British hegemon

Chapter 43 Treating the Wounded Soldiers

In the market town of Brodick, the sour-faced steward, at Roger's behest, spent four silver pennies to hire two oxcarts. With the help of several tenants who had come along, he carried the two corpses, three wounded soldiers, and the weapons and armor of "Father and Brother" back to the Milk House Manor. Sergeant Marne and four other soldiers who were not seriously injured also limped along with the oxcarts back to the manor.

Compared to the corpses and wounded who could only lie on broken door panels and be carried home by two or three relatives, the soldiers of Milk House Manor enjoyed special treatment.

The caravan of oxcarts had just arrived at the crossroads outside the Milk House Manor when the crowd of people waiting to welcome the expeditionary warriors had been wailing and crying for a long time.

The wailing that filled his ears made Roger's head throb. He had just enjoyed a few rare days of leisure on Holly Island, but now he was plagued by these upsetting things.

He considered quitting, since these people weren't really related to him and he could leave the grumpy-faced butler to worry about. But now that the two heads of the Milk House Manor were dead, and he had been eating and drinking with them for over a month since he came to this world, he felt somewhat indebted to them.

More importantly, when he learned that the Milk House Manor no longer had a leader, his previously complacent and contented attitude began to change, and this change in mindset became even stronger on the way back.

Perhaps this is a new beginning.

"Young Master Roger?...Young Master Roger!" The bitter face pulled Roger back to reality, still hearing the wailing and lamenting.

"Hmm?" Roger, riding on horseback, looked down at the bitter-faced man holding the reins.

"Young Master Roger, I have a question for you: what should we do with these wounded soldiers and corpses?" The man with the bitter face looked at the manor lords who were crying around the oxcart with a worried expression.

Roger turned his head, frowned, glanced at it, and then asked, "What do you think should be done?"

Since there are battles on Arun Island every year, Bitter Gourd Face must be familiar with the care of the wounded.

Sure enough, the man with the bitter face replied, "Those who died or were wounded in battle were all sent home. The estate gave each family of the dead fifty pounds of wheat and the seriously wounded thirty pounds. They also took back all the spoils they captured on the battlefield."

Roger nodded, waiting for the man with the sour face to continue.

After a long pause, the man with the sour face remained silent. Roger looked up at him and asked, "And then?"

The man with the bitter face shrugged, puzzled. "The lord is a benevolent one. If it were any other lord's estate, they might not even be able to bring home all the spoils they plundered themselves."

In chaotic times, human life is as cheap as a dog's; it seems this saying is absolutely true.

Seeing Roger's displeased expression, the man with the bitter face assumed that Roger was reluctant to distribute food to the dead and wounded soldiers. He pleaded in a low voice, "Young Master Roger, they are all loyal subjects, the hope for survival of their families. Now that they have fallen and been wounded following the master and the eldest young master into battle, we should indeed..."

The man with the bitter face stopped and sighed, "Two sergeants, three peasant soldiers, and four sailors, plus these wounded soldiers, there have indeed been many casualties this time. However, the wheat on the estate is growing well this year, so it may be a bumper harvest." The man with the bitter face was trying his best to secure a living allowance for the families of the dead and wounded, to help them get through the difficult days before the harvest.

"The body will be handed over to the family, and each family will receive 100 pounds of grain. We'll discuss the funeral arrangements when I return tomorrow."

"The seriously injured were brought back to the manor and placed in the barn with the black dog. I personally treated them. Each seriously injured family received fifty pounds of grain."

"The other soldiers will each be given twenty pounds of rations and sent home first."

"By the way, those who went missing and couldn't return to the island should be treated as seriously injured for now. If they are later confirmed dead, we will make up the compensation later."

Roger's voice hadn't been loud, but now everyone around the two oxcarts fell silent, as if they were listening to an extraordinary tale.

"Young Master Roger, what... what did you just say?" The man with the bitter face thought he had misheard.

"I've made it very clear that we will settle the wounded, provide compensation to their families, and reward the soldiers," Roger said, raising his voice.

In fact, based on the current prices on the island, the most expensive wheat is only thirty pence for one hundred pounds. This is because food is relatively scarce on the Isle of Arran in recent years. In the flat areas of central and southern Scotland, one hundred pounds of wheat costs only twenty-something pence. In southern England and Ireland, the price of grain is much cheaper (Note 1).

Under the benevolent Sir Colin, a peasant soldier's life cost no more than fifty pounds of wheat, equivalent to a dozen or twenty pence.

Roger didn't think it was that cruel; when he was homeless, his life might not even be worth a bag of flour.

Roger ignored the crowd's astonishment, dismounted, and walked to Sergeant Marne. "Marne, you will go with the old steward to the manor to collect fifty pounds of grain and two pieces of smoked meat to take home. Settle things at home, and come to the manor to see me tomorrow night."

