The Heirs of Britain - Game Eighteen

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session 18: 486, You Have Goat to be Kidding Me…

__________ Session 18: 486, Northern Salisbury __________ 

Returning to patrol the north of Salisbury, the Wolves spot their counterparts from Summerland; a patrol of knights from that fae-touched realm. The latter retreat at the sight of Roderick’s Glorious men! A small victory; the stature of the Wolves of Logres no doubt precedes them. Sir Elvorix shouts jeers; Vandagild pisses on the ground where we found them. Victory! The knights return to the road.

Shortly thereafter does present an aged man, clad in beard, stink and tattered furs. Clearly the man has not bathed in a time, and he approaches the knights with a strange confidence. He opens his foetid maw, bestowing the warriors with a strange smile full of weird, gross teeth. The knights halt, sharing curious glances; the old man sits now on the ground before them.

“Knights: Wouldst thou be willing to help an old man out yonder?”

Iwan: Yes. Elvorix: Yea, we are honour-bound to do so!

“Grand! For I have lost my goat, and have not the energy to find it. Yonder it went, up thine hill here; alas, the slope is too steep for these old bones. Wouldst thou be so kind…? It is my largest goat, and I need it returned...”

The three Knights assent, each for their own reasons, and ride carefully up the hill; atop it stands a large goat.

 

Very large. Almost the size of a cow.

Vandagild’s eyes narrow, and he shoots a glance at once back down the hill. Famously suspicious of Fae, the enormous size of this beast raises his hackles.

The scarred hunter draws his sword, rasping to Elvorix at his side, who reaches for a rope: “Elvorix! Be cautious; remember thee the Beaver-Demon! This fiend is too large for some earthly beast…”

Elvorix sighs, telling the vengeful hunter to put his sword away.

“I will do no such thing!”, he spits back, locking eyes on the unholy monster and carefully urging Deadwind to take its flank .

Sir Elvorix slowly approaches with his rope; Sir Iwan ambles along beside him.

The Goat locks eyes with the flanking foe; the hunter holds its demonic gaze for a moment...

It snorts once; Vandagild’s eyes narrow further.

With no further warning, the hulking animal whips around, fleeing at a pace in the opposite direction!

At once, Sir Elvorix is after it, Sir Iwan at his side!

Sir Vandagild too spurs his horse by instinct - he will not see his quarry escape... but! He reins the charger in, turn down hill: There he spies the old man, still seated.

“Knave!” he calls to the Demon Wrangler, “What manner of giant demon beast have thee summoned!?”

“…Waaaat?” the confused and distant reply.

Vandagild watches the man with spite, snarling with frustration: “Hold thy place, villain! If thou be not here when I return, I promise to God I will bring thee thy justice!”

“Whaaaaat!?!”

Vandagild gestures at him, some effort to convey the message ‘hold thy position at pain of death’; he turns Deadwind again, spurring him hard after his pursuing companions. If a demon is to be captured, he will not let his friends do it alone!

Thus, Sirs Iwan and Elvorix pursue the beast closely, Sir Vandagild shortly behind. 

The closer men spot the behemoth darting through the thickening trees of a nearby copse. Alas, the dense terrain foils their horsemanship, and they lose sight of the fleeing goat. Nonetheless, they follow its heavy tracks, darting quickly through the trees, dodging low branches and keeping their steeds as they do.

The beast bounds through a large hedgerow, the two knights keenly behind; they urge their great steeds to leap the shrubbery, shielding their faces from the twigs and branches. Beyond: A larger clearing, with fewer brambles on the ground. There they spy the goat, which is still as a statue having skidded to a halt. It looks up; very up; frozen in fear.
 

__________ Big Goat, Bigger Problems __________

A great hand, broader than a charger, reaches down from on high, clutching the hapless goat and lifting it high in the air: A giant! The monster is enormous, three times the height of a normal man! It looks hungrily at the thrashing beast in its hand, but turns slowly its great head toward the two knights and their lathered steeds. Flecks of nauseating mess spit from its mouth as it breathes. The behemoth is grotesque. Its right eye is somehow split, and there lay two eyes: Each takes in the men before it, but it does not move to action…

 

Sir Elvorix shoots Sir Iwan a wide-eyed stare: He opens his mouth to speak, but saying nothing in his shock. The handsome Cymric knight returns the stare, raising a questioning eyebrow. Sir Elvorix gestures to his sword: Sir Iwan nods, and they both draw their trusty blades. They look up to the foe:

The goat is no longer in the giant's hand: “BLLAAA-AAAA-AAA-AAAAA!” comes the cry! It hurtles through the air, the enormous beast winged with great strength, aimed unerringly at Sir Iwan; the missile bleats in terror!

The hulking, airborne goat slams into the shocked knight, who brings his shield high to cushion the blow! The flailing beast does not knock him from his horse, as he skilfully twists in his saddle, laying deeply back against the rump of hit steed!

"Oof! I... I think yon Giant threw a goat at me!? I… think my nose broken!"

"Lo! Then let us hurl ourselves right back! Chaaarge!" The two men spur their steeds!

__________ To See the Wood for the Tree… __________

Sir Vandagild, delayed from his harassment of the elderly, sees only the limping goat trampling rapidly back through the shrub, angling swiftly to avoid his pursuit.

"I have the monster! I have it!” He calls, to the companions he assumes pursue nearby.

Deeper, his two friends call forth their battle-cries! Alas, the normally sharp Sir Vandagild is caught now in the thrill of the chase, and he finds not the difference between the call of the hunt and the call of war! Onward he rides, confident his friends hunt behind him and quite unaware of their plight. His excellent horsemanship leads Deadwind precisely through the wood, bringing him swiftly alongside the wily demon…

The Aquitanian’s galloping steed rides up hard beside the huge goat.... the man grabs its shaggy, wooly scruff, firm but unhindering, and with strong knees rides swiftly beside it... a broad Oak looms thick before the careering entanglement of men and beasts, and this is his target. The entwined pair speed onward for the tree - the goat tries to step rapidly to the left to slip past it, but Sir Vandagild, counter-steering Deadwind, wrenches it back firmly, and timely! The beast slams into the unyielding trunk at full speed, folding its great body around the width of it and skidding to a halt in the dirt. 

Vandagild, cheering, slows Deadwind, bringing him around; he scans the defeated, unconscious goat and nods satisfactorily. The talented hunter calls for Atticus to tie the groggy beast, raising his arms in victory over the elusive demon-goat!

__________

The giant rips a tree from the ground; clods and dirt shower the field! Sirs Elvorix and and Sir Iwan draw their blades, spurring hard their steeds to cut down the towering monster!

