A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Those are bold calculations," the man with the cane said, tapping it steadily against the floor. "But given that we know nothing of military might, we can't make such suppositions. We have to go based on numbers alone, for numbers we can trust. Five hundred men, we say, for your own good. Do you not want the means to protect yourself, without having to rely on outside help, as we are told you did?"

"Can we assume then, in your arguing of this point, that the doubling of your wall will be a matter that you can accomplish easily?" The tall old man broke in.

"Quite the opposite," Greeves said. "That point was outlandish enough that I was sure you were joking. You are, aren't you? You know that we will struggle to meet even the most minor of those demands, in the number of men. That first demand, most surely was a joke, to remind us, as lowly as we are, that it could be worse."

The tall old man showed what was left of his teeth. Just a few crooked yellow things, with plenty of gaps missing, where the rest had fallen out over the years. "A joke," he said. "One well received, by a man in good humour, it seems. The wall will still need to be heightened, however – that is not a matter to cast too much humour on.

If you would extend its height by twenty-five percent, we would call you a man that cares for the protection of his citizenry, and for the merchants that pass through it. I am sure you will manage to struggle to meet the demands for your garrison to be increased to five hundred as well."

"You push, gentlemen…" Greeves said, as if there were the weightiest of burdens on his shoulders. "In all this, what time limit do we have? Can we not even continue to rely on the gold generated by our trade, to see this all paid for?"

"I would have to decline you, Greeves," the tallest old man said. He seemed to delight in that. "Until those demands are met, we can not endorse the Solgrim-Ernest trade route. None who pass through will do so with the guild's insurances."

"What difficulties…" Greeves lamented. "And just before winter too. You three are cruel men for this, I do declare it."

"Cruel?" The old man with the cane said. "Not at all. Cruelty is allowing the good people of the Stormfront to trade without adequate protection."

'The three of them are readily enjoying this,' Oliver realized. It was the fact that they'd backed Greeves into a corner that they liked. It hardly seemed to matter what the demands were, just as long as they were sufficiently difficult to solve.

"Can I change your mind no further on this?" Greeves said. "You would be starving us out before winter…"

"Better starvation than annihilation. But I do not believe it will come to that. You will manage, Greeves," the tall old man said, standing. "Is our business done here? We will have a contract prepared, and you and your Lord shall sign it. I trust that you find no issues with today's results, Ser Patrick?"

"With the results?" Oliver said. "No. Not with the results."

He stared the man down, fully aware that he had come armed, not unlike his guardsmen. He had treated them like enemies in the brandishing of a blade that only those of his position could wield, and he had spilled all the blood that he could in the process.

If Greeves hadn't been able to keep the demands to a reasonable degree, by hiding where their actual strength lay, Oliver was quite confident his anger would have overcome him in the exchange. 'And yet what would anger have won?'

Here, he knew, his strength could not have been more useless. Greeves had even attempted to leverage its existence in their discussions, but it had been brushed over with disinterest, as their merchants kept their attentions purely on their numbers.

The contract was produced, and both Greeves and Oliver gave a scribbling of their signatures. Greeves, in the capacity as head of Solgrim's trade guild – it was a title that no one aside from the Ernest guild would use, given that it hardly existed in the first place – and Oliver in the capacity as Lord of the village.

They were gone just as quickly as they had come, with the three of them looking quite content with themselves, seeming to believe that they had done a fatal blow against their enemy.

"They still don't like you, Greeves," Nila said.

"Oh, you noticed?" Greeves said with a grin, his fingers finding their way to the silver tray, seeing to the removal of the lid of a tin, bearing free the biscuits that had remained untouched. He grabbed one and began munching, as if to reward himself for his works.

"…I think myself to have learned a great deal in watching these proceedings. I thank you for the opportunity, Greeves," Verdant said.

The praise, coming from behind him, only seemed to make Greeves uncomfortable. In a flustered scattering of crumbs, he hurried to politely accept the thanks. "Err, not at all, Lord Idris. This is normal enough."

Though he was capable of wrapping fellow merchants around his finger, and making fools of Serving Class men, the peasant that was Greeves, a slave who had crawled himself up out of the gutter, just as Oliver had, still had trouble keeping his cool around the likes of noblemen.

"What did you think, Oliver?" Nila said. "Do we have the coin to see the wall extended by that height?"

"Coin is something we have plenty of. They did not seem to realize that fact. I wonder if the news of the campaign's rewards has yet to spread?" Oliver said.

"They assume you to be on a Captain's pay only," Greeves said. "Their calculations will have only factored in that fact, plus the revenue we're able to generate through the trade of our local merchants. But it isn't enough. With the contract behind us, even those old fools won't be able to do much."