Legend of Honor from One of Russia's Small North Caucasian Peoples:
Long ago, they say, Water, Wind, Fire, and Honor were friends. But one day they had to part ways temporarily, each going about their own business.
They wondered how they could meet again.
Water said:
— You will find me wherever reeds grow!
Fire said:
— If you come to the smoke, you will always find me there!
Wind whispered:
— Look for me where the leaves of trees rustle!
And only Honor remained silent, lost in thought. Her friends asked her why she was quiet.
— You can part ways and reunite whenever you want, — she replied pensively.— But whoever decides to part with me will never meet me again!
***
Having realised what was happening with the refugees, Victor returned to the caravan and headed towards the countess.
— Your excellency, I must urgently return to my domain, — he informed her as she exited the carriage.
— Well, if it's urgent, go ahead. I'll take care of the girls, — she replied, glancing around distractedly.
— Are you looking for something? — the young man asked, noticing she wasn't really listening.
— I'm famished, where are the servants? — she answered, ignoring him.
— … — The lord truly couldn't understand this lady, since she took nothing seriously.
Hopefully, she'll treat the escort and Linea responsibly.
He doubted whether it was safe to leave the girl with her, but he had no other choice. Linea was too frail, and he suspected rib fractures, as she couldn't draw a deep breath without pain, and trying to move her exacerbated the chest pain. Victor wasn't a physician, and his guesswork gave him little reassurance.
Ultimately, he thanked the countess, took ten soldiers with him, and set off for his holding.
The lord rode all day, switching horses en route, and arrived by nightfall at the border between Selitas and Baltas.
The scene he observed confirmed his worst fears. By then, around two thousand people had already gathered, and according to his calculations, at least five thousand more were on their way. The outlook was bleak.
Surveying the area in the dark, the vicomte located lit torches and soldiers from his domain and spurred his horse straight to them.
As soon as Victor dismounted, a worried Alganis rushed up to him.
— My lord, more people keep arriving, and there have already been several clashes with soldiers. The refugees are too hungry, and there's nothing left for them to lose, — the knight reported.
— Dispatch messengers to Klint and Selitas. Inform them that I'll buy food at five times the regular price, increase shipments of our goods, and also settle payments in iron, — Victor promptly replied.
He had already planned extensively during the journey, but couldn't proceed without getting a clearer view of the overall situation.
Assuming control, much to Alganis's delight, the lord immediately began giving orders.
Fifty soldiers were tasked with hunting in nearby woods, and restrictions were imposed on product sales within the domain. All export-bound foodstuffs would henceforth be purchased from merchants at doubled rates, and freelance merchants were requested to visit other regions to procure additional grains, which they would have done anyway, once news broke that food prices had skyrocketed.
Yet these measures proved insufficient, and another idea came to Victor's mind, offering a way to acquire more gold and goods.
Early the next morning, he assembled merchants who frequented Ironwood Market.
None of them knew exactly why they were being summoned, but all were well-aware of the refugee situation and feared that the local lord might confiscate their wares.
Victor, however, hadn't gone to such lengths improving his reputation among merchants just to sabotage it with a rash decision. Currently positioned in front of the tavern, he awaited the gathering of merchants on the market square.
Shona, unaware of the vicomte's plans, could only watch and wait, like everyone else.
— You all know what's happening at my borderlands, — Victor began. — I realise you have funds and substantial resources, but I offer you a chance to profit from this situation.
Upon hearing talk of money, the square briefly hushed, but when he mentioned potential gains, the murmurs intensified. Hearing such statements from a lord they considered the kingdom's most insightful merchant was akin to hitting the jackpot.
Shortly, an uncertain voice spoke up from the crowd.
— My lord, could we perhaps clarify how you intend to utilise this situation?
Victor recognised Bert, probably the sole merchant bold enough to question him.
— I intend to borrow money and provisions from you, — he announced, silencing the crowd.
No one was foolish enough to lend money to a lord; it was suicidal. There was no way to compel him to repay, and in the worst-case scenario, he might eliminate creditors outright. Nevertheless, Victor quickly elaborated.
— I am prepared to accept loans at interest, secured by official documentation on land ownership endorsed by the church and myself, — he disclosed, awaiting reaction.
This document was not infallible proof, but prior experience indicated that this particular lord honoured his commitments.
— My lord, will we obtain rights to the land? — Bert queried.
Actually, merchants were no longer fixated on monetary returns; instead, they sought assurance that the lord would default on payment, thus allowing them to claim land.
Some already owned homes in Ironwood with modest plots, serving as markers of affluence among merchants, but now greater opportunities presented themselves. These were extensive tracts of land where merchants could hire serfs to labour for them.
Merchandise generated from these lands could be sold directly, circumventing middlemen transactions with noblemen—a veritable goldmine.
Considering that Victor had enacted legislation guaranteeing that grain exports were prioritised for procurement by the lord at market value, merchants anticipated lucrative earnings.
