The bailey was alive with activity--a castle's preparations for war--so the peasant was little regarded as he made his way over to approach Stephan. Hat in hand, he held out a small square of folded paper. "Who from?" the knight demanded. "The lady, in the encampment," the villager stammered before taking a quick leave. Stephan regarded it, then unfolded the vellum. The hand within was neat, but it might as well have been Aramaic: Stephan could not read.
He found Madeleine in the library. "From the Lady Juliana," she confirmed, then looked sheepish. "It is supposed to be a secret, for you alone." "Just read it," Stephan replied. "She says she will ride in the hog wood at Sext, and asks that you find her there, alone. She will have only her maid." Stephan studied the stonework at the far side of the library. A message, a love letter—or a trap of some sort. "I do not trust her," Lady Madeleine opined. "Maybe we should talk to Gaspard."
The found Michi outside Gaspard's door. "There's somethin' wrong with Gaspard," he said. "He went out last night and was gone for hours, but won't say where he's been. It's as though he's got a mind of his own all the sudden." "Cyril went about for some hours after Compline as well," Stephan said. "He claimed Gaspard sent him on an errand." They entered the lab to find Gaspard huddled under a blanket. "You have suffered a shock!" Madeleine exclaimed, but try as they might, they could get no further details from the magus.
Sext was approaching. Stephan had Cyril saddle Renfrogne, then set out into the hog wood. The note called for secrecy, but Michi, Gaspard, and Madeleine were not far behind--along with Gigot and Celestine, whom Madeleine had been tasking together quite a lot recently. As the letter promised, Lady Juliana was riding her palfrey along the hog-trodden paths, her wizened maid trailing behind afoot. Both dismounted and walked. "Please forgive my manner," the young lady said. "I am unaccustomed to treachery. But it is no secret my lord Etien covets this castle, and he will seek to take it." "So why do you speak to me?" Stephan asked. Juliana looked troubled. "I have not been long in my uncle's court, but I see that he gets no good council. His knights fear him, and will not oppose his temper--he has none so bold as you. Surely there is some way to bring this to a peaceable conclusion?" "I am a man of war," Stephan replied, "and though I may love peace, I do not have the skills of a diplomat. What can I do?" "In one of the many squabbles among the Bavarian princes, my mother served as a hostage. My Count would have this castle--but he also offered marriage. Perhaps a token of trust would assuage his ambition--enough so he would see no threat in the castle, even if he cannot hold it."
It was nearly Vespers. Stephan had returned from his secluded rendez-vous with much to think on and a promise to meet again the day after the morrow, and had spent the afternoon giving Cyril some rather harsh lessons in swordplay. Suddenly a man rushed through the gate. "The Count attacks!" Stephan called for Renfrogne and sped from the bailey, Michi, Madeleine, and Gaspard in tow. It was no full-scale assault--rather, a wagon on the road approaching, just beyond the trees, beset upon by soldiers. Stephan put the spur to his destrier, but Madeleine's eye was caught by a commotion in a copse concealed by a nearby hedgerow. Someone had disturbed an angry raven: More soldiers, and a knight as well. No sooner had Stephan and Michi reached the cart than the knight--it was Gervais, from the feast--charged their flank, his lance seeking Stephan's heart. The blow caught Stephan's shield, and the latter knocked it wide. Arming swords were drawn, and the two armored horsemen jostled in a struggling circle, raining blows upon one another as they sought opening. Madeleine climbed into the cart (the driver having fled) and started from the battlefield, while Michi faced down the Count's soldiers.
Gervais was a powerful and determined opponent--the toughest knight Stephan had ever faced. Both were bloodied and bruised when Gervais rang a powerful blow off Stephan's helmet. The latter was dazed, and might have given his opponent the opening needed for a killing blow. But Gervais was in little better shape, and as he positioned for the final attack an unexpected strike from Michi dropped him from his courser, bleeding and unconscious. The tiny field of battle was suddenly silent in the evening half-light: The Count's men had all fled or been felled.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Wednesday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198
A new character has joined the heroes of Triamore covenant—or has at least been following them around for a few days. His name—Wart—is almost as obscure as his origins, but he is hardly the first ragamuffin to seek a home in the forgiving shelter of Hermetic society. (Truth be told, there is some clue to his history in the constant hint of tannery odor that seems to follow him everywhere.) Wart does not yet enjoy the same regard as his more veteran covenmates, so to rectify that he tells following tale in his own words.
It all started on a foul foot when the doxy with the Frenchy way of talking let a plague victim fall on her. Good fortune I was there to save her with my handsome new spear. The big fellow with the shiny sword helped.
Truth, this is a strange group of folk. One is this man who mumbles and thinks he can talk to animals and foolery. Everyone says he is a maggot or something. Another is a knight in mail who hits me whenever I go near. He is good with his sword though and he’s really noisy so he is great to hide behind because no one can hear me. Also there is the doxy (such is what my old master would have called her) and she has a woman with her they are both gorgeous but I think the doxy has mistaken me for someone called Hunculous or monkulous. Every time she sees me she points and shouts it and then gabbles away in her gobbledy-gook. She talks a lot as well, she never stops. She is also really good to hide near. There is another fellow in a cloak as well. He is a little creepy but at least he is quiet. I think the doxy and the big fellow with the sword like each other. My old master reckoned it was a sure sign of love if two people were always arguing all the time. The big fellow has something wrong with him because he talks in gobbledy-gook as well, but it is not the blather of the Normans but something else even harder to understand.
