could fashion spikes on stout leather straps to make it even easier.
The piece de resistance to his idea, was that they didn't have to take all the armor and weapons. They just had to render it useless… with fire. The large wooden buildings would burn easily. The wood was now seasoned and would go up at the touch of oil and a spark.
No one else had experience as a blacksmith, and didn't understand how this was going to help that much. Sure, the leather straps and the wooden handles and spears would be destroyed but, fire could not consume the swords and axes and armor. It would be easily repaired, the others argued.
Ryeamund beamed and explained. Even though he was not a fine blacksmith, he knew enough about metalworking and explained how his plan would work. When armor and weapons are heated up in a fire and then cooled in the ashes? The hardness disappeared. If the enemy was foolish enough to try to remake the leather straps and wooden handles to make use of it all? It would look good, but be all but useless.
Butter soft thin metal armor, soft battle axes, metal spear points that bent instead of penetrated. Swords that could be nearly clove in two with heavy, hard swords. The exact sort of swords that the big-men favored.
Ryeamund had a perfectly good but relatively unloved sword brought to him, and he demonstrated it. He first showed how hard the sword was, fully functional. He showed them the ring it had when tapped with a hammer. He then built a fairly small fire, and cooked the sword in the small fire for about two hours. Let it cool down in the ashes naturally.
While this was going on, they all ate some morsels and drank a little fine-mead. When the sword was retrieved out of the ashes and had cooled down enough slowly to handle it? He first struck it with the same hammer, and they could all hear the different ring the metal now had. It definitely didn't sound like the same ring as before.
Then Ryeamund had Freyer swing it, and Wulfgar blocked it with another well made sword; it actually took a chunk out of the blade where the edges met violently. Intrigued, Wulfgar did it a couple more times, a little more violently each time. He was no longer blocking, he was more or less attacking the cooked sword.
He finally managed to ruin the sword after several hearty swings of the good sword. When Wulfgar finally struck an existing cleft? The sword came in two. The enemy would either lose all their armor and weapons, or if stupid enough? They would be going into battle with positively the worst armor and weapons possible.
Wulfgar thought this was an excellent possibility. His line of reasoning was that since they were having blacksmiths from the war villages make everything, it indicated they didn't have their own blacksmiths in this area. It was located out of the heavily wooded hilly area the war villages were in, and was mainly low rolling meadow hills. With tree stands of hardwood too far away, there were likely no blacksmiths. There would be mainly tinkers and other fabricators that utilized what real blacksmiths forged.
The Steward wondered aloud, if there was anything else that would disrupt the enemy's readiness. Delay the enemy. Wulfgar made one of his grim jokes…
"It would do us well, if we could simply kill all the drunken blacksmiths down there in that area."
The steward made one of his infamous sour faces, to indicate that really wasn't funny. Then he smiled, to let Wulfgar know he meant the Wolf no offense.
Wulfgar furrowed his brow, and looked up and to his right, at nothing so much seemingly as one of the roof timbers. He used an index finger to calculate some invisible thing, as if counting molecules of air. When he noticed everyone staring at him, he shrugged…
"What? I am thinking."
Arroch chuckled.
"Wolf… perhaps if you would think out loud."
Wulfgar gave him dry wit back, as he was wont to do often enough.
"I am having silly thoughts. I would not be embarrassed, and have my silly thoughts made sport of."
Arroch gently prodded him.
"If the Wolf would have his silly thoughts out loud? Perhaps someone else might find some seed of a plan in the silly soil."
Wulfgar smiled.
"Oh, very well then. One of my GartenMeisters was a great fan of wit. Silliness even. Sometimes a child singing some silly song, gives one a great idea."
Arroch continued to chuckle.
"Perhaps the Wolf should entertain us with a song?"
"The song was but an example, you Ox. Yet… since you insist so much? My first silly thought, was to simply kill all the blacksmiths. We obviously can't very well do that. It's silly."
The steward cut in.
"If that was your first thought? What was your second thought, then… you were counting fruit flies we can not see; surely something flew past yer helmet, man… share it."
Wulfgar shrugged again.
"I can't kill all the blacksmiths. My next thought, and just as silly, mind you… was that if I can't kill them all, I could simply cut off their hands. As I said, silly… yet… it now has me thinking… what would not be a silly thing to do, that would interrupt the blacksmith's work in those damned war villages."
Everyone nodded. It was initially silly, but it begged a question that was not that silly. Everyone now sat around, pondering. The steward piped up first.
"Ryeamund? You were a blacksmith… you would know best… what stops a blacksmith from working."
