Chapter 26

Spring of 1563.

A plain-looking ascetic, holding a cane, limped through the farmland on the outskirts of town. Not far away stood the low walls of Edinburgh, which, against the backdrop of the gloomy weather, resembled a gray scratch on an oil painting.

After a while, the ascetic seemed to feel tired, so he squatted down by the edge of the field and took a look at the oat seeds that had just sprouted bright green shoots in the soil.

One commendable aspect is that these oat seeds were planted in a very neat manner, looking like a row of orderly guards.

Oats are a staple food in Scotland. Although they are not very palatable, only an easy-to-grow plant like oats can thrive in this small, cold, and hilly country.

However, in other countries, such as England, oats, a coarse-textured food, are used to feed horses or other livestock, and the English have often used this to mock Scotland's poverty.

The farmer of this land also saw the ascetic in the field, who was about to reach out and pluck a stalk of oat to examine it closely. So, carrying his hoe, he walked over and shouted, "Hey, stay away from my field! If you damage my tender sprouts, you'll have to pay me back!"

The ascetic stood up, took a few steps back, dusted off his clothes, and moved away from the farmer's field.

The farmer came over and asked a few questions. After confirming whether the ascetic was a thief, out of respect for God, he gave the limping ascetic a bowl of water to drink.

The ascetic thanked the farmer, drank some water, and struck up a conversation with him.

"Forgive me for being blinded by what I saw earlier, but these oat seeds are so neatly arranged. How did you plant them? Did you count the number of seeds as you planted them?" the ascetic asked.

The short farmer wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his chin, and gestured for the ascetic to look at the wooden plow being pulled by an ox.

A wooden box was firmly fixed under the plow, with a hole drilled in the bottom of the box. When the ox was pulling the field, the seeds would leak out through that hole and be evenly scattered across the field.

“Look over there, that’s the new method that’s been introduced in the last two years. It’s really saved a lot of trouble,” the farmer said.

"What are they planting over there? I've never seen it before," the ascetic asked.

“That’s a potato…” the farmer said somewhat awkwardly. “…The agricultural official just issued a notice this year about a type of food to be planted. He said Her Majesty the Queen ordered that this food should be planted in greater quantities than wheat. Everyone in our village has planted it.”

"I've never heard of this kind of food before, and it's not mentioned in the Bible. Is it really edible?" the ascetic asked in surprise and doubt.

"But Her Majesty the Queen has already said... Her Majesty's words can always be trusted. Although she is different from the previous kings, and a woman is in charge, Her Majesty the Queen still takes good care of us poor people. If it is true, of course it is good. But if we can't eat what we grow... We'll just have to make do this year. I'll have my wife go to the relief center and plead for more food." The farmer said nonchalantly.

Unlike these farmers, the ascetic, who had traveled to many countries and was well-informed, knew about potatoes.

This is a plant that Spain brought back from the New World, but it has always been grown by nobles for ornamental purposes. Some noble ladies even wore potato flowers in their hair. There were also rumors that people would get leprosy and tuberculosis if they ate potatoes.

The ascetic sincerely hoped that the rumors were true, so that the Queen of Scots would suffer the consequences of her own actions and lose great prestige among her people.

Thinking of this, the ascetic silently made the sign of the cross, praying that God would hear his wish.

The farmer looked at the ascetic's tattered and patched clothes with sympathy and said, "If you're also starving, go to the relief station and do some work, like repairing roads or digging up stones. You'll get some food, though not much, but at least it'll fill your stomach."

“Ah… I’ve also heard of relief points. Her Majesty the Queen is truly merciful. She used all the money from selling salt to buy food and then distributed it to the poor people in Scotland who couldn’t survive. In my opinion, Her Majesty the Queen is far more wise and powerful than the previous Scottish kings,” the ascetic said.

The farmer puffed out his chest with pride, but then became suspicious again.

“Aren’t you Scots? And are you Catholic?” the farmer asked.

"Of course I am Scottish and a Catholic. My ancestors were stewards in a noble family. I just went away to practice asceticism for a few years. I never expected to return to find my hometown so changed," the ascetic said without changing his expression.

“Then you’ve really come back to the right place. Life in Scotland is definitely better than before. They’re not fighting the English anymore, and those animals taste even better after being castrated. Their wool can be dyed and used to make cloaks…” the farmer said proudly.

At this moment, several more farmers dropped what they were doing and came over as if to join in the fun, including the farmer's wife who had come to deliver the food.

As we walked along the path, the farmer's wife, who had just overheard her husband's words, exclaimed, "What's so good about it? We're still starving every day, watching the noble gentlemen hold banquets and feast every day."

Seeing his wife undermining him, the farmer glared at her with his small eyes and said in a sharp voice, "It's much better than a few years ago, isn't it? If you say that again, I'll hit you."

