kingdom of nations

Chapter 245 The Simplest, the Most Difficult. (Part 2)
Sure enough, the other party began talking about taxes. Goru didn't understand at first, but the people around him started cheering. He recognized them as two well-known intelligent men, and at this point, he didn't care about his own status anymore. He quickly went over to ask what they were cheering about. Although the other man glanced at Goru, he still answered his question—the new master's new master's new master... gave them a tax exemption.

“What does ‘tax exemption’ mean?” Goru pressed.

"It means there will be no more taxes."

"No more taxes? How is that possible?!"

"They will still collect taxes, but only land tax and poll tax, and they will no longer be required to pay taxes in kind in monetary form." This also means that they will no longer be exploited by merchants.

"What about the livestock tax?" Goru still kept two sheep.

"Livestock tax will not be collected this year; it will be collected starting next year."

"Next year?" Goru immediately raised his hands and started counting. If he wasn't mistaken, he might be able to raise another sheep.

"Will the poll tax and land tax be doubled? What about the supplementary taxes and miscellaneous taxes?"

"Land tax and poll tax remain at the original standards, but there are no supplementary taxes or miscellaneous taxes. Oh, and fireplace tax has also been waived."

"That's out of the question... So, can we still go into his woods to gather firewood?"

"Sure, but everyone has a quota, and someone will come to count the number." That doesn't matter, since they were already required to collect firewood at a fixed time anyway, and then take it to the steward to be weighed.

Goru wanted to ask more questions, but the man was already annoyed. He waved his hand and pushed Goru away as if shooing away a fly.

Meanwhile, his companions had moved further ahead, and the terrace below was crowded with people eager to ask all sorts of questions, much like Goru—they always clung to one question, asking it over and over again. After the unfamiliar tax collector gave them an answer, they seemed to leave, but they only circled around outside the crowd before returning to ask the same questions.

Finally, the unfamiliar young tax official lost his patience. He walked to the black wooden board, wrote a few words on it with something, and drew some simple patterns and some images that could barely be made out to be grapes, wheat, and other real objects.

Goru's eyesight had deteriorated to the point where he could barely see in the dark for a long time, and now that the sun was setting, even if he stood on tiptoe and craned his neck behind the crowd, he still couldn't make out what it was.

But he guessed it must be something important, because more people surged from all sides, some even reaching out to touch it, only to be sternly stopped by the priests nearby.

Then he saw several soldiers rush into the crowd, raise their whips, and lash everyone indiscriminately until the crowd finally quieted down completely.

Afterwards, the tax collector consulted with the priest and brought out torches.

This was the first time Goru had ever enjoyed such ample light as night fell. He looked up and saw the tax collector's robes swaying in front of him; he didn't know when he had been pushed under the wooden platform by the crowd.

Of course, this was a good opportunity, and he wouldn't be foolish enough to back out and give this good position to someone else. Goru reached out and gripped the edge of the wooden platform tightly.

He heard the tax collector speaking—just like before, with a priest acting as an interpreter, otherwise the tax collector wouldn't understand them and they wouldn't understand the tax collector either. However, when the tax collector pointed to the pattern drawn on the black wooden board and gestured with his fingers—gesturing with his fingers—even these uneducated serfs could understand what he meant.

One finger represents one, two fingers represent two, and three fingers represent three. When the tax collectors pressed these fingers under the patterns, some of the clever ones among them were able to understand the tax collectors' meaning.

Then the tax collector had someone bring a basket and placed it below the labels indicating the units of measurement for the items. Goru estimated the capacity of the basket with his arm and quickly combined the symbol with his finger. He didn't know multiplication, but he knew addition—adding them one by one. He immediately concluded that the taxes and rent he had to pay would be much less than before.

He stood there, still unwilling to believe it, yet clinging to a sliver of hope, unwilling to leave.

How could this be? How could this be? He stared intently at the gaudy patterns, memorizing them until his eldest son dragged him back to the farmhouse. He continued to calculate in his mind, tossing and turning, unable to find peace all night.

The next morning, he thought he would be too weak to get out of bed. In fact, he was as energetic as if he had eaten three whole bowls of dry wheat porridge, and he took his two sons to do a full day of hard work.

He should have gone back to rest. He hadn't slept well the night before, and if he didn't rest properly the next day or the third, he might fall ill from exhaustion and die. Serfs like him couldn't afford to hire a priest to treat them. But he found himself back in front of the chapel, and the black wooden board hadn't been taken away.

