British hegemon

Chapter 59 Tax Evasion

Brodick Castle did not become more welcoming after Roger became the lord of Milk House Manor, although the castle guards and servants bowed their heads when they saw Roger.

This is tax season, and many people come to the castle to pay their taxes. Most of them drive oxcarts or horse-drawn carriages or carry baskets on their backs, handing over bags of grain, cheese, fruit, vegetables, wool, eggs, and even poultry and livestock to the baron's tax collectors.

Roger sent the two girls with ponytails to pay the salt tax, but he didn't hand over the monetary tax directly to the fat tax collector. He knew that according to custom, the ten pounds and pennies he brought were not enough to pay the tax, and the tax collector would not dare to make a record.

Only Baron John himself could solve this problem.

The lord's office in the baron's mansion was still the same, only more gloomy and decadent, just like Baron John, who was leaning back in the chair at the head of the table, looking lifeless.

Baron John is ill; his health has been declining ever since his crushing defeat.

After a long silence, Baron John finally coughed a few times, covered his mouth with his fist, raised his slightly flushed face to look at Roger, who was sitting in the armchair fiddling with his wine glass, and then glanced at the money bag on the desk.

"Last time you dealt with me with some lousy swords, and this time you've reduced your tax by a full three pounds. Who gave you the audacity to act so recklessly? Just because you're a member of the Campbell family? Do you even respect me as a baron? Believe me, I'll punish you for tax evasion right now!" Baron John's voice was somewhat hoarse, and his tone was exceptionally cold.

This is not a matter of a few pounds; it is a challenge to the authority of the lord.

"Uncle, if I intended to oppose you, I should have forced these taxes to be handed over to your tax official instead of paying them directly to you."

Baron John adjusted his posture, waiting for Roger to continue.

"You know that Milk House Manor is in debt. And the meager spoils it gained from this expedition aren't even enough to pay off its debts."

Baron John waved his hand. "This is not a reason for you to arbitrarily reduce taxes. Every lord on Aran Island can use this reason to demand that I reduce taxes. How can I then rule this isolated island?"

Knowing that appealing to emotions wouldn't work, Roger didn't waste any more words. "Sir John, the tax rates on Arran Island were set in my grandfather's time, weren't they?"

"Therefore you should obey even more," Baron John affirmed.

"Back in my grandfather's time, how much tax did the Isle of Aran, as a direct royal domain, have to pay to the royal court each year? How much has the Isle of Aran been paying in recent years?"

Baron John's nose twitched.

"Since the royal family is gone, why are taxes still as high as before?"

Roger straightened his posture and looked at Baron John with a serious expression. "I'm not the only one on the island who understands this, they just don't dare to say it. But if Milk House Manor is really on the verge of bankruptcy, I'm absolutely willing to stand up and speak out. Anyway, I was adopted as the lord, and Milk House Manor is a mess anyway."

Baron John was caught red-handed.

Since the extinction of the Scottish royal line, the Isle of Arun, as a direct royal domain, has not paid taxes to the royal court for many years. However, Baron John has not reduced his exploitation of the territory as a result, since a warlike lord needs more taxes to maintain an armed force.

"You're really something! If the Campbell family falls, you can still quietly be a devilish young master?" Baron John's expression was stern, but his tone had softened considerably.

Seeing the other party show weakness, Roger also lowered his posture, "Uncle, Milk House Manor is on the verge of bankruptcy. In order to pay off the debts owed by Father and Colin, I have no choice but to do this. I can make up for it after the manor gets through the crisis."

Baron John paused for a moment, then said, “Go to the tax collector later and pay the tax under the pretext of borrowing three pounds and fifteen shillings from me.”

Baron John, not wanting to continue the conversation, changed the subject, saying, "I heard you've been hiding on Holly Island all this time, boiling salt?"

"The Milk House Estate needs to pay off its debts, and I can't expect to make a fortune from the meager harvest from the land." Although Roger had already paid his salt tax in full, he hadn't consulted Baron John before expanding the saltworks. He wondered if Baron John would make things difficult for him on this issue.

"These matters should be handled by your steward. Don't forget your identity as a knight. You haven't undergone knightly training in recent years, so you should take this time to intensify your learning on how to become a qualified knight." Perhaps feeling indebted to the Colin family, Baron John did not say much about Roger's unauthorized expansion of the saltworks.

"Although this is not an easy task for you."

"If you want to learn, you can come to the castle. Old One-Armed is a good instructor. The tournament on Arran Island is about to be held, and as a newly recruited knight, you will definitely have to participate. You should at least learn how to use a lance, even if you are destined to be knocked off your horse."

Roger knew that Baron John was criticizing him for neglecting his duties, but he didn't want to argue and didn't care.

He nodded, preparing to take his leave, but then, as if remembering something, he turned to Baron John and said, "You seem to be quite ill?"

Baron John coughed twice and pointed to his right chest. "The small wound from the spiked club has spread and hasn't healed yet."

