British hegemon

Chapter 21 The Free Lunch

"Young Master Roger, shall we eat now?"

In the open space in front of the Red Mill in Brodick, a large, deep iron pot was bubbling on a tripod.

With a bitter face, she added firewood to the campfire under the tripod. The "half-penny" girl stirred the iron pot back and forth with a long ladle. The bone and offal soup had been simmering and was already fragrant.

Beside the iron pot, on a counter made of a broken door panel, several large piles of long, hard bread were stacked, and three tall stacks of wooden bowls were also neatly piled up to the side. One-Eyed, holding a kitchen knife, and his assistant had already cut more than a dozen long loaves of bread into bread pieces of roughly the same size.

Near the iron pot counter, a dozen or so lazy rascals and snotty-nosed children from the town had been waiting there for a long time, holding wooden bowls and earthenware basins, their eyes never leaving the iron pot.

Although news of Roger's free lunch in front of the Moulin Rouge had spread throughout the town, most of the townspeople who knew about yesterday's events still dared not go out, as they dared not dine on this free lunch provided by Roger.

Roger strained his back today.

The sun had risen above the rooftops, the church bells had long since rung, and not a single one of the bald, confident half-settled residents of Arun Island had been seen.

Roger seriously underestimated the extreme negative impact of his past bad reputation on the island.

The news of my beating up the pirate in the market town yesterday has probably spread by now. Who would dare to risk their life in Brodick for a free meal at a time like this?

"Young Master Roger, it's past noon. Would you like to let the guys who arrived first start eating?" The one-eyed stall owner asked Roger, who was both happy and scared, from a distance of three or five steps.

News of the tragedy that occurred at the Moulin Rouge yesterday has spread throughout the town. He had just packed up his stall and returned to the dilapidated area on the edge of town. Initially, the rumor was that young master Roger had gotten into a fight with a customer at the Moulin Rouge over a prostitute and accidentally killed him.

Later, it was said that Gary, the village chief of Lockranza, led a group of men to the town seeking revenge, resulting in a fight between Roger and one of them. Roger killed one of them on the spot.

It wasn't until evening that they received confirmation that young master Roger had actually killed the notorious pirate "Sea Wolf" of the north of the island in full view of everyone.

This really terrified everyone. If it were just a normal argument, fight, or murder, they could simply pay the other party a large sum of silver coins to settle the matter. Given the Campbell family's influence on the island, no one would dare to investigate further.

But that villain actually offended the pirates and even killed their chief in public, which could have led to the destruction of the island.

That night, the fruit vendor next door to the one-eyed man hurriedly led his wife and children into the castle for refuge.

He originally intended to take his wife and daughter into the castle, but he was worried that the pirates would ruin the iron pots, cooking utensils, and leftover food in the house.

So after sending his wife and daughter into the castle, the one-eyed man kept the doors and windows tightly shut and guarded the place all night with his short stick.

The crisis remains, and One-Eyed has no intention of opening a food stall, but unexpectedly, just as dawn breaks, a girl from the Red Mill arrives with a bitter-faced man at his door.

When he learned that the other party wanted him to cook for Young Master Roger, he refused from the bottom of his heart.

Unfortunately, the other party kept raising prices, and finally offered a labor commission of sixpence for half a day, with ingredients to be paid separately.

Normally, this commission alone would be his net profit for two or three days. One-Eyed had no choice but to reluctantly agree, but demanded an immediate deposit of two pence.

"Young Master Roger?" The one-eyed man squinted with one eye and forced an ugly smile.

Roger was lounging lazily under the lamplight at the entrance of the Moulin Rouge. The armchair he was sitting in, designed for customers with special tastes, was very similar to the "reclining chair" of later generations. Roger couldn't help but admire the amazing wisdom of the ancients after a hearty meal.

Roger felt a pang of disappointment as the bottle in his hand was empty and only a few townspeople who wanted to freeload were in the open space in front of him.

Just as I was about to smash the empty bottle in my hand, several naked children came running from the end of the street, shouting, "They're here! They're here! They're here!"

Roger's dejected mood was instantly lifted, and the gloomy crowd in front of the Moulin Rouge suddenly became excited. Their efforts throughout the morning had not been in vain.

Everyone looked towards the south street, holding their breath for a long time, only to see a few farmers carrying pitchforks and sticks cautiously walking towards them. As they walked, they kept looking around warily, as if they had entered enemy territory.

The tension that everyone had just felt was immediately dashed again.

"What the hell is this?" Roger cursed inwardly. He should have run away under cover of darkness yesterday, stolen a small boat, and rowed to land. Who would have been able to find him then?

As Roger was thinking this, a leading farmer approached the Red Mill, and several townspeople, seeing that he was carrying a weapon, quickly made way for him.

The farmer was in his thirties, with dark, shiny skin and a forehead full of wrinkles. The long stick he was holding was clearly taken from his iron hoe at home.

He hesitated for a moment, looking at the bitter-faced man, and tentatively asked, "Master, I heard that you can eat lunch here for free."

Perhaps he was too nervous, or perhaps he didn't quite believe it himself, the farmer stammered as he spoke.

With a bitter expression, the man glanced back at Roger, who was reclining on the deck chair. Roger, looking up at the sky, waved his hand impatiently, indicating that the man should handle it himself.

