kingdom of nations

Chapter 244 The simplest, the most difficult. (Part 2)
For the serf Goru, every day seemed the same.

He opened his eyes to a dim darkness, the air thick with a pungent smell, and perhaps a bit of smoke that made him want to cough—he thought to himself that the lazy woman must have added damp branches to the fire.

In a moment, he was going to take out the fire poker and give her three hard slaps on the buttocks before he started working. Three slaps, no more, no less, Goru had a good grasp of the timing. This way, he wouldn't hurt her and make her slack off in the following time, but he could also vent his anger and make her remember the lesson.

At the same time, he could feel the little ones around him still sleeping soundly, looking incredibly comfortable and at ease. "Am I raising a bunch of lords?" he muttered, then casually picked up something—probably the cloth strap he used to tie his pants—and lashed it towards the hot, stuffy area.

It was like stumbling upon a mouse nest; the little ones scrambled to their feet, chattering and crying. Each of them had their own work to do. The older boys had to work with him in the vineyard, the girls had to work in the mill or sheepfold, or gather firewood, and the younger children—as long as they could walk, understand human speech, and lift wooden bowls—had to work as well.

This family doesn't keep idle people.

At this moment, Goru's wife came in from outside and moved the door open. It is said that she moved it open rather than pushed it open because the door was just a row of tied branches.

When they went to sleep at night, they would block it at the doorway and prop it up with a stick. When they went out to work, they would instruct the youngest child in the family to take good care of the family's property—if the crooked wooden frame that looked like it could collapse at any moment, the straw laid on it, the coarse linen clothes worn by the children and wives that were so rough that a finger could be poked through them, and the only earthenware pot on the fire could be called property.

Oh, and they also have a small vegetable garden where they grow some peas, cabbages, and leeks.

However, after a long winter, there is very little food left to eat inside.

It was only then that Goru, the head of the family, noticed that there was a small figure huddled motionless on the large bed that the whole family shared. He was immediately filled with anger and shoved the guy hard.

The dog-like body rolled two or three times before landing on the ground with a dull thud. His eldest son immediately ran over to look, then stared at him and looked up: "He's dead."

He said this, and picked up his youngest brother and gave him to Goru. Goru then remembered that his youngest son had been crying for food for the past few days. However, with limited food supplies, it was necessary to provide for the family's most capable worker. After all, without someone to work, the rest of the family would still not be able to get food and would still starve to death. Their house would also be taken away.

The youngest son was always swaying and listless. On the way back from work, he gave him some tender twigs to chew on raw, but it didn't seem to help at all.

He tried desperately to recall the few words his father had spoken by the fire—about the things that were edible—but he couldn't remember them at all, and besides, the man was already dead… “What are you still doing with that thing?” he snapped. “With that energy, why don't you spend it in the vineyard!”

His eldest son trembled, hurriedly put down his little brother, and ran out.

Next, as the priests said, he should go to the church, ask the priests to administer the Last Sacrament to his son, and then hold a funeral and bury him. But where would he get the money? Even if he did have the money, wouldn't it be better to use it to buy some dried beans and wheat to eat his fill?
He racked his brains for a while, grabbed the dead child, shoved him into his wife's arms, and whispered, "After we've all gone out, quietly take him to the back of the house, dig a hole, and bury him."

His wife seemed about to cry a few more tears, to shed a few more for the poor child. Then Goru slapped her across the face. "Quiet down. Do you want people to know our child is dead?" If so, they would have to hold a funeral, and then more people would die in their house.

His wife immediately understood, and hurriedly ran away with the dead child in her arms. Goru got up and put on the only hooded robe in the house. It was a decent garment, and he shouldn't have worn it to work, but he was an outsider to the village, so the house was quite a distance from the vineyard. He could have dressed in rags like everyone else, but he had had enough of the villagers' ridicule.

But he knew they were all jealous. He had a wife and many children. When the children grew older—even with more poll taxes—his family would quickly prosper here.

Today is the third day of the "Holy Marriage of St. Joseph the Great and the Virgin Mary" (March 19th), and the grapes will need to be planted next month.

