Beside the stable, which was filled with the smell of horse manure and all kinds of stench, a soldier guarding Simon was neatly stacking the trophies on the carriage.
"I really made a profit this time." Simon held a torch on one side and looked at the weapons and equipment being put on the car under the light of the fire, feeling an indescribable satisfaction.
"Sir, all the things that Baron Iser asked people to send have been loaded on the car without even touching the ground." A sweaty soldier walked up to Simon and said tiredly.
"Well done, go and have a rest." As soon as Simon finished speaking, the soldier saw a small gadget shining in the firelight flying towards him, and quickly caught it with his hand.
"Thank you, my master!" Looking at the copper coin in his hand, the soldier was overjoyed. After thanking him, he walked to the side room humming a cheerful tune. He was the only lucky one among all the escort soldiers whose arms were completely uninjured.
At this time, Simon's wooden carriage contained two more bloody and severely damaged cotton armors than before, a cracked pot helmet, two curved short spears with blunt tips, a single bow and twenty arrows. , a Germanic sword with a slightly curled edge, two notched armed axes, three farmer's wood-chopping axes, seven pitchforks and nine daggers.
In addition, in order to thank Simon for the huge advantage that Simon's catapult created for him in the war, the generous Baron Iser gave Simon the chainmail armor that originally belonged to Sir Kun and a sturdy black horse. .
"What a beautiful horse!" Simon walked into the stable and stroked the black horse that now belonged to him. The Baron was indeed generous, and gave himself the exquisite saddle on the horse and the silver stirrups with cross carvings.
"Lord Simon," not far away, the young castle messenger saw Simon in the stable and walked quickly, "Dear Sir Simon, my lord invites you to attend the banquet in the Lord's Hall at noon the day after tomorrow!"
"Oh?" Simon patted the black horse gently and turned to look at the slightly nervous young man. "It seems that I have to stay in this place where the goddess of victory is full of joy for a few more days."
Simon has paid an additional twelve copper coins to the tax collector of Baron Iser, entrusting him to send someone to take care of his thirty serfs and the simple catapult during his trip to Abeldoorn Port. He had already planned to set off tomorrow morning and continue to the port of Abeldoorn.
"That's right, sir," the young herald smiled, and mounted the stirrup on a traveling horse, "Forgive me that I can't accompany you any longer. I am going to ride a horse to Red in the east on the order of my lord. Barony.”
"Go, kid." Simon looked at the back of the young man riding away, heading towards the wooden tower of Fort Issel.
At this moment, Simon noticed the sound of drinking and fist-fighting coming from not far outside the castle. He couldn't help but turn his steps and walked out of the gate of the wooden castle. After leaving the fort gate, we walked downhill for a short distance under the moonlight and the night wind, and finally saw the brightly lit tavern in the village.
When I pushed open the moss-covered wooden door of the tavern, the first thing I encountered was a mixed smell of wine, sour sweat, and mold. Then, there was deafening laughter, noise, guessing, and the continuous sound of clinking wine glasses.
"Be careful, man!" Simon frowned, and just as he was about to walk in, a brown-haired peasant soldier sitting by the door suddenly raised his finger and pointed at his feet. Simon looked closely and saw a puddle of disgusting vomit. There were traces of being stepped on on the vomit, and it seemed that some unlucky person had been hit.
"Oh my God." Simon had to take a big step and crossed the puddle of disgusting stuff. After standing firm, Simon began to look at the tavern carefully.
The tavern is not big, with only three large oak tables and a dozen long benches. The table was bustling with peasants and soldiers who had been fighting on the battlefield during the day. The table was littered with wooden cups filled with ale and dinner plates filled with barbecued meats and roasted fruits. It seemed that the reward for killing the enemy had gone into the pockets of these lavish spenders.
There was no floor in the tavern, and the wine spilled on the floor by some careless guys made the ground extremely damp. When you walked on it, there was wet mud filled with the smell of wheat that stuck to your feet.
At this time, a peasant soldier told a vulgar joke, making people at the two tables laugh. After laughing, I don't know which one of them had a stupid bad idea. The two tables of peasants and soldiers actually unbuckled their belts and took off their trousers to compete with each other to see whose bird was bigger.
"Oh, my God!" The fat landlady couldn't help but cover her eyes and turned away, which made the peasants and soldiers laugh even more.
"Hey, sir, do you want to eat something and drink some ale? Please don't worry, the Baron has specially canceled the curfew for these few days in order to celebrate the victory of the war. The shopkeeper will definitely not drink it while you are drunk. We'll close when you're done enjoying yourself." An old bartender with a white beard who was wiping wooden cups with a rag behind the bar looked at the customer who had just entered the store with his cloudy eyes.
After Simon returned to Isselburg, he took off all the equipment and armor in the guest room. Now he was only wearing a cotton coat that was slightly better than the coarse linen clothes worn by ordinary civilians. Therefore, no one in the tavern recognized Simon's noble status.
"I guess you would like a piece of fragrant roast pork tenderloin, a large glass of refreshing ale, and a piece of freshly baked hot breaded apple pie," the bartender said gushingly, looking at the hesitant Simon. "Sir, I swear you will fall in love with these, just like every previous guest who gave a thumbs up after eating."
"Okay, let's have one." Simon touched his growling stomach. I have to admit that this eloquent wine waiter can make people feel hungry just by talking.
There were no empty seats at the big wooden table, and Simon really had nothing to talk to these ignorant peasants from the Middle Ages. So Simon sat alone on the wooden chair in the corner of the bar.
But soon, he noticed a guy sitting on a wooden chair on his left whose appearance and temperament were completely different from those of these farmers.
