[EDWARD’S POV]
March 29, 1338
As we approached the Borough of Yarmouth, a distinct contrast became apparent within the cityscape. The division was palpable: the left side, closer to the sea, exuded an air of opulence several times greater than its counterpart on the right. This disparity in prosperity seemed pronounced, with the right half constituting around four-fifths of the entire city, overshadowed by the affluence of the left side.
At the convergence of these contrasting halves stood a substantial two-story edifice, spanning an area of at least 10,000 square feet. According to accounts I’ve read about the borough, this imposing structure served as the City Council, where the most influential merchants convened to deliberate and set policies for the borough's governance.
The visual spectacle of this divide mirrored the socioeconomic disparities prevalent within the Borough of Yarmouth. This striking divide hinted at the hierarchy and influence wielded by the wealthier merchants congregating within the City Council, steering the course of the borough's affairs.
Within the following ten minutes, our party arrived at the grand entrance of Great Yarmouth, presenting an ambiance notably more lavish than the gateways of other coastal locales. The towering walls, standing at least thirty feet in height at the entrance and approximately twenty feet along the land fortifications, exuded an imposing presence. The fortified entrance, already constructed with sturdy cement, spoke volumes about the city's fortified defenses.
Recollections flooded my mind as I observed the solid walls, recalling a transaction not too distant in the past. I had sold sixty sacks of cement to the Yarmouth council several months ago, and they had indeed paid a substantial sum for the consignment. Reflecting on the transaction, I realized I might have overcharged them considerably, taking advantage of their apparent affluence. In hindsight, they might have been more economical had they procured the cement from another noble to whom I sold the cement or the coveted "magic sand," as they fondly referred to it.
Undoubtedly, my previous dealings might have left a bitter taste in the mouths of these affluent council members. The mental image of esteemed, elderly men begrudgingly harboring resentment toward a mere fifteen-year-old brought a smirk to my lips. The irony was almost comical.
As our presence was signaled by the unmistakable Plantagenet banners, the guards, clearly pre-informed of our arrival, swiftly initiated the lifting of the gates. With impressive efficiency, the massive gates ascended, accompanied by a show of respect as the guards bowed upon our entry into the city.
Observing the scene, I noticed a guard guiding my contingent toward the left side of the city. Positioned there was a diminutive booth, serving as an entry point leading to the more opulent section of the city. However, our entourage, for obvious reasons, was exempt from this obligatory process, bypassing the booth entirely. This section emanated an air of authority, a palpable display of influence—specifically, the power wielded through wealth, not blood.
As per our arrangements, I directed the rest of our entourage to seek respite at the inn while I, accompanied by Hugh, a member of my Regal Watch, proceeded towards the City Council. The Council's building stood in stark contrast against the coastal skyline, fashioned from cobblestone, rendering it a solemn grey hue. Its two-story structure loomed before us, and an entranceway, standing at a modest seven feet in height, beckoned us in.
Flanking the entrance were twin banners proudly displaying the emblem of House Maris, each hanging prominently upon the front wall. The banners, in their striking display, were designed with a field of deep blue, reminiscent of the boundless sea. Against this vibrant backdrop emerged the emblem—a majestic ship breaching the horizon, its sails unfurled and billowing against the winds of fortune.
The banners, meticulously crafted and strategically displayed, served as a visual testament to the influence and power wielded by House Maris within the city. It was a deliberate proclamation of their maritime prowess and the expansive reach their trade and influence held over the seas.
Entering the building, I traversed through the passageway that led me into a grand hall dominated by a long, imposing table at its center. Seated prominently at its head was a figure who unmistakably embodied importance—Manuel Maris, the esteemed head of Yarmouth’s merchant council. Manuel, a man well into his seventies, bore the marks of time upon his countenance: a balding head framed by a grizzled stubble that adorned his weathered face. His heritage was related to Hispanic origins—a heritage woven through the threads of an intriguing familial history.
His lineage, traced back to his father, a modest English merchant from Kent who engaged in trade with foreign counterparts. It was through these ventures that fate intertwined his father's path with that of the daughter of a wealthy Castilian merchant. Love blossomed between them, culminating in marriage and the birth of Manuel. Upon the passing of the affluent Castilian merchant, Manuel's mother inherited four ships from her brothers, marking a significant turning point in their family's fortunes.
Manuel's father, bolstered by this inheritance of his wife, augmented his fleet, doubling it to eight vessels by the late 1280s. Tragedy struck with his father's passing, thrusting Manuel into the forefront of his father's legacy in his teens. He disregarded his younger brother, assuming control of the family enterprise and relocating it to the then-small village of Yarmouth.
Emboldened by a vision and a resolute determination, Manuel, alongside his trusted companions, embarked on a transformative journey. Yarmouth, a village that previously lay in obscurity and garnered attention solely for tax collection by the royal officials, became Manuel's canvas for change. With meticulous planning and astute strategy, he began fortifying the village, erecting new edifices, and constructing a flourishing port to amplify their trading endeavors.
By the culmination of the first decade of the fourteenth century, Yarmouth had risen through the ranks, claiming a place among the top port towns in Norfolk. Manuel's unwavering dedication and tireless efforts propelled the village's ascent, and by the close of the subsequent decade, Yarmouth proudly wore the crown of the busiest port along the Eastern Coast. His relentless pursuit of progress and visionary leadership reshaped the landscape of Yarmouth, ushering in an era of prosperity and establishing the groundwork for the city's formidable status in maritime trade.
