roccoschili Chapter 11 Messenger
Chapter 11 Messenger
A new spring has arrived, and even Laflesh, which was shrouded in war last year, has begun spring plowing in full swing.
"Mayor! Father Antoine wants you to go to the church!"
A young boy called out to Martin, who was guiding an ox through a plow in the field. Martin told his son, who was driving the old ox, to stop, and, still holding the plow, asked, "What does the priest want with me? Is it just me?"
"They say a high-ranking official is looking for you! I have to notify a lot of people!" the kid shouted as he ran, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Martin shook his head, planted the plow, and turned to his youngest son, who was dividing seeds beside him, saying, "Lewandowski, you drive the oxen, and let John hold the plow." As he spoke, he rolled down his sleeves and trouser legs, shaking off the mud. "You two, don't rush, take your time, don't hurt yourselves. There are only these two acres left, no rush. If I'm not back by noon, tell your mother to take lunch home."
After instructing his son, Martin headed towards the church. Thinking he might be meeting some high-ranking official, he even found a stream to freshen up. When he reached the church entrance, he found a dozen people already gathered there—almost everyone influential in town had been summoned. Things seemed to be more serious than he had imagined.
Before he could even greet them, he looked up and saw the flag in the backyard, and truly panicked. It was the owner of this very flag who had ordered the demolition of the riverside houses last year, resulting in the deaths of over a dozen young men and making him a real armored soldier. As they hesitated at the gate, and the others lingered, too afraid to go in, the gate suddenly opened, and Antoine stepped in.
"Why aren't you all coming in, making such a racket? Come here quickly, the marshal's messenger has arrived!"
Antoine led them inside. Sure enough, the messenger was sitting at the table, and when he saw them come in, he stood up as well.
"You gentlemen are the townspeople of Laflesh, aren't you? Is Martin the armored soldier here?"
Everyone looked at Martin. Before he could reply, the messenger said, "The military situation is urgent. I've come to deliver Marshal Attil's mobilization order: all armored soldiers and knights on both banks of the Loire River are obligated to join the Royal Cavalry and participate in the fight against the British advance south. This is not mandatory conscription; the Royal Court will pay each participant a daily wage of three sous for an infantryman and seven sous for an armored soldier. Armored soldier Martin, you can lead a maximum of five infantrymen. Do you confirm receipt?"
Martin seemed a little flustered. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before replying, "I confirm receipt. Thank you for the summons, Marshal Attil. I will discuss it with the town."
The messenger nodded, picked up the flag beside him, and headed out. Father Antoine quickly stopped him: "My good lad, you must make yourself clear. Is Martin obligated to go, or is he not required to go? If he is going, when will he depart? And where is he going?"
As the messenger put on his helmet, he said, "I'm just a messenger. Royal cavalry are never conscripted; everyone volunteers. A special conscription officer will arrive with his troops soon. But if you're in a hurry, you can go directly to Diltal in the west; Lord Atil is camped there."
As he spoke, he dodged the priest, jumped onto the horse at the gate, and galloped eastward.
The group exchanged bewildered glances. Antoine, seemingly lost in thought, gestured for his servants to bring over benches so that everyone could sit down in the courtyard.
Antoine spoke first: "Martin, do you want to go?"
Martin was still a little dazed. He picked up the wine jug on the table, took a swig, and said, "Father, I don't know. You weren't there when the fighting started last year, but you saw what happened afterward. So many people died in one charge by the British. We survivors were just lucky. I think since they said we don't have to go, we shouldn't go." Everyone agreed.
Antoine sighed, "Yes, more than a dozen fine young men died, and several were crippled. The one on the east side still can't get out of bed. But it's not a wasted effort—you can earn seven sous a day, and the others can earn three sous!"
The crowd then realized what was happening and began to silently do the math. Suddenly, someone shouted, "Father, are you saying the mayor does nothing and can earn two livres and a gold coin in six days just by staying in the military camp? Even an infantryman only needs half a month?"
Antoine nodded: "Yes. You all saw it last year; Lord Atil paid the compensation in cash on the spot. Otherwise, those families who lost male members wouldn't have had a good winter. And Martin's armor was also personally bestowed by Lord Atil. He probably won't be shortchanged on this money."
The crowd's eyes lit up, and many people turned to look at Martin, pointing and saying something to him.
Martin sighed and spread his hands. "I know the pay is good, but it's risking your life! You can always find a way to make money, but what if you lose your life? If the risk were low, I'd be willing to take a few men and try it, but who knows what the rules will be this year? Lebrunn, you're the only one who's served in the military, what do you think?"
The crowd then turned to Lebrunn—the brown-haired man who had pointed a crossbow at Atil last year. He hadn't uttered a word since entering the courtyard, and even now, hearing Martin's question, he still didn't want to speak. It wasn't until Antoine looked over that he finally spoke.
"If you ask me, I wouldn't go either. I was saved from the battlefield, and I don't want to go back. But everyone in town has been very kind to me, and now they've put me in charge of the militia, so I have to tell the truth. The pay is very good, the royal cavalry has a good reputation, I've never heard of them defaulting on wages, and they often give out pensions, but usually you can only stay for a few months..."
