Chapter 9 9: the noble service

I would appreciate it if you could post reviews about what you think of the story so far. ------------------------------- Two weeks passed, and Father returned. And just as he had promised, as soon as I turned seven, I was sent to serve as a page in the Margrave's lands. A strong escort of men-at-arms accompanied me, of course. No one in their right mind traveled alone on those roads. The forests were crawling with danger: bandits, goblins, orcs, beastmen... and who knows what else. There are more horrors between the trees than most dare imagine. Luckily, after three years of training without stirrups, riding was no longer a challenge. I could keep my seat even at full gallop. What I still struggled with was giving precise commands with my legs using the stirrups, as I was only just getting used to them. Still, it was nothing compared to the hell of learning to ride without any support. We had to cross the Schilder River to reach Holthusen. There, as noble custom dictated, we went to the local castle to request hospitality. The nobleman received us with courtesy and offered us a room for the night. The next morning, we set out south, following the road that would lead us to Helmgart, passing first through Eilhart and then Ussingen. There was some debate among the soldiers about whether we should detour through Osburg to rest or press on directly to Helmgart without further stops. After several days of travel, we finally arrived at Helmgart. It was larger than I had imagined. Surrounded by high stone walls, with towers guarding every approach and soldiers patrolling in every direction, the citadel looked more like a fortress ready to endure a siege than a noble estate. In truth, it was both. Helmgart guarded one of the most important passes between the Empire and Bretonnia, making it strategic for both trade and war. As we approached the main gate, one of the guards stepped forward."Identify yourselves. Who comes to the Margrave's city?" he demanded firmly. "We are sent by Baron von Reinsfeld. His son comes as a page, by prior arrangement with His Lordship, Margrave von Mackensen," replied one of the men-at-arms. The guard looked us over, then raised a hand, and one of his men disappeared inside. We waited a few minutes under the gaze of crossbowmen posted atop the walls, until the guard returned with another man in tow. This one wore a red livery with the Margrave's emblem embroidered in gold. "Welcome. You have permission to enter. The young lord shall be taken to the castle to present himself before His Lordship," said the newcomer, gesturing for me to follow. We passed through the city's streets. The stone paving was neat but worn, many slabs sunken from the constant passage of heavy carts. And the smell... it was worse than I had imagined. A stifling mix of fresh horse manure, fermented food scraps, workshop grease, and human urine. Though not so different from our own village, here everything felt amplified. Even the air itself seemed thick. But there was no denying the activity. Plenty of it. I saw merchants packing up their stalls at dusk, some still haggling over final prices, others counting coins under the watchful eyes of their apprentices. Craftsmen hurried to lock their shops, fastening doors and windows with heavy bolts.And everywhere, soldiers. There were more armed men than civilians. The streets were filled with uniformed regiments: pikemen with their long wooden spears, swordsmen in light plate armor, crossbowmen marching in formation. I even saw a couple of squads of handgunners, their weapons slung across their chests, wearing a perpetual scowl toward anything not wearing a uniform. The castle —or rather, the fortress of Helmgart— was embedded into the mountain like a nail hammered deep. Taking such a position in battle must've been hell. The ascent was steep and winding, flanked by minor walls, watchtowers, and natural parapets. Every segment of the climb was designed for defense. From every angle, archers, crossbowmen, and gunners could rain down death without respite. Even if the enemy came from Reikland —technically allies— the slope alone would wear down any siege attempt. Not to mention the incursions from the greenskin clans infesting the mountains. But the true heart of its defense lay on the other side.The fortress faced Bretonnia with a colossal wall stretching from one end of the mountain to the other. A line of stone. There was only one entrance, just wide enough for merchants and caravans to pass, guarded with barriers, double gates, battlements bristling with weapons, and watchful guards. After climbing the steep road to Helmgart Fortress, we finally passed through the final gate under the scrutiny of guards who missed nothing. Once again, they stopped us, asked who we were, and we gave the same answer as always: my name, my father's name, and the purpose of our visit. The rest of my escort could go no further. The guards informed them they were to lodge at a local tavern before preparing to return. I, on the other hand, was to continue alone. One of the Margrave's soldiers took my mare's reins without a word, and another motioned for me to follow. We walked through cold, tall, unadorned stone corridors. The smell of food reached me before the sound of voices. We turned a corner and entered the great hall. There he was. Margrave von Mackensen. He was eating with his family at a long table made of dark wood. To his right sat his wife, stern-faced and tight-jawed. To his left, two sons slightly older than me. Further down, a daughter with a sharp gaze and other family members seated silently. Around them, half a dozen servants moved back and forth with dishes, wine jugs, and warm bread. And beyond them, seated on a long bench, at least five other pages. Boys like me. From other houses. All with their eyes cast downward, all attentive to the Margrave's every move. The soldier escorting me gave a slight bow and left.I bowed to the Margrave, and he wiped his mouth from whatever he had been eating