Lo! The skilled knights are mistime by the haste of their foe: The giant steps forward, a half-skip, sweeping the great tree through them both! Each man can do little but bring his shield to the fore, as the improbable stave rips them both from their saddles! The knights are crushed, their sturdy maille helping but little against the terrible blow; they fly, as leaves in the wind, tumbling to a halt near the edge of the clearing. Each man is conscious still, barely, and slowly pulls himself to his feet.

In two steps, the giant towers over the. A final glance; each man takes in his good friend, bloodied, companions for life, and companions unto death. Their shared love for each other brings fire to their hearts! Sir Iwan roars in terrible passion, possessed for the sake of his fellow Wolf. They rush to battle, ducking a sweeping kick from the soaring abomination, slashing with warding blows!

Alas, the giant's attack is irresistible: Though their blades leap skilfully for a monstrous home, it is the crude tool of the giant that gets the better. Sir Iwan is caught high, the great bludgeon twisting his helm and body, driving him lifeless across the mossy grove to lay still, nestled awkwardly in the twisted trunk of an old oak. Elvorix curses Vandagild's absence, lunging accurately with his own sword; but he too is caught, the giant’s reach and strength slam the man the several yards the other way, where he clatters into a bush. Face down, writhing weakly, the Roman knight does not stand.

__________

As Sir Vandagild binds the goat, heareth a rumbling yell, a roar, of the loudest and deepest timbre he hath ever listened. From whence else, might it come, but the clearing where his companions did last ride! Sweareth he, this knight, knowing now the foul nature of this Summerland trick; an ambush! Some behemoth summoned from the mystic swamps of that wretched place, sprung now to lay waste and death upon his friends! He will kill that deceptive goat-herder! Bidding Atticus to finish the binding, he remounts Deadwind and spurs him firm, urging the great steed to fly forth as fast he might!

And lo, in no terrible distance, Vandagild doth spy two squires adodging; Vandimund, his brother, and hulking Uthred, the squires of two fallen knights. They look to each other, holding the clearing but staying far from the terrible foe and their broken Lords. The deadly giant persists in unchecked anger, furiously thwomping the ground with its great tree.

“Nay! Fallen, mine two fine friends? My heart, it bursteth! But yet, they may breathe? Hark thee, squires: Attend to thy Lords! Hyaaaa!”

So speaketh Sir Vandagild who, driven to passion by the sight of his broken friends, charges forth to battle the great giant alone…

But cursed be this day: The sorceries of the Summerland witch, that wretched herder who did scheme this treacherous trap, defy in this moment the honest battling of Godly men. Sir Vandagild is struck from mighty Deadwind, the sweeping tree too broad for any man of honest stature to keep his saddle. He rolls, sorely winded, and not yet in full recognition of his injury, and leaps forth once more, sword and shield wielded for thorough defence, to close the gap with his steed and gain the advantage of his height… A glancing blow he doth take, with two arms he does deflect the crushing tree over his head, though he is the worse for it – but his steed he does take, and so mounted he surveys the scene.

There, the feet of broken men disappear into shrubs, dragged to safety by loyal squires; there, the giant strides forth with deadly intent, his awful assault guided by the fae-fortunes of devils in human form. Sir Vandagild whispers prayers to God: The answer is flight.

Gripping his shield more tightly, the knight turns his steed, spurring him free of the calamitous clearing – His friends now safe, he will ride free of the ambush, to seek vengeance and justice on the betrayer who led them here! Fae trickery, once more! No shame nor honour have these demons!

Keenly he darts his charger, reining hard to lead his fine beast in erratic routes – a great rush of wind whips his hair and cloak, mere moments before a thunderous crash rumbles and shudders the earth beneath him; clods of dirt from the terrible impact flick past his face, but he is safely away! *

__________ You Know Not with What You Trifle __________

Beyond the hedges he now rides, this Aquitanian Knight. There spyeth he: Two ruined knights; Sir Iwan is too pale; three squires, who look not to Sir Vandagild, but upward, to a nearby man; aged is he, clad in beard, stink and tattered furs.

Beside him, an enormous goat, calm and unbound, chewing slowly.

Sir Vandagild, aching from two strong blows but still able, wastes no moment: “Explain thyself, knave! Were thee a knight I would have cut thee down whence; but I give thee, lesser wretch, this chance: What part hath thee in this? Speak swift and true, I tell thee, for I have a heart to set thy head some yards from thy neck!”

The man holds the Knight’s gaze, responding calmly: “No business have I with this; I only asked of thee to fetch this goat. No knowledge do I have of what fate awaited this men yonder."

“Psha! There standeth thy goat, villein, so tell me nought of that! Tell me how ensorcel thee a giant, and what hope thee have of keeping thy head! My fine friends lie broken by thy evil schemes; it is only by my good nature that I have not already cut thee!”

"I cannot say I have any knowledge of this giant; are you in need of help?" the man replies, with unsettling calm in the face of so furious and armed a knight.

"Help?! Nay! Not from thee; asketh me to trust thee with my helpless friends, mere moments after thy horrid designs brought them low in a monstrous ambush? Nay, Summerlander! Nay, Elvish scum!"

Turning now, the knight bids the squires tend their knights, and stop staring at the demon.

“Nonetheless” the liar begins, “Since you have aided me I offer thee-” 

“I need not thy help, filth! Set thy tongue still!”

The old man sighs, and turns to leave, his devil-goat trundling beside him.

Vandagild shouts at him, bidding him hold to face the Earl’s justice.  The man continues his soft walk, unheeding, and veers left suddenly, trying to lose the vengeful Aquitanian among the trees. Furious, Sir Vandagild chases, grabbing the old man to wrench him; but all he holds in his shaking grip are ripped tufts from his old, stinky, goat-hide clothing; a second grasp, too, slips away strangely!

“I have offered thee my help, and I have been made unwelcome; pay me no mind, Knight!" 

“Fiend!” the call comes; once more the dextrous Aquitanian tries to restrain him, and once more the militant man finds only confusion in his grip. A demon, playing Godless tricks!

Convinced now this man is no peasant, safe from his wrath by status, the hateful hunter charges! Sir Vandagild whips his blade forth lunging to bury it deep in the monster’s spine; but the blade flies from his hand! No longer does the old man lean on his staff, but onward he strides, not even turning.

The Aquitanian, full of rage and impotence, retrieves his sword to once more rid the world of a demon… The old man slips past another tree, strangely agile...

The knight sprints in pursuit, rounding the tree:

The old man is now standing, facing him, broadly set and staff in hand.

His stature grows beyond that of a humble farmer: "cease your baseless accusations, Knight, and stop pestering me! or else..."

“Baseless? Then knoweth thee what occurred! Serve thee some greater demon, knave? Spill thy rotten guts, then; lead me to thy better so I might smite him!

“I am no-one's minion, and you know not with what you trifle.” Cold, now. Warning.

“Explain, then! What part have thee to play, Summerlander? My friends lay dying and if you have answers I will have them of thee! Speak, or defend thy-!”

