Chapter 52: Look Further Ahead

Inside the storage room of the lord's hall, Margaret sat gracefully, her eyes reflecting crates of small porcelain bottles.

She picked up a few of the miniature bone china vials, extended her finger to flick them with her fingernail, and handed them over to Abraham and his companions.

"These are what you will primarily sell in the future, traded for their exact weight in gold!" Margaret demonstrated their use.

A rich, clear fragrance emanated from the bottles as she began to outline a grand commercial blueprint for them.

These pieces of porcelain were not merely goods for trade; they were the foundation of her grand conquest plan.

"I will organize a Viking caravan to travel to the Swedish regions and Eastern Europe for trade. The caravan will be protected by soldiers dispatched by myself, in sufficient numbers to ensure we are never attacked.

And you will be responsible for selling these precious commodities, bringing them to every corner of the surrounding lands."

Hearing Margaret's business plan, Abraham's eyes gleamed with excitement as he stared intently at the priceless crates of goods.

Looking hesitant, he offered his own suggestion: "Mistress, if we continue to manufacture perfumes and potions here, the costs will be exorbitant. I suggest we take the formula to the places of sale, handle the distribution ourselves, and continuously ship more gold back."

Margaret did not answer immediately. She merely gazed sharply at Abraham, a faint, ambiguous smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Choosing not to expose his petty desire to acquire the formula, she spoke with implied meaning: "Any commercial endeavor requires the protection of formidable military might and political power; otherwise, it is like a piece of fat meat dropped among a pack of wolves.

Abraham, you must remember, a child in himself commits no crime, but the gold in his hands may well become the reason for his death sentence. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress!" Abraham flattered obsequiously, "To face you is like facing a wise sage; you possess a maturity far beyond your years!"

Margaret paid no mind to the remark; she had no need to conceal anything. Existence was rational in itself, and where things seemed irrational, she would let others invent their own rationalizations.

A rumble from her stomach broke her train of thought. Suddenly remembering, she handed Abraham a silver token: "Use this to go get your meal. The mess hall is right behind the main hall, next to the livestock shed!"

Meals were generally distributed by squad, with the squad leader holding the silver token. Each group could easily distinguish their own, making it obvious if anyone tried to sneak in.

Watching Abraham and the others depart, Margaret sank into deep contemplation.

Of the profits generated by the caravan, she intended to allocate half as rewards for the merchants and the guards to incentivize their hard work.

However, she had no intention of announcing this beforehand. Once told in advance, they would simply consider it their due entitlement.

A favor too great breeds resentment, while a small favor breeds gratitude. She would distribute dividends to these people strictly under the guise of rewards.

The other half would be used for social welfare to consolidate her rule and win the love of the people.

She understood that to make the people support her wars of expansion, she had to stand on the moral high ground.

Therefore, she tied the social welfare funds closely to the safety of the caravan.

Once the caravan went missing in a certain region, she would launch a war of vengeance in the name of social welfare, plunging the people into intense fury and determination.

Her ambition was not limited to commerce and trade—that was secondary; her primary focus lay in territorial expansion.

Margaret clenched her small fist; she was going to build an eternal empire upon which the sun never set.

She yearned to launch wars, expanding her sphere of influence westward to the settlements of the Geats in Swedish territory, or eastward to the settlements of the Livonians and the Curonians.

Yet she knew clearly that to rally popular support for her wars, she had to find a suitable pretext.

After waiting for nearly eight years, the newborn generation of that time had now grown into adulthood.

Margaret could scarcely wait to start a war, but she still needed a pretext—an excuse capable of plunging the populace into an atmosphere of wrath and a desire for retribution.

As long as she scattered enough wealth within her domain, she could drive economic prosperity across the territory.

Once the economy prospered, the living standards of the people would rise, and their support for her would grow all the firmer.

When all of this was stripped away, hatred would be born.

Furthermore, she planned to reclaim the wealth she distributed by developing other industries, such as wool textile manufacturing, brewing and beverage production, bakeries, and blacksmiths' shops.

In this way, she would not only consolidate her rule but also provide a solid economic foundation for her wars of expansion.

Over the next five years, she was resolved to carve out new territories and establish a domain of vast proportions.

By then, she would seek political marriages with the Kingdom of Frankia or the Mercian realms, selecting a few broad-hipped princesses with weak claims to succession for Alexander, thereby expanding the future family lineage.

Filled with confidence, Margaret clapped her hands together. These thoughts made her heart race with exhilaration; power was an addictive drug from which one could never turn back.

Outside the hall, Abraham admiringly turned the silver token over and over in his hands, muttering to himself, "Could this silver token mean we can have unlimited, free food forever?"

He walked along in deep thought, not even reacting when his companion called out to him.

"Abraham, what is wrong with you?"

Roused from his reverie, Abraham stopped and looked at his companions: "I think I've finally understood something—why we have been wandering for thousands of years."

"My brothers, we need the protection of a powerful army!" he said. "We must serve our mistress well, secure lordships and more capital from her in the future, and at the same time locate more of our wandering kin. We need to build an army capable of protecting ourselves."

"Indeed, the mistress was right. Being weak yet wealthy is a sin in itself!" a companion sighed.

"I care nothing for that, but aren't you hungry? I am starving! The food we ate this morning was so fragrant and sweet; I can hardly wait!" another complained.

As they walked and chatted merrily, a group of people suddenly blocked their path ahead.

It was none other than the guards they had previously extorted, weighing wooden clubs in their hands with hostile expressions.

"We've waited so long for you, and finally you show up. Grab them!" shouted the lead guard.

"Run!" Abraham yelled, bolting back toward the direction of the lord's hall, "Run back!"

"Stop them!" came the shout from behind.

Before they had run far, several more figures appeared ahead, blocking their escape route.

Abraham and his companions came to a screeching halt, sweating profusely as they looked at the Huscarle knights closing in from both directions.

"What do you want?"

"What do we want? Heh..." The members of the knightly order grinned maliciously as they raised their wooden cudgels and struck.