Temple Sword

Chapter 176 The Soldiers Returning Home

1322, Saint Andrew's Month (November)
Sopron, Hungary

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The church bells were rung, the people in the streets roared with cheers, and Miklos Gutklede's wife felt her stomach twitch, and the embroidery fell from her hands to the floor.

The old maid who had been her nurse came up to her without a word, and clasped her little head on her full bosom.

The old widow stared worriedly at the bare stone wall, while her mistress wept on her breast, every inch of her flesh trembling.

"Be strong, my dear lady!" the old widow kept repeating, and she could find no other words to comfort the woman. "Be strong, and don't let him see that you are afraid of him!"

The bustling crowd and the ringing of bells herald the return of Miklos Gutkleder, the castle lord of Sopron, and both women are well aware of that.

Besides that, no joyous laughter or singing echoed within the icy walls until the lord was called off by the king to another war.Sopron's castle will once again become a gloomy tomb for many months to come.

"I'm going to jump from the window of the old tower," said the thin, pale woman, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her palm, suppressing her sobs, "I'm going to die at his horse's hooves, and this time I'm going to greet him like this. "

"Don't say such blasphemous words!" The old woman stretched her hand under her arm, pulled the hostess up with one movement, and quickly crossed herself. "What a foolish idea, my lady!

Go, change into clean clothes, dress up, and show him how much you miss him!I'll have the servants get him a tub full of hot water and a cauldron full of fresh beef, and don't give him any reason to get angry! "

In spite of their efforts, Miklos Gutkled, with his usual stern expression, strode towards his castle, which was fortified by a semicircular bastion surrounded by a high oval wall.

There was a deep-rooted rage in Miklos, a hatred that could not be quenched, which made him a good soldier and a good commander, but as a husband, as a human being, no one could stand him.

In times of peace he had nothing to do, he could not stand the entertainment of other nobles, and never threw any banquets.

In his gloomy stone castle, his soul was as cold as the walls of this ancient building, and when Miklos was in the castle, no music ever sounded.

The Lord of Sopron's army is one of the most elite combat units in the whole kingdom. There are nearly [-] carefully selected and strictly trained cavalry, the number of which is one and a half times the statutory number of each county.

They followed their masters, and marched towards the castle in an orderly manner, as solemnly as if they were still marching on enemy territory.

Although a few people walked through the streets and houses of their own homes, and some even came out to greet their family members, they still followed Miklos firmly, and they would not go anywhere until the count gave orders.

They are all hard bones, the most powerful fighters, their numbers vary from battle to battle, sometimes they have extra mercenaries and infantry, sometimes the king will add extra legions to them, like they did in the highland battle as always.

These various units were quickly disbanded after the battle, but the direct army of the counties remained with Miklos and trained with the lords in peacetime, either stationed in the castle of Sopron or preparing on the outskirts of the city. next war.

Approaching the high stone wall, the oncoming sound of horns came from the castle gate, and then the heavy latch was lifted up clumsily with a click, and the solid iron gate opened.

The detachment of Count Sopron marched majestically into the courtyard, and at the captain's orders they formed a broad formation, facing the commander with a scarred face and a bushy beard.

Miklos is not a man of words, but he always treats his subordinates in a simple and fair way, without any pomposity, and only focuses on the important things themselves.

"I know it's not like usual, and I'm a little disappointed that you didn't bring home your prize this time," he said in a harsh, rusty voice, looking into the faces of the riders.

Regardless of how the soldiers felt, their expressions did not reveal any displeasure.

"As compensation, I'll give you two days off. But after that, we'll pick ourselves up and continue training.

I know winter and Christmas are coming soon, but we can't sit idle for months like other armies of nobles, until spring turns into a bunch of wretches used to a comfortable life.

The rest of the flag teams will be back in training in the spring, but we're going to be stronger, faster, scarier than ever in Lent, you get it? "

"Understood!" The three hundred cavalrymen made a thunderous voice, emitting a cloud of steam in the cold wind of late autumn.

"Who are we?" asked Miklos Gutkleder aloud.

"Fist of the King, Shield and Spear of the Kingdom!" The riders chanted this slogan that had been repeated thousands of times in unison. The commander nodded in satisfaction, and then let everyone dismiss and go home.

He spoke separately to his captain and squire, and although they lived with him in the castle, this time he made an exception and allowed them to visit his family on these two days.

When his banner dispersed, Miklos dismounted and glanced at his Gray Keep home, his face darkening again.

He turned and walked like a raging bull toward the door, tore it open, and stopped suddenly as he crossed the threshold, staring at those who greeted him.

There, a row of bowed-headed servants, his steward, her wife's old maid, and, of course, the woman herself, cleanly dressed, rosy-cheeked but downcast, with a slightly quivering jaw.

Miklos raised his eyebrows in surprise, but it lasted only for a moment shorter than a heartbeat, and then he put on the same gloomy mask as before, and continued walking towards the inner hall.

He rushed past the others with his petulant stride, nearly knocking the servants over, and his wife's pointy little chin began to tremble more violently, and her eyes grew duller.

At this time, the fat woman grabbed the woman's arm and pushed the frail lady towards her husband with a subtle but firm movement.

"My lord," said the hostess in her feeble voice, "thank God for your safe welcome home!"

"God has nothing to do with this," Miklos murmured without stopping or looking at his wife.

