14: Journey Through the Medieval Age, Part 14

Swan Manor, Spring Plowing Season

With the crowing of a rooster, Simon, a free farmer at the entrance of Stonebridge Village, quickly rose from bed. In this medieval hamlet, early rising was no trouble at all—ordinary folk had no nightlife, especially during the busy farming season. After a day of hard labor, they would fall asleep as soon as they lay down.

Even during the busiest times, any “overtime” wouldn’t last too late. Some tasks required little lighting to complete, but the people weren’t the only ones who grew weary—the oxen were tired too!

A very practical point to note: although modern workers jokingly call themselves “oxen and horses,” in agricultural society, oxen and horses were far more valuable than humans. People had endurance and could persevere, but oxen and horses did not. They simply could not keep going when exhausted. Forcing them to persist could literally kill them.

Because everyone went to bed early, even after a tiring day, they still got enough rest. This was especially true during the busy season. Outside of this period, villagers might wake briefly during the early hours of the morning, find something to do, then return to sleep.

“I don’t think this will work!” Simon’s wife said mysteriously as her husband gulped down beer and bread.

To maintain the evening fast, most common folk did not eat breakfast at this hour. Farmers had heavy physical labor ahead in the morning, so they only drank a cup of beer. According to the Church, “liquids do not break the fast.”

Beer was often called “liquid bread,” providing ample energy. Besides, homemade beer in these times was usually thick, with grains still suspended—much like porridge. During the busy spring plowing season, besides a cup of beer, the household’s main laborer could eat a piece of dark bread.

Simon knew what she was referring to. Last winter, someone from the castle had come by and ordered the manor steward to push the serfs to make compost. Everyone was already familiar with composting from previous years, so when a lord’s agent suddenly appeared to instruct them on it, most were skeptical.

However, most of the fertilizer was destined for the lord’s demesne fields, so the serfs didn’t mind much. Moreover, by law, serfs had to perform two to three days of labor each week for the lord, so doing various jobs was nothing new.

The reason Simon’s wife brought this up now was because at the start of spring plowing, everyone was supposed to plow the fertilizer into the soil alongside the fields. Strangely, in past years, the work on the lord’s demesne and the tenants’ personal plots happened simultaneously, which sometimes meant the manor steward had to pull laborers from the tenants’ fields to the lord’s demesne during critical periods.

If it wasn’t absolutely necessary, the steward would avoid issuing such orders. It was unpopular, and serfs sent to the demesne often worked half-heartedly, resulting in low efficiency.

But sometimes choices had to be made.

This year, however, was different. The steward did not pull laborers to the lord’s demesne during the busiest spring plowing time. Instead, only after the peak workload was almost finished did he start calling for labor service. Of course, they had to make up for the labor owed during spring plowing, much like taking compensatory leave.

Starting to plant wheat, rye, and other grains now was a bit late.

“That’s the lords’ business, not ours... By the way, what exactly are they planting in the demesne?” Simon muttered to himself.

They certainly didn’t think the steward had suddenly taken pity on them, letting them finish their own fields before attending to the lord’s. The likely explanation was that this year, the lord’s demesne wouldn’t be sown with grains, but with some other crop whose spring planting time was later than wheat and the like.

“I heard from the miller that some folks from the castle brought beet seeds. They’re going to plant sugar beets all over the demesne!” Simon’s wife said excitedly. She was lively and could talk to anyone, even the manor’s much-hated miller.

In the manor, farmers had to give a portion of their milled grain to the lord. No one was pleased to have part of their hard-earned crop taken away, so millers were among the most despised people on the manor—because of the “mill tax,” everyone tried to avoid using the mill.

They either used hand mills to grind grain secretly themselves, which was less efficient but spared them from exploitation, or they simply ate less bread, cooking porridge directly from the grain instead.

“Oh, sugar beets... I think the reeve mentioned that this year’s rent could be paid with harvested beets—but not the red kind. Those willing can collect seeds. Hey, the lords are actually providing seeds!” Simon finished his beer and grinned, a hint of mockery in his smile.

For peasants like them, serfs or free men alike, the “noble lords” always squeezed them as much as possible. Now they were handing out seeds—what a rare “favor” indeed!

“Those seeds were gathered from nearby villages. I heard the roots grow bigger and sweeter,” Simon’s wife shared her plan. “I’ve calculated it: paying rent with sugar beets is more economical. We still have a patch of land unplanted. Why not use it for beets?”

