"Speed up the pace, we have to rush back to the town of Dusseldorf as soon as possible." As the tax collector of Earl Lowen said, he looked at the forest on both sides of the road vigilantly, for fear that his group would be attacked.
Only a few soldiers and tax collectors thought alike.
Most soldiers and cavalry saw no need to make a fuss. In their view, the Earl of Berg was now just a piece of loose sand, unable to form any effective resistance, let alone attack this armed convoy of more than a hundred people.
Even the remaining stragglers could not pose any threat.
At least, from the village of Lohausen until now, no one has been seen along the way except the burned-out farm and the putrid and charred corpses on the roadside.
"Camp here at night. Valens, send a few people to patrol the area." The tax collector said to his men while looking at an abandoned village in front of him.
Cavalry Valens was somewhat reluctant. He felt that patrolling the vicinity was completely unnecessary. There's nothing in this damn place except corpses, charred wood, and crows.
Now he was hungry, and he vowed to drink three gallons of beer and eat a whole roasted shank of beef when he returned to the village from his tour.
The sound of the cavalry's hooves broke the dead silence of the village in the setting sun. When they passed a pile of corpses that were burned beyond recognition, countless innocent souls scattered away, and the humid air was filled with the smell of putrefaction and burning embers.
By the time Cavalry Valens returned from a hasty tour around the abandoned village, the sun had almost completely set.
A bonfire was set up in the small open space in the center of the village, with slaughtered livestock stuck on skewers on the bonfire. The soldiers sat around the campfire to relax their tired bodies. The long journey really made them exhausted, especially when they met a tax collector who was anxious for some reason and kept urging them to hurry up.
But the only advantage of joining the tax collection team is that they can enjoy the supplies on one of the caravans along the way, including food and drinks.
A soldier who was addicted to alcohol brought a large barrel of beer. Everyone raised their wooden cups and reveled. Some people took off their iron helmets and chainmails to dance. When the meat on the skewers was grilled until it was constantly stained with oil and fragrant, the soldiers began to feast on the soaked bread.
For these soldiers, who were usually just wealthy free farmers or town craftsmen in the territory, such food and wine could only be enjoyed during festivals, and such carnivals would only be held on the days of the Lord.
It seemed that they were not in a burned-out village, but in a tavern in their own hometown. Now that the atmosphere has risen, no one cares about the eerie and ugly houses that have been burned by fire and the rotten smell that wafts over from time to time.
In a small house in the village that had not been damaged too much, the tax collector listened with some worry to the sound of drinking and having fun coming from the small square in the center of the village, and finally sighed helplessly.
"Maybe they are right. There is no ambush waiting for us to enter the trap. I am just scaring myself." Under the influence of red wine, the tax collector thought to himself to comfort himself.
Compared to sleeping in the wilderness and shivering in a blanket spread on the grass last night, today the tax collector can sleep on a straw mat in the hut, which is soft and warm. He felt so comfortable now that he put down the glass of wine, sleepiness gradually coming over him like a tide.
Many soldiers were tired from playing and found a room, and soon they started snoring.
The soldiers on patrol at night also drank some wine and walked around the village in a daze while holding torches. The soldiers on guard were more comfortable and could rest half asleep with their backs against the wall.
The village became quiet again. A few drunken soldiers lay scattered beside the campfire, snoring loudly. Wooden cups and leftover bones were thrown everywhere on the ground.
Valens felt a little more awake as the cold forest wind blew. He led three armed soldiers holding torches and walked on the path in the woods near the village.
They stepped on the remaining leaves and branches on the ground to make a "crackling" sound, and the torches in their hands danced playfully in the wind.
Suddenly, the crisp sound of a bowstring came from my ears.
Before Valens, who was somewhat dulled by alcohol, could figure out what was going on, he felt his neck go numb and his whole body collapsed to the ground.
He found that he couldn't scream, and blood continuously spilled from his mouth, flowing out from the corners of his mouth, mixed with saliva and dripping on the muddy ground.
Only a soldier behind Valens saw this horrific turn of events, while the two uninformed guys behind him laughed, burped and said that Valens must have drunk too much, and he was so drunk that he was so drunk. He couldn't walk smoothly and fell to the ground.
Before the words "enemy attack" could be shouted out, the remaining three armed soldiers were knocked to the ground by arrows following closely behind.
