Comparing the brewery and the textile industry, Wigg decided to invest his limited funds into the forr, leaving the textile industry to private rchants.
After the chaos of war, the wealthy rchants of Londinium had either died or fled, leaving only a few small traders with ager financial resources. Wigg summoned the rchants from the Northern Marches, who were primarily divided into three factions:
The Tyne Wool rchants' Guild, led by the portly gentry, Harry;
The Ponteland rchant Guild, composed of a group of Viking rchants holding equal status within a relatively loose structure;
The Elise rchant Guild, founded by Wigg's mother-in-law, Elise, and currently managed by her son, Hrogeir.
After a few pleasantries, Wigg led this group of old acquaintances into a warehouse, introduced the bizarrely shaped spinning wheel, and personally demonstrated how to spin yarn.
"Watch closely."
Grabbing so fluffy, soft, long wool rovings from a basket, Wigg twisted the wool with sowhat unpracticed hands, rolling out a short section of thick yarn just sturdy enough to hook onto the spindle. He then attached the thread ends to the iron hooks positioned in front of the eight spindles.
Following that, Wigg turned the crank on the right side of the Spinning Jenny with one hand while firmly gripping the wool rovings with the other. As the crank turned, the eight spindles spun rapidly. The wool fibers were twisted tight and drawn out, transforming into sturdy, fine yarn.
"Gentlen, this is the process of spinning wool. It works equally well with flax fibers. What do you think?"
Faced with this era-defining technology, the rchants did not hold back their praise. Their voices filled the entire warehouse, yet not a single substantive promise was made. Everyone was waiting for the King's terms.
Having known each other for years, Harry and the others had watched Wigg ascend step by step from an Earl to proclaiming himself King. They knew perfectly well that this man would never easily take a loss.
Sensing the slight restlessness in the crowd, Wigg did not rush to negotiate terms. Instead, he shifted the topic to the trade between Britain and Flandre.
"For a long ti, the production capacity of the British textile industry has been remarkably low, leaving us with no choice but to export raw wool to Flandre. After the wool is processed into woolen cloth, so of it is sold across the European continent, while the rest is sold right back to Britain. Britain thus loses a massive amount of profit for nothing. It deeply pains . I wonder, what are your thoughts?"
"Your Majesty is right. We have all found Flandre to be an eyesore for a long ti." Harry took the lead, clamoring alongside seven partners. Their indignation held a fair bit of genuine emotion—they truly envied the profits rolling into Flandre. However, since their technology and production output were far inferior to their peers, they were relegated to the exhausting and agerly profitable business of traveling down to the countryside to purchase raw wool.
Noticing the atmosphere needed a further push, Wigg tossed out an even bigger piece of bait.
"Back when I served as Pri Minister, I accessed the customs data. The registered export value of wool and the import value of woolen cloth totaled eight thousand pounds. Because of the abysmal administrative capabilities of the royal family under the Old King, this represents only a tiny fraction. The vast majority of wool and woolen cloth moves between Britain and Flandre through smuggling.
According to my estimates, the annual import value of woolen cloth exceeds thirty thousand pounds. With this new Spinning Jenny, we can snatch at least ten thousand pounds' worth of orders!"
In the early Middle Ages, the textile industry was the most lucrative trade. Now, with raw materials, technology, and a market all readily available, the rchants' hearts grew increasingly restless with excitent.
Relying on his status as a relative, Hrogeir was the first to speak. "Your Majesty, do you intend to borrow money from us to personally engage in the textile industry, or do you have sothing else in mind?"
Wigg possessed limited funds and energy. He proposed that the rchants establish textile factories for centralized production. He would authorize their use of the Spinning Jenny in exchange for twenty percent of their annual sales revenue, which served as a patent licensing fee.
"This machine is right here. Take your ti looking at it. How much you earn will depend entirely on your own abilities."
After signing the agreents, Wigg left the warehouse. If this group of rchants turned out to be completely useless, he would be forced to step in personally when the ti ca, though the price would be exhausting his already scarce energy and neglecting his other administrative duties. Compared to the textile industry, the brewery presented far fewer troubles.
Wigg allocated three hundred pounds to the brewery in Teyne Town and instructed the manager to head to the main keep in Teyne. There, he retrieved blueprints and distillation apparatus from a certain room, then expanded the factory to twice its size to produce distilled spirits according to the outlined procedures.
Long before moving, Heregyth had been privately tinkering in her alchemy laboratory in Teyne, and she had successfully figured out an alcohol recipe perfectly suited for large-scale brewing:
First, allow the barley to sprout, then use peat as fuel to dry the malt, which imparts a distinctly unique smoky flavor to it. After undergoing steps such as milling the malt, mashing, and fernting, a liquid with an alcohol content of around five percent is obtained.
Through a double distillation process to remove impurities, one can obtain a hard liquor with a purity of sixty to seventy percent.
After moving to Londinium, Heregyth distributed ten barrels of samples to the nobles and the Royal Guard, earning unanimous praise from everyone. The drinkers could not stop raving about it, claiming that the liquor packed a serious punch and boasted a taste far superior to beer or ad. They demanded that the King put it into production as soon as possible.
Aside from its value as a beverage, another crucial purpose of distilled liquor lay in dical treatnt. It could drastically lower the rate of wound infection, while simultaneously being used to intoxicate the wounded to serve as a surgical anesthetic.
Upon receiving the decree, the brewery acted according to the King's demands. While hiring a large number of laborers to expand the facilities, the manager also placed an order with the armory, instructing skilled blacksmiths to forge dozens of copper pot stills.
The blacksmiths exchanged bewildered glances. "Bourbon, what in the world is this thing used for?"
"It is His Majesty's decree. He ordered to expand the brewery and use this strange tool to brew a new liquor."
Using the King's na, Bourbon managed to awe the blacksmiths into compliance and quickly obtained thirty copper stills. He cleared an empty space in the old factory and began feeling his way through brewing the new liquor.
Because the Queen's notes and blueprints were incredibly detailed, Bourbon's initial brewing attempt was a resounding success. The taste was undeniably excellent, though the alcohol packed quite a wallop, leading him to wake up the next day with a heavy, throbbing head, feeling as if soone had whacked him with a club.
The reactions of the other drinkers were much the sa. Even though the hangover was miserable, they simply could not resist going back for more the next day, and the day after that. Before they knew it, they had drained the entire first batch of brewed liquor.
Under the circumstance of nearly the entire staff being utterly intoxicated, the Teyne brewery absentmindedly fumbled through brewing a second batch of spirits. The taste was significantly worse, infuriating the manager, Bourbon, to the point of cursing loudly.
"Stop drinking and hurry up with your proper work! If His Majesty finds out, none of us will et a good end!"
Left with no other choice, he changed the criteria for recruiting new employees, deliberately selecting won who disliked drinking to prevent drunkenness from ruining the work.
By May, the brewery was mass-producing the new distilled spirits, transporting them by ship to Londinium for sale.
Upon its launch, this strong liquor nad "Whiskey" garnered widespread attention. Due to the high production costs (five parts of ferntation liquid yielding one part of spirits), the price of each barrel soared to eighty pence, equivalent to a third of the price of wine. Even so, it remained highly sought after by the middle and upper classes of society.
The flourishing brewery greatly alleviated the pressure in Wigg's heart. With southern Britain ravaged by war, he could only rely on the manpower and financial resources of the Northern Marches to rule the kingdom over the past two years.
'Now that the kingdom is not lacking in grain, if the production scale is expanded, earning one or two thousand pounds a year will not be a problem. Phew, we should be able to make it through this year.'
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