“Now go to the Rathaus.
The Bailiff is waiting for you there,” Bernard said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm as he began collecting the stray practice arrows from the grass.
“All right, Captain,” Henry replied, sliding his newly won yew bow into his shoulder strap and giving the old veteran a respectful nod.
Leaving the lower bailey behind, Henry walked over to where his gray mare, Olena, was tethered near the inner gatehouse.
He stroked her velvet nose before climbing into the saddle, settling his weight into the worn leather seat.
With a gentle nudge of his heels, Olena trotted onto the cobblestone path.
The journey up toward the heart of Rattay took them past the heavy outer gate, flanked on either side by two stern guards leaning on their polearms.
Above them hung the thick wooden drawbridge, ready to be pulled up tight against the archway at the first sign of a siege.
Henry rode at a slow, leisurely pace, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling town.
Along the walls near the lower tavern, refugees from Skalitz sat huddled in rags, their hollow eyes watching the horse pass with a mixture of hope and envy.
Higher up the hill, the reek of horse manure yielded to the sharp tang of woodsmoke and roasting pork from the market stalls.
Merchants shouted over piles of early cabbage and strings of dried marjoram, hawking their wares to local townswomen.
When he reached the grand paved square, Henry dismounted near the stone fountain.
He led Olena to a hitching post, patting her neck gently.
“Stay here, girl.
I’ll be back soon,” Henry murmured, running a hand down her mane.
Adjusting his belt, Henry turned and climbed the wide stone steps leading into the Rathaus.
The thick oak doors creaked open, leading him into a quiet, cool hallway lined with tall arched windows.
He made his way up the winding wooden staircase to the upper floor, knocking once before pushing open the heavy door to the Bailiff’s office.
At the far end of the long room, seated behind a wide oak desk piled high with parchment scrolls, wax seals, and ledger books, sat the Bailiff of Rattay.
“God be with you,” Henry greeted respectfully, stopping a few paces from the desk.
The Bailiff looked up from a document, dipping his quill into an inkwell before setting it aside.
He adjusted his velvet cap and squinted at the young man.
“God be with you.
What is it that you need, lad?”
“I have come to put myself under the Bailiff’s command,” Henry stated clearly, standing straight.
“Ah!” The Bailiff leaned back, his weary shoulders dropping an inch.
“You must be the lad Sir Radzig sent over.”
“Yes, Bailiff.”
“Very well.
Sir Radzig asked me to test you a little, and as it happens, you’ve come at the right time.
We’ve had a few disputes to settle around town.
It seems some of your former neighbors from Skalitz have been acting quite inappropriately lately—getting drunk, brawling, and causing trouble for the local merchants.
I was hoping one of their own on the town watch might help sort things out with a bit of common sense.”
Henry nodded firmly.
“You can count on me, Bailiff.”
“You certainly are bold, lad.
I like that.
Have you been to see Captain Bernard yet?”
“I have,” Henry replied.
“He trained me, and then we took to the archery range where Lord Hans Capon challenged me to a duel—which I managed to win by a point.”
The Bailiff let out a hearty chuckle, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
“Is that so?
Well, good for you, lad!
Winning a bow off young Lord Capon is no small task.
Maybe you really do know a thing or two.”
He straightened the papers on his desk and leaned forward, his tone turning businesslike.
“Anyway, you’re going to assist my town guard today.
Come to the church in the afternoon.
Jaroslav, the watchman—Nightingale, they call him—will be waiting for you there.
He’ll show you around town and teach you a bit about keeping the peace.
But before you do that, you need to stop by the armory to pick up your city watch armor.”
“Yes, Bailiff.
Thank you,” Henry said, offering a curt bow before exiting the office.
Back out in the bright afternoon sun, Henry checked on Olena, giving her a quick pat.
“Stay here, girl.
Just going to fetch my gear,” he said softly before heading on foot toward the upper castle section.
Following the cobblestone lane past the bailiff’s court, Henry approached the heavy wooden door of the Rattay Guard Tower Armory.
He pushed the heavy door inward, stepping into a dim vault that smelled sharply of armoursmith’s grease and damp leather.
Behind a long counter stood an armorer’s guard, busy wiping down a steel kettle hat with an oiled rag.
He glanced up as Henry entered.
“I was told to pick up a kit here,” Henry said.
“Name’s Henry.”
“Ah, yes!
Sir Radzig’s boy,” the guard said, setting the rag down with a dry grunt.
“Bailiff said you’d be coming.
Seems half of Skalitz is wearing Rattay steel these days, but at least you’re putting it to work on watch.”
The guard turned to the wooden racks behind him, pulling down a heavy bundle.
“You’re down for a gambeson, a kettle hat, and a bludgeon.
“Right,” Henry said, dipping the quill and making his mark next to his name before taking the heavy stack over to the wooden bench.
Henry took the gear over to a wooden bench in the corner.
He unbuckled his plain doublet and pulled the heavy padded gambeson over his torso, strapping it tight at the sides.
Next came the kettle hat, settling solidly over his head, its broad steel brim shading his eyes.
Lastly, he slotted the thick wooden bludgeon into the leather loop at his belt alongside his hunting knife.
+——————————————————-+
| [EQUIPMENT UPDATED] |
| Equipped: Rattay Guard Gambeson (+4 Defense) |
| Equipped: Steel Kettle Hat (+3 Head Protection) |
| Weapon Acquired: Watchman’s Bludgeon (Blunt Damage) |
| |
| |
+——————————————————-+
Standing up, he adjusted his belt and tested his movement.
He felt heavier, sturdier—no longer just a refugee, but a man holding an official post.
Leaving the armory, Henry walked down the stone avenue toward the town’s central parish church.
The bell in the high stone tower struck two long, resonant beats, signaling the start of the afternoon shift.
Henry stepped through the cool, vaulted entryway of the church, his boots echoing softly on the flagstones.
Passing the holy water stoup, he walked toward the sunlit south courtyard bench near the entrance.
Sitting on the bench, leaning lazily against the warm stone wall with his legs stretched out and a half-eaten apple in hand, was an older, lean watchman wearing a well-worn gambeson and a graying beard.
This must be Nightingale, Henry thought.
Henry walked up to the bench, stopping in front of the veteran guard.
“My name is Henry.
I’m supposed to learn how to patrol from you.
You must be Nightingale?”
The older man took a crisp bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully before looking Henry up and down, taking in the fresh gambeson and kettle hat.
“That I am, lad,” Nightingale said, tossing a leftover apple core into the brush and stretching his arms.
“And judging by the look of you, you’re just the man I need to show the ropes.
Come on, let’s get moving before the bailiff finds something else for us to do.”
“I sure am,” Henry replied with a nod.
“Come on then with me, Henry,” Nightingale said, turning toward the church archway and gesturing for Henry to fall in alongside him.
“We’ll patrol the town and check on the taverns to make sure everyone’s behaving themselves.
And don’t forget—I’m supposed to try out and, with the help of God, teach you something, so I expect you to conduct yourself properly out here.
I’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid.
Let’s go!”