Anyway after we rescued the doxy from the dead man with plague they stuck her in a cell. It was the nicest cell I have ever seen with a carpet and everything. It was not too cold and there were only a few rats. So that is what the cells for the ladies and lords are like.
Anyway in the morning she still didn’t have plague so they let her out. Her and the fellow that mumbles went to the library. They have so many books. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss one or two.
Eventually we went off to the forest again following the stupid dog that used to belong to the huntsman, who was the man with the plague. We must have walked forever. Occasionally the strumpet would shout “munkulous” at me then the big fellow started sniffing everything and people made me go away as if I smelled. I don’t smell of anything. The other lads at the tannery never complained.
I found the trail for them but did they say thanks? Poxy nobles. Eventually I led them to a hole in the ground that had a big box for putting people into made of stone. Someone had dug the person up and everybody got nervous. Not me though. I think they need me to inspire them to acts of bravery. After that the doxy and the mumbler went back to the library again.
Now we’re looking for somebody’s trembling house and some stranger named “aaagh” or “yurgh” or something else dumb. I’m not really sure though, for they never really explain anything to me. But also, there is some Count hiding soldiers in the woods and giving villagers money and everybody thinks he’s going to attack the castle. Nobody has told me how much he’s paying though. The big fellow with the shiny sword thinks that the lord Count is going to attack the castle. He didn’t last night though.
Oh I almost forgot. They brought me a crossbow and I have my own spear and boots!!! Truly this is a place of riches.
Certes, that is all that happened—or all I can remember.
It all started on a foul foot when the doxy with the Frenchy way of talking let a plague victim fall on her. Good fortune I was there to save her with my handsome new spear. The big fellow with the shiny sword helped.
Truth, this is a strange group of folk. One is this man who mumbles and thinks he can talk to animals and foolery. Everyone says he is a maggot or something. Another is a knight in mail who hits me whenever I go near. He is good with his sword though and he’s really noisy so he is great to hide behind because no one can hear me. Also there is the doxy (such is what my old master would have called her) and she has a woman with her they are both gorgeous but I think the doxy has mistaken me for someone called Hunculous or monkulous. Every time she sees me she points and shouts it and then gabbles away in her gobbledy-gook. She talks a lot as well, she never stops. She is also really good to hide near. There is another fellow in a cloak as well. He is a little creepy but at least he is quiet. I think the doxy and the big fellow with the sword like each other. My old master reckoned it was a sure sign of love if two people were always arguing all the time. The big fellow has something wrong with him because he talks in gobbledy-gook as well, but it is not the blather of the Normans but something else even harder to understand.
Anyway after we rescued the doxy from the dead man with plague they stuck her in a cell. It was the nicest cell I have ever seen with a carpet and everything. It was not too cold and there were only a few rats. So that is what the cells for the ladies and lords are like.
Anyway in the morning she still didn’t have plague so they let her out. Her and the fellow that mumbles went to the library. They have so many books. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss one or two.
Eventually we went off to the forest again following the stupid dog that used to belong to the huntsman, who was the man with the plague. We must have walked forever. Occasionally the strumpet would shout “munkulous” at me then the big fellow started sniffing everything and people made me go away as if I smelled. I don’t smell of anything. The other lads at the tannery never complained.
I found the trail for them but did they say thanks? Poxy nobles. Eventually I led them to a hole in the ground that had a big box for putting people into made of stone. Someone had dug the person up and everybody got nervous. Not me though. I think they need me to inspire them to acts of bravery. After that the doxy and the mumbler went back to the library again.
Now we’re looking for somebody’s trembling house and some stranger named “aaagh” or “yurgh” or something else dumb. I’m not really sure though, for they never really explain anything to me. But also, there is some Count hiding soldiers in the woods and giving villagers money and everybody thinks he’s going to attack the castle. Nobody has told me how much he’s paying though. The big fellow with the shiny sword thinks that the lord Count is going to attack the castle. He didn’t last night though.
Oh I almost forgot. They brought me a crossbow and I have my own spear and boots!!! Truly this is a place of riches.
Certes, that is all that happened—or all I can remember.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Second Tuesday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198
Activity at the gatehouse drew Stephan and Michi over. Johannes had the village smith and a gaggle of peasants labouring on the gate all morning, struggling to work through the rust that had bound the hinges open for two decades at least. But this was something different.
“It’s Vasten!” Wart, a slight, unkempt youth who sometimes helped around the stables, was rubbing the ears of the huntsman’s favoured hound. “But where is Thorold?” The huntsman had set out hours before—nothing strange about that—but for the hound to return alone was an poor omen. Gaspard joined them. “Have you asked the dog?” he said.