He hesitated, as if he wanted to speak. A shirtless man urged, "Champagne guy, just say what you have to say. My sister is married to you, what's there to be afraid of? We're all family here, speak freely!"
Lebrunn then continued, "The risk of war depends mainly on who is in command. Although many people died last year, Marshal Attil was a good general. I have never seen so many British knights killed in a single battle. The compensation he gave after the war was fair, and he even paid for the houses that were demolished. The armor Martin received was top-notch; even you, brother, said it was top-quality."
The shirtless man nodded. Lebrunn continued, "Besides, in war, a leader with five soldiers is standard treatment. We can easily take a clever one as a groom, so he doesn't have to fight. The rest might not even stay together if a real battle breaks out, and even if we lose, we won't all die. When I was a mercenary, this was a good deal. But the royal cavalry is calling out so urgently, there must be a major battle going on; normally, it would have to wait until after spring planting."
Everyone looked at Martin again and found that he was keeping his head down and not saying anything, not knowing how to start a conversation.
Antoine looked somewhat reluctant, paused for a moment, and then said, "Martin, the town is out of money. We really need this money."
Martin looked up at him. Antoine continued, "The bridge was completely destroyed in last year's battle, and the blacksmith's shop burned down. Those from the north have no land or cattle; spring planting is difficult! We can't just watch them starve!"
The shirtless man nodded and continued, "Yes. Actually, the collapse of those houses isn't a big deal, but the furnace in the next house is cracked and the bellows are destroyed. There are no furnace makers in the nearby towns, so we have to go to the city to find one. Now the furnace can't forge anything, and we have to hammer the nails straight."
Martin turned to the other man and asked, "You old carpenter, can't you even fix this bridge? You were the one who oversaw its construction, weren't you?"
The old carpenter shook his head: "The bridge planks are easy to replace, but we don't have iron hoops and nails. My apprentice and I can make a few wooden wedges to make do. But two of the bridge piers are crooked. We can barely cross them now, but no one can go up in the summer."
He pointed to the river to the north: "Although we can't compare to the main Loire River, and the bridge builders call this section the Loire, it's still a proper river. We need pile drivers to put the piles into the riverbed. Last year the water was low, so the bridge was just a little unstable, and I didn't say anything. But this year it really can't hold up."
Martin thought for a moment: "Can't we sell some wine to raise some money first? Our wine has sold quite well in previous years. If all else fails, we can resell it to the British."
Antoine shook his head: "That's what I thought at first too. But last year, the wine merchants said they wouldn't buy this kind of wine anymore. That's when I realized that although the vineyards weren't affected, the winery you demolished was also very important. Without the old man's connections, the city really wouldn't want our inferior wines from rural towns. I was thinking of borrowing some money from the old man to repair the winery, but this year no parish will give me a penny, and they even said they'd add an eleventh of a pound tax. I pulled a lot of strings and managed to get the tax waived because of the war, but repairing the bridge is out of the question."
Seeing Martin still deep in thought, Antoine added, "Don't forget those who fled from the north. Although I've found some people to farm for me, most are just digging in the dirt on the north bank. They don't even have oxen; even if they dig until their hands bleed, they still won't have enough to eat this year. If we don't want people to starve, we'll have to give them a few oxen on credit. Otherwise, if they really have nothing to eat, they might riot."
Martin clenched his fists tightly and asked, "Just how big is the shortfall? Aren't there always businessmen wanting to lend money? Can't we borrow from them to cover it?"
Antoine asked his servant to bring him a thin wax tablet, on which the writing was illegible. He frowned and deciphered it, saying, "To repair the bridge, we'll definitely need a bridge builder. Two poplar logs and a pile driver—I've inquired, and they'll cost fifteen gold coins. A forge builder is even more expensive, thirty. The old man at the brewery said that, including the marshal's compensation, we'll need to borrow another thirty. Add a few cows… at least eighty gold coins."
The more Antoine calculated, the lower the voices of the crowd became, and Martin's face grew increasingly grim. Finally, after much writing and drawing, Antoine came to a conclusion: "Those people's money, if borrowed for eighty for six months, will have to be repaid by one hundred, every month. Our cash can't even last two months."
Martin looked around and asked, "Can't everyone chip in and contribute what they have? My family hasn't even finished spring planting yet. I really can't go to war, or we'll all starve when I get back!"
The crowd exchanged silent glances, until finally the shirtless man stepped forward and spoke: "Mayor, in this town, the priest and I are the wealthiest, followed by you and that old brewer. Merchants haven't come these past few years, my business has dwindled, and your grain isn't selling well either. I even have to borrow money to repair my furnace, and the other families are practically broke. Mayor, you should go. Didn't Lebrunn say there might be trouble?"
Everyone chimed in, urging Martin to listen; some even clung to his legs, begging him. Martin impatiently shook them off, remaining silent.
The crowd then turned to Lebrunn: "You were a mercenary, why don't you talk to Martin? You're also the militia captain, set an example!"
Lebrunn laughed angrily: "I'll go for Martin's sake, not for you bunch of country bumpkins! I'll go, but you leaders can send your lads to be infantry!"