In just over a month, Ma En felt that the young master Roger in front of him was like a different person. But at the moment, he was still immersed in the grief of the tragic defeat and had no mind to think about these things. He just nodded silently in agreement and then arranged for the seriously wounded soldiers to enter the manor and the lightly wounded soldiers to help the families send the bodies of the fallen soldiers back to their respective homes.

Roger spent the rest of the afternoon working in the empty barn at Milk House Estate.

A few days ago, Blackie was stabbed by a thug who wasn't quite dead. Roger gave him some basic first aid and then took him back to Milk House Manor for careful treatment. As a result, the thug survived and was able to sit up from the haystack with great difficulty.

Roger originally planned to bring him to Holly Island to continue recuperating before his "father and brother" returned, but now there's no need for that. Black Dog now has three more guys around him who have narrowly escaped death from the battlefield.

Roger instructed the cook to boil a large pot of water in the kitchen and had the grumpy-faced steward bring out a few pieces of slightly cleaner linen cloth from the mansion to boil in the water for sterilization.

Then they checked the soldiers' wounds one by one and had their relatives carefully clean the wounds with lukewarm water and boiled linen.

Roger's rescue techniques were all learned through practice, so there was no set method. He would boil the veterinarian's small castration knife in boiling water, use the knife to cut away the rotting flesh on the wounded soldier, and then wrap the wound with sterilized linen.

If he could stop the bleeding, he would apply some fresh honey to the wound; at least half of the reason the black dog survived was thanks to that precious honey.

However, the condition of these three wounded soldiers was much more serious than that of Blackie. Blackie was only lightly stabbed by a dying bandit, and the treatment was timely. The wound did not become deeply infected, and he survived the high fever.

However, two of the three wounded soldiers had been pierced through the chest and abdomen by iron spears and swords, and had multiple wounds all over their bodies. They were not treated in time when they were injured, and after escaping back to the ship, they only used a few dirty and tattered strips of cloth to hastily bandage and stop the bleeding. The wounds had begun to rot, and their bodies showed signs of infection and high fever.

Roger knew that those two guys were probably out of luck.

Doctors? Well, there were some. Last time when he treated Blackie, the man with the bitter face brought in a "barber," but the dirty old man immediately wanted to bleed, give an enema, and apply garlic paste. Roger was speechless. In the end, he saved Blackie's life with a simple surgery.

After treating the wounds of the three wounded soldiers, Roger instructed the accompanying family members to feed them warm water and monitor their condition.

By the time he finished all that, it was already dark, and Roger was covered in sweat.

The wounded soldiers had been treated, but the man accompanying Roger, his brow still furrowed with worry, handed him a clean linen cloth and asked cautiously in a low voice, "Young Master Roger, when exactly did you learn these things? Why have I never seen these healing techniques before?"

Roger had asked about this once before when he treated the black dog, but Roger ignored him and brushed it off.

But today, the man with the bitter face asked again. Roger knew that if he didn't give some reason, the man with the bitter face would worry that he had gone astray. So he raised his head and solemnly replied, "Almighty God taught me the secret to saving the world."

His face was full of doubt and disbelief.

"During the days I was in a coma, I dreamed that I entered heaven, where there were many white-clad angels serving God, and it was they who taught me these things..."

The people in the barn murmured among themselves. Of course, they wanted to believe Young Master Roger's words, because only in this way could the wounded soldiers lying on the haystacks in the barn have a sliver of hope of survival.

These words were spoken with great seriousness, and given that Roger was indeed a completely different person after recovering from his serious injuries, and considering that he had been in the monastery with God for many years, it was not impossible for him to receive a miracle.

With a bitter face, he accepted the reason that "divine skills to save lives" were given to him, even though he was half-believing and half-doubting.

God is always capable of creating miracles; who can question that?

"Young Master Roger, there's something else I need to discuss with you." The man with the bitter face glanced at the young stable boy carrying a candlestick into the barn and changed the subject.

"Speak," Roger said simply, wiping the sweat from his brow with a linen cloth.

"It's rained a lot lately, and based on previous years, the weather should be fine for the next while. We should also arrange for people to boil salt at Haiyan Beach."

"The master and the eldest son have ascended to heaven, but the people in the manor must continue to live."

"I've seen the spoils the Baron brought back to the castle. It seems Milk House Manor won't have much of a harvest this year. The master's ship was also stolen by the enemy, and we can only barely survive on wool and sea salt." Just now, Young Master Roger casually swept away six or seven hundred pounds of wheat. At the time, Bitter Face thought Young Master Roger was kind and generous, but now he thinks it was just pure wastefulness.

"Understood." Roger finished speaking, tossed the face cloth to the young stable boy beside him, and dragged his somewhat tired body back to his bedroom in the mansion's attic. He lay down on the small wooden bed and pondered the road ahead.

Not long after, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of his adoptive mother crying downstairs...