Eagle Byzantium

"It doesn't matter. When I was young and came to Italy from Normandy, my 40 squires and I could only receive a small amount of fodder salary a year, so I had to go to Amalfi to steal horses. When your father heard about this, he gave me a sum of money in time to support my wife and I to go to Sicily to fight against the pagans. There will always be wealth. My wife and I encouraged ourselves in the battle of Sicily when we changed our cloaks to keep warm." This was Roger's answer.

Bohemond smiled bitterly and raised his head, saying softly, "Uncle, are you blaming my dead father? Are you blaming him for driving you out of this place? If so, then our family deserves to be reduced to this state."

"Okay, let me go to mourn my sister-in-law! Just tell me what Bohemond should do?" Roger was no longer interested in playing wit with his nephew.

"I'm going to besiege Amalfi."

Roger was stunned. He didn't expect his nephew to be so bold. You know, not long ago, Amalfi organized an expedition with other city-states to attack the pagans in North Africa and won the Pope's praise! So Roger said with a very embarrassed look, "The pagan archers and guards I hired must not be used by you. If they are exposed, you and I will become the target of public criticism. How about this, three hundred knights and five hundred good war horses, I won't treat you unfairly."

"Yes." Bohemond stared blankly, kissed the back of his uncle's hand again, and stood up quickly.

Then the team walked towards the Viking-style tent where Geta died. On the sandy ground on the cliff, the Norman knights waved their swords and axes and cut off the heads of the pagan prisoners one by one. There were men and women, old and young. The bodies of a full hundred people were lying on the land, bright red. Bohemond looked at the guards behind his uncle Roger, and they all looked indifferent when they saw their compatriots being killed.

"You shouldn't be so barbaric. You should know that it is much more cost-effective to let these 100 people work and farm than to kill them, and it will not cause the disgust of the church." Roger disagreed with Bohemond's approach, but his nephew quickly explained that this was his deceased mother's last wish, so the great count of Sicily stopped talking. Although most of the Normans converted to Christianity at this time, many barbaric customs, like the Varangians, were still preserved. Guiscart had shamelessly robbed nuns in his early years.

Soon, Geta's body was placed together with the huge ship covered with the corpses of the martyrs, and slowly sailed out of the harbor. Soon flames came out from the hull, more and more, and more and more fiercely, until it turned into a group of amaranth flowers floating on the sea.

Bohemond's sister Emma also came and knelt on the cliff crying. The younger brother walked up to comfort her a few words, and then he saw Emma's son who had been standing next to her, "Is it Tancred?"

"Yes, my uncle." The tall Tancred, very young, wearing a simple sword, with a warm and impulsive look, and a circle of light flaxen beard at the corner of his mouth, which is very similar to his grandfather's appearance.

"Are you bored in the country house?"

"Boring, uncle."

"Very good, then combine your courage with my wisdom, and fight for the world together! Normans are never willing to revolve around stoves and fruit trees. In the future, we can divide the kingdom equally." Bohemond stretched out his long hand in front of the sea breeze and flames.

"But I am afraid that I will end up like you and Roger's great-uncle, who are suspicious of each other." Tancred is indeed a frank young man, and he speaks without any pretense.

"Don't worry, because you are the child of my beloved sister. If you were my brother's child, I'm afraid you wouldn't live to this age." Bohemond grinned, "How about this? I will give you a hundred knights, and you will directly serve as the generals of the army, responsible for my side roads, and all the money robbed from the Greeks or Venetians will be at your disposal."

Then Tancred expressed his satisfaction with the bargaining chips given by his uncle. After shaking hands to indicate the deal, he turned around and held the sword, looking at the vast ocean, with a look of great ambition.

At this moment, on the road outside the city of Prusa, Gawain, with Fiteas and Erikson, holding military flags and some luggage, food, and seeds, was walking towards the village where he lived at the beginning. The withered poplar trees were lined up on the rugged road. Gawain just wanted to get there as soon as possible to see if there were any surviving villagers. If some of them could return to their hometowns, get his help and relief, and rebuild the village, then it would be one of his wishes.

He didn't want to be like Peter's prediction: this village will be destroyed sooner or later due to the irresistible plague, war, barren land, and population loss.

But the scene along the way was not optimistic. There were many half-dead towns around Prusa, but after Zahas's troops passed, it seemed that there were no living things in the whole area. Rotting corpses could be seen everywhere in the wilderness. Looking far away, no smoke could be found rising from cooking. Gawain's heart became more and more tight.

A woman holding a child, almost half-naked, stood by the roadside, "Don't look at her master, otherwise she will be entangled. If you give such a woman a copper coin..." Fitias reminded.

"Give her twenty fris."

"Oh, my master, you are really generous and courageous." Phetyas said half in admiration and half in sarcasm, and then began to take the purse.

"Go ask her if the village is still there."

As a result, after taking the purse and some food, the woman bowed to Gawain, and then made a circling gesture to answer.

A correct version in 1619 Book Bar!

"She means that the village is now only fluttering with flies in late autumn." Phetyas put his hands on his waist and "translated".

In fact, Gawain understood it without the little military servant's explanation, but he still revisited the old place, followed the road, and finally walked to the village.

The black cultivated land has turned into wasteland of the same color, and some white and yellow weeds quickly covered it. The fences and wooden fences were trampled to the east and west by the hooves of the Turks. The village wall had collapsed long ago, and there was no water in the pottery jars, all dried up by the wind. The hut was in disarray. Gawain was the first to drive his horse to the shabby house of the tax collector Phoebus. After entering, he found the body of the tax collector lying on the table. It had long been dried and turned into sand, and there was a decayed color everywhere. Gawain pushed open the door, and fragments of clothes, account books and lists flew up, like a memorial ceremony.

"The list is gone, and the tax collector is dead. Maybe in the eyes of the emperor in that palace, this village has really disappeared completely. Whatever, he has never paid attention to these ant-like people anyway." Gawain was unwilling to go in any further. He came outside and looked at the small chapel that continued to stand on the high slope outside the village. The scaffolding that he and Peter worked on was still standing there alone, and it was particularly lonely in the wind.