These sugar beets were the ones Louisa had requested Swan Manor to grow. However, the convent’s supply of seeds was insufficient—one demesne plot wasn’t enough. If the manor’s farmers were to plant beets as well, they’d have to use other seeds gathered elsewhere. The harvested beets would be similar to those Louisa and her people had acquired nearby.

Although the yield and sugar content were poor, the price of sugar was high enough to make the venture very profitable.

“As long as the soil is fertile, the roots will naturally grow big and sweet,” Simon dismissed the so-called “quality seeds.”

In some ways, he was right. While seeds varied in quality, the short-term advantage of selectively bred seeds was not as significant as factors like climate and soil fertility, which had a much greater impact on harvests.

Modern agriculture is much the same. The terrifyingly high yields rely heavily on chemical fertilizers! After all, energy is conserved in science—without fertilizers, how could one grow so many crops?

New seed varieties are good, but without fertilizers, yields would be halved or worse! That’s why countries dependent on imported fertilizers suffer so much; their agriculture is very vulnerable to international market fluctuations.

“Have you done the math? Hmm, sugar beets take more land than grains, either requiring more fertilizer or more effort in soil care and fallowing... Is it still more profitable with those added costs?” Simon asked his wife.

The sugar beets of this era did not match the yield or sweetness of later times, but comparatively, they did not exhaust the soil as much. They were more like a vegetable, requiring about the same care as other root crops—vegetable gardens were different from arable fields, needing more careful tending and more water and fertilizer.

Simon’s wife, also a farmer, was knowledgeable about the land and had considered these factors carefully. She nodded and said, “I’ve done the math. We’ve grown sugar beets before...”

Besides the leased fields, there were often small plots in front of the cottages for growing vegetables for household consumption, sometimes with a few domestic animals penned nearby. Common crops in these village gardens included cabbage, onions, garlic, and celery. Sugar beets were not the most common, but they were not rare either.

“Very well, we’ll use that patch for sugar beets... Hopefully, it’ll bring us some extra profit this year,” Simon muttered, loud enough for his wife to hear. She planned to go collect seeds shortly.

While Simon, his wife, and many other Swan Manor farmers intended to plant sugar beets, Louisa arrived with some attendants. She had come to inspect the sugar beet planting and make preparations for establishing a sugar workshop.

Louisa stepped down from the carriage. Before the manor court stood the priest, the manor steward, the reeve, the agricultural officer, and the constable, all waiting to greet her.

The priest’s presence was indispensable—people’s lives were deeply entwined with religion, and even in villages, churches and clergy were ever-present. In smaller villages, a single church often served several neighboring communities.

In the vast and fertile plains of Brudo, where population density was relatively high, and especially within Count Balzac’s manor, villages were sizable. Swan Manor itself comprised several hundred households. Thus, although the manor’s villages shared one church, it was built of stone with fine carvings, a tall tower, and a considerable footprint—no less grand than some town churches.

This was not surprising; many towns then had populations of only one or two thousand, comparable to Swan Manor’s scale.

Because of the special status of religion, the priest stood before the others, much like religious nobility was regarded as superior to secular nobility of the same rank. Of course, status aside, actual power was another matter.

Behind the priest stood the manor’s “ruler,” the steward. Analogous to a magistrate in ancient China, he held authority over all matters in the manor. Generally, manor stewards were younger sons of minor knightly families who could not inherit land or become knights themselves. If they did not pursue a religious career, they sought livelihood through stewardship. Some free men, such as merchant or craftsman’s sons with education, could also become stewards.

Like ancient magistrates, stewards were outsiders and usually barred from serving in their hometowns. This made it harder to deceive the lord above and to oppress the tenants below recklessly. That said, the reeve played a crucial local role.

The reeve was akin to a head clerk in a county office, rooted in the community. They assisted the steward and were more firmly established locally. They answered directly to the lord’s agent, and if a steward overstepped, the reeve could lodge complaints or even rally tenants to resist.

There were cases when an unruly steward was beaten or driven out of the manor by the reeve and his followers. When such incidents occurred, regardless of who was right, the steward lost his position—clearly unable to govern the manor.

Below the reeve and steward were officials like agricultural officers, constables, and forest wardens, similar to ordinary clerks in the magistrate’s office, responsible for various specific duties.