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Okles sighed and looked at this shabby little inn, hoping that he was not far from glory. The house was squat and dilapidated, and he recognized it only by a painting of a jug of wine on the door. It was also entirely made of wood, not stone, and looked moldy along the ground. It's also suspiciously quiet for an hour after sunset. Five months later, he discovered that the barbarian lands in the north were as bad as everyone said.
He knew he could walk for another day or two before he felt really hungry, but he didn't feel the need. Even though the gods were making everything more difficult than it needed to be, he had succeeded so far. He straightened his cloak to hide his sword, for sword leaves tended to make uncivilized people nervous. He dusted off his skirt, ran his hands through his hair, smoothing the hair that had fallen out of his braid, and walked inside.
Andrews emerged from the doorway and saw that the lights were still on, although some had gone out and not been relit. The room was furnished with a series of undecorated wooden tables and chairs, leaving room for a few people sleeping wrapped in blankets by the fire. Everything was quiet and lifeless; only the waiter was awake, and he was nothing more than a pale, scrawny kid with shaggy brown hair. He sat on a table and swung his legs lazily. Seeing Androchus enter, he jumped tiredly from his seat and bowed to him. "Welcome to the Caird family, master. Please take a seat wherever you like." Then he watched Andrels find the cleanest chair and table and sit down.
"You didn't close the door, boy?" A
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okles asked. "Why is there no one here?"
"No, Master. We're open," the boy said, but he had to stop to stifle a yawn before he continued, "We're open, and we have bread and cheese, apples, plum wine, and a warm fire. .We do have some guests, but they are asleep now," the boy said, nodding towards the fireplace and the people lying there.
"Is anyone going to come?" I just wanted to take a gamble. Anjax asked, not caring how annoyed he sounded.
"I don't know, Master. I don't think so, because it's getting a little late, and people don't usually show up so long after dark. But tomorrow, when everyone comes back from the fields, they can gamble ." The boy replied.
Andrew sighed helplessly. He opened the purse, looked inside, and said, "Very good. It seems I have two copper coins left. What can this bring me?"
The boy gave him a nervous look before replying, "I guess...a jug of plum wine and an apple, I guess." Or bread instead of apple. " His eyes were fixed on the sword exposed when Andro was sitting, as if the sword would jump out and attack people on its own.
"Do you have wine?" or beer?"A
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okles asked.
"No, Master, only plums."
"How can you not drink beer? I walked in the barley fields for a long time!"
"I don't know, Master. We just don't have it right now."
"Another pot of plum wine and bread."
The boy went to get the goods, and Androcles sighed to himself, wondering if he should let go of his sandals. Now that he really has no money, Della's hometown is starting to seem far away. He may have to find work soon, and who knows what the savages will pay him. That could be worse than being a slave. The boy reappeared with an ordinary kettle and half a loaf of bread, which he carefully placed in front of Androl so that the kettle would not roll out.
He took a big bite of bread. Actually, it's not bad - a little saltier than glory-day bread, but it's made with finer grains. "I hope this will do you good, master," the waiter said. Androx simply shrugged off the distraction.
The boy patted him on the shoulder and asked: "Master, can you give me the copper plate?" A
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Okles sighed and handed it to the boy, but the boy seemed hesitant. After a while, the boy gritted his teeth and carefully took the coin from Androcles' palm, trying not to touch his hand.
In "The Legion of Glory," a boy his age would sacrifice himself for a veteran like Androcles. Arms and legs thick with muscle and covered in scars, lived long enough to retire? They were sure he was a hero and that he had to fight them off to enjoy a good meal.
But not this boy, because he is a savage and does not understand civilization at all. The boy bowed quickly and said, "Thank you, teacher." Then he immediately turned and walked toward a pile of cleaning supplies in the corner, where he half-heartedly began to do his chores.
With nothing to do, Anklex looked at him. The boy was clearly not an old Philo - flat, light brown hair, too pale skin, forgettable features. A perfectly normal kid, nine or ten years old. A year ago, his speckled purple tunic might have been white and fitted, but now it was too tight and only reached halfway to his knees. It looks like the boy will be cold this winter too, if that's all he has. No shoes either. One cannot help but wonder whether all savages dress their children so shabbily, or whether the master of the house is a stingy bastard. The child is obviously a slave, but in Glory, it's an insult to the master for a slave to look like that.