"Fool!" he says, cutting the scarred hunter short; he moves not, but Sir Vandagild is stunned.

The raging knight’s vision rushes full to black, a soporific wave irresistible. He does not feel the ground as it rapidly approaches.

__________ The Aid of Men __________

Squire Vandimund cannot render effective aid to his Knight, Sir Elvorix; he sees the dire nature of the cunning Roman’s injuries, and knows proper skill is needed. Lifteth he the lolling knight ‘pon his steed, and doth ride him to the nearest village. Hence, a priest is fetched with urge. So summoned, the holy man prays in rapid whispers, working and plying his careful skill. The worst of the damage is soothed, but the tall knight is set to rest a long while in recovery. 

Uthred, too, brings Sir Iwan to the village. Woe, despair, and alas: the modest knight’s injuries are severe; mortal. His fair body is crushed, and swiftly seeketh his soul the stairway to heaven. The man is roused for his last, and whispers wet words:

“Uthred; bless thee. Harken: Speak unto my younger brother; bid him raise my children well. Also: Send him forth to Thornbush castle; tell him to meet there a servant; Anaise. Bid her give a fond farewell to Lady Eleri; it shall be some time ‘til I see again her gentle face.”

With this, he sighs, slackens once more, and passes into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Uthred holds his hand firmly, nestled gently in his vast grip, until the end.

__________

Sir Vandagild dreams: Rapid, incoherent scenes; a swirl of events recalled and imagined. Flashing, flickering, terror and love, battle and birth; war after war, though he recognises not the fluttering banners nor the churned battlefields. Try as he might, he can wrangle no sense from the wave of worlds and emotions. One thing he does recall, however: Visions of a King. Not Uther, another. A crown rests atop a throne. He looks young. This alone he brings clear to waking; this alone from the wave of nightmares.

Atticus looked for Vandagild, but could not find him. Finding his fellow squires, they are each summoned to the Earl, interrogated about what happened.

__________ Rouse from the Nightmare __________

Sir Vandagild awakens; his lips are dry like the Saracen sands; a thumping headache rumbles incessantly; everything hurts. Where? When? He stands, aching, and searches for water. Luckily his hunter's skill is not diminished; he finds himself some meagre nourishment and a trail; soon, weak but steady, he finds his way to yonder village.

Food is brought, and water; what fortune befell thee, knight? And such strange time; another rests in our humble village!

"One? Are there not two?"

"Yea, Sir, there were. Alas, one sadly passed…"

Sir Vandagild collapses to his knees by the church, sinking into despair. He sees a glimpse of himself in a muddied puddle; His face is haunted, and how a shock of grey streaks from his miserable brow.

He weeps, and demands to be taken to his friend. Soon findeth he Sir Elvorix, still unconscious though healing well. The man seems shrunken, stiffer somehow, but alive. He takes his hand, weeping long, bitter tears over his broken companion and their fallen friend.

Later, He asks where Sir Iwan lies; he was taken with the squires - to his manor or to the Earl, it is uncertain. Sir Vandagild writes letters, to his own and Iwan's family - he must remain by Sir Elvorix's side until he wakes, but will return as soon he can.

Some time later, Sir Myles arrives with five other knights of Salisbury. Hearing of Sir Iwan's death, and that a giant slew him, the men are hurried out to the village to rid the realm of that creature’s reckless violence. Sir Myles, a good friend of Sir Iwan’s, was among the first to volunteer; Uthred is among them. The good knights declares they will hunt the giant. Sir Vandagild, still battered but unbroken, declares he will ride with them. 

__________

The Aquitanian tells the gathered knights what he knows: The demon-herder lured them apart, and his friends were ambushed by a Giant in the thick underbrush. He drove the Summerlander away, who would not spill his knowledge, but was subdued by witchcraft.

Sir Myles turns stony when Sir Vandagild tells him he turned away the “goatherd’s” help.

The knights return to the glade and find the giant dead; slain clearly by the blows of several knights. The Aquitanian checks the battlefield with his hunter's eye - looks like four or five knights, shattered lance-wood is pushed into the earth by hoofs.

Sir Myles: "Looks like some bunch of knights did lay it low. Damn. Not much we can do now..."

Sir Vandagild swears in frustration; he wished for vengeance, but is glad it is dead.

Dejected or relieved, the knights returns to the village. Sir Vandagild tells Sir Myles he wishes to remain by Elvorix's side until he awakens, but will of course return if the Earl requests it. In Sarum, Sir Myles gives his report; Roderick nods his head, but says nothing else. He seems brief, and strangely uncurious…

__________ Ashes to Ashes __________

Sir Elvorix awakens in several weeks; exploding violently into consciousness, spitting forth dried blood and other gunk. "Gah! Where in hell am I!?" He lurches to his feet, stumbling from his cot in the priest's house, swaying into the street.

Sir Vandagild, writing at a bench in the square, lurches to embrace and calm his friend; the urgent questions are asked and answered: Sir Iwan is dead.

Lurching in rage, almost twisting his ankle, the Roman shouts his lament!

“Tell me this; Did I miss the funeral?”

“Good friend; if thou did, then didst I also. I have bid them await thee, and have not left thy side.”

“O Sir Vandagild! No truer a friend might a man hope for than thee!”

The two embrace again, causing Elvorix to wince sharple. The Roman rips open his tunic, a broad bruise covers the whole of a flank, much of his torso, and his arm. As he helps him back to rest, the Aquitanian explains the story once more; Elvorix's shocks are repeated and relentless. They share embraces and tears at the tragedy of the events; sharing concern for their own and Iwan's families. Vandagild fetches food for the ailing man, but the two soon depart. They spend some small time at Shrewton together.

Elvorix is grateful once more for his friend freeing him from that glade alive; Vandagild is saddened that he could not have been there sooner.

__________ Dust to Dust __________

The two men organise a memorial for Sir Iwan, to be held at the newly finished St. Amphibalus' Church, Winterbourne. Sir Vandagild had hoped the opening of his church would be more joyous.

Many Lords are in attendance; all the great people in Salisbury, including Prince Madoc. The familiar, weathered face of Duke Gorlois also graces the hall, as does the noble visage of Prince Meliodus.

His Eulogies are warm. Sir Elvorix tells of this: Generous, Modest and Valorous, Good Sir Iwan just wanted to see us all do well. He died valiantly, as a knight should.

Sir Vandagild speaks to Iwan's leadership - his modesty, guidance and skill are in keeping with the finest traditions of knighthood. He was an example for us all. The calming tone of his gentle words, and the fierce sting of his swift swordsmanship will stay with all of his friends ‘til they see him once more in Heaven.

Posthumous his glorious death, he is known as Sir Iwan the Modest.