The long-legged, shaggy hound’s ears and tail were drooping. “Thorold is still in the wood,” Gaspard reported after a casting of magic. “The dog doesn’t want to go back, but it is ashamed to have left its master.” Stephan stepped up. “Can he take us to where it happened?” “Yes,” Gaspard replied after checking with the hound. “Go, then,” Johannes commanded.
They set out within the hour, as the springtime sun was moving from Sext toward Nones. Cyril led the way with Vasten and a scent hound on leads, with Stephan and Madeleine on horse, despite the promise of forest ahead, and Gaspard behind with Michi, and Wart trailing them. They crossed the great field toward Ville de Haillot hamlet, then the western waste, then entered the forest. Nones came and went, and still the hound led onward.
There was a scream ahead, and a crash through the undergrowth. They were in the woods, but it was not so dense as to force the riders from their horses. Stephan put his spur to Renfrogne, and the destrier leapt forward, but what crashed toward them was neither beast nor warhorse but a small palfrey with a slight rider. Stephan grabbed at the reins as the panicked horse charged past, pulling it quickly to a stop. The rider was Lady Juliana, niece of Etien of Namur, with her servant struggling on foot behind her.
“Dead men,” the young lady sobbed. “In that thicket. Butchered!” Michi investigated, trailed by a curious Wart, as Stephan checked the area and Lady Madeleine calmed Juliana. Four dead men: soldiers, in the livery of the Count. Their encampment was in a little bowl, hidden among rocks and trees in a dense stand of brush. The men had fought against their death; weapons were in hand or scattered about. The fire was cold, but the ashes had not been rained upon: They could not have been dead for more than a day. “An hour before Matins last night,” Gaspard reckoned, employing his spells upon a corpse. He cast another magick, then blanched as he watched events the others could not see. “A thing like a man came upon them, only it was bloated with flesh the colour of rust, like a livid corpse. It chewed upon their flesh after they died.”
Back at the castle, Stephan sought out Johannes. “I don’t know what should trouble us more,” he reported. “This murderous beast, or that the Count is sending his men into our forest.” “South of the Sambre is no part of the Count’s holdings,” Johannes concurred, “even if the forest isn’t truly ours either.”
Madeleine and Gaspard reported to Daria. “Return the girl to the Count’s camp,” she instructed, after hearing their story. “And inform him of his loss. But give him no cause against us—and on the morrow, find out what has become of Thorold.” They escorted Lady Juliana down to her uncle’s camp. Though he received his niece with relief, his face turned red at the story of the dead men. “You murder my men and then bring me this tale of faeries?” he roared, the veins showing at his temples. His knights and footsoldiers were moving to encircle them, but Stephan stared the Count down. But then Wart broke and ran, and suddenly weapons were ringing from sheaths. Juliana stepped up, grabbing the Count’s elbow. “Please, my lord,” she begged. “I know not how this blood was shed, but credit them at least for their aid to me.” The Count’s rage cooled the slightest, but his words were still forced through his teeth. “For the sake of my niece,” he said, turning away.
The day ended as it had begun: with a fluster and flurry at the gate. It was well past Compline, and Refrogne was for once as willing as Roos to be led to the stable. “Thorold has returned,” came a cry from the gate, which groaned on its rusted, but now useable, hinges as the guards pulled it open again. Outside, in a circle of torchlight, Thorold sat on the ground, shaken and panting. “I must have fallen; perhaps I struck my head,” he mumbled. “I do not feel well at all . . . .” Two guards helped him to his feet, but no sooner was he up than he doubled over again with a piteous groan. The now substantial crowd gathered closer for his aid, but when he looked up his face was the colour of brick, his lips drawn back over his teeth.
His first blow drove one of the guards to the ground, and the servants and covenfolk scattered, screaming. Michi drew his sword and charged, with Stephan as well and even Madeleine producing her curved Saracen blade. As they closed the creature lunged at Madeleine, throwing her against the tower wall and driving its teeth into her throat. Stephan and Michi fell upon it, and soon cut it down. “A revenant!” exclaimed Michi, hacking head from body as Gaspard rushed to Madeleine’s aid. “Her wound is not severe,” he reported. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” retorted Michi, “But creatures like this one, they carry their curse to their victims. That thing was Thorold once—what if the same should befall Madeleine?”
“It’s Vasten!” Wart, a slight, unkempt youth who sometimes helped around the stables, was rubbing the ears of the huntsman’s favoured hound. “But where is Thorold?” The huntsman had set out hours before—nothing strange about that—but for the hound to return alone was an poor omen. Gaspard joined them. “Have you asked the dog?” he said.
The long-legged, shaggy hound’s ears and tail were drooping. “Thorold is still in the wood,” Gaspard reported after a casting of magic. “The dog doesn’t want to go back, but it is ashamed to have left its master.” Stephan stepped up. “Can he take us to where it happened?” “Yes,” Gaspard replied after checking with the hound. “Go, then,” Johannes commanded.