Anchorex looked away contemptuously, staring at his can, unable to bring himself to finish the second half. It tasted like it had been sitting in a pitcher all day and was overwatered. It had no foam, unlike the beer he wanted to buy. In the far north, it would be beer, not cider. There is beer in the north and beer in the south. After all, it is wine made from glorious grapes. What were they doing with all the barley? He looked down at the drink again, but it was just a flat, dark surface with no color. This whole trip is getting more annoying every day. If he were still alive, his friend Nikon would be laughing at him.
The waiter seemed to deliberately interrupt his contemplation. He suddenly hit Angelo on the elbow with a broom handle, poured all the water in the pot onto his chest, and soaked his dusty white cloak. Into the purple plum wine. Androx stood up in a rage, knocking over his chair. The boy was too scared to cower, his eyes were wide open, his mouth was agape, and his hands were holding the broom in front of him like a shield.
Androchus, quick as a snake, grabbed hold of the broom. "Turn aside, boy," he said grimly.
"...Why? The waiter asked in a low voice.
"You ruined my cloak and I'm going to slap you on the back of the thigh!" Turn now! said Androx, frowning hard enough to cause lightning.
The boy's face grew paler, he winced, and begged: "Please, Master, please, I'm so sorry! Poor!"
"Turn around or I'll hit you on the head, you rebellious slave!"
"I'm not a slave, Master, I'm just an orphan!" Come on! You look so strong you'd break my legs! The boy said, his eyes widening in horror. He began to cry. It was an expression Androx had seen many times on grown men, begging me for mercy. This doesn't do the child any good. This might have worked for his friend Deocles, but Deocles was already dead.
"Turn around. Now."
"Master, please forgive me." The boy said. He hadn't turned around yet, but he had lost his resistance. He stretched out his hands in a prayer gesture.
Androx glared at the boy, suddenly feeling a little hesitant. The child was skinny, weak and pitiful. Not enough to eat, no dignity, no last name, no future. If such a child dies, no one will notice except his master. Kind of like a penniless veteran, he thought now.
"Master, please, if I get hurt, he will throw me out!" the boy pleaded.
The kid shouldn't beg Androcles for mercy. Androcles was not a kind man. "Now that I think about it, I might break your legs," he said angrily, putting the broom aside.
It took the boy a second to realize he was off the hook, but once he did, his sense of relief was so intense it was palpable. He expressed his gratitude by kneeling and bowing as before an idol. He jumped up and said, "I'll get you another drink, Master. I'm sorry."
"I didn't want to. The first half of that movie was terrible." "In fact, everything about this inn was terrible."
Now the boy looked annoyed. "Yes, Master. Everyone is complaining, and I'm really sorry. I'm sorry that I'm clumsy. But I'm an orphan, and you're kind, so I think Patos will bless you too." The boy timidly stretched out his hand. Go get the broom.
"Son, the gods cannot see everything. I need the mercy of a weak god like the Child."
"Master, it is true that the gods cannot see everything. But some people are good, and Patos is good. He is more powerful than you think. More powerful than other gods can imagine. Of course he is more powerful than you. Stronger," the boy said. After saying this, he looked into Androx's eyes. For the first time, Androx noticed that his eyes were dark black, not even brown, with small white spots like stars on them. In that piercing moment, the boy nodded humbly and grabbed the broom with renewed determination. "I do not mean to offend you, Master. I will pray to Palos to bless you tonight."
"Change your god, boy. That man is a liar and a meddler. Pray to the god of a good soldier, like the sworn father of Arcos or the woodcutter," replied Andercles, taking off his clothes. He took off his cloak and deliberately wrung it on the ground. A large amount of plum wine dripped from the bucket and splashed all over the floor. The boy began to wipe the floor with a rag, pretending to be diplomatic and silent. A
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Okles added: "They call Pazos a kid and an orphan, but he's also a bit of a jerk in a lot of ways."
He frowned, wondering if the gods heard the blasphemy. Everyone curses the gods, but it is foolish to curse them individually. If one of them hid Della, he would never see his money again, and that would only be Androcles' luck. They are so vicious.
Because he didn't know how to gamble, when the hotel owner woke up in the morning, he couldn't afford the hotel bill. He thought this was just the right time to leave, so after his cloak was wrung dry he said: "I think I'll sleep somewhere else. Be careful with your broom handle from now on, kid." Si said, tying the cloak around his shoulders.
"I will, Master. Keep your eyes open for the blessing," the boy said.
He snorted and said, "Unless it's big enough to trip me, I'm sure to miss it." Then he threw his wet cloak over his shoulders again, and with as much cool dignity as he could muster, he left. .
