Aided by his ale, Fried’s laugh was tinged with a smidgen of anger.
He had lived in this fort for ten and more years.
Perhaps he regretted that he had not had a single battle in that time.
“But it looks like the privileges granted to the count will run out next summer. A letter to that effect practically just arrived.”
“Oh?”
Fried stood up at the same time as Lawrence’s surprised reaction.
“Because of that, I am, as I said, quite glad I did not hit you with my arrow. You’re a traveling merchant, yes?”
When Fried tossed yet another piece of bread out the window, it was a chicken that cried out this time. Perhaps this was the Paule that had just laid an egg at the channel.
For a quiet fort, it had certainly become rather noisy.
“There is something I wish to ask of you.”
“That’s… Yes, of course, if it’s within my power.”
Even though he had only recently begun traveling on a proper trade route, he was still very hungry for new business opportunities. Even a fort with its lord having long passed away, with his privileges soon due to expire, it had to have stores of some kind. He would be very grateful if he could make a good profit from it.
As Lawrence balanced his debt to the man who had aided him and his own greed on the scales in his mind, the elderly man employed in defense of the fort had a smile on his face, looking somehow relieved as he spoke.
“I’d like you to help me liquidate this fort.”
Lawrence raised his face, realizing then that he had an unguarded look that was entirely pathetic for a merchant.
“I want to go on a journey. So, I want to convert everything here into money.”
“I don’t… mind, but…”
“I have served here for ten-odd years. I deserve that much of a fitting farewell. I have faithfully defended this land, after all.”
Only the last line sounded like the joke of a man who was drunk.
“Well, go ahead and enjoy a good night’s sleep. It’s been so long since I had a guest. You’ll be amazed at how well you sleep on a straw bed that isn’t squished down!”
Fried spoke in the exaggerated manner of a knight on the field of battle, following up with a great, hearty laugh.
Among human-built structures, forts were said to be places of simplicity and elegance second only to churches. Fried walked down a set of stone stairs within the fort, talking along the way.
Building a fort on top of a hill required a hill road, and these invariably spiraled clockwise around the hill going up. Such planning allowed for the transit of cargo up even steep hills, and should enemies ride up on horseback, it forced them to continually expose their right flanks to the fort. Since ordinarily, knights carried weapons in their right hand and shields in their left, this made them easier to attack from the fort.
Besides allowing one to see the condition of the enemy, the holes in the stone wall protecting the fort were harmonized with a solar calendar so that people under siege could determine the time of year.
It was set so that one could tell what month it was by the height of the hole the sun came through at noon.
Also, channels had been dug in various places around the fort to gather rainwater that splashed off the stone walls, making it run close to the vegetable garden. Jugs were placed thereafter so that the water did not go to waste; even the excess was blocked by stone slabs embedded in the ground, allowing the water to be pumped out later like from a well. What made the fort even finer was that when smoke was permitted to leave the kitchen, it was piped out to distribute warmth throughout the fort.
“It’s quite a job for one man to maintain all this; in particular, dealing well with broken stones.”
That was how Fried put it, but Lawrence felt that if he had been here by himself, maintaining a stone fort like this over the course of several years would be little short of a miracle.
The treasure room he was guided to after breakfast was, of course, not despoiled by enemy actions, but rather had been maintained in a tidy state, prevailing against the forces of humidity and mold.
“Well, more than anything of monetary value, this was placed here for when Count Zenfel might visit. To me, it’s a treasure I can’t put a value on, but what about you? Surely there is something here you can convert into money?”
Illuminated by the light of a candle were pavilion tents for use by persons of high status when traveling, banners, and a number of antique utensils. Certainly, the tents and banners seemed to have been used as bedding, but since there was no mold growing on them, they surely would have a fair amount of value. The utensils were not actual, magnificent silver, but rather all tin and steel. Of course, they were worth at least as much as the value of the melted-down metal. There was also a parchment upon which was written the rights to the fort and an exception from taxation, but this was a fort ignored by bandits for over a decade. Anyone would understand that the privileges on such a certificate were worthless, but if the words were erased, it could be sold off as a blank parchment. He could probably dig out something on the level of a book of tales of chivalry.
As Lawrence took note of everything in his head, he took his own wages into consideration as he reported to Fried about one item after another.
Fried marked a wax-varnished wooden table with a dagger to keep count.
“Mmm. For things to turn out like this…”
As he recorded the final numbers, Fried seemed a bit relieved as he spoke.
“The tents and books will go for quite a bit. It might make enough of a dowry that you could get into a monastery.”
Afterward, he could live out his days peacefully in prayer and contemplation.
Fried roared with laughter at Lawrence’s words.
“Ha-ha-ha. I’ve spent quite long enough living in a place like this, staring at nothing but the sky and flat plains.
“I’ve no intention of spending my money like that.”
Speaking like a young man, Fried took in a deep breath and made a sigh.