They set out within the hour, as the springtime sun was moving from Sext toward Nones. Cyril led the way with Vasten and a scent hound on leads, with Stephan and Madeleine on horse, despite the promise of forest ahead, and Gaspard behind with Michi, and Wart trailing them. They crossed the great field toward Ville de Haillot hamlet, then the western waste, then entered the forest. Nones came and went, and still the hound led onward.
There was a scream ahead, and a crash through the undergrowth. They were in the woods, but it was not so dense as to force the riders from their horses. Stephan put his spur to Renfrogne, and the destrier leapt forward, but what crashed toward them was neither beast nor warhorse but a small palfrey with a slight rider. Stephan grabbed at the reins as the panicked horse charged past, pulling it quickly to a stop. The rider was Lady Juliana, niece of Etien of Namur, with her servant struggling on foot behind her.
“Dead men,” the young lady sobbed. “In that thicket. Butchered!” Michi investigated, trailed by a curious Wart, as Stephan checked the area and Lady Madeleine calmed Juliana. Four dead men: soldiers, in the livery of the Count. Their encampment was in a little bowl, hidden among rocks and trees in a dense stand of brush. The men had fought against their death; weapons were in hand or scattered about. The fire was cold, but the ashes had not been rained upon: They could not have been dead for more than a day. “An hour before Matins last night,” Gaspard reckoned, employing his spells upon a corpse. He cast another magick, then blanched as he watched events the others could not see. “A thing like a man came upon them, only it was bloated with flesh the colour of rust, like a livid corpse. It chewed upon their flesh after they died.”
Back at the castle, Stephan sought out Johannes. “I don’t know what should trouble us more,” he reported. “This murderous beast, or that the Count is sending his men into our forest.” “South of the Sambre is no part of the Count’s holdings,” Johannes concurred, “even if the forest isn’t truly ours either.”
Madeleine and Gaspard reported to Daria. “Return the girl to the Count’s camp,” she instructed, after hearing their story. “And inform him of his loss. But give him no cause against us—and on the morrow, find out what has become of Thorold.” They escorted Lady Juliana down to her uncle’s camp. Though he received his niece with relief, his face turned red at the story of the dead men. “You murder my men and then bring me this tale of faeries?” he roared, the veins showing at his temples. His knights and footsoldiers were moving to encircle them, but Stephan stared the Count down. But then Wart broke and ran, and suddenly weapons were ringing from sheaths. Juliana stepped up, grabbing the Count’s elbow. “Please, my lord,” she begged. “I know not how this blood was shed, but credit them at least for their aid to me.” The Count’s rage cooled the slightest, but his words were still forced through his teeth. “For the sake of my niece,” he said, turning away.
The day ended as it had begun: with a fluster and flurry at the gate. It was well past Compline, and Refrogne was for once as willing as Roos to be led to the stable. “Thorold has returned,” came a cry from the gate, which groaned on its rusted, but now useable, hinges as the guards pulled it open again. Outside, in a circle of torchlight, Thorold sat on the ground, shaken and panting. “I must have fallen; perhaps I struck my head,” he mumbled. “I do not feel well at all . . . .” Two guards helped him to his feet, but no sooner was he up than he doubled over again with a piteous groan. The now substantial crowd gathered closer for his aid, but when he looked up his face was the colour of brick, his lips drawn back over his teeth.
His first blow drove one of the guards to the ground, and the servants and covenfolk scattered, screaming. Michi drew his sword and charged, with Stephan as well and even Madeleine producing her curved Saracen blade. As they closed the creature lunged at Madeleine, throwing her against the tower wall and driving its teeth into her throat. Stephan and Michi fell upon it, and soon cut it down. “A revenant!” exclaimed Michi, hacking head from body as Gaspard rushed to Madeleine’s aid. “Her wound is not severe,” he reported. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” retorted Michi, “But creatures like this one, they carry their curse to their victims. That thing was Thorold once—what if the same should befall Madeleine?”
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Two and Three Weeks following Trinity Sunday, 1198
Madeleine looked thoughtful when she finally departed Daria’s chambers. The covenant’s prima rarely called anyone into her presence, so Madeleine’s summons was as unexpected as the visit was lengthy.
It was a week later when the knight appeared. “In the village, my lord,” the peasant panted, having run the mile uphill to find Stephan in the outer bailey. “He rides up to the castle now!” Stephan called Michi over and quickly organized a squad of men. A lone knight was not likely looking for mischief, but he could do a lot of damage if he caught the complement unprepared. “What is his heraldry?” Stephan asked. The villager shrugged. “I do not recognize the colours, sir, but he bears a badge of Namur.”
Sure enough, the knight was on an errand for the Count. “My lord Etien of Namur will arrive tomorrow,” he informed Daria in the great hall, as Gaspard, Madeleine, and Stephan looked on. Geert de Das—that was the knight’s name—reckoned a party of six or seven with Etien, but to that would be added a score at least squires and servants, armsmen and pages and camp-followers. The castle burst into activity as soon as the knight departed: animals to slaughter and trenchers to bake for the feast; the great hall to be swept, new rushes laid down, and tables brought in; heavy rotas to be planned for the watch and the security of the village. Stephan would be Daria’s bodyguard, while Gaspard relied as always on Michi. Remi was not at the covenant.