"Well… we need raw iron. You either bring in ingots of raw iron, or you get it yourself. It comes from the right crushed rock."
The steward calculated.
"I am reminded of ants raiding my food when I leave it out. If I remove the sugar bowl? The ants quickly find another source of food. If we cut off the ingots of raw iron coming in? Just like ants, it will soon come from another direction. Keep thinking, Ryeamund."
"Well. Once I have raw iron… I simply need my tools and a hot fire. A roof over my head. A helper or two. A smith needs very little to work metal."
Freyer started chuckling. Everyone now looked at him.
"What?"
Wulfgar cocked his head.
"Well… if I had to say my silly thought, then… now it is your turn."
"Oh. I was just thinking. That I am glad I am a woodcutter, and not a blacksmith… that was all."
Everyone demanded to know why.
"Ha. First? You joke about killing all the blacksmiths… next joke? Cutting the blacksmith's hands off… now? We are sitting around, trying to figure out how to put the blacksmiths out of work… as I said? I am glad I am not a blacksmith. I suspect, my family would soon starve."
It was Wulfgar's turn to chuckle, it seemed.
"Well Freyer… let us entertain that silly idea."
"What."
"Ryeamund? What would happen to those war village smiths, if we instead killed all the woodcutters. Hmm? Or simply cut off their hands."
"They would have to cut their own wood?"
"Correct. Yet… that will not work. As we already know, they have large forges. Large bellows. A lot of wheelbarrows of charcoal being brought in daily to each of them. What kind of charcoal, Ryeamund?"
"Hardwood…?"
"Yes. And… where does hardwood come from, Ryeamund."
Ryeamund smiled…
"From the woodcutters."
"So then… we simply remove all the woodcutters in those four districts. Now, Ryeamund… as a woodcutter, and also as a tree-man… what do you suppose would happen… if one fine day, all the woodcutters disappeared down there. What would then happen."
Ryeamund chuckled.
"Oh. You do not want to see all new woodcutters on a big job. Complete disaster."
Wulfgar smiled.
"Exactly. I myself? How many times has anyone around me heard me say… I am no great farmer. Why, I all but ruin my little farm at my little great-house. Now Ryeamund… if all the woodcutters disappeared? Would they not have no choice but to try to cut hardwood with who? Starving lease farmers? No treemen? Ryeamund, How much fun would that be for whoever is in charge of this little plan of theirs."
Ryeamund smiled.
"Freyer? Would you like to describe what would happen."
"Oh. That. By Odin himself, that wood crew would… be as useless as teats upon a boar hog. No jest. It would take a year or two… maybe even three years… to get doing it well."
Wulfgar smiled his signature wan and tight lipped smile he often enough showed.
"And, Ryeamund… did you not tell me, that the woodcutters are not provided with their own axes and tools? We remove all the woodcutters… we remove all the woodcutter's tools as well. Where would they get the tools then to even start?"
"Well… the smiths, of course."
"Yes… from the blacksmiths. Who suddenly have to stop making armor and weapons, and have to make all the woodcutter tools all at once. With all the supply of hardwood charcoal gone as well. The whole plan would fall apart. For a time, anyways."
Freyer looked confused.
"But… you can't kill the woodcutters. You can't cut their hands off… are you… going to kidnap them all? Or what."
Wulfgar looked at the steward.
"Wise steward. High reckoner. Do you not handle diplomacy for the high king? On all matters."
"Aye."
"Okay… what deception could we come up with… a royal summons for most of the woodcutters in those four problem districts."
"A deception? Well, woodcutters… they cut wood. They shape timbers. The high king… hmm… the high king, suddenly has some big projects he wants to commission to be made. Buildings. Bridges… anything, really."
"Yes… and my deception goes further. Arroch, do you remember when I taught you the basics of your sword arm? What are you to do with a new opponent."
Arroch remembered aloud…
"With a new opponent? Well, I am to act as if I barely know how to swing a sword. Until the time comes."
"Yes, Arroch. An enemy not prepared? Is an enemy already beaten. The high king announces, it is a time of peace and plenty… he wishes to commission the building of a number of bridges. New villages. Buildings and great-houses. The high king is not preparing for war… he is preparing for peace. He would need woodcutters, and some blacksmiths as well. He could summon them. Without arousing suspicion, perhaps."
The steward smiled.
"Ooh… you devious snake eyed bastard. This is a fine-plan, I believe. You… are going to pour fine-mead into all of their tea bowls."