Antoine, seeing them both getting up to leave, angrily grabbed them, saying, "What's the rush? Do you think the town is selling you out for money? When have I ever sent anyone from the town to their death?"
Seeing that the two men were unwilling to move, he became even angrier. He forced them back into their seats, and holding the candlestick, he addressed everyone, saying, "This money is earned with your lives, but it can't be taken for nothing! We'll borrow the money from the merchants first, and start construction after spring planting. The money for the bridge repair in this account belongs to the church; it will be repaid with tolls after the bridge is repaired, until it's fully paid off. The money for repairing the blacksmith's shop and the brewery will also be paid by them—a hoof repair costs a sou, and a jar of wine is half water; how can they not pay it back?"
The shirtless blacksmith looked a little embarrassed, but finally nodded. Antoine continued, "The refugees on the north bank who took the cattle also have to watch over the fields for your warlords, and let them take over from you for spring plowing. If anything happens, everyone in town will have to help until your sons come of age! I may be old, but I can still work for at least twenty more years, and I'll keep an eye on things for you! Tomorrow, call everyone together for a meeting to announce these things, making it clear that this money is a loan you gave to the town, and any extra is yours. The young men's armor and weapons will also come from the militia depot, understand?"
Martin and Lebrunn said nothing more, simply standing up and leaving. Antoine then scanned the room, and seeing no one object, nodded: "Then call them in for a meeting first thing tomorrow morning!"
Laflesh caused a huge uproar for two days. Both the north and south banks were in an uproar over the few dozen gold coins. But in the end, four young men and a mule were chosen, and these six men were sent to exchange for Laflesh's future.
After finally reaching a decision, Martin bid farewell to the chosen young men. Before nightfall, he led the mule to a cart and pulled it home. He then carefully retrieved the armor from the barn cellar, slowly unfolded it, and began to wipe it clean with a sheepskin cloth. As he was wiping it, he noticed his wife had arrived at the barn door, carrying two bags, her eyes red and swollen.
Seeing her tears, Martin quickly threw away the sheepskin cloth, stood up, and stood there helplessly.
"What...what's wrong with you?" His voice was dry and hoarse.
His wife didn't speak. She threw the two bags on the ground, walked over, and reached out to touch the unfolded suit of armor. "You're just leaving like this?" she finally spoke, her voice trembling. "You're just leaving me alone with two children?"
Martin lowered his head, his Adam's apple bobbing. "The town needs this money. The bridge needs repairing, the furnace needs fixing, and those who fled north—"
"The town needs you!" She suddenly looked up, her eyes red, and tears finally fell. "The town needs you, and you're going to your death? Last year you escaped the battlefield, and all you brought back were wounds, and—" She choked, wiping away her tears fiercely with the back of her hand, "and this tattered iron suit! You think wearing it makes you a knight? You think you'll be as lucky as last time?"
Martin opened his mouth, but said nothing.
"They've never been to a battlefield, all they know is money, money, money! And you didn't stop them, you didn't resist! You just let them push you to your death?" Her voice rose higher and higher, "Why should you go? Why, out of so many men in town, does it have to be you?"
"I am the only one in armor—" Martin finally managed to squeeze out half a sentence.
"An armored knight?" she interrupted him, laughing and crying. "If I smash this tattered iron armor, will you not go? My man is going to his death, who can I tell my troubles to?" She squatted down, covering her face with her hands. "If I had known... I shouldn't have married a down-on-his-luck squire like you—are you still dreaming of being a knight, wanting to leave us and become a nobleman?"
She couldn't go on. Her voice broke in her throat, turning into muffled sobs.
Martin crouched down, reaching out to put his arm around her shoulder, but then withdrew his hand halfway. He remained silent for a long time before speaking.
"How about... I don't go?" His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "I'll talk to the priest and ask him to think of another way."
His wife suddenly looked up and grabbed his arm.
"Are you crazy?" Her voice was terribly hoarse. "It's all settled, and you're going back on your word? What will the people in town think of our family? Besides... besides, how are we going to scrape together those eighty gold coins if you don't go? Even if the whole village starved to death this year, we still wouldn't have enough to eat by toiling in the fields!"
She bit her lip, staring intently at Martin, then suddenly lunged at him, pounding her fists into his chest.
"Go! Go! You better come back alive! Do you hear me? Come back alive!"
Martin paused for a moment, then reached out and pulled her into his arms.
The next morning, Martin led the mule away, bid farewell to his tearful wife, and joined the others. He then discovered that Lebrunn had only carried a backpack and a crossbow. Their belongings had nearly exhausted the mule.
Lebrunn was amused by them: "Are you fighting a war, or moving house?"
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This brutal war not only shattered the territorial economies of the church, nobles, and knights, but also disrupted the order of towns throughout northern France. The English mounted raids not only caused numerous massacres, but more importantly, they disrupted travel and trade. The latter was so deadly that the entire north of France was plunged into widespread poverty. It is hard to imagine that there are now very few towns with more than a thousand inhabitants remaining near the megacity of Paris.
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Meditations by Jean-Jacques de Uyssen