The Count was a giant of a man, thick-necked and red in the face, with quick, calculating eyes and a manner that promised a sudden and dreadful temper. He arrived after nones with Geert and another knight Gervais, and a sandy-haired monk whose white habit with a red cross Maltese said as much about his vocation as his alert stature and wiry, upright build. A young lady, quiet and perhaps frail, was introduced as the Count’s niece, and another man in embroidered robes proved to be a mason. Each had a servant or squire, and a jongleur followed them in. The great hall was splendid, but despite the apparent honour given the Count, Morris seated him at the second table. The Count did not acknowledge the slight, but he did become restless when after a quarter hour Daria had still not appeared.
She swept in from the library with Stephan on her heels. There was little conversation as the meal was served, but eventually Daria addressed the Count. “The borders are a concern for me,” Etien told her, “Limburg is raising an army.” Daria was unconcerned. “Duke Waleran recognizes our status as an Imperial fief, just as I’m sure you do, my lord Count.” “What good is an Imperial charter when there is no Emperor?” demanded Etien. “Frederick Stauffen is excommunicate, and Otto doesn’t have the support of the German princes. If you hope a new Emperor will protect you, you will have years to wait—years of war, I think. And what of this?” A servant produced a document, which Daria gave only the quickest glance before waving it toward Gaspard. It was a letter from an agent of Duke Waleran, confirming a plot with Daria to bring troops of Limburg to Bois de Haillot. “A forgery,” Daria responded calmly. Etien didn’t press the issue. “I’m concerned for your safety here—you have nothing but academics to protect you. I can fortify your castle.” He was willing to formalize the agreement with a marriage—Daria to one of his knights, or even himself—but she replied that Triamore’s oaths prevented her from any such worldly entanglements. Etien grew angry, knocking over his chair. “Take what I offer now,” he demanded, “or by Christ’s wounds you’ll have nothing later!” If Daria was impressed she made no sign. “The lord who brings an army here will weep for his losses and curse the day he saw his fortune in these stones.”
Most eyes were on this exchange, but Michi noticed something else: The jongleur had slipped out—perhaps to the kitchens—but had not returned. With Daria retired, Michi caught Stephan’s eye and they went looking for the missing jester. They found him in the covenant’s vault beyond the pantries; he had opened two gates and was now considering the locks on the strong boxes. “Don’t kill me; I have taken nothing!” the young man exclaimed. Godwin was his name. “What are you after?” Stephan demanded. The thief looked puzzled. “The silver, of course. And other treasure. What else would there be?” They contemplated putting him to the sword right then, but Michi had a different idea. “Return to tha camp down there, and find out what tha Count there’s got in mind for us. You be our spy, see, and I won’t have ta cut out your liver.”
The feast wound down, and Etien returned after some hours to his encampment in the fallow field outside the village. [???] wandered down a little while later. Many of the villagers had departed to the safety of the castle bailey or the outlying hamlets, and all had surely buried their valuables. But a handfull were making a few pennies selling ale and trading news with the soldiers and servants of the camp, and [???] had little trouble finding a game of dice. He could learn little, but it was clear at least that the small force was not preparing an imminent attack on the covenant. But then, neither were they preparing to depart on the marrow, and there was definitely a sense that their business at Bois de Haillot was not concluded. And from the Count’s tent [???] did catch one small snippet of conversation: The mason, Evrard, talking to Etien. “I would need a more detailed tour to make a full assessment, my lord,” the mason was saying, “but the main work would be in the keep and the bailey. I’m confident the castle could be defensible by next summer, and possibly complete within a year—but it is a grand building, and it will not be finished cheaply.”
The Templar showed up at the gates the next morning. “I confess to curiosity about your doings here,” he told Gaspard and Madeleine when brought before them. “Much is said of wizardry, but I hear also that many scholars visit your library.” His name was Brother Chretien, from the Templar commanderie at Huy. “My lord Etien seems to have made up his mind about us,” Madeleine said. “I am not Etien,” the Templar responded. They gave him a brief tour of the keep and library. Conversation turned to the dragon in Verdun and the destruction of the robber-baron of the Ardennes, and Chretien seemed to warm to his hosts. Eventually they talked of the Count’s business at Bois de Haillot. “Etien owes the order a great deal of money,” Chretien explained, “and my preceptor Thierry le Bacheler is personally accountable for those loans. He has begun to worry that Etien will not be able to repay if he doesn’t complete his plans—which include owning this castle. I was sent along for a first-hand look at your community; I think Thierry is rather hoping I’ll uncover some witchcraft worthy of Templar intervention.” “And what have you found?” Madeleine asked. “I will advise my lord Thierry against direct support of Etien. But make no mistake about the Count’s intentions. And know that my voice is but one, and I fear it carries limited weight.”
It was a week later when the knight appeared. “In the village, my lord,” the peasant panted, having run the mile uphill to find Stephan in the outer bailey. “He rides up to the castle now!” Stephan called Michi over and quickly organized a squad of men. A lone knight was not likely looking for mischief, but he could do a lot of damage if he caught the complement unprepared. “What is his heraldry?” Stephan asked. The villager shrugged. “I do not recognize the colours, sir, but he bears a badge of Namur.”
