D-77

15th century, Wallachia, Dymbovitsa fortress     A short man in rich clothes stood at the window, watching as the night slowly chased away the rest of the day. The first stars had already begun to appear in the east when the man finally moved away from the window and began nervously pacing the empty room. Each breath of wind seemed to carry the agitated whisper of his enemy that got too close, forcing them to flinch at every rustle. How many days has he been held hostage in his own home? How long will this damn siege last? The man walked to the wall and punched it with all his might in desperation. As if in response, he heard the rumble of approaching footsteps. The heavy door creaked open and a dark, slightly hunched silhouette appeared in its low opening, holding a torch in his hand. “It is time for us to leave, my friend,” the visitor stated briefly, stepping back from the door. The man confidently rushed after him. The silhouette walked quickly, lighting its path with a torch. However, from time to time, he looked back to make sure that the fellow traveler did not lag behind him. Or, even worse, that he didn't change his mind. At first, they walked along the empty corridors of the palace. Fortunately, fearing an imminent invasion by the enemy, all its inhabitants settled in the upper chambers, hoping to delay the inevitable. After that, we went down to the wine cellar and into the underground tunnels, which only a few knew about, and even those were almost all dead for a long time. The two of them almost ran through the stone labyrinth, listening to the echo of their own footsteps and breathlessness - there still was the possibility of them being followed. “Where are we going?” The short man asked hoarsely. “To the lands of my ancestors,” the interlocutor replied, slightly slowing down his pace, removing the hood from his fair-haired head. “I will be able to protect you there.” The man frowned but nodded in agreement. When they left the tunnel, there were six men waiting for them already. Five tall, broad-shouldered men in shabby woolen cloaks sat astride horses, two more animals were held by a stocky old peasant. He impatiently shifted from foot to foot, but when he saw two men running towards him, he calmed down a little. “You must hurry, my lord,” the old man squeaked, giving away the reins, “the enemy is near!” Deftly jumping into the saddle, the man, whom the elder called his lord, turned his horse towards the north. “I… I will be obliged to report your escape,” the peasant said quietly as if apologizing. “They have my children...” The man nodded briefly to his tall companion and, striking the horse with his heels, galloped forward. The other five men followed him. The old man got scared, thinking that the master might have told his friend to execute him, and was about to fall on his knees to beg for mercy, but the foreigner squeezed the peasant's calloused palm. “I will pray to my gods for the salvation of your family, Dumitru.” The elder could only nod. He peered into the night for a while, until the silhouettes of horsemen disappeared into the darkness. With a sad sigh, the man walked away from the cave with a quick step.   They had to ride almost all night. Fearing chase, the riders mercilessly drove the horses at a gallop until the horizon began to brighten. Only then did the northerner give a sign to dismount. Five men led the horses to the ravine, and their leader approached his friend, who was looking sadly into the distance. “If you are worried about your wife, I can assure you that she is safer in the arms of her lover than next to you.” The man just knitted his black eyebrows and nodded. “It's not about Ilona? What then?” “I didn’t think I'd leave my home again so soon,” the man replied after a short silence. “I never came back for this...” “Wallachia has long ceased to be your home, my friend. You belong to the whole world, not to this blood-soaked patch of land. Yes, your ancestors fought for the right to own this land, but she is obstinate and disobedient,“ the man confidently squeezed his interlocutor's shoulder with his fingers. “Your family is almost destroyed, my friend, you cannot remain in Wallachia.” The noble pursed his lips stubbornly. Not only did his ancestors fight for this land, he almost killed his own brother in order to stand at the head of the country. A foreigner could not understand this. He did not have the power that he had in his hands. The northerner was not a ruler, his ancestors did not own lands and did not rule over people. Yes, he was respected and feared, but that fear could not be compared with what the enemies experienced when they heard HIS family name. How bitter it was for him to leave his strength and run.  “Your brother will be looking for you,” the northerner unceremoniously turned the man to him and, taking his face in his huge palms, looked with blue eyes into the black ones. “Tomorrow every hound will know that he has been given a title of nobility for your head.” The man pursed his lips stubbornly. “If you do not come with me, you will die. They will s*******r you like a pig and bring your guts to their new Lord. Is there much honor in such a death?” “And what am I to hide my face for the rest of my days?” he angrily pushed his friend away from himself. “To be afraid of everyone I meet and sleep with my eyes open?” “I promise you, if you follow me, your days will never end, and your image will become unknown to your brother and the ones who serve him. You do not have the strength that would help you fight him on an equal footing. But my ancestors knew how to get it. Deny your name and the lands that you inherited from your father, and I will give you what you desire most.” “Most of all, I desire not to be forced to deny my name and the lands that I inherited from my father,” the nobleman mimicked the northerner with a sad smile. “But after fleeing from the fortress with you, I already did, didn't I?” Throwing one last glance in the direction of the besieged fortress, the ramparts slowly went to the ravine, a friend almost silently followed him.