As he walked north through the village, the moon was so full and bright that it almost spanned the sky. It was cold, but just enough to be annoying. Just cold. He should really hit the kid for ruining his cloak; there was no way he could sell it now. Next, he must sell his sword, and in this land, it is impossible to sell a good iron sword for a good price.
Being angry made him less tired, so he decided to walk a few miles into the country and sleep in later tomorrow morning to enjoy the moonlight and solitude.
As soon as he walked out of the rickety wooden wall, he noticed that the wind was blowing, and the wind was biting. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten very far at all. He began to wish again that he still had a shirt. Selling it at the time didn't bother him as no one would wear them without armor, but it kept out the wind. At least his sandals and skirt were in good repair.
The road ran roughly northwest, and the moonlight illuminated the hills and mountains, making them shine like ancient silver. The dense trees on the hillside looked almost like raw wool in the moonlight, evenly distributed across the landscape. He casts a long shadow, which seems a little longer than the shadow of the moon in "Glory". Maybe it's because he's further north.
East, West, South - he traveled through all the civilized world and most of the barbarian lands, but was never carried north by an army. All he knew about the wild north was what Della had told him, and she was always vague and preferred other topics. So far, he hasn't been impressed.
After about an hour, he knew he was having fun and was in a better mood, but he started to get nervous, worried that the boy would actually pray to the child and God would decide to interfere with his affairs. Unless the gods were going to throw Della into his lap and put all his money in a sack, he'd rather they be left alone. He has no time, no resources, and no inclination to respect them; they are best ignored.
As he was crossing a small bridge over a dry ravine, his toe struck hard on something sticking out of a log, and he tripped and fell. He immediately looked around to make sure no one saw it. Of course, the road was still empty. He cursed loudly and sat back, examining his toe closer so he could see it in the moonlight. It didn't bleed. Or broken. Just poke it, it hurts like being bitten by a wild animal. He groped for the nail he had kicked, intending to pull it out and throw it as far as possible. When he found it, it had the wrong shape. It's round and flat all around, and...
Androx pulled it out from between the boards and held it up to examine it in the moonlight, and he had to grin. It was a four-weight gold coin that somehow fell between the boards and missed. it's out of the question. A fourfold piece of gold is worth a hundred pieces of silver. It's a full season for a soldier. It seemed that he was very kind to the orphan! He couldn't help laughing, laughing very loudly, and continued to laugh into the empty night.
"Thank you, great Patos God!" I will use some of it to feed the next hungry orphan I meet. he promised to the stars. After a moment, he added: "I'm sorry I called you an asshole." "
When he stood up again, he found that his steps had become brisk, befitting his good mood. He began tossing the coin into the air, listening to the crisp sound it made as it spun. Although he could hear a large pack of wolves howling on the mountain, they didn't seem close enough to attract his attention, and they didn't want his gold.
What a coin! If he were still alive, his friend Euphemius would have advised him to split the money or gamble, Androcles thought with a smile. Before the sun rose, Euphemias would find a way to throw it away or waste it; the man's wages were always paid out after a week. No, the best thing would be to divide it somewhere and use part of it to buy another cloak, maybe a tunic or a robe. Have some more beer, it's refreshing and intoxicating. For months, he did whatever he wanted.
Maybe a mile further and he would find Della's body, clutching a bag containing all his money. Then, perhaps, he could give gold coins to some widow to worship the gods, so that she and her ten hungry children could feed themselves for a few months. It would be a heroic thing: suddenly, a war veteran, head held high, in front of a weeping widow, holding a sick baby in her arms. Of course she will starve, and this happens in a sunny city market where she begs with many people around her. They all saw him walk up to her and throw the huge gold coin into her hands with a look of kindness on his face, filled with determination and kindness that they would use as an example for their children.
Ha! Then he would retire to his estate and farm and find a new wife who would bear him four handsome sons and a beautiful daughter, in that order.
This is a pleasant thought. Gold sparkled in the moonlight. Indeed. He turned it higher and higher, pushing it into the air with his thumbs. He ran about another mile, tossing a coin every now and then, and was pleased to find that the breeze had its effect and that his cloak was finally dry. Smudged, but dry. He tossed the coin higher as he went. It's heavy, which is good. Let the robbers rob him! Androcles will offer this man's blood to the earth as a sacrifice to the corpse-eater, and the robbers will meet the corpse-eater Macron. Or some other god took away the evil people from this land.
Just as the coin reached its highest point, something white burst out from behind the bushes and sank its teeth into his thigh, right through his thick linen skirt.