"My lord, isn't your journey going well?" The woman followed her husband's footsteps and beckoned to the others behind her to do their own thing. "Tell me, where have you been? I don't think you have any new injuries."

"You'd be happier with fresh wounds, wouldn't you?" The king's commander turned and fixed his bloodshot eyes on the blue eyes of his emaciated wife, as if he wanted to strangle the creature on the spot. Unlucky woman.

"You'd be happier if it wasn't me alive but my dead body that came home, wouldn't you?
Maybe I'd feel better if I died somewhere, so I wouldn't have to look at your bitter face, you liar woman..."

The woman couldn't help it, and she cried again, but this time she didn't hide secretly in the old maid's arms, but in front of her husband, showing him the last trace of weakness.

"Cry, go to another place and cry!" The count sent his wife away, he just wanted to take a hot bath in the tub covered with linen, alone.

A steaming hot tub stood in the middle of the empty room, and a big bearskin was spread on the cold floor next to it so that he could walk out comfortably after washing, and a chair was prepared next to it, with a linen bath towel on it and Earl's clean clothes.

Miklos never wanted his servants to dress him, "Only a picky ass-licking fag wouldn't dress himself!" he always said, but really he was just ashamed of his bruised body, he I don't want his scars to become the topic of chatting with others.

In the end, he'll just be a weak, battered beast, and who knows what that will end up like.

While soaking in hot water, he caressed his scarred face thoughtfully. He knew how each wound came about, and each one was an unknown story in his life.

This is what I got in Visegrad, he recalled when he touched the longest wound, this one in Komarom, this one in Genz...

The empty room was dimly lit and the windows were shut tightly to keep it warm.In one corner, an ancient fireplace crackled, its light providing only useless illumination, and the stone walls reflected by the fire were only some old shields, and there were no ornaments showing the wealth of the castle owner.

Count Miklos's room looked as if it had just been ransacked. There was only a bathtub in it, a simple bed and a few boxes in the bedroom, and a bent-leg table and chairs in the dining room. There are no decorations in the room.

He spent all his money on his army, and Sopron's flag team was his real home.

He gave them all his time, all his love, and when he didn't have enough money, he sold some things in the castle to maintain his team's expenses and his awesome reputation.

In the end, the king's commander lived in a poorer environment than the Franciscan monks, and even the smoking fireplace in the corner was long overdue.

However, what was brought into the castle was only a cartload of spears, dozens of new helmets, a hundred shields, or a few boxes of high-quality horseshoes, which were more important to him than a fine stove.

He had never been interested in bragging about his family and castle, those were never his concerns.

He just wants all the enemies to be afraid of his army and start trembling and pissing their pants before they start charging, that's what his life is for, no matter what anyone thinks of him, he's been living for years just for that .

Miklos closed his eyes and soaked himself in hot water, trying to wash the grime from his unkempt beard and greasy hair.

He wondered how much his steward had collected in taxes while he was away, since the campaign with no spoils affected him too much, and he would have liked to expand his army, but it looked like everything would have to be postponed.

He wanted to form a heavy cavalry force of 100 men, but he didn't know whether he could expand the flag team to 400 men, or choose a hundred cavalrymen who were most suitable for heavy combat from his existing 300 men.

On the other hand, ever since he heard that it was first the archers, then the heavy cavalry, and finally the infantry of Louis Wittelsbach who did the most effective damage at the Battle of Mühldorf, he had been thinking of recruiting between a hundred and 150 An infantry who can use bows and arrows, and is not to be underestimated in close combat.

With all this, he thought excitedly, I will have under my banner a team worthy of the name of my ancestors.I shall be the king's hardest fist and shield and sharpest spear, and all the enemies of the royal family will rightfully fear me.

Miklos believed that, of all the members of his vast family, he best represented the honor of his ancestors.

The Gutkled family originated in Swabia and is a descendant of the Hohenstaufen dynasty. Their members came to Hungary more than 200 years ago. During this time, many branches were separated and brought to the Kingdom of Hungary. Countless noble lords and wives.

Most of them, like ordinary nobles, regard acquiring territory as the top priority. Except for Gut at the beginning, they also obtained a large piece of land from Niersaige, and became the land of Zolo, Sharburg, etc. , Nilaudoni, and the lord of Ejed.

The Gutclads are all great landowners, except Miklos.As Count of Sopron, he is far from Bihor, the center of the family, but he doesn't mind that, because he sees the power that the family represents in a completely different way: that of war.

Among his ancestors were no shortage of heroes and warriors, Vecelin Wasserburg helped King St. Stephen defeat the pagan army of Koppányrpád, at King Solomon's Era, the brave Opos Bátor slew the dragon of Ecsedi-láp.

Miklos Gutkleder believes that he can only be worthy of this ancient family coat of arms if he follows in the footsteps of these ancestors with a pure heart and becomes a great warrior and serves the kingdom three silver wedges, which always reminded him of the teeth of an Esedian swamp dragon.

Like his loyal ancestors, he too must serve his king and be his steadfast fortress.It was his own code of honor, unwritten but one he swore to follow.

Therefore, even if he could not stand those fussy and artificial nobles, he would unreservedly serve the most respectable and wealthy among them, that is, King Charles Anjou of Hungary.

Orbus may be slaying dragons in the swamp, and Miklos's scarred face contorted into something resembling a smile, but even he doesn't have the mighty army I'm about to command...

(End of this chapter)