British hegemon

Chapter 1 The Bad Young Master

In July 1305, the thirty-third year of the reign of Edward the Longshanks, King of England, it was summer.

On the Isle of Arron in the Firth of Clyde, western Scotland, a tall oak tree stands out starkly amidst the shrubs and weeds along a coastal country road leading to a market town.

Under the blazing sun and the shade of an oak tree, two longhorned oxen pulling a cart grazed on the grass, their tails swishing to scare away the mosquitoes that were swarming in early summer. A two-wheeled cart was being pulled behind their harnesses.

A dozen or so cloth bags were neatly stacked on the cart, with a few rough, long strips of hard bread and dried cheese peeking out from the loosely tied bag openings. At the front of the cart were four small oak barrels and a stack of hard, corned beef.

Beside the oxcart, a man with a fleshy, bulbous nose and a cluster of conspicuous red boils under his full mouth poured a sip of ale from an oak barrel.

He tilted his head back and poured the contents of his mouth, which was full of rotten teeth and covered in beard, into his mouth. "Have you heard? That scoundrel from Sir Colin's family is back on the island."

Beside the bulbous nose, a middle-aged man wearing a loose-fitting coarse-woven shirt, a plaid woolen skirt around his waist, and leather ankle boots had a furrowed brow.

His sorrowful face looked more wrinkled than the tartan blanket draped over his shoulders. "Endless hell! Wasn't that filthy thing locked up in Argyll's monastery? How did it escape back to the island?"

The man with the red nose had already downed a slice of ale, and smacked his lips, saying, "They say that evil spirit was having an affair with the nuns from the convent next door."

"The nun was discovered to be heavily pregnant, and she revealed the evil spirit, resulting in her expulsion from the convent."

"Who told you that?" His worried face was full of doubt.

The man with the bulbous nose leaned closer. "Yesterday, I was escorting Gildonan's military provisions back to Brodick, and I heard it with my own ears at the Baron's mansion."

"That fellow came to visit the Baron at the manor, but the Baron slapped him and sent him away. Before leaving, the Baron declared that he would never acknowledge having such a nephew."

"It's been five whole years, and the monastery still can't contain that filth. Arran Island is going to suffer again."

The man with the red nose adjusted the short sword at his waist, a symbol of his official status, and spat a large mouthful of phlegm at a crawling ant, effectively "imprisoning" it.

"Endless hell! What kind of world is this? The Baron goes off to war every year, conscripting young men and forcibly collecting taxes. The English haven't been wiped out much, but the young men on the island are almost all dead. Now that bastard has escaped back, who knows how much more disaster he'll cause!" After saying this with a sorrowful face, he looked up at the sky, closed his eyes, and made the sign of the cross on his chest.

Rosace was a quasi-centurion of the Isle of Arran. Since King Barriol "lived" in England, the entire Kingdom of Scotland had fallen apart, and he, the centurion who symbolized the Scottish royal family's rule over the direct territories, had completely become the private tax collector of John Campbell, the Baron of Arran.

The perpetually distressed middle-aged man is the brewery owner and village chief of Locklanza village in northern Arran Island. The two are collecting "war taxes" for Baron John's campaign to expel the English invaders. This is Baron John's sixth "campaign."

The man with rosacea wanted to pour some more ale into the oak barrel.

With a distressed expression, he quickly stepped forward to protect the barrel. "This is the tax that Locklanza Village pays to the Baron. You've drunk so much; how are you going to explain this later?"

After saying that, he tried to snatch the horn cup back from the bulbous-nosed man's hand.

The man with the red nose turned away, blocking the hand that was reaching out to him with a sorrowful face. "You miser, next time I'll suggest to the Baron that he increase the tax on your family's brewery by another ten percent."

Unmoved by the distressed expression, he continued to snatch the goods.

The man with the red nose protected the horn cup. "Hey, believe it or not, I'll expose how you used your baronial title to increase taxes and then secretly pocketed the money."