__________ War and Wizardry __________

As they talk, Prince Meliodus is surprised by Vandagild's account of the Demon-Goatherd, and claims of his sorcery. Though friendly, he is slightly skeptical; perhaps your sword slipped from your hand, Sir Vandagild? And how do you know he cast thee to sleep? With no intended offence, sir knight, I have known of many men overcome by grief at the loss of one so close to them. Perhaps that fell heart did affect thee?

Sir Vandagild considers the Prince’s words, but thinks it unlikely; he knows himself, and trusts well his own senses.

“Of course, of course. And I do not mean to press thee but… By thy own account, Sir Vandagild, struck, were thee, by a tree. Twice! Praytell; could not the trauma of such violence have played tricks on thee?”

Once more, the Aquitanian considers long his words. But nay; twas no trauma that flung his sword aside, like the leaves of autumn, not lulled him to dream of strange places and unknown Kings.

At this third assertion, the Prince nods, and his face sets into some seriousness.

“If sure are thee, then… Well. I know not many Wizards of this land, save for Merlin himself. And I know not many who might meddle with goats and giants. Perhaps there is someone new? But… perhaps...”

He shakes his head, sighing.

“Vandagild, I would not concern overmuch of it. Fretting thyself after the whims of those who do have at their beck the very forces of nature… It seems are... Well. It’s outside of my, expertise, let us call it. I know well there is nought I might do to influence such beings. And if asketh thee for advice? I advise of thee the same.”

“To closer matters: Sad, was I, to find myself unable unable to return while Sir Iwan was still with us. He was a good man.”

Sir Vandagild thanks him for attending these halls of God, set within his own; Iwan's family will no doubt appreciate the presence of such fine and great men. He leaves he Prince, mulling deeply over his words…

__________

Some weeks pass; Sir Elvorix completes such healing as God allows him.

Earl Roderick calls for his Knights, and to great cheer announces this: He will retake Devizes Castle, and drive out the Summerlanders!

__________
 

* This fight was a mess. Vandagild missed a 16/20 Awareness roll to figure out what was going on and chased a goat. Then the giant, despite splitting its attacks between 2 (only -5 in our houserules), rolled exactly one higher than both Elvorix and Iwan (30+ damage hits each); next round Elvorix rolled a 1 (Thomp!) and the Giant also crit Iwan (who had just crit his Loyalty Companions for +10 sword, but missed his own 50% crit chance…), wiping them both out. Vandagild then charged in and rolled a 1, failed his 15 Dex to keep saddle, got hit again remounting+defensive fighting, and then barely escaped with his life. Giant was on fire. And then Vandagild, renowned racist, went apeshit at the goatherd/wizard instead of letting him heal everyone. Classic.

RIP Sir Iwan, Long Live Uthred (Size 22!).

__________

Image 1: Stared down by a Mountain Giant, Kamrouz Saifi, 11.2018, https://photocontest.smithsonianmag.com/photocontest/detail/stared-down-by-a-mountain-giant/

Image 2: https://kingarthurpendragon.fandom.com/wiki/Three-Eyed_Giant?file=Three-Eyed_Giant.jpg

King Arthur Pendragon 5.2

The Heirs of Britain - Game Seventeen

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session 17: 485, Surprises and Spectacles

 

__________ Session 17: 485, Mearcred Creek __________ 

So-called “King” Aelle of the Saxon horde quits the field of Mearcred Creek; bloodied but not shattered, his army withdraws in decent order into the sunset. In the nobler camp of Logres, King Uther praises his men for a good fight; there are relatively few casualties among the British forces, particularly for such a long battle. The proud King commands his army to hold position, and send forth scouts to inform his next manoeuvres. The Sussex Saxons have hard-earned their reputation as fierce forest fighters; charging blindly after them is an unpleasant prospect.

Soon, Uther learns that his foe has withdrawn further, to a fort named Woldhurst. This bastion has a reputation: It was the site of a great, bloody battle when the Saxons first landed on these blessed shores. From here they have unrelentingly spread their filth across the blessed shores of Britain.

The knights of Logres push onward as one. Uther wisely commands the wounded to be returned to Thornbush castle, rather than attending to them in the forest; the humble Sir Iwan is among them. The able men press cautiously south, through the thick forests and thin roads of Sussex. Precious time is spent stucking and unstucking wagons, thus upon reaching the fort, the British forces find Woldhurst now empty. Only warm embers, and other evidence of the recent presence of the Saxons remains. Once more, the scouts are sent forth; soon the army is ordered to camp in the fort itself, until Aelle can be tracked down...

Raiding and scouting parties ride to and fro from the castle over several days, learning this: Aelle has completely withdrawn to the coast with the solid remnants of his forces. Thus, Uther declares the campaign over, and a modest victory feast is declared in the fort! The men are tired, but spirits are still high - this is still a victory for the men of Britain!

__________ Festive Fortune __________

Among them, Sir Vandagild hopes that Earl Roderick may be awarded this modest fort, for his mighty muster and reliable leadership were crucial for the victory. Thus, at the feast, the strong-voiced hunter hopes to take advantage of the gathered forces: At a timely moment, he will lead a raring chorus of Red Blooded Roderick, hoping the impassioned ode will gain popularity among the knights and soldiers of Logres…

The Aquitanian awaits his moment, jovially resting with companions by a modest fire near the edge of the earthen hill fort. Idly, he glances about: The battlements are not well-maintained, and the ground is churn of mud and mess from the passage of two inhabiting armies.

Sir Elvorix, following his friend’s gaze, scrunches his face in disappointment; these walls are awful, barely worth the name. They pale against the noble bastions of his forebears. Standing, sighing in disgust, the Roman claps Sir Vandagild on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the high table: The cunning knight schemes to build favour with the King.

The feast is busy, and thus Elvorix’s first foe is the lengthy line of courtiers and sycophants squirming to Uther’s side. Fortunately, the King is not eager for formality, and Elvorix thus hopes to ply his cleverness and courtesy to create opportunity. The crowd is broad and high, but he soon spies Prince Madoc sitting beside his father; the tall Roman slips easily near, to chat with his old friend. Madoc is, as usual, happy to see him; some cheerful conversation earns Elvorix the Prince’s favour, and his audience with the King. Moreover, he invites the Prince to come hunt in his lands, which he will soon have rights to:

“I mean thee no offence, Sir Elvorix, but... My father is the King. I can freely hunt of any fucking forest I want”, he says with a grin and a hearty swill.

“Mistake me not, however! I appreciate thy offer! And yea, I may yet take thee upon that suggestion.”

The Roman grins, chuckling in response: “Sure am I, my Prince, that my wine cellar will never be the same after thy visit!”

Madoc, smiling: “Make sure ye have some of that uh... some continental stuff, on hand!”

