《Victor Tempestsson》 Chapter I: The Storm of Storms Grey storms troubled the coasts of Jorvik since ancient days. Such was the force of them that many who lived near to them understood that to venture away from the shore at such times, was madness. It had by the time of this tale long since become a common phrase to say, ¡®to venture out into a storm,¡¯ as a means of commenting upon another¡¯s madness or naivet¨¦ (or both). Such was the scorn that the people in particular of the lands of Gr?rotburh had for those prone to such folly that they never failed, to make jeering songs insulting them. This was not to say that they were without empathy, for those fishermen desperate or unlucky enough, to be out at sea when the tempest suddenly struck. To the contrary, for they had more than once offered their assistance to those men, who found themselves lost at sea, so that they tended to put up another proverb every time a ship was seen drifting by in the distance. ¡®For every Gr?rotburh-man or woman there is a Gallian or Arnish father,¡¯ the saying originated from how many, were descended from Northmen or Gallians who had drifted ashore. Where most villages had a tendency to find themselves, often fearful of Arnish raids, especially since the Arn-Kings had been chased away by ?thelwulf, the King of Brittia, Gr?rotburh was different. Though, they did not trust their new Brittian monarch much more than they had, their neighbours did, they were content to be left alone by him. They also had less reason to fear Norse Viking-raids due in no small part, to their local Jarl¡¯s large wooden-castle keep that loomed atop a nearby hill overlooking the sea. There was only one matter that induced such apprehension, over their situation; that of their lord¡¯s undeniable youth. ¡°It was entirely the fault of his father,¡± some were prone to complaining, especially Hunbeorht the fisherman, when deep into his cups, his mead-filled drinking-horn often kept close to him after dark, especially in the winter-months. ¡°I swear to thee, his foolish comportment would never have been tolerated by his late grandfather, the previous Jarl. Now there, was a wise ruler if ever there was one!¡± ¡°Oh do be quiet Hunbeorht,¡± Some might shout such as the tavern-master, Leodbeorht, ¡°Ye mutter too harshly, about our previous Jarl.¡± ¡°¡®Tis the truth, he should never have meddled in matters pertaining to Lilystone-Keep, and its master Adam.¡± Hunbeorht muttered always in response, hardly ever satisfied or put off by the complaints of his neighbours. He knew full well that they did not sincerely intend to silence him, for they well knew him to have the right of it. Who could deny the folly of delving into the haunted lands of Lilystone? Especially when one was a Jarl with but one son, and a young one of eight years of age at that, no uttered the locals often and under their breaths, their prior lord was not a wise man. What none criticized about him though, was the good nature and sincerity that guided his every act, as brave by nature as the man¡¯s southron wife was fearful by nature. Eadgifu was a fair-woman by any stretch of the imagination, beauteous in spite of having given birth to a child however she was also of an ever increasing anxious almost paranoid nature. This was how dark whisperings and rumours had begun that she might have her brothers, and half-brothers from the southern lands of Valburh brought hither to guard her, and her son. The brothers in question, having a nefarious reputation for violence a great many did not greet this gossip with much enthusiasm. Lo! I have painted for ye dear reader, a bleak painting indeed. You can for this reason, why the local people looking up and realising that the heavens were blackened might prefer to hide away in their huts and small wooden-houses. Many were those who shook their heads in dismay, whilst others beamed at the vision of the darkened heavens, pleased as they were that the heavy rainfall was to prove a boon for their crops. It was also with a certain dismay and worry that they cast their eyes out into the sea, to discover a distant sloop cutting its way through the waves. The twin-sails of the large ship were held up by large masts that were visible from the shore, with the sails twin black bolts of cloth that hardly set anyone¡¯s nerves at ease. It reminded many of the ever looming threat, since the fall of the Arnish Kings of Jorvik, of piratical Nordic raids. ¡°They ought to weigh anchor and hurry hither to the shore,¡± Judged all the fishermen, Hunbeorht especially. But the captain of the vessel was evidently hardly of the same, quality intellectually or in practical sea-matters that the fisherman was. Refusing to halt for the night, he was to attempt to press on; doing so long after the locals had turned to their beds, hopeful to sleep through the thunderstorm that followed. The first of the men to drift ashore, onto the beach the following morn¡¯, was stout and barely alive so that the locals had difficulties reviving him. It was not until old Ada, a nearby widow of a fisherman two years gone, leapt up and threw her knee deep into his gut that he regurgitated the water trapped within his lungs. ¡°Do not simply stand about, carry him thither to my home, we must attend him!¡± The old woman screeched taking matters in hand, alongside Leodbeorht. The tavern-master was next to come to the rescue of a survivor from the ruined ship, having the man taken away to his pub without a second¡¯s hesitation. This second man being a younger man, with vivid blonde hair, who revived swifter than the plump sailor Ada had revived. Hardly cognizant until another eight men had been rescued, the youth began his tale haltingly, in hoarse tones which bespoke of a need for drink. It was hastily supplied, by a very swift Leodbeorht. ¡°Merci,¡± he murmured with Leodbeorht startled by this one word calling for someone to be sent to the local monastery dedicated to the goddess Tempestas. Only one of their ranks might well be able to translate the youth¡¯s words. The monk dedicated to the storm goddess came soon, having alongside the other monks who lived barely an hour away been made aware that there were many who had drifted onto the beaches of Gr?rotburh. ¡°I am here, everyone make way! Make way!¡± Reluctantly, the people who had begun to crowd the tavern entrance made way, with Leodbeorht relieved to see that it was Brother Harold, who had arrived. The monk was a frequent visitor of the pub, the Merry-Hog and was a practical man, who did not often let himself become distracted by more romantic theological matters, like his peers who hid themselves deep within the abbey. ¡°Brother, we have given him a drink, if you would do us the honour of translating his Gallian tongue for us, we would be obliged, as would he I imagine.