Temple Sword

Chapter 147 New Life

1322, Lent (March)
Skradin, Croatia

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A strong man in his early thirties was waiting to enter the outer hall of the palace of Muradeng Subis. Most of the snow this year has melted, and the leaves and shrubs have begun to grow slowly. The warm spring with a salty taste has arrived. This seaside city.

After more than half a year of running, wandering and hiding, Laszlo felt that he had finally arrived at his destination.

He had been traveling under an alias for the past seven months, and had enough time to spin a story and create a false image in his head.

He is now Trako Bilovic, a Croatian nobleman from Slavonia who, as the second son, could not inherit the title and property of his noble father, and was even raped because he fell in love with a commoner woman. The family is swept away.

So he became a traveler looking for new adventures and lords, to find a new town or village of his own.

The latter is true enough: while wintering in the gloomy Prijedor of Dubica, Laszlo decides not to flee for the rest of his life.

If he gets to the seaside, away from his old life, and able to get by with his new identity, he may finally be able to live a full life, a peaceful, successful, independent life.

The idea so excited him that he didn't even wait for the snow to fully melt and hit the road in the first days of Ramadan (February).

He arrived in Knin in the middle of the month, rested there only a few days, and then continued on his way, followed by Dernish, and after some consideration there, he went directly to Skradin.

On the first day of the second month of Lent (March), he came to the foot of a horseshoe-shaped stone hill, on the top of which stood an ancient stone castle, and as he circled the stone hill, he was struck by a magical and fascinating sight .

At the foot of Nanshan Mountain, in the valley of the horseshoe-shaped stone mountain, there is a beautiful small town.The houses are built on top of each other like a giant hand that once pushed them together, sweeping them into a pile to fit the relatively small square footage.

Skradin is bounded by cliffs to the north, west and east, and clear blue water to the south.

When Laszlo arrived, he hadn't recovered from the first shock, thinking it was the sea, but the locals quickly explained to him that the town was on the banks of the Krka River and that the Krka The Irka River empties into the Adriatic just a half-day walk away.

It was a fragrant and colorful world for this desperate man on the run.Wherever he looked, he saw lush mountains, hills, valleys, or babbling blue rivers.

The scent of olive trees and southern fruit in the air tickled his nose, and the spring breeze blew in from the port, and the smell of early-morning fish mingled with the salty smell of the nearby sea.

Upon arrival, Laszlo tied his horse to a tree and sat on a boulder by the water's edge, looking out at the sunny city and the drifting water.He sat there with a sudden, otherworldly, piercing sense of soothing peace.

It dawned on him that maybe he could start over in a place where no one knew him, and here he was, he had come far enough...

He counted the money he had left, and there was a lot more.He ate what was left of his food and drank the last sips of the warm vinaigrette, then rose from the rock, stretched himself, and led the horse by the bridle through the narrow, labyrinthine streets of Skradin.

He didn't want to run away anymore.

Laszlo put on his shabby aristocratic clothes, and swaggered through the unfamiliar streets like a peacock.It was afternoon, people were out, and he didn't mind letting them take a good look at him.

Well, let them take a good look, he smiled with satisfaction.Let them spread the word that a rich man has come to town!Let as many people as possible know!
Guided by the church tower, he quickly walked out of the intricate alleys and came to the main square, only a few steps away from the market.There is a real busy life here!
Dozens of stalls hawked their wares and stood behind little carts piled high with fruit, vegetables, bread, meat, beer, wine, muslin and burlap sacks.

Whistling, Laszlo scanned the wares, taking an apple here, a handful of grapes there, like a man with a lot of money but nowhere to spend it.

During this period, he has been talking to different people, which is not difficult for him, because in the past few months, he has had many opportunities to practice Croatian.

This angular, blunt language is like a second mother tongue to him, as he was born in Slavonia, where his father taught him Croatian and Serbian in addition to Hungarian.

When the sun went down behind the mountains of Skradin, Laszlo - or Sir Traco Bilovic - had shelter.

A local wheelwright named Milod was widowed two winters ago and has since lived alone with his mother-in-law in his humble house, which has enough room for one more person, and the old lady prepares a hot pot every night. Steaming food.

It was thanks to this dark, chubby old lady that in just two weeks the Croatian Governor himself, Muladen Subis, had taken an interest in him.

For she had told almost everyone in the town that there was a rich nobleman living with them temporarily, and how much money her son-in-law Mirod had received since then.

And so, more than two weeks after his arrival in Skradin, Laszlo waited for admission in the outer hall of the Governor's Palace.

Muladen sent him not to his castle on the hill, but to his sumptuous city palace, which rivaled in splendor the royal palace of Timisoara.

Laszlo hadn't even taken a few steps in the verandah before he could see how rare prosperity the Croatian Governor lived and how much he liked to show off his wealth.

Even the outer hall, where Laszlo waits, is a unique work of art, with its beautifully carved Gothic arched walls, mosaic windows of stained glass, gleaming lavender marble floors, and hanging wrought iron candelabra chandelier.

And this is just the outermost, most inconspicuous room in the palace!

A year ago the battered and stinking Laszlo would never have entered a place like the Governor's Palace in Skradin, but now Traco Bilovich, with his well-groomed hair, A buttoned-up tunic, a moderate amount of wine, a sparkling jewel ring on the ring finger of his right hand...

Well, he belonged here, and his presence did arouse the governor's curiosity.

Laszlo found a comfortable upholstered chair with bent legs and sat down, looking out of the corner of his eye at the expressionless man sent by Governor Muladen.

He didn't look like a particularly wealthy man, certainly one of the governor's entourage, and he was well-groomed by his master enough to be looked at seriously without being considered an influential nobleman.