Immediately, the farmers started arguing, one after another.

One person said that the noble lords are still fighting every now and then, stealing my cattle and sheep and my slaves, only the poor people suffer. Another person said that at least there hasn't been a war in the last few years, fewer people are starving to death, and life is better than before. Yet another person pessimistically said that in a few years it will all be back to the way it was before...

...

The ascetics had no interest in listening to these lower-class people arguing.

He quietly left the fields and followed the flow of people into Edinburgh.

As soon as he entered Edinburgh, he quietly turned into the alleys. After wandering around for a while, he knocked on the back door of a large mansion in a peculiar pattern. Soon, a servant came and opened the door a crack.

"What brings you here?" the gatekeeper asked.

“I am Thomas, a monk from the south, who has come to ask your master for some food,” the ascetic said.

"What kind of food would you like?" the servant asked.

“A loaf of black bread worth one shilling and one penny will do,” the ascetic said.

After exchanging the password, the servant opened the door and respectfully led the English Queen's secret agent, disguised as a hermit, into the house. He then reported the news to his master, the British ambassador Randolph.

The ascetic sat in the living room, tossed his cane aside, resumed walking normally, and took off his tattered and smelly monk's cloak, revealing normal clothes underneath.

Recalling what he had seen and heard along the way, the spy no longer concealed his gloomy expression and said, "The Queen of Scots is very popular among her people."

Ambassador Randolph, who had come over and sat down next to the secret agent, sighed and said, "In governing the country, the Queen of Scots has indeed shown extraordinary talent and is very wise over the past three years."

"But this brilliance is built on the premise that all of Scotland is sucking the lifeblood out of England..." the spy said, clenching his fist hard. "...The salt industry in England has been hit hard for three years in a row. Workers in Lincolnshire have stopped working, and imported salt from France can't be sold. They're all relying on Scottish snowflake salt, which is equivalent to Scotland monopolizing the British salt industry! The Queen of Scots has made countless pounds with this trick, and then she turns around and imports grain from England and France to Scotland, using this trick to gain fame. These Scots are full of English grain, praising their Queen, completely unaware that it is the English who are feeding these parasites. They should be thanking the English and Queen Elizabeth!"

Randolph didn't take these words seriously.

In his view, it's all a matter of individual ability. Since Scotland can now produce good salt, and even be famous in Europe, then let's eat Scottish salt from now on. Anyway, in the past, the salt produced in the UK was not enough for the UK to consume, and they had to import it from France. Now it's just a matter of changing suppliers, and the price is cheaper and the quality is better.

As for the salt-making workers, they are just a bunch of ordinary people and there's nothing to worry about. Let them find other jobs, or if all else fails, let them go back to farming.

But facing the angry spy, Randolph certainly couldn't reveal his true thoughts, so he could only smile and say, "Didn't you already solve this problem and send those technologies back to England? England's coastline is longer than Scotland's, and the weather is warmer. I believe that next year or the year after, the Scots won't be able to sell their salt anymore. Let's talk about something else. Have you noticed what's going on on the streets?"

"...The streets are very clean, much cleaner than London. There are toilets at both ends of the street, and when they're full, someone will transport them outside the city to be used as fertilizer. There are also many newborn babies," the spy said reluctantly.

“Yes, cleanliness is essential. Cleanliness helps prevent disease. Also, when delivering babies, forceps and handwashing are necessary to ensure the baby's survival. This has been proven in the last two years. To be honest, I now also wash my hands before doing anything. If possible, please inform Her Majesty the Queen so that London can start trying these methods as well,” Randolph said respectfully.

"I will. Her Majesty the Queen took your report very seriously. She came here today to have me investigate whether these things are true. If they are, then they will be promoted throughout England," the agent said.

London has a much denser population than Edinburgh, and every now and then there are outbreaks of epidemic diseases such as sweat fever, which is both troublesome and frustrating.

When he arrived, he realized that it wasn't just hygiene habits that needed to be promoted; for example, the wooden box planting method we saw today should also be learned by English farmers.

Relieved, Randolph smiled and said, "I sincerely praise the Queen's wisdom."

“The Queen will remember your contribution,” the spy said, standing up.

"But there's one more thing. You've been in Scotland all this time, didn't you notice any cracks in the Queen of Scots' throne?" the spy said in a low voice, unwilling to give up.

Randolph moved his lips, then whispered in the spy's ear, "Yes, although half the nobles are loyal to her and the people love her, the Queen of Scots' brother—the Earl of Morley, the Regent—is extremely dissatisfied with her."

This could very well lead to an internal conflict.

The spy took a deep breath, his eyes shining.

