The wind in June is strong and strong, driving the layers of clouds and mists. It rises from the large lake in the Gulf of Mexico, travels for half a month, and finally arrives in the wilderness of the Patzcuaro Lake District, bringing the first rain of the rainy season.
The rain fell, and the drizzle splashed from the sky, falling on the semi-barren land in the Patzcuaro Lake area, making the soil softer and more suitable for farming with agricultural tools. The drizzle was flying, soaking into the endless cultivated farmland, and also wetting the busy young men in the farmland.
The weather in June has begun to get hot. Thousands of young men are working collectively in the fields, like a busy ant colony. It is quite spectacular when viewed from a distance. Most of the young men were bare-chested, with only a loincloth tied around their waists, a bamboo basket on their backs, and a digging stick in their hands to keep their labor smooth. The fields beneath the young men's feet have been simply marked with wooden sticks and divided into clear strips. Everyone has their own length to complete.
Chihuaco, an old militiaman, used both hands to insert the digging stick into the field and then rotate it, digging a small hole one finger deep. Then, he took out a few corn seeds from the bamboo basket behind his back, carefully put them into the dug holes with his hands, and then used his feet to gather the ashes of burned vegetation slightly, and roughly filled the holes. Even if it's done.
Then, the old militiaman took another step with his right foot, and dug the next hole from a distance of more than half a meter. He has been doing these farming tasks for more than ten years, and he is already familiar with them. When I picked it up again at this time, I felt a kind of kindness and peace from the heart.
The drizzle was gentle and the breeze was gentle, and half a day passed by in such a hurry. The old militiaman plowed continuously for more than a hundred steps before straightening up and sighing leisurely. He looked up at the dark cloudy sky, wiped the rain and sweat from his face with his hands, and shook his hands vigorously. Then, he turned back and looked at Vezti, who was lagging behind.
"Stupid wood, hurry up! The sky is dark, and the rain is likely to get heavier. Finish today's work as soon as possible, and let's go and rest under the arbor."
"okay."
Weziti, wearing a turban, raised his head and glanced at his old uncle. Despite his seemingly small body, he can do farm work much faster than he, a young and strong man. He responded with a muffled sound and continued digging with the pointed stone blade of the digging stick.
"This scene is really lively! It's like a swarm of bees."
The old militiaman rested his feet and looked around at the situation. He first saw the busy crowd of young men around him and sighed. Then he tilted his head and looked at the long strip of land he had cultivated.
This kind of long and narrow strip was newly drawn by the great master, and it was called "mu"; and then it was stipulated that one step on each side was regarded as "step". Each acre is 240 steps long and one step wide. The old man's people put wooden sticks in advance to mark the acre, and each acre is spaced half a step apart. The young men just keep their heads down and work in one line. Planting per acre is still the same as before, with corn first, beans next, and pumpkins last.
Chihuaco is an old farmer. He stretched out his hands and calculated carefully for a long time before he roughly understood. In a normal year, on ordinary land, the harvest of this acre of land is about 80 kilograms, with corn as the main food, beans as the supplementary food, pumpkin as a topping, and pumpkin leaves can also be eaten as vegetables. The corn in the field cannot be planted too densely. It takes one step to plant a hole, otherwise it will not produce cobs.
Generally speaking, the harvest of fields fluctuates with the land and is also related to precipitation, fertilizer, light, and heat. On the fertile good land near the lake, the harvest will be significantly increased by 20%, while on the poor and poor land in the mountains, the harvest will be reduced by 20%. Tropical areas don't have to worry about light and heat. Generally speaking, the biggest limitation is precipitation.
In terms of precipitation, the Patzcuaro Lake District is a valley in the plateau, similar to the Sichuan Basin. The annual precipitation is similar to that of the Texcoco Lake District, ranging from 1,000 to 1,500 millimeters. The precipitation from the mountains on both sides will turn into streams and converge. There is no shortage of water for agricultural production, but the rainfall is unevenly distributed and there is a risk of floods in the rainy season.
The climate type here is a savanna climate, with an average annual temperature of more than 20 degrees, divided into obvious dry seasons and rainy seasons. In August and September, when the rainy season is at its peak, the area of Lake Patzcuaro will expand significantly, so planting in the lakeside area must be particularly cautious, by building slightly higher fields or, like the Mexicans, building floating fields on the water.