With a worried expression, he stopped what he was doing.

"That's more like it. Anyway, you have a brewery, so you can just make up for it later." The red-nosed man went around to the oxcart to pour the wine, but found that the gloomy face was still staring south.

"Who are those guys? Why are they taking this back path?" The man with the bulbous nose raised his hand to his brow and looked over. "Hey~ isn't that the mountain path leading to your village?"

With a bulbous nose, wide-open small eyes, and a cluster of boils on his face, he exclaimed, "Isn't that...isn't that the evil spirit from Sir Colin's house?"

"God, your village is going to be in trouble again." After saying that, he quickly drew the Holy Cross on his chest to ward off evil.

..........

On the northern part of Aran Island, the mountain path leading to the village of Locklanza is rugged and uneven. On an old packhorse with a mottled coat, a young man in his twenties wobbles along with the horse's gait, displaying a spoiled and roguish demeanor.

The young master was tall and strong, with long, slightly curly, yellowish brown hair. Perhaps because he was always squinting at the sun, his eyes were particularly long and narrow.

A tight-fitting tweed jacket paired with raw wool skinny jeans and leather boots with laces tied in a crisscross pattern up to the knees—this outfit certainly exudes a sense of wealth and power.

Two country thugs followed behind the spotted packhorse, wearing very conspicuous tight-fitting short jackets, one of whom wore a cheap green woolen overcoat.

The other one didn't even have an inner lining; he was just wrapped in a dirty black half-length cloak, hastily tied at the waist with a thick hemp rope.

The man in the green sweater followed closely behind the young master. He looked about eighteen or nineteen years old and had a bald patch on his head, probably a souvenir from a fight. His old wooden-soled shoes kept slipping on the uneven stones.

He steadied himself, took a few steps forward, raised his bruised and dirty face, and asked the young master on the packhorse with a sly smile, "Young Master Roger, is it true what's going on with the nun that's being talked about outside?"

The young master, seemingly distracted, glanced at Mount Gote ahead and casually asked, "Which matter between me and the nun are you referring to?"

"That slut's baby is definitely not mine. She was already heavily pregnant when we were crawling through the haystack."

The young master spat and said bitterly, "Now that I think about it, that bastard's baby must have been one of the abbots. I was just tricked into filling their hole and taking the blame."

"Let's not talk about it."

The young master on horseback subconsciously touched the row of red marks on his face, unwilling to recall painful memories. He glanced at the man in the green sweater and asked, "Hey bald guy, are you sure that old man Gary isn't home today?"

The man in the green sweater stroked his bald head and said confidently, "Young Master Roger, don't worry, I've already inquired. Gary went to collect taxes in a few villages to the north with the fat tax collector today. All that's left at his house is his eldest daughter and the two apprentices at the brewery."

Upon hearing the word "big breasts," the young master's lust surged and his lower body hardened. He kicked the horse to urge him on, "Faster! After I'm done playing with you, I'll let you have a taste too."

"Young master, we'll just watch from the side; we wouldn't dare share the food with you."

"Not bad, not bad."

...........

In the northern part of Aran Island, the Ethan River diverts the waters of Lake David in the Gote Mountains to the sea. Over the years, the river's sediment has transformed this near-shore valley into fertile farmland.

The village of Loklanza sits in the middle of farmland, like a pig in a mud pit.

The village has about twenty small houses scattered around a courtyard enclosed by a low stone wall. That stone-walled courtyard is the residence of the rich village chief of Locklandza and one of only two breweries on Arun Island.

The winter wheat has been harvested, and the spring wheat seedlings in the fields are sprouting tender shoots. The blue thistle flowers along the roadside are in full bloom, but the young master riding on the spotted packhorse has no time to appreciate them.

His mind was filled with images of the village chief's daughter with her large breasts and shapely buttocks.

