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Authors: Miles Cameron
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Galle are attacking our coins.’
‘You lie!’ said de Vrailly. He was in full armour – the only armoured man in the room.
Master Pye looked him over carefully. ‘That right pauldron must catch on your mail,’ he observed, after a moment.
De Vrailly paused.
The Queen thought that she had never seen the Gallish knight so utterly taken aback.
De Vrailly cleared his throat. ‘It does,’ he admitted. ‘Master Pye, you cannot attack the honour of the King of Galle in my presence—’
Master Pye didn’t flinch. He looked back at the King. ‘That’s what I hear, Your Grace. It stands to reason – our wool is pushing theirs out the market. They don’t have the kind of laws we do to support our cloth, because small men have no voice there.’ His eyes flicked to the armoured man. ‘So when their crafts fail, their kings must raise money by devaluing the coinage. It is like an attack.’ He raised a hand to forestall the King and de Vrailly too. ‘But our coinage is solid – your father made sure of that. Mmm? So everyone in the Dix Ports trades in our coin and that is our defence. They devalue their coinage, we don’t, and so our trade is strong. So what have they done?’ He took a deep breath, aware that the King was finally listening, ‘They’ve counterfeited our coins but with less bullion. Right? Now they beat us in two ways: they supply their devalued coins for exchange, which makes traders believe our coins are worth less; and they most likely take our true coinage and melt it down.’ He tossed the little, much clipped leopard again. ‘And our coin is old, Your Grace. It’s old and tired, much clipped and so lighter, but still pure silver. They’ve lost some of their value anyway.’ He looked at Master Ailwin. ‘How was that?’
‘It’s brilliant,’ said the King. His voice was no longer bantering, but hard. ‘How much has this hurt us?’
Ailwin shook his head. ‘I think we all thought it was just the events of the spring, at first. But then Master Random started to chart the falling silver content and what we’ve lost from it.’
‘How much?’ asked the King.
‘A hundred thousand leopards,’ said Master Random.
There was silence.
‘All Your Grace’s revenues are down, and when people pay their taxes using these debased coins, we have even less money than we expected.’ Master Ailwin said.
‘Good lord, I’d rather face a charge of trolls,’ complained the King. For a moment he put his face in his hands. ‘What do we do?’
The Lord Mayor looked at the carefully laid-out new armour on the side table. Each piece was mostly finished, but there were no buckles or hinges yet, and in place of decoration there were careful lines in white paint.
‘Cancel the tournament, for starters,’ said the Lord Mayor. ‘It’s going to cost what the war cost, and we don’t have it.’
The Queen put a hand to her throat.
The King looked at Master Pye. ‘Surely we can do better than that,’ he said.
Master Random raised a hand. ‘I hate to see a tourney cancelled,’ he said. ‘Instead, why not reopen the mint and issue new coinage? Strike some copper while we’re at it, and we’ll hold the balances for a while.’ He looked at Master Pye. ‘Pye has the skills to make the dies – I know he does. We could issue copper exactly to size and weight with the Imperial coinage out of Liviapolis, and have the thanks of every merchant and farmer west of the mountains.’
Pye rolled his eyes. ‘I make armour. We need to find a goldsmith.’
Master Random shook his head. ‘No – saving Your Grace, we need a loyal man who is absolutely trustworthy, and that’s you, Master Pye. The King’s friend. Your name behind the coins will—’ He looked sheepish as he realised that he was implying that men might not trust the King.
But the King had leaped to his feet. ‘Well spoken,’ he said. ‘By God, Random, if all my merchants were like you, I’d have a corps of merchant-knights. At
‘You lie!’ said de Vrailly. He was in full armour – the only armoured man in the room.
Master Pye looked him over carefully. ‘That right pauldron must catch on your mail,’ he observed, after a moment.
De Vrailly paused.
The Queen thought that she had never seen the Gallish knight so utterly taken aback.
De Vrailly cleared his throat. ‘It does,’ he admitted. ‘Master Pye, you cannot attack the honour of the King of Galle in my presence—’
Master Pye didn’t flinch. He looked back at the King. ‘That’s what I hear, Your Grace. It stands to reason – our wool is pushing theirs out the market. They don’t have the kind of laws we do to support our cloth, because small men have no voice there.’ His eyes flicked to the armoured man. ‘So when their crafts fail, their kings must raise money by devaluing the coinage. It is like an attack.’ He raised a hand to forestall the King and de Vrailly too. ‘But our coinage is solid – your father made sure of that. Mmm? So everyone in the Dix Ports trades in our coin and that is our defence. They devalue their coinage, we don’t, and so our trade is strong. So what have they done?’ He took a deep breath, aware that the King was finally listening, ‘They’ve counterfeited our coins but with less bullion. Right? Now they beat us in two ways: they supply their devalued coins for exchange, which makes traders believe our coins are worth less; and they most likely take our true coinage and melt it down.’ He tossed the little, much clipped leopard again. ‘And our coin is old, Your Grace. It’s old and tired, much clipped and so lighter, but still pure silver. They’ve lost some of their value anyway.’ He looked at Master Ailwin. ‘How was that?’
‘It’s brilliant,’ said the King. His voice was no longer bantering, but hard. ‘How much has this hurt us?’
Ailwin shook his head. ‘I think we all thought it was just the events of the spring, at first. But then Master Random started to chart the falling silver content and what we’ve lost from it.’
‘How much?’ asked the King.
‘A hundred thousand leopards,’ said Master Random.
There was silence.
‘All Your Grace’s revenues are down, and when people pay their taxes using these debased coins, we have even less money than we expected.’ Master Ailwin said.
‘Good lord, I’d rather face a charge of trolls,’ complained the King. For a moment he put his face in his hands. ‘What do we do?’
The Lord Mayor looked at the carefully laid-out new armour on the side table. Each piece was mostly finished, but there were no buckles or hinges yet, and in place of decoration there were careful lines in white paint.
‘Cancel the tournament, for starters,’ said the Lord Mayor. ‘It’s going to cost what the war cost, and we don’t have it.’
The Queen put a hand to her throat.
The King looked at Master Pye. ‘Surely we can do better than that,’ he said.
Master Random raised a hand. ‘I hate to see a tourney cancelled,’ he said. ‘Instead, why not reopen the mint and issue new coinage? Strike some copper while we’re at it, and we’ll hold the balances for a while.’ He looked at Master Pye. ‘Pye has the skills to make the dies – I know he does. We could issue copper exactly to size and weight with the Imperial coinage out of Liviapolis, and have the thanks of every merchant and farmer west of the mountains.’
Pye rolled his eyes. ‘I make armour. We need to find a goldsmith.’
Master Random shook his head. ‘No – saving Your Grace, we need a loyal man who is absolutely trustworthy, and that’s you, Master Pye. The King’s friend. Your name behind the coins will—’ He looked sheepish as he realised that he was implying that men might not trust the King.
But the King had leaped to his feet. ‘Well spoken,’ he said. ‘By God, Random, if all my merchants were like you, I’d have a corps of merchant-knights. At
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