Even though I had informed them in advance about my arrival, the reception felt over the top. Why did the estate steward himself come to greet me as soon as I arrived at the Count’s manor?
"Greetings, my lord. I am Baronet Garte, the steward managing the Count of Piedmont's estate. It is an honor to have you travel all the way from Florence to visit us," he said, bowing respectfully.
"I appreciate the warm welcome. I’m merely here for a preliminary inspection before starting a new business, but your efforts are appreciated," I replied.
"The Count personally instructed me to ensure everything was prepared to accommodate you."
Technically, I outrank the steward, but barons like me are hardly uncommon in Florence—practically stepping stones on the city streets. For a steward of the Count's estate to come outside the manor gates to greet me was an act of ceremonial excess.
‘Well, this is the Count’s initiative, not mine, so I won’t complain.’
"I’ll be sure to send my thanks to the Count when I return to Florence," I said.
"Please, come inside. Though modest, we’ve prepared a banquet in your honor."
A "modest banquet"? It reminded me of military dining when a division commander visited—extravagant meals served under the guise of "everyday fare." Still, etiquette dictates that one should never criticize a free meal.
‘Refusing would be tantamount to declaring a feud.’
"My thanks. I was just getting hungry."
The "modest" banquet consisted of over twenty courses served in sequence. Nobles love their exaggerations.
"Did the banquet of the Count of Piedmont suit your tastes?" Garte asked.
"Situated in the empire’s greatest breadbasket, it’s no wonder the food here is superb. Honestly, it surpasses many banquets in the capital," I replied truthfully.
Thanks to the nouvelle cuisine I had introduced, Florence’s banquets had significantly improved. Gone were the days of grotesque, overly spiced roasted piglets or garish, artificially dyed pies that looked like they violated every modern food safety standard. I had expected these trends to gradually spread to the provinces, but...
‘For such a remote county, they’ve caught on surprisingly quickly.’
"We take great pride in the bounty of our plains, mountains, and coasts. To have this acknowledged by you, a leader of Florence’s culinary innovation, is a tremendous honor," Garte said, his eyes glinting with genuine gratitude.
"As a loyal servant of the Count of Piedmont, I’m thrilled that you’ve recognized our estate’s excellence."
"I merely stated what’s true. Your hospitality deserves praise," I said.
For about five minutes, I complimented the dishes, pointing out specific aspects I enjoyed. While such flattery costs me nothing, it would bolster the reputation of the Piedmont estate’s cuisine and ensure greater cooperation for my plans.
"This delightful meal has loosened my tongue," I said with a chuckle. "Now, let’s discuss business. I mentioned needing a vast area of land. Have you prepared any suitable locations?"
"I had the estate’s administrators search for several candidates," he replied.
It had been barely ten days since I’d requested this. For them to already have potential sites identified... Either their efficiency was remarkable for the Middle Ages, or the grain surplus problem was so dire that they jumped at the chance to resolve it.
"My top recommendation is a plain near Mount Novara, just 7 kilometers from Torino, the estate’s capital. The area has plenty of citizens and serfs nearby, making it convenient for recruiting labor and selling chicken or eggs."
In pre-industrial times, factories and production facilities typically clustered around cities, even if the land was expensive. This was even more true in a place like the Toscano Empire, where transportation infrastructure was limited.
However, I had no intention of building my poultry farm near any densely populated areas.
"I appreciate the suggestion, but I prefer not to establish the farm in a highly populated region. Such locations could cause considerable issues," I said.
"Are you concerned about burdening the Count?" Garte asked. "You needn’t worry about that. The Count has granted full permission."
While displacing serfs wouldn’t be a major concern, evicting free farmers, citizens, or even minor nobles from land near a city would involve significant political risk. That said, my concerns were entirely different.
"The stench from chicken manure and the odors from large-scale farming are no small matter," I explained.
To exaggerate slightly, the smell could spread as far as 10 kilometers. Building a poultry farm near a city would lower property values and could even lead to public health crises.
"Is there a less populated area with road access?" I asked.
"In that case, I recommend a location near the foot of Mount Cusio. It’s close to a river and has well-maintained roads, though it’s sparsely populated," Garte replied, handing me a map.
The site, marked with an X near the foothills of Mount Cusio, seemed promising. A river flowed nearby, and while there was a small farming village in the vicinity, the serfs could be employed as farmhands. Initially, they might resist such unfamiliar work, but...
‘A slightly higher wage will quell any complaints.’
"This location seems suitable. I’ll build the farm here. How much will it cost to lease the land and purchase the grain?" I asked.
"There’s no need to worry about land lease payments, my lord. As for the grain, 1,500 gold coins should suffice."
In the Toscano Empire and similar nations, depreciation applies even to grain. After one year, grain prices drop by about 20%; after two years, by 40%; and after three years, they plummet by 90% or more, as the grain becomes inedible for humans.
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
‘If it’s past three years, it’s practically garbage,’ I thought.
Even so, 1,500 gold coins suggested an enormous stockpile.
"I’ll pay for both the land and grain. I don’t wish to be indebted to the Count," I said.
"Land use will cost an additional 500 gold coins," Garte replied.
"Then I’ll pay 2,000 gold coins in Rothschild family promissory notes. Deliver this contract to Florence, and the amount will be paid immediately."
Even among counts, promissory notes were often met with hesitation due to cash flow issues. However, the Rothschild family was different.
"Thank you, my lord," Garte said with a bow.
With our reputation for vast wealth and a debt ratio of less than 1%, our financial stability surpassed that of any other noble house in the empire. No one questioned the legitimacy of a Rothschild note.
"Also, I’ll need stonemasons, carpenters, and blacksmiths for the farm’s construction. Could you help arrange their services? I’ll ensure they’re well compensated."
"Since you’re helping us dispose of our surplus grain, it’s the least we can do," Garte replied.
"Thank you. If I need anything further, I’ll be sure to let you know."
One week after my discussions with the estate’s steward, I began construction on the poultry farm.
"Hurry up!" I shouted.