"My young master Roger is so kind that all the islanders who come at noon get a free meal." After saying this, the man with the bitter face took a wooden bowl from the table and handed it to "Halfpenny" to scoop out a spoonful of soup.

"Give him a piece of bread," the man with the bitter face said to the one-eyed man on his right without looking up.

The charcoal-black farmer took the wooden bowl and bread, staring at the thick layer of oil floating on the meat broth. His eyes blinked repeatedly. "This... is it really for me to eat?"

"Take it and get out." The man with the bitter face was on the verge of collapse.

"Sir, is it true that everyone who comes to the market town can have a free lunch, and those who dare to join the brawl will receive an extra reward?" The farmer, seeing that he had actually received food, stopped stammering.

With a bitter expression, he gave an impatient "hmm," then suddenly realized something was wrong and pressed for an answer: "What gang fight?"

The charcoal-smoked farmer had already slipped away from the crowd, drinking his meat soup while shouting something to the other farmers behind him who were waiting for a reply.

The farmers immediately turned around and ran back along the street.

The crowd in front of the Moulin Rouge was once again filled with confusion.

At this moment, Roger seemed to understand something. He slowly got up and turned his gaze to the south street corner.

A moment later, a noisy commotion came from the south.

If viewed from the sky, one could see hundreds of men and women who had come from all directions of Arun Island crowding the roads outside Brodick.

Most of them were carrying wooden bowls and ladles, and a few people, in addition to their eating utensils, also carried shovels, sickles, pitchforks, and flails. One old man, who walked with a limp, even brought out his wood-chopping axe.

A surging crowd rushed toward the makeshift food stalls in front of the Moulin Rouge.

South of the town, groups of islanders still hurried along the road leading to Brodick.

As they watched the sun rise high in the sky, their anxiety growing that the free lunch was about to be snatched up, their pace quickened unconsciously...

............

The open space in front of the Moulin Rouge has been overrun by hundreds of islanders, including men, women, children, the elderly, the infirm, the disabled, the widowed, and the lonely. The area in front of the Moulin Rouge has been turned into a refugee camp.

Those who hadn't yet received their free meat broth bread kept crowding towards the stall, while those who had already gotten their bread tried to squeeze out of the crowd. Unruly children chased and played around on the outskirts of the open space, creating chaos.

The one-eyed stall owner and his assistant were already sweating profusely. "Halfpenny" had called in the sisters from the mill to help distribute the food. It had been a long time since they had been so lively, and the prostitutes were happy to join in the fun.

The doors of the Moulin Rouge were tightly shut, and only two figures were visible in the empty hall.

"...Who told you, you bastard, to mess up the plan? And gang up on those northern barbarians? Why don't you just say you went north to pick up gold!" Roger couldn't help but kick the bald man squatting in the corner a few more times.

As the bald man shrank into the corner while being beaten, he didn't forget to raise his head and smile obsequiously, "I was just worried about not having enough manpower. But look, things are pretty good now, half of Arun Island is here."

Roger was so angry he almost laughed, and was about to kick it a few more times when the mill door creaked open, and the noise from outside immediately rushed in.

With a sour face, he quickly turned around, closed the door to block out the noise, and walked over to Roger with a long face.

"Young Master Roger, there are at least three hundred islanders outside, and more are still arriving sporadically. I've arranged for a few familiar farmers to go door-to-door in the market town to buy ingredients; that might be enough to manage."

Roger had already stopped, and with a serious expression, he asked the man with the sour face, "How many able-bodied men are there?"

The man with the bitter face shook his head. "It's too chaotic outside; there's no way to count them all."

"I took a quick look and found that, excluding the elderly, the weak, women and children, there are less than sixty able-bodied men who can barely guard the castle and town. The lords took the young men with them when they went out to fight, and the men left on the island are either middle-aged men or young boys."

Roger sighed softly, "We'll choose the tallest among the short ones; there's no other way now. Go and gather those dozens of strong men together, and tell them that I, the young master, want to select warriors to distribute the rewards."

"Also, tell everyone that there's a free wheat porridge dinner available at sunset on the hillside; those who want some can stay and wait."

"Young Master Roger?" The man with the bitter face couldn't help but object; today's free lunch had already cost a lot of money.

Roger raised his hand to stop him, "This is a time to trade money for life, we can't be stingy. Go to the castle and borrow a few bags of flour from Young Master John White. Just say I borrowed it myself, he won't refuse."

With a bitter expression, he hesitated, then walked out of the Moulin Rouge with an even more dejected look on his face.

The bald man stood up at some point and moved to Roger's side. "Young Master Roger, don't worry, I've gathered more than a dozen brave warriors. They're all experts in fighting."

Roger raised his hand, looked at the bald man's lewd and obsequious smile, then gently lowered it. "Alright, go gather your gluttons—uh, the Warriors brothers—for me to choose from."

Baldy, feeling like he'd been granted a pardon, slipped past Roger, bowing and scraping, and slipped out of the Moulin Rouge, leaving behind a trail of cow dung smell.

Roger sighed softly, "I hope the ponytail side does better~" and then walked out of the Moulin Rouge.

......