¡± Leodbeorht uttered welcoming the bald, fifty-four year old paunchy monk who advanced at a swifter pace than some half his age could. ¡°C¡¯est quoi ton nom?¡± Harold burst out, with nary a preamble, throwing himself at once into interrogating the sailor resting in the tavern-master¡¯s bed. ¡°Renaud, fr¨¨re,¡± the young man answered at once, in a pious tone. ¡°His name is Renaud, or Rinaldo if you will,¡± Harold translated at once, with but a momentary glance to those gathered all about and behind him. These perfunctory introductions out of the way, the good monk moved next to the matter of translating the boy¡¯s story, even as he told it. It was with growing alarm that they soon learnt of the reasons for the ship¡¯s departure from the lands of Noren?ia to the north of Neustria, and who it had carried. ¡°The ship of the Lion-Noir, thus named by the usurper King of Neustria set sail by his command for Caledonia, with the intention to re-establish trade-relations. Selected for the duty to act the role of ambassador was the rightful Baron de Lunard. But the baron in question being displaced by his cousin, the Comte who had usurped his lands had complained to Charles the King. But Charles had little in the way of compassion for the young baron. Thus, he was exiled without being formally cast out from the kingdom,¡± Translated Harold calmly with some minor difficulty and this only after minutes of listening to the youth. ¡°He was exiled because he was usurped?¡± One of the patrons asked confused. ¡°That is the extent of this youth¡¯s knowledge,¡± The monk replied. ¡°Likely the baron deserved his fate.¡± The monk might well have agreed were it not for the youth continuing his tale, which caused Harold some trouble to translate properly for those who surrounded him. ¡°It happened that they had set out in good spirits, with the sole individual aboard the ship hardly in good humour being the Lord Marculf himself. Full to the brim with grief, he was to stay near the rear of the ship until the port had long since disappeared from sight. His sister had stood there staring after him, heartbroken and full of such sorrow as to make even the most hardened of men cover their faces, such was the pain that the siblings felt. We were at sea for days, and days with the captain a man who had journeyed up the coast of Brittia but once before, and that was twenty some years hence. More accustomed, to sailing to ¨¦riu, he had utterly misjudged the situation and though he tolerated no questions, or doubtful remarks about his leadership, it soon became common knowledge he was sailing blindly. Most were unsure, if we had over-shot the mark so to speak, or if we were near to Caledonia, many fell to despair such that two men leapt over-board. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. When at last the Lord Marculf lost patience with the incompetent captain, and urged him to listen to the first-mate, a much more veteran sea-dog, accustomed to this journey. It was too late; we hit a rock just as a storm broke out.¡± There were a great many murmurs that escaped the crowd, most were stunned at the folly of the captain. The boy went on, and Harold carried on with his translation, even as he seated himself to begin to commit all that he heard to writing. Only now thinking it might be useful for him to write a note or two regarding what had come to pass, to the abbot of the abbey. ¡°At the first, we were all stunned especially those of us on the oars, and we began to pray to the good goddess of the storm, that she might be appeased. It was all to no avail, if she heard our pleas she paid them no mind for the ship began to falter and collapse. So that all knew that this might well be the end, and we were to sup on the morrow within the gloomy halls of the storm-goddess. Lo! I tell you now, never had a ship been more, full of weeping, of sorrow and of fear than the Lion-Noir was: Night fell and hope departed, so that all lost sight of reason. We might well have sunk our own ship in a fit of madness, were it not for the good Baron. Newly knighted, and young so that he had appeared to us almost akin to a child, I daresay I though nine and ten years of age am still older than he! He rose up, as a man possessed steely arms upraised and oar cast aside a great bellow torn from his lips. ¡®Away, we must fly from this ship and cast ourselves into the sea,¡¯ He told us, stern and tall as only he could be in that moment. Though the captain of the ship had shown little joy, when the lord took command, he nonetheless could do little to keep him from assisting us over the edge of the ship. ¡®Go with the grace of Tempestas and Marianne,¡¯ he told us hearkening to Tempestas and the Golden Goddess, for our protection. Praying for each man as he assisted him, carrying some and escorting others, organizing all into groups to seize a piece of driftwood torn from the mast, the corners of the ship or down below where the oars were to be found. Valorous and unbending, he was so that even the first mate obeyed. It was masterful to behold him move about the ship while others trembled, he flew where others stumbled, so graceful was he that not one man failed to call him ¡®lord¡¯ or ¡®sieur¡¯ in that moment. ¡®You must go now, milord and abandon me now,¡¯ quoth he who had led us into this disaster, such was the shame that he felt. ¡®Never, o captain, were I to desert you in thy hour of need, I could no more call myself a knight than I could continue to call myself a good Quirinian.¡± Marculf argued, in return stern and soft in voice then all at once. I overheard them, due in no small part because I had just stumbled above-deck, unseen by the good lord who noticed me only thence, and at once there was such a spark of anger in his eyes as to frighten me. Seizing me, he threw me bodily over the ship, with such a bellow that I grew for the first since I met him, frightened of him.¡¯ When the tale was told and poor Renaud lapsed into unconsciousness, the people fell quiet also. None knew quite what they ought to say, for all were shocked by the tale. The first to speak was Leodbeorht who asked of Harold, ¡°He said more, what else did he say ere he fell away to unconsciousness, brother?¡± ¡°Hmm? Oh, what he had to say was that the lord leapt from the ship, out into the surf and began to swim in spite of the weight of his arms and hauberk.¡± Harold uttered adding after a moment¡¯s thought, ¡°I shall only add this; in the moment when he saved the crew and threw himself bodily overboard, he truly did as no other man could have and mastered his fate.