Soon enough, Elvorix has the King's ear. Appropriately, he commends the King on his heroic leadership, and brings forth his own exploits of reaching the Saxon camp and routing the foe. He steers to recall his own advice at an earlier feast; to attack the Saxons in their own lands, hoping to trigger Uther’s memory and preference. When time presents, he asks the King if it is amenable to request a small boon of him - hunting rights in his own forest near Shrewton. It is quite far to the nearest hunting wood, he laments, and it would be much more convenient were he able to use the woods in his own back yard, as it were. Elvorix’s wife, Lady Diane, has also been scheming to this end, with subtle whispers in the King's ear about this same topic... Once more, Sir Elvorix argues proudly that his unit, through blood and death, pushed boldly to secure the enemy's tents! In his heart, he knows that he deserves this!

“Ah. Ohh! Yea, yea. I recall; Diane has been speaking of this in London.”

Uther looks the Roman up and down, an eyebrow raised; “Made thee to the camp, hmm? Well, uh.. Alright. Alright. I have heard such reports of Roderick’s men making the foe’s camp. Be thee of Roderick's men, yea?

“Yea, Your Grace! Our eschille pushed back the rearguard, and rampaged among the enemy’s tents.”

“Alright,” Uther nods, “I can use more men like thee... Very well!”

The Roman bows, and proffers some paperwork that he had prepared.

Uther dismissively motions toward the Constable, Sir Argan, who cares little for Elvorix; “Go speak thee with Sir Argan: He will manage whatever papers are due. But have thee my permission.”

Elvorix bows once more, thanking the King courteously before slipping away. He sees Sir Madoc, catching the Prince’s eye; the latter raises his drink in approval, with a small nod. Elvorix returns the gesture, a big smile on his face. He heads promptly to Sir Argan; who is drinking, rather unusually. He looks a little inebriated. The Roman approaches the obviously partying man, who dismisses the younger knight, bidding him to come find him at his desk on the morrow, at a cleaner time and state.

“A deer-run? Hunting land? Fine. Remind me tomorrow. Do not remind me tonight.”

Sir Elvorix returns to Vandagild, nudging him and sharing the good news. The hunter is proud of his friend, and excited for the opportunity for more hunting! He knows Elvorix is not much for hunting, historically, but the latter informs that his keenness grows with the prospect of associated income, and for courtly prowess. Vandagild laughs with this, and suggests an invite to Prince Madoc. Elvorix already has, he reports, and tells his Aquitanian friend of the Prince’s continental wine order: Vandagild will do his best! Elvorix departs once more, to write to Diane: They will begin the project to set up the containment in the nearby established forest. He hopes to eventually establish a Chace, until he can save the money to develop it properly into a Deer Park; these will require further rights…

__________ Pride and Prejudice __________

From across the feast, the keen-eared Sir Vandagild hears vile slander and heinous accusations; his sharp senses quickly catch the target: Earl Roderick of Salisbury! By some oversight, the section of Salisbury is set beside the section of Levcomagus and Sir Blains; tension was inevitable. Feuds have grown hot, and now things escalated audibly... Voices are raised, and fists besides! Accusations fly of the rampant cowardliness of Salisbury and Earl Roderick; these pin on criticisms of the latter’s mercenaries, because “Hah! Salisbury men aren't good enough on their own!”, and how “Weak Summerlanders have taken their castles...”

The men of Sir Blains are emboldened, leveraging whatever they can in their efforts to degrade and insult; they are getting the better of the disgruntled discourse! The Salisbury men spit back, accusing the Levcomagi of low behaviour, cowardice, and dishonor!

Striding forth through the crowd, Sir Vandagild cannot spy Sirs Roderick or Blains; his rage distracts. The vengeful man, seething with hatred for Sir Blains, eagerly joins the verbal fray! His powerful voice spills vicious phrase at the Levcomagi’s expense, decrying Blain’s cowardice, dishonor, and petty betrayals! The vocal violence escalates; the scarred Aquitanian’s efforts have evened the field, giving solid weight to the retorts of the Salisburians.

Soon, a frothing mugs clutched in either fist, Sir Vandagild takes the table feet astride the sturdy bench. Casting his voice deep and broad, he conducts a rustic choir of loyal knights: Red Blooded Roderick, he cries, sloshing mugs swaying! The charming knight brings the Salisburian voices together as one, their many proud voices in unison overwhelming the meagre mumblings of the limp Levcomagi. Soon, all the men of Salisbury men sing as one, the manly, repeating chorus dominating the soundscape of Woldhurst!

The final coda complete, the jovial laughter and hearty loyalty of the Salisbury knights rumbles into a waiting silence. All eyes have turned, and no-one now speaks. Some Levcomagi start sour words once more; “Hah! Salisbury sings better than they fight!”

But little comes of it, for the silence has a purpose. Standing silently nearby:

Sir Blains; smug and bitter.

Sir Roderick; furious.

Blains breaks the ice: “So! Here is what practice thee in Salisbury! Songs instead of swords; little wonder that thou can hold not thy castles!”

Roderick steps into the centre of the crowd, his face is still, stoic, but it cannot hide the darkness of his rage.

He stares at Sir Blains and lets fly his wrath: “Sir Blains! So much braver are thee when thy daddy protecteth thee, when Sir Ulfius stands behind to keep thee safe from the world! And so much braver are thee when protected by Hospitality! Never would thee summon the valor to fight us on the field, just as thou could not stomach the fight in Bedegraine!”

“I would fight thee any day!” Blains spits back, “Yea, I'd fight thee AND thy new best friend Cornwall. Yea! Do not think I did not hear of that! Shameful: Selling off your thy daughter the day she was born!"

In this way, the argument escalates, with both men pulling no punches in their verbal war. Soon, the Earl thrusts out an expectant hand: his man hurriedly brings him his sword; he belts it on seamlessly: "Enough! Let us settle this right now, you son of a bitch!"

Sir Blains the Coward does not call, nor reach for his own sword: He only goads further and spits his spineless insults. 

To this, Earl Roderick draws his blade.

“Enough!” rumbles a powerful voice; it comes from the High Table.

The Earl is silent; he stands without fear at the head of his men, eyes tracking Blains’ every move. His sword is still drawn, held sturdy in a wrathful hand.

Silence.

Sir Blains, standing behind his men, snakes a punchable grin upon his punchable face.

No-one speaks for several long moments.

Roderick grunts, sheathing his sword heavily; he turns toward the King, still enraged:

“Give me the satisfaction of putting down this dog, and never again will ye have to hear of this, my King!”

There is no response.

Another voice: Duke Ulfius, stepping forward from the crowd, belting a blade to his hip: “Don’t thee DARE lay a hand on one of my vassals! He is under my protection, Earl.”, he spits, with venom and threat.

“Fine!” Roderick responds; “Draw thy blade, and I'll cut down the both of thee!”

Once more, the King: “ENOUGH!”

“All of thee! I will not have two of my best men spilling their guts on the floor; not least with the Saxons so close. Sheath thy blades at once!”

