Chapter 672: Casting the bait
Eighty-five thousand silverii.
That was the final toll sent in by the quartermasters.
Of that staggering sum, a full forty thousand would find its way into Alpheo’s coffers , claimed not just as spoils of war, but as the rightful prize of conquest,including of course all the decoration taken from the Herculeian court soon to adorn his.
Twenty thousand more were set aside for the men each soldier promised roughly eight silverii as a reward for their part in the siege.
A fair share by any reckoning, though Alpheo had wisely decreed that the bulk of it would not be paid until the campaign’s end. He knew well the dangers of silver burning too brightly in a man’s purse, it was a weight that often carried feet far from discipline and into the arms of desertion.
Still, not even a prince could parade mountains of treasure past bloodied soldiers and expect to keep their hands entirely empty. A modest sum had been issued to each man in the days following the sack, just enough to keep spirits high and blades loyal.
And yet, unlike past victories, the usual outlets for a soldier’s coin had changed.
Normally, such a windfall would have vanished in a night, lost to taverns, spilled into cups of sour wine, or slipped down the bodices of brothel girls with painted smiles and nimble fingers.
But this wasn’t Yarzat . This was a half-ruined city , still licking its wounds from conquest.
The wine, at least, was provided. Alpheo himself had seen to that—casks of the prince’s vintage rolled out into the squares on the night following the sack, given freely in celebration. Firepits burned, meat was roasted, drums were beaten, and songs were sung with the kind of drunken joy that only victory could grant.
As for the pleasures of the flesh? Those were free, for better or worse. No one dared charge coin from men who had taken the city . Who, after all, would ask a price from the victorious? To do so would be to invite wrath with a smile, and the brothel’s owners , having seen the banners fall, were in no mood to gamble with the temper of conquerors.
And so the soldiers kept their silver, for once, not emptied in a single night, but clinking in their satchels and purses.