Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 32: The Gray Wall Concession and the Anchoring of the Hearth

The rough pine barricades formed an arc in front of the gate, their tips charred black by the fire.

Jack sat on his horse, not looking at the river, his eyes fixed on the caravan with the Paiber flag ahead. His horse swerved to the side, he spurred his legs, and the horse came to a stop.

"Stop. Unbridle the animals, everyone get off."

His voice was hoarse, and he didn't mince words.

Ten crossbowmen behind the crenellations began cranking the winches, the metallic scraping sound making one's teeth ache, arrowheads aimed at the chest of the caravan's foreman, Kaivan. Kaivan was a smart man; he wiped the sweat from his brow and ordered his men to do as he was told. His shoe slipped on a loose stone slab, he sank to his feet, regained his balance, glanced down, and continued on.

"The horses are taken to lime pit number one, their hooves washed clean before they enter. The goods are piled in shed number two, where Lord Pollifer will check the accounts."

After the reputation of white salt spread along the Blue Fork River, merchants and smugglers began to frequent the area. Otto designated an outer trading area a hundred paces outside the gray wall, where all business was conducted. Entry into the gray wall required inspection; those without inspection were not allowed to enter.

Otto stood in the shadow of the stone tower, flipping through the account books. In the square, the people had already been organized into groups of ten, with each team leader in charge of their respective groups, standing in their designated positions, awaiting today's arrangements.

"My lord, the outer workshop has been completed."

Pollifer wiped the sweat from his temples, walked over, and pointed to the last line of the ledger. He unfolded the parchment, found that the wax seal hadn't dried completely, and smeared red clay on his hands. He wiped it on his trousers before speaking.

"This time, the Papper family exchanged three thousand pounds of wrought iron ingots for one hundred and twenty pounds of refined salt from us. The premium was converted into raw lacquer and tung oil, as you said."

"Um."

Otto closed the ledger.

"The wood for the walls needs to be waterproof and fireproof." He paused. "There's one more thing today."

He stepped onto the makeshift wooden platform. Four hundred and fifty people stood below, while thirty-five soldiers surrounded the platform, crossbowmen atop the walls, and infantrymen biting wooden sticks. The sun beat down directly down, and a few of those standing below secretly wiped the sweat from their brows with the backs of their hands, but no one moved.

"Polliv, read the decree."

Pollifer unfolded the parchment, which was sealed with wax bearing the double-headed eagle. He cleared his throat, his voice carrying across the square, a slightly ethereal quality, muffled by the summer heat.

"From this day forward, all those residing within the gray stone walls shall be bound by the Gray Wall Permit. This permit is inscribed on a stone tablet and shall remain unchanged."

He paused for a moment.

"First rule. Within the territory, no one other than a certified soldier may possess a spear, crossbow, or longsword. Disputes among the people shall be reported to the captain, and the lord shall adjudicate them publicly. Anyone who draws a sword for revenge without authorization shall have a finger severed. Anyone who commits murder shall be hanged at the southern boundary marker."

Someone in the audience muttered something under their breath, and the person next to him nudged him with their elbow, and he shut up.

"Secondly. Grain, salt, pig iron, and even a single nail are the lifeblood of this territory. To steal a single grain of stale wheat is punishable by twenty lashes. To steal more than ten pounds of grain is punishable by forfeiture of the right to reside and exile to the wilderness."

"Thirdly, discharging waste upstream of the water intake area is strictly prohibited. Anyone who drinks untreated water, conceals a fever, or dumps filth in undesignated areas will have their entire family's food rations halved. Anyone who causes an outbreak of fever will have their entire family relocated out of the inner fortress."

He finished reading. Pollifer rolled up the parchment, the edges curling up, pressed it down with his thumb, rolled it up, and tucked it under his arm.

Otto took over the conversation.

"Rules are not for punishment. They are for enabling law-abiding people to survive."

There was silence from the audience. Some looked up at him, while others stared at the ground. A child, barely reaching an adult's waist, quietly took a half-step to the side, only to be pressed back down by his mother.

"Among these four hundred and fifty people are women and children who have lost their men, and bachelors who sleep on haystacks. The land does not support idlers, nor does it leave abandoned hearths."