"Perhaps. There are fine points to hammer out. Now, for one thing… summoning and collecting all the woodcutters, is one thing. Keeping them here? That is another. Yet… Ryeamund? Freyer? How well are the woodcutters paid."
Ryeamund and Freyer looked at each other and exchanged grins.
"Exactly. I already knew that. Now again, how well are the woodcutters fed?"
More exchanged grins that grew.
"How long of days do they have to work?"
Grins growing.
"We simply treat the woodcutters very well. Do you two boys think that your woodcutter friends down there, how would they enjoy the Satyr's day feast in the great halls, hmm? Having a hot bath after a hard day's labor. Seeing some coin in their pocket. Seeing their families every week's end."
Ryeamund and Freyer exchanged knowing looks. Freyer responded enthusiastically.
"The problem would not be keeping them, why, you would never be able to get rid of them!"
"And… why would I want rid of them? Ryeamund here, is a man of great quality. I have seen Freyer and Ryeamund showing off their woodcutter tricks… I already know how effectively the woodcutters can fight. I dealt with that matter quite often in the past."
The steward mused.
"All well. We can summon them. Ryeamund and Freyer? They are well known and respected woodcutters, and know many others. They could convince them how well it goes to be up here to live, I would imagine. Using the deception we are preparing for peace, and not war, building villages and other things? This is a fine-plan indeed, I believe."
Wulfgar, a high reckoning Raven himself, queried the steward.
"Now, what of the diplomacy of this matter. By that I mean… I already know dealings with these four problem districts, where all the problems are coming from. So tell me, steward… what is your personal relationship with all the other stewards and petty kings. In the good districts."
"Wonderful, actually. Why."
"Because, wise steward… the deception would grow. How hard would it be, to convince the other stewards and petty twats… to go along with this deception. By that, I mean I would want them complaining to all the other districts, how they have no woodcutters and blacksmiths."
"I thought, you only wanted to clean out the woodcutters and smiths? In the problem districts, Wolf."
"Yes. Yet… if they were to pretend it was happening to them as well… it would deepen the deception. It would explain why those four districts can't borrow woodcutters from the other districts. Could you manage that? As a secret diplomatic mission."
The steward calculated…
"Oh. If I were to… reduce taxes on all the other districts? In secret? I would imagine… they would do whatever I wanted them to. They would enjoy the extra gold they could keep."
"Yes… and the gold in those treasuries, is not being mixed with pig shit. That gold they keep is safer. Remember, we are bleeding gold in these four districts."
The steward further calculated.
"Not that many petty kings left, outside those four districts. Those that remain? Are fairly dependable, for the most part. They wouldn't sit on the extra gold, they would spend it. With lowered taxes for a time? The pickles would have more coin to spend on a few things as well. It would attract merchants. Nothing attracts merchants so much, as people with coins in their pockets."
"Yes. The rest of the districts around those four bad ones? Would be happier districts… less inclined to join in the coming fight. I mean to say, I am not buying their continued loyalty… I am merely… reinforcing it."
The steward mused aloud.
"Yes… good things happen when you obey the wishes of the high king."
Wulfgar followed his observation with a much more grim one.
"And? Just in case any others are getting any ideas… waiting to see how it goes for the four districts, and I mainly mean the other remaining petty kings… well… let us just say, that I believe there is always more room in the North Star's pickle barrel."
Everyone nodded. It did solve the problem, if only temporarily. Wulfgar went on.
"You see. There is only so much of something, to do things with. You can only travel so far, with only so much food and water and provisions for the horses. Limit the water, limit the distance. Now. We know what our enemies are up to, and they do not know that we are wise to their plans."
The wise steward liked it, and nodded along.
"But in the end, Wolf."
Wulfgar sighed and shook his head.
"Yes. In the end, we know what is at the end of that path. I go for a walk and entertain some men. Then, I go home and enjoy a large bowl of stew. In truth? I would rather enjoy my bowl of stew in my own great-house, without all the fuss. Yet… this is what they want. It would not be polite for me not to give them what they ask for."
The steward wondered aloud.
"Wolf?"
"Yes, Stuart."
"This is all… deception. Yet, burning the armories gives us away. Tells them we know. Does this not ruin the deception?"
"Oh. We know where the armor and weapons are going to be stored up. I post Ravens, to stay nearby and keep an eye on them. They only burn the storehouses, when it becomes obvious that its time."
"Those Ravens might be there for a couple years."
"Oh. I'll rotate them in and out over the many moons. Also? We'll have ample warning ahead of time. We'll meet them at the entrance to the great corridor. After all. It is only polite, to greet your guests at the door, is it not?"