But even without coal, a charcoal-fired refractory oven would do a decent enough job, and the Harclay lands were close enough to the Wolfswood to make creating charcoal convenient enough.
"This is good. Very good," I told him, setting the rock down on the table. "The red bands in the rock? That's good iron ore."
"Iron?" Carrew asked. "Doesn't that come from bogs?"
I nodded. The most common source of pre-industrial iron had been bog iron, a rust-red or orange sediment formed from iron-rich spring water being exposed to air and to certain bacteria. It was easy to find, since it left rust red or orange streaks on the shores of streams, and easy to harvest. It was even rather easy to smelt. The banded iron deposits were basically the same thing, just much older and capable of being mined in much larger quantities.
"Aye, though it also can be found in rocks like these," I told him. "Also, it can be found in lodestone deposits."
"Hmm," he grunted. "So, we have iron in our lands?"
"You do," Ned answered. "House Stark is very interested in these deposits."
"Aye, I suppose you would be," Lord Harclay neutrallu replied. "What do you have in mind?"
"We want to partner with Clan Harclay," Ned replied. "This is your land, of course, but House Stark is interested in the development of mines and smelters on your lands, as well as the purchase of the iron it produces."
Lord Harclay leaned back in his chair and picked his teeth with a bone toothpick for a minute. "I'm interested," he eventually replied. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
It took a fair bit of negotiation, but House Stark would fund the creation of the mine, the establishment of a few logging camps and charcoal burners, and the building of a few smelting ovens with a water wheel powered bellows system. House Stark would be owed one part in ten of the revenue (not the profits; Ned was clear on that) for a period of 10 years. While we wouldn't get a discount on the ingots it produced, a portion of what we spent on that would come back to us either way. And, Clan Harclay got a significant source of income, and a stronger sense of loyalty to House Stark.
All in all, while we could have pushed for a greater share of the income, I felt (and Ned reluctantly agreed) that having an easy source of good iron close to Winterfell was more important than more coin. Besides, between our share of the revenue and the increased tax revenue from Clan Harclay, this investment would pay off in the long run anyway. And, it meant we were less reliant on the South for iron ingots.
Though given the bog iron that came north from the Neck, House Reed might be a bit cross with us.
'Ill have to talk to them to see if they have rice,' I decided. 'The Neck could make excellent rice paddies…'
Ned and I were going over the numbers with the assistance of Cregan ("Call me Clay") Snow. With Vayon gone to oversee his own holdings, he had recommended this young man as a replacement steward. Clay was a bastard of House Condon, a Masterly house with a small holdfast that was vassal to House Cerwyn, our nearest neighbors. Clay had joined the Winterfell household guard after serving in Robert's Rebellion, and had taken to assisting Vayon and the kitchen staff when needed. When our former steward had found out that Clay could read and write and was proficient in sums, he had taken the lad under his wing first as an assistant, and later training him up as a replacement.
Clay wasn't quite as astute as Vayon was, but he was competent enough.
"The harvests are looking excellent this year," I commented. "Tax revenue is half again as high as last year, and we're not done counting it all yet."
"Aye, it's been a good year," Ned agreed.
"Clay, do you think we'll have a surplus this year?" I asked.
"I don't think so, milady," he replied. "With the new smallfolk from the South, we had to open up the larders to support them. I think, though, if we import our usual amounts, we'll be able to make up for the deficit."
"And next year?" I pressed, testing him.
"... Maybe," he replied noncommittally. "It all depends on the harvest. If it's as good as this year's, and more farmers get your reapers and seed drills, then we might actually have a surplus of grain. We might still have to import other crops, though; vegetables and the like, to supplement what our farmers can grow. If the harvest is poor, we will still be better off than previous years with a poor harvest."
"Hmm. If that's the case, how much coin should we set aside to buy food from the South?"
"Per House Stark's words? About five thousand gold dragons."
"That's as much as we spend on food after a poor harvest or during a winter," Ned pointed out.
"And yet we still have space in the larders and granaries," he countered. "If preparing for a winter is always House Stark's goal, then we should take advantage of this possible surplus to get ready for a long winter as quickly as we can."
I looked at Ned, who caught my gaze and gave me a small nod. I smiled; Vayon's choice just might work out after all.
"What do ye think, milady?" Mikken, the main blacksmith for Winterfell asked as I examined the sword in my hands.
It was what I would call a longsword in my old life, a two-handed sword that was popular in the late medieval era through the early Renaissance. Later on, in Earth's history, it would be superseded by the smallsword, which would develop into the rapier or the epee of Three Musketeers fame.
In Westeros, this style of sword was called a bastard sword, if only to distinguish it from the greatsword, which was what I would call a claymore. What the Westerosi called a longsword, I would call an arming sword or a Knight's sword. Shortswords were basically shorter and slightly wider versions of an arming sword.
This particular bastard sword had been etched with Old Tongue runes spelling out House Stark's words (courtesy of Maester Luwin and his research in the library). The pommel and crossguard were both shaped into snarling direwolf heads. Tiny chips of amber, fresh from Lord Poole's lands, were embedded in the wolves' eyes. The handle was wrapped in sharkskin leather (courtesy of the Mormonts at my special request) dyed black as night.
All in all, while it wasn't particularly ostentatious, it was a very fine blade, the finest castle steel Mikken could make, forged from the iron mined in Clan Harclay's lands.
"It's perfect," I praised the smith. "I'm sure Benjen will love it."
"Aye," Mikken agreed. "I think the only way it could have been better was if the blade was Valyrian steel."
"Aye," I said with a distracted nod. "I suspect you're right…"
Valyrian steel was a rather… interesting material. When I'd learned of it, Ned was kind enough to let me see Ice, the Stark family blade. At first glance, it looked like Damascus steel, but the rippling pattern was a darker gray against the lighter gray of the rest of the metal. Damascus steel was black against silvery steel. Plus, when I held it, I knew that it was far too light to be any kind of steel.
'Titanium, maybe?' I mused. 'Well, I barely know how to make steel; making titanium would be impossible.'
"Either way, I think Benjen will appreciate his new Solstice gift," I told Mikken. "And I appreciate all the work you put into it."
"It was nothing, milady," he modestly replied.
"Still, I believe a reward is in order," I said and handed him a gold dragon.
"My lady, this is-!"
"A fine reward for a fine blade," I interrupted him. "And a way for me to express my appreciation."
"I… I thank you, my lady," Mikken replied with a deep bow.
'Yes,' I thought to myself as I sheathed the sword and left the smithy. 'A gift twice as grand, huh? I'll do better than that, Benjen!'