He gestured for Pollifer to turn to another page.

"Polliver, read the first list of fire pit names."

More than thirty men and an equal number of widows and orphans were called to the front of the stage. They stood there, some looking at Otto, others with their heads bowed. One woman wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, then raised her head again and stood up straight.

The old man next to me walked out of the line, stood in front of the stage, and stood still. His feet were a little muddy, so he rubbed them on the ground, but he couldn't get them clean. He just stood there.

"You held off the cavalry and killed the Ironborn before the gray stone walls were closed. The first batch of individual shacks, plus an extra five pounds of salted meat and half a spoonful of fine salt per month, are yours."

The twenty infantrymen in the front row bit their wooden sticks, their chests heaving slightly, but they remained silent.

Then Otto looked at the remaining people.

"Ironhead, you're a quartermaster. You need someone to sew your armor lining and cook porridge for you after the battle." He paused. "Sarah, your man died in the night battle. The territory will support you until next year, but you need someone to fetch water and burn lime for you."

There was no proposal, no ceremony.

"Both sides signed their names on the register, and each territory was designated with a separate room and a hearth. Each month, they received an extra five pounds of salted meat and half a spoonful of salt. In return, the men were to wear armor and climb the walls during sieges, while the women would transport the wounded and deliver food. Protecting your rooftops is protecting your hearths."

Ironhead glanced at Sarah, the gaunt widow beside him. Sarah didn't look at him, but simply pressed her finger into the ink on the parchment. Ironhead thought for a moment, then pressed his finger as well.

Press them down one by one.

The old man took the wooden plaque, examined it over and over for a long time, and then handed it to the old woman next to him. The old woman took the plaque, clutched it tightly, said nothing, and tucked it into her clothes, close to her chest.

A man standing nearby, whose name hadn't been called, watched as others received their wooden badges, then lowered his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. No one around him looked at him.

The earthy smell, the smell of sweat, and the salty smell of someone else all mingled together and floated upwards in the square. Smoke was still rising from the lime kiln, the white smoke mixed with cooking smoke, making it impossible to distinguish them.

---

The evening's events were quickly brought to a close.

Manager Kaiwan left the outer workshop with the freshly prepared salt. He didn't look back as he left, and his steps were slower than when he came. The clattering sound of his feet on the log path didn't stop until he reached the corner.

Otto stepped down from the platform and went into the longhouse, whereupon he had Pollifer transcribe the names he had signed that day into the official register. Pollifer sat under the oil lamp and began transcribing. Halfway through, the wick popped. He looked up at the lamp, the flame had stabilized, and he lowered his head to continue writing.

Newlyweds went to identify their respective cubicles.

Tie Tou walked ahead, with Sarah following behind, neither of them speaking. When they reached the door, Tie Tou pushed it open, glanced inside, stepped back, and let Sarah go in first. Sarah went in, and Tie Tou stood at the door for a while before following her in.

The old man next door stood at the door of his cubicle for a long time, holding a wooden sign. His wife had died two years ago, and he had chosen the orphan girl next door as his partner. The girl was twenty years younger than him, and she kept her head down and didn't look at him before entering. The old man opened the door, the girl went in, and he followed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

A sliver of firelight peeked through the crack, its orange-yellow glow casting a thin line on the ground. As the people inside moved about, the light flickered briefly before settling.

On the other side of the training ground, Torun was still finishing up his exercises, the bone whistle sounding one after another, unhurriedly.

Otto stood outside the longhouse, listening to the sounds for a while, then remained still. Thirty-five soldiers, four hundred and fifty subjects, and forty thousand pounds of grain were sealed inside the dry well, enclosed by the gray stone wall.

The fire was still burning in Cole's blacksmith shop; the hammering stopped abruptly as he packed up his tools. Lunt's shadow flickered in front of the fire, then he bent over, straightened up, bent over again, straightened up, and began stacking things into a box.

Torun's last bone whistle rang out, and then nothing more.

The camp gradually quieted down, with only the firewood in the hearth making soft, intermittent crackling sounds in the long summer night.