As the greatest timber merchant of Brindlemark, Oakwyn lived a life much akin to that of the nobility.
In truth, his trade was not confined to Brindlemark alone; he held dealings across many towns nestled in the Thryngard Mountains.
Yet, in the past year, he had spent most of his time within the walls of Brindlemark.
The town's fortunes had waned of late.
Oakwyn had intended to depart within two days, but upon discovering a new delicacy in Brindlemark—a rich barley broth with smoked ham—he sensed a profitable opportunity and chose to linger for a time.
At first light, Oakwyn, attended by his servants, donned his finest garments and proceeded to the hall at leisure.
There, a parchment scroll lay prepared, detailing the state of his finances for the season.
After a careful perusal, Oakwyn's brow creased. His enterprise in Brindlemark had already begun to suffer losses, swifter than he had foreseen.
By his reckoning, each additional day spent in the town would cost him ten silver coins. Though a trifle to a man of his wealth, the sting of squandered gain was vexing.
"Knight Thorold spoke of an event to be held by the new Lord," he murmured. "God grant it comes soon, and brings profit in its wake…"
Oakwyn's mind lingered upon the new delicacy he had heard of in Brindlemark—a rich barley broth—but he was uncertain if he could obtain it. Should he linger ten days or more and fail, the losses would gnaw at him.
"'Tis a vexing matter," he sighed, addressing his servant. "Bid the kitchen prepare some venison. I hunger."
"At once, esteemed master," the servant replied.
Though many in this realm took little note of morning fare, Oakwyn was a merchant of means, and his personal chef could summon a meal at any hour.
Soon, a small cauldron of venison, boiled in salt and little else, was brought before him.
For common folk, salt was treasured, measured with care; for Oakwyn, a liberal hand seasoned the meat. Its richness whetted his appetite.
Unburdened by the presence of others, Oakwyn seized the meat with both hands, tearing into it heartily.
The servant, standing near, could scarce conceal his own longing, swallowing in quiet awe.
"Ah… most satisfying!" Oakwyn exclaimed, belching slightly. The hearty meal cleared his mind and strengthened his resolve.
When the cauldron was emptied, the servant wiped his master's hands and carried away the remnants, reserving the salted broth for the midday meal.
Oakwyn, well-sated, returned to the parchment before him, but was interrupted by a soft rap at the door.
"Master, men from the Lord's hall seek an audience," came the servant's report.
At the mention of the Lord's hall, Oakwyn's eyes gleamed. He rose promptly. "Lead them in at once."
Under the servant's guidance, a young page in simple garb entered the chamber.
"Greetings, Master Oakwyn. By the Lord's command, I am bid to summon thee to the Brindlemark auction on the morrow afternoon. Pray, accept this token of invitation."
The youth's hands trembled slightly as he produced a small wooden plaque, carved with care. One face bore the words "Brindlemark Auction," while the other displayed a rough sketch of the Lord's castle.
Oakwyn lifted the token, turning it in his hand with delight. It confirmed the tidings Knight Thorold had whispered the previous day—an event of great import was to be held, and the auction would follow.
"Tell me, lad," Oakwyn asked, a glint of anticipation in his eyes, "what manner of goods shall be set before us at this auction?"
The page bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Master Oakwyn, but I am not at liberty to speak of the items ere the event itself."
"Ah, a pity," Oakwyn murmured, though it mattered little. As Brindlemark's foremost merchant, respect and precedence would be his when the bidding began.
The page hesitated, then reached into his tunic and drew forth a small leather pouch. "A token from the Lord, Master. He asks that you open it yourself, and advises you to have plenty of gold ready, lest the competition be too strong."
Curiosity aflame, Oakwyn took the pouch.
Opening it, he found a small heap of glistening white crystals. They shone like frozen dew in the morning sun.
He lifted a crystal, tasting it cautiously with the tip of his tongue. A pure, bracing salt, finer and sweeter than any he had known, filled his mouth.
Oakwyn's eyes widened in astonishment.
"By Saint Brindle, this is wondrous!" he exclaimed. This snow-white salt was rare beyond imagining. Should it appear at the auction, Oakwyn knew he would bid freely and eagerly. Every noble in Brindlemark would covet it, and profit would surely follow.
Resolved, he counted his coins, already planning how much he might need to secure such a treasure at the morrow's bidding.
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📜 HISTORY
🔍 FUN FACT!!!
In medieval Europe, silver and gold coins were the main forms of currency. Merchants carefully counted their coins and calculated spending to avoid losses, especially when bidding at auctions for rare goods. Wealthy traders not only profited from their trade but also gained social influence and precedence in their towns.