Chapter 40: The Path Ahead

Luke Griffith and Charles Angelos, the two former Brabantine mercenaries, knowing they had committed a grave error by easily letting the French cavalry into the main camp earlier, dared not return to the army and instead brazenly sneaked into this marching contingent.

Rethalite had triumphed in this campaign. Together with Carlo and Roberto, he had reaped a staggering fortune of two thousand gold ecus. However, having previously borrowed high-interest usury in Dieppe to arm himself and his retainers, only one thousand gold coins remained after clearing the debt.

Nonetheless, Rethalite was a kind-hearted man and did not mind having two extra mouths to feed. After the two mercenaries swore oaths of fealty to him, he magnanimously accepted them.

Carlo was squatting on the ground, intently packing his traveling gear.

"Carlo, Carlo, come over here."

Suddenly, a crisp and melodious voice rang out from behind. To Carlo, the voice was both familiar and enchanting.

Carlo paused his movements in mid-air, slightly startled, and turned his head to see the Lady of Eu, Joan—a beautiful woman clad in magnificent armor—walking gracefully toward him.

Joan possessed a lithe and graceful figure, her long golden hair falling softly over her fair shoulders, and her azure eyes resembling clear lakes. At this moment, she wore a bright smile and cradled an exquisite box in her hands.

Approaching Carlo, Joan gently opened the lid and retrieved a golden arm ring.

"Carlo, I am fully aware of your performance in Tournai this time." Joan's gaze was brimming with approbation. "On the battlefield, you charged into the fray, fearless and indomitable; such valiant deeds were witnessed by all. As a prospective knight whom I have always held in high regard, I simply could not resist bestowing a reward upon you."

With these words, she handed the golden arm ring to Carlo, gently pointing to the lifelike bear motif engraved upon it.

"Look at this arm ring. My family hails from Brienne, and our ancestors were Norman warriors who followed Ragnar. In those distant times, it was the pride of us Scandinavians. Although everyone is now bathed in the light of the Lord and the totems once revered have gradually faded into history, this bear motif still embodies the fearless courage and mighty strength of our forebears."

With a sincere gaze, Joan looked at Carlo, blinked, and whispered:

"Carlo, may Odin's divine valor infuse your lance, Thor's thunder shield you as you swing your sword against the foe, Loki guide you safely past perilous paths, and Freya grant you abundant good fortune along the way. May the spirits of your family's ancestors gaze down upon you, keeping you safe from harm, and may this arm ring awaken slumbering power to write legends on your future journeys. Carlo, are you willing to accept it?"

Gazing at the gleaming arm ring, Carlo felt his heart begin to beat uncontrollably. Because his soul belonged to a later era, he failed to notice the impropriety of Joan invoking Norse deities for a blessing; instead, he was overwhelmed with joy, never expecting Joan to value him so highly.

He knelt on one knee, keeping his upper body straight and his head slightly lowered, and solemnly received the arm ring with both hands. His voice trembled slightly with excitement:

"My lady, to receive such immense favor and appreciation from you is an honor far too heavy for me. Winning your praise was already the greatest fortune for Carlo, yet now I am bestowed with such a precious arm ring. I—I... naturally desire it above all else and am more than willing to accept it! Henceforth, whenever war arises, I shall brandish my sword to break the enemy lines for you first. Even amidst a sea of flames and a forest of blades, I shall advance unflinchingly, swearing to defend your honor with my life and never辜负 (fail) your expectations!"

Seeing him in this state, Joan let out a light laugh. She extended a hand in a gesture to raise Carlo and teasingly whispered:

"Rise quickly, look how nervous you are. The road ahead is still long; do not let down my expectations."

"I shall never fail your expectations, My Lady!"

Carlo stood up and carefully slipped the arm ring onto his forearm. The metal pressed against his skin, seeming to inject a surging wave of intense heat that instantly warmed his entire body.

Watching Carlo's solemn expression, Joan nodded with satisfaction, offered a few more parting words about maintaining correspondence regarding trivial matters, and then turned and fluttered gracefully away.

Carlo stood rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure for a long time until the flash of golden hair vanished at the barracks entrance, before finally withdrawing his gaze. He turned back to continue packing, but even as his hands kept moving, his thoughts remained immersed in the recent surprise.

The contingent slowly advanced along a country lane. Because the region had been ruthlessly ravaged and cruelly assaulted by the flames of war, the entire landscape appeared scorched and bore shocking scars.

Roberto looked at Charles Angelos and Luke Griffith, and said sternly:

"Lord Rethalite has taken the two of you in, so you must show gratitude and refrain from committing outrages as you did when you were mercenaries."

Charles Angelos was short and possessed ordinary features, with dark, curly hair typical of Greeks falling casually over his shoulders. His presence in the crowd was exceedingly low. Hearing Roberto's words, he nodded repeatedly like a chick pecking at rice, gratitude and submissiveness written across his eyes, and murmured:

"I will definitely perform well. Thank you and Lord Rethalite for taking us in."

