Temple Sword

Chapter 105 The Messenger

Agnes was wearing a simple white blouse with sleeves just enough to cover the backs of her hands, and her skirt stretched to the floor.She also wore a sky blue sleeveless top tied with a thin belt.

Her hazel hair was held back by a linen headband, and she could have worn jewelry, but she didn't like that: she never wore anything pompous, she was from top to bottom the unadorned natural beauty of a mature woman.

Antal looked at her and pulled her to his side involuntarily. Although the time was short, it was enough for them to make out for a while.

He was barely a child then, probably at the age of 14, and Antal lay in a hotel in Buda, stricken with gangrene.At that time he met the hotel owner's daughter, who was two years older than him, and she took care of him during his illness.

It's been over 20 years since then, they've been through the good and the bad together, but Antal still loves her as passionately as they did when they were younger, even though they've rarely been together over the years because of the war.

Antal loved her skin, which had grown less smooth over the years, and the little marks time had left on her.For her, he left the noisy world, the magnificent palace, and the colorful and bustling arena.The two of them were each other's comfort, rock-solid pillars in each other's lives.

"They say," Antar whispered in his wife's ear, "the queen is no more than sixteen years old, a small flower, a fragrant rose, but her nectar is not as sweet as yours..."

"You just got dressed, my good lord." Agnes blushed and whispered, even without words, she could feel Antal's longing in his close embrace. "The king's envoy is coming here."

"Aren't they here yet?" Antal kissed her gently on the neck, "Charlie will understand..."

"Of course," Agnes broke away from his embrace, "When you let yourself go here, your peasants will receive the court envoys, and I think the king will understand."

Antal gave in with a feigned sigh of pain, but conceded to his wife, who was right in her slightly sarcastic complaints, and now it was time to find out what those men with the king's banner were doing at his estate, and Charlie What Anjou wants from his former chief knight.

The gates are open and Antar stands in the middle of the courtyard welcoming the visitors, his wife on his right and his son on his left.His thirty pikemen lined up in two ranks along the left and right sides of the open gate.

A dozen servants stood curiously a little further from the entrance of the manor, only the farmers who were still working outside were not disturbed.Anyway, commoners have nothing to do with nobles, and to some extent, domestic servants are an exception.

Behind Antal stood his tall, taciturn squire, the stout Simon, and his estate steward, the graceful Mikolai.

Next to them were the two adopted sons of the knight, Sepke and Corta, who staggered over, bruised and dirty as if they had just been born from the dirt.

"Damn it!" Antar yelled when he saw their slovenliness. "What did you do?"

"I..." They spoke at the same time, but they were interrupted by Antal directly, motioning for them to be quiet.

At that moment the leader of the cavalry passed through the gate, dressed in silk and costly cloth, richly adorned with gold and diamonds.

His cloak was trimmed with silver thread, and at his waist hung an ornamental sword.Even his warhorse had shiny harness, which could be worth more than a year's salary of a city militiaman.

He was wearing a helmet with a polished brim, but his face was hidden by the brim, and Antal couldn't see what the man looked like.

The cavalry stayed outside the stone wall, and only two knights in armor followed closely behind their leader. They rode their horses slowly and solemnly into the yard, and stopped when they were about five steps away from Antal.

"I'm looking for Antar Bator." The man in the helmet said with a strange hoarseness. "In the name of the king, let the knights who once served in the court stand up!"

"I am Antal Bator." Antal stepped forward. "But I need people who set foot on my land to introduce themselves first."

"Your land?" The man laughed, and his two knights followed suit. "This guy says 'my land'!"

The people in the manor let out a low whisper, which immediately made the manor owner blush.He didn't know how to respond to the teasing.

"Who are you, my lord?" Antal asked nervously, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

The man got up in the saddle, pulled a leg out of the stirrup, put it on the horse's tail, and jumped to the ground with a sharp leap.He walked towards Antal without a word, and stopped in front of him, the man's helmet almost touching his nose.

This made everyone in the yard hold their breath, watching what would happen next.While Ire blinked curiously at his mother, Agnes looked straight ahead of her, perfectly hiding whatever she was feeling.

Simon, who was standing behind them, didn't understand how the situation in front of him would develop, but he always felt that there was some trick.In order not to be noticed by the armored knights sitting on the saddle, he slowly moved his left arm, which had been hanging around his waist, and slid his palm to the hilt of the dagger.He tries to stay calm so that he can act with lightning speed if necessary.

The next moment, the stranger raised his hand with a delicate leather glove, and raised the brim of his hat.

A man in his thirties stared at Antal, his brown curly hair poking out from under a hood and wet against his parched forehead.

He inherited a thick nose and a fleshy mouth from his ancestors, although he deliberately hid the latter under a carefully groomed beard.

Beneath those fidgeting brows were a pair of bright, watchful eyes, with a queer mischievous smug gleam in them.

"Do you forget people so quickly?" asked the noble in front of him, his low, masculine voice was completely different from the deliberately distorted hoarse voice just now.

Antal was struck by lightning when he saw this face, and so was his wife. They couldn't be more familiar with this face, although they hadn't seen each other for nearly ten years.

His facial features became firmer, the wrinkles on his brows became deeper, and there were more dark shadows under his eyes than before, but they could still recognize him at a glance from the crowd.

The three-crowned King of Hungary, Charles Robert Anjou, stood before them.

(End of this chapter)