British hegemon

Chapter 67 Wallace is dead

Jeffrey left Roger with two riding horses and repeatedly instructed him not to cause trouble and not to reveal his identity.

Before leaving, he slipped Roger a note stamped with the Wool Guild's emblem, telling him that if he ever got into trouble, he should say he was a newly recruited member of the Wool Guild by Lord Jeffrey.

In Dublin, announcing Jeffrey's name is more effective than the sword at one's waist.

Under the watchful eyes of the English patrolling soldiers, a full knight's outfit would be inappropriate. So Roger wore a short, tight-fitting tunic made of soft fabric with turned-up cuffs and simple embroidery on the trim. He wore a wide leather belt with studs around his waist, and his exquisite wallet was tied to the belt with a leather cord. He also wore a round hat.

The clothes and bowler hat belonged to Jeffrey's butler, while the belt and wallet were from his cousin Owen. The haphazardly put-together outfit made him look like a small-time merchant, hardly worthy of admiration in the wealthy Dublin.

This is exactly the effect Roger wanted; it perfectly suits his status.

Roger, who was always on the edge of danger, did not forget to tie the silver-inlaid dagger to his left arm in the sleeve of his short robe. It was a knightly gift from Lord Girnando.

A small merchant and his guard strolled down a street in Dublin.

Aside from the inner castle, which Roger found impressive, the streets of Dublin weren't anything special. Being there, Roger felt as if he had returned to a small, less developed county town in later years, except that the streets were narrower, the pedestrians were more crowded, and the environment was dirtier.

I spent half an afternoon wandering around the streets and alleys of Dublin.

The city was very crowded, with narrow and winding streets, and wooden buildings standing one after another, intertwined, with the rooftops on both sides of the street almost touching.

Because the room doesn't get any sunlight, it appears particularly dark.

Every little piece of land here has been put to good use—in the narrow alleyway left between the two adjacent houses, a house half the width of the original building has been constructed, and since the front door almost fills the entire front wall, there are no windows.

When the open spaces were too small to even build the narrowest houses, they would set up stalls to sell light beer, bread, or apples.

As for places where there isn't even enough room for a stall, there will be a stable, a pigsty, a manure pile, or a water bucket.

The city was very noisy, filled with the sounds of artisans' workshops, vendors' cries, people greeting each other, bargaining and arguing, and animals hissing, barking and fighting.

Roger endured it, stopping people around amidst the noise to inquire where there were skilled blacksmiths, carpenters, and weavers...

During this time, he also visited several blacksmith shops, woodworking workshops and leather workshops, guided by passersby, but the more Roger went, the more disheartened he became.

Technical talent in this era is not freely circulated. Guilds have tightly controlled this high-end productive force, so not only can they not take away advanced technical craftsmen, but even apprentice craftsmen like Roger cannot be taken away.

After successfully attracting the attention of the artisan guild, who sent people to follow him with ill intentions, Roger completely abandoned his plan to directly recruit technical talent. Instead, he went in and out of various shops, interacted with merchants from all walks of life, and learned about the market.

In order to keep the merchants patient enough to talk to him, the two saddlebags on the black dog's horse were already full of various goods, and Roger's money bag was mostly emptied of gold coins and silver pennies worth nearly two pounds.

The church outside the city rang its second bell after noon, around 6 p.m.

Roger had finished his tiring market research and, with his black dog, entered a tavern near the city gate.

This is considered a rather "luxurious" tavern, with an architectural style similar to the Moulin Rouge on Arran Island, only with a slightly narrower storefront and more floors.

Since it was a luxury tavern, it was not a place for ordinary citizens to spend money. Most of the people who came in and out were merchants or gentry and nobles who came to Dublin to do business.

Under the drooling gaze of the black dog, Roger rejected several wavy-haired maids. Maids in big cities were naturally prettier than those on Arun Island, but the risks were also much higher.

If he really couldn't hold it in any longer, Roger would rather go back to the Moulin Rouge on Arron Island to resolve it, since business there wasn't very good and the risk was much lower.

Roger found a corner to sit in against the wall and casually ate the bacon and stewed lamb in front of him while listening intently to the merchants from all over exchanging various news in Gaelic, English, French, Latin, and Castilian and Portuguese, which Roger couldn't understand.

A London accent said, "...Did you know? Philip has already supported the ascension of Clement V, the Archbishop of Bordeaux, to the papacy."

A Parisian voice replied, "I already knew that. I heard that the new pope is exceptionally subservient to King Philip. He not only abolished the edicts of rebuke issued by previous popes against the French king, but also gave the French king the tax revenue rights of many church territories within France, and even appointed the French king's designated person as a cardinal."

A man with a Gaelic accent sighed, "It seems we need to be more careful with our dealings with the church in the future. If things continue like this, the King of France might swallow up the church's assets one day."

A bearded man with a London accent chuckled, "Then I can't rush to repay the loan to the Paris church; who knows, the church might disappear one day."

A Latin accent quickly hissed, "Keep your voice down, the church people can't hear you."

The several accents immediately fell silent.

"Oh, and I have some good news for you." The London accent broke the silence again, speaking mysteriously, "Last summer, the King led his army to capture Stirling Castle, and the Scottish nobles surrendered completely in front of Stirling Castle. Earl Robert Carrick died not long after."

"Last August, the traitor and bandit William Wallace was also arrested. It seems that it won't be long before we can buy the wool of the poor in Scotland at low prices."

The man with the mustache scoffed in his London accent, "That's such old news."

"My brother just arrived in Dublin from London at the beginning of the month. I heard that in early August, the traitor Wallace was beheaded in London for treason and the murder of Lord Lanark. His body was cut into pieces to spread far and wide... I reckon his body parts are already scattered all over the place by now." The bearded man described Wallace's execution in such vivid detail that it was as if he had personally witnessed the execution.

"Wasn't that bastard supposed to be exceptionally vicious and cunning? How did he get caught?"

"It's just infighting among the Scottish bastards; apparently, his Scottish accomplices betrayed him."

"Really? It seems Scotland is quickly becoming the next Wales."

Several businessmen began to enthusiastically plan how to make even greater profits in Scotland, which was about to become an English territory.

Roger was also pondering whether the Earl Robert Carrick mentioned by the merchants was the same Robert from later movies. He wasn't sure, but the traitor Wallace they were talking about was definitely the well-known William Wallace.

"After a few months, I've finally found a familiar historical path. Should I try to recruit some of Wallace's old men? Those guys are a vital resource for surviving in this chaotic world," Roger thought to himself. He then dismissed the idea of ​​recruiting former rebels. With his current strength, supporting even a few thugs would be a struggle. He'd think about it later.

The most shrewd intelligence brokers of this era were wandering merchants. Roger wanted to stay a little longer to gather more information, but as night fell, Dublin was about to be under curfew.

Roger led his horse and black dog out of the city gate. There was no curfew in the market town outside the city, and he wanted to experience the nightlife of a medieval metropolis firsthand.