Two Gold Dragons?
Absolutely true!
Moving a single log from the city gate to the main fortress's front gate had earned her two Gold Dragons as a reward.
No one would believe such a thing if it were just told to them. But right there, under the watchful eyes of everyone, it was undeniably real.
Even Bull herself was stunned.
Lord Damon blinked in surprise before bursting into hearty laughter. He enjoyed watching Gregor's unpredictable antics.
Lord Gawen and Lord Leo were equally caught off guard, Gregor actually added a second Gold Dragon on top of the first as a reward. Such generosity was totally unnecessary for these common folk.
Lady Jeyne also hadn't expected it. Soldiers, knights, and even Reynald himself seemed almost disbelieving.
One Gold Dragon could pay the wages of three sergeants for a whole month. Sergeants weren't ordinary soldiers; only those qualified to be captains or centurions were promoted from that rank.
The Westerling family soldiers' pay was no comparison to Gregor's elite guard cavalry, it was a completely different level.
Two Gold Dragons was an enormous sum for any commoner. Converted into silver deer coins, that meant sixty pieces, enough to fill a medium-sized coin pouch.
The coin rolled across the ground, and everyone instinctively stepped aside wherever it went.
Eventually, it came to a stop with a wide circle cleared around it.
Reynald said, "Miss, Ser Gregor praises your courage and bravery and personally awards you this additional Gold Dragon. Go ahead, pick it up, both Gold Dragons are yours."
Bull glanced at Bernie, whose green eyes gleamed like a cat's, signaling her to hurry and grab the coins.
Two Gold Dragons. No, Gold Dragons. On the front was the portrait of King Robert; on the back, the sigil of House Targaryen, a three-headed dragon.
Bull picked up both coins.
Gregor clapped twice loudly to grab the crowd's attention. Everyone looked at him, and Bull lifted her head to meet the gaze of the towering giant.
The so-called demon from hell Bernie had warned about, the one who would rape and kill her, Bull did not believe a word of it. Bernie was just trying to scare her into following him.
Gregor declared, "Now, in the name of the Westerling family's honor, the Clegane family's honor, the old and new gods, and the Seven Gods of the South, I hereby announce a new edict to all citizens. The first is the conscription decree."
The crowd fell completely silent, as if every breath had stopped.
Finally, it was here. The most-rumored edict was confirmed true: conscription. Westerling was sending his son-in-law Gregor to conscript soldiers to serve him; and after conscription would come the taxes.
When a man was conscripted, his family had to pay more taxes and provide supplies.
Damn this!
Lord Damon laughed loudly, an incredibly rude and un-noble act, but he didn't care.
Gregor was unmoved by Damon's reaction. To him, Damon was nothing more than trash. Most nobles of this era were rubbish.
Gregor, elevated by several levels of civilization, was like an elephant towering over a rabbit or fox, he wouldn't bother with their petty squabbles.
Calm and collected, Gregor said, "Conscription is voluntary. No one will be forced to enlist. Citizens, rest assured."
The thousands of people looked at each other in disbelief.
Voluntary conscription? That was unheard of. Nobles only had to say the word, and everyone had to obey without question.
Lord Gawen, Damon, and Leo were stunned. Lady Jeyne was equally surprised, eyeing Gregor with suspicion.
Voluntary enlistment? Who would want that? No one would!
This was a militia, not a professional army, low status, no government-issued weapons or armor. If you died, you were buried with no ceremony. If you survived, you went home to farm. The only way to make money was by pillaging, and even then, it was life-risking.
Rumors had spread that Gregor was recruiting mercenaries to make money, but mercenaries faced the harshest, most ruthless gangs, pirates, and cutthroats.
Gregor surveyed the crowd and said slowly, "All who enlist will become professional soldiers. Benefits are as follows: one soldier in a family means half the taxes exempted; two soldiers mean full tax exemption. This year, the land of the Lord will be given to the families of soldiers to farm, tax-free."
Lord Gawen's head nearly exploded. He looked at Gregor, confused by the shifting expression on his face. Gawen struggled to catch his breath and grabbed the railing for support.
Lady Sibyl was stunned and doubted her own ears.
Lord Gawen and Leo also thought they must have misheard. Was Gregor joking? Was he insane?
Everyone except Gregor thought so, including the thousands of citizens.
Two soldiers, and the whole family pays no taxes. Plus, these weren't conscripts but professional soldiers, the most coveted position in peacetime.
Professional soldiers were paid well and had their food, clothing, and lodging covered. Serving the Lord brought honor and respect; their families were held in high esteem in the village.
Gregor looked over the crowd of thousands and spoke gravely, "I, Gregor, by the honor of the Westerling and Clegane families, and by the old and new gods, solemnly declare that every word of this new edict is true."
A warm June breeze swept through the square, pleasant weather before the unbearable heat of July. July would bring spoiled milk and deadly bacteria that often caused nationwide epidemics.
The people believed these plagues were divine punishments from the Stranger among the Seven Gods, unaware they were caused by unsterilized milk.
Lady Sibyl was the first to recover from her shock. She rushed from the hall to stop Gregor's so-called nonsense, but the mad knight behind him stepped forward with a twitchy, eerie smile and eyes like hooks, locking onto her.
Lady Sibyl froze, a mix of anger and fear rising in her heart.
"Secondly," Gregor continued, "based on the previous year's harvest, families with soldiers will pay only twenty percent of their total grain yield as tax."
Twenty percent?
Noble grain taxes usually ranged from thirty to fifty percent. Fertile lands and bumper crops were taxed up to fifty percent, half the harvest.
Twenty percent was extremely low.
Gregor must be mad.
But if he wasn't mad, then he simply wasn't Gregor!
Lord Damon finally understood and smiled, though inside he was ecstatic.
No need for him to strike back; the Westerling and Clegane families were already being undone by Gregor's reckless policies.
This was peace time, so Gregor's twenty percent tax was all there was. In wartime, grain requisition orders came from Lord Tywin, and local lords had some discretion. Then taxes could reach fifty to eighty percent for the military.
Gregor would have to repeal this edict if a war broke out. But for now, peace reigned. Ha! Ha ha ha!
Lord Damon was in high spirits.
Most of the people were too, thousands of citizens below the fortress cheered silently in their hearts.
Gregor had brought good news, not disaster!
But it wasn't over yet.
When Lord Gawen was gasping for air, Gregor dropped another bombshell that shattered both Gawen and Lady Jeyne:
"Citizens, if milk poisoning strikes this year and all milk must be dumped, do not throw it away. The city of Clegane will buy it at one-third the usual price, giving priority to the families of soldiers. Other citizens' milk will be bought at one-quarter price. The Westerling family will ensure the livelihood of its subjects. Should losses occur, Clegane and Clegane Castle will share the burden."
This decree was madness itself. If the summer heat spoiled the milk, even the Westerling's own cows' milk would have to be discarded!
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