I built a manor in the Middle Ages

Chapter 201 Captive
A row of irregularly shaped fences made of birch stumps surrounded a yard. The once tidy ground inside was now covered with foul-smelling mule dung. Amid the warm, pungent panting of the stocky mules, a dozen or so weary men stood or sat crowded around several bubbling earthenware pots. A man with a full beard picked up a brownish-yellow earthenware cup, took a big gulp, and then carelessly wiped the wine off his beard. He loudly discussed whether Lombard or Bavarian women had larger breasts, his unrestrained laughter echoing at the Telf Bridge in the sunset.

Hoffman stroked his almost bald head, gently placed the wine glass on the pine table, and smacked his lips:
"The taste is so-so, but if it can really be stored for six months, it's definitely worth a try."

Hoffman picked up a slice of black bread with his calloused hands. Seeing this, Luke, who was sitting opposite him, gestured to Ryan behind him. Ryan, who had beautiful blond hair, took out a small jar of painted pottery, unscrewed it, and gently scooped out a little butter with a wooden spoon. He then spread it evenly on the bread slice and handed it back to Hoffman.

“You’re getting richer and richer.” Hoffman glanced at Ryan, the handsome and burly young man flanking Luc, making him feel like he was facing a royal guard.

"Just a little bit of butter."

Luc smiled and closed the pottery. "But you, your hair has thinned again after just a few months?"

"Haha." Hoffman laughed awkwardly. "Let's not talk about it, let's not talk about it."

“To be honest, the first time I saw you, you were still hanging out with the poor villagers of Ward. Although you were wearing sleeveless chainmail, you still looked like a down-on-his-luck bandit.” Hoffman’s gaze was unfocused. “But the second time I saw you, you had transformed into a knight of Burgundy.”

"And this time, my friend, you actually told me that you've become a contractor for St. Vincent's Church again! And that you've gotten involved with the Bishop of Macon County!"

He shook his chubby head and sighed sincerely:

"I have never seen a knight improve so quickly."

In Luc's view, he was simply going with the flow; many things had come to fruition naturally. Apart from receiving the knighthood, he didn't have any major feelings about it.

But from Hoffman's perspective, this guy was so lucky it was as if he was blessed by fate!
No. Perhaps it wasn't just luck. Hoffman took a sip of Luc's modified barley beer and thought to himself.

"Maybe."

Luc remained noncommittal, not dwelling on his rise to wealth, but instead picked up a dark, gnarled piece of wood from the greasy table, handed it to Hoffmann, and earnestly said:

"Compared to that, I'm more concerned about what you just said: even if I produce pine resin charcoal, I won't make much money. What exactly is going on?"

Hoffmann returned from Provence, bringing Luc once again a three-pound bonus and a fine mountain horse, which is now tied up in the stable, bothering another well-behaved mare traveling horse.

However, it also brought bad news.
Charcoal is no longer fetching a good price.

Upon hearing Luc's question, Hoffman quickly swallowed his drink.

"I was just about to talk to you about this too."

"First of all, I want to make it clear that I absolutely did not mean to deceive you. In fact, it is perfectly normal that charcoal cannot be sold at a high price. It has simply returned to its rightful place."

"I can sell ten mules of charcoal for ten pounds because I'm quick-witted enough!"

Hoffman flicked the two hairs on his forehead and boasted without a care in the world:

"And I'm brave enough!"

“There is a town in Provence that has been besieged for more than a year. Because it is the center of the war, few caravans dare to go there. Also, because it is besieged, many supplies are scarce, which is why I was able to sell charcoal for silver.”

"But unfortunately, that city was eventually captured. You probably know what happened next: Lombardy and Provence signed a peace treaty."

At this point, Hoffman shrugged and said regretfully, "To be honest, I really didn't want the war to end so soon; it's such a pity."

As soon as he finished speaking, Hoffman suddenly noticed that Ryan was staring at him with hostility.

"I swear in the name of God, I am telling the truth!" Thinking that Luc didn't believe him, he quickly swore an oath.

...Luc frowned and waved to comfort Ryan, whose parents had died in the Provence War.

"Are they not selling in Upper Lorraine?"

"Upper Lorraine is too far, I'm just passing through."

Seeing Luke deep in thought, Hoffman breathed a sigh of relief. He was really worried that Luke would think he was extorting money and break off the cooperation with him in a fit of anger, since such cheap charcoal could not be bought elsewhere.

"Don't be discouraged, my friend. Even if the price returns to normal, the pine resin charcoal you just made can still sell for at least one pfennig per pound. That'll bring you a profit of six hundred pfennigs per trip. An ordinary craftsman only earns one pfennig a day, so this is a pretty good return."

"Besides, there's this too."

Hoffman patted the wine glass in front of him with satisfaction. "This stuff is really good. It can be stored for six months. It's well worth buying for ordinary laborers and even serfs. I think we can continue with the 30/70 split."

Barley and rye cost about the same, so the resulting alcohol was naturally inexpensive, but its advantage lay in its large quantity and abundance. Moreover, medieval serfs rarely drank water, as even clear rivers couldn't withstand the ravages of excrement and garbage. In addition, alcohol could temporarily numb the brain, relieve pain, and treat diseases, making it practically an essential commodity.

"A 30/70 split?"

Luke snapped out of his thoughts and glanced at Hoffman's delighted expression. "Half a pfennig a pound, or five pfennigs off every hundred pounds if you want to buy."

Seeing Hoffman's gradually changing expression, Luc slowly said, "This time I don't want a share of the profits!"

The charcoal profit-sharing was merely a last resort for Luke; the main purpose was to establish connections with the caravans.

But now and in the future, Luc will have more and more products to offer, and obviously selling them directly will fetch a better price.

Of course, if possible, it's best to own your own caravan.

Hoffman opened his mouth and tried several times, but seeing that Luc wouldn't budge, he had no choice but to reluctantly agree.

The two chatted for a while longer, then Hoffman suddenly looked around and said:

"Looks like you're thinking of building a tavern here? Not a bad idea, but aren't you a bit short-staffed?"

The room where the group was located was the prototype of the tavern that Luc planned to build.

The long building could seat twenty people, but that's for later.

Although Luc had reduced the number of disaster victims he envisioned as much as possible, he still overestimated the number.

For two whole months, George only managed to recruit ten people!
"By the way, you're the church contractor, you need craftsmen."

Hoffman tapped the table and said, "If that's the case, I might be able to recommend a good place for you."

“Sir Luke, do you know Sir David of the Baron's Domain? I heard he’s recently selling a batch of prisoners; perhaps you could buy some from him.”

"Prisoners?" Luke asked, puzzled.

"That's right, and the most interesting thing is..."

Hoffman leaned closer and said, "I heard that those people were the same group that escaped from Baron Berry!"

(End of this chapter)