Chapter 17: An Afternoon in Ward Village
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The scene returns to that afternoon in Ward Village, where warm sunlight gently bathed the tranquil hamlet. The air was thick with the essence of daily life. The village chief, Godfrey, and his family were bustling in their kitchen, preparing dinner. The aroma of the meal filled the room, and laughter and conversation wove a tapestry of familial joy.
Godfrey’s wife, Julie, stood by the stove, carefully stirring a thick soup. A gentle smile graced her face as she periodically glanced at their children, who were helping to set the table nearby. Her eyes brimmed with tender affection.
The children played inside, their laughter ringing like crystal bells, infusing this ordinary afternoon with vitality and warmth.
Suddenly, a harsh knocking shattered the peacefulness.
Godfrey hurried to open the door, only to find several soldiers from the Germanic lands striding in boldly. The leader was a towering, broad-shouldered man clad in heavy armor, a sharp longsword hanging at his side.
He planted himself in the center of the room and spoke in a booming voice: “Greetings, farmer. I am Friedrich, come from Brabant on a long journey. We are weary from the road—surely you will offer us proper hospitality?”
His gaze swept the room.
Startled by the sudden intrusion, Godfrey’s heart raced, a flicker of panic crossing his face. Yet years of living amid turmoil swiftly steadied him. In these turbulent times, extortion by various factions was an accepted reality; he knew resistance could only invite worse consequences.
Forcing a smile, Godfrey called to his nephew Kusy, who was helping nearby: “Kusy, bring the food to the gentlemen. I’ll prepare a couple of eggs for them.”
Though reluctant, Kusy understood the need to appease these mercenaries. He carefully carried the modest meal toward Friedrich and his companions, his steps trembling slightly, his eyes reflecting fear and helplessness.
Friedrich frowned upon seeing the meager fare. When his gaze fell on the specks of wood in the bread, a wave of nausea rose in his stomach. His hand froze mid-air, intending to push the bread aside, but his strength seemed to drain away, and his hand dropped limply.
He recalled the fervor with which he had set out for glory on the battlefield, only to find a trail of destruction and the shattered peace of countless innocents.
Staring at the coarse bread before him, guilt surged like an unstoppable tide, engulfing him.
At that moment, Julie approached, carrying a jug of homemade ale, wearing a strained smile. “Sir, this is our own brewed ale. Please have a taste.”
Friedrich took the jug, sipped, and his eyes immediately brightened. “This ale is quite good!”
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Soon, Friedrich and his men began to feast heartily, devouring most of the food on the table. When full and satiated, Friedrich rose slowly, casually wiping his mouth with his sleeve before turning to Godfrey.
“Hey, we’ll be taking these foods and drinks with us as supplies for our journey,” he declared.
His companions proceeded to gather a large quantity of provisions and wine.
Then Friedrich pulled ten pennies from his pocket, placing them on the table with a contrite expression. “Consider these ten pennies as payment for the meal and ale.”
In truth, the ten pennies barely covered a fraction of what they had consumed. Still, they feigned indifference and swaggered out of Godfrey’s home.
Watching them depart, Godfrey’s heart swelled with helplessness and rage, yet in these war-torn days, he could only endure silently.
Julie came to his side, gently taking his hand, her eyes filled with worry, yet she offered comfort: “At least they weren’t too cruel. We are fortunate.”
Godfrey sighed and nodded.
As the family began tidying the mess and preparing more food, a sudden bang echoed as the door was thrown open once again. Godfrey, bewildered, wondered if the mercenaries had returned.
Instead, several Englishmen burst in, their leader drawing his sword. Kusy barely had time to cry out before the cold, merciless blade struck him down.
Blood erupted like a roaring fountain, splattering the walls and floor.
Kusy’s body collapsed lifelessly, his eyes wide with terror and disbelief at the sudden death.
The children’s screams pierced the air, sharp and heart-wrenching, echoing wildly throughout the house.
Julie covered her mouth in horror, tears pouring unchecked like a broken dam, her body trembling violently.
Godfrey stood frozen in shock, but moments later, he roared at the Englishmen in desperation: “Why are you doing this?”
The English leader’s face twisted into a cruel snarl as he stormed toward Godfrey and struck him fiercely in the face. Stars exploded behind Godfrey’s eyes; blood trickled from his mouth.
“Where is the money hidden? Speak now!” the Englishman growled viciously.
Godfrey clenched his teeth, remaining silent.
Enraged, the Englishmen pinned Godfrey to the ground and brandished a sharp dagger, threatening to sever his fingers.
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“Speak or we’ll start cutting!” the Englishman snarled.
Godfrey’s eyes revealed a tangled mixture of fear and resolve, but his lips stayed sealed.
Without hesitation, the dagger sliced into one of Godfrey’s fingers. Blood gushed forth like a fountain. Godfrey screamed in agony, his face drained of color as his body trembled violently from the pain.
“Still not talking?” the Englishman bellowed.
Though gasping for breath, Godfrey stubbornly refused to speak.
Another Englishman brought over a red-hot branding iron, radiating a terrifying heat that filled the air.
“If you don’t talk, you’ll taste this!” they threatened.
The searing iron touched Godfrey’s skin with a dreadful sizzle; the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the room.
Godfrey writhed in agony, sweat streaming down his face as he endured this inhuman torment.
At last, overwhelmed by the unbearable pain, Godfrey’s trembling voice confessed the hiding place of their wealth.
Yet the Englishmen showed no mercy. Grinning cruelly, they ransacked the house with wanton disregard.
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