As the three entered the village, villagers carrying rattan baskets and dry branches and firewood slowly approached them on the muddy road, and several of the stronger villagers had already picked up fire sticks.

The villagers didn't immediately recognize the young master, but they were all too familiar with the two thugs following the dappled horse. Arun Island wasn't large, but these two were clearly notorious.

These two scoundrels coming to the village will naturally bring nothing good.

"What are you doing? What are you doing?" The green-clad thug glared at the group of men holding wooden sticks at the village entrance and shouted.

"Do you know who this is? Young Master Roger of the Colin family. He's back!"

Several quick-thinking villagers paused reflexively upon hearing the name "Roger," and then began to shrink back.

"Get out of the way, young master Roger is going to the Gary family's workshop to buy wine, don't block the way." The black-cloaked man who had been silent the whole time also began to scold.

The villagers, who had initially been quite fierce, immediately quieted down and retreated to their dilapidated huts, peering through the cracks at the young master on horseback.

After walking a few steps, the three men and one horse stopped in front of the only courtyard in the village.

Knock knock knock, the man in the green sweater somehow acquired a thick stick about the length of an arm and kept banging on the wooden gate of the courtyard wall.

After a while, the courtyard gate was opened a crack, and a thin man with a face full of freckles poked his head out, about to ask the visitor a question.

The girl in the green sweater kicked the gate first, and with a bang, the gate was kicked open, and the freckled little girl wearing a tattered wool apron rolled to the ground.

Without saying a word, the three barged into the courtyard. The man in the black cloak kicked the door shut, the man in the green sweater swung his stick and smashed it on the head of the freckled little guy who had fallen to the ground. At the same time, the man in the black cloak also clenched his fist and punched another apprentice who came out of the brewery.

The two young apprentices were no match for the local thugs, and the courtyard fell silent in the blink of an eye.

The young master on the brocade horse dismounted and slowly stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as he reached towards the main house.

Just then, the door to the main house opened, and the village chief's daughter, who had heard the strange noise in the courtyard, came out.

She was preparing food, still holding a rye bread in her hand. Her pretty face, around seventeen or eighteen years old, stared blankly at the scene in the yard, her towering breasts looking particularly alluring under her flour-covered bread.

If she weren't so picky, she should have gotten married long ago; she's already quite mature in both age and body.

The girl watched as the lewd-faced young master walked towards her, but it was too late to escape.

As soon as she turned around, the young master grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

The young master twisted her arm behind her back and held her down, making her tremble with fear.

The girl struggled desperately, shouting, "Who are you? Let me go!"

"You'll find out who I am in a moment." The young master twisted her hand and pushed her toward the long table in the corner of the room.

The girl came from a farming family and naturally had some strength. Despite her struggles, the young master found it difficult to cope.

The young master pressed down hard on the girl's hand, then turned to look at the two thugs at the door with wicked smiles on their faces. "You two bastards, what are you looking at? Hurry up and hold her down."

Two thugs quickly stepped forward, each grabbing one of the girl's arms and slamming her down onto the long table.

The young master grabbed the girl by the collar and yanked it down, tearing her robe and letting it fall to the ground. Underneath, she was wearing a knee-length linen undergarment.

The two thugs twisted her arms even harder, making her arch backward in pain.

The young master pulled off her inner lining, and the sight of her pure white body aroused his lust. His throat went dry, his breathing became more rapid, and his hands reached out to grab the girl's breasts.

The girl screamed.

The young master quickly pulled his hand away and unbuckled his belt, while two thugs held down her arms and legs. She couldn't possibly resist three strong men, but she still kept twisting and screaming.

The young master thoroughly enjoyed this, moving between her legs and lifting the hem of her clothes.

Just then, the girl shifted her gaze and stared at the young master's back.

The young master sensed danger. Both thugs were staring at the naked girl on the long table. The only way to distract the girl was to get a chance to be rescued.

The young master turned his head, intending to glance at the doorway.

A heavy club slammed down on his temple...

…………