Sure enough, the knight was on an errand for the Count. “My lord Etien of Namur will arrive tomorrow,” he informed Daria in the great hall, as Gaspard, Madeleine, and Stephan looked on. Geert de Das—that was the knight’s name—reckoned a party of six or seven with Etien, but to that would be added a score at least squires and servants, armsmen and pages and camp-followers. The castle burst into activity as soon as the knight departed: animals to slaughter and trenchers to bake for the feast; the great hall to be swept, new rushes laid down, and tables brought in; heavy rotas to be planned for the watch and the security of the village. Stephan would be Daria’s bodyguard, while Gaspard relied as always on Michi. Remi was not at the covenant.
The Count was a giant of a man, thick-necked and red in the face, with quick, calculating eyes and a manner that promised a sudden and dreadful temper. He arrived after nones with Geert and another knight Gervais, and a sandy-haired monk whose white habit with a red cross Maltese said as much about his vocation as his alert stature and wiry, upright build. A young lady, quiet and perhaps frail, was introduced as the Count’s niece, and another man in embroidered robes proved to be a mason. Each had a servant or squire, and a jongleur followed them in. The great hall was splendid, but despite the apparent honour given the Count, Morris seated him at the second table. The Count did not acknowledge the slight, but he did become restless when after a quarter hour Daria had still not appeared.
She swept in from the library with Stephan on her heels. There was little conversation as the meal was served, but eventually Daria addressed the Count. “The borders are a concern for me,” Etien told her, “Limburg is raising an army.” Daria was unconcerned. “Duke Waleran recognizes our status as an Imperial fief, just as I’m sure you do, my lord Count.” “What good is an Imperial charter when there is no Emperor?” demanded Etien. “Frederick Stauffen is excommunicate, and Otto doesn’t have the support of the German princes. If you hope a new Emperor will protect you, you will have years to wait—years of war, I think. And what of this?” A servant produced a document, which Daria gave only the quickest glance before waving it toward Gaspard. It was a letter from an agent of Duke Waleran, confirming a plot with Daria to bring troops of Limburg to Bois de Haillot. “A forgery,” Daria responded calmly. Etien didn’t press the issue. “I’m concerned for your safety here—you have nothing but academics to protect you. I can fortify your castle.” He was willing to formalize the agreement with a marriage—Daria to one of his knights, or even himself—but she replied that Triamore’s oaths prevented her from any such worldly entanglements. Etien grew angry, knocking over his chair. “Take what I offer now,” he demanded, “or by Christ’s wounds you’ll have nothing later!” If Daria was impressed she made no sign. “The lord who brings an army here will weep for his losses and curse the day he saw his fortune in these stones.”
Most eyes were on this exchange, but Michi noticed something else: The jongleur had slipped out—perhaps to the kitchens—but had not returned. With Daria retired, Michi caught Stephan’s eye and they went looking for the missing jester. They found him in the covenant’s vault beyond the pantries; he had opened two gates and was now considering the locks on the strong boxes. “Don’t kill me; I have taken nothing!” the young man exclaimed. Godwin was his name. “What are you after?” Stephan demanded. The thief looked puzzled. “The silver, of course. And other treasure. What else would there be?” They contemplated putting him to the sword right then, but Michi had a different idea. “Return to tha camp down there, and find out what tha Count there’s got in mind for us. You be our spy, see, and I won’t have ta cut out your liver.”
The feast wound down, and Etien returned after some hours to his encampment in the fallow field outside the village. [???] wandered down a little while later. Many of the villagers had departed to the safety of the castle bailey or the outlying hamlets, and all had surely buried their valuables. But a handfull were making a few pennies selling ale and trading news with the soldiers and servants of the camp, and [???] had little trouble finding a game of dice. He could learn little, but it was clear at least that the small force was not preparing an imminent attack on the covenant. But then, neither were they preparing to depart on the marrow, and there was definitely a sense that their business at Bois de Haillot was not concluded. And from the Count’s tent [???] did catch one small snippet of conversation: The mason, Evrard, talking to Etien. “I would need a more detailed tour to make a full assessment, my lord,” the mason was saying, “but the main work would be in the keep and the bailey. I’m confident the castle could be defensible by next summer, and possibly complete within a year—but it is a grand building, and it will not be finished cheaply.”
The Templar showed up at the gates the next morning. “I confess to curiosity about your doings here,” he told Gaspard and Madeleine when brought before them. “Much is said of wizardry, but I hear also that many scholars visit your library.” His name was Brother Chretien, from the Templar commanderie at Huy. “My lord Etien seems to have made up his mind about us,” Madeleine said. “I am not Etien,” the Templar responded. They gave him a brief tour of the keep and library. Conversation turned to the dragon in Verdun and the destruction of the robber-baron of the Ardennes, and Chretien seemed to warm to his hosts. Eventually they talked of the Count’s business at Bois de Haillot. “Etien owes the order a great deal of money,” Chretien explained, “and my preceptor Thierry le Bacheler is personally accountable for those loans. He has begun to worry that Etien will not be able to repay if he doesn’t complete his plans—which include owning this castle. I was sent along for a first-hand look at your community; I think Thierry is rather hoping I’ll uncover some witchcraft worthy of Templar intervention.” “And what have you found?” Madeleine asked. “I will advise my lord Thierry against direct support of Etien. But make no mistake about the Count’s intentions. And know that my voice is but one, and I fear it carries limited weight.”