The torch in the soldier's hand behind Valens fell from his hand and fell on Valens' lap, igniting his pants and burning his skin. Valens, who screamed, truly experienced what hell is on earth before losing consciousness.
From the perspective of the soldier standing guard not far away from the village, all this was just that the light source that had been moving behind the dense trees in the forest had now become stationary, which would not arouse his attention or suspicion for the time being.
But it was he who suffered the next misfortune.
Under the bright white moonlight, several black shadows quietly approached the two listless soldiers at the entrance of the village along the walls of the houses on the edge of the village.
Almost at the same time, they were woken up, but their mouths were severely covered by a powerful hand, and they could only make a weak "Woo" sound. When the dagger shining coldly under the moonlight was inserted into their chests, they stopped struggling.
Bill, who was wearing a black soft armor hat and brown soft armor, pulled the dagger out of the chest of the armed soldier who gradually collapsed to the ground. A disgusting smell of blood filled the air, and blood gushes from the wound like a spring.
"It's safe, come here, come here!" Bill waved to the dark woods behind him, and thirty Ford village soldiers, led by Simon and Fatty, quietly approached the village.
When Bill and the archers followed the same pattern and killed the armed soldiers who were keeping watch at the campfire near the village and prevented the drunkards at the campfire from waking up again, the militiamen lowered their bodies and poured into the village.
Several militiamen came to the bonfire and used the bonfire to light the linen cloth at the mouth of the kerosene jar.
Militiamen holding fire oil jars quietly came to the doors of the snoring houses. At the same time, there were several militiamen holding spears guarding the doors and windows of several houses.
After seeing that everything was ready, Simon shouted: "Throw the can of fire oil!"
As a result, the fire oil jars exploded among the drunken and sleeping armed soldiers. A heat wave swept through the entire hut. Fires lit up in many huts instantly, and the sound of killing the armed soldiers who had been awakened was heard in the house. Screaming like a pig.
"Ah, ah, bastard!"
A sturdy soldier with burning grease on his armor screamed and picked up the two-handed ax leaning against the wall, and rushed towards the door of the house. However, he was stabbed several holes in his body by the militiamen who shouted loudly outside the door. Unwilling to do anything, he fell to the ground.
When some armed soldiers saw someone guarding the door, they wanted to escape through the window, but they didn't expect that someone was also guarding the window.
Seeing that the "prey" had taken the bait, the militiamen outside the window quickly grasped the spear in their hands and stabbed it. The last thing many armed soldiers saw before losing consciousness was the excited faces of militiamen illuminated by firelight outside their windows.
"What happened?" Hearing the screams and howls, the tax collector woke up from his dream. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked out the window. He was suddenly startled - there were strange people everywhere. Soldiers, they hunted down their own soldiers who were on fire with spears, just like cutting through melons and hemp.
This is a total massacre!
Since the tax collector was sleeping in a house on the edge of the village, he was the only one in the house. He was missed by a careless archer passing by outside the house at that time, which was a great fate.
He quickly put on his mail turban, fastened the laces of his Norman helmet, took his sword and hurried out the door, running towards the stable next to him.
Fortunately, there were no militiamen in the stables for the time being. The militiamen's attention was now focused on the armed soldiers who were burned to death in the house and were making a last-ditch effort like crazy.
When the tax collector unfamiliarly put a good saddle on his horse and stepped on the horse, the militiamen had already begun to finish.
There were no more screams coming from many houses in the village, and now there were raging fires.
Perhaps these armed soldiers never dreamed that the house they set on fire last week would accidentally be burned to death inside tonight.
Destiny always likes to play tricks on people, especially jokes that many people would never think of.
Simon, Bill and the archers who were finishing up heard the sound of horse hooves. Bill decisively picked up his longbow and rushed to the village gate with a lunge. He drew an arrow and nocked the bow. However, because he had just been in the village and was accustomed to the light, he suddenly returned. My eyes didn't adjust to the darkness, and I could only sadly listen to the sound of horse hooves fading away.
"Someone has gone to tip off the news. We have to pack up the loot as soon as possible and leave here." Seeing Bill spread his hands helplessly after returning, the joy of victory in Simon's heart was diluted a lot, and he frowned and ordered the fat man.
