When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#137 - Listen up, rednecks.

"Listen up, you bumpkins."

Standing before the bright silver candelabra, the handsome young cleric looked disdainfully at the unclean gathering before him.

Most of the unclean were shabbily dressed, some in their pajamas, with sleep still in the corners of their eyes, and some even bore wounds on their bodies and faces.

Just as Hohn was holding the investiture ceremony amidst great jubilation.

Inside Jeanne d'Arc Castle's Town Hall, an emergency meeting was being convened.

Representatives of various guilds, citizen representatives, and city councilors were all forced to attend.

Soldiers kicked down their doors, forcibly dragged them from their beds, crammed them into carriages, and brought them to the Town Hall.

Here, they did not see the familiar Casti, but rather Duke's newly appointed municipal secretary—Zanderbeck.

The municipal secretary was essentially the Duke's representative within the Town Hall, and his authority far exceeded his apparent position.

Under the guidance of servants, the people took their seats one by one, the light of the lamps shining outwards from the latticed round windows.

This nighttime meeting attracted many nearby citizens who were not yet asleep, and they opened the shutters of their attics, peering towards the Town Hall.

Even the night watch guards on the streets couldn't help but stop and look up in that direction.

The citizens sat at the century-old oak table, beneath a marble vault, and upon a Western-style carpet of yellow and green, woven with the banner of Jeanne d'Arc Castle's Long River.

Upon the six tall columns, statues of six saints or angels stood within their shrines, looking down upon them.

At the head of the long table, Zanderbeck, with a heavy Frankish accent, arrogantly raised his chin:

"I'll say it again, listen up, you bumpkins."

"Starting tomorrow, a war tax will be levied to address potential threats."

"The trade tax is an additional one-sixth levy on every yard of leather goods at customs and an additional one-tenth levy on every gallon of dye."

"The poll tax is 25 dinars per citizen, 10 dinars per armed farmer, and 5 dinars per serf."

"Every window in the city will be taxed 5 dinars, every stove will be taxed an additional 8 dinars, and every vagrant or laborer must pay 2 dinars."

"In addition, all weapon shops in the city will suspend operations, and all weapons will be confiscated to the Duke's castle."

"Blacksmith shops are not allowed to forge any weapons; if any illegal weapons are forged, they will be directly confiscated by the Duke."

It was not until the new municipal secretary spoke these words that those present fully awoke to the reality of the situation.

Twenty dinars per citizen was nothing to a large merchant, but for ordinary citizens, it was an extremely high tax burden.

For large merchants and workshop owners, the leather goods tax and dye tax were like knives stabbing into their hearts.

Not to mention that serfs and vagrants also had to pay taxes, and 2 dinars at that; they couldn't even afford food, where would they get dinars?

"This is unfair!" a citizen representative immediately protested, "We have already paid high commercial taxes and ransom taxes this year!"

"If we have to pay such taxes, we will even have to sell some of our assets."

"We want to protest, we want to strike!" The representatives of the craftsmen's guilds stood up directly.

"Protest marches will incur an additional 2 dinars per person!" Zanderbeck sneered.

"How dare you? I guarantee that if you do this, there won't be a single person at the docks," the citizen representatives threatened.

"Yes, Priest, you can wait and see; even if Jeanne d'Arc herself came, she couldn't summon them, I'm telling you!"

"You can try," Zanderbeck glared at the citizen representative, "Jeanne d'Arc can't summon them, but let's see if swords can!"

"But there was a great flood before, and the roads are damaged. There hasn't been much profit this year, and grain prices have skyrocketed. Where are we going to get this money?"

"Go borrow, go steal, go mortgage, go sell your ass," Zanderbeck said coldly, "I don't care where your money comes from; I only care about collecting taxes."

"Then at least tell us what war this is for!"

"You bunch of fools, can't you see what the situation is in Thousand River Valley now?

The Normans are coming, the Laians are coming, and how Prince Condé treated Small Pond City with his edicts—have you forgotten?

The workshops in Small Pond City have closed, the city councilors have been hanged, the citizens have gone bankrupt, and it will take ten or twenty years to recover."

"We have already paid other taxes, which include the taxes to protect us."

"Then if war comes, who will make up for the shortfall in military spending?" Right hand clenched, Zanderbeck heavily slammed the table, even knocking over the vase on the table.

"If you don't pay the war tax, then I ask you, are you willing to take up spears, provide your own weapons, and follow the Duke to the battlefield?"