before standing up. I looked him straight in the eyes, and he returned the gaze. "No doubt you're his son... but... are you sure you're Albrecht?" said the Margrave as he walked toward me. "According to your father, you're seven... but you're quite tall for just seven," he added, looking me up and down. "I am, Margrave Reinhardt. I'm Albrecht," I answered, keeping it brief. "Good... your father made a rather special request. Very different from what other parents usually ask — they want me to watch over their sons. Your father asked me to push you hard," said the Margrave with a faintly sarcastic smirk. "Typical of Father," I replied with a short nasal laugh. "Let's see if you can live up to it... Tomorrow you'll learn your duties and who you'll be working with. I hope you don't embarrass me," said the Margrave before turning back to his seat. "Take him to his quarters," he ordered, and one of the guards gestured for me to follow. They took me to a small room with a bed, a chest, and a tiny window through which only the faintest moonlight crept.Compared to my old room, it was claustrophobic. But I no longer lived under Father's roof... I was now just another servant of the Margrave — one of noble blood, yes — but a servant nonetheless. I slept as best I could on that rough bed, until loud knocks woke me. "Wake up, you're not at home anymore... You've got duties to fulfill. Put these on and present yourself in the hall — you're helping with the meal," said one of the servants, throwing a bundle of clothes at me. I obeyed quickly, changed as fast as I could, and went straight to the hall without saying a word. "Here, start placing the cups... the silver ones for the family, the gold one for the Margrave," instructed one of the maids as she handed them to me. In that moment, I realized just how ostentatious the Margrave's dining hall was — nothing like the austerity of our family dining room. There were fine fabrics hanging from the walls, tapestries embroidered with hunting scenes, carved columns, dark wood furniture adorned with gold details, likely made from rare woods I had never seen before. They showed me where to place the cups and I followed orders without hesitation. Then they handed me the cutlery, and that's when I truly felt out of place... At home, we used a knife, a fork, and a spoon. Here, there were four different types of knives, five kinds of forks, and just as many spoons — all polished like no one had ever used them.I didn't understand why they made life so complicated just to eat. I kept obeying. Later, I helped move the trays — all made of gleaming silver — loaded with freshly baked bread, fragrant hams that were hard not to glance at, aromatic cheeses, and jugs of fruit juices and wine. Once everything was served, the Margrave's family entered and sat down... They began to eat and converse among themselves as if we weren't even there. Once the meal had been served, they gave us — the pages — our food. A mix of fresh bread with yesterday's, some ham, and cheeses that didn't compare to the Margrave's. We sat at a wooden table far from the entrance and ate in silence. After lunch, we had to wait until the family had left to begin the rest of our chores. Our tasks were divided. Some cleared the plates, others stored the leftover food — part would go to the servants, the rest to the animals. Me? They handed me a broom. "You. The new one... Sweep the halls. make sure there is no dust left," said one of the older servants, pointing at me without much interest. I got to work without saying anything. I swept the long stone corridors for hours. When I finished, they came looking for me again. "Stable duty. Change the straw and clean the pens. And be quick," said the same servant, tossing me a pitchfork. I didn't know if this was normal training or if they were just testing — or humiliating — me, but I chose not to question it. I obeyed in silence and headed for the stables. The smell was brutal. I cleaned all the horse filth, replaced the damp straw, and checked the troughs. When I was done, I found some water and washed up as best I could to avoid smelling like a rotting animal. Not long after, now a bit more presentable, I was summoned again. "Get ready. It's time to serve the Margrave's lunch," said another page, handing me an apron. I helped set the cutlery, trays, and wine. Then, when they had finished eating, we sat down again to the same meal as before — bread, leftover ham, and cheese. We ate without speaking. Just when I thought the day was finally over, one of the cooks approached me. "Here. Take this," he said, handing me a pouch of coins and a list."You're going to the market. Buy everything on this list. And if you're smart, bargain. If you come back short... may Sigmar have mercy on you." Of all the tasks they had given me, this was by far the hardest. I didn't know the price of anything. I had no experience in negotiation. But if there was one thing I was good at, it was observing. So I did the only thing I could — watch.I observed the townspeople, how much they offered, how they haggled, what expressions the merchants made. I asked without shame how much eggs cost, or carrots, onions, potatoes. I went through the entire market, and every time someone gave me a price, I memorized it. I had no choice. My reputation was on the line. Once I thought I had a good idea, I started buying. I didn't go for the cheapest or the most expensive. I ignored those selling junk at low prices. I focused on getting good quality at the best deal. I got everything: onions, carrots, lettuce, potatoes, eggs. I filled the baskets they had given me and came back with the heavy bags, my hands numb from the cold and effort. I thought I had done a good job.But the moment I crossed the service door, they were waiting for me. "You took too long," said one of the cooks, without even looking at me. I didn't even get to answer before he struck my hands with a wooden cane. ------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. -------------------------------