“I left my village to win land of my own by the sword. I don’t think I could die under a roof now. I am Fried Rittenmayer, part of a knightly order under Count Zenfel.”
Even an old soldier had force behind his voice befitting an old soldier.
As Fried’s own words seemed to deeply resonate within him, he suddenly looked in Lawrence’s direction.
“I now remember that I am a knight. I forgot to take into account the most important thing.”
“The most important thing?”
As Lawrence bounced the question back, Fried made no response; rather, he placed the dagger he had left on the table back on his hip and walked to one corner of the not particularly large treasure room.
And withdrawing a box from the tents and banners the count had granted him, he peeled off the crimson fabric beneath it all at once. Lawrence had assumed it was a protrusion from when the underground chamber had been constructed, but beneath that fabric appeared a large wooden crate large enough to fit an adult person inside.
As Lawrence wondered, I wonder what could be inside, his question was immediately answered.
When Fried opened the crate’s lid, the candlelight illuminated what looked like the silhouette of a man on his knees. It was a suit of armor from a bygone era, complete with helmet and greaves.
“This.”
With that, Fried picked up the helmet, his eyes narrowing in a nostalgic look as he rubbed somewhat dented portions of it.
Perhaps, in times long past, it had gone together with Fried onto the field of battle, saving his life.
“Could you trade this for money? It might be hard to take with you due to the weight, but still.”
As Fried spoke those words, he tossed the helmet in Lawrence’s direction.
Having been well oiled, it had dulled somewhat, but was not rusted whatsoever. A little polish and it would once more be ready to take onto the battlefield at a
ny moment.
But when Lawrence looked at Fried after a price came to mind in his head, Fried made an embarrassed-looking smile.
“The armor that saved my life in my younger days has to be worth something.”
Lawrence had heard that when a young man leaves his home with dreams of glory, whether he wears a suit of armor or not determines if he is knight or bandit.
Like a king’s cloak, simply wearing something of such high value established someone’s status.
However, was it really all right to sell something like this?
With such thoughts in mind, Lawrence could not find proper words with which to reply.
“… I think it’s… probably worth as much as everything else here put together… but…”
“Mm. I see, I see. If it’s worth more than banners and tents for looking heroic on the field of battle, I suppose I’d look like quite a person wearing a suit like this, then.”
Certainly that might be so if considering only the monetary value, but his tone made it clear he did not truly think that way. Compared to everyone risking their lives under the magnificent, embroidered crimson banner they had sworn fealty to, it was true that this dulled suit of armor bore only a tiny fraction of its former value.
It bore only the value of what was left behind with the passage of time.
He was well aware of the awful truth that things like prestige and might were fleeting things indeed.
“Fwa-ha-ha. In the old days I’d never have thought of selling my suit of armor. Yet now it is not I choking on his words in the face of it, but a traveling merchant. How amusing!”
Lawrence, his back slapped by Fried, was a tad flustered.
Perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight, but it looked to him like Fried was putting out an excessive amount of bravado.
“… To be honest, I think you have enough for traveling expenses even without selling it. Besides, all you’d need to maintain this fort is enough to pay for a mason and a gardener.”
“No, it’s quite fine. The count granted me knighthood for the purpose of defending this fort. If I am to leave, I shall require the armor no more.”
In business, whether in towns or villages, the most difficult people to deal with were stubborn old men. Even if they looked soft, they never deviated from their pet theories. Lawrence was sensing that impression from Fried, but what made him give up on convincing him otherwise was seeing the lonely look on Fried’s face from the side.
He really did not want to sell it.
However, enveloped by the accumulated memories of an old man, the suit of armor was too great a burden to bear.
How he felt was plain to see.
“Well, let’s go up and have a bit of a drink. If I’m going to leave, there’s some wine I want to open up first.”
Lawrence told Fried in a teasing tone that his having a drink before it was even noon showed he was still as spry as he was in his younger days.
Putting the helmet back and closing the wooden box, Lawrence and Fried left the treasure room and went back up the stairs.
“I joined in a number of large battles, too. It was a war that will be remembered for a thousand years in the annals of scribes. I lost count of how many times arrows struck my helmet. When an enemy’s ax bounced off my armor, the sparks thrown up made my eyes dizzy. When I was waiting to have my armor fixed one time, the blacksmith told me it was only by the grace of God that it hadn’t been ripped apart.”
The white wine Fried brought out of the cellar was slightly hazy from sediment as he poured it into glasses. Completely unlike low-quality wine that had ginger added to it to cover up the taste of strained grape lees, being able to see the lees in the glass after one was finished was a mark of high-quality wine Lawrence had heard of, but never before seen.
This was absolutely not something one drank while sitting on the porch, teasing the pig while your shoes turned fluffy from the chicken pecking at them.
Fried’s face broke into a smile at Lawrence’s hesitation to drink.
“Truly, it was the Lord who guided this young man to me who knows the value of things!”
