In the orange-yellow dust mist, sixty or seventy corpses were stripped of their armor and thrown off the walls at the screams of jackdaws. Angus recognized from a distance three knights of England, straddling their richly armored mounts, their horsemanship so graceful, assuming the posture of conquerors under the gray and white main castle covered with smoke columns, and behind them, Robert of Normandy accompanied Bishop Odo of Ostia, also approaching the wall broken by countless crossbows.

War within a war, Angus pondered, and in today's war, the rivalry between Robert and the English could also be seen by fools, as if they were about to conquer some ancient city protected by a magnificent limestone wall—the two sides were jealous of each other, like the benefactor of a famous prostitute, and the brother of a virgin.

The steel and smoke made life felt, and Angus sniffed hard, inserted the blood-wiped blade into its sheath, and walked towards the camp without looking back.

The wine of the female border man belongs to those great names, and he is just a mercenary, and like the other spear-wielding sergeants under the command of the female border uncle, who have different shapes and the same cold expressions, he will not enter her eyes at all. No, he is inferior to those Italians, who are at least fighting for their land, unlike him, an exile with no home to return to, who hides anger against the world in his heart.

Why am I an illegitimate child? Angus couldn't help but ask himself, what sin did I commit, or what law did I break when I was an infant? The more he lashed himself, the deeper his hatred for the world became, and only the memory of his adoptive father could evoke the softness in his heart, which was like a quenched liquid that forged him strong enough. It was the father who saw a conqueror's heart from his slave appearance, so why wasn't he the true son of the father?

Tossing and turning, Angus heard a familiar footstep as Priest Dagobert had returned from a feast.

The stench of wine and the delicate aroma of Persian rose water disturbed Angus even more, and the smell of decay made him want to vomit like he saw the skin of a maggot wrapped in silk, but instead of lying down, Dagobert approached in disgust.

"Let's go." Dagobet's voice was remarkably sober, without the smell of alcohol.

Angus felt a sense of fear and a sense of relief at the same time: "You mean, let me leave now?" ”

"The war is over, I'm just a servant of God, and I don't need mercenaries." There was a kind of unbearability in Dagobet's voice, but he hid it well.

"You rented my sword for three months." Angus had already sat up and stared into Priest Dagobert's eyes, "The contract hasn't expired yet. ”

A money bag is thrown in front of you, and that's all the remaining commission. Angus didn't look at it, just looked at the other party suspiciously, but he couldn't see through a spy.

It must have happened at the banquet, Angus reacted almost immediately, but what could such a noble person have to do with himself?

The big man is like a whale on the sea, and he can destroy a small seapassenger boat in a breath, which he understood when he was a child, and at that time, the world of this noble man was even farther away from him than it is now, so far away that only the grand and solemn outline remains, and the ugly details have never been revealed. Or even if they saw it with their own eyes, a small fisherman would not associate the ugly with the sacred and honorable.

Dagobert looked at the overly clever boy and could not help but recall what had just happened, the son of the Duke of Normandy holding the harp in front of the campfire and singing it himself, telling the fierceness of the previous war, and the generosity and heroism of the Norman lyre won the unanimous favor of the samurai present.

At that time, the marshals of Milan were discussing with the Lady and the Bishop of Odo about the situation in the north, especially the port of Genoa, and the old Alberto Bellbert spoke sarcastically of the Genoese who refused to redeem their mother from the Saracens for half a silver coin, and mentioned the most important trade routes of the region, from Terdonna to Pavia and Milan, passing through the valleys of Reme, Oba, Bormida, and Scrivia, which were the blood of Lombardy and controlled the trade of the whole north. The vassal concluded that as long as Henry IV's mother-in-law still controlled Ivria and Turin, Conrad would not lose Silombardy, and Henry, who had been crowned Iron Crown, could still provide military support to his son.

Dagobert remembers that it was after listening to the clear-cut analysis of the Marquis of Alberto that Robert Mallett of England quarreled with the son of the Duke of Normandy.

Since the female Bianbo did not speak, it was inconvenient for the others to interfere with the quarrel between the two adults, and Dagobert himself did not care much about such a thing, and at that time he almost felt that this was a meal that made this banquet less boring.

Until a name came out of Robert Mallett's mouth.

Dagobert did not know where the Norman knight of England had heard about his guard, but this cunning fellow seemed to be familiar with the little-known Angus, and pretended to fight for a "friend", a warrior who had personally killed the Count of Alberto of the Adalbert family, but had not achieved anything. He ridiculed Robert "Sock" as a shameless man who was greedy for fame and fame, and he was so enraged that he almost smashed the harp on Mallett's half-shaved head.

Dagobert knew that he could not speak, he knew that his betrayal was despicable, and that he was here only because of the face of the Bishop of Ostia, and he could not now erect such an enemy as the heirs of the Normandy or Mallett families.

So he watched feebly as Madame Matilda showed her interest in Angus, a response that made Robert, the "Sock", walk away on the spot, while the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Earl of Lincoln looked like they were not in business, and maintained an intriguing calm throughout.

Dagobert pulled out of his memories and looked at the highland boy in front of him, a rare guilt welled up in his heart, he made up his mind before entering the military tent, he couldn't let Angus get involved in the political whirlpool, such a simple young man would be swallowed up by those big people.