¡± With those quiet and sombre words, Leodbeorht once again took command of the situation, calling for the crowd to leave. It was only until there were but five people still in the tavern that he asked of them, ¡°Timothy I would have you call upon her ladyship. She must be informed of what has come to pass, as for you Leodegrance prepare your boat that we may search for survivors.¡± ¡°What do you have in mind, Leodbeorht, you shan¡¯t expect us to search the sea for one man? It is very likely he drowned due to being dragged down by his armour!¡± Leodegrance complained at once. ¡°Never you mind, prepare it, and select the eldest of your sons,¡± Ordered the tavern-master brooking no argument, familiar with the sons of the man. They were all stout boys, but the eldest Morcar was the hardiest of the lot. Once they had stepped outside, and he had left the other three men to guard the resting sailors, he muttered to himself with a glance to the heavens. ¡°We must not tarry, with petty fears and disagreements, lest we be caught out when the storm returns¡­¡± It was with these frightened and ominous words that they set out to sea, in the hopes that they might rescue the poor knight who had so heroically saved the Lion-Noir¡¯s crew. Though, Morcar and Leodegrance had no great enthusiasm for the duty, they dispensed it well in spite of many complaints. ¡°Cast your nets,¡± Commanded Leodbeorht when they were some distance from the shore. This they did, and they met with failure. Thrice more he was to suggest that they cast their nets, and each time they met with failure. It was as they withdrew the net and the tavern-master lost faith that the youth, Morcar became all the more resolute. ¡°We shan¡¯t give up our efforts quite yet, old Leodbeorht,¡± Morcar said all of a sudden, surprising him with his grit. Staring at the twenty-year old youth in bewilderment Leodbeorht said to him, ¡°But we have already tried, and you yourself had no wish at the outset to help this knight.¡± ¡°Aye, but that was before,¡± the youth stuttered wishing to do right and cling to his pride all at once. Shaking his head, uncomprehending the two old men did as they were urged. It was not long thereafter that fortune, or perhaps it was fate at last favoured their efforts as from the depths of the sea surged a hand over the side of their small fishing vessel. Startled as the hand had appeared from behind them, and with tales of corpses lost at sea returning to the living to drag them into the depths they nearly struck the figure. It was fortunate that they did no such thing. Though his face was hidden thanks to the shadows cast by the lateness of the hour, for the night was moonless they knew him by the description of his long, limbs that they pulled at. This they did for some time, until he was at last tugged onto the boat. Once he had collapsed onto the fishing-ship it creaked ominously, with the three of them hurriedly rowing eager to get back to land. Drifting past a number of ships that were setting out, as the locals each not wishing to be surpassed in nobility by the three of them, followed their examples. Led by brother Harold, who had cast aside his thick robes in favour of a tunic he had borrowed from another of the fishermen, he said to them. ¡°What an impulsive act, now row ye knaves, lest we fail to prove ourselves more vigorous than they!¡± The monk¡¯s words pulled a couple of chuckles from the men, who did as bidden, even as the monk turned his attention to the first of the ships to have set out. ¡°We have found the Baron, and are taking him back,¡± Leodbeorht confirmed to him, pulling the slightest of nods from the clergyman, who torch in hand continued to urge the fishermen forward. The beach was regained; thereupon they discovered a number of the womenfolk awaiting them. Many of whom were more concerned for their men, casting faint tears into the sea in some cases. Others still held themselves more upright and with nary any tears, rather three of these stronger sorts helped in the pulling the ship well away from the sea and the tying of it. Turning to his wife, Leodegrance asked of her, ¡°Any word from her ladyship?¡± ¡°No, I imagine the fool sent has somehow tripped his way into a goblet or barrel full of mead and beer.¡± The old woman grumbled, ¡°I think it might have been wiser to send Brother Harold up the hill to fetch her.¡± ¡°It could never be Harold, she has no love for him,¡± Leodbeorht corrected her. ¡°But he has more sense than any other monk,¡± Protested another of the women, it was Leogifu, niece of Leodegrance¡¯s wife. ¡°What of the baron?¡± Another of the women asked keenly. ¡°He is here, having foolish worn his armour for raiment even whilst at sea,¡± Leodbeorht grumbled unimpressed by the lack of wits on the part of the man in question. They did not speak much more of the nobleman, so that they pulled him with some difficulty from near the sea. Taking him away to the tavern, they were to put him to bed, in another of the straw-beds there, where Harold was called hither to minister to him. When they set about waiting for the monk, it was Sigrid (wife of Leodbeorht), who complained being the first to take notice of how they had left the man¡¯s helm on his head. ¡°What a great bunch of fools you all are to have left such a garish mask on his head, when he might well be choking.¡± She complained in that way that all those who have lived for more than sixty-years upon this earth, could. ¡°We forgot woman,¡± Morcar grunted irritated and embarrassed. ¡°Never you mind that, we ought to wait for Brother Harold,¡± Leodbeorht said too weary to worry about the knight at present and feeling he had already done his part. The helm now that he looked upon it, was decorated with a steel mask that hid the face yet was shaped rather like it with only holes for the eyes. Clearly hand-crafted by Dwarves for it captured the most angelic of male visages imaginable without truly being made flesh, it was as unsettling to look upon as much as it caught the eye. The moment that she had reached over to remove his helm, she was halted by the hand of the warrior who caught her up mid-motion. With his green-flashing eyes peering up at her from within the metal helm, his gaze flashed with such disapproval that she froze where she stood. ¡°Que fais-tu madame?¡± His Gallian words were not comprehended, with the lady stuttering a response whereupon he realized what tongue she spoke, and he spoke once more. His Brittian was broken, accented and of a negligible quality. ¡°What pray-tell dear lady, is the reason for which you have reached your hand towards me?¡± Recovering her self-respect and sense of dignity the lady was to object to his hand upon her own, puffing up she said to him, ¡°I merely wished to remove your helm, so that you may breath all the easier.¡± Marculf considered her words, and might well have answered with Leodbeorht unsure if he had properly understood her. They were fortunate when Harold arrived, weary and ill-tempered as he reported. ¡°We have discovered another thirteen men, I do believe that is all of them,¡± He took notice then of the nobleman, switching to his Gallian he soon translated for the youth¡¯s hosts. ¡°He was most concerned for his crew, let him rest and in a few hours bring him some gruel and bread.¡± ¡°But what of his lungs and the water that likely is still therein him?¡± Leodbeorht¡¯s wife complained. ¡°If he can speak, he is in good health leave him,¡± Harold retorted shortly, grumbling, ¡°I am wearied therefore if there is nothing else, I should like to retire back to the monastery to rest.¡± ¡°Certainly, Brother Harold, you have our thanks and gratitude,¡± the tavern-master said at once, grateful to the monk for his assistance.