Before this, the frozen land needed to be plowed again, and ridges and ditches needed to be dug. This was a very heavy and laborious task, and it was related to his harvest for the coming year. Therefore, Goru took it very seriously and was very vigilant. What bothered him was that on the way to the vineyard, his second son kept muttering and complaining. Perhaps the silent death of his younger brother had given him a sense of crisis.

He said things like, "If only we had a cow," and "If only this vineyard were ours," and "If only we could pay less tax or do less labor."

To Goru, these complaints were of no use except for wasting precious energy, but he would not waste any extra energy to scold or beat him. He simply called his eldest son to his side and made his second son stand in front of the wooden plow like an ox or a horse.

"You'll be pulling the plow today."

Upon hearing this, the second son's face turned pale. This job had previously belonged to the eldest son, who was second only to Goru and the strongest and most capable person in the family. The second son was three years younger than his elder brother and was just coming of age. If it weren't for his nagging annoying Goru, Goru wouldn't have made him start pulling the plow at such a young age.

“From today onwards, you and your elder brother will take turns doing the work,” Goru said, walking behind the wooden plow. Because controlling the direction and depth of the plow requires both strength and experience, this kind of work must be done by the most authoritative person in the family. He glanced at his eldest son, who was standing beside him looking somewhat helpless, and said, “You and I will hold the wooden plow together.”

The eldest son immediately approached his father, his face beaming with joy.

Today is mostly about learning, but if he doesn't always try to be clever like his second son, he'll likely take over this job in the future, which would make things much easier for Goru.

However, his second son's words seemed like a curse, constantly echoing in Goru's ears. He also thought that it would be great if he had a cow, if this vineyard were his own, if the taxes were lower, and if the rent were lower.

But he also knew that even if there were tigers in this world that didn't eat meat, there certainly wouldn't be any lords willing to reduce taxes and land rents for serfs.

He cast aside these delusions and began to earnestly teach his eldest son. They worked until their shadows were practically at their feet before stopping. Fortunately, February in Cyprus wasn't so cold, nor as scorching as July or August. Although they were drenched in sweat, they weren't sick from the cold or heat.

However, Goru found himself unable to control the trembling in his calves and arms. At the same time, he felt that he was not stepping on hard soil, but on soft moss. His body seemed to split into two parts: the part above his shoulders was floating up, and the part below his knees was sinking down.

He immediately sensed something was wrong; he knew he had caught hunger pangs, a common ailment among serfs. Some would recover simply by lying down and resting, while others might collapse to the ground and never get up again.

He had just scolded his second son and didn't want to be looked down upon by his two sons at this moment. Even though his vision was blurring, he persevered. Just as they were about to finish tilling the last small plot of land, he collapsed. The two boys were startled and hurriedly moved their father-in-law to a bush.

Fortunately, their mother, who was bringing them food, arrived at that moment.

The food eaten by serfs in the Mediterranean region and those in the Frankish region was almost the same: a mixture of vegetables, wheat, and beans cooked into a paste whose contents were indistinguishable. The only difference between Cyprus and the Frankish region was that the serfs there could also have some dried grape leaves and the dregs left over from winemaking added.

Of course, these dregs were as precious to the serfs as honey was to the rich, even though they tasted sour and bitter. Even so, the small amount of sugar and alcohol they contained still sobered Goru up. He seemed to have regained his strength and was able to scold and urge his two sons to hurry up and get to work. He didn't just rest there, but stood up again.

Although the sun was still shining on him, making him dizzy, he still staggered forward and, together with his eldest son, picked up the wooden plow again.

However, he thought that he might have to ask his wife to reduce his food intake at dinner tonight. He realized that he was getting old and no longer as strong and stamina as a young man. He admitted that he might still have a little resentment, but as the family law he had established stated, those who did not work did not eat, those who did less work should eat less, and the most substantial food should be left to those who contributed the most. He himself would not break this law.

They were originally going to work until dusk, when they could no longer see the fields clearly.

But today he had to hastily end his day's work while it was still light.

The steward rushed over to inform him that a new lord had arrived in the village. They were sent by the new lord's new lord's newest lord to announce some things and required everyone to be present. Women and children might be exempt, but the head of the household had to be present, and it would be best to bring the eldest son as well.

