The longer the moot raged on, the deeper Bertil descended into boredom. 

[i]If that old witch would just shut her mouth and let us get on with it,[/i] he mused to himself, [i]then I'd be free to return to Escgor, and try my hands at my wife's new woman in waiting. Pretty, that one, and there's nothing like a young pretty wench to make a man feel young again, that much is true[/i]. He chuckled aloud, but quickly coughed to cover his blatant disinterest in the moot. 

It wasn't that he hadn't paid due attention, it was just that the Jarls seemed to have spoken to the point that nothing much else needed saying. Jarless Crowsfoot had made a fair case though; the old man hadn't an heir to Bertil's knowledge, and his knowledge was deep as far as everyone else's lives were concerned. It paid to have ears to the ground around your rivals, whether they were fur merchants or Jarls. Not that Henrik's lack of a son was secret. The more Bertil thought about it, the bigger his grin stretched across his face. 

[i]Perhaps when Henrik drops dead, I'll have a stab at this crown nonsense. Norsia's riches would know no bounds with me at the helm, that's for sure,[/i] he thought to himself; his grin quickly becoming a smirk.

It was true that the merchant-Jarl had big plans for Escgor. Within five years, he had steadily turned it from a forgettable backwater to a booming economy. Trade was his key, and to get trade, one had to be prepared to make friends with everyone. It didn't matter that usually one friendship was aimed at hamstringing another; as long as all parties involved failed to realise someone was losing out, then no one got hurt feelings. Hurt feelings were bad for business. With this in mind Bertil suddenly revived his interest in the moot, and started to study each of the Jarls long and hard as they talked. Were any of them really fit for the throne? 

Beron had done great things, as far as Bertil was concerned. He increased external trade links, allowing all kinds of new goods to flood the market, and Bertil was always there to capitalise on the trends of the consumer. Whether it was buying bulk supplies of Elven silk, or spices from Highathar, it didn't matter, as long as there was variety and demand, House Reenburg would always be front runner to the table of commerce. Henrik seemed likely to go in the other direction however, and this may cause hardships for a time, but as the Jarless had noted; he was old, and soon someone else would step forth, ready to capitalise on the disasters of his decisions. That someone could very well be Bertil. He flashed his smirk again, despite himself. 

[i]Yes,[/i] he thought, [i]perhaps one day, when the time is right[/i]

For now however, all the wily merchant could do was bide his time; watch, wait and buy. That wisdom had gotten him this far, and he had plenty of faith that it'd take him further still.