Chapter 51: Trading Strands of Hair for Golden Beans

The gold in Margaret’s hand resembled a golden pact with the devil, glittering with an alluring brilliance beneath the sunlight.

The Jewish slaves’ gazes were like cats captivated by a teaser wand, unable to tear themselves away as the gold shifted.

Margaret straightened up, pinching the gold in her hand, extended her boot from beneath her skirt, lifted it slightly, and struck a one-legged balancing pose while keeping one hand behind her back in a posture of ease.

Her intention was exceedingly obvious. Although the Norsemen considered this unacceptable and even deeply insulting, Catholic believers regarded it as a form of solemn oath-taking.

When Rollo, Duke of Normandy, swore allegiance to the King of the Franks, he had been required to kiss the king’s boots. And Francia was the direct successor to the Western Roman Empire, with territories encompassing the seat of the Catholic Pope.

“Mistress, I, Abraham, your hound, swear my allegiance to you. As an extension of your life and limbs, I pledge my loyalty to you! So help me God!” Abraham, the leader of the young Jewish slaves, kissed Margaret’s boot beneath the contemptuous gazes of the two guards, symbolizing respect and obedience to his mistress.

The other Jewish slaves successively dropped to their knees, kissing the instep of her boot and stretching out their hands toward her, evidently not forgetting about the matter of the golden peas.

However, what they received was not gold, but a piece of bread encasing a meat patty.

Naturally, Margaret would not give them gold, for even if she did, they would not thank her; instead, they would thank God and write her off as a fool from the lord’s household.

Nor did she ever expect them to know gratitude or return favors.

The Jewish slaves dazedly raised their heads to look at Margaret, a flash of disappointment crossing their eyes, but they immediately recovered and voraciously devoured the bread in their hands.

“Only this single portion of food is free. If you cannot produce something that interests me, you shall receive no food whatsoever!” Margaret’s meaning was crystal clear: their allegiance was worth no more than a meat-stuffed piece of bread.

“I do not support a group of freeloaders, do you understand?” Margaret reached out and drew a long sword from a guard’s scabbard.

Seeing her suddenly draw her sword, the Jewish slaves involuntarily leaned backward, frantically raising their hands in front of them in fright, as if terrified she might suddenly slaughter them.

Margaret smiled, severed a lock of her hair, and handed a single golden strand to each of them, placing it in their outstretched palms: “Go and prove your earning capacity to me. No stealing, no robbing; bring me items of a certain value before nightfall!”

The Jewish slaves looked at one another in dismay, then nodded. Abraham, however, stared at the strand of hair, his eyes gleaming.

He looked toward the guard: “Sir, I wish to trade this strand of hair from the most noble lady in the territory for the golden meat-stuffed bean in your hand. Surely you wouldn’t refuse, would you?”

The guard stared dumbfounded at the brazen Abraham, then looked uncertainly at Margaret, who wore a peculiar expression as she watched the spectacle unfold.

He looked as though he had swallowed a fly as he handed over the golden bean, accepted her strand of hair from Abraham’s hand, and glared at him with murderous eyes.

Margaret was torn between laughter and tears; she swore that had she not been present, the guard absolutely would have drawn his sword and cut down this shameless scoundrel who had extorted him!

“Mistress, I have completed the task!” Abraham raised the golden bean high overhead in a flattering manner, kneeling on the ground to present it to Margaret.

Instead of taking the golden pea, Margaret removed the ring strung on her necklace, slid it onto her finger, and held out the loose-fitting oath ring before him: “I permit you to become my vassal, Abraham. Your talent has forced me to look at you in a new light!”

Without hesitation, Abraham took Margaret’s hand and kissed the oath ring. He seemed thoroughly acquainted with Norse customs.

“Go and fetch me an arm ring!” Margaret ordered the guards.

Upon seeing this, the other slaves hurriedly stepped forward, approached the remaining guards, and began pushing Margaret’s hair strands using the exact same tactic.

The tall guards clutched their pockets and retreated step by step, looking with utter disgust at the group of ordinarily proportioned Jewish slaves before them.

“Get lost!” The guards were practically ready to flee.

“Sir, this is the hair of the Lady of the Sun itself; it represents the sun and hope...” a Jewish slave said, gazing infatuatedly at the strand of hair, “and it carries a special fragrance!”

“Oh, sir, look how beautiful this hair is, as if it were the most wondrous creation of the Æsir. It is a treasure far more precious than a golden pea... and you can take it away for just a single golden pea!”

“Sir, as a loyal guard, surely you wouldn’t want the lady to think her hair is worth less than a golden pea, thus damaging your reputation in her eyes?”

Who could have imagined that a nation of merchants would manage to extort pirates who made their living by plundering?

The guards’ lips quivered with fury.

Under Margaret’s amused gaze, the guards reluctantly handed over the golden beans she had just bestowed upon them.

“Lady Dutee?” They looked toward her, hoping she would deliver justice.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Margaret laughed heartily; the scene was simply too amusing. The Húskarl knights, invincible on the battlefield, actually had moments where they were brought low.

She had originally intended to offer some compensation to the guards who stared at her with aggrieved expressions, but on second thought, letting them suffer a little setback would serve as a good lesson.

Being taken advantage of so foolishly without the other party spending a dime—if word got out, it would bring shame to her people. Anyone unaware would think she specifically recruited armies composed of fools.

“Bring a few more arm rings, and ensure everyone has one. Now they are servants of the lord’s hall, not slaves!” Margaret smiled, cast a meaningful glance at the guards, and turned to walk away.

Abraham, pinned by the murderous glares of the guards, shivered slightly, then hurriedly hailed his companions and trotted along to keep pace with her.

The guards behind them wanted to trail along, seemingly seeking an opportunity to give them a beating, but one was pulled back by his companion, who shook his head in veto.

Abraham watched the guards who failed to follow and let out a sigh of relief.

“Give them all to me, quickly!” He snatched the golden peas from his companions’ hands and asked her with a fawning expression, “Mistress, these golden peas are dedicated to you! We wish to ask you for a plot of land to serve as our home!”

Margaret’s gaze sharpened. Were they already beginning to develop capitalism within her territory?

The audacity of getting something for nothing, coupled with the astonishing speed at which capitalism was sprouting here, left her somewhat wary.

Should she agree?

Wasn’t this akin to planting a time bomb within her own territory?

Yet if she refused, sooner or later someone would be willing to sell them land and houses in exchange for these golden beans.

What should she do?

After a moment of thought, a thoughtful Margaret grabbed the golden peas from the bowing Abraham’s hand and stuffed them into the inner pocket of her sleeve.

She shook her head.

Amidst Abraham’s disappointed gaze, which showed he thought she had refused, she turned her profile and spoke: “Follow me!”