"The group of Magyars on the grassland, the sharp archers on the fast horses, on the swaying horses as if they were on the stable land, used the short bows in their hands to continuously harvest the precious lives of the Saxon warriors one after another." A blond middle-aged man wearing an orange-green short robe and red tights was delivering an emotional speech. There were several peasant soldiers gathered around him who were drinking, eating and listening quietly.
"The Saxon knights wearing shining armor and riding handsome horses are also out." The blond man's tone gradually became impassioned, and then the topic changed, "But those horse archers riding agile ponies are not as good as knights." The duel is usually with them head-on. If we use an analogy, they run away like mice, draining the cat's energy, and then give the cat a fatal counterattack when it is exhausted. From prey to hunter again."
"God bless us, there are such terrible enemies. Even the elite Saxon soldiers and knights can't do anything to them!" A peasant soldier sighed with emotion and made the sign of the cross on his chest.
"Sir, please continue talking." An old peasant soldier eagerly wanted to know the follow-up.
"Ahem, um, there's no wine in my cup." The blond middle-aged man coughed lightly and turned the wooden cup in his hand over, but he didn't pour out even a drop of malt liquor.
"Hey, old Schroeder, give this gentleman another glass of ale and charge it to my account!" the peasant soldier shouted. After a while, the old bartender handed over a large glass full of cold ale.
"I feel much better now." The blond middle-aged man raised his head and took a sip, wiping the wine beads from his beard. "However, fortunately, our resourceful King Henry quickly adopted a new countermeasure. He was in Saxony Densely packed castles were built on the plains to the east to resist the invasion. They used the new and sophisticated tactic of using infantry as bait and letting elite cavalry ambush, which severely dealt a blow to the arrogance of the pagans and protected the majority of the Christian people. !”
"Okay!" A drunken old serf with a red face patted the table excitedly.
"That's it. Although the pagans will still invade the vast land of our kingdom on horseback, it is already difficult for them to succeed and trample on us without scruples. Everyone, we all live under the glory of the Lord. I believe that everyone The days will get better and better." The blond middle-aged man raised his glass and drank the ale in one gulp. Several other peasant soldiers nodded with satisfaction and continued to eat the dishes on their plates.
"Sir, here are your wines and dishes." The fat proprietress, wearing a greasy apron, placed the charmingly fragrant roasted pork tenderloin and apple pie in front of Simon's table. Then, the old bartender came over and placed a glass of malt wine next to the plate of tenderloin.
"Sir, if I guess correctly, you are a noble, right?" At this time, the blond middle-aged man noticed Simon sitting on the chair next to him.
"Oh?" Simon put down his wine glass and smacked his lips, "How did you tell?"
"I have probably seen more nobles than these farmers have seen wheat seedlings." The blond middle-aged man smiled faintly and wiped his mouth with his dirty and oily sleeves.
"That means you are a bard?" Simon asked vaguely as he took a bite of the tenderloin and chewed it in his mouth.
"Obviously." The blond man played with the wine glass in his hand and looked at Simon with a smile.
"Bartender, give him a glass of wine, it's mine." Of course Simon knew what this guy was thinking. Sure enough, after getting another glass of refreshing ale, the blond middle-aged man started talking.
"My name is Ludwig. You may not believe it, but my father is actually the Duke of Franconia." Looking at Simon's surprised expression, Ludwig smiled bitterly and shook his head, "But my mother is the Duke's." maid."
"Oh, that's it!" Simon then realized that he was an unrecognized illegitimate child.
"I was sent to a count's house as a page boy when I was very young. When I grew up, my father arranged for me to be sent to a monastery to become a monk." Ludwig took a sip of the bitter ale, as if Reminiscent of an unbearable past.
"I read a lot of interesting books in the monastery's library, all of which prompted me to look out to the colorful world all the time. Finally one day, I couldn't stand the boring life in the monastery anymore. So on a stormy night, I climbed over a low wall in the monastery and escaped." At this point, Ludwig smiled.
"It's so pitiful. Maybe for him, those days of leisure are almost the same as being in jail." Simon thought to himself.
"My escape allowed the Duchess, who had always been dissatisfied with me, to take advantage of it, causing my father to cut off contact with me. Anyway, I didn't care. I just relied on the accumulated knowledge I learned in the monastery to be a wandering Bard. God bless me, I feel that my life is very fulfilling and satisfying, and that is enough." Ludwig curled his lips and said nonchalantly.
"I see. Were you invited here by Baron Iser this time?" Simon asked curiously. Generally, if a lord wants to hold a banquet, a bard is indispensable.
"No. I was originally in the port of Abeldoorn. As soon as I heard that Baron Iser and Baron Arnhem were fighting not far away, I packed up and prepared to leave. It's very simple. No matter which side wins, it will be held. Banquet. As far as I am concerned, whoever earns money is earned." Ludwig took a sip of wine and licked his lips.
"That's true." Simon nodded and put the apple pie into his mouth.
"Actually, as a bard, compared to telling stories in taverns to earn some drinks, or chanting in noble castles to earn some silver coins, I prefer to see the magnificent scenery, knights' duels, and cruel wars. And the place where holy miracles once appeared." Ludwig's eyes sparkled with yearning.
"Ha, speaking of the place where the miracle appears, you can definitely go to my territory, the village of Verde in the Earl of Berg in the south and take a look. I swear on my honor that there is a manifestation of God there now."
"What?" Ludwig's eyes were full of sneers, "Are you kidding me? I've passed there before, and there's nothing special about it."
There was no other way, Simon had no choice but to tell Ludwig the story of the magical monk again after Father Iser.
"Oh, my God, there is such a thing! I will definitely go to Verde Village to see the manifestation of God when I have time." Ludwig was different from the farmer priest and he accepted Simon's deception very quickly. .
"As expected of a well-informed bard." Simon admired from the bottom of his heart, as if he had found a confidant for many years.
