Is ASOIAF noble’s use of a permanent garrison realistic? How common were permanent guards during times of peace in the Middle Ages? Where did they come from (levies, sons of soldiers…)? How many guards could the Earl of Salisbury afford, for example?

Sure, it’s realistic – depending on what period you’re talking about.

Generally speaking, the earlier you go, the more the army looks purely feudal – land is literally divvied up by how much it takes to support a heavily-armed and armored mounted soldier – whether we’re talking about the knight’s fee/knight-service as a unit of land in England, or the fief du haubert (i.e, a fief that can pay for a hauberk of chainmail) in France – and armies are made almost entirely out of men providing military service as their rent. 

For reasons that have been talked about in the fandom a lot, this was always a bit of a pain for rulers – armies take a long time to assemble, armies start to dissolve if the fighting lasts longer than the term of service laid down in their contracts, and so on. It was also not hugely popular from the lower end either – once they’ve got their nice fief, and especially once that fief becomes hereditary and much harder for kings to revoke or transfer, military service for the higher ups interferes with your nice local land-grabs and feuds, managing your estate, hawking and hunting, and the other pastimes of the aristocracy. 

So somewhere between the 12th and 13th centuries across a wide swathe of Medieval Europe, people came up with the scutage as an alternative. This is a cash tax paid in lieu of military service, and it was rather convenient all-around. It meant that the king had regular cash-in-hand (especially once they figured out you could impose a scutage during peace time as well as during a war) and could hire mercenaries to supplement their feudal levies, and it meant that landowners who didn’t want to fight could pay cash instead. And the popularity of this system meant that increasingly armies were more professional and less feudal in nature.

And this is how we get to the situation around the time of the Wars of the Roses where we have what historian Charles Plummer called bastard feudalism. In this period – the 14th through 16th centuries – kings and nobles realized that it was a lot easier to convert rents and taxes from service into cash, and then use that cash to hire people to fight for them, than the old feudal system. In this new system, people would join the affinity of a nobleman and, in addition to room and board and cash and an inside track to lands and appointments, would wear the livery of their patron. And nobles found out that they could afford to hire a lot more people this way than with the old land-sharing system. Hence the phenomenon of over-mighty vassals who could put a lot more men under arms than the monarch could deal with their more traditional armies – and why Edward IV and Henry VII both spent a good deal of their reigns trying to abolish the system. 

Now, who were these men who were fighting for a living? Well, one thing to understand is that, from the beginning of this period, there’s always been a class of people who took room and board and a cash wage to serve as permanent soldiers of a household  – the Anglo-Saxons and the Scandinavians had their housecarls; the Franks had their socii or scara, who served as the retainers and bodyguards of the various counts, dukes, kings, and emperors; and so on. Later on, the impact of primogeniture within the nobility meant that you had a significant population of men who had been trained as knights who weren’t going to get land – those men need work. During “bastard feudalism,” it gets even more complicated, because you had iterative affinities as the Earl of Salisbury’s affinity was part of the larger Neville affinity, and he would have had lesser lords in his affinity. 

As for examples – the Earl of Salisbury during the Wars of the Roses had a personal affinity of at least a thousand men, while the Earls of  Darby had about 2,000 men in their affinity, and so on. 

Do the members of the small council (Master of Ships, Laws, Coin, Hand of the King, etc) draw a salary? Or maybe get some kind of break on taxes owed? Or does having such political influence make payment unnecessary?

I could have sworn I wrote about this before, but can’t find where I wrote it, so at the risk of repeating myself, I’ll do it again.

Yes, they probably get a salary, but probably not a large one in part because the Small Councilors are supposed to be noblemen who live off the incomes of their lands.  

If Westeros is like Medieval and Early-Modern England to any extent (and since GRRM is largely drawing from English history here it probably is), then there are salaries that come from working for the monarch, either in the private household or the government itself.

For example, Queen Elizabeth I’s laundress got paid 

£4 annually, plus another 

£6 to pay for livery (i.e, clothing with the queen’s sigil, her required uniform). Her Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, a high-ranking Privy Councilor charged with keeping the seal of England, got paid 

£919 pounds annually, and that was pretty good for the time.  

At the time, however, there was also a form of socially accepted bribery and kickbacks. As Lacey Baldwin Smith points out in The Elizabethan World:

“…no Elizabethan official ever received a salary that was commensurate with his position: the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal earned a stipend of 919 pounds a year; the Lord Admiral 200 pounds, and the principal secretary 100 pounds, but in 1601 all three posts were actually valued at approximately 3,000 pounds a year. Gratuities and fees for promoting a friend, urging a favor, giving information, and above all, for tapping and directing the bounty of the queen made up the difference…they were considered the legitimate perquisites of office in an age that regarded governmental posts as both public trusts and private sinecures.”

So chances are that the Master of Laws gets gratuities from people seeking to have their cases heard by the King, the Master of Ships from merchants or shipbuilders looking for business, etc. However, as we see with the case of Littlefinger and Janos Slynt, there are informal norms about what’s ok to do and what isn’t – Stannis recognizes that bribes happen, but treats selling officer positions in the Gold Cloaks as unacceptable; Littlefinger putting his own men in office is normal, but using public funds as his own investment bank is not. 

Your answer on Tax Farming was really interesting. Was the process usually for Tax Collectors under that system to press on until they caused too much trouble and were removed by the King, or was it a long-term business? It at least seems like that once the King has your lump sum payment, suddenly you’re not as useful anymore – and the sooner you’re replaced by someone who can pay the lump sum all over again, the better.

Sure, there were tax collectors who got too greedy and wound up dead or replaced by someone – although the thing about greedy tax collectors is that they’re usually good at bribing their way out of trouble.