The following morning, after Leodbeorht had awoken and arisen from the bed he had slept in, with his wife in one of the spare rooms, it was to discover a frantic Ivarr. The youngest of Morcar¡¯s brothers, the youth said to him, in a voice of such panic and terror that at once drew the older man¡¯s attention and caused him to awaken completely. ¡°It is terrible! Leodbeorht you must come at once!¡± ¡°Why? Speak sense lad!¡± ¡°It is Brother Harold!¡± ¡°What? What is the matter with the good Brother?¡± He pressed confused, and worried all the more. ¡°Is he injured? Did he trip along the road to the monastery?¡± ¡°No, he is not injured but rather¡­.¡± Ivarr hesitated, only to persist when prompted, ¡°He is dead!¡± Chapter II: The Dark Lady by the Shore ¡°Dead? How could such a thing be?¡± Leodbeorht gasped hardly able to believe his own ears, it took him some time for him to properly digest Ivarr¡¯s words, such was the disbelief he felt. When he did his mind was stricken, with not a word leaving him for several minutes. ¡°By all the gods, he was alive but several hours before now!¡± ¡°He was found with his neck broken, most assume he fell,¡± Ivarr informed him helpfully out of breath. ¡°Most?¡± ¡°Yes, for Wulfram, Morcar and father along with several of the monks are all there- I mean that they sent me to inform you and the rest of the village.¡± Ivarr explained to him, visibly distraught and hardly able to put his thoughts in order. At present in marked contrast to several hours hence, Leodbeorht did not know how best to answer or what he should do. He was rescued from his current state of bewilderment and stricken indecision, by the lordly Marculf whose voice resonated richly from some distance behind Ivarr. ¡°Spread the word of what has happened, bar-keeper while the boy escorts me to the site where this Harold fell.¡± Both men acted at once, with Leodbeorht¡¯s wife left to care for the sailors, and to organize the women in the event that they should be in danger. Soon the cry of ¡®Murder! Murder!¡¯ echoed throughout the land of Shorewood, with the reason for Marculf¡¯s encouragement of such horrifying news perplexing both Ivarr and the two who owned the tavern. ¡°Why spread such news?¡± Ivarr asked of him ere they had departed. ¡°Because, it is best for all to know, what has happened and to tread lightly,¡± Answered the knight with visible concern reflected in his emerald eyes. ¡°Lead me whither thereupon the site where this poor, wretched Harold has fallen.¡± Though, he had come nearer to drowning than any other man, and his limbs must have weighed upon him Marculf gave neither sign nor utterance of fatigue. Rather as he ran alongside the youth, he moved with such grace and vigour that the almost decade old youth could not but admire him. The nearby forest known to the peasants simply as the ¡®forest¡¯, ought to be known to you by the name which the monks had given to it which was that of the ¡®Shorewoods¡¯. This was in deference to the coastal village that was so near to the coast-line. Full of oaks, ashes and redwoods the forest was one that stood as proof of the wisdom of the rulers of Shorewood. Gathered about the corpse of poor old Brother Harold, were Wulfram the Woodcutter, a large muscular man just shy of thirty and of an incredibly timid nature for a man his size. Alongside him were Leodegrance and Morcar, both of whom were in the midst of bending down to pick up the plump corpse of the old monk. As to the three monks, two were Tigruns that is to say cat-men both with dark and grey fur. ¡°How could this happen?¡± Bedivere the abbot wondered, his wolf-like snout wrinkling and his eyes milky with unshed tears. A genial if idealistic old dog, he had lived the whole of his life in the locality and had seen little of the violence of the world, outside of three aborted invasions by Northmen. And during those particular incidences he had not had the protection of the previous local barons. ¡°It is very likely that he tripped and fell, High-Brother,¡± Cuthbert the other Wolfram or wolf-man as they are also called muttered. ¡°It was not likely, nor is it probable,¡± Marculf burst out upon his arrival at the scene in the forest near where old Harold had fallen. ¡°What? Who are you to intrude upon us, here?¡± Cuthbert retorted bewildered and disliking the young man¡¯s tone. ¡°This is the baron Marculf,¡± Morcar introduced helpfully, only to draw to his embarrassment disapproving looks from the two monk, neither of them at all pleased with his actions. ¡°I do hope you do not intend to move this corpse,¡± Marculf said as he bent down to examine the fallen body of Harold. When he spoke it was in the native tongue of the people of Gallia, so that the vast majority of those present did not grasp his meaning. Of the monks though Bedivere, though not the most well-travelled of the monks knew the meaning of his words at once. His own Gallian was rather more accented, having been passed down to him by the previous abbot, who had raised him so that when he spoke it took Marculf a moment to understand him in turn. ¡°And why do you hope we do not intend to do so, Sieur Marculf?¡± ¡°Because, I should like to first examine the body,¡± Marculf informed him at once. ¡°Why? He must be taken to the monastery to receive the proper burial rites, as prescribed by the book of Orcus.¡± Cuthberth objected at once, making reference to the Canticle which was the holy book of the people of North-Agenor. ¡°Because,¡± Marculf hesitated before answering as the abbot translated for the other monk, considering his words carefully ere he next spoke. ¡°This man was not slain by accident.¡± ¡°How could you know that?¡± The hostility in the voice of Cuthbert when he asked this particular query startled the knight who hesitated as did all others all the more. ¡°Why do you think it unwise to move him?