Luke Griffith, on the other hand, was a handsome youth, his fair face tinged with a hint of stubbornness. Hearing Roberto's remarks, his face flushed red immediately, and he could not help but retort:

"I am a scion of the noble Griffith family, and my grandfather was the Baron of White Dove Valley! Do not question my chivalric honor; since I have sworn fealty, there is not a shred of falsehood in it!"

He straightened his posture, seemingly wishing to emphasize his identity and dignity through this gesture.

Roberto curled his lip and ignored him. Hailing from a mercantile republic, Roberto had been immersed in the ways of the world since childhood; situational awareness was his most basic survival skill. Knowing that arguing with such a fallen noble scion was pointless, he merely shook his head gently, turned around, and continued on his way.

At this moment, Rethalite rode slowly over on his tall, stately steed. He glanced at Carlo, then turned to Roberto:

"Roberto, you are already twenty years old and nearing twenty-one. Both you and Carlo performed exceptionally in this campaign, but Carlo is still too tender in years to be dubbed a knight. Lady Joan considers you Carlo's cousin, noting your martial achievements and excellent chivalric spirit. Upon returning to Boulogne, she intends to dub you a banneret knight; you should begin pondering and designing your heraldry and family motto."

Hearing this news, Roberto felt a trace of hesitation in his heart. He had not truly decided whether he wanted to become a knight; deep down, he still yearned to return to Florence, where his familiar life and loved ones awaited him. Yet, facing Rethalite's expectations, he could not bring himself to refuse outright. Frowning slightly, he pondered for a moment before replying:

"Very well, Lord Rethalite, I will consider it carefully."

Hearing their conversation nearby, Luke Griffith dropped his jaw in slack-jawed astonishment, his eyes filled with envy and jealousy. He muttered silently to himself:

"What? He gets a fief just like that? I want one too!"

He gazed at Roberto with a gaze laced with both reluctance and a shred of anticipation.

The group advanced ahead to the former site of Saint-Amand. Once the largest town surrounding Tournai, its former prosperity had vanished like a dream, leaving it entirely reduced to scorched earth.

Seeing that Carlo was rather taciturn, Rethalite smiled and asked:

"Carlo, why do you look so glum? Could it be that you desire a fief as well?"

A trace of concern colored his smile as he reined in his mount, bringing it to a gradual halt, and leaned forward slightly to observe Carlo.

Carlo sighed, his eyes laden with worry and his brows tightly knit:

"Lord Rethalite, I am still young and do not worry about fiefs. We French have indeed achieved victory in this campaign, and we ought to rejoice. Yet when I witness the devastating blow dealt to the surroundings of Tournai, my heart aches deeply."

His voice was low and hoarse, every word freighted with heavy emotion, while his fists clenched involuntarily.

"I have heard that the three large towns in the Tournai region were thoroughly plundered during the seven-week siege. The Anglo-allied forces attacked Saint-Amand for certain political objectives, but assaulting the other two towns was done purely for loot and sport. Who can know how many innocent lives perished in this turbulence?"

A profound sorrow shone in Carlo's eyes, his gaze lingering long upon the ruins. His heart brimmed with a reluctance to witness such suffering, and the rims of his eyes turned slightly red.

Rethalite replied:

"My child, possessing such mercy is a virtue. I have served as a page since I was nine, was dubbed a knight at twenty-one, and now, at thirty-eight, I have witnessed countless wars. Yet, systemic and large-scale destruction of cities, villages, and populations like that wrought by the English—I have not only never seen it, I have never even heard of it."

He shook his head, a look of helplessness and anger crossing his face, while he raised a hand to gently pat Carlo's shoulder. Sighing, he continued:

"This is Tournai as you see it now. You may not know that in the massacre of the Battle of Sluys, Dieppe and other Norman towns lost vast numbers of adult males. Today, even farm labor in those regions must be handled by women. The small town of Aubenton was destroyed in April 1340 by raids from the troops of Hainaut and England; thus, Reims and other northern French cities, at the mere whisper of the enemy's approach, plunged into panic, chaos, and flight, and to this day the people there dare not return home."

"Not all destruction comes from the enemy. Faced with approaching hostile armies, towns like Saint-Omer, Aire, and Lille were forced to demolish their own suburbs—suburbs that were often the newest and most prosperous parts of the town. When the King of England landed at Antwerp in 1338, every French official received government orders instructing them to break down every bridge across the rivers and destroy every causeway along the path of the potential invaders to hinder their march."

Then, speaking firmly to Carlo with encouragement flashing in his eyes, he said:

"A knight must possess mercy, but even more so, he must be formidable and resolute. When you face such enemies in the future, show them no quarter!"

His piercing gaze locked onto Carlo, filled with expectation and trust.

Carlo looked at Rethalite and nodded vigorously. Then, turning his gaze back to the scorched world around him, he murmured inwardly: I will strive to make this world different.

The contingent pressed onward, each harboring different thoughts, seeking their own futures amidst an era fraught with uncertainty.