King Robert neither knew how nor cared to keep track of money. That was his downfall—and it came back to haunt us as well.
Baratheon spent his coin on four main pursuits: whores, supporting his favorites, feasts, and hunts and tourneys.
I have no idea where he found the strength for it all. After all, he wasn't exactly young anymore, yet he tumbled with whores almost every day. And such women cost money. Naturally, he didn't hand the coin to them personally—that was beneath a king. Instead, that burdensome task fell to Littlefinger, who not only supplied Robert with the finest and most skilled women, but also drove the prices up outrageously.
The second thing good King Robert spent money on was his various favorites and drinking companions. At one point, there had been nearly fifty of them living in the castle—men like Jalabhar Xho, the exiled prince of the Summer Isles, or Thoros of Myr, the Red Priest. Robert frequently showered them with expensive gifts and invited them into his chambers, where they drank, feasted, and reminisced about the glory days. It might not seem like much—to gift one man a sword and share a cask of Arbor gold—but when there are several dozen such men, all living in the Red Keep for years, the total sum they drained from the treasury became quite substantial.
Now all those idlers and loafers had scattered. I didn't drive them out—I simply had the Hand and Tyrion inform them that they were now responsible for their own upkeep, and no one would be feeding them any longer. Within a month, we realized just how much they had been siphoning from the treasury.
Robert also loved hunts and feasts, and since the king ate only the finest fare and was famed for his generosity, such banquets—where the most expensive delicacies were served nearly every time—drained simply staggering sums from the treasury.
Well, and finally, there were King Robert's famous tourneys, with their enormous prize purses. Those were something beyond words.
And so, when the Hand, Tyrion, and I put a stop to all of this, the royal treasury began to fill.
That doesn't mean we abandoned everything. After all, a king must, one way or another, reward, support, and bestow his favor upon people. So we cut out only the whores entirely. At least, I did. What Tyrion got up to didn't concern me—for now. All the other expenditures continued to exist, but were now handled far more frugally and with careful thought.
At the recent tourney, for example, we allowed common folk to attend the lists, invited minstrels and performers from the Free Cities, distributed food among them, and rolled out several dozen casks of wine.
That was how we operated.
We also took Littlefinger's network of brothels for ourselves. Serious money flowed through them. And people would have looked at me very askance had I tried to seize it all for myself. I had to share it with certain serious men. It wasn't the cleanest of businesses, and no one was eager to get their hands dirty, so we appointed a hedge knight, Nort Pener, as the chief overseer of all the brothels—a man who had traveled widely and seen much.
He ran the operation together with Tyrion, while Qyburn and the Crown's Guards kept watch over him. The profits were divided evenly among all members of the Small Council. Old Pycelle, however, was pushed away from this lucrative arrangement. Once a week, he was provided with a free whore—and that was the extent of his involvement.
Pycelle, in general, had lost almost all of whatever influence he once possessed—if he had ever truly had any. Now he was simply the Grand Maester, and he wasn't removed from that post only by tradition, as they relinquished it only in death. Nor did we expel him from the Small Council for the same reason—we had no desire to set such a precedent.
Pycelle had a conflict with Archmaester Marwyn the Mage. In theory, Marwyn was supposed to be subordinate to Pycelle and follow his orders. And he did—for the first few days. After that, in response to the old man's senile ramblings, he told him in no uncertain terms where he could go. Pycelle took offense and began writing letters to the Citadel. It was rather amusing.
I had several important conversations—with the Hand, with Tyrion, with members of the Small Council, and with Olenna Tyrell, who had arrived in the capital. It seemed to me that Margaery's grandmother had declined somewhat of late. However, it had not affected her activity in the slightest. She was as sharp and energetic as ever, and this time she was attempting to arrange a marriage between her grandson Willas and Myrcella.
"Hello, sister," I said, embracing Myrcella and kissing her on the cheek. "You look wonderful."
"Thank you, brother," she replied with a sweet smile.
We were in her chambers, located above Margaery's and mine.
Myrcella had arranged everything here beautifully—a bookcase (mostly filled with chivalric romances and songs), a large harp in the corner, a low chaise and armchairs in the center, curtains over the windows, and flowers. Many of the furnishings bore traces of a southern, so-called Dornish style—it clearly appealed to her. And she herself dressed in the fashion of that land—lighter, partially translucent gowns, plenty of silk, and numerous delicate details.
There were also many flowers from all corners of the world. They grew in tubs, stood on shelves and windowsills, or hung from the ceiling. And Myrcella had managed to preserve a sense of harmony—the plants were not too numerous, and the room did not resemble a garden or a park.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
🥳Joining P@treon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