¡± Leodegrance questioned curiously, keen to keep the peace between the two men. Marculf though he did not say much more, his eyes flashed with such displeasure that his own displeasure was well-known to any who observed his gaze. Not that he kept the windows to his soul upon the other men, but rather preferred to examine the foliage with his gaze. The branches he studied so closely, with such raptness were pine trees with branches easily whipped about ordinarily. These ones though were caught against one another. This at once captured the attention of the baron. Touching a few with his gauntleted hand, he proceeded thence to study the ground, both near the corpse and past the foliage. ¡°What is it you are searching for?¡± Morcar queried bewildered by the strange behaviour of the man he had helped to rescue the previous day. Marculf did not answer. Preferring to examine the corpse, he gingerly touched here and there along the wrists and ankles of the old man who was laid out on his belly, with his back in the air. It was the expression though that arrested Lunard¡¯s attention and drew him up short. His eyes grim and flashing he stood upright once more, and said to the old abbot. ¡°This was no accident, with your permission abbot; I should very much like to inspect the nearby woods, while you take the corpse away.¡± ¡°What of your inspection of the body?¡± Cuthbert interrupted impatiently. ¡°I am done now, and think that it is time to take him away as you said, for his funerary rites.¡± ¡°Excellent, so very glad we required your assistance,¡± the monk muttered sarcastic and bitter though the knight took no notice of it. ¡°What is it you seek?¡± Leodegrance asked visibly affected by the vision of his friend¡¯s corpse, blinking away tears as a shadow passed over his face and those of the other men still present therewith the baron. ¡°I know not,¡± Answered Marculf quietly. ¡°If that is true, why do you search the forest earth, as one in the midst of a hunt?¡± Morcar questioned bewildered, only to repeat his question once more when the baron stared in confusion at his words. It fell upon Ivarr to speak up the sentence in broken Romalian, the scholars¡¯ tongue which Marculf was far more fluent in and which the child was learning from the monastery. Learning it because of how his father wished to give him over to the monastery, while the nobleman learnt it as part of his education during his time in Norddard, under the supervision of the lovely Comtesse Judith of Noren?ie. ¡°Because I am in the midst of a hunt,¡± Marculf answered mysteriously it seemed to them, though to his mind there was no mystery in regards to his thinking. ¡°I have learnt from my time studying under the Sieur Armel that when such crimes are committed, they become as beasts and must be hunted in like manner.¡± ¡°Such a terrible thing to say,¡± Ivarr gasped disgusted by his words. ¡°Yes it is,¡± Marculf agreed, ¡°But ¡®tis the sad truth of the life I have thus far lived.¡± Something in his words and eyes were a comfort to the men who all gazed at one another, chilled by the notion of hunting a man, but grateful and glad that the knight took no joy in it. It was as Morcar went to take a step forward thither just ahead of the baron that he was suddenly seized and pulled away. Amazed by the strength of the man who had gripped him torn him nigh on off his feet in an act of sudden madness or so it appeared to those around him. ¡°What is the matter with him?¡± Morcar demanded irritably when he stumbled back out of the reach of the Lord of Lunard. Ivarr dutifully communicated the question if haltingly to him. ¡°The tracks,¡± Marculf said in his accented voice in even worst Brittian, pointing a single gauntleted finger down at a series of tracks near some broken branches and the smaller ones of Brother Harold. All of the other men gasped and stared in astonishment at the steps in question, only to follow his finger as it pointed whither into the woods along a short trail that snaked its way north-eastwards. ¡°What does it mean?¡± Leodegrance questioned for all of those who had followed him into the woods away from the comfort and safety, of the main road. ¡°It means that while Harold travelled through the forest, he tread away from the path only to be ambushed by another man. Or he may have been walking away from the path, when this other man snuck upon him.¡± Marculf explained to him when his words were translated, ere he added, ¡°What is more is that I think he was thrown from his feet across many branches and down onto the road.¡± ¡°How could such a thing be?¡± Ivarr demanded stunned by this observation. ¡°And there is his expression, I observed how horrified he looked,¡± Leodegrance said keen to impress now this young stranger with his own skills of observation. Marculf nodded at his words, pleased that he had noticed that detail also. This fact troubled the warrior, who was to bow his head in thought. It happened that they followed the trail of the monks; to the monastery it was there past their vast vineyards where they grew a vast number of grapes from which they produced the finest wine in Brittia. Many were the monks who worked all their lives there, rather than staying inside in prayer with the vineyards not having been torched in nigh on sixty years. So that they had grown to surround the whole of the great abbey dedicated to Tempestas the storm-goddess. Behind the abbey lay the cemetery, where the monks sadly lay down their most popular brother who had twice refused the post of abbot and four times that of sub-abbot. They read from the book of Orcus, ere they cremated him and buried his ashes as custom dictated. This was the custom since the days of the Wars of Darkness, when the world had come nearest to the brink of destruction. ¡°We must remember my brothers,¡± Bedivere pronounced with heartfelt grief, as all the other one hundred and fifty brothers bowed their own heads in shared sorrow. ¡°Harold was the sincerest of men, the bravest one I had ever met and was of such great piety that only those who met him could possibly see.¡± There was little weeping, for propriety was of absolute importance to the monks. The only tears spilled were from the child-novices, who were permitted some small amount of tears, on account of their age. Making the sign of the lily, the sacred gesture of the faith of Quirinas since the days of Clovis the first Grand Divan and founder of the Temple. Tears began to truly flow shortly after the arrival of several of the villagers who in defiance of Marculf¡¯s suggestions had hurried thither to the temple in the hopes to pay their respect. ¡°They really ought to have stayed, in their homes,¡± Marculf grumbled with no great amount of heat, bewildered by their defiance. It was the first show of youthful naivet¨¦ on his part. Relieved to hear him sound for the first time since they had met, so young, Leodegrance muttered, ¡°Though it may seem inconvenient or foolish to you, milord, but to us peasants respect and grief must be observed. Regardless what seems most reasonable, because though he was a monk Harold was born in our village, and was always one of us as much as he was one of them.