The guards continued their relentless work, escorting the serfs through the storm to the cathedral, which stood as a bastion of hope amidst the chaos. The large wooden doors opened time and again, admitting the newcomers who were greeted by the refuge's welcoming warmth.
The clerics, whose robes barely concealed their haste to attend to so many in need, moved diligently among the crowd. With each bucket of hot water they placed at the serfs' feet, they also offered a clean towel and brief words of instruction. "Wash well, brothers and sisters, and then find a place among us to rest," they said with a kind but hurried tone.
The serfs, grateful for the chance to cleanse the mud and weariness from their feet, knelt beside the steaming buckets. Bubbles rose to the surface, bursting and releasing small puffs of steam. With trembling hands, they poured water over their feet, carefully rubbing to remove the grime accumulated during their urgent journey. The water quickly turned from clear crystal to murky brown, a silent testament to the hardships endured.
Once clean, they dried off with the towels provided, wrapping their feet in the soft, absorbent fabric. Some sighed in relief, others murmured a prayer of thanks, while some simply closed their eyes, savoring a moment of peace before facing the reality of their situation.
The clerics watched from a distance, ensuring that each serf had what they needed for comfort. Meanwhile, space within the cathedral began to dwindle, and the murmur of conversations grew louder as more and more serfs found a place to rest.
It was then that the captain of the guard, followed closely by his men, made his entrance with a family of six: a father, a mother, two sons, and two daughters. The clerics hurried to receive them, providing buckets of water and towels, while the captain watched the scene with a mix of relief and concern.
A guard approached the captain and asked in a tense voice, "Captain, what do we do now? We've brought in everyone from outside the walls."
The captain, his gaze still fixed on the family settling in, replied without diverting his attention. "You and you," he pointed to two of his men, "go to the city gate. When the vice-captain returns, inform him of what we're doing and where we are. The rest of you can go home, but I tell you, in no more than 20 minutes I'm going to call you back. Therefore, I think it's best if you can stay in the cathedral watching over the serfs. I'm going to the town hall."
With those words, the captain turned and left the cathedral, leaving behind the temporary shelter they had created for the serfs. Night had fallen completely, and the storm continued to roar outside, but within the sacred walls, a sense of community and security was woven among all present.
The captain of the guard, his uniform soaked by the relentless rain, crossed the threshold of the town hall with determination and headed to the top floor. The council chamber was lit by the soft glow of candles, casting shadows on the walls. Urraca, seated on a throne that denoted her position of leadership, presided over the meeting, while the guild masters were seated in a semicircle in front of her.
The captain took his seat, his gaze serious and attentive. No more than five minutes passed when the mayor, accompanied by the last of the guild masters, made his entrance. With a nod, he greeted those present and took his place.
Once silence settled in the room, Urraca addressed the captain with a voice that resonated with dignity and seriousness. "Captain, can you confirm that all the serfs have been transported to the safety of the cathedral?"
"Madam, all the serfs have been led to the cathedral. They are under shelter and safe," the captain replied, his voice firm and clear.
Urraca nodded in approval and turned to the guild masters. "Esteemed masters, can you inform me how many torches you have managed to produce in response to this emergency?"
A guild master, whose attire indicated his trade, stood up and, with a bow, said, "We have worked tirelessly and have produced approximately 700 torches to confront the darkness of the storm."
The mayor, with a look of concern, interjected, "Will these torches withstand the force of this storm?"
"We hope so," replied Urraca with a tone of caution mixed with hope. "We must be clever in their use. If any go out, the serfs must have the wit to relight them or protect them from the rain. Moreover, how many shovels do we have in the warehouse for the cleaning tasks?"
A guild master in charge of supplies stood up and, with a voice that denoted his responsibility, informed, "We have a total of 60 shovels in our warehouse, Madam. We trust they will be sufficient for the task. If more are required, we can procure them from the citizens or proceed to purchase them."
Urraca, assessing the logistics needed, inquired, "How many people shall we put in each group for the cleaning tasks?"
The mayor, after a brief pause to consider the question, responded formally, "Madam, we need one person to carry the torch, one to pick up things that can be collected by hand such as stones and sticks, one to have a bucket where the other can throw the things, and I think there should be another with a shovel, although the one collecting stones and sticks could take care of it. So, three or four people are needed."
Urraca nodded thoughtfully and then declared, "It is better to have four per group for greater efficiency. However, I consider it will be more effective if the stones and sticks are cleaned first and then the one with the shovel passes when there are no more obstacles in the ditches."
With clear instructions and the strategy established, the members of the room began to organize the details of the operation. The storm continued to lash the city, but inside the town hall, the light of the candles and the steadfastness of Urraca instilled in everyone a sense of purpose and urgency.