Petals crawled across the table with the clear water, following the ancient wood grain and cracks, dripping onto the ground.

The originally noisy council hall fell silent, and whether they were city councilors or guild representatives, they lowered their heads under Zanderbeck's gaze.

"I advise you all, you think today's wealth is earned by yourselves.

But don't forget, without the Duke's military deterrence, you would have been looted countless times by bandits, robber knights, mercenaries, or even the church or nearby nobles.

In my hometown of Flower Hill City, there is a saying, and I give it to you all—if you're being kept, don't talk about freedom and independence!"

"But..."

Seeing that there were still several citizen representatives who were not convinced, Zanderbeck directly tapped the table impatiently: "I don't want to argue with you, arguing with you vulgar commoners is beneath my dignity.

You stay here, think carefully, think about yourselves, I'll give you one night."

Ignoring the citizens' discussions, Zanderbeck walked directly out of the Town Hall's council hall, and two accompanying mercenaries immediately crossed their halberds, blocking the door.

…………

The November wind was colder than usual.

Red maple leaves fell on Hohn's shoulders, emitting a faint fragrance of trees.

Raising his head, Hohn was observing Duke Danner's castle up close for the first time.

It was located next to this small canal, with an artificial platform built up, and the place where the soil was dug around the platform happened to create a moat.

This moat was two or three meters deep and about eight meters wide, with a drawbridge suspended above the river by hinges.

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From here forward, one could also see the gatehouse sandwiched between two towers, with a lattice-like iron gate lifted by hinges, and one could see servants and soldiers running back and forth inside.

Under the blue sky and white clouds, the castle was like a giant beast with its bloody mouth open.

"Lord Hohn."

An attendant whom he had met before trotted over to Hohn from the drawbridge. He first glanced fearfully at Jeanne, who was wearing a mask, and then said in a low voice:

"Your Lordship, the Duke fell into the water yesterday and developed a low fever after being treated by the physician and is bedridden. You should come tomorrow or the day after tomorrow."

Sick?

Hohn suddenly had a headache. Why get sick now of all times?

"Is the Duke really that sick? Can't even see outsiders?"

"Actually, it's not that serious. He took medicine last night and was still able to order an emergency meeting," the attendant said with a helpless smile, "It's just that our mistress is too worried about his condition and won't allow him to mess around."

"Alright."

Anyway, there were still seven days left, so Hohn wasn't in such a hurry.

Mounting his horse, he headed back from the castle.

The roadside trees were still the same, but the atmosphere of Citizen Road was far from what it used to be.

Under the protection of several soldiers, the priests and monks brought by the Duke were knocking on doors from house to house, holding money scales and balances, and recording names on hemp paper with quill pens.

In the attic, citizens or their family members gnashed their teeth and glared at the priests and soldiers transporting the tax money.

Bags of gold and silver coins were packed into cloth bags and wooden boxes, and under the guard of soldiers, they were transported in the direction Hohn had come from—to Jeanne d'Arc Castle.

This morning's decree had still passed; the citizen representatives had no power or force to oppose it.

Rather than tearing each other apart, it was better to preserve some warmth.

The tax collection on Citizen Road was still considered civilized.

In the neighboring artisans' district, the situation was different. Across the canal that ran through Jeanne d'Arc Castle, Hohn could see smoke rising from the other side of the river.

Laborers and artisans had erected fences and mounds of earth at important intersections, trying to block the tax-collecting courtiers.

Soldiers had to raise their shields, because the vagrants would hide on rooftops or in alleys and throw stones, mud, and even steaming feces at them.

But this could not stop the soldiers from breaking down the doors of the houses one by one.

They rushed in, ransacking the houses almost like robbery amidst the cries of the homeowners.

If there were any decent-looking girls or women, they would be groped at best, and at worst, unspeakable things would happen.

Many of the priests, monks, or petty officials hired to collect taxes were bruised and covered in dust.

As soon as they were alone, laborers and vagrants would swarm them, put a bag over their heads, and beat them up.

Fortunately, both the soldiers and the laborers were very restrained and did not cause any deaths.

Perhaps this was a form of protest for the laborers.

Riding his horse, Hohn returned to the camp from within Jeanne d'Arc Castle. Just as he reached the gate, he saw a group of mercenary cavalry galloping away.

Dismounting, a troubled-looking Armand ran from the gate and began to speak to Hohn in a low voice.

"Ah? We have to pay too?"

Hohn's eyes widened.