In Old Tosh's tavern, Domnal and Dir bought out all the good wine, and then began to share their experiences from the past while.
Old Tosh's tavern was very lively, after all, it was the best tavern in Moscow, always packed with people, and this noisy environment did not affect Domnal and Dir's enjoyment; in fact, such a boisterous setting made them even more enthusiastic.
As his drunkenness deepened, Domnal began to do his favorite thing—singing poetry.
"The Goshawk, mighty, falls suddenly to earth.
While the young hawk, lingers, unmoving.
Alas, the vulture's shadow, presses close.
Regretful of my years, unable to claim the vast sky.
The hawk's cry ceases, who will be Khan?
The hardship of life, undoubtedly murder.
More poisonous than vultures, yet they add ceremony.
Where is virtue? All turn to tears.
Who mourns for the murdered benevolent King?
Only an old slave resists.
The clear streams all turn turbid.
The Goshawk returns to quell the injustice,
And see who will grovel again.
You should regret your lack of integrity."
As the Gael finished plucking the last note, Dir clapped his hands in appreciation of Domnal's poem, and several tables of guests nearby reacted similarly.
However, the tavern was quite noisy, and most people didn't hear Domnal's poem, but the Gael didn't mind, just sat down, grabbed a wine glass, and poured it down his throat; this wine couldn't be found anywhere else.
During his time in the village, he only had bland kvass to drink, and now he could finally drink real wine.
"Your poetry is getting better and better, and the rhythm is also good, Domnal. You will definitely become famous, maybe even the Prince's personal poet."
Dir's face was a little flushed; he hadn't drunk so much in a while. Wine in Moscow hadn't been cheap lately, as most of it was supplied to the Bulgar's Winter Army. If it weren't for Domnal's return, Dir wouldn't be so generous.
However, he was very clear-headed. Dir was careful not to get drunk, and once he felt the effects of the alcohol, he would start to moderate his drinking to avoid collapsing on the floor or speaking nonsense.
"I wrote this song for Arel. At that time, we were drinking grape juice together and cursing those Akad lackeys. Ah, speaking of which, Akad is dead. Things really change too quickly."
Domnal said casually, and Dir noticed the key word.
"Arel? You actually know that Bulgar. Do you know he is now the de facto ruler of the new Bulgar kingdom? I estimate his power will increase even further in a while."
There was some surprise in Dir's words, but it wasn't unexpected. Domnal was always versatile, and it wasn't strange for him to know anyone.
"We met drinking. Before he converted to Christ, this guy secretly drank fermented grape juice. After I discovered this, I often brought him wine, and over time, our relationship improved."
Domnal inadvertently dropped a big bombshell. However, if Arel were still an islam, this would be a serious problem, but now that he has converted to Christ, it doesn't matter.
"Tell me about your experiences in the countryside during this time. I'm quite curious about what it's like there."
Dir brought up the countryside. He was very curious about the situation in the rural areas, after all, he came from a village. If it weren't for his duties, he would have gone home to see it already.
Speaking of home, he wondered how the old man was doing now, and how he was handling his position as village chief.
"Tsk, those experiences, I'm not sure how to put them. Let me think..."
Domnal was clearly a bit drunk; otherwise, his usual self would never mention these things, even to good friends, because he had no evidence for those matters, only a summary of what he had witnessed.
"The worship of the gods in some villages has noticeably increased. I also noticed that many villages began to help each other, even helping to pay those increased taxes, which is not a common phenomenon. And those sorcerers this time showed no reaction to our performances, which is truly strange."
Throughout, the authoritative sorcerers in the countryside had been very resistant to everything coming from Moscow. As spokesmen for the gods among the people, these individuals almost immediately realized that Moscow was encroaching on their authority.
So they were extremely resistant. If it weren't for the fact that the theater troupe had a large army escorting them when they went to the countryside, they would have already attacked the troupe and killed everyone. And even if they couldn't kill everyone, they would find ways to cause trouble for the troupe.
However, fortunately, in this era of scarce entertainment, few people would actively refuse the troupe's performances, so no major problems were caused.
"They actually had no reaction? That's truly strange. It's not normal. Did you tell Lord Yan about these things?"
Yang is now fully responsible for Moscow's religious affairs, and he also assigned Domnal the task of investigating paganism.
Otherwise, with the Gael's carefree personality, he wouldn't have observed so carefully.
"Of course I told him everything. Isn't that what Yang wanted? Actually, Yang disguised himself and followed us the whole way. Everything I saw, he saw. Hey, you don't know how good Yang's disguise was this time. That kid, pretending to be a forest dweller, almost fooled me, but what kind of person is Domnal? Of course I recognized his disguise."
Dir was inwardly quite disdainful of Domnal's drunken boasts. He knew Domnal well; he must have been completely fooled by Yang, and now he was here bragging about how amazing he was.
Lord Yan's disguise, however, surprised him. After all, if he even fooled Domnal, it meant he had really put in the effort. It seemed that the Mayor of Suzdal truly deserved to be the Prince's most trusted person.
However, his disdain didn't last long, as he still wanted to hear the Gael continue.
"Yang also said it was unusual, but unfortunately, he said he needed more evidence. Really, if you ask me, this stuff is completely enough. Why look for more? It's inexplicable."
Domnal's words were full of dissatisfaction with Yang, which was quite normal, after all, who likes someone who constantly barks orders at them and always has a sullen face?
"So, Lord Yan is still active in the Northeast Rus countryside..."
Dir muttered this information. For some reason, he had a bad premonition. Combined with the events happening in Moscow recently, he felt a sense of impending storm rising within him.
The situation in the city was also unstable. As the commander of the Rostov Camp, many of his subordinates had incorrect thoughts, which was not a good sign.
And there were many complaints among the citizens, and the social atmosphere was somewhat stagnant.
The drunk Domnal, however, felt nothing of the sort. He hadn't investigated the city's situation and subconsciously still believed the city was calm and peaceful.
Then Domnal began to steer the conversation to other topics, and seeing his relaxed demeanor, Dir subconsciously began to relay some information to the Gael, such as the rumors about Leo in the city. Unfortunately, the completely drunk Domnal only said that the Greeks deserved it.
Domnal disliked those Greeks even more. These guys were always so arrogant, always looking down on people, and completely unlikable.
Seeing this, Dir could only sigh slightly, realizing he would have to wait until Domnal sobered up to discuss other matters.
At this point, Domnal began to sing poetry again, claiming he had composed it during his trip to the countryside. His words were full of self-satisfaction and pride, and he even said that this poem had persuaded many pagans to convert.
"Will you feel sorrow?
The July sun, instead, is faintly cold,
Dew moistens an unnamed mound,
Know that those are the tears of the departed!
A pink butterfly flies weakly,
Unable to escape the misty haze,
Like a nightmare from which one cannot awaken,
A butterfly ghost, unable to return.
'Quickly tell me your sorrow!'
I beckoned to that butterfly,
'Be a good person, don't be like Makinin!'
In an instant, I awoke from my dream,
The field path after the rain was deserted,
Except for Makinin on the gallows."
Listening to the poem, Dir could only shrug, then drained the wine in his hand.
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