Speaking such words, he made a grandiose toast and emptied his glass in one gulp.
Lawrence had no choice but to drink, then.
It was so good, he wished he could spit it out into a barrel later, package it, and sell it in town.
“I truly wanted to drink this with the count once more, but it cannot be helped.”
As he spoke, his laugh and his smiling face struck Lawrence not as that of an old man having lived several times longer than he, but the smiling face of a man the same age – no, younger than he, a teenager still embracing tales of heroism inside him.
Lawrence, his eyes nearly spinning from pouring more of the fine wine into his glass, feared he was drunk as he opened his mouth.
“Where do you intend to go after you leave here?”
Fried looked at Lawrence with upturned eyes at his question, looking amused as he poured wine into his own cup. Though it was wine of the sort one would drink at dinner among nobles, he greedily poured too much into the glass, leaving it to a sheep passing by to lick up what had been spilled.
“I thought I’d go visit an old friend of mine. I get letters from him from time to time. It’ll take me past the monastery that’s sent me necessities so nicely.”
Most would drink even low-quality beer with more care.
Fried drank down half his glass and bit into a sausage.
“He was a stout man, but my friend’s finally at a precarious age. It’s probably my last chance to talk about old times. Also, I want to see how a town I once defended is doing now; maybe go to the church in a town I sacked long ago and atone for my sins. Even I want to go to heaven, you see.”
Making a leer, it was quite charming how he made one think he was truly accustomed to the field of battle in old times. Lawrence somehow regretted that it was doubtful he would be anything like Fried when he advanced in years.
“And I thought it’d be good to live on the road like you traveling merchants, finally collapsing on some warm patch of grass somewhere for my final breaths.”
Fried steered the conversation over.
“Ah, is that so…”
“You’ve probably had the experience. Your belly empty, lying flat on a patch of grass on a clear day thinking you might die, staring up at the sky… How strangely refreshing it is.”
Fried looked up at the sky as he spoke such words.
Hearing them, Lawrence put some wine in his mouth, as if sulking a little.
For ever since setting off on his own as a merchant, he had had his eyes glued to the ground, searching for any money that might have fallen. When hungry, he had imagined boiling leather to eat or had even looked intently upon the muscular rump of his horse.
He had not been born with the manliness to stare up at the sky, arms wide, resigned to death. He could not even imagine it.
Regretting that fact, Lawrence faced forward.
“I think, I’d like to die like that if I could. But really…”
After, Lawrence felt like Fried muttered something, but he could not catch what it was.
When he prompted back, Fried had not seemed to have said anything to begin with, for he had interrupted his mumbled words by swallowing down more wine.
“What does a knight who’s shown a merchant his treasure room have left to hide?”
That line seemed especially effective when used on an especially chivalrous knight.
Fried slapped his own forehead and made a hearty laugh; still sharp, he tossed a sandwich over to Stöckengurt as the pig searched for any openings.
“Ah, ’tis exactly as you say. Why, as I said all that, I surprised myself that I’m finally at the age to think that way.”
As Stöckengurt drew near, wondering what else there might be, Fried fended off its snout and pushed it toward a plate left on the porch as he spoke.
“In the first place, lying with my
back against the grass staring up at the sky was an experience from my first sortie.”
Lawrence could not even imagine how long ago that had been, but Fried spoke like it was yesterday.
“I was wearing a heavy suit of armor, on an unfamiliar horse, all full of myself. It was right after I encountered the enemy and traded two or three blows of the lance. I thought I’d taken down my foe, but when I came to, I was spread out on the ground, staring at the sky. The suit was extremely heavy; tough as it was, once you fell, you couldn’t get back up on your own. All I could do was wait for my comrades to rescue me or be skewered.”
Lawrence was in danger of laughing as he imagined a knight-like a turtle on its back.
“Of course, I was prepared to die. I hadn’t even heard the sound of the impact from the fall; the only thing before my eyes was the broad, clear sky of early spring. Even though ’twas the middle of a battle, I wondered if that was heaven.”
And lastly, Fried related in a low voice, “When I thought I’d felled my foe, I got so excited I fell off my horse.”
Even without wearing a heavy suit of armor, it was not difficult to get killed falling from the back of a tall horse.
That he escaped with only a concussion, and had not been impaled like a fish by someone’s lance, surely meant that God’s grace had been with him.
However, the only words Fried did not continue were those he had begun with, “But really…”
As if realizing he was trying to pull the wool over his own eyes as well, Fried stubbornly scratched his nose and drank his wine as he watched Stöckengurt and Paule scramble for a piece of bread.
By the time he finally opened his mouth, he was on his third glass of wine.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Having spent this much time with him, Lawrence could form a good idea of what he might want, as this was Fried, who had made such a lonely face in front of the armor back in the treasure room.
“Yes.” Lawrence could not hide the smile on his face as he replied.
Fried’s cheeks may have been red as he looked at Lawrence, but his eyes were resolute.
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