The Earl's face twists into utter frustration. He drops his hand from the hilt of his now sheathed blade. Resignation creeps onto his face.

Uther, however, continues: “It will be Champions! Get thee some resolution tonight, but neither of thee will bleed while we're at WAR, God Damn it!”

Sir Vandagild steps at once to the Earl’s side, volunteering to fight on his behalf. The Earl looks at his man, with hints of surprise and admiration: He nods approvingly, but says quietly: “Not today, Sir Vandagild.”

He turns, calling upon a much more expected man; one that all knights of Salisbury have seen many times: Sir Berwin. The intimidating warrior stands from the table of Salisbury; a large, imposing man, wearing the scars of many battles. The Earl takes off his own sword-belt, thrusting the entire collection hard into the chest of a nearby squire, almost knocking the man over; the latter scurries off. Berwin walks confidently to stand alongside the Earl, belting on his own long blade.

Sir Blains, too, calls out for a man.

An area is cleared among the fort; and the declaration is made. 

Roderick, speaking low and quiet, seething but stoic: “To the death, Sir Blains, or are thee such a coward?”

Blains hesitates a moment: “Fine. To the death.”

__________ To The Death __________

The two Knights do battle. They start unmounted, and charge at each other with a flurry of blows. Neither gets great advantage, but Berwin pushes his foe back with his greater strength and heavy blows. Blains' champion is nimble, however, keeping his feet and circling quickly around the larger man. He takes long, probing attacks; Berwin easily defends the blows, almost by second nature. He looks profoundly unchallenged by the lighter strikes of the Levcomagian. He manoeuvres patiently, implacably, and soon, with deceptive footwork and the strength of his great body, he cuts off his man’s escape: With a surprising parry, he takes a crushing grip on the smaller man’s wrist, using his bulk and experience to twist his foe around, kicking him to the floor.

The smaller man, desperate now, scrambles to his feet, but too late: Sir Berwin plunges his blade deep and through the ailing man's chest. The latter coughs and writhes weakly, trying naively to disentangle his failing body from the instrument of its death. He clutches at nothing, blinking blankly and mouthing breathy nothings: Blood pools rapidly at his feet, his fashionable attire an awful red canvas. The tinkling trickle of his life into the sanguine mud is the only accompaniment to his final breath. Berwin holds his eye and keeps his crushing grip on his sword and foe. He watches the man depart for his eternity; only then he lets the man drop into a tangled mess, crumpled sadly in the pool of his own passing. It is a brutal, gruesome display from the mighty warrior.

 

Sir Blains looks sheepish; The Earl still looks angry. Neither side completely satisfied with the outcome, obviously.

For the Earl, this seemed a good opportunity to kill a man of his foe, at best.

To Vandagild’s keen eye, it seems this was a sacrifice: Berwin outclassed the man thoroughly. Did Blains' send forth a scapegoat? He forfeited not his best soldier, knowing that even the best of his men could not beat Berwin! Cowardice of another sort!

As men move forth to tidy the scene, Sir Vandagild shouts at Sir Blains and the Levcomagi:

“Cowardice once more!” he roars, as the men turn to this new wrath, “This is who thee send to the slaughter!? Know thee well thy best men could not stand before Sir Berwin! Willing, are thee, to sacrifice thy men for thy own vanity, pride and cunning! “

Turning to the men of Levcomagus, he continues: “Is this the lord that ye follow!? Willing, is he, to throw any of thee away to protect his pride, and his favourites!? Pathetic! I pity thee, men of Levcomagus.”

Sir Blains is silent; but his men call out: “Thou know not of which you speak, Salisbury scum! Shut thy mouth, dullard!” Some of them get heated, but others share uncertain glances…

Salisbury has won, but the Earl is still furious. He orders his men to follow him away; they camp now outside the fort. The King has also left. As the men of Salisbury pass by the mercenaries of Breton, who fought with us at Mearcred: The Earl speaks quietly to one, and then leaves.

__________ Infirmary Intrigue __________

The next day, the force rides back to Thornbush to collect their wounded, including Sir Iwan. Sir Vandagild is thoughtful a time, but cannot conclude what was discussed between the Earl and the Bretons; he has some ideas, however. While they ride, the Aquitanian takes a moment to apologise to the Earl: He feels responsible for escalating the situation, and brought the problem needlessly to a head. The Earl nods, still angry, but says nothing: It is not clear for whom the anger simmers.

Meanwhile, a march ahead of his companions, the modest Sir Iwan awakens: The beauteous face of Lady Eleri greets him, for this castle is her home. She dotes carefully over the injured man, bidding him to rest and move little. She carefully checks his wounds and bandages, speaking softly to the handsome knight. She clearly tries to act in proper manner, for many are present, but subtly flirts; she commends his bravery, and speaks well of how many Saxons the young warrior must have slain in the sustenance of such injuries. Iwan, knowledgeable of such things, observes that the Lady is taking unnecessary time with the application of the bandages; he does not address this. Soon enough, however, the compassionate woman is called forth to assist another man; she reluctantly stands, sharing a wistful, longing look at the well-formed Sir Iwan, before departing to assist elsewhere.

Beside the handsome Cymric knight, a rough accented voice emerges: "Well you certainly got her attention - that's the Lady of the castle, is it not? My, my..."

Sir Iwan turns, aching, to spy the man: Another wounded knight; swathed in blankets and bandages. The man has a lengthy scar on his left cheek; a white canyon splitting his full beard. 

"It must be my natural handsomeness. I know most cannot be so fortunate." Iwan’s tone is light, not mocking.

The man laughs: "Hah! Alas, I wish I had that kind of fortune! The Franks took that from me far too long ago."

"She has been watching thee for more than today. I thought you should know that. If this is just your uh, natural handsomeness… despite the blood of your wounds. Well… Anyway. I don't see it myself; you're not quite my cup of tea."

"Neither are thee, I must admit." Iwan says with dry humour.

"Hah! Fair enough. So. Uh... What dost thou think of the lady? She has taken some bit of interest in thee. You a married man?"

"Ah... No;” Iwan admits, “my wife died a few years past. I am taken with the lady myself, but I'm usually not so fortunate to be attracted to a freshly widowed lady, I think."

"Hah. Statirius? I haven't seen him around here. He must still be back in Sussex with Uther and the rest of the army."

The older man pauses, leaning close, as much as is possible between two wounded men in separate beds. In a hush, he continues:

"You know... She's... She could be. A widowed woman, I mean... All I'm saying is... She's... quite the catch. I'm not so sure I'd let her go so easily if I were you. After all... So tough these days to find a partner you can really love." he trails off, wistfully...

The scarred knight pushes himself back to his previous position, wincing and groaning. Iwan sees: The left side of face, twisted with the old injury, doesn't move at all; just the right scrunches up.

Iwan is compassionate: "You shouldn't move; you'll kill yourself with those wounds."