Perhaps because two soldiers were always guarding the area, they not only prevented anyone from taking the plank away, but also stayed by the side, not allowing anyone to approach or touch these things.

Goru stood there for a long time, but eventually his desire for tax cuts outweighed his fear of the soldiers and officials, and he timidly stepped forward and asked, "What is this?"

"This belongs to the master." The soldier's answer was completely irrelevant, and he had already raised his stick. Goru could only back away, but he still didn't want to leave immediately, and instead stared blankly at the spot.

His strange behavior quickly attracted the attention of the people in the chapel. The new tax collector was a Venetian, very young, only a few months older than Goru's eldest son, and still possessed some pure kindness and curiosity.

Seeing the rude serf loitering around the wooden table like a hungry dog ​​circling under the table, he couldn't help but ask, "Who is this? Why is he always wandering around here?"

The priest, enjoying a glass of wine, replied without looking up, "I'll have the soldiers drive him away. What else can they do? They're probably eyeing that plank you brought." To be honest, that plank was quite nice; if it were placed on his bed, it probably wouldn't creak so much.

"Why do I feel like he wasn't after that plank of wood?"

"If it's not for that plank, what else could it be for? For those numbers you brought?" the priest said with amusement. He was also learning numbers from this tax collector, a requirement put forward by their new lord.

Although their new lord was a Crusader knight, he was willing to make things easy for his officials, considering that the priest had managed to control the unruly Franks and prevent them from running rampant on the island, plundering, raping, and even slaughtering. After all, he didn't want them to perform Roman Catholic rituals, make the sign of the cross, or eat communion in their way; learning some numbers was no big deal.

Although switching from decimal to duodecimal felt a bit inconvenient, he was fortunate to still have his hands. When he realized he was unconsciously using duodecimal, he raised his hands to remind himself—"One, two, three, oh, and add a zero." He gestured with his hands and muttered to himself. The Venetian turned to look outside and, in the torchlight, saw that the serf seemed to be making the same gesture.

"Let's call him in."

Even now, he still hasn't figured out how to teach these serfs to count. Do they have the time? The energy? The brains?

The ancient Romans once referred to slaves as talking furniture, or bipedal oxen and horses. These serfs were viewed in the same light by their lords, who found their new masters somewhat delusional.

When the serf was brought in, the Venetians' interest immediately waned considerably.

He looked no different from any other serf, his face ashen, his legs trembling, and he knelt on the ground as soon as he saw them, as if he might faint from fright at any moment.

"What are you doing?" the Venetian asked. "Do you want that plank?"

“No, no, no,” Goru immediately denied, though he did want to. “I just want to make sure that we really only have to pay that little tax.”

The Venetian frowned. He was utterly fed up with the serfs' constant questioning. In his opinion, it would be better to let them go back to work. He could come again when it was time to pay taxes and supervise them to pay according to the new tax law. Why make them count and calculate themselves?

"So... I need to pay twelve baskets of grapes... fifty planks of wood, thirty feet of fencing, and three buckets of goat's milk, and two buckets of wheat, or peas..."

Goru cautiously recited the figures he had arrived at. At first, neither the tax collector nor the priest paid any attention. But gradually, the tax collector's eyes widened first, and then the priest was so surprised that he dropped the twig he had been holding—he had been sliding around on the sand table.

As a priest in this area, responsible for collecting tithes for the church, he was naturally well aware of the situation in every serf household.

He knew everything about him: how many houses he owned, how many livestock he had, how much land he owned, how many children he had… The Venetian cast a questioning look at him, “Did he say something wrong?”

No, for later generations it was just the simplest addition and subtraction, and it wasn't difficult for the priests, merchants and nobles of that time either, but it was truly astonishing that it came from the mouth of a serf who had never received any education.

How did you figure that out?

“Counting on your fingers, sir, didn’t you say ten would be a dozen?”

“Not a dozen, never mind,” this was obviously a wrong way of putting it, but to have this understanding was already quite good. The Venetian immediately became interested. “You’ve already been able to connect the number with what it represents?”

Goru stared in disbelief, completely bewildered by what he was saying.

At this point, the Venetian realized that he had made a foolish mistake. How could the other party understand what digital technology was?
However, Goru did understand that the words the master wrote on the black board represented fingers; one pattern represented one finger, another pattern represented two fingers, and so on.

