The next two days, Eric moved extremely cautiously, stopping at night only in large inns, and on the road moved in fragments, avoiding any suspicious fellow travelers and protracted conversations. On the morning of the third day, a dozen miles of the road, a small village emerged from behind the turn. There it was very noisy and from the outskirts there was absolutely no people to be seen. Having held the horses, the young baron jumped to the ground and cocked the crossbow, sat back in the saddle, and, holding his weapon on the ready, moved to the village. Something strange happened there. In the square stood a crowd, in the center of which, on the barrel stood a priest, at his feet was a bound young woman. The sight of this poor thing was pretty sad: clothes are torn in many places, many abrasions and bruises, all dirty in mud and own blood. Eric drove up to the crowd a dozen steps away. The cries subsided and everyone looked at him.

" Who is this woman? " Asked von Lenzburg in Latin in a most heavy, almost buzzing voice. He said and almost did not flinch, because he did not even suspect that he had such a useful and loud voice if bellowed.

"This woman is a helper of Satan, Irish," the priest answered politely and bowed. "Forgive my impudence, but what made the noble gentleman visit our humble village? "

" I'm just passing through here. "I was attracted to the noise that you arranged. What exactly did she do?

"She poisoned the cows from the venerable husband Henrik.

"What are you going to do with it? "

"We want to sink her noble lord. "

"Who judged her? "

" We tried it with the whole world. "The decision was taken unanimously.

"And who owns this village? "

"To the honorable Sir Harald. "

"Why did you dare neglect his trial? "

Then a huge man with an ax jumped out of the crowd and, stepping on a pair of cases forward, stood in half-turned and roared with a thick bass:

He did not have time to finish the conversation, since the bolt lay neatly in his ear. Eric slowly lowered the crossbow, looked around the silent crowd with an evil glance and in the same buzzing voice asked:

- Who else wants to express his respect to Baron Eric von Lenzburg?

The crowd was frightened in silence. Yeah, the pressure and arrogance - the second happiness. And our hero, not wanting to lose initiative, practically growled, taking out his sword from its scabbard:

" Get out of the square! " Running Dishonor! Harald learns - everyone hangs on the branches!

And he moved forward. Latin, of course, they did not know, but the tone with which these words were uttered, and the naked blade very stimulate inter-lingual communication. So, after half a minute, only a nervously sobbing woman remained in the square, the abbot of the village church, pale with fear, and the corpse of the unlucky ruffian. Arriving nearer to the priest and not getting off his horse, he lifted his drooping head with the end of the sword so that he would look into his eyes. He watched it for about five minutes. And then he said:

" Good man, do not take it for work, untie the rope on this woman and take us to her house. "You're a kind person, will you help me? "

The priest nodded quickly.

Ok. And afterwards you will bring her horse to her house under the saddle and, tying him to the fence, will do what the good people of this village have done. After all, do you want to return to your house, and lie down a bit on your favorite trestle, thinking about the inscrutability of the ways of our Lord Jesus Christ?

The priest again expressed his full consent. And the baron smiled at him in the most gracious way, and then, suddenly changing his face to a completely furious and malicious expression, he roared:

Do it!

At the same time, just dipping the tip of the sword into the chin of the holy father, which made the blood run through a thin trickle along his fat neck. By itself such happiness our figure in the church apparatus could not stand and most naturally wet himself. But he quickly realized himself and began to follow very carefully and diligently all the instructions that Eric had given him. So forty minutes later our brutal boy was driving his small caravan in four horses.

They were silent for the first hour. Then the woman, slightly drove her horse, came up to him, put a hand on his shoulder and said something in her, in a bird's tongue. The Baron arched an eyebrow in surprise and, scratching his head thoughtfully, asked her in Latin, for he had not understood the words he had just uttered. In general, it turned out that she knows Latin, but it's bad, but he does not know the ancient version of Irish, even at the level of elementary phrases. The next two days of the trip were quite calm, only in the evenin, in the tavern, the host was indignant at the depravity of the young knight, who was dragging to his room some kind of indecent girl. But everything was decided very simply and graciously. Eric approached him with the slightest smile, drew his dagger and pressed them, completely superfluous to him, in the crotch of the talkative fat man. He immediately lost his talk and made a profuse sweat. Meanwhile, the baron, keeping the same sweet smile, told him that it was a sinful thing for such a venerable person to talk about absolutely indecent things in the presence of a lady, especially not knowing who was in front of him. Needless to say, the fat man assuredly assured that from tomorrow he would sit down on a fortnight's post to clear his filthy language, which uttered such an obscene muck, naturally, uttered entirely by stupidity, without evil and some kind of back thought. On this, all the surprises have exhausted themselves. Two days of the journey were filled with conversations that went with difficulty, due to some language barrier, but, nevertheless, with mutual interest. His new companion was only 18 years old, although he thought it was more, and her name was Morrigan. An unusual name, but also an unusual girl. As he understood from the story, this girl was the daughter of Dermod MacCarthy, the fourth ruler of the Desmond kingdom in southern Ireland. When nine years ago her brother sat on the throne, he decided to get rid of his numerous relatives in the form of brothers and sisters, in order to sit on the throne stronger. Therefore, in the same year, the Normans were hired, who raided his palace, during his absence for hunting. All were killed, even the servants' children, only a nine-year-old Morrigan was able to hide in a basket with a bunch of tattered rags. When the enemy left, she took her to her and nursed her along with her children, a devoted servant. As soon as she was 12 years old, the husband of the wet nurse blabbed about the fact that a girl from the Dermoda family was still alive. Guests visited quickly and immediately. This time the brother was not shy and came himself, along with his squad. He interrupted the whole village, but she managed to escape again. The most ugly thing was that this scoundrel defiantly hung all the villagers on the boughs of trees growing in the district, and she sat in reeds and sobbed. For a couple of days she fled in hysterics to the east, she turned out in pain and fear, but not to herself, but to those people who could die if they knew who she was. In tattered clothes, she fell on a small hillock, overgrown with moss, and when she woke up, she was in a hut with an elderly woman who had sheltered her. It was an herbalist. Three years ago, this kind grandmother died of some strange disease and the girl, afraid of getting infected, fled from there, and then on a rowing boat that she stole in a small village on the southern coast of Ireland, went across the sea. Oh, and she had a terrible fear when she crossed the strait to Normandy. Then there was a trip on some roads, until last year, she decided to settle in the village he already knew. But here everything was disgusting and wrong. Morrigan was young, beautiful, and was for them a stranger, so she struggled to climb under the skirt, sometimes by force, in places sweet tale, most of the male population of the village, strangely enough, primarily family. Of course, she fought back, as best she could and as she could. So I was able to preserve my virginity, which terribly irritated my neighbors. And so, the day before the well-known events, the same peasant whom Eric shot, receiving from her a yoke between his legs, decided to take revenge. He was a nasty person, and therefore accused her of dying, a week earlier, of the cow. Say, it was she, a sorceress, who poisoned her. The village took this decision with a bang, for almost all the peasants suffered from wounded pride, and all women were afraid that they would be taken away by the peasants. In short, word for word, they came to her house all crowd, beaten and dragged to the square. And there the priest began to publicly slander her, calling him a walking maid and an accomplice of Satan. In short - her fate was full of joy, happiness and family warmth. Eric also concluded for himself that he now has a potential candidate for the medical provision of the gang. She is thin, but small, it is true - in her eighteen years, she looks smaller than the baron at 14. But the Morrigan character is correct, it did not break down, well done. Yes, and she swore to him in loyalty until his death, which is important. So, in the solution of the second task, the first move and the move are very nice.