¡± Upon translation of those words, Marculf fell quiet, unsure of what to say in response to those words. Though, Leodegrance may not have believed it, in that moment, the Lord of Lunard knew better than most men the nature of grief and sorrow. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Thus did he say neither a word of complaint, or criticism from this moment onwards against those noble people of Shorewoods. It was near to the end of the funeral that Brother Bedivere, at last approached Marculf, this while the other monks moved into the interior of the abbey. A song of Orcus, that of the dead upon their lips as they chanted their sorrow for all the world to hear, in the ancient Romalian tongue. As they did so the locals closed in about the new grave or dispersed to honour Harold, in his favourite place; the local tavern, this latter group led by Leodbeorht. ¡°Milord, I hope you do not mind my inability hitherto this moment to properly greet you, since we took leave of your company.¡± The monk murmured politely, keen to appease the lordly youth, ¡°I hope you understand how unexpected, this death has been for us.¡± ¡°Not at all, Brother I more than understood,¡± Replied the baron a smile discernable in his voice in spite of how his face was hidden. ¡°What is it that you have found?¡± ¡°Only that it appears that poor Harold was found some distance from the road, thrown through the road by someone with rather large foot-prints.¡± This news aggrieved Bedivere, who bore this news poorly. His head bowed in visible grief, his eyes the same sort of pained one that might otherwise be seen on a wounded canine. ¡°Have you no knowledge of who, might have inflicted this wound upon our abbey? Harold was a man unlike any other, of a goodly nature and a pious soul in spite of his love for ale, and the tavern rather more than any others of our holy abbey.¡± ¡°Non, I have no knowledge of who might have done it, only that Harold was thrown some distance to whereupon he had fallen.¡± Marculf informed him earnest, with nary a thought of hiding the truth from the sincere Abbot. ¡°Oh, if only the gods could have spared him such pain! I tell you this now; Harold never did a single soul any harm! If only he had not found himself, out and about at so unfortunate a time!¡± Bedivere wailed stricken to the core at these words. The knight bowed his head, a sense of guilt pervading his being in his entirety, so that he was to remain silent for as long as might the Wolfram have liked him to. His hope being that the older male might break the discomfiting silences that so troubled him. ¡°It is ever the innocent and good, who suffer,¡± He at last uttered wearily, ¡°Evil is always an inevitable force that arises no matter the victories, one may celebrate against it.¡± His words stiffened the spine of the monk who nodded his head at his words, grateful for them wherefore he said to him. ¡°I should ask if it is not too much troublesome, Sieur Marculf if you might consider staying near to the lands of Shorewoods? We will have need of your wisdom, in the triumph against whoever committed this murder.¡± Marculf felt put upon. It was his view that this matter was not his concern and that it was hardly his place to investigate and involve himself in local matters. Glumly, he nodded his head aware that such was likely his fate given that it was concern for him and his crew that had drawn Harold out from the monastery and to his doom. The two carried on their debate of who or what it might have been that fell upon Harold, and slew him in so brutal a fashion. Their whispered Gallian debate was one that both drew some measure of comfort from, though Marculf was keen to leave if only to attend to his crew and Bedivere to his flock. The two might well have parted thence, were it not for the sudden unexpected arrival of a man a-horse. The hooves of the mount echoed as might thunder have throughout the land and glens of the whole of Shorewoods. Black was the steed, and blacker still was the cloth of its rider, who bore the livery and emblem upon his cloak and hauberk of the local Jarl¡¯s family. The emblem in question was that of the crimson wolf, if you must know and it was one that Marculf found to be quite uncouth. Such was the difference in nature, of the emblems and badges favoured in the Twelve Kingdoms to those of the realm of Brittia. ¡°You there! Stranger, are you the man known as Marculf?¡± The man demanded sharply of the knight in the courtyard of the monastery. Dozens of people stared. Marculf for his part did not acknowledge the man¡¯s words, not understanding most of them and of a mind that the tone was offensive. When the man repeated his demand, Bedivere foreseeing trouble intervened, ¡°This is the Baron Marculf, yes Robin, and I should hope you would greet him more respectfully.¡± The man, Robin was a touch embarrassed at so public a reprimand. Dark-bearded and haired, he was of mixed Brittian stock and was unaccustomed as the herald of the house of the Jarl to so public a reprimand. Flushing crimson all expected him to snap impatiently, yet all were startled to see him leap down from his steed, to one knee and to offer up the sincerest of apologies. ¡°Forgive me High-Brother, and you also baron I knew not your rank. Otherwise, I might have greeted you as befits your rank.¡± ¡°Je te pardonne,¡± Marculf uttered unable to find the words in Brittian, in spite of his failure to find the correct words, he was familiar with the herald¡¯s gesture of submission and honour. Translating for the knight, Bedivere observed him closely with the masked man hiding a small smile from behind his helm. Full of gratitude for the monk¡¯s efforts in transmitting the herald¡¯s words to him, since he struggled to remember the exact words of this strange tongue, he swore then to repay this kindness in the future. ¡°Milord, you must ride to Castle-Shorewood, the lady Frideswide should like very much to meet with you to discuss what has happened.