“This is fascinating,” the Venetian said with great interest. “Sit down, I have other questions for you.” Such things were happening in more and more cities and villages. Serfs like Goru, who were naturally gifted with a great sensitivity to numbers, were still a minority. But as the saying goes, the best way to learn something is to be interested in it, and what serf wouldn't care how much tax he would have to pay?

They practically chewed on numbers and number systems, and held them tightly in their hands. When they looked out, they didn't see a few strange lines, but a bright future.

Although the new officials repeatedly reiterated that those miscellaneous taxes would only be suspended for one year, and were only temporarily provided for them to recuperate, and would be collected again next year, so what?
For these people who always feel like they have a noose around their necks, let alone a year, even a month or a day, as long as they have a little time to catch their breath, they can get through it. Compared to working like cattle in the fields with a noose around their necks, how much more difficult is it to just learn and become familiar with new numbers and number systems?

Moreover, this method of calculation is indeed more convenient than the original binary system, and they are not businessmen; they don't need many things to be divisible in their lives.

Using the decimal system, they could stretch out their hands or toes anytime, anywhere. Within two months, some clever serfs had learned to use one or two hands to represent five and ten. And their seemingly inflexible minds only needed to remember that whatever they encountered, they would move forward one step when they reached ten.

Moreover, this method of counting allowed them to avoid being tricked by officials, merchants, and even craftsmen, even though some people still insisted on the duodecimal system—especially the Isaacs who had been using it to fool Christians.

But the farmers have learned to fight back.

The Isaacs could use their clever minds to oppress them, and they could also use the new lord to intimidate the Isaacs. They even dared to openly say that the new lord was on their side; otherwise, why wouldn't he use these Isaacs as tax collectors, and why would he refuse to use the previous numbers and calculation methods?

------

"Do you know that someone is already praying for you?" Dandolo asked.

Cesar simply nodded calmly.

Here, neither those in power nor those of lowly status would take the commoners, serfs, and slaves seriously. Indeed, even the serfs themselves did not consider themselves to be of much importance.

When César proposed tax cuts, some people even thought he was a bit strange. They were convinced that his move would not please anyone, and that he was dealing with a group of orthodox church members, not Christians.

César never defended himself; he would even joke that if you would give me a piece of Frankish land, I would also pity the Christian farmers on it.

Of course, no one would give him a territory to test whether he could treat Christians and non-Christians equally, but under the mediation of Patriarch Heraclius, the matter was quickly defined as a good deed performed by Cesare on behalf of God under the inspiration of a saint—and that was the end of it.

Regardless, Cesar was still a Crusader knight and a warrior of the Roman Catholic Church. The Roman Catholic Church would certainly share in any penance he performed and the merits he gained. In any case, the priests should not interfere or make unwarranted accusations.

Needless to say, Cesar will soon be engaged in an even greater act of good.

Soon, Cesar would also lead his knights to perform his service—King Baldwin IV of Arrassa had already decided to launch an expedition to Damascus on June 24, the birthday of St. John the Baptist.

All knights and servants must come to Arazarus before Lent to hear his summons and instructions.

For the knights, it was certainly a good thing, and even for Cesar, it was an obligation he had to fulfill and an opportunity to earn merit, but for his granddaughter Portia, it was not something to celebrate.

Dandolo glanced worriedly at Portia's still flat stomach. Months ago, people had been watching her belly, trying to find out if she was pregnant. Some were malicious, while others were well-intentioned.

Their lord, though young, was a knight always ready to fight the evil Saracens to the death. Even though everyone said he received more favor than any other knight, even on par with their king, did the knights and kings who died on the battlefield not receive God's blessing? They did, but death is always impartial.

But whether from the perspective of the Venetians, Cypriots, or Crusaders, no one could allow Cesar to remain in Cyprus and live out his later years peacefully like an ordinary mortal.

Everything he has now is due to the war, even what he inherited. But if they had a child, even a girl, Dandolo would be fairly confident that he could save Cyprus in case of emergency. But not having a child would be a problem.

Those eyeing the opportunity might very well try to declare the engagement invalid. But no matter what Dandolo thought, this was precisely the kind of thing he couldn't participate in or plan—he even wanted Cesar to take Portia with him on the expedition, but this expedition was no small matter, and given King Arathal's trust and regard for Cesar, Cesar would inevitably be frequently by his side, making it hard to say how many opportunities he would have to spend the night with Portia.

“You don’t need to worry,” Cesar reassured him. “I will return safely.”

