Chapter 112: The War Mire
Egger listened patiently to Lord Buckwell's account, finally understanding the primary sources of the trouble—morale and military pay.
Only two issues, yet explaining them was a long story.
When the allied host of over thirty thousand soldiers surged out from the main camp at Robert's command to disperse and besiege the numerous castles and strongholds outside the Vale of Arryn in units of several thousand, a strange situation emerged. No matter which House the castle belonged to, the moment the loyalist army arrived—before they had even found their footing—a flag of surrender was immediately hoisted atop the battlements. When the troops loyal to Robert cautiously entered to inspect, they were left dumbfounded: only a few servants tasked with cleaning and gatekeeping remained inside. Regardless of whether the castle was a central seat or a minor holdfast, every family member of standing had long since packed their valuables and vanished before Robert had even finished marshaling the Crownlands' forces outside King's Landing. By now, they were likely safe deep within the Vale.
Failing to secure valuable loot was one thing—the six kingdoms hadn't gathered here solely for plunder—but without noble captives, there were no ransoms to demand, and more importantly, no hostages to coerce the rebels into surrendering. Robert's plan to exert pressure by picking off outposts had fallen through; if he still refused to compromise, his only option was to storm the Bloody Gate.
If he wished to assault it, however, the difficulties began: as the saying goes, the first whistle inspires courage, the second flags, and the third exhausts. The allied army had been stationed in the fertile fields outside the Gate for anywhere from two weeks to a month. Aside from the first two days where Robert personally directed a few decent assaults, the routine had devolved. The nobles spent their time feasting, visiting relatives, and discussing marriage alliances, while the soldiers spent their days reading novels and little books, or even dueling to pass the time, only taking the field once every six days. Even when it was their turn, they merely charged forward like a training exercise, loosed some arrows to force a few casualties, and immediately sounded the retreat.
After several rounds of this, the flaws in the army's archaic structure and lack of professional training were exposed. Robert did indeed possess immense prestige and charisma, but morale maintained solely by a ruler's personal fame is fleeting. Facing a treacherous pass like the Bloody Gate, if one doesn't strike hard and fast, the soldiers' will to fight drains away like water through a wicker basket.
Had Robert used human-wave tactics from the start without regard for losses, sacrificing thousands or even ten thousand men, he might currently be inside the Eyrie plucking the blossoms of the Vale's maidens. But now, even organizing a proper assault might prove difficult.
...
Morale was only the lesser of the two troubles. Though it had dipped due to the stagnant siege, it hadn't yet collapsed into negative territory. With the finest generals of the six kingdoms gathered here, a way could always be found to bolster it. The other trouble was far more pragmatic: military pay.
In this era of Westeros, joining an army when a lord issues a summons is considered a form of corvée labor that the smallfolk owe. The rewards for those who respond primarily come from battlefield loot, the lord's bounty after victory, tax exemptions for the year, or promotions and titles for those who distinguish themselves.
Aside from personal men-at-arms and standing guards, the majority of peasant levies called up during wartime receive no wages. A wealthier lord might provide equipment; a poorer one, like those in the North, might require men to bring their own weapons. These peasants fight for the nobility, essentially selling their lives for free until the day they win!
Existence implies logic. This seemingly irrational levy system works because it has limits: defensive operations for home and hearth within the lord's own territory and for a limited duration can be conducted without pay. This time, the armies of the six kingdoms had left their homes to travel to the Vale for King Robert and Lord Arryn. Not only did the lords have to bear the costs of travel and transport, but once the time limit expired, they had to start paying wages!
Depending on local customs and traditions, the limit for these levies ranged from forty to sixty days. Egger, busy all day promoting Night's Watch industries, hadn't noticed the passage of time, but the war had already dragged past its deadline. Lords from every region were about to start fretting over payroll!
And this was the reason Robert had sent Littlefinger ahead to the Iron Bank to borrow money—not only would the soldiers the King personally levied from King's Landing demand coin, but legally, the Great Houses had the right to demand reimbursement from the King for the wages paid to their soldiers past the deadline!
"The Master of Coin has defected?"
"Defected might not be the right word. Petyr vanished the moment he stepped off the ship in Braavos, and he didn't take the loan from the Iron Bank with him... at most, it's a flight to avoid prosecution." The old Earl sighed. "This is a mess. It's not just about failing to get the loan; I've heard the Iron Bank is preparing to send investigators to King's Landing to audit the Iron Throne's finances."
That Littlefinger wouldn't dare touch the Iron Bank's wealth was exactly what Egger expected. The rulers of Braavos deliberately spread the terrifying reputation of the Faceless Men for precisely these critical moments. He shrugged. "If I were the Iron Bank and a client's house was in this much of a mess, I'd be nervous too."
"There's more. Littlefinger's flight is a confession of guilt. It tells the world that Lysa Tully was indeed his accomplice in murdering the old Lord Arryn... Now, even our allied host is caught between a rock and a hard place."
