In late May, the textile workshop invested in by the Tyne Wool Merchants' Guild produced its first batch of woolen cloth.
In Harry's mind, making money was important—but earning the king's favor was even more so.
He followed the king's instructions to the letter, recruiting two hundred workers to establish a fully integrated textile workshop. From washing and carding the wool, to spinning, weaving, and then fulling and cutting, every step was completed in-house.
By contrast, the other two merchant groups chose to outsource part of the process to save on investment costs, at the expense of uneven product quality.
When the three batches were compared side by side, Harry's goods were clearly superior. The only drawback was that high-end dyed fabrics made up a relatively small proportion.
In the British market, indigo blue and yellow cloth were the most common dyed textiles, selling for two to three times the price of undyed fabric. Indigo dye came from locally grown woad, while yellow dye was derived from weld.
Red cloth was dyed using madder, which was expensive and firmly in the luxury category.
Purple dye, however, came from Mediterranean murex snails. The secretions of tens of thousands of snails were needed to extract a single gram of dye. Dyeing one Roman toga required more than two hundred thousand snails. The extravagance of purple textiles was beyond ordinary imagination—only the imperial court of the Eastern Roman Empire could afford them.
When Gunnar had entered Londinium as a conqueror, the purple cloak he wore was the first time most commoners had ever seen purple fabric.
After inspecting each merchant's samples, Vig asked, "How are the profits? Can you further expand production capacity?"
Harry forced a confident smile. "Once this batch sells, I'll immediately buy land near the workshop and expand production. I've also persuaded those two dye masters to take on more apprentices. After some time, output of blue and yellow cloth will increase. As for red cloth and patterned dyed fabrics… well, that may be a bit troublesome."
Vig replied, "No rush. Use mid- and low-end products to seize market share and accumulate enough capital, then move into the high-end market. The academy is developing water-powered spinning and weaving machines. Within two years, they'll enter actual production. With those advanced devices, you're destined to defeat your Flemish competitors."
To further motivate him, Vig offered additional encouragement: all three of Harry's grandsons would be admitted to the Royal Court Academy.
"Work hard. Perhaps one day I'll even ennoble one of them."
Led by Harry's example, the other two merchant guilds also expanded their production. Leonard of Mancuni heard the news and, having spare funds on hand, wrote to Vig to inquire about acquiring the same textile machinery.
A vassal proactively entering the textile industry took Vig by surprise. He directly granted Leonard the right to use the Jenny spinning machine, with only one requirement: an annual patent fee.
Encouraged by the king, Britain's textile capacity surged. Large-scale workshops sprang up in Tyne Town, York, Mancuni, and Londinium. Word of this trend soon reached Flanders, triggering anxiety among those in the trade.
In early August, an envoy from Bruges arrived in Londinium.
Nearly a year after the war, the city had still not recovered its vitality. Observing the number of ships in the harbor and the sparse foot traffic, the envoy estimated the population at only three thousand.
After entering the city, he visited several textile workshops. The factories were still under construction. Enduring clouds of dust, he searched in vain for the rumored mysterious machinery, emerging only filthy and frustrated.
Left with no choice, he proceeded to the royal palace, where large numbers of laborers were busy building stone walls. He stood at the gate for half a minute before a guard assumed he was looking for work and pointed him toward a burly foreman.
"You misunderstand," the envoy said. "I am an envoy from Bruges, requesting an audience with the king."
"Bruges?" The guard looked puzzled. "Is that a country?"
"Bruges isn't a country—it's a city in Flanders, under West Francia."
"I see." After hearing the explanation, the guard reported it. Shortly afterward, the envoy was escorted inside the palace.
After a search and a long wait, he was led into a second-floor office. Inside, a man dressed in black was processing a pile of documents at his desk. Beside his left hand lay a calculating device known as an abacus, which he flicked occasionally.
"Sir, may I ask where the king is?" the envoy asked.
The man set down his pen and replied in fluent Latin, "I am Vig of Tynefort. Speak quickly—don't delay those waiting after you."
The envoy was momentarily taken aback, then composed himself and asked on behalf of Bruges' textile guilds, "Your Majesty, there are rumors that you use magic to create a machine that spins thread automatically. Is this true?"
With literacy rates low in the Middle Ages, people tended to mystify the unknown. Vig, exasperated, answered bluntly:
"Yes, such machines exist. And those textile workshops will only increase, not decrease. Any other questions?"
Facing such frankness, the envoy had nothing more to say. This pagan king was clearly determined to make a fortune, and no one could stop him.
Over the following week, envoys from Ghent and Antwerp arrived in succession, hoping the king would rescind his orders and respect the long-established market order. All were promptly expelled by Vig.
"Order? Rules?" he scoffed. "As king, why should I follow your rules?"
Britain's development of a textile industry was bound to harm Flemish interests. The conflict between the two sides was irreconcilable. Vig had no patience to placate these envoys and continued encouraging domestic textile expansion.
At the current pace, once water-powered spinning and weaving machines were deployed, textile production would satisfy domestic demand within five years.
"Britain has over two million people. Add the markets of Northern and Eastern Europe—that's enough. Even if the Franks blockade us, it won't matter."
At that moment, an aide delivering documents overheard the king's muttering and suddenly had an idea.
"Your Majesty, surplus textiles would sell well in Iberia. It's far wealthier, with far greater purchasing power than the poor farmers of Northern and Eastern Europe."
"Iberia?"
Vig tapped the desk with his left index finger, intrigued. The problem was that years of turmoil had driven away Londinium's Berber merchants; they wouldn't be returning anytime soon.
The aide continued, "Why not have the navy open trade routes proactively? Over a decade ago, Björn led a few longships deep into the Mediterranean. Now we have two-masted square-rigged ships with vastly improved ocean-going capability. Combined with Björn's charts and the maps you've drawn, the mission is entirely feasible."
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