Chapter 16: Waterford
Ireland, Waterford.
Here was nothing like England, and John was completely taken aback. He stood unsteadily on land, surrounded by soldiers who looked green around the gills. The early spring waves were ferocious, causing almost everyone to experience seasickness.
Except for the sailors, who were still chilling.
"Damn, why is this place so rundown?" John stared at the wooden walls, feeling like he had been transported back to the 9th century, the age of Viking ravages.
The ramshackle wooden walls surrounded a cluster of thatched houses, constituting the city of Waterford. The residents of the city also looked like a bunch of country bumpkins, completely different from the posh citizens of England.
In the entire city, there was a stone-built main castle. Looking at its pristine appearance, John had no doubt that it was something from the time of King Henry II.
Really impoverished.
John was starting to regret why he had chosen Ireland as the starting point...
"Your Highness!"
A group of bearded men approached, their hair fiery red, broad foreheads, and noses not as high as the English, clearly of a different ethnicity, and speaking some strange form of French.
"It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness. Your arrival truly illuminates our humble place! I am Martin, a vassal of His Majesty the Great King in Ireland."
The bearded man said some incomprehensible form of reverence, almost making John burst out laughing. But out of respect, John tried to maintain his composure.
"It is a pleasure to be here, Martin. Thank you and your companions for welcoming me, but I'm feeling a bit under the weather."
"I understand, Your Highness. The early spring waves are fiercer than the wildest woman."
Martin's off-color remark caused the royal guards around John to grimace.
Seems like Henry II was also like this.
Like king, like subject.
Martin didn't notice the expressions on their faces and continued, "I will have my men help you settle the soldiers. You just need to come with me to the main castle."
John nodded. His stomach was really upset, making him not want to say another word.
So, Martin led a group of Irishmen to lead the way.
Waterford was indeed different from English cities; many of the people here had traces of mixed blood. The Irish and English were not the same ethnic group; the Irish were descendants of the Celts, often with fiery red hair and a penchant for keeping big beards.
In Waterford, many places retained the appearance from centuries ago. Oxford was a city at the forefront of the times, while here in Waterford, there were still many guards wearing Viking-style armor.
As for the roads here... John had to say, there were simply no roads. And there were quite a few people on the streets here, looking like beggars, ragged and lifeless, walking around the streets and alleys like zombies.
In such a dismal place, John had absolutely no desire to develop it. He wished he could go back in time and punch himself for making the decision to come here. Who would want to come to Ireland if they had the ability?
"This is Old Carteno's blacksmith shop. He's the best blacksmith in our city, but his son just fools around every day, with no intention of inheriting his father's skills," Martin said as they walked, completely oblivious to John's expression.
"Here, His Majesty once took a mistress from this place. Gotta say, that woman was really something, and quite promiscuous."
Hmm, it seemed the Irish had quite a wild temperament.
Pinching his nose, John thought to himself, no wonder these guys were often on the chopping block. Showing such disrespect to the king, who wouldn't want to chop them?
As for the knights behind John, they simply filtered out whatever Martin said. They couldn't stand this kind of mental pollution.
It wasn't until they reached the front of the main castle that Martin became a bit more serious.
"His Majesty led a great army to Ireland back then, and demolished the original main castle, establishing this fortress," William, who was following behind John, spoke first. "Originally, this was just a shabby little mound."
Upon hearing William's words, Martin's face seemed a bit awkward.
Seeing this, John quickly interjected, "I don't know what the situation was here before. I just need it to be good now."
Damn it, how could William speak like that?
John turned around and glared at William, who seemed to realize he had misspoken and lowered his head.
The group fell silent and followed as they entered the main castle. John, accompanied by William and Martin, went upstairs, while the other knights and attendants were each arranged accommodations.
As soon as they entered the room, John turned to face the two men.
"Sigh..."
Seeing John's sigh, both men felt a bit uneasy. They had almost had a conflict just now, and both knew it.
"Your Highness..." Martin decided to break the silence first.
