"But what about Christ, Juan?."
Carlos Ramos drained his beer with the skill of a life-long drinker, and placed the cup on the bar with a gratified smile, which quickly returned to his normal taciturn frown.
"With all these new lands, there's too many dang Moslems around. This used to be a good country, dangit! Now these new people have come and ruined Aragon."
Juan drank from his cup as well, and started nodding. Then, with his normal mischievous smile, he thought of something he knew that would make Carlos laugh.
"Absolutely right. In fact, you shouldn't even say the Savior's name anymore; maybe Anti-Christ?"
Carlos laughed while motioning the bartender over.
"That's quite good. A little more of the beer."
Then his tanned face turned sober.
"In all seriousness, what good has the war against the Moslems ever done?"
At the end of the bar, a man in chain armor stood up, his mail rustling.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you."
"Mind your business." muttered Juan. The man ignored him.
"Well?" demanded Carlos.
"The war helped the King-"
"The King isn't me! Or this town! Next time, find an excuse that applies to this country!"
The man stayed calm throughout the outburst.
"You are Christian, are you not?"
"Yes, but what does it matter?" Carlos snapped.
"The war has reclaimed land for the Pope and for all Christians. That includes most of Aragon, does it not?"
"Bah. In a couple generations, they'll all be Christian anyway!"
"It gives people a job."
Carlos barked out a hollow laugh.
"Really? That is what you believe?" His face turned deadly serious, and the man's hand surreptitiously dropped to the dagger at his side.
"When the war broke, I was just a blacksmith. But when I returned from fighting with this"-he held up his hand, emblazoned with a huge scar-"and half of my ear gone, I found my home on fire and everything I had destroyed. I still have no job. That is what the war has done for me." Carlos exhaled loudly, glad to have gotten that off of his chest.
Any further argument was interrupted by a banging on the door. When it was opened, a young fellow ran in and shouted, "Carlos! Carlos Ramos!"
Turning around, Carlos discovered that the shouter was one of his informants from the city, Ramirez. "Ah, Ramirez, what do you want? I can get you a couple rounds of beer-"
"No, no, Carlos. I came here with a message."
"Yes?"
"The King has declared a new muster. We're going to war."
Carlos stood up ramrod-straight, speechless. The room stood still; you could have heard the drop of a hat. Then, one moment later, the bar descended into chaos.
Carlos Ramos drained his beer with the skill of a life-long drinker, and placed the cup on the bar with a gratified smile, which quickly returned to his normal taciturn frown.
"With all these new lands, there's too many dang Moslems around. This used to be a good country, dangit! Now these new people have come and ruined Aragon."
Juan drank from his cup as well, and started nodding. Then, with his normal mischievous smile, he thought of something he knew that would make Carlos laugh.
"Absolutely right. In fact, you shouldn't even say the Savior's name anymore; maybe Anti-Christ?"
Carlos laughed while motioning the bartender over.
"That's quite good. A little more of the beer."
Then his tanned face turned sober.
"In all seriousness, what good has the war against the Moslems ever done?"
At the end of the bar, a man in chain armor stood up, his mail rustling.
"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you."
"Mind your business." muttered Juan. The man ignored him.
"Well?" demanded Carlos.
"The war helped the King-"
"The King isn't me! Or this town! Next time, find an excuse that applies to this country!"
The man stayed calm throughout the outburst.
"You are Christian, are you not?"
"Yes, but what does it matter?" Carlos snapped.
"The war has reclaimed land for the Pope and for all Christians. That includes most of Aragon, does it not?"
"Bah. In a couple generations, they'll all be Christian anyway!"
"It gives people a job."
Carlos barked out a hollow laugh.
"Really? That is what you believe?" His face turned deadly serious, and the man's hand surreptitiously dropped to the dagger at his side.
"When the war broke, I was just a blacksmith. But when I returned from fighting with this"-he held up his hand, emblazoned with a huge scar-"and half of my ear gone, I found my home on fire and everything I had destroyed. I still have no job. That is what the war has done for me." Carlos exhaled loudly, glad to have gotten that off of his chest.
Any further argument was interrupted by a banging on the door. When it was opened, a young fellow ran in and shouted, "Carlos! Carlos Ramos!"
Turning around, Carlos discovered that the shouter was one of his informants from the city, Ramirez. "Ah, Ramirez, what do you want? I can get you a couple rounds of beer-"
"No, no, Carlos. I came here with a message."
"Yes?"
"The King has declared a new muster. We're going to war."
Carlos stood up ramrod-straight, speechless. The room stood still; you could have heard the drop of a hat. Then, one moment later, the bar descended into chaos.
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