Chapter 49: Bandak

Razalit took a deep breath, then shouted with all his might:

"Is anyone there? Nicola? Where is everyone?"

However, only dead silence answered him. The entire village was frightfully quiet, as if all sounds had been swallowed by the darkness.

Led by Razalit, the group cautiously walked into the largest two-story stone house in the village, which was Razalit's home.

Roberto reached out, gently touched the table, and rubbed the thick layer of dust between his fingers. He frowned and said:

"This dust is ridiculously thick. I think nobody has been here for a long time. Still, it looks quite tidy; it doesn't seem like it was raided, right?"

Carlo, full of anxiety and helplessness, stamped his feet and thought to himself:

"No way? Could it be that they knew I was coming and all ran away? I just wanted to experience the life of a young noble master! I swear I'll be a good master, so why is it so damn hard? Not even a single shadow of a person is here—whose master am I supposed to be?"

Razalit remained calm and composed, speaking in an even tone:

"Let's go. We'll check out Ghesieres village; it's very close."

The sky grew darker and darker. Riding their horses along the road, the group could only advance by torchlight. The light of the torches flickered in the darkness, illuminating their faces.

The sound of hooves was exceptionally clear in the silent night, each beat feeling as though it struck straight at the hearts of everyone present.

Before long, they arrived at Ghesieres village. This was also a village that looked neat yet eerily quiet.

Dismounting, the group shouted for the villagers while heavily pounding on door after door, but only the chirping of night insects responded to them.

In the countryside of Flanders in September, the night fell like ink, dyeing the world in a profound black.

Various nocturnal insect sounds could be heard all around, rising and falling in succession. Crickets hid deep in the grass, rubbing their wings with their powerful hind legs to produce crisp chirping sounds.

Bush crickets showcased their vocal talents in the nearby bushes, their soothing and prolonged songs echoing softly. Occasionally, the sounds of nocturnal creatures scurrying through the grass could be heard.

Listening even closer, one could even hear the murmuring flow of a nearby stream. That stream, leaping over stones and winding past waterweeds, made a tinkling sound.

Yet, there was no sound of humans whatsoever.

Holding their torches aloft, the group looked around.

The stars in the sky, like brilliant gems, were densely embedded in the night sky, shining with a somewhat dazzling brilliance.

In the surrounding fields, only the torches in their hands emitted a faint light.

Ahead, within the limit of vision, the brightly lit place was the city of Calais, while behind them, the place with lights should be the city of Boulogne.

Razalit's house was quite spacious. Having traveled long distances, the group was already exhausted, and after tidying up hastily, they hurried off to rest.

The night passed without incident. As the first light of dawn broke, they set off once again toward the city of Calais.

When Carlo came last time, he had followed the troops of Jeanne, Countess of Artois, to rendezvous with the king's army in the eastern suburbs. That suburban area was still a wasteland, barren of any vegetation.

Because of the urgency of the military situation last time, they had not entered the city.

When they stepped into Calais, the city was exceptionally lively, with noise, hawking, and the laughter of children intertwining.

Razalit, however, had no heart to appreciate the sights. With his brow furrowed and an anxious look in his eyes, he strode directly toward the city guardhouse.

Inside the guardhouse, they met the commander of the guards, Bandak. Bandak was about forty years old, with a face deeply carved by twenty years of a military career.

The weathering of time, like a ruthless carving knife, had etched deep lines across his face.

His gaze was as sharp as a goshawk's, and within those deep eyes, a trace of vicissitudes faintly lingered.

His skin was rough and tanned, and his thick eyebrows slanted toward his temples like two coarse, stiff brushes.

His short hair looked as though it had been stained by the smoke of battle, somewhat yellowish and slightly messy due to long neglect.

He had a robust figure, and his strong frame manifested extraordinary power.

He wore a simple leather armor, a sharp short sword hung at his waist, and a crossbow was slung across his back, its body gleaming with a cold light. The quiver beside it was fully stocked with arrows, his various equipment complete and neatly arranged.

The moment Razalit saw Bandak, he lunged forward, grabbed Bandak's arm tightly, and spoke in an excited voice:

"Bandak, my old friend, long time no see!"

Bandak was momentarily stunned, a flash of pleasant surprise crossing his eyes, which was immediately followed by a surge of warmth. He gripped Razalit's hand tightly in return and laughed aloud:

"Ha! Razalit, you fellow, why did you suddenly show up? You really are a rare visitor!"

His hearty laughter echoed in the guardhouse, causing the surrounding soldiers to cast curious glances.

Razalit took a deep breath, his eyes filled with urgency:

"Bandak, this is not the time for reminiscing. My village, and Ghesieres village—where have the villagers gone? You must know something, don't you?"

Bandak replied:

"Don't be so anxious, Razalit. It's not just those two villages; most of the people in the suburbs and rural areas of the surrounding region must have fled into various cities. The people from those two villages are likely right here in Calais.

Although our area wasn't directly threatened by the English army, King Philip's massive army once assembled here, and they always required vast amounts of supplies to fill their bellies, which led to forced requisitions.

Even though the war has ended, everyone is still suffering from lingering fear for the time being, afraid that the tragedy might repeat itself."

Razalit widened his eyes in utter disbelief:

"Hasn't our country always been known for its well-established rules? Such forced requisitions shouldn't be so rampant. Why would they run away?"

Bandak sighed helplessly, a trace of anger flashing in his eyes:

"Indeed, it wasn't like this before. But this great war was unprecedented in scale, involving far too many troops and requiring an endless amount of supplies.

When the army was still in the field, the regions it passed through were like places struck by a disaster.

Those common folk—their carts, tools, and pack animals, which were the very treasures they depended on for survival—were forcibly requisitioned by the army on the strength of nothing more than a scrap of paper.

The feed and supplies in barns and storehouses were also swept clean. Deprived of their means of livelihood, the people had no choice but to flee for their lives."

He paused, the anger in his eyes intensifying:

"I heard that the Abbot of Cluny in Elinghem and his entourage were dragged off their horses by soldiers on their way to Paris, and their carriage was requisitioned for the retainers of the Count of Alençon.

Naturally unable to swallow this insult, the abbot appealed all the way from the courts of Paris until he reached King Philip himself.

However, those other ordinary poor wretches are probably... unlikely to find anyone to uphold justice for them... At least they don't believe so, and we are powerless to help."

Looking at his old friend, Bandak shrugged, then offered an awkward smile, wearing an expression that implied "you know what I mean."

Having finished speaking, he didn't want to appear overly indignant in front of his old friend, yet how could his own heart feel at ease:

"Yet, what can the common people do?

Deft of any power and of low status, in this turbulent and unsettled chaotic world, they can only struggle bitterly like ants, fighting hard for survival.

They simply don't have the capital to appeal like the abbot."

Razalit frowned slightly, a trace of doubt and reluctance in his eyes. He slowly raised his hand, unconsciously stroking his chin as if trying hard to ponder something.

A moment later, he shook his head slightly, a hint of stubborn defiance playing at the corners of his mouth:

"The state's compensation for those whose property is requisitioned is usually much prompt and generous. There's no need to worry too much even if things are requisitioned, isn't that right?"