But smart tax collectors learned to diversify their business – like branching out into financing by loaning people money to cover their tax bill…

Anon Asks: Tax Farmers

How do tax farmers work? I understand they are assigned a region and promise the king they will produce a certain amount of revenue with everything past that being theirs to keep. However I don’t understand the actual process. Do they bring troops with them to help shake down the people? Were the taxes just arbitrary? Was there a tax season? How did the smallfolk feel about this? Merchants? Nobles? 

You’ve kind of missed a step in the process that goes a length to explaining why the system was so messed up. The promise in question was usually an up-front lump-sum payment given in exchange for the right to the ongoing revenue-stream in that province. Yes, sometimes the lump sum was seen as a loan that the state would pay back, but most of the time the state just took the lump-sum and moved on.

Now, this is an auction process – various people are bidding for the rights to tax and the government takes the highest bid. So not only does the winner needs to collect a sum equal to what they paid for the license (in order to break even), and then has to keep on taxing above that to turn a profit, but because there’s competition, their initial bids could quite possibly exceed the normal amount of revenue that a province could produce, let alone the added burden of the farmer’s profit margins. 

This is somewhat useful for relatively weak states – they don’t have to pay a large bureaucracy of tax assessors, collectors, and accountants to keep track of the money. Lump-sum payments means that you have more cash on hand at certain periods of time then if you were waiting for money to come in from different regions at different times of the year – and that’s very useful when you’re starting a military campaign and need supplies and a paychest to keep the army going. 

But, it often means higher tax rates than if the state was collecting it themselves, which increases discontent in the provinces potentially leading to revolts that you then have to put down with your army, and reduces the growth rate of the provincial economy because money is going to tax collectors (both as payments and as investment flows into buying up those contracts) rather than being invested in agriculture or manufacturing. And in the long run, it’s better to have a growing economy than a stagnant one. 

So….to answer your actual question: how did it work? 

  • Tax farmers both employed their own leg-breakers debt collectors and had the right to call in royal troops. This is one of the things that made the practice less useful for governments than was originally thought – you’re supposed to be saving money on tax-collecting bureaucracy, but now you are detaching soldiers to protect tax collectors. And that means that your soldiers, rather than protecting your provincials from bandits and raids from enemy kingdoms, are shaking them down for money. That’s not good for loyalty to the regime. 
  • In terms of the rates, it depends on the place and time. In the Roman Empire, tax rates tended to be set at whatever rate the auction price plus profit hit, but it’s also true that taxes were basically assessed collectively for certain cities and regions and local elites figured out the process of how to gather the money, usually by paying the tax collector out of their own pockets and then repaying themselves by taxing the lower orders. In medieval England, however, feudal grants given in “fee-farm” clashed with the fact that rents tended to be fixed sums established by written contracts or by custom.
  • Tax season in premodern eras tended to be centered around the agricultural season, because after the harvest is when 90%+ of the population had something worth taxing and had it all in one place where you can easily count it and grab your cut. 
  • In terms of how people felt about it – well, peasants tended to hate it, because they were the ones paying most of the taxes, and while they generally accepted the legitimacy of the King or Emperor, that got really fuzzy when some pushy businessman is waving some piece of paper at you that says he has the right to seize your property. Likewise, because the agricultural cycle doesn’t necessarily synch up with the auction process back at the capitol, a bad season could mean that you’re paying the old rates or higher with much lower incomes. Merchants tended to be of two minds – to begin with, they’re usually the folks engaged in tax farming, so those guys are very pro-tax farming. However, when it comes to contracts to collect tolls or excise taxes, merchants were the ones paying those taxes and weren’t happy about it. Unless the nobles were the ones letting out the contracts, nobles tended not to like it – tax collectors are upjumped commoners coming onto your estates and pushing around your people, and that’s your job. And when the pushy tax collectors caused a riot or whatever, you were the one they would call in to provide protection. And if the whole thing started a rebellion, you would get the blame from the central government. 

Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Tyrion XIII, ACOK

Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Tyrion XIII, ACOK

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“They say I’m half a man…what does that make the lot of you?” Synopsis: Tyrion observes his works and doesn’t quite despair before rushing off to the defense of the King’s Gate, where Sandor is refusing to lead another sortie against Stannis’ landing parties. Tyrion steps into the breach. SPOILER WARNING: This chapter analysis, and all following, will contain spoilers for all Song of Ice and Fire…

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Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Sansa V, ACOK

Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Sansa V, ACOK

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 “The Mother’s altar and the Warrior’s swam in light, but Smith and Crone and Maid and Father had their worshipers as well, and there were even a few flames dancing below the Stranger’s half-human face…for what was Stannis Baratheon, if not the Stranger come to judge them?” Synopsis: Sansa is trapped in Maegor’s Holdfast with Cersei, who’s not looking very stable. SPOILER WARNING: This chapter…

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Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Tyrion XII, ACOK

Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Tyrion XII, ACOK

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“Cersei set a tasty table, that could not be denied…Tyrion was exceedingly courteous; he offered his sister the choice portions of every dish, and made certain he ate only what she did. Not that he truly thought she’d poison him, but it never hurt to be careful.” Synopsis: Tyrion has dinner with Cersei. It doesn’t go well. SPOILER WARNING: This chapter analysis, and all following, will contain…

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Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Sansa IV, ACOK

Chapter-by-Chapter Analysis: Sansa IV, ACOK

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“Wordless, she fled. She was afraid of Sandor Clegane…and yet, some part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of the Hound’s ferocity. There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.” Synopsis: Sansa argues with Ser Dontos about travel, has a conversation with Sandor Clegane about the joys of murder, and then has to talk to Cersei about…

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