This was not just empty talk; the Damascus they would face on this expedition was no longer the fortified city the Crusaders had encountered during the Second Holy War.

In the preceding years, Damascus had been harassed by several surrounding powers, and the strength of the garrison had been weakened considerably. Also—although siege warfare is always difficult, let’s not forget that Cesar already had a replica of Greek fire.

He wasn't sure if the Greek fire he created had the same power as real Greek fire, but it had proven in the previous campaign to quell the rebellion in Cyprus that it could indeed pose a great threat to wooden city gates, and that the extreme heat it generated could also scorch stone and soil, making the foundation of the city walls brittle and thus quickly destroying them.

“I’m willing to believe you,” Dandolo said, “but are you sure you’re only taking fifty knights with you?” Two-thirds of them were old knights who had served Joseph II, recruited from various places. While one had to admit they were experienced and shrewd, they were indeed at a disadvantage in terms of strength and physical fitness compared to the younger knights.

"If you're short of soldiers, I can provide some."

“If we were attacking Alexandria instead of Damascus this time, I would need some Venetian soldiers.” The Venetian navy could intimidate the entire Mediterranean, but this time they were going to attack Damascus, which was located in the heart of Syria and had no port or coastline. Venetian support would be of little use. On the contrary, those old knights… might have an unexpected effect.

Although they had lost Joseph II and Edessa, they had spent the next decade or so wandering in Syria, fighting the Saracens. They had a good grasp of the situation there, if not an exact understanding. With these old men by their side, the campaign was much more efficient.

"As for the knights..." Cesar believed that Baldwin's forces would not be lacking. Even though this holy war was not called by the Roman Catholic Church, many knights and lords had come here in response to the call of the "Guardians of the Holy Sepulchre" because of Baldwin's two great victories after his accession.

Even Richard wanted to come, but was stopped by Eleanor of Aquitaine. This was not only because Richard had already inherited the title of Duke of Aquitaine, but also because he was busy suppressing the rebellion of the princes of Aquitaine since 1176, following the orders of his father, Henry II, and could not get away from it.

Otherwise, he would have participated in this expedition no matter what.

Richard didn't come, but Marshall did.

William Marshall is in his early thirties, the prime of his life.

His prestige grew steadily after the pilgrimage. Although, according to William Marshall, Henry II did not want him to participate in the expedition, the king was getting old and increasingly felt threatened by his older sons.

He hoped that William Marshall would stay by his side, but unfortunately, Marshall also had his own ideals.

Last time, Richard secretly came here to participate in Amalric I's expedition, but he didn't go. Although Richard was severely criticized by his parents after returning, William Marshall was extremely envious, so he was even less likely to let him go this time.

William remembered the little boy who had fought alongside Richard; he hadn't gone directly to Arrassa Road but had transited through Cyprus.

Today's banquet is to welcome him, or even to bid him farewell—after the banquet, César will go to Arrassa with William early tomorrow morning.

Portia hasn't touched alcohol much for several months now.

César had told her that if she wanted a healthy and strong baby, both mother and father should avoid alcohol consumption while trying to conceive. But today, she had an unusual urge to drink to dispel the lingering sorrow.

Portia usually has a good tolerance for alcohol, but for some reason... perhaps due to her mood, just a small glass of wine made her drowsy and unable to control herself.

When a bard, harp in hand, walked to the center of the hall and began to sing one of Portia’s favorite songs—a song describing her husband and King Arazarus’s great victory over the Saracens—the familiar melody and lyrics did not soothe her agitated mood; instead, they made her inexplicably anxious.

Portia suddenly stood up and threw the golden cup at the bard's feet.

"Stop singing!"

The bard was visibly startled and immediately stopped plucking the strings. The hall fell into a deathly silence as everyone stared in astonishment at Portia.

She stood there, her face flushed and her expression sorrowful; it was clear to everyone that she was not happy to see her husband about to leave.

The bard was a quick-witted man; he immediately stepped forward, picked up the cup, and knelt on the ground to thank the Cypriot hostess for her gift.

Dandolo, who was standing nearby, quickly walked to his granddaughter's side. He was not quite sure how Portia, who was usually calm and rational, could do something so rash. Portia also felt a pang of regret. She pressed her hand to her chest and said to Dandolo, "I'm sorry." Then she turned to look at Cesar, her lips moving slightly.

The thought that this might be their last meeting filled her with overwhelming grief, but before she could utter a single syllable, darkness descended and completely engulfed her.

(End of this chapter)