¡± Robin the herald said eager to persuade the exiled Noren?ian to follow him. Hesitant, the knight looked to the monk. ¡°Do go, the lady speaks the Continental tongue better than I,¡± Bedivere assured the reluctant baron who at last nodded his assent. The castle if it could be given such a moniker was a large stone fortification built in the time of ?thelwulf the current King of Brittia¡¯s grandfather¡¯s time. The great builder-king ?eelric had endeavoured to keep the North-men out of the lands of Brittia, and had gifted to some of those Arns who had shifted to his side stone-forts. The ancestor of the current Jarl had been one of these men, only for him to have later treacherously switched back to his original loyalties. Made of fine stones, with high-walls that were six meters high on their own, with the castle noteworthy for its four towers and two principal dungeons, the castle was a grey looming figure that seemed to dominate all about it. There was however, a reassuring element to it, as though it were a protective parent. Situated on a large man-made hill some distance from the village and sea, it was a fifteen meters high and with a large courtyard. How the family had retained their holdings, in spite of their slippery nature, and the vengeful nature of ?thelwulf which was infamous even across the Channel, was a mystery to Marculf. The lady was a short woman almost double his own age and of far dark hair with full lips and a certain striking air about her, in spite of the black of mourning she wore greeted him politely. ¡°Sieur Marculf, I do hope you have quite recovered from your earlier accident.¡± Pleased to hear her speak such fluent Neustrian, though it was uttered with the slightest of accents, he gave her the slightest of nods. ¡°If I may milady I am quite recovered, only uncertain as to the reason for which you have called upon my humble person.¡± Any other woman might have been tempted to smile. But not the lady Frideswide. Cold as she was harsh, the lady turned a sharp gaze upon the herald, ¡°You may go Robin, if we have need of you, I shall call upon thee.¡± Though she spoke in a tongue he could not quite comprehend, Marculf was able to guess the meaning behind her words. ¡°Walk with me, Marculf,¡± She said imperiously. Turning about to guide him thither to the dungeon, without waiting for either of them, she did not waste a single glance behind her. A sigh escaped the baron, who would have preferred after so much walking and riding, to simply seat himself. They walked with the petite widow far more at ease with the silence between them, than any lady he had met since the lady Judith. A quiet man by his very nature, Marculf felt oddly discomfited by this lengthy silence. In that moment, he was grateful for the confining helm that hid his face, so that she could not see how uncomfortable he was in that moment. Slowly, ever so slowly they discussed the crew. A subject that he felt rather more comfortable with than any other in that moment, such was the coldness of the wind and haunted air that surrounded the lady. Distracted by her words, as much as the frozen air that took him back to his homeland if in a rather unpleasant manner, Marculf paid little mind as he was guided into the castle. Castle-Shorewood was a breed apart from other keeps he had visited in the past. Cold, dark and in possession of little warmth or light, there was such a sense of doom and unpleasantness that not a soul could have felt at home there if they were born in it. This notion was one that was hardly disproven, when at last he sat in the mead-hall. Seated at the same time, directly across from him was the Jarl ?eelric, the new baron of Shorewood, the youth nary a day older than eight years of age. Seated at the head of the table so that she was almost betwixt her son and the knight, while the rest of the table was occupied by huscarls, such as her herald Robin, her face pulled up in a scowl. The hall was modestly decorated, with a number of tapestries that decorated the hall. Many depicted the great battle of Jorfields, during which it was said that Jarl Thorvald had laid claim to the local lands of Shorewood. The battle in question had been waged between the then Lord of Sturmrfrith, who had sought to conquer Shorewood. The warlord had laid claim to the lands of Sturmrfrith after slaughtering the whole of the previous ruling family, on the orders of the Helgi the Terrible, the conqueror of Jorvik. Shorewood was saved from disaster, by the heroics of the baron Godric, who had it was said been guided by Ziu to an alcove, the night before the battle. Wherefore he had escorted his forces, around the large mountains that dominated the coast-lines to just behind the enemy lines. It was thereupon in the fields of Jorfields where he ambushed the Northmen, and drove the vast majority to their deaths, including Jarl Thorvald. The Jarl for his part was succeeded by his still infant son, who in time grew into a no less fierce if rather more diplomatic man. Such was the history of Shorewood and Sturmrfrith. Lands rent asunder by history, even as they were equally united by it, just as we all are. Though at present unfamiliar, with this lore due in no small part to his lack of understand of a great deal of the Brittian tongue, Marculf was distracted as much by his growling stomach, as much as by the unnerving lady to one side of him. Utterly miserable while all around and about him ate heartily, in spite of their own discomfort. Most keen to devour all that they could, ere they fled from the lady¡¯s presence visibly discomfited by her dark presence. Marculf would have liked to pick at his place, but could not quite bring himself to remove his helm, to begin doing so. ¡°Why are you not eating?¡± Frideswide asked of him, with the atypical inquisitive nature of a child having at last overcome his discontent. ¡°I am not hungry,¡± Answered Marculf politely. ¡°Is my food not worthy of you?¡± Frideswide, the lady-dowager questioned querulously. Her frigid question brought every man to a halt. Some froze with their food in their mouths, still others with their meat, bread or onions halfway to their mouths. Still others froze with their mead upraised. The only absolute was that all were discomfited, and stared at the knight. Some were curious; most were rather more indecisive of what they ought to be doing. ¡°Remove thy helm, and join us,¡± The lady said in a tone that did not brook defiance. ¡°Milady, you invited me here into your halls because you wished to discuss the matter of Harold¡¯s murder.¡± Marculf murmured quietly. His words brought an unexpected shadow onto the lady, such was the force of it that it bowed her back so that the young woman appeared wizened beyond her years in that moment. ¡°It was Adam Tempestsson¡­ it was he who murdered Harold!