A short while later, the ragged old monk left through the back door again, looking quite full, with two oat bread rolls in his hand.

...

Mary was having dinner at Holyrood Palace when she was interrupted by a letter.

The letter was written by old Glenn. After reading it, Mary couldn't help but frown.

"As expected of the glorious queen who ushered in the golden age..." Mary couldn't help but exclaim.

Mary placed the letter on a pure silver candlestick and lit it. After it had burned completely, she instructed, "Starting tomorrow, reduce the number of workers and output in the saltworks. From now on, Scottish salt will probably only be sold domestically."

Mary had hoped that people of this era did not value commerce and that Elizabeth would overlook it, but Elizabeth I's political acumen was far more acute than Mary had imagined.

Almost immediately after the salt was distributed, Elizabeth I sent people to trace its origin to Scotland, and from there they found her. The following year, they obtained the distillation equipment and the method for making salt.

If it weren't for a letter from old Glenn mentioning that the English were now making white salt by boiling peat, which greatly surprised Mary and prompted her to immediately have old Glenn import a large amount of peat to Scotland, the snowflake salt business probably wouldn't have been able to continue last year.

In the eyes of people in this era, peat was just a kind of coal with a strong stench and half-rotten appearance. Although it tasted very salty, even beggars on the street would not eat it. Its only use was as fuel.

Mary, however, knew how to extract pure salt from the peat. After another improvement in the extraction method, she used this unique approach to reduce costs and prices, which led to another year of booming sales for Scottish white salt.

Now, Elizabeth has once again obtained the method of making salt from peat, as if Maitland's efforts to prevent the technology from spreading had all been in vain, and Mary is once again glad that her mirror workshop was not located in Scotland.

Maitland was greatly unwilling after hearing the Queen's explanation and orders.

“Your Majesty, even if it’s not possible in England, can’t it be exported to France or even Europe?” Maitland asked.

The small salt-making workshop by the sea, which originally had only two hundred people, has now acquired all the other salt-making workshops and become a large workshop with nearly ten thousand workers. It has become a renowned industry in Scotland and has earned countless gold pounds.

He had recently been thinking of taking advantage of the Queen's favor to grab a share of the profits, but before he could even reach out, Elizabeth I was about to snatch it away!

“If we ship it overseas, the shipping costs will far exceed the cost, making it a losing proposition. Even if we ship it to the nearest France, do you think Elizabeth won’t secretly do something underhanded, like hinting to pirates to plunder it?” Mary tapped the salt cup in front of her and said thoughtfully, “...But we really can’t let Elizabeth succeed just like that. We should send a few volunteer skilled workers and distillation equipment to my uncle so that he can also develop the salt industry in France. The advantages there are better than in England, and with the same technology, the yield of white salt will probably be higher than in England.”

"As you command," Maitland said, inwardly marveling at the Queen's wisdom.

...

Mary continued with dinner, then looked up and saw that Albert across the oak table hadn't eaten much, and asked, "Albert, would you like some Scottish oatmeal to whet your appetite?"

She usually doesn't like to think about things much at the dinner table.

This is my daily relaxation time.

She was the same way in her past life, used to having gatherings or dinners with a few friends in the tower room next to her bedroom. Those invited were all close relatives or to show the outside world that she was favored by the Queen.

The people gathered in this room tonight are Albert, Miss Emma, ​​daughter of old Glenn Wilson, Mary Seton, and the Maitland couple.

As for Count Morrie, her relationship with her brother had deteriorated to the extreme, and even though she had invited him, he wouldn't come.

In Scotland, ordinary oatmeal is simply made with water and salt. Some people might add milk, while others might add whiskey. But oatmeal served on the Queen's table would certainly not be prepared this way.

The chefs cook oats with fresh milk, honey, fruit, raspberries, white sugar, and other ingredients. The resulting porridge is soft, sticky, and delicious, with a refreshing fruity aroma and sweetness. It tastes quite good.

Over the past two years, Albert has earned the Queen's trust through his loyalty and dedication, and has even been treated as a half-friend. Albert looked up and smiled, thanking the Queen for her kindness.

“You seem to have something on your mind lately. May I have the honor of knowing?” Albert asked.

“I do have something on my mind, but I’ve made my decision…” Mary picked up a linen napkin and wiped her mouth, saying calmly, “…Time flies. Before I knew it, François had been gone for almost three years, and it’s time for me to move on and choose a new husband.”

"clatter!"

The silver spoon in the blond youth's hand fell into the bowl.

This was not surprising, because the Queen's sudden announcement did not elicit much better reactions from the others present.

Mary calmly exchanged glances with everyone in the room, then repeated herself to avoid being mistaken for a joke by the Queen.

“I should choose a new husband who will be of good to Scotland,” Mary said with a smile.