British hegemon

Chapter 24 Broken Helmet and Ruined Armor

Baron of Arran led his army on a campaign, leaving the castle camp empty. After obtaining the reluctant consent of the one-armed sheriff, Roger allowed the bald man to lead a dozen or so "warriors" to temporarily reside in the camp.

The purpose was to let them experience what it's like to be a soldier, but it was more about preventing these guys who had taken the bounty from running away. This kind of thing is not uncommon.

After settling the "warriors," Roger selected a few islanders to accompany him to the fortress storeroom to choose weapons and armor.

The tower is about forty feet high. It is a square stone building with thick walls and a small square window at intervals. Judging from the location of the passage connecting to the baron’s mansion, the tower has a total of four floors.

The watchtower is equipped with sentry towers and arrow emplacements. The square windows that are spaced apart also serve as loopholes. The foundation of the watchtower is higher than the ground level, and is connected to the ground by six stone steps. At the end of the stone steps is an iron gate.

With the help of a silver penny, the slovenly castle guard bowed and scraped as he led Roger and his companions into the watchtower, where they arrived at a small storeroom on the second floor.

The disheveled security guard pulled out a key and opened the storeroom for Roger, a musty smell wafting out. The guard bowed and gestured for Roger to enter, and Roger, beaming, stepped in first.

The armory was a heavily guarded place, so naturally there were no bright windows. The only window was tiny, barely the size of a palm, making the armory very dark.

Roger closed his eyes and waited for a moment before his eyes adjusted to the gloomy atmosphere. But when he could barely make out the entire warehouse, the smile on his face froze instantly. The so-called armory contained only a few rows of empty wooden weapon racks.

He should have expected this.

The Baron of Aran Island had devoted all his efforts to the campaign against England, so he wouldn't have left many weapons and armor in the castle. No wonder that high-ranking noblewoman readily agreed to Roger's request to select the weapons.

"Damn it," Roger couldn't help but curse in broken English.

The disheveled security guard somehow produced a candle, and its faint light added a touch of brightness to the dark warehouse.

In a corner of the storeroom, Roger finally saw the so-called weapons and armor—several rusted short swords, chipped scabbards, and broken small round shields lay in a dilapidated wooden crate, mixed with a weapon that looked like a machete.

Roger picked up the gleaming machete from the slovenly guard's hand and held it up to the candlelight. It was less than thirty inches long and the widest part of the blade was no more than three feet. The thin spine of the blade, made of inferior iron, was on par with a fruit knife from later generations. He estimated that it might not even be able to cut through a slightly thick wool sweater. No wonder it was left here.

Roger tossed it aside; even street thugs wouldn't use this thing.

There were six relatively intact short spears next to the wooden box, but the amount of material used for the iron tips of the spears was definitely economical.

"At least it's better than a sharpened wooden stick; it can still kill you if it gets stuck in your stomach." The slovenly security guard following behind was already a little embarrassed; he was wondering if he should return the silver penny that Young Master Roger had just given him.

"Not a single piece of armor was left, was it?" Roger couldn't contain his disappointment any longer.

"Armor?" The disheveled security guard's eyes suddenly lit up. "Yes! Yes!!"

He then led Roger to another corner of the storeroom, pointing to an iron box, "Two sets of cotton armor and one set of cloth armor. The weaponsmith was sick and couldn't repair them, so they were left behind."

Roger had frequented Northern Europe in his previous life and had some knowledge of medieval weapons and armor. Upon hearing the term "plate armor," he immediately became interested.

"Open it and let me see." Roger impatiently had the guards open the metal box.

Reaching out, he picked up a cotton armor. This relatively inexpensive armor was a favorite among ordinary soldiers. It was made of multiple layers of linen or wool blends, or by stuffing rags and other materials into the garment and pounding them together to create a soft armor.

This thing can not only provide some protection against sword cuts and light blunt force impacts, but it can also serve as a thick winter coat in the cold northern climate.

It's hard to say whether Roger's cotton armor could defend against swords, but its ability to keep warm was probably greatly reduced, as several fist-sized holes had obviously been enlarged by rats.

He tossed it aside and picked up another piece, the same cotton armor, with fewer holes than the previous one, but a long gash ran from the left shoulder to the right rib, and there was a large dark red stain on the front, suggesting that the warrior who wore it had lost his life.

At the bottom of the iron box, Roger finally saw the "cloth panel armor" that the security guards had mentioned, but his disappointment was palpable.

"This is plate armor?" Roger couldn't help but exclaim, combining Chinese and Western styles.

The security guard handed the candle to the islander following behind him, and then lifted a set of things that looked like sleeveless cotton armor from the iron box. It looked quite heavy.

Roger reached out and patted the suit of armor in the guard's hand, making a clanging sound of metal striking metal, with many neat rivets on the surface.

Roger beckoned the candle closer and began to examine it closely.

The security guard's description was somewhat inaccurate. This type of armor should be more accurately called cloth-faced iron armor or cloth-faced iron plate armor. As the name suggests, this type of armor is mainly composed of textiles and iron plates. Dozens or even hundreds of small iron plates are all riveted to the inside of a layer of textiles. Occasionally, some armor uses two layers of fabric to sandwich the iron plates to prevent the iron plates from rubbing against the wearer's inner lining.

This type of armor was a transitional product before the advent of full plate armor, and its defensive capabilities were naturally stronger than ordinary cotton armor and chainmail. Knights would usually wear a cloth-covered iron armor over their chainmail, which could protect against spikes and heavy hammers.

Roger was naturally unfamiliar with this type of armor. He lifted the hem of the armor and looked at it from the outside. The iron plates, which should have been stacked like tiles, were mostly missing, and many rusty iron plates could be broken off with a little force.

Roger suppressed his displeasure and beckoned to the islanders behind him. "You lot, take all the weapons and armor. Don't leave a single piece behind. Even an iron spearhead is worth taking."

Roger had made up his mind that if he survived this time, he would never return these "weapons." He would dismantle all the junk into iron and sell it to a blacksmith.

The slovenly security guard wanted to say something, but sensing Roger's unfriendly tone, he immediately shut up. After all, the steward had said that young master Roger could choose whatever he wanted from the armory, so he wasn't being negligent.

"Um... Young Master Roger... Please remember to return it..." Before the guard could finish speaking, Roger turned and left.

After leaving the armory in the fortress, Roger went straight into the Baron's mansion and found John arguing with a pretty boy in the storeroom on the second floor.

Roger kicked the disgusting pretty boy away and started arguing with John, while also subtly insulting John's wealthy mother.

Finally, Roger used his roguish, cunning nature—the kind that says if things don't work out, you can always back down—to get John to compromise again, and he managed to get his hands on a hunting crossbow and a full set of weapons for two prison guards from the baron's storeroom.

Roger originally intended to incorporate the five security guards under the one-armed sheriff into the "bandit suppression army." These men were certainly stronger than the islanders. However, these security guards were the last regular armed force in Brodick Castle, and Whiteface John refused to let them go no matter what.

Roger had no choice but to settle for second best, having John the White-Faced release the young thugs locked in the mansion's basement, giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Among them was the thug nicknamed Black Dog, who was still wrapped in that black cloak, only now it was even dirtier.