The man's right hand was firmly placed on the handle of the dagger at his waist, and he did not let go for a moment.He had no other weapons, or he had hidden them well from Laszlo.

He has almost no hair, except for a small greasy pot cover on top of his head, and a single earring the size of a bracelet in his left ear.

He looked like a typical Balkan rogue, as one would imagine a fierce seaside warrior to be.And he must have been a grown man, because even though Laszlo was watching him cautiously out of the corner of his eye, the man had noticed.

"What are you looking at?" the man yelled at him, without the slightest respect, staring like a watchdog.

First startled, Laszlo realized that he was no longer an escaped murderer, but the second son of a wealthy nobleman.

So he didn't say anything, didn't even intend to give the man the respect of answering the question, and then he gave a huge yawn, like he was tired of waiting.

Not long after, the carved door opened in front of him, and another guard beckoned them in.

After entering the door, Laszlo confirmed his previous opinion on Governor Muladen even more.The two guards led him first through a bright corridor, the huge windows of which led to gardens full of flowers and various southern plants whose names Laszlo could not recognize.

In the center of the garden, a hexagonal marble fountain awaits the thirsty.A series of doors in the corridor led to more corridors, bedrooms, warehouses, kitchens, and various rooms, while in the distance, the drawing room of Muradan Subis opened its doors to welcome new guests.

Laszlo walked in and marveled again: the sitting room of the Croatian Governor was like a real throne room.

In one corner was a great ornate earthen furnace, and the walls round it were hung with costly tapestries, coats of arms, and decorated arms, and on the wall opposite the door were two large windows covered with stained glass.

The Governor himself sat not on a platform, like the king, but at the end of a long table, but on a large chair, finely carved and velvet upholstered, of the workmanship and luxury that might have been a throne. .

"Oh, here you are at last, Sir Traco! Welcome to our house!" He greeted his visitor with an exaggerated gesture. "After hearing so much about you, to see you at last! Indeed, you are a noble man, as they say in the street."

"Thank you, Governor!" Laszlo bowed to Muladen Subis, and tried to speak in a confident and calm voice,
"I've come a long way, a long way, but I never thought of stopping until your beautiful city, which is like a little jewel box. I'm honored that you received me personally, all of Croatia Great Lord of the Realm!"

Muladen Sobis nodded in satisfaction after hearing the praise, and Laszlo immediately understood that the words of praise were very effective for the governor.

He was a man of comfort and luxury, as could be seen in his clothes alone: ​​he wore a tunic of green brocade woven with silver thread, with a gold belt and adorned with enough gemstones to feed a village for several years.

But he was not a tall, dignified man.God made him half a head shorter than normal. If it weren't for the expensive decorations on his body, he would only look like an inconspicuous old man.

He looked to be in his early fifties, and had lost most of his hair, leaving what was left on his round head like a gray wreath.A gray beard stood like a broom under his pointed nose, and his gray eyebrows were equally disheveled.

No one would call him fat, but he did have a small belly, and Muladen Subis was also sizing up the stranger in front of him with a fatherly smile on his face.

"When did you come here?" He asked in a nonchalant tone, and Laszlo understood that this was the beginning of the interrogation.

"A little over two weeks ago, my lord," he answered briskly.

"Alone?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Interesting," Muladen scratched the top of his bald head, "a wealthy nobleman travels through the kingdom alone...this...how should I put it...quite unusual."

"I'm my father's second son, and I'm in love with a commoner woman." Laszlo shrugged and easily said the lie he made up on the road.

"They kicked me out and didn't allow me to bring any guards. If it weren't for my eloquence and brains, they wouldn't even give me money and these clothes."

"Who do you owe your allegiance to?"

"I'm looking for a lord worthy of my service," Laszlo said brazenly.

In order to make his performance perfect, he sat naturally on a chair and waved to Muladen's servant standing in the corner, who came forward with a silver flagon and poured wine into the white table on the table. In a pewter cup.

Laszlo began to sip the seaside red wine and continued to introduce.

"I like it here," he gestured with his cup, "the air, water, food... and women here!" He smiled and winked at the governor. "Although this sour wine could be better..."

He pressed the half-empty glass heavily on the table, although it contained rare good wine. "I think I'll settle here, look at these two guys, you should have no shortage of watchdogs...

But you need someone more capable, someone you can trust, someone who can handle more serious, personal matters, you say? "

Mu Laden looked at his two men, then laughed.He laughed softly at first, then louder, and finally knocked on the table while laughing, when one of his men closed the drawing-room door, and the servant with the flagon disappeared without a trace.

Laszlo suddenly had a bad feeling.

"It's a very confident little story," Muladen Subis grinned at him, "Unfortunately, not a word of it is true..."

Before Laszlo could say anything, a strong and slender arm wrapped around him from behind, pressing him against the back of the chair with ruthless force.Another subordinate pulled out a dagger and pressed it against Laszlo's neck with such force that his blood gushed out.

"What the hell does that mean?" Laszlo asked falteringly while trying to free himself from the point of the dagger. "My lord, is this how your guests are treated?"

"A lying pig doesn't deserve better than this," the governor leaned closer to him, looking into his eyes curiously, "so, who are you?"

"Traco," Laszlo moaned, "Traco Bilovich..."

"You're not!" interrupted the Governor of Croatia, "Tell me the truth! You think I've been idle for the past two weeks and haven't thought about investigating you?
As it turns out, there is no Bilovich family at all, and your story is lame from the start, I guess there isn't a single truth in it...so who the hell are you? "

The point of the dagger sank deeper into his throat, and a thick line of blood had flowed down his neck, and the man whom Laszlo had just called a watchdog seemed ready to plunge the blade into Laszlo neck.

(End of this chapter)