Roger first thought of tetanus, but since it hadn't flared up after so long, he figured that wasn't it either.

"That barber on the island is a charlatan. His so-called best medical skills in Scotland involve bloodletting, smearing feces, and enemas all the time. Even the smallest wound can't withstand that. If you want to heal quickly, you should wash the wound with lukewarm boiled water, then apply some honey and wrap it in clean linen." Roger had witnessed the charlatan barber's medical skills firsthand; he was truly a guide to heaven. He guessed that Baron John had already embarked on the road to heaven under the charlatan's guidance.

Baron John showed no gratitude upon hearing this; instead, his expression grew even colder. "What nonsense are you spouting! If I ever hear you say such things again, I'll slap you across the face."

Roger was taken aback by what he heard, and he couldn't even muster any anger. Ignorance and superstition can kill people.

They returned dejectedly from the baron's mansion, at least managing to get away with the taxes owed to the lord; now it was time to pay the religious portion.

……

When he saw Roger enter the church empty-handed, Father Matthew's smiling expression gradually froze.

It's no good if a notorious lord arrives empty-handed during tax season.

"Father Matthew, don't hide, I've already seen you!" Roger shouted into the church before even stepping through the doors.

The arrival of evil spirits was never a good thing, and the fat priest really intended to hide first, but the church was so small, where could he hide? He still gritted his teeth and went to meet them.

"Good day, Sir Roger," the portly priest said politely.

Roger sighed deeply. "Father, I've been very uneasy lately."

The fat priest's lips twitched, but he still had to make the sign of the cross on his chest to feign concern. "God help you, what's troubling you so much?"

"The people of Milk House Manor are the most devout believers in the world, but now I have to watch them starve to death for God's cause." Roger felt no guilt when he said such lies, after all, he was not a devout believer at heart.

Knowing Roger's purpose, the fat priest's twitching lips stopped. "Sir Roger, tithes are an offering to God, proof that people pray to God for atonement. Don't you want God's protection? Don't you want to cleanse your sins?"

That's a rather harsh statement, directly labeling Roger as disrespectful to God.

Looking at the serious-looking fat man in front of him, Roger was furious. He had spent so many years in the monastery and had seen all kinds of filthy monks. This inferior priest dared to use God to intimidate him. He had to be taught a lesson.

"Father Matthew, would you like to find a quieter place to talk?" Roger gestured for them to go into the inner room.

The portly priest wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sir Roger, mortals have no secrets from God."

"You're getting carried away," Roger paused, then raised his voice, "Oh, so do clergy have secrets before God?"

Roger looked down and picked at the dirt under his fingernails. "When I was at Argyll Abbey, I worked as a bookkeeper at the cathedral for a while, responsible for recording the church properties and tithes paid in the Argyll diocese."

"Aran Island is Campbell family territory, so of course I took a closer look and noted down the amount they pay each year."

"Recently, having had some free time, I roughly calculated the amount of tithes that this church collects from the islanders and various lords each year, and I was surprised to find that the difference between the two was too large, far exceeding the normal transportation costs."

The fat priest glanced subconsciously at the hall; thankfully, several worshippers had just left.

Roger brushed the dirt off his fingers, clapped his hands, and looked up at the fat priest. "Hmm, maybe I'm just mistaken. I should write a letter to Bishop Argyll to verify this."

The fat priest's lips twitched again. He wasn't sure if Roger really knew the amount of taxes the church on Arran Island paid each year, but he knew that this guy had once stayed at Argyll Monastery, so he couldn't rule out that possibility.

Once Roger reveals this, all the hard work Father Fatty has put in over the years will be for naught.

"Sir Roger, I think it would be more appropriate for us to go to the inner room." The fat priest wiped his forehead with his sleeve and took the initiative to lead Roger to the confessional in the inner room of the church.

Over the years, Fat Matthew has embezzled far more than a hundred pounds in tithes and church property income while he was a priest. Even after deducting the share and hush money he gave to his assistants, it must have been seventy or eighty pounds.

If Roger really exposes it, not only will he have to return all the money he embezzled, but he might also be sent to the Inquisition for trial.

The tithe at Milk House Estate is only a little over ten pounds a year. After deducting the amount that must be paid to the parish, the amount directly related to the fat priest is only one or two pounds. We can't risk a lot for such a small amount of money.

So after a period of "painful struggle," the fat priest decided to inform the Argyll parish that the Milk House Estate would postpone the collection of this year's tithes due to the loss of manpower and poor harvest caused by the defeat in the war, and would make up for it in a good year.

Roger dared not openly defy the established rules of the era; this was merely a stopgap measure to help the plantation overcome its current debt crisis.

Of course, Roger knew the principle of doing things for money, and he wouldn't let the fat priest go home empty-handed, since he also had a few mouths to feed.

As a result, Roger lost three more gold coins from his purse, worth nine shillings.

When the fat priest walked out of the confessional at Brodick Church, his expression wasn't too bad.