He gave these instructions and then hurriedly ran off to inform another person.

Goru was baffled, but he also knew that in this world, besides God, the devil, and priests, the person one should never offend was the master.

Although he hadn't seen any new master's master... his shadow, like the constant hunger and exhaustion, clung to the family. Goru's heart leaped into his throat. He and his eldest son exchanged a hurried glance. The last time they had been summoned to listen to some master's words was because the master here had imposed some kind of loyalty tax or defense tax. Anyway, they didn't understand. All they knew was that Goru's youngest son and his two older sisters could have survived, but because of this tax, the food that would have allowed them to get through the winter relatively comfortably had all turned into tax.

They watched as the trucks loaded with grapes, wheat, and beans drove away, feeling only bewilderment, not much resentment.

Goru had heard from his great-grandfather, grandfather, and father that they had traveled to many places, and each place was the same—his great-grandfather was a slave who was taken from Sicily to Constantinople when the Normans and Byzantines were at war. There he converted to Christianity and was fortunate enough to be released by his master. As a free man, he was given a piece of land.

But soon, the land was reclaimed because the great-grandfather died in battle and the grandfather was disabled. They then bought another piece of land, but were forced to sell it because they couldn't afford the taxes. Later, they came to Cyprus, where the winters are not too cold and people are less likely to freeze to death—although the rent and taxes are still a considerable burden.

Goru stopped himself from thinking about it anymore—it was no use anyway—and hurriedly took the wooden plow home—it was probably their most valuable possession. Then he told his wife and the other children to hold the door shut and not let anyone in, and took his eldest son to the village chapel.

When they arrived, several hundred people had already gathered in the square. They held hats or had tangled, straw-like hair, looking around anxiously. The small wooden platform that had been used for preaching had been set up with a chair, a table, and a piece of wood that was hard to identify.

But the plank was truly beautiful—large, smooth, and thick, painted with a layer of black pigment. Goru thought that if he could take it back and use it as his door, his house would be much warmer in the winter.

He could tell that everyone was a little nervous, and he wasn't alone in feeling that way.

Goru and his eldest son could only stand alone at the edge of the crowd. He didn't mind, and even smiled obsequiously at a few people.

These people were some of the wealthier ones in the village.

He once visited one of their homes, where there was a wooden shelf with several earthenware pots and plates on it.

Then, the village steward walked into the crowd. He looked around to make sure that the head of each household and their eldest son had arrived before he respectfully went into the small chapel to ask the patriarch inside to come out and speak.

Besides the priest whom Goru knew, there was another unfamiliar man, but judging from his clothes and appearance, he didn't seem to be an Isaac. Goru felt a little more at ease. Their village had always been managed by a distant relative of the man. This steward was not exactly kind, but he wasn't a bad person either.

But he had heard that in other villages, it seemed that the Isaacs were the ones who levied taxes, because they had bought that power from their lord.

The people in those villages both hated and feared the Isaacs, and this fear did not come solely from whips or clubs—the Isaacs did not seem to be good at those—but from hiring soldiers and overseers.

What these serfs feared most was the Isaacs's eloquent language—they couldn't understand what the Isaacs were saying, only that those despicable heretics took out paper, pen, and ink and started doing calculations. The words that sprang from their lips were like raindrops pattering on the roof. Not only could they not find any loopholes or errors, but they couldn't even be sure if the Isaacs were speaking or singing.

All they knew was that once an Isaac tax collector appeared in the village, everything—including their wives, children, and themselves—would no longer belong to them.

It's not that the Isaacs could sell Christians into slavery, but rather that they unknowingly accumulated countless debts. They had to work harder and more strenuously than ever before, yet they couldn't save a single penny. Many were bewildered, unaware that they had lost the most important thing...

If a learned and insightful person were to come here at this time, he would tell Goru that the last thing they had lost was hope.

But no one came to Goru at that moment. He was as insignificant as a speck of dust on the ground. He just wrung his hands and stared intently at the strange old man, afraid that he would soon utter a string of numbers and words he couldn't understand, and then in an instant he would be all alone, his children would leave him, and his wife would leave him.

Whether in life or death.

(End of this chapter)