But John stopped him, saying, "You guys know what to do, just don't create any conflicts. I have no other demands."
The two nodded, as if to assure him that they would carry out their tasks.
"Alright, tell me what has been happening here recently," John looked at Martin, "I suppose you're the steward here."
Martin nodded, then said, "Yes, Your Highness. Actually, there hasn't been anything particularly special recently. Mainly, the marauders under King Roderick's command have attacked our territory again, causing quite a few refugees. We're managing fine here, but Dublin is said to be overcrowded."
"So, those poor naked guys on the streets aren't the citizens here?" John was a bit shocked.
"Of course not," Martin said, "Our citizens may be a bit rustic compared to the Normans, but they can still afford clothes."
Ah, I see.
Martin continued, "They've mostly been settled in the north of the city, where there's a slum area for them. We don't really know what to do about it, as the situation here is almost unmanageable."
John stroked his chin, thinking about how to deal with these refugees.
Refugees were a difficult problem to handle, whether in the East or the West. Especially in a place like Ireland, where local agricultural techniques were extremely backward, coupled with limited arable land and very limited food reserves.
Letting the locals solve it themselves would practically mean their death.
John's army brought a lot of supplies, thanks in part to the savvy merchants like Silvio, who, after becoming procurement officers, extorted quite a bit of food.
If some of this military food were distributed to the refugees, it could alleviate the local food crisis.
But John also felt it would be a loss to give it away for free to these refugees.
"Martin, you're familiar with this place. I'm assigning you a task."
Seeing John's serious expression, Martin also became serious.
"Our army lacks laborers, and there are many accompanying personnel. We'll draw from these refugees for manpower, and I'll provide them with food. Then, I want you to help me select some sturdy young men from among them to join my army."
Selecting some sturdy young men to join the army...
Upon hearing these words, Martin couldn't help but shiver, feeling a chill run down his spine. His body trembled slightly. Typically, recruiting inexperienced and impoverished individuals for battle meant sending them to fill trenches. If not trenches, then they were expendable cannon fodder. While this could provide them with food, they were likely to lose their lives in a battle a few days later. Early death or late death, starving or dying in battle, when faced with such a brutal choice, these people would undoubtedly sacrifice their lives for food. Irish people were known for their fierceness and love of fighting, but bravery did not equate to cold-bloodedness. John's decision still sent shivers down Martin's spine as an Irishman. It reminded him of the Norman knights who had come to Ireland to wreak havoc over a decade ago. Yes, even though John was a prince, he still belonged to that ethnicity.
"What are you thinking, Martin?" John furrowed his brow, looking at Martin's changing expression with displeasure. He had given him a task, but this guy didn't give any response, acting like a dead man.
Martin quickly answered when he came to his senses, "Sorry, I zoned out just now. I'll do as you said, Your Highness."
That's more like it.
No one knew that John's soul actually came from the modern world. Even though he had lived in medieval England for some time, his longing for the modern world was ingrained in his soul.
He hoped to take this opportunity to build a different kind of army. John wanted to establish a professional national army loyal to him, without knights or mercenaries.
To build such a force, he first needed people.
These Irish refugees provided enough manpower for John. They surely needed food, and John had it. If they didn't want to starve to death, they had to listen to John.
It could be said that this was an opportunity given to John by fate, and he felt he could give it a try.
"Guillaume, organize the knights into squads and sweep out all the bandits around Waterford, while giving the knights some practice," John continued to arrange.
Guillaume, not knowing about the many plans in their minds, readily agreed, "Yes."
Next, John continued to make some more detailed arrangements, such as which knights were responsible for the patrol operations that day. After arranging everything, John finally took a break.
"What a busy day," John muttered to himself after sending everyone away.
A servant nearby filled a bathtub with hot water and helped John undress, allowing him to enjoy a relaxing bath, washing away the fatigue of the day. Sleepiness quickly overwhelmed him, causing his eyelids to droop.
"So tired..."
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