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Tuesday before Whitsunday, 1198
Michi spent the evening under a spell of Gaspard's that made him invisible. While that was a great aid in the attack on the temple of Nemestrinus and the chambers beneath, which Gaspard reckons might have been an infernal regio, it left Michi concerned that his heroic actions went unobserved by his fellow covenfolk. To rectify this, he provides the following account of the action that evening. To ensure his contributions are fully credited, he begins by covering some of the events leading up to that dreadful night.
Gaspard has aall his baies an' frack in a twist cos o' some Quasitoril or somit is comin' ta ask about t' dragon what I sar aff in t' town, so oi tells him nat tay worry and set 'em straight about what 'appened. Now 'im and Madeline 'ave been tryin' ta read the books oi nicked for 'em, but ets in code or summit but oi tells 'em it aall looks loike sqiggles tay me and they will have tay do with out while oi show wolf boy the ropes af guardin' an' stuff.
So dis fella an lass turn up an' ask aall tha questions and oi tell 'em aall about tha wolf lady and tha dragon that oi drove off and tha creepy little naked fella that led us to the fairies, an' they seem preety pleased about all that.
So dere we were all a loungin' in the great hall when this back woods hick turns up lyin 'is arse orf about cultist in the woods havin' kidnapped his mate. So off we trot after the wotsits had argued, turn up in dis guys shed a couple o' days later, kit up and leave d'squire and totty behind we head off to where the cultin' is supposed to be taking place.
Gaspard works his jazzan'. Oi vanish, takin t' oppertunity if'n you know what oi mean.
So we heads in and make shart work of 'em wit tha help of an imaginary giant head, but when Gaspard (lad's got legs) catches and questions the victim it turns out that lyin chops who brought us in is in the cult. So we hightail it back to tha barn and the beggers havent just run off wit' th' totty.
So more hocus pocus and some slippers an' we're on the trail, heading off deeper into the woods in th' pourin' rain.
Madelin meenwhoile is draggin her big wet dress an' chatting about 'em being "romans" or some such but oi tole her they were kidnappers and the romans have been gone for years. She said "par-dong" and on we went.
So we follow th' dogs and the magics to this old place full a' pillars and behind it there's this cave, now still bein' all see t'rough oi sneak on in and have a bit of a look, an' dere's dese two fellas standin' behoind a palisade. So oi knocks 'em out with tha faader helpin while Madelin tries to talk to 'em. "Kidnappin' cultists, love," oisay. "No sense in talkin, lets get to th' hittin'." So behind em's a big pit and a bunch o' clothes, so oi'm tinkin', "Neked Celestene, won't that be nice!"
Then behoind it is this statue of some goat boy purple magic wand and hairy sack of magic an' all, an on this mural behind him theres some steps, so there is all sorts of faffin' around and eventually Gaspard gets this mural to turn into stairs wit magic or bowin or sometin' oi dun know.
So we head on down these steps and it starts gettin' well creepy, I kin tell you. I wusnet happy about going on down there, so aboot half way down the stairs something goes wrong wit de' spellin' makin' me see through and now no one can hear me oider. So right at the bottom there's these two arches; the left one (oi tink) is covered in all da preety people and down dere, there was this mirror which shows things like they really are. And the other arch this was covered in people getting tortured, only the others are all too busy chatting about rescuin' to notice, so oi gets em ta see by makin' em walk into me and on we go.
So there we were deep in the depths of the earth, bein very very quite, hunting cultists. And we finds em in this big round room with Celestens (dutifully neked) spread eagled on a big X, now Oi didn't think she was into dat sort o' ting but this culty fellow liked it so . . . and they had shaved off all of her hair and there was dancin and all sorts goin on.
"Gaspard," whispers brother Cornelious, "What have you got that can kill the entire room?" "Michi?" answers Gaspard and we set upon 'em.
So tha black priest isn't too pleased about an invisible pikey killin all his boys and he starts cuttin on Celesten and tryin to drop this big bowl of hair and blood and stuff into the big burnin pit in the middle of th' room. So we kill im and his mates and he calls in all sorts of demon chums and we kill them as well but he still drops his bowl in the fire. Now oi'm gettin a bit worried about this but then Madelin needs me ta pretend to be an angel to help question the remanin' cultist who were weein' der pants der so dey were.
Den in the fire pit dis big fallic lookin mess o' shadows and tentacles starts eatin' the questionees and callin all th' wierd lookin' bugs into the room to be eatin us, and we set about it and Gaspard does some of his jazzin' on it, now tings aren't lookin' too good at dis point and Gaspard is orf it so I shouts for the fadder to run and oi leg it—oi don't remember the magic as gone wrong and 'e can't hear me till oi catch up to dress boy and were off on our toes.