Egger nodded thoughtfully. "A mess indeed. If it were me, I would choose to accept the terms of the Bronze Alliance and secure an honorable ceasefire."
"But His Majesty is not you," the old Earl said with a wry smile.
Egger laughed as well. He could almost imagine Robert's explosive rage during a war council. Such a blatant slap in the face would likely make the most hot-headed man in Westeros lose his sanity entirely. Now, Robert would be even less likely to accept a compromise. "But there truly is no money. He can't force the Great Houses to keep men here against their will—the rules of the game don't allow it."
"They certainly don't. Robb Stark... I don't know if you've met him, the Hand's son, has already stated in the council that he intends to dismiss a portion of the poorly trained levies to go home for the harvest, while he leads the remaining knights and elite household troops to continue the fight."
At the end of the day, it was a problem of productivity—a society of this era cannot support 1% of its prime male population being away from the fields indefinitely. Reality was cold; even in a world with magic, the basic laws of survival must be obeyed.
...
"The Starks are not only great heroes in Robert's eyes, but they didn't take much for themselves after the King overthrew the Targaryens. Robert has no reason to force a family of such merit to do his drudgery," Egger realized, vaguely sensing the dilemma Lord Buckwell faced: the treatment for heroes and those seeking redemption is vastly different.
"Exactly. The Starks and Tullys are the King's staunch allies; he cannot force them to stay and sell their lives for nothing." The old man's brow was furrowed deep. "The Tullys are one thing—Lady Lysa, trapped in the Eyrie, is their own kin; at the very least, they'll leave ten thousand men to hold the line. But the Starks? If they leave five thousand, it's a testament to their loyalty. In the North, if you miss the harvest window, people die."
"Let me take a guess—the Stormlands' army will probably shrink by half, though since they are the King's own kin, the elites won't leave. The Lannisters are the King's in-laws and don't lack for coin, so they'll likely hold their positions, though the cost of the wages will certainly be added to the tab His Majesty owes Lord Tywin." Egger's mind, which hadn't found much use during the duel, began to whirl, analyzing the situation on the fly. "The only ones who might just pack up and leave are the Dornish. House Martell has always been indifferent to the Iron Throne. They came out of legal obligation, but if the deadline passes and the King can't pay, they'll likely head home in a few days. As for House Tyrell... they are trying everything to crawl into the center of power in King's Landing; they certainly won't give up this chance to show off. Seven Hells... I finally understand why the Reach has such a massive population yet Highgarden only sent five thousand elites. Because that way, they can perform a song of loyalty under the King's nose indefinitely without paying too much in wages!"
The rules of the game were simple and brutal: the King calls for war; if you don't go, it's treason. But once the time is up, staying is loyalty, while going home to farm is perfectly legal. The King can hold a grudge and make your life difficult, but he cannot use it as a pretext for legal action! The problem was: only Dorne didn't care about Robert's grudges!
The North brought ten thousand, then sent five thousand home halfway through; Robert might not say it, but he'd feel slighted. Yet Highgarden brought only five thousand and stayed until the very end; they might win the King's favor. What a calculation! Human nature is a strange thing; Egger just didn't know if the Tyrells had stumbled into this or if they were truly that precise.
"You're exactly right, except you missed those of us from the Crownlands," Lord Buckwell nodded in agreement. "We not only chose the wrong side during the Rebellion, but we are also directly governed by the Iron Throne. This is our chance to redeem ourselves and show loyalty. Not only do we not dare to leave, but we don't even dare to ask the King to reimburse the wages!"
...
Disaster. If he hadn't been standing in front of Yoren and the Earl, Egger would have slapped his own thigh. He suddenly realized that this rebellion had spun out of control due to Robert's absurd behavior. Now, the outcome was no longer irrelevant to his interests!
"How long can the coffers of Antlers hold out?"
"Fortunately, House Tyrell is covering the provisions, which lightens the load. I've crunched the numbers; we can last a month without issue. If I sell off some family assets, two months is the limit. Beyond that, forget about the investment I promised you; my own family would be borrowing money just to eat."
A mess, a total mess. Among the clients Egger had already secured, many were nobles from the Reach and the Crownlands. If the armies of these two regions burned their own gold to stay in the field just to avoid offending Robert, the countless coins meant for investment in Night's Watch industries would vanish into the war mire. The money wouldn't disappear, but trying to pry it back from the hands of common soldiers would be nearly impossible.
For an entrepreneur and a businessman, this was an intolerable loss!
Egger drew a sharp breath, the air hissing through his teeth. After thinking for a moment, he clenched his fist: your seat dictates your head. For the sake of his interests, he had to intervene.
"I have an idea, my lord. If you present it to the King at the next war council, it might end this war quickly and minimize the losses."
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