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The first road crews assembled at dawn every morning, gathering at the Dreadfort's outer walls, where barrels of oats, salted pork, and weak ale were issued before work. Steelshank's lieutenants oversaw the mustering with a soldier's eye, keeping watch and the peace. Some of the northerners had expressed their disdain for the Essosi, and it was the same way around with the easterners.
Domeric never expected their cooperation to be outright peaceful at first, but he would punish and make examples out of those that would dare to delay his work.
Those that caused trouble would be forced to work extra hours even after everyone else finished and returned to their work camps for the day. And those who thought themselves still stubborn to the small punishments received different rations and less pay. He had ensured to wire their ethics and work into their very means of survival. You refused to work or delayed the work by some means; then no food, no grain, nor coin. And if you continue to cause trouble constantly, either all will be added at once or you would be whipped amongst the crowd of the others and forced to work after.
Though it wasn't the harshest punishment one could levy in these times, especially by a Bolton, who were feared for cruelty, it was logical, and it lessened labor waste while inducing the masses to believe that their wages and grain for their livelihoods depended on their cooperation and output. Many understood this and had resigned themselves to doing what needed to be done; they were being paid fairly, food was provided on a daily basis, and they would receive their wages fortnightly, so what better treatment could men of their rank ask for? This was more than generous to those who knew and experienced the gnaw of hunger, cold and unemployment.
So no man was idle. No man wandered , and few to little dared to disturb the peaceful work flow.
The roadbed itself was marked with stakes and cord, straight where possible, bending only when the land made stubborn demands…. outcroppings of stone too costly to break, marshy ground that would swallow even packed rubble if challenged head-on. Domeric insisted on patience here, as he insisted that crooked roads wasted time and resources . He wanted the road as straight as possible but the land had always argued back in response to this decision.
Hours and days went by at times where only nothing but clearing could be done. Roots were hacked out, scrub burned, stones rolled aside or broken where they lay. In softer ground, men dug down until they reached firm earth, sometimes three feet, sometimes nearly five. Where the soil remained treacherous…..near the bends of the Weeping River, areas where floods had softened the ground, timber piles were driven down, oak and pine hammered deep until refusal. Upon these, the foundations would rest.
And rest heavily they would , as the foundation stones arrived next, hauled by ox teams in groaning sledges. Granite blocks from the northern hills, basalt stones split along natural seams.These were laid without mortar, fitted tightly and properly, larger stones placed at the edges to bear weight and resist spreading. Smaller rubble was rammed into gaps, men swinging wooden mauls in rhythm until the stones no longer shifted beneath their feet.
It was slow work. Brutal work. But it filled those who worked on it with pride.
Domeric walked the length of it with his guards in tow, though uncaring or fearless of danger as he forced them to pace quickly in sudden change in movements.
His boots caked in gray mud, cloak discarded like a laborer's. He asked questions, observed, even offering advice, the young lord ordered stones replaced, demanded drainage ditches be deepened by another foot when he saw water pool where it should not. Some men cursed him under their breath. Others watched silently and worked harder.
They understood, even if they would never say it aloud, this road was not for one season, or even one lifetime.
Once the foundation held firm, the Intermediate followed. Crushed stone, gravel, and coarse sand, much of it dredged directly from the riverbanks were poured in layers and compacted. Here the new tools proved their worth. The long-shaft spades bit deeper with less strain. The redesigned sledgehammers shattered stone faster. Wooden rammers capped with iron plates packed material tighter than old methods ever had.
Progress quickened.
By the time the core was laid, a finer mixture of sand, crushed slate, and gravel…the road had begun to resemble something proper. It rose slightly above the surrounding ground, crowned at the center so water would flee from it rather than linger. Kerbstones were set along the edges, angled just enough to guide runoff into side ditches that led away towards the river or a artificial gullie.
The surface came last. Where stone was plentiful, fitted slabs were laid carefully, each piece chosen for size and shape, hammered until they locked together and compacted. Then after this behest they were covered by a layer of concrete and smoothened for a final finish.
The engineers and foreman were warned of shortcuts and so were the laborers by their overseers.
Ten feet wide, just as he had decreed and with ditches for drainage.Wide enough for two wagons to pass without slowing. Wide enough for patrols to ride abreast. Wide enough that trade would flow like the weeping river itself.
By the end of the first month, the road extended nearly two miles from the Dreadfort, it resembled a pale scar of a smooth solid path cutting through the land, and it was beautiful.
When the first loaded wagon crossed it without sinking, without breaking an axle, the men cheered despite themselves.
A small feast if it could be called so was kept in tune of the progress made, the project runners had allowed them a double ration of ale and mead that night with better food, bread and goat stew was plentiful. Far better than the midday gruel they were used to.
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While the road clawed outward, the river became the second focus of Domeric's construction efforts.
The Weeping River was steady, wide in places, narrow in others, its banks lined with willows , dark sand and coarse grasses. It had always been used poorly. A few crude waterwheels turned here and there, grinding grain inefficiently, freezing in winter, flooding in spring.
That would no longer suffice.
The first flour mill rose a mile downstream from the Dreadfort, an area where the current narrowed naturally. Masons laid stone abutments into the riverbed, diverting water through a channel reinforced with timber and rock. The wheel itself was an undershot design at first….simpler, quicker to build… but the young lord under advice of his builders had already ordered overshot wheels to be constructed once timber supplies allowed.
The millhouse was wider and better, it was solid, squat, built to endure floods and ice alike. Thick stone walls. A raised threshold. Internal mechanisms enclosed to keep moisture at bay. Millstones were hauled from distant quarries at great cost , hard granite with tight grains, capable of grinding thousands of bushels before wearing thin. This mill would be the standard for mills throughout the land the same design to reduce on cost and time , and was far easier to build.
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