As for the soil fertility in the fields, in this era when there was a lack of iron farm tools and large livestock, and it was impossible to plow deeply, it could only be solved through natural fertilizers, fallow and burning. Corn is planted so widely apart that beans are used to fix nitrogen in order to maintain adequate nutrient supply.
"Well, the harvest of four acres of land, more than three hundred kilograms of grains, and wild vegetables in the field, is just enough for a strong man to consume for a year. Is this what the great master calls 'one stone'?"
Thinking of this, Chihuaco raised his head and counted the long strips he wanted to complete, and found that he had exactly ten fingers. The old militiaman took a deep breath again. He complained softly, but a smile appeared on his face.
"It's so cruel. A young man can farm ten acres! During the busy harvest time, he will probably be so tired that he foams at the mouth and collapses like a fish on the shore. But, I really look forward to the harvest scene!"
"Uncle, I'm done. It's a lot of work and I'm even more tired than before in the village. Let's go and take a breather!"
Vezti finally caught up. Panting, he pulled Chihuaco with him and walked towards the arbor in the fields. These neat acres are clearly distinct, and at regular intervals there is a large thatched pergola. There are several large barrels inside the pergola, some farm tools and seeds piled in the corner, and in the center is a simple altar to the main god. It's raining today, and the sun is not too bright yet. When the rain stops, you won't be able to work under the sun at noon, and you have to rest in the shade.
As the two approached, two Mexica warriors were revealed in the pergola, sitting cross-legged on the ground chatting. The weather was so hot that they wore no armor, only armed with war clubs and sharp bone whistles hung around their necks. These two warriors are the overseers of this field. They are responsible for supervising the work of the young men, guarding the altar of the main god, and taking care of the farm tools, buckets and seeds in the pergola.
"you..."
Seeing someone approaching to rest, a young warrior glanced up and yelled. Another older warrior stopped quickly and tugged on his arm.
"Let them rest... They have made great achievements and have met His Highness... It is said that they will be made nobles!"
The young samurai swallowed the rest of his words. He glanced at it twice, turned his head, and said in a low voice with hatred.
"They are just Prepecha militiamen who betrayed their old master, and they don't have any extraordinary martial arts, but they can be named nobles of the alliance and stand on our heads!...Hey, His Highness said he would give us a land reward Gong, why hasn't there been any movement yet? Instead, we warriors have been asked to take care of the chores in the fields."
"When did His Highness miss his decision? Regardless of his origin, regardless of whether he is a seller or not, it is His Highness's consistent practice to reward meritorious deeds... Some time ago, didn't His Highness already distribute the reward of gold and silver cloth and be promoted to a warrior level? Now? There is a shortage of Dingkou. If the land is really granted, how can you plant it yourself?... We just listen to His Highness!"
"Of course Your Highness is right. It's just that gambling is not allowed in the army, and there is no fun in the city. Even women are organized to work...the gold and silver are not of much use in our hands!...As members of the alliance, we A samurai must find a future on the battlefield. As long as he saves enough prisoners and heads, and makes enough contributions, he can also become a military noble in the future!... What kind of future can there be in hanging around in the fields?"
Hearing this, the old warrior also sighed. There was a look in his eyes that was eager to fight, like a wolf with lurking minions, and he was quietly enduring, but he continued to persuade.
"Keep the gold and silver in your hands. Even if you can't spend it here, you can spend it in the market in the hinterland of the alliance. When your family moves from the hinterland of the alliance, we will all lay down our foundation here. Later, we will build houses, buy herbs, and buy slaves. Either way requires a lot of money..."
"As for the credit, are you afraid that there will be no credit for following His Highness? This Western Expedition has been fought one after another, and everyone is very tired. We have to take some rest. Wait until the autumn harvest is completed, and then go out to conquer again. It will also save more disasters. Grab some meat and grain!"
The young warrior nodded with an expectant smile on his face. By this time, Chihuaco and Vezti had entered the pergola. The Mexican warriors simply said hello and then stopped talking.
