Let's go!

Lauer (Deutsche Hanse Merchant, aged around 50), was inspecting our small detachment, which I was able to collect with the amount he provided.

Finally, he turned to me, "Well! The Astrakhan, two Muscovites and the Breton who hasn't completely recovered from his drinking binge?"

"There are many who want to, but the Muscovites ask a lot," I replied, hinting at the insignificance of the amount allocated by the tight-fisted German.

"No, it's not bad, not bad at all," Laurer looked at me with such a look that I couldn't understand what was on his mind; some people can look like that. "And more than anyone in this gang, I trust the Breton."

Well, I don't care about these taunts, I've gotten used to them after years of working as a mercenary and didn't pay attention to them. Whether it was during the time I worked with the arrogant Valentin or now, the main thing is to get paid.

It's understandable:

- I'm a 40-year-old man, worn out by life, almost an old man, whom women no longer look at;

- two Muscovites, still children in fact (aged 15 or 16), who took on this job almost for free in order to gain experience as a bodyguard, or maybe they were planning to run away to Riga, what else would "peasant sons" do in Muscovy?

- well, and the Breton nobleman Nicolas, about 28 years old, still full of strength. True, he is still a little depressed after an unhappy love for one boyar's daughter. Well, to hell with her! We'll soon get to Riga, where hot deutsche girls will help him forget Vivian.

"Well, I hope we'll get to Riga in a month," The merchant said. "We are leaving in the morning, and I hope the Breton will be completely sober by morning."