¡± None in the hall spoke or muttered at this accusation. Rather, they were as silent as a crypt, and thrice as chilled. No less cold, Marculf who ordinarily sweated or radiated such heat that it affected most about him, had no such physical warmth to provide such was the effect of her words. ¡°Who is this Adam Tempestsson?¡± Marculf queried embarrassed by his own struggle to properly pronounce ¡®Tempestsson¡¯, having never heard this sort of name before. His struggle drew a few chuckles from farther down the table, which served only to make his cheeks beneath his helm redden. The chortles were silenced by the lady, who did so with a singular glance across the table. Such was the weight of her haunted gaze. ¡°Adam Tempestsson,¡± She said correcting his error in pronunciation born from his Neustrian heritage. ¡°He is the Jarl of Sturmrfrith, the lands directly to the north of our own¡­ he is also the most wicked of men.¡± ¡°How so, milady?¡± ¡°You doubt me, yet you have no spoken with him,¡± Frideswide accused a slightly shrill note to her voice. ¡°It was he who slew my noble Hunbeorht, and left my son half-orphaned. This I know, yet not a man will rise to oppose him.¡± ¡°Milady, there is no proof that he committed the crime,¡± One of the elder huscarls said with considerable patience, if with a slight touch of apprehension in his voice. The look the lady laid upon the man seated at the opposite side of the table, was heavy-lidded and full of scorn. There was also a hint of fear painted onto her wan face. The wind whistled through the hall howling and battering itself against the banners and tapestries, with such fury as to make every man shrink from it. ¡°There is ample evidence,¡± Frideswide declared sternly, her strange eyes stabbing through the man who had dared to speak out against her. ¡°What say you, of the corpse of my husband discovered in the lands of Sturmrfrith?¡± He might well have spoken out but she interrupted him as he stammered. ¡°Away with you Leofsige, I have no further need of you, or your services.¡± This sudden dismissal of Leofsige and categorical rejection of the huscarl in question, startled Marculf. What surprised him all the more, was when the man stood up, if slowly and left the hall with nary a further word. Staring long after him, the rest of the guards glumly returned to their meal, for several minutes until they had finished. At which time, the house-hold warriors one by one climbed to their feet ere they returned to their duties prior to the meal, and were soon replaced by those guards that had previously stood on duty so to speak. Grimacing and leaving the hall, with no less melancholy, Robin was to throw a nervous glance in Marculf¡¯s direction. He sought to convey something to the baron if quietly so, quite what it was he could not quite discern. ¡°Milady, I was not aware that your husband had passed,¡± said the knight startled. ¡°When did this take place?¡± ¡°Six months hence,¡± the dowager-lady of Shorewood told him, her expression softening so that she appeared once more cadaveric and thus her most earnest. ¡°He left because there were strange murmurings of events taking place, in Sturmrfrith. It was there that he met his doom, and was found run through and his sword missing.¡± ¡°Did he travel alone?¡± ¡°No, he was however briefly separated from his escort,¡± She corrected him gently, ¡°It was near the woods that stretch throughout those lands, it was therein the darkness that he was slain. There were none save for Adam Tempestsson who could have performed, the deed. I know it was he, for there are no brigands in his lands, not since his father Drystan the Bandit-Slayer.¡± The legends of the Bandit-Slayer, was well-known to even the likes of Marculf. While his own lands and those of a great many of his neighbours had fallen into disrepair, darkness and chaos, the Arnish Drystan born from a mixed heritage of Brittian and Arn had fought against banditry. Noble, kind and valiant he had fought in what came to be known as the ¡®Brigand War of the Ten Woods¡¯. The war had lasted for some twenty-six years, and spread throughout the lands of more than ten feudal lords in what had become known as the ¡®Arnlaw¡¯ those lands conquered by the Norse-men. Keen to discourage banditry, these lords had rallied behind Drystan in his war to restore peace, and liberty of travel throughout the north, for Arn and Brittian alike. An inspiration to him, Marculf though wise beyond his years felt a tinge of some of his childhood eagerness thought to have been long ago burnt away suddenly resurge. Familiar only with the legends of the Bandit-Slayer, he wondered if he might not head whither north to learn more. ¡®Mayhaps, fate has gifted me with the opportunity to learn more, by meeting with the most chivalrous of Brittia¡¯s sons?¡¯ He thought to himself, with a small smile hidden behind his iron-steel helm. Face hidden it was unclear to his hosts that a slight grin had appeared, and disappeared, flitting away with the wind. Pondering her words, Marculf said to her, ¡°I shall investigate this Adam, but know that I do not consider this a matter, for an exiled baron to look after.¡± ¡°Mayhaps, a former baron is the perfect man to judge, the matter especially one banished due to his honour and dedication to truth.¡± Frideswide countered at once, her eyes turned away from him if briefly so, ¡°It is needless to state that should you refuse to settle this matter, my son will not have long for this world.¡± Her dark words full of warning, and ominous sorrow made her son bow his head even as the guards also did. Marculf said naught more, uneasy he left shortly thereafter, his thoughts trapped in that grand hall. He was to keep her son in his prayer that very night, fearful of what might the mother do to her own child. She did not strike him as particularly of right-mind. It was after he took up his supper in the private chambers given over to him, in the local tavern that he spoke to the first mate of the ship. ¡°If you may, I should wish for you to maintain an eye upon our captain, I would not wish for him to pass.¡± ¡°But of course, milord,¡± The sailor agreed at once, fonder than he of the captain. The eldest of the mariners who had escorted the Baron of Lunard, looked on him with a hesitant expression a drinking-horn in hand. ¡°If I may ask milord; whereabouts do you intend to leave for?¡± ¡°I wish to call upon the Jarl of Sturmrfrith.¡± Marculf informed him, sighing with no small amount of melancholy. ¡°It has happened that I shall involve myself, in the matters of these small baronies if only for the sake of that boy¡­ I shan¡¯t leave matters as they are, lest his mother devolves to madness and do something impulsive such as take his life.¡± ¡°Surely no mother would ever do such a thing!¡± The old mariner exclaimed horrified. Marculf was quiet.