From Tynemouth to the river's mouth was a full day's march—at least twenty kiloters.
"Signal towers every five kiloters. Three in total. If strangers co by river, burn dung-smoke by day, light brushwood by night."
For garrisons, Vig planned four n per tower: three to rotate on eight-hour shifts, the fourth as reserve.
"Twelve n, plus the cost of construction," he muttered from horseback. "We'll divide the expense among the manors and villages. Everyone benefits from early warning—it won't fall on the lord alone."
He summoned the village heads and squires. Thanks to his recent displays of strength, none dared refuse. After brief discussion, they agreed to rotate watch duty. When it ca to life and death, no one quibbled.
"One more thing."
Vig led them to the riverbank, where three water-powered workshops were rising: a fulling mill for woolens, a grain mill, and a sawmill.
"Wool, once sheared, must be carded, spun, and fulled. Fulling ans hours of n trampling cloth in water and clay—a waste of labor. With a water-driven fulling mill, you may bring your cloth here instead."
Fat squire Harry asked, "And the fee?"
"Five percent, at most, based on result."
He had borrowed the figure from grain mills, which took five to eight percent toll. Vig, rciful, fixed both grain toll and fulling fee at five—just enough to earn so bread for himself.
A lunch of fish broth and bread porridge dismissed the eting. Vig poured the rest of his energy into the workshops.
Of the three, the fulling mill was simplest: cloth soaked in water and clay, beaten clean by water-driven hamrs.
The sawmill, by contrast, was most difficult—especially its heart, the long iron saw-blade. Caddell admitted the work was beyond him; only his father could forge such pieces.
"Then fetch him," Vig ordered. "Money's no obstacle. Take a horse, ride fast, and don't delay the other two mills."
Yawning, he left the riverbank—only to be waylaid by the Crow-Speaker.
"Lord, I've chosen land for a temple to the gods. Will you fund the building?"
"Not now." Vig frowned, then asked a question worth pondering. "I've heard in southern Denmark, lords abandon our ways and bow to Ro. Why? Think on it, then co to ."
The seer thought all night, then ca with his answer: writing.
"Our runes cannot record long texts. We rely on mory, words passed mouth to mouth. With each death, wisdom fades. But the Latin priests keep accounts, taxes, histories. Efficient. So lords rely on them. In ti, they bow to their god as well."
"True. But not the whole truth."
Vig paced the hall. "Your rites are too bloody. Always slaughtering beasts—frightens children. Change them. Less mushroom frenzy, less black garb. Dignity, sobriety—that's what you need."
On and on he lectured, until the seer at last promised reform. Vig granted him land, two pounds of silver, and a booklet.
He had simplified the runes himself (borrowing from 21st-century letters). Now he passed the script on.
After twenty days' labor, they produced Runes 1.0, ready for trial.
"Adults have no ti to learn. Take children. Teach them runes and numbers. Stretch that silver. When it's gone, co back."
Vig ant to raise clerks from the ground up. If one day he conquered the Pictish north, he would need officers to govern.
With that settled, he returned to the mills. Caddell's father had sent four saw-blades. Tests showed one blade equaled eight n's labor. The mill could mount three blades—twenty-four n's strength.
"Good. Here's the paynt I promised."
The three mills began operation. Mitcham, the new taxman, tallied costs: seven pounds of silver so far. But if labor were reckoned, true cost was closer to fifteen.
"Seven pounds could buy a broad manor. The mills were dear indeed. May the return co swiftly."
He clapped Caddell's shoulder. "Well done, young man. Have you thought of training apprentices?"
"What?"
The smith's face flushed. Any craftsman knew the saying: teach an apprentice, starve a master. Work was finite; more smiths ant thinner bread. Guilds guarded entry fiercely.
Seeing his anger, Vig realized he'd struck a nerve.
"True enough," he mused. "One smith, one shoemaker, one barber per district. If an apprentice insisted on staying, one of them would go hungry."
So Vig sweetened the deal. "One pound of silver for every apprentice you train."
The number stunned Caddell. At last, grumbling, he said he would think on it.
~~--------------------------
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