“Ahhh,” dismissively, “I've had worse."

He tilts his head over, to show his scar more: "This one!... Hah, this one… If I can survive this, I can sure as hell survive whatever those Saxons did."

He adjusts some more, wincing again, "What is thy name anyways? I'm not from these parts; Sir Marion."

"I am Sir Iwan. Well met."

"To you as well." The man relaxes a little. Iwan asks him some more; where he's from, how he got wounded, and the like.

"Me and my men are from a small place. In Frankish territory. Don't quite have a home. We mostly fight in Brittainy, and Frankland. Earl of Salisbury hired us. It's uh… not been so pleasant for me."

Iwan laughs.

"Whats so funny? You know him?"

"He's my sworn Lord!" Iwan replies, still chuckling.

"Hah! Well. Glad I said no more then." He finishes lightly.

They talk more: The man is the leader of the Breton mercenaries, who Iwan fought beside. He is proud of his men: “Best damned knights you can hire”! They used to fight in Cornwall.

“Roderick seems a solid man. It's not so common for a man to hire the knights who just fucked him over in Battle.” Marion says; Iwan knows not of what he speaks, but he doesn’t inquire.

“Say: You know an Idris, or a Gorlois? I'm pretty sure I fought against Gorlois? Or.. for him? I’ve fought for both of them, anyways, both the King of Cornwall and and the.. Duke? Of Cornwall? No wonder this is all so fucking confusing. You British…” he shakes his head.

“Still! You British Lords; if nothing else, you certainly know how to pay on time.”

Iwan, dryly: “One of our few virtues, I assure you.”

"Hah! Anyways: Keep thee an eye on the prize over there, hahaha..."

Iwan grins, revealing nought more than he already has.

“Listen: You ever need men, and you can afford us, you send a missive down to Brittainy. Once I'm back in fighting condition at least.”

__________ Consolidation and Consideration __________

Sir Elvorix, of course, does not miss his chance to meet with Sir Argan at the opportunity. Expectedly, the vengeful Constable is not in the best of spirits. He remembers Elvorix, from last night; he then remembers him again, from last year, groaning. Elvorix left a door ajar once: Argan remembers it keenly.

Still, unimpressed but professional, Sir Argan goes over the details with the wily Roman, who has well discussed the matter with his wife. The prudent Roman is well-prepared. They exchange some documents to obtain the Forestry Rights; Though Argan is at first unclear to what the King agreed, Sir Elvorix doesn't try to exploit the confusion by claiming rights to Chace as well. The Forestry rights, of course, are merely the prerequisite for both the Chace and the Deer Park; he will bide his time. Sir Argan goes through his document-chest, producing some for the Roman.

He warns Elvorix: “Make sure you get thee onto the good side of the local Sheriff: Uther likes not to be dragged into petty disputes.”

Elvorix assents, and thanks the King's Constable for his time.

Noting that this seems beyond the traditional responsibilities of Constable, it appears that Argan has, willingly or unwillingly, taken on responsibilities beyond the norm for a Constable...

Over the coming weeks, Sirs Elvorix and Vandagild check in repeatedly with their friend Sir Iwan, and ride home with him once he is able. The mercenaries of Breton remain nearby.

As the knights return to Salisbury, they pass through Silchester: Uneventful.

That Winter, however, they hear that Silchester has been raided. Vandagild suspects he knows what the Earl discussed with the Bretons at Woldhurst.

Quietly, Sir Iwan inquires about some details of hiring with Sir Marion... Of the original 20 knights, 14 remain; they suffered substantial casualties at Mearcred. The force will cost £42 a month. He considers the options for securing a widow. Sir Marion is right, he decides: He should not be so static in this regard.

An aside: Eleri is heiress to large tracts of land. Statirius' sons are set to inherit.

That Winter: Sir Vandagild, bolstered with gains from fisheries, battle and ransom, inquires with Roderick how best he might help the realm by developing his land. The Earl considers for some time, deciding that he would wish for greater favour with the Church. Vandagild, known well for his Spirituality and Generosity, needs no further encouragement: His riparian Fisheries well-established, he hence endows the church with no less than three plots of his land: Within the robust palisade and enclosure, construction of a small Church is then commissioned, to be named St Amphibalus' Church, Winterbourne.

His children are all still well, though his eldest twin, Vandric, seems somewhat frail and stilted; perhaps some lingering effects from his old illness? Or some protracted curse from that damned Witch’s “protective” stone? Some shadow of the Forest of Gloom? Little matter: The Aquitanian trusts God’s plan.

Ongoing grief for Lady Catrin, nurtured now in heaven, stops short any serious talk of wedding; nonetheless, Roderick approves of a new wife for Vandagild when he so chooses to take one. The scarred hunter also imports £1 of fine Aquitanian Wine for his upcoming hunting trip with Elvorix and Prince Madoc.

An already impressive swordsman, he spends time at home learning the blade; if he is to fight as Roderick’s champion one day, he had best be ready. Between responsibilities, he continues riding the trails and forests of his lands, through which he used to accompany Catrin: By God’s Grace, his excellent horsemanship continues to improve; he is among the finest riders in the realm. His efforts through the year see his Loyalty to Roderick noted.

His companions report nothing of note for the Winter.

King Uther opts not to hold Woldhurst; it was not a fine fort. 

__________ 486! Easter at Sarum __________

Earl Roderick is still angry. Less angry, but still angry. As the normal easter folk gather at Sarum, he offers no talk of grand plans or musters. He is quiet, for the most part, though courteous and hospitable. Those who know him well can tell he schemes.

Sir Brastias arrives on behalf of Gorlois, meeting with the Earl; as emissaries of that alliance, the Wolves of Logres are present. This year is one to hold off, they agree: The Earl plans no offensive this year, and the Irish continue to harass Cornwall; most of their manpower is committed to defend their shores. Sir Vandagild waits, giving the Earl opportunity to declare any plans; with nothing forthcoming he offers this: Absent any use for the men, Vandagild is keen to volunteer to fight the Irish if required. The Earl nods, but declares that this year is defensive; there are many threats to Salisbury: His men must remain close, and ready in these lands to defend them as required. The Wolves nod, and are dismissed.

Over the course of Easter court, the major points of gossip extend beyond Salisbury, Sir Blains, or Summerland. Instead, the courtiers murmur of the Saxon Shore, to the east. A Saxon landing party has arrived on the shores, they say; they attacked near Monument Hill, despite the King's forces being encamped nearby. The young Duke Lucious and Sir Marvais, his regent, managed to defend the lands decently; they lost some small territory, but Sir Marvais led a resilient defence at Camulodunum; they held out long enough to King Uther to arrive with reinforcements and break the siege.

In addition, we hear rumours. These were no normal Saxons: They were fashioning themselves as vassals of one “King Aethelswith”, who declares himself King of the Eastern Saxons. Disgusting.