I engaged my observation skill, focusing my attention on the man before me. What unfolded was a revelation that might have rattled any other individual.
Status:
Name - Manuel Maris
Age - 74
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Title - Shadow Lord of Yarmouth, The Merchant King
Martial - 6
Diplomacy - 16
Intelligence - 15
Reputation - A+
Wealth - £ 217,719
Skills - Networking(Lv. 20 - Max), Financial Literacy(Lv. 16), Oratory(Lv. 12), Leadership(Lv. 11), Management (Lv. 10)
Level - 22 [1877/2200]
The man's abundance of wealth, his impeccable reputation, his exceptional skills, his prestigious titles, and the levels he possessed were staggering. Just months ago, he could have easily rivaled my own wealth, an extraordinary feat for any commoner. Yet, this level of affluence was far beyond ordinary; it rivaled even the King's treasury. His reputation soared, akin to that of Edward III, and his skills comprised a formidable blend crucial for amassing such wealth. However, what truly piqued my curiosity was his title: 'Shadow Lord of Yarmouth.' Partially true, as it seemed he wielded authority akin to a Lord, if not exceeding it.
Surprised and slightly taken aback by these revelations, I quickly composed myself, concealing any hint of astonishment. I swiftly closed the window, my mind racing with thoughts and calculations, carefully strategizing my next steps.
"We've been waiting for you, milord," Manuel greeted, his eyes keenly assessing my every move—an unmistakable sign of both intrigue and diplomacy.
"Please, take a seat," he offered after a brief pause.
Observing that my designated seat was positioned at the side of the table among the other merchants, I decided to disrupt the subtle display of power. With a deliberate gesture, I effortlessly picked up the chair with a single hand, moved to the end of the table, opposite to where Manuel sat, and placed it firmly there. It was a clear defiance against his attempt to assert dominance through seating arrangements.
"Much better," I quipped sarcastically as I settled into the seat directly opposite Manuel, maintaining a steely gaze.
The elderly Maris flashed a smirk, a calculated response that I chose to ignore. Instead, I turned my attention to Hugh, who nodded in acknowledgment and promptly handed me a bundle of parchments. Aware that this unofficial council would consist of thirteen members excluding the reeve for obvious reasons, I distributed the parchments to the nearest merchant, instructing them to keep one and pass the rest along.
"This contains my proposed plans for the coastal strategies of Yarmouth," I announced, reaching for the goblet of wine before continuing. "Take a moment to peruse it."
Sipping on my drink, I keenly observed the reactions of the assembled men. It was a fascinating spectacle, gauging their responses to my proposals in this intriguing setting.
"This is absurd!" erupted one of the merchants, a man nearing thirty and likely a second-generation elite of Yarmouth, having assumed leadership after his father's passing. His protest continued, "You propose stationing part of your fleet on our shores. This encroaches upon our autonomy!"
I responded with a smile, swiftly replacing it with a steely glare. "Autonomy in this city? You benefit from the Kingdom's land for transport, its seas for trade, and its harvests for sustenance. You should be grateful that our control isn't more absolute, given the regular chaos we tolerate from this region."
The young man fell silent, and Manuel Maris interjected, attempting to reason, "I understand your concerns, milord. But wouldn't the presence of battleships near our shores disrupt our trade relations?"
"The golden lions will be visible, rest assured," I countered. "Traders will see a safeguarded city, not potential victims of a sudden French raid."
My reasoning began to sway the tide in my favor. Following intense negotiations, I succeeded in persuading the council to implement most of my proposed policies as the Warden of East Anglia. As a gesture, I offered ten sacks of cement, a seemingly invaluable commodity for them but a negligible cost for me.
I was then transported to my own personal lodging near the Maris family’s manor. The room was as luxurious as my royal chambers back in London. This truly depicted the wealth of the Marises and how they spend it. After all, impressions are very important in the field of money.
Reclining on the bed, I murmured softly, "Status."
Status:
Name - Edward Plantagenet
Age - 15
Title - Heir of Norfolk, Baron of Wymondham, Warden of East Anglia
Martial - 13
Diplomacy - 16
Intelligence - 29
Reputation - A-
Wealth - £ 240,544
Skills - Appraise (Lv. 13), Financial Literacy(Lv. 11), Oratory(Lv. 10), Alchemy(Lv. 3), Leadership(Lv. 7), Management (Lv. 6), Falconry (Lv. 6), Virtual Map (Lv. 4), Amplify (Lv. 2)
Level - 15 [522/1500]
Spare Points - 2
Shop - 88 Pts
A contented smirk spread across my face as I closed off the window. Most aspects of my status held a touch of the extraordinary, but what truly swelled my chest with pride was the extent of my wealth. In that regard, I outpaced old man Maris by miles. But today, in the council, I couldn't help but notice a subtle paleness in his face, a hint that perhaps his days were numbered. Rumors had it that his elder son was a known drinker, and the eldest daughter had eloped with a French Knight long ago. His youngest son, however, seemed to be the one with promise. I had a feeling our paths would cross. Soon.