This prospect blinded many to practical considerations, as nowhere else in the kingdom—or possibly the empire itself—existed such favourable conditions as Baltas.
Weighing these factors, Bert stepped forth confidently.
— My lord, I am willing to provide you with a sum of 150 gold coins and twelve carts of grain. How much land will I receive in return? — he asked, sounding more like a buyer than a lender.
— Today I am merely informing you; tomorrow I shall hand the relevant documents to Shona, who will outline your options, — Victor smiled, gesturing to the knights behind him and departing the market.
As he left the square, he could hear merchants buzzing loudly, swarming towards Shona, who was oblivious to unfolding events.
Stunned by the ease with which the issue was resolved, Shona stood amazed. Merchants eagerly handed over their goods, entrusting everything they had for a scrap of paper.
Elsewhere, such documents would be worthless, but not in Baltas. Merchants who'd previously only dreamed of handling hundreds of gold coins could now subsidise such sums thanks to the lord who enabled their success.
Almost all of Bert's proposed sum derived from rapid turnover in Baltas, where he'd constructed a home and daily witnessed growing traffic of merchants entering Ironwood.
Earlier, Bert had laboured for another lord, perpetually overlooked and disregarded by even the lowliest chamberlain. Here, however, the vicomte personally engaged with merchants, answering their queries.
Incidentally, when merchants learned of Victor receiving the title of vicomte, the tavern reverberated with celebration late into the night. Early the next morning, they distributed copper coins to every commoner they met.
Merchants revelled in his ascendance, recognising that his increasing prominence solidified their hold on his lands, promising rising profits.
Free from fear, they indulged in peculiar behaviours unique to this world.
Witnessing new arrivals violate village norms, merchants would step in before guards, explaining permissible actions. Sometimes they even handed over wrongdoers to authorities, preventing harm to the lord's image.
Victor hadn't yet heard reports of such behaviour, but he wouldn't have been surprised, deeming these merchants the most pragmatic and predictable class.
Precisely comprehending their allegiance and potential betrayal, he felt secure interacting with them.
However, he had no time for merchants now. Ever since returning, he hadn't rested, darting across his territory to address multiple crises.
Heading to Eron, the vicomte visited a newly-built mill, where burnt lime was being finely ground, pleased to discover that the consistency matched his expectations perfectly.
An experiment conducted in his absence yielded the precise cement he required, with production proceeding smoothly.
Thrilled by this progress, he shifted focus to immediate concerns, starting with the incoming refugees.
Victor decreed that refugees with families, especially those with children, should be accommodated in locals' homes. Men were deployed to work in logging and freight transport, assigned secondary roles where they couldn't access sensitive information.
Their primary engagement would involve handling finished products or raw materials. Crucially, all workers would remain with their families, forming the core rationale for permitting them employment.
On one hand, Victor assisted them in surviving; on the other, they had much to lose. Although he had no intention of threatening their families, the refugees themselves understood the realities of their world.
Immediately, he needed copious timber for brick and lime kilns. Nonetheless, the influx of migrants was overwhelming, and couriers from Klint and Selitas arrived requesting swift intervention. With these refugees now affecting their territories, they reasonably held Victor accountable.
Preparing to visit a distant village in the west, he was hailed by Alganis.
— Sir, we cannot sustain feeding this multitude; we'll have to turn them away, — the knight reported, visibly perturbed.
Victor paused, locking eyes with his knight.
— Recall when I asked you what makes a knight? — he queried.
— Yes, my lord, but this isn't comparable to that instance, — Alganis responded instantly.
— Then tell me, what constitutes honour? — Victor prompted.
Alganis pondered, aware that his lord never posed rhetorical questions.
Failing to detect a trap, he recited conventional definitions of valour and fealty.
Victor listened attentively.
— Think, Alganis: Will I retain my honour as a lord if I condemn thousands to starvation? — he questioned.
Honour manifests differently: a lord's, a knight's, a craftsman's, a commoner's—and so on ad infinitum.
— Should we evict these people, then revel in future riches, knowing that abundant sustenance could have saved thousands, but we chose to spare ourselves temporary inconvenience by consigning thousands to death? Where, then, lies my honour as a lord? — he quizzed Alganis, continuing:
— Bear in mind, as long as this doesn't imperil our subjects with famine, we will strive to save as many souls as possible. Always remember, suggesting otherwise would dishonour your liege.
Victor ceased speaking, mounted his horse, and galloped southwards to Akiron Village, leaving Alganis to reflect.
Alganis lingered, observing his departing lord, unsure when he'd grown so timorous, contemplating his proposal to abandon multitudes to death.
Indeed, Baltas hadn't experienced even basic food shortages, let alone famine.
Underlying Alganis's suggestion lay historical wisdom: no gentleman would expend personal resources or treasury funds to rescue indigent commoners who might flee the next day without gratitude. Any other aristocrat would prefer fines and bribes over engaging in such futile endeavours.
Victor, however, was an anomaly, viewing his people as his greatest treasure.