The Wolves of Logres share their hatred of this new Saxon threat, and spit on the name of this King.

Given the relatively passive year, Sirs Vandagild and Elvorix try to organise a Hunting trip in Elvorix's new forests, inviting both Earl Roderick and Prince Madoc.

The Earl assents, on the condition that it happen at the end of Summer. Prince Madoc is keen, as always, to drink and hunt. Thus, at the feast, Sir Elvorix drinks with him. The Prince approves of Elvorix's ambitious and lofty plans for the Deer Park: “looks like you've got it all figured out then, huh!?”

Elvorix smiles, and enjoys his wine.

"Hell, maybe one of these days I'll show you up North - there's a really great forest up in Bedegraine..." the Prince adds.

The Roman thanks Madoc for his help with Lady Diane and the King. He asks if Madoc has any plans to scrounge up forces to go attack the Saxons any time soon; the Saxon Shore was taken from Elvorix's family some years ago, and to be able to fight there again would take a load off his mind. Indeed, to see it in the hands of those animals drives him to rage! Prince Madoc replies dismissively that they have foolishly settle in too close to the ocean; they’re undefended and with nowhere to manoeuvre - his father will slam them into the Ocean.

“Just like in Gilamanus; you hear about that one? That was in Aurelius' time. Smashed them into the sea. Fuck that was a good battle… So I heard, anyway! Wish I was there. Hah!” The Prince sighs, sipping thoughtfully.

The Roman presses for any intrigue, but learns little from the easy-going Prince. He does, however, discover that the Earl is expecting retaliation from Blains, or further advances from Summerland; hence his defensive orders.

Sir Vandagild tells the gathered courtiers of the church he is building. He seeks Sir Cadel, but he is strangely absent. His brother-in-law, Sir Uvan, is near, however, and they talk: The young Pict is starting to build in confidence, and is making some headway in overcoming the grief and pressure of his father's death. Vandagild is proud of the younger man, sympathetic and light, wishing his former squire continued health and growth.

__________ Peculiar Patrols __________

The Wolves ride patrol in defence of Salisbury. Near the northwestern border, they see: Castle Devizes, with the flags of Cadwy and Summerland flying high. Vandagild spits as they ride the border; he shares dark, mistrustful words of the Summerlanders with Sir Iwan. The foe have become more entrenched; their modest outposts now more like forts. Sirs Iwan and Elvorix recognise once more the forest edge they spied last year: The improved fortifications also extend around the forest edge. 

The usual morass of peasants approach and ask the mounted Lords for decisions of justice and the like; the normal things.

As they ride, the knights spy a group of commoners: Better dressed than peasants, but surely not noble. The Wolves recognise most of the regular folk of Salisbury, but this far north they are less sure of the folk of this land. Sir Elvorix recognises them quite clearly - he believes they may be from the market near his land! The folk are allowed to pass, which will likely have no consequences because definitely we didn't all fail or critically fail our Recognise rolls...

The second day, a group of clergymen stand beside the road and argue amongst themselves. Poorly educated in matters of religion, the Wolves cannot pin down their denomination from their appearance alone, but their arguments get heated! They discuss some religious Canon and Law of apparently great importance. The knights approach, concerned with the conflict.

One looks at us with worry: “This man is harboring a witch!

“She is NOT a witch! She is my sister, and nothing of her behaviour indicates witchcraft!”

The first turns back, fuming in retort, citing religious texts and accusing her of vile areligious practices: “This man,” he turns back to the knights, “and his sister, must be excised from the Church! Arrest him at once!”

The accused shouts back, begging them instead to arrest the accuser!

Before any can speak further, Sir Elvorix declares: “The solution here is obvious! We arrest them all, and bring them to Roderick.”

He begins to arrest all of them, pulling rope from his pack.

Sir Vandagild tries to calm, them all asking after their denomination and the details of the accusation.

The Accuser scoffs loudly, “Denomination!?! I'm from THE Church!”

Sir Elvorix grabs him more harshly.

The other: “He is from the Roman Church! I'm from the British Church!”

Sir Elvorix, pauses his assault, instead tying the British Christian man up, and inviting the Roman to ride beside them.

Sir Iwan is pondering quietly, lost in the nuance; he turns to the other brother, asking after the location and details of the witch.

The Roman Christian: “He's hiding her! Somewhere... somewhere! I don't know where, she is no doubt concealed by the foul products of her own demonic practices!”

Iwan: “Yes, yes, good man, but what did she do?”

“Witchcraft!”

Iwan, sighing: “Well, did you tie her to a duck and throw her into a pond?”

Exasperated accuser: “We tried! But we could not FIND her!”

Elvorix now, pragmatic and securing his prisoners, and trying to determine jurisidiction: “Where do you live? What are you all doing here, and where are you from!?”

Roman Accuser: “I'm from Ambrius Abbey! I was walking to Upaven, to see family, and I came across this... this… Heathen! And I've met his sister - I know much about her!”

Sir Vandagild: “So you say. But what, exactly, in detail, has she done?”

“She turned my brother into a newt!”

The Aquitanian stares at them both, eyes narrowing. His hand wanders to the hilt of his blade.

Sir Elvorix asks each man if he will, on his Honour, ride with the Wolves to Sarum; each man agrees, so long as they see Justice done!

British Christian defendant: “But, My Lord, there's no need to go to Sarum! He just needs to go back to his Abbey and leave me alone!”

Sir Elvorix shakes his head: “If anyone is accusing anyone of a crime, the Earl must decide justice! Come willingly, or thou will be bound and taken by force.”

Eventually, grumpily, he assents: “Fine! I know the Earl to be a good British Christian man - he will see things my way, I'm sure!”

The Wolves return to Logres - they await the verdict. Sir Vandagild is eager: If a witch there be, he will see her dead.

Seeing the matter, Earl Roderick consults with his holy men. The brother of the "witch" is absolved, and leaves without issue. However, the Earl declares that the man's sister is to be seen in Sarum by the end of the season for her judgement. The clergy are returned to their homes in Ambrius and Upaven.

The Roman Christian eagerly supports the lord's decision: “That witch will be seen, and meet her end soon enough!”

Sir Elvorix, ushering him out, warns him to cause no more trouble. The knights return him to his abbey: As he enters, they hear other people yelling at him from behind the doors… no doubt a renowned troublemaker. Vandagild sighs.

The knights share a short discussion, with this fun conclusion: While Elvorix understands the peasants, he cares not for them. Sir Vandagild cares greatly for them, but understands them nought. Iwan laughs dryly as he rides away, eager to return to patrol.

__________

 

 Image 1: https://ro.pinterest.com/pin/298082069080037885/ (Couldn't find original)

Image 2: https://fineartamerica.com/featured/spain-medieval-hospital-granger.html?product=art-print

King Arthur Pendragon V5.2