Chihuaco replied with a smile on his face. Then, he walked to the wooden bucket, scooped it up with a wooden ladle, and drank water directly into the big mouth. The cold water flows into the throat, dispelling the heat on the body, and it also tastes a little sweet and salty.
The water was drawn by farmers from nearby deep wells, put into wooden barrels, and transported here in the morning by a new type of wheeled cart. The great master has a requirement that everyone is not allowed to drink lake water freely during the rainy season. They must drink well water or clean stream water. The alliance never lacked salt. There was a large salt farm near the royal capital, so the lord asked the common people to add salt to the water to better maintain their physical strength.
As for the wheeled vehicle, the old militiamen also looked at it carefully with curiosity. This kind of wheelbarrow can move freely on the muddy ground of the lake area plains, but it is hard to say in the forest with tangled trees. There are two wooden handles on the top of the wheelbarrow, a wooden box for carrying items, and a large wheel below. The center of the big wheel is hollow. There is a circle of supporting wooden bars, which are cut into neat lengths and supported. There are also two circles of shining copper nails for reinforcement... Anyway, it is time-consuming and labor-intensive to look at. It must be done with bronze tools. , the cost is also very expensive, like something used by gentlemen.
Next to the old militiaman, Wezti simply took a few sips of water and then came to the altar in the center of the pergola. The altar is made of wood and stones, with the sun symbol of the main god of Mexica placed on it, surrounded by a circle of dried grains, mainly corn kernels, beans and pumpkin seeds.
Weziti lowered his head, prayed silently in his heart, chanted the name of the Lord God, and prayed for a good harvest this year.
Usually during spring plowing, the village priests would lead everyone to pray to the God of Harvest. The League now manages everything, and Mexica priests travel to perform rituals. It is said that the power of the Lord God is very strong and can take care of everything, including the harvest... Stupid Wood is a little doubtful, but praying is better than not praying at all. Let's see what the harvest is like this autumn.
The two rested for two-quarters of an hour, then continued to work in the fields, and it was already dinner time. At this time, the rain stopped a little and the dark clouds became a little thinner. The sun is hiding behind the clouds, and on the dark edge of the dark clouds, it emits a gorgeous red glow, which is inexplicably moving.
It was a day of constant hard work, and we only managed to plant just over one acre, and we would have to work on ten acres for another five or six days.
Chihuaco wiped his sweat, picked up the tip of the digging stick and took a look. In less than two days, the blade of the stone had been worn a lot, and the blade must be replaced in the middle. Fortunately, it is said that the great master has already made arrangements. The craftsmen in the city are using bronze tools to make spare farm tools in the past few days to supply the young men farming outside the city.
The old militiamen had used bronze spears and knew that this metal was quite durable. However, the output was scarce and the cost was high, so it was always used first in tools and weapons. As for bronze farming tools, we can’t count on them for the time being.
In fact, digging holes when planting is actually not bad. There is no need to plow the ground anyway, and stone digging sticks can be used as well. The really laborious thing is the sickle during harvesting. If you have a sharp sickle, you can save a lot of effort. When it comes to sharpness, the alliance's obsidian blades are the sharpest, much faster than ordinary bronze blades. It's just that the origin of obsidian is limited, it wears out quickly, and the cost is also very high.
The old militiaman walked leisurely along the field ridge, looking at the horizon and thinking randomly. The surrounding men and women stopped working one after another and gathered into a marching team. The young men were talking to each other about today's meal, and the wilderness became noisy. From time to time, someone saluted and greeted Chihuaco, and the old militiamen responded with a smile.
The Mexican warriors maintained order in the team and returned together, leaving only one civilian husband on duty in the arbor. The peasants had to sleep in the fields and watch over them all night. If farm tools were lost or the altar was damaged, it would be a serious crime to cut off the hair, whip or even behead.
Of course, this kind of hard work is not Chihuaco’s turn. He is now the captain of the field army, with a militia group of two hundred people under his command. Yes, the young men are all surrendered troops of Tarasco, and now they are arranged by the big boss to do collective farming work. Everyone is organized in the form of an army and stays in a collective camp. They have to get up on time every day, pray, have breakfast, and do farm work until evening, then pray again, have dinner, and then go to the camp to rest.
This kind of life is to farm in the form of an army, and then feed themselves, and the excess food is used as military rations for expeditions. The number of surrendering troops was counted in the tens of thousands. At this time, they were all dispersed and divided into thirty field camps based on battalions of one thousand men. The officers of each battalion are composed of Mexican warriors, Mexican militiamen, Tarasco generals who have made great achievements, or earlier Tarasco generals.
Puap now leads this thousand-man battalion, and most of the other old brothers are captains of 200 people. Only Weziti gave up the position of captain and always followed the old militia quietly.
Everyone gathered at the end of the field, then roughly separated into different groups, and returned to the camp noisily. The captains of each team yelled and cursed loudly, and the young men marched amidst the yelling and chaos, but barely maintained basic order.
The old militiamen led their own brigade, like leading a group of turkeys, and kept shouting. After several days of collective labor, these young men have developed general rules. At least they won't stop halfway to relieve themselves or catch hares in the grass. This may also be the effect of the Mexica warrior whip.
At the front of the queue, Puap, with a straight face, was marching with the field camp. He finally became a hereditary noble lord, but he still had to lead his men to do such hard work in the fields. Master Huitu was dissatisfied now, but he did not dare to express it because this was a task that His Highness strictly required and valued very much.
When spring plowing began a few days ago, His Highness even went to the fields himself, leading a group of senior commanders and generals, each of whom planted more than an acre of land. A regiment commander who looked like a monkey was very good at farming and even planted two acres at the same time. Since His Highness and the commanders-in-chief have demonstrated in person, officers at all levels naturally do not dare to neglect, and they must at least get through this period of limelight.
Mr. Huitu was thinking about the good days after the limelight, and a smile gradually appeared on his face. However, a group of army soldiers gathered in front of him with a neat appearance.
Seeing the pace of the army on the opposite side, Puap's face became solemn. After looking at it for a moment, he recognized that this was a thousand-man battalion composed purely of warriors. Among the thirty camps, there are about five such warrior camps, all of which come from Tarasco warriors who surrendered in previous battles. The team in front of them was particularly neat, and the battalion commander at the head was none other than the young head of the "Sky" family, Horta.
Horta also had a gloomy face, like a debtor collecting money. His subordinates are the family warriors who follow him. They have always been self-proclaimed and work together, and His Highness has not dismantled and reorganized them.
In the past two days, terrible news has come from the northwest: the Sky Family, which has been inherited for two hundred years, has been completely purged by Prince Feather, and has since disappeared in the Chapala Lake area. For this reason, His Highness personally summoned the head of the Sky Family to comfort him, and also promised to give a noble girl from Mexico as his wife, so that the Sky Family could establish a foundation in the alliance.
Faced with His Highness's comfort, Ortanono felt quite grateful in his heart, but could not bring a smile to his face. Full of hatred accumulated in his heart, making him always long for revenge and killing, longing for the day when he can defeat Chapala.
Under the leadership of the commander-in-chief, the two field camps gradually approached. Puap weighed for a moment, then stopped and signaled for the sky warriors to go first. Horta nodded proudly and walked away. After only taking a few steps, he remembered something again and turned back to the Gray Earth Warrior.
"Huitu Puap?"
"Dear Master Tian Tian." Puap's expression changed, but he bowed his head first and saluted.
Horta, a hereditary nobleman, bowed his head and returned the favor. He forced out a stiff smile and looked at the newly minted nobleman in front of him with a shallow foundation.
"Noble Gray Earth, I have something to ask for your help. Please don't refuse."
"You say."
"His Royal Highness requires us to farm. Each person in the camp should complete ten acres. One camp has thousands of people and ten acres."
"really,"
"All the people in my camp were born as warriors and are not good at farm work. Can you send some young men born from old farmers to help?"
Puap was silent for a moment before smiling and nodding in agreement.
"No problem, of course."
"good!"
Horta finally showed a sincere smile. He patted Puap on the shoulder and said with a smile.
"Dear noble noble of the dust, I will tell His Highness about your help to me. God bless you! May we accumulate food as soon as possible and conquer the damn remnants of Tarasco!"