Oi ope is God bless' i'm an' aall dat cos the good brother held back that ting whoile we legged it and once we got topside we messed that mural right up so it couldn't get out and den robbed all them cultists clothes along with thier cash, of which they had a pile o' silver in a box, and hightailed it back to the covenant.
Michi fails to mention that Celestine was brought out of the temple alive, though quite traumatized.
End of Chapter Two
Gaspard has aall his baies an' frack in a twist cos o' some Quasitoril or somit is comin' ta ask about t' dragon what I sar aff in t' town, so oi tells him nat tay worry and set 'em straight about what 'appened. Now 'im and Madeline 'ave been tryin' ta read the books oi nicked for 'em, but ets in code or summit but oi tells 'em it aall looks loike sqiggles tay me and they will have tay do with out while oi show wolf boy the ropes af guardin' an' stuff.
So dis fella an lass turn up an' ask aall tha questions and oi tell 'em aall about tha wolf lady and tha dragon that oi drove off and tha creepy little naked fella that led us to the fairies, an' they seem preety pleased about all that.
So dere we were all a loungin' in the great hall when this back woods hick turns up lyin 'is arse orf about cultist in the woods havin' kidnapped his mate. So off we trot after the wotsits had argued, turn up in dis guys shed a couple o' days later, kit up and leave d'squire and totty behind we head off to where the cultin' is supposed to be taking place.
Gaspard works his jazzan'. Oi vanish, takin t' oppertunity if'n you know what oi mean.
So we heads in and make shart work of 'em wit tha help of an imaginary giant head, but when Gaspard (lad's got legs) catches and questions the victim it turns out that lyin chops who brought us in is in the cult. So we hightail it back to tha barn and the beggers havent just run off wit' th' totty.
So more hocus pocus and some slippers an' we're on the trail, heading off deeper into the woods in th' pourin' rain.
Madelin meenwhoile is draggin her big wet dress an' chatting about 'em being "romans" or some such but oi tole her they were kidnappers and the romans have been gone for years. She said "par-dong" and on we went.
So we follow th' dogs and the magics to this old place full a' pillars and behind it there's this cave, now still bein' all see t'rough oi sneak on in and have a bit of a look, an' dere's dese two fellas standin' behoind a palisade. So oi knocks 'em out with tha faader helpin while Madelin tries to talk to 'em. "Kidnappin' cultists, love," oisay. "No sense in talkin, lets get to th' hittin'." So behind em's a big pit and a bunch o' clothes, so oi'm tinkin', "Neked Celestene, won't that be nice!"
Then behoind it is this statue of some goat boy purple magic wand and hairy sack of magic an' all, an on this mural behind him theres some steps, so there is all sorts of faffin' around and eventually Gaspard gets this mural to turn into stairs wit magic or bowin or sometin' oi dun know.
So we head on down these steps and it starts gettin' well creepy, I kin tell you. I wusnet happy about going on down there, so aboot half way down the stairs something goes wrong wit de' spellin' makin' me see through and now no one can hear me oider. So right at the bottom there's these two arches; the left one (oi tink) is covered in all da preety people and down dere, there was this mirror which shows things like they really are. And the other arch this was covered in people getting tortured, only the others are all too busy chatting about rescuin' to notice, so oi gets em ta see by makin' em walk into me and on we go.
So there we were deep in the depths of the earth, bein very very quite, hunting cultists. And we finds em in this big round room with Celestens (dutifully neked) spread eagled on a big X, now Oi didn't think she was into dat sort o' ting but this culty fellow liked it so . . . and they had shaved off all of her hair and there was dancin and all sorts goin on.
"Gaspard," whispers brother Cornelious, "What have you got that can kill the entire room?" "Michi?" answers Gaspard and we set upon 'em.
So tha black priest isn't too pleased about an invisible pikey killin all his boys and he starts cuttin on Celesten and tryin to drop this big bowl of hair and blood and stuff into the big burnin pit in the middle of th' room. So we kill im and his mates and he calls in all sorts of demon chums and we kill them as well but he still drops his bowl in the fire. Now oi'm gettin a bit worried about this but then Madelin needs me ta pretend to be an angel to help question the remanin' cultist who were weein' der pants der so dey were.
Den in the fire pit dis big fallic lookin mess o' shadows and tentacles starts eatin' the questionees and callin all th' wierd lookin' bugs into the room to be eatin us, and we set about it and Gaspard does some of his jazzin' on it, now tings aren't lookin' too good at dis point and Gaspard is orf it so I shouts for the fadder to run and oi leg it—oi don't remember the magic as gone wrong and 'e can't hear me till oi catch up to dress boy and were off on our toes.
Oi ope is God bless' i'm an' aall dat cos the good brother held back that ting whoile we legged it and once we got topside we messed that mural right up so it couldn't get out and den robbed all them cultists clothes along with thier cash, of which they had a pile o' silver in a box, and hightailed it back to the covenant.
Michi fails to mention